More than a mug

December of 1998 he and I were in the Disney store. We were preparing to move in together and getting odds and ends done before our wedding coming up in April.  We both loved coffee and Disney--and Disney mugs are just huge!
I was admiring this burgundy one with Eeyore on it.  We paid for some ornaments and Christmas gifts and went on our way.

Christmas that year was was stressful-trying to get two completely separate traditions merged was a feat and that is putting it lightly.   My family is huge and gets together-loud and joyful and very very IRISH.  Aunts, uncles, cousins--it is a gaggle of joy and love. His family was literally just his mom and dad-his siblings lived far spread and even though my parents invited his parents to Christmas none of the three of them knew what to do amongst the chaos.

Late that night I opened my gift--inside were the two mugs--mine of Eeyore and his of Goofy. Those mugs have followed us and now follow me.  They have been filled with coffee and cocoa and tea-and his with cereal--he liked his cereal in a mug and declared it the perfect size.

Through the years we had two more sets of "normal size" Disney mugs-but one of each of those pairs has broken over time.  His Goofy mug is still in use.  It fits in my hand warm and familiar.  There are times in the wee hours of the morning that holding his mug I swear makes my body remember him.  I can hold it in two hands and look out the window and take a sip of coffee.  I can almost feel his arms around my waist and his warm lips kissing my neck.   When my eyes open, I remember that I will never feel that again--but I can still hold his mug.  It is a poor substitute for him-but for now, for now it will have to do.

Where's My Handbook?

Seven years have passed. A few weeks ago was our wedding anniversary, Then my birthday my birthday and 14 days prior to that the reminder of the day my life shattered. After seven years-I have pretty much figured out "how" to survive and even get out and get more than the basics covered on occasion. I mentally give myself a high five on those days. Other days through a curve ball-or worse keep throwing them and paint the corners. Those days, man those days are now gratefully few and far between but those days I still fumble. For instance-I'm researching some educational things with our son. Robert was a teacher and a music therapist. These curve balls are his wheelhouse. I have even gone so far as to pull out some of his music therapy references to find what questions I want to ask. It is hard. It is draining. I am physically alone. I'm grateful for the friends I have that are educators and know munchkin well-and can be my sounding board. I'm grateful for his pediatrician who sees the whole picture and helps by talking to his school. Even with all of that support around me-I still find myself wishing there was a handbook. We should have a parenting handbook they give you at hospital discharge. A widows handbook you get when your spouse is pronounced dead. An additional parent handbook for when your child is seriously ill-this one should focus on finding members of the healthcare team who won't ask you more than once why your husband isn't at the appointment. So if anyone has found any of these handbooks-please feel free to send them my way-I was never given my copies and I am still taking things as they come! - See more at: http://www.chicagolandwidowed.org/blog/wheres-my-handbook-monday-april-20-2015#sthash.rT2e6rsM.dpuf

Family Trip

I am packing us up to head out of town for spring break.  It has been a rough two weeks with Munchkin being sick and work being busy. oh and me having a broken wrist...makes typing kind of hard to do efficiently!  I honestly haven't had time to really plan or pack. 

I realized tonight as I was running through my lists in my head, that exactly six years ago to the day, the three of us were packing up and heading out of town for our first family weekend.  We were excited to be a family of three taking a trip for the first time.   If you are following me, you likely know that it didn't end well at all...(see here)

There are times where it still seems surreal everything that happened.  Then there are times where I feel like I am in a dream.  Like tonight, getting ready and realizing that I really am in this alone.  We are a family of two. 

I am having a hard time putting my feelings into words.   In ways it feels like the crash was eons ago and happened to someone else.  Some poor girl had her life shattered on the side of the road.  When I look at how far I have come, it really feels like it was someone other than me. 

I remember the broken feelings and I remember how much they hurt, and I take a breath and focus on my life now.   My life is not bad, in fact it is far better than I imagined that it would be.   There are parts of my heart that are still broken and shattered, but they are overshadowed by the parts of me that are grateful. 

So, as I approach the "angel-versary" as it is commonly called, I will focus on the positive and the grateful.  I will focus on the fact that I was loved well and that Munchkin was cherished by two parents even though I am the only one here.  

Couches and Memories

A few years before Robert died, we bought new living room furniture.  It was the first time we bought furniture that wasn't second hand.  They were super soft and comfy.  The couch was great for snuggling and the love seat had two reclining couches with armrests in the middle.  

We made great memories on those couches, both good and bad.  We rocked munchkin to sleep together.  We snuggled our son and our puppies and we were a family on those couches. 

At the literal last minute I moved them to Chicago with me.  They were in my mom and dad's den and I missed him horribly on those couches.  

When I moved to an apartment a few years later, I moved them with me.   It was traumatic.  His spot on the couch and his recliner were empty and it made me miss him even more.  I would sit at night in my spot and look at his and cry. 

