Not Your Typical Night, But It Is Ours...

Widowed. Fatherless. That's who we are. It is not something for which we planned or could have ever imagined. It is not something for which we could have ever prepared ourselves. It is not a badge of honor, but instead it is a glowing scar across our souls. It is who we are. Is it ALL that we are? Absolutely not. But it defines our days, our actions, our patterns of thought, and more. And no one understands it unless they are scarred the same way we are. 

Tonight my son and I went to dinner at a local restaurant. We had a gift certificate that my in-laws had given me in July for my birthday. So, we went on our mother-son date, ate a great dinner, and talked about daddy. We arrived home and Conner asked if we could go see him. See that's what we say...we don't say "let's go to the cemetery", or "let's go to the graveyard". We say, "let's go see daddy." 

My stomach literally fills with anxiety the second we turn onto the road that leads to the cemetery. I begin having trouble keeping my breaths steady and my hands take on that same old tremble. As we inch closer to the gravel drive that leads into the gated, beautiful cemetery nestled amidst a cattle farm, I have to will myself to take a few deep breaths. I do this because I know once I kneel in front of my husband, I will lose all control. It is the same every time, no matter if it has been months or only days since our last visit. It never gets easier and the tears never lessen. 

Tonight our "date night" might not have been typical for most people, but to a widow and her son, it was. We can be having a totally "normal" day and then something hits us that sends us to that stone with the etched farm scene. Conner took his turn first, as is usual, and I waited beneath the huge shade tree behind him. The breeze blew and I could have stayed there forever. 

Once my son finished talking to his dad, it was my turn to take that dreaded walk. I know that some people say, "you don't have to go." I know I don't have to, but it is the only place we can basically lose all control with our sobs without feeling like a spectacle. And he's my husband; I will always go see him. And Conner will always go see his dad. And I know others say we don't have to go just to try and protect us; everyone knows how taxing it is on us. But my heart will always pull me to Michael's final resting place. 

That is where I last said goodbye as I held onto his casket one last time before they lowered him into the cold December ground. Nestled in the middle of a cattle farm, surrounded by barns and cows grazing, adorned with shade trees with welcoming branches, my husband sleeps beside his family. And our "typical" days are not what others expect, but they are ours. 

I ask tonight that you wrap your arms around those you love. Breathe them in. Hold them tight. Say I love you a million times. Smile and laugh and dance and sing. And if your typical day includes a visit to your lost loved one too, then God Bless you and yours with strength and love. 

We love you and miss you baby. More than any words can measure. 

NFAxI...

#stillhis

Love,

Veronica 

Missing Him...

I'm lying in bed next to our son and I just cannot fathom how we ended up without you. It seems like yesterday you were here. I hear your voice sometimes just around the corner, but then it fades quickly. I've been trying to step forward and begin life anew. I'm failing miserably. 

Everyone thinks I have it together and that I'm moving forward from grief just fine. The reality is, I miss you so desperately and it's almost fall, so that makes it worse. 

Fall is when we built so many of our most perfect memories. I miss riding around with the windows down, listening to old country or classic rock. I would sit next to you and let my hand rest on your leg. You'd look over and steal a kiss every once in a while. And sometimes, because you loved me so much, you would stop dead in your tracks on an old dirt road or in the middle of our field, and just look at me. Your eyes would burn through mine and you'd tell me how beautiful you thought I was. 

I remember all of the deer hunting and gigging trips we went on. You thought I was cute even with no makeup and hair unkempt and thrown under the hideous Hunter orange cap. You'd tell me I was cute as could be, camo clothes and all. I used to love gigging with you; sometimes we turned it into a competition. You were impressed I could do it so well. Remember the time we chased around my last fish of the night for an hour? I was determined to top everyone. You just were patient and grinned with pride when I got it. 

I miss the days when we would just sit on the porch and hold hands and talk. We had so many plans. We talked of those dreams we just knew were going to be a reality some day; us owning a big farm and watching our boys grow up working it. And I was able to go with you more once fall descended. It was too hot and you were too busy in a tractor amidst the hayfields in summer. But fall was our time. 

