And Grief trickles in…

Grief trickles in. Yes, it does.

Unexpectedly, I have a night alone with Brayden. Jamie (my oldest) invited DJ (my next oldest) to his home for the night…and Mackenzie (my only daughter)was invited over a friend’s house for the evening. There go my sitters for my tentative plans…and here goes a night home, just me and my littlest.

Cool. We will do dinner and a movie. Done. Bedtime lasted about two hours longer than the norm…but he’s sound asleep…finally.

My goal, after Bray’s bedtime, was to put in a movie and pour a glass of wine. The chick flick I planned on was more of a “get your tissues ready and have a good cry” kinda flick.

Grief trickled in. I have been so worried and consumed with what is going on with Matt and his battle with cancer, I’ve allowed no time for worrying about anything else. It felt good to let it go. I actually forgot the grief was there. It’s there, it always is, bubbling at the surface and it unexpectedly started boiling over without warning.

When you lose someone you truly love, the grief is always there…I am learning it just comes out differently and at different times. I am happy I am with someone who is willing to stand by me with that bit of instability as a part of who I now am. Who shows no fear or jealousy of that past love.

Thanks, Matt, for getting me through when it “trickles” in. Now, off to find a happier chick flick…

It’s that time again…

It’s September 9th, 2014.  Two years ago on September 9th it was the last time I had a conversation with Mike. It was a Sunday morning and I had just pulled into the driveway after going to church.  The kids all got out of the car, except Brayden…he stayed in his car seat until I let him escape after my phone call.  The conversation went pretty much the same as they all did at that point.

Him: “Wendy, I want to come home”, “Why are you doing this to us”, “The kids want me there”, “I love you”.

Me: “No”, “YOU did this”, “Course they want you here, they love you”, “I love you, too”….”Get sober and you can come home…like a year sober”.

Sometimes it ended there.  That Sunday it got a little heated, not yelling and screaming heated, but I was angry.  He wasn’t visiting.  He wasn’t paying any support.

My last words?  “If I wasn’t around, Brayden would just die in his crib, you are doing nothing to care for or support your son”. (Yes, pretty extreme, I know.)

His response? “I love you, Wendy”.

He hung up.

That was it.

I went about my day.  Went to the grocery store just before dinner time.  Upon leaving the grocery store…at the lights in front of what is now Domino’s…my phone rang.  It was Alyssa.  I answered and had to tell her to slow down because I couldn’t understand her.  “Daddy’s at the hospital, he wasn’t breathing when they got there” she was finally able to get out enough for me to comprehend.  She was referring to the ambulance and paramedics. That’s all I really recall of the conversation.  I am sure I comforted her and said I’d be right there.

That sentence “Daddy’s at the hospital, he wasn’t breathing when they got there” was a chant that I heard over and over and over.  All the way home.  While I was home getting care for the kids.  All the way to the hospital.

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The rest of September 9th, 2012 was spent at the ICU…as well as the 10th…and we said goodbye on the 11th.

This is the second time I am recognizing this anniversary of the 9th, our last conversation.  A hard pill to swallow when they are words like that.

It’s not easy, but it’s definitely easier.  I am so thankful that I am in a much better place in my healing.  I thank the person responsible for that on a regular basis.

We miss him and it hurts to know he can’t experience everything I get to about the kids growing and see all that they are doing.  It’s hard know they won’t experience his goofiness or sense of humor anymore.  We will just keep doing what we are doing and that’s continue to re-tell his funny stories and antics, keeping his spirit alive. That always brings smiles and laughter.  Peace, Mike.

 

In the thick of hand-me-down Hell…

In the thick of hand-me-down Hell...

I worked last night and did not put the kids to bed. There was a sitter at the house, but I had to guess Mackenzie was instrumental in putting Bray down for the night. The telling signs were that I first had to hurdle over stuffed animals and babies that had been “tucked in” and scattered about  the room when I went in to check on him when I got home. Second, was his attire when I got him out of his crib this morning. Thankfully, he didn’t escape the house in his “Big Sister” shirt, but it sure put a smile on my face and gave me a few chuckles throughout the morning.

I’m sure he’ll get her back someday…especially after he discovers the pictures of himself in the make-up and tiara we have hidden away!

I have distinct memories of having to wear multi-colored striped bell bottoms lovingly handed down through three sisters of mine and then on to me.  They were very stylish when my sisters wore them…in the 70’s.  By the time I got them it was the 80’s.  The time of Jordache and Sasson. Not striped bell bottoms.  Anyone out there have any similar clothing calamity or other hand-me-down horror stories?

Chicken soup for MY Soul…

“Promise me you’ll always remember: You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” 
― A.A. Milne

I have to say, I am so very blessed to have so many friends and family in my life that build me up, create a confidence in me when I am beginning to waiver and have me believing in myself when there seems no reason to.  When I feel like I am about to give up, unknowingly they come along and pat me on the back giving me praise to keep me going.  Sometimes it’s just a few words to put a smile on my face.  Sometimes it’s literally “lifting me up”! I have to thank God for placing them there for me at those very moments.

 I’ve had more than one person say to me recently that they felt so terrible that bad things keep on happening to me.  I was taken back because that’s not how I feel at all.  This world is filled with bad and good.  They both touch us all at times.  All of us.  No matter what has been going on around me there has never been once that I haven’t felt taken care of, loved on or lifted up. 

I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve the showering of blessings that rain on me, but I pray for it to continue.

 

 

Tears, Beers and Fears…

 

 

That’s how I am getting through.  How WE are getting through.  She is likely to be drinking the beer and me a glass of wine, but we share the same tears and a lot of the same fears as we clink our glasses.

 

“She” is my sister Robin.  “She” just lost her husband. “She” is now a widow.

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I don’t get that title…as I wasn’t married.  And I also was separated at the time.  “I lost my kids’ father”, I am not a widow.  What I do get is what she is and will be going through.  Our living situations were different, our relationships were different, the family dynamic different.  I believe our pain will be the same. 

 

It just breaks me to know what’s in store for her.  I am planning on blogging much more on this…but that’s it for now.  I’m raising my glass while wiping our tears.