So, my sister and her husband had some couches and we were doing a house/apartment swap anyway.   I offered her my blue couches for her green ones.  We swapped.  It worked.  When I went to her house, it was generally full, and I didn't miss Robert because I wasn't staring at the empty space alone and in the quiet. 

I then had a friend who was getting rid of all of her living room furniture and I took it.  It was awesome.  My sister put her green couches in her basement family room. 

Fast forward a few years and they decided to get new furniture for their living room.   She asked if I wanted them back, I said yes.  I had been looking at living room furniture but hadn't found anything I liked enough and was willing to pay for. 

My brothers brought those couches over, then mom came and helped me arrange my living room.  It looked nice.  I had the couches cleaned and we settled into a routine.  However, the same thing happened, I put Munchkin to bed and I would sit in my place and I would see him in his empty spot.  The tears would start to fall. 

My brain and my heart know that particular spot was his.  It was as if I could feel the emptiness.  I could physically react to the memories that were built on that furniture.  Munchkin learned to walk holding on to that couch.  Robert recovered from multiple back surgeries in the recliner.  

I knew I needed to make a change.  I don't want to go back to those memories and crying everyday again.  I have come too far to let something draw me back. 

SO, I when I went shopping and the set that I had been looking at for months was finally at a reasonable price, I bought it.

I gifted the couch and the loveseat to separate houses that will hopefully have a great use for them and I did myself the favor of removing the negative memories.   I have found that sometimes, it is better to put things out of sight or simply to let go of things that are too painful. 

These Days

The other night, we were playing outside.  Munchkin was running around the yard.  I was admiring the grass that I had cut a few days ago.  The air was cool and the sun was setting.   Two of our friends were walking by and stopped to chat.

I am feeling so blessed that we live in such an awesome neighborhood, where everyone knows each other and people play together in the evenings.  Where friends stop to talk and literally are just a phone call away.  Where kids play outside and ride bikes and chase lighting bugs and whine to stay up just a little later.

I am grateful that for the moment we are living an idyllic life.  One that I had hoped and wished and planned for.  Evenings in the yard, coffee on the patio in the morning.  Looking at the bunnies hop through the yard and hoping that the fox isn't hot on their tails.  I am in awe of all of the wonderful things that have happened in our life.  I never dreamed that we would ever have a house again.  Yet, here we are!

Six years ago I was hoping to share these days with Robert and our child someday. Five years ago, I couldn't see past the brokenness to imagine these days would ever happen or feel good without Robert here.   Today, even though Robert isn't here, I have a sense of contentment with the life that we have.  It doesn't make it ok that Robert is dead, but I can tell you on most days, I have found the fortitude to be grateful for what is in front of me today.  I am grateful because I know how quickly and permanently things change.  I give thanks constantly for our blessings and I pray every day to continue to be blessed. While I certainly think I have had my share of tragedy, this bliss is not guaranteed to continue and I know that.  I have worked very hard to stay in the present moment and to practice gratitude and it seems to be working.  It seems to be getting better for us. 

We are very, very blessed these days.  

Half

We had defined sides of the bed for sleeping.  I was always on the left side of the bed, he was always on the right.  It just was. 

It has been over five years since the day he died, however I still find myself on the left side of the bed.  I now have a smaller bed that has been in three different places in three different bedrooms and the result is still the same...I stay perched on my side, and his stays empty. 

Even though I know...it isn't HIS side, never was, he never slept in this bed, he never slept on these sheets, he never used these pillows or blankets.  Heck--he has never even stepped foot into my house.  I know this.   My brain knows it, I am pretty sure that my heart knows it.

At night, there is an icy chill that emanates from his side of MY bed.  It creeps over to me and just reminds me that I am alone.  That I don't have anyone to share my bed.  That Robert is gone, and not just gone, but he. is. dead.  He is never coming back and I will NEVER again spend a night nestled safe in his arms with my head on his chest.  Really this feeling of icy loneliness is getting very old. 

I have done everything that I can think to do.  I decorated my bedroom.  I selected a beach theme and enlisted my mom who is awesome at decorating to help me pull it together.  I have a beautiful painting, new sheets and comforter.  A really cool lamp and other accessories.  I selected my bedroom so that the light comes in and spills over the bed in the morning.  It is bright and warm and cozy.  But it hasn't helped.    The ice still fills the room in the dead of night. 

So I take a deep breath and I suck it up and I lay down and I go to sleep.   In the morning I awake and it is the same thing over again.   I am alone and there is no one in my bed besides me....well unless Munchkin is sick and has wandered into mommy's bed in the middle of the night, then I am usually awakened at a pre-dawn hour by a squirmy octopus in my bed.

Don't you know, kids grow extra limbs and flail them endlessly when they are in your bed, in their own beds--they sleep perfectly still and awake in the same position that you kissed them goodnight. 
So I kiss Munchkin good morning and look around and I say a prayer of thanks for all of the things that I do have and I hope that one day, this particular feeling fades to a distant memory.