Fall also means our anniversary of beginning. October 18, 2001, seems  so far away when you say the year but seems like it just passed.  I have a picture of us at my rent house on Halloween. Amy brought Alyssa by for us to see her in her adorable little Piglet costume. We were already in love and had been for less than two weeks. I knew I was going to marry you. I knew I was going to be madly in love with you until the day I die. I knew it. I just didn't know God had other plans. 

I know that all of the things we used to do together in the fall are coming around again. Gigging season, deer season, Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. I'm not ready to do any of them with anyone else, and I honestly don't know if I ever will be. I guess part of me also knows that December 29 is mixed in there and I absolutely cannot believe it has been almost 2 years. Sometimes I still catch myself in a pile on the floor, barely breathing through sobs and yelling at you. I ask why did you have to go? I scream that you were just here; I just had you. I just don't understand. 

I am so drained. I am so tired of reliving that day and your funeral. My memory is not as good as it used to be for just "normal" everyday things, but I can remember how your Carhart coat smelled as I wrapped myself up tightly at your grave. I remember the sound of the cows and the ringing of the shots fired from the Marines. I remember everything, babe. All of it. And I just miss you so incredibly much. I wish more than anything you were here in our bed, snoring loudly enough to keep me awake. 

I'm still so in love with you. How can I be in love with a ghost? I don't know, but I am. I feel like I am still your wife and you are my husband. 

I had my first speaking engagement this weekend that wasn't to a room full of students or teachers. I talked about widowhood a little bit. I talked about you. I spoke of being a teacher and a principal. I spoke of God's love and how He has not forsaken Conner or me. I received many blessings after I finished speaking. Hugs, prayers, and support came from several who attended. I felt humbled and honored. 

Things are difficult every day, babe. Sometimes I go a while without crying, days even. And then lately, the days blend together and I don't make it through a full one without losing control. Yesterday it happened in my admin meeting, in the room with my superintendent and the other four administrators. Awesome. I just had no control though; I miss you so much. 

My mom gave me a card today just because she knows I've been missing you so much lately. She worries about us. Here is what her card read: 

"The Oak Tree--a message of encouragement 

A mighty wind blew night and day. It stole the oak tree's leaves away, then snapped it's boughs and pulled its bark until the oak tree was tired and stark.

But still the oak tree held its ground while other trees fell all around. The weary wind gave up and spoke, 'how can you still be standing, Oak?'

The oak tree said, 'I know that you can break each branch of mine in two, carry every leaf away, shake my limbs and make me sway. But I have roots stretched in the earth, growing stronger since my birth. 

You'll never touch them for you see, they are the deepest part of me. Until today I wasn't sure of just how much I could endure. But now I've found with thanks to you, I'm stronger than I ever knew.'" 

Widowhood has broken my boughs, shaken me to the core, but I stay standing for our boy. And I can promise that God's grace and my love for you has been what we have been rooted in. We love and miss you forever. 

NFAXI...#stillhis

Love, 

Veronica 

Happiness is a CHOICE?!?! Seriously!?

Happiness is a choice. I get to choose whether I am happy or not. 

Really? 

Let's think about this. Maybe I'm just extra wound up and angry tonight. Something just hit me when I got home earlier and checked Twitter and read, "Happiness is an attitude and a choice." From that moment on I've literally been shaking and my heart has been racing and I have my jaw so tightly clenched in order to keep my sobs suppressed for my son. 

I've got so much to say about this whole "happiness is a choice" line of crap. 

I did not CHOOSE to become a widow and a solo parent (as an earlier post states, this is COMPLETELY different from being a single parent) at 36. I did not CHOOSE for my 10 year old son (now 12) or my 17 year old stepson (now 19) to lose their dad. 

