Monday, November 29, 2010

No Longer a Mrs.

I’m struggling today with awareness.  With the recognition that as the moments drag by; I’m beginning to feel less and less married.  It’s another aspect of my life that is completely out of my control.  The reason I think, is simple.  I am alone.  There is no one here to hold my hand, to kiss, to hug, to hold.  I need attention, I long to be taken care of and thrive on positive energy.  As my husband, Ryan provided all of this.  It was obvious to all, but me especially, that he thought I was beautiful.  He thought I was amazing and intelligent and worth every bit of the attention he showered on me.  A person gets used to this personal interest, gets comfortable.  It was the source of my self confidence, the bounce in my step, the smile on my face and now, it’s gone.  Now I have family and friends, but I do not have a husband’s touch.  I do not have a warm body spooning me at night or loving lips to graze my neck as I make my morning cup of coffee.  These are the nuances of marriage and now that they are gone, I can feel my married life slowly slipping away.  The effects of this leave me feeling empty, alone and cold.  It’s as if I’m standing in a blizzard with no jacket to wrap around me, no way of getting warm.  To transform with less than a moments notice from a happy, healthy marriage to a life of solitude is like rushing into the cold from the embrace of a warm home.  The cold smacks you in the face, pushes you back, takes your breath away.  After a while, your body will eventually adjust, become numb to the bitter frost, your shivering will slip away and leave you with a quiet disturbance that you can almost ignore.
A moment I can’t ignore, a moment that is fixed in my memory, happened when I made my final call to the hospital the night of Ryan’s death.  The police had already been there, the code called; I was the last to know.  I asked one final time if anyone in the ICU knew anything and was put on hold for what seemed like forever.  In the background was none other than Paul Simon.  The song was “Slip Slidin’ Away”.  The words whispered in my ear:
I know a woman
Became a wife
These are the very words she uses
To describe her life
She said a good day
Ain't got no rain
She said a bad day's when I lie in bed
And think of things that might have been
For years I’d been listening to this song and thinking it described every part of me, a person who needed very little for a good day and lived with no regrets.  My heat knew this to be a sign.  Then the chorus ended and the next verse came through the receiver:
God only knows
God makes his plan
The information's unavailable
To the mortal man
We're working our jobs
Collect our pay
Believe we're gliding down the highway
When in fact we're slip slidin' away
The song still haunts my dreams today.  It reminds me of that person who needed nothing for a good day.  It offers words of wisdom to consider that there’s no changing what happened, I am no longer a married women and there’s nothing I can do to better understand why this change took place.  What I can do is hold strong and always remember, a good day is one without rain and a bad day is when you think about things that might have been.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

My Forever

     Someone recently told me that in order to get married, they needed to have things figured out, they needed to know themselves and be comfortable with the path their life was following.  I respect this, but can’t entirely wrap my mind around the idea as it is night to my day.  I met Ryan when I was 19 and we fell hard.  He used to joke that after our first date, we never left each other’s side.  This is true.   Although we thought of ourselves as adults at the time, imagined that we had it all figured out, we didn’t.  We didn’t know ourselves much less anything else, but it was okay because Ryan and I grew up and together we learned who we were and what we wanted from life.  Our desires became one and the same not because we depended on each other to make decisions, but because we talked, we dreamt and we compromised.  The ten acre farmhouse became the urban Victorian not because one of us gave up on our dream, but because we began to dream together, to see our futures as one. 
     Two months ago, I knew exactly who I was, what I wanted and where I was going.  I also knew that I would do none of this alone.  Ryan was my forever.  Now I look to a future that is a complete unknown and the loss of control is excruciating.  Just a few days before he died, I came home from a graduate class in tears.  My sadness was due, in part, to a low grade, but mostly because I felt out of control.  My body and mind were beginning to feel pregnant and affecting my daily life.  This change terrified me.  I parked my car, walked into the house and climbed into Ryan’s lap.  There I sat, sobbing, scared and confused, but safe.  He held me, soothed me and brought me upstairs.  He insisted I change into something comfortable, sat with me while I washed my face and held my hand as I tried to put into words the feelings I didn’t entirely understand.  Later that evening, he brought me to bed, wrapped his arms around me and whispered into my ear.  He told me, as he always did, that he loved me.  He reminded me of how lucky he was to have, in his words, scored such a hot, smart wife.  He believed that I could do anything I set my mind to and was always in a state of awe at what I accomplished.  These were his last words to me on the last night we spent together.  These are the words that hang in my head now, as I struggle to regain the control I have lost.  My forever is no longer and I must find a way to rebuild.  A blueprint that is new, but also holds true to the sense that in this great new future, i can't forget my past, and must use it to help me push on through. 

Friday, November 26, 2010

Till Death Do Us Part

     Just after Ryan passed, a friend recommended that I start a blog.  At first I thought this idea sounded impossible - sharing my thoughts, wearing my emotions, showing everyone what's really going on?  All of this was incredibly overwhelming and scary to even think about.  A month or so later, I've come to terms with the fact that I am sad, I am lonely and I am scared.  I am grieving.  With this came the realization that there is really no use in hiding these emotions.  Instead, I've decided to commit them to words and share them with those I love. 
     Friends and family continue to think about me.  Some of you call, some of you want to call and some of you wish you knew if you should call.  Most of the time, I tell you things are fine, I'm taking it day by day and making the best of the situation.  This is all true, but says very little to what's actually going on.  In order to open the blinds and see into my heart, you'd need to keep a constant eye on me.  I am always changing, never the same.  One moment laughing, another crying, sometimes smiling, other times lost in dark thoughts of an unknown future.  I don't want to show you inside my heart because I don't want to scare you, I don't want you to worry, and I don't want you to think I've lost myself.  I have not, I am still here and I refuse to let go.
     If you follow these posts, I know you'll find that some days they will be dark, wretched with emotion and laced with feelings of absolute hopelessness.  Other days however, these posts will sound like me.  They will be filled with calm, positive outlooks and peppered with sunny happenings.  Feel free to read them all and hopefully, feel a part of my journey.  My goal is to let you all inside in a way that still feels private.  Just remember what I said before, I am still me, no matter what I say or how I'm feeling, deep down inside, I am still there, will always be there and in a way, this part of me is holding the other part's hand.  Helping my sadness stand up, pushing the fear away and reminding every part of my heart and soul to walk good.