I mean, look at this? Happiness is a choice? HOW??? When tragedy of this magnitude occurs, we don't have a choice in our emotions or our lives for that matter! Really, deep down we don't! Emotions take control. Grief is a process, a cyclical up-and-down road through which we travel half the time with blinders on. We don't know how to navigate grief. Grief does not include happiness. Loss, terrible, sudden and tragic loss of a person we love, does NOT include happiness. We DID NOT CHOOSE the loss; therefore, how in the world can we CHOOSE happiness in a time like this?

So let me tell you what else I DO NOT CHOOSE every single day. 

I do not choose to awaken to silence.

I do not choose to roll over in hopes of seeing my husband beside me, but being forced to see an empty space (except on nights Conner sleeps in our bed).

I do not choose to have knots in the pit of my stomach all throughout the day. 

I do not choose to have a massive lump in my throat that I have to force to stay put or else it means the flood is coming and I'll break down. 

I do not choose to pay these bills alone.

I do not choose to feel like a failure as a parent when I'm questioning my own parenting tactics, or how I'm going to answer a question Conner has. 

I do not choose to be the only name on our son's report card and school documents. 

I do not choose to mark "widow" on the stack of school forms, or to write "deceased" on the father section. 

I do not choose to begin shaking when I get really upset thinking about it all. 

I do not choose to have random spastic moments where I just cry and freak out about my life and my fears and my insecurities. 

I do not choose to have a heart that begins racing at random and inconvenient moments. 

I do not choose have a mind and heart that now don't work like they used to. 

I do not choose to have this mindset of not planning for anything beyond an hour or two in advance. What's the point? I had my whole life planned and look where that got me? 

I do not choose to feel sad. 

I do not choose to feel angry.

I do not choose to suffer from depression.

I do not choose to feel more uncertain than I ever have in my entire life.

I do not choose to receive others' looks of pity. 

I do not choose the feeling of defeat. 

I do not choose loneliness in a room full of people. 

I do not CHOOSE this life of widowhood. I do not CHOOSE to NOT be happy. 

I DO NOT HAVE A CHOICE. 

I did not get a say. I did not get asked if I was ready for my husband to die. I did not get asked if I would rather he die now or later. I did not get asked if I'd like to raise my son completely alone. I didn't get asked if I wanted to bury my husband in a beautiful cemetery on a freezing cold January day (actually New Year's Day 2015). I didn't get to choose any of it. 

I cannot just flip the switch and turn off grief. I did NOT choose for it nor can I just ignore that the love of my life has been gone almost 20 months and I'm really starting to freak out about the approaching Holidays and 2-year mark. I wish to GOD that I could choose. 

I wish that I could choose happiness. I wish that I could choose to block out lawyers, maps of the farm he built that will soon no longer be part of my life, and courtrooms. I wish that I could choose to throw a dart at a map and leave it all behind. I wish I could choose to love again. I wish I could choose so much, but I cannot. 

Now some of you may be thinking, well lady...God gave us FREE WILL so yes you DO have a choice in it all! You DO have a choice to be happy! 

 

You're wrong. 

Here is what I have a choice in:

I choose to be grateful for what I have and what I had. 

I choose to be me and if my grief and my crazy widow brain makes you uncomfortable, then you need to depart from my life. Because in the grief process, I DO NOT have a choice. 

I choose to breathe deeply when the anxiety rears its ugly head and I just want to crawl into a hole, and hide from everyone and everything except my son.

I choose to pray for strength, and for everyone I know and love, every single day. 

I choose to TRY to live my life the best that I can considering the circumstances. 

I choose to pray for others who are less fortunate than me, whether that is financial, emotional, in health, etc... 

I choose to love my friends and to text back when I'm feeling "normal" and to not text back when I'm needing just time to be sad. 

I choose to fight every day to get out of bed and put one foot in front of the other. 

I choose to laugh with my baby boy when we feel like laughing, and I choose to cry with him when we feel like crying. 

I choose to reach out and help every single widow that I can! 

So, don't expect me to believe all the hype that I CAN choose happiness. You have no idea. I wish it more than anything. But that's just not the case. If I DID have a choice, I promise you that the Angels would be jealous because Mike would be sitting beside me, his fingers intertwined with mine, and our son would be playing beside us. All would be well and I would be happy. 

I'm trying. I'm trying to bring little pieces of happiness back into life, but for the love of God I'll NEVER understand or choose to be happy in widowhood. 

I miss my life. I miss happiness. I miss so much every second of every day. 

The Big Stuff...

It's been quite a while since I've posted. I've been trying to keep from posting just because the topic usually turns into something depressing. But tonight with the rainy day it's been and the mood I'm in, I need the release. 

Conner and I drove back from my sister's house yesterday and we talked a little of Mike on the drive. It was drizzling rain and we spotted a beautiful rainbow in the distance. I actually pulled over to take a picture.

Conner said, "Mom, I'm starting to forget the big stuff but I remember the little stuff." I asked what big stuff he has forgotten. He replied, "Dad's voice. But I remember one time he woke me up to go look at a rainbow. I mean, that's not something big but I'll never forget it."

My heart broke. Again. 

I explained to my son that every single memory we have of his dad is now part of the "big stuff". 

The special nights when Mike would sleep in the floor on a huge pallet of blankets with his sons is big stuff. The moments when he and Conner would sit on the couch, perusing Walmart.com for guns or random toys is big stuff. Teaching his sons how to do something on the farm is big stuff. 

Then there are moments as his wife that I cherish as big stuff. The feel of his whiskers when he rubbed his goatee against my cheek just being silly is part of the big stuff. The crazy way he would apply Vicks vapor rub all over his chest and nose and even his lips (gag) at night is part of the big stuff. The way he would only wear his "sexy jeans" I bought him from Gap a long time ago out on date nights is the big stuff. The way his chest would swell with pride when we went out and I was by his side is the big stuff. There are so many things I could ramble on about being big stuff, but you get the idea. 

When someone we love with every fiber of our being dies, every second of our time we had with them makes up the big stuff. And then once they are gone forever, all the big stuff that they are missing becomes painful. 

Our son starts seventh grade this week and he and I are both experiencing anxiety over it; his dad isn't here to walk him through it. I'll never forget the last open house Mike was able to make. It was the start of fifth grade, the year he left us, and Conner was elated to have both parents there. Mike had always attended open house. Last year was the first with only me; I can tell it bothers Conner to see all the kids with both parents. It's part of our painful big stuff. 

Con is thinking about playing Jr High baseball in the Spring. The last time he played, his dad was there. Having a dad root for you in the stands is big stuff; not having him there is huge stuff.

My point is this: life will never be the same for either of us. Even the simplest of days, like this rainy August day, is something big. Mike should be here for it all. Rainy day movie marathon with popcorn; snuggles during a special night with his boy; taking a first day back to school picture of his wife and son; giving his boy advice about Jr high; and much more are all moments he should be here for. 

Your moments with your family may seem simple and insignificant; it may be no big deal to you to have your spouse at home right now. He may be annoying the heck out of you. He may have dirty laundry piled in the bathroom floor, or cow manure stained clothes sending an awesome scent wafting through your house; he may be snoring noisily next to you as you are trying to hear your shows. Be grateful. Memorize the smells, the sounds, the feelings. Memorize them all. The wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, the dark callouses that cover his palms...all of it. Because you never know when it will all be gone and you or your child will start to forget. 

Take everything as big stuff. Because it is. 

We love and miss you immeasurably. And no one knows the depth of the pain and sadness. I hope your smile is spreading all over Heaven and that the Angels are happier with you there. 

#stillhis

Love, NFAxI...

Veronica 

Thinking...

My mind never shuts off. I am overwhelmed by so many thoughts all day long and unless I'm busy at work, those thoughts are often sad. 

Do you realize how many widows or widowers are in your town? I never really thought about it until I became one and in my little bitty town there are several. And they all range in age; some are younger than me and some are older. And then I think, what about those parents? Those step-parents, siblings, friends, and so on who are grieving their loss as well. When someone dies, an entire community of people is affected, even if in a simple way. 

So my train of thoughts then wander toward what a widow/widower is thinking all day long. So, here is usually how my thoughts travel through a day, in no particular order and at any given moment. 

I wake each day and think of Mike and his absence. Seriously. Even after a little more than 19 months, he is my first thought. Wow...is this real? Is he really gone? 

And then it goes straight to the day it happened. The phone calls, the crying, the difficulty breathing, our son knelt in the gravel screaming. I think about him being alone at the concrete plant and I curse myself for not having gone that day. Maybe I could have helped him or saved him. We had almost surprised him with lunch. 

Then I keep thinking of going to the place it happened. I have almost pulled down that road every time I pass it, but I most often have someone (usually Conner) with me and I'll not take him. But I think part of me needs to go there, almost like its a sacred place that I'll be able to feel him. It's the place where he took his last breath and I think I need to go there just once. 

Then I think "what is wrong with me?!?" Am I ever going to be ok? Am I ever going to have a day when I wake and all is right with my life? Is my son ever going to be ok? And then anger sets in.

I am angry that we have been dealt this hand, and I suck at playing cards. I don't want this hand. I want to fold and I want an entirely new deck, not just a new hand. And then I get mad at Mike a little bit. I get mad at him for not listening to me all the times I begged him to slow down, to sell something, to downsize... 

And then my anger turns to exhaustion. Now keep in mind, this thought process happens within varying time frames. It could all be flowing so quickly that they all happen in a matter of seconds, almost in unison. Or they can drag out for an hour or more. By regardless how long they last, they are utterly exhausting. They drain my every fiber. 

So usually getting ready for work is no easy task. I always have these great plans of working out in the morning and breaking my routine of going to sit in my chair with a cup of coffee and just look at his picture. But I don't. Because I am so blasted tired. And it's a tired one can't explain. My body feels like it weighs 1,000 pounds, my heart beats out of control sometimes, I shake every so often when the thoughts get so huge, and I'm just physically, mentally, and emotionally so drained that I actually set my alarm for one hour and forty-five minutes before I have to leave my house. And usually only 20 of those are needed to apply my makeup and style my hair. It literally takes me that long just to process my life and my thoughts. 

And then I go to work. The 30 minute drive is spent on thoughts of Mike, how I feel like I'm screwing up with our son, how I feel like I'm screwing up at work, how the day is going to go, what to-do list awaits me on my desk, what are we doing after school, etc... Never ending. 

So what do I do and think the rest of the day? I think about sparing others, so I fake it. I slap on a smile and I laugh and I give off energetic vibes so that I can run my building well. But inside all I can think is how broken I feel. How I wish he could see me and be proud of me, but also how if he was still here how I would probably not be a principal because we would never see each other. 

But I hide it all from the world. I hide it from everyone I love. I hide it and then when I need a release, I let it out in sobs. Sometimes that happens in the shower, but sometimes I can't wait that long and my poor son has to watch his mom fall apart in the car. 

I just miss my old life, my husband, my family being whole, true laughter, genuinely smiling, holding his hand, kissing his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, his calloused and worn hands, his snoring, his warmth next to me, his mischievous grin, his surprises, his raspy voice, his compliments, his special nights with Conner, his texts and calls, his label on my phone "💞love of my life💞", his confidence, his walk, his jokes to me that he liked the wiggle in my walk, his time he spent sitting on the couch with me in the mornings, our cups of coffee together, his drive, riding in the middle of the seat so close to him in his truck, the sound of the Diesel engine roaring up the hill when he came home, cooking him dinner, his compliments on my food, the way he would come up behind me while I was getting ready in the bathroom and put his arms around my waste and tell me how much he loved me, his morning hugs...everything. 

And that is where all my thoughts go plus to probate, my stepson, the farm, my house, bills, dating, not dating, being scared, being unsure of everything about life, how tired I am, I need to lose weight, my mom, my dad, my sister and her family, moving, packing up and leaving it all behind............ It never stops. 

Thoughts...they are deafening. 

I hope you are well today and that your thoughts are on your family. Love them with all your might and say it a million times and then a million more. 

#stillhis

Love,

Veronica