Sunday, December 29, 2013

The Eight Dresser Drawers

What's worse than waking up at 3 o'clock on a Sunday morning and not falling back to sleep?  Waking up at 2 o'clock and not falling back to sleep.

I am tired and hungry.  I want a piece of warmed apple pie in a buttery, flaky crust.  I have not yet learned how to make a kick-ass pie crust like I did with certain bread on my repertoire.  I told Eric that I would learn how to make the best pie crust, and bake him his favorite pecan pie.  I never did learn how to make pecan pies, and I don't want to anymore.  I don't even like pecan pies.  I hate breaking promises.   

I have successfully navigated through 28 days of unchartered waters in December. In many ways, each day was oddly familiar; yet, unfamiliar.  

Christmas Eve, I introduced Eric to somebody I just met as my "late husband," and it disgusted me.  I don't think I am ready for that term.  No shame for trying.  

Everyday past I looked at the dresser that Eric used, and wondered when it would be the "right" day to clear out the content.  I have tried it three times in the last two months.  Each time, I took out the Patagonia sport shirts, folded them - again - meticulously.  Then laid them right back where I found them.  Same drawer.  Same spot.  The only thing I could have done to make the sport shirts look even more meticulous was to iron them.  Thankfully, I still have a little pride and sense left in me.  
I made another attempt last night and used a bigger self-motivational tactic:  I need space for my purses and handbags…  

I folded every piece of clothing, again, and put in different piles:  Discard, Donate, Give.  Then I got to the small notebook Eric used for recording his pain level, the minor activities he could tolerate for the day, and the medication taken, or not, to relieve the agony; whether the pills were worthless or marginally useful.  I had hoped that I would or could stop breathing and die.  Right in my bedroom.  

All over again, I seethe all the gods-of-organized-religions who claim omnipotence, love, and healing powers. The self-serving "gods" who let my husband suffered never-ending physical and intolerable emotional and mental pain for years on end, while they looked away and controlled human emotions and fear.  I loathe and seethe them all, but to loathe them is to acknowledge their existence.  The intense, theological debate made me boil with anger inside my head.  Without reconciliation, my only release was to cry.  I sobbed on the floor for 15 minutes over a notebook and some damn gods I seethe, yet do not acknowledge.  It was a fine Friday night. Intense.  It was fine and intense.  

I fully recognize I may be offending others with my outwardly spoken sentiment.  I am very at peace with it.  Whether one agrees with my sentiment, my gratitude remains that my readers visit my blog and share my writing.  

I stood up.  Wiped my tears and blew my nose.  I took out the shirts, one at a time.  I folded every single one meticulously.  For one last time.  

Memories must be honored.  Materials must be released.  Pain must be destroyed, sometimes literally.  

I texted couple best friends about this momentous leap forward.  Then I talked on the phone for two hours.  Feeling hungry, I wanted a piece of really good apple pie.

I don't consider this a particular "accomplishment" - rather, another critical step towards finding my New Normal.  It's no bigger or smaller than stringing our wedding rings together.  Or releasing his prized possession.  Or tossing out his toothbrush, the first of many "momentous" moves.  I do believe, however, this surreal grief and healing is unexplainable and unreachable unless one has gone through a parallel experience.  

The biggest accomplishment on the first Friday evening post-Christmas was that my purses and handbags now have an organized home in my bedroom.  Now is that so bad?  














  

Thursday, December 26, 2013

Ever Forward - 2014


I had wished for a simple, Normal New Year on January 1, 2013.  I desperately needed normalcy after what transpired during the latter half of 2012.  Not only did I not get a normal new year - or a normal year - for that matter, I got the most abnormal 2013 of all my abnormal years combined.  

Moral of the story:  Be careful what you wish for; you may get something entirely opposite.  

It is difficult for me to read my Normal New Year entry from merely a year ago.  I hung on to the last ray of hope that Eric's undiagnosed condition could still make progress.  Not through miracles or expert advice, but sheer persistence, pure sweat, and more pain.   I had hung on to any last shred of hope for us both, but that wasn't enough.  

I had wished for a dramatically different 2013.  I had wished for less pain.  

Moral of the story:  Be careful what you wish for; you may just get it.  

It is once again a new year.  I have been here.  For 2014, I am reluctant to wish for anything:  I may get what I wish for, or I may get something entirely opposite.

2014.  Why wish for anything when I can simply Be.  

2014.  I come first - Always.  Courage shall prevail.  Love shall be treasured and reciprocated.  Memories and friendships, honored.  My Gratitude Cup shall always overflow.  

2014.  My life shall remain Ever Forward.  And Eric shall always be there, in spirit, Without Bounds.  To watch over and protect.      

2014.  I am All In.  No matter what. 




Winter 2013
Skating by Alki Beach in Seattle 




Saturday, December 21, 2013

Three More Minutes of Light

File:NASA-Apollo8-Dec24-Earthrise.jpg


The grand return of Winter Solstice symbolically brings me much hope and beauty.  I said "symbolically" because in reality, everyday brings me much hope and beauty. Yet, I need and look for significant milestones to mark progress in life.  We all do. Mine is Winter Solstice.  

Winter Solstice is one of my favorite events of the year, after my birthday, and the New year.  I'm a sucker for calendar dates that symbolize newness, rebirth, hope.  I always celebrate those days with reflection and gratitude, and secretly hope for mounts of presents… 

This Solstice, I don't have grand aspirations on how to live my life "more fully."  I think what I have been doing is grand enough.  This year's Return of Light symbolically gives me the grandest permission for rebirth.  The rebirth of relationships with myself and others.  The rebirth of perspectives and directions. The rebirth of my belief system.  The rebirth of love and intimacy.  The rebirth of rebirth itself.  

I now use the phrase "All In" with profound significance and meaning.  I have few reservations with my approach with life.  I think I am finally brave.

I recently discovered this short five-minute film and it captivated me, perhaps because I instantly saw Eric in it.  It's bravery, courage, All In. Let this film and its message be our grand aspiration.  





"My heroes are my belay partners.  Blind people who cross the streets by themselves.  And those who discovered that inside, we're all capable of surprising ourselves."   



     


Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Together again, our wedding rings


Wedding rings are meant to be worn.  Preferably on the fingers.

I have been wearing Eric's ring on my neck for months.  Feeling it against my skin brings me comfort.  I twirl it in my hand when I need an extra shot of courage. For months, I know the two rings would eventually come together.  

I never thought I would take off my wedding ring.  But today, I did just that.  I now wear his and mine, string together on a simple platinum necklace.  Together again, the bands.  

My ring finger feels naked.  It's missing the brave story.  My simple but beautiful band made a slight indentation on my finger.  I stare at my left hand; without the ring, it looks abnormally pale and wrinkled.  My thumb naturally reaches over where the ring once sat, searching for the familiar feeling of my band.  I have done that a hundred times a day.  Nothing.  It's bare.  Torn, I feel a trace of sadness mixed with a splash of guilt.  Gratitude.  My emotions are taking their sweet time to reconcile with each other.  My eyes well up.  I sat patiently and let this pass.  I've sat and patiently waited for it to pass, just like this, for more than a thousand times.  It is oddly familiar.  

I love my simple, well worn ring.  Full of scratches from everyday love. It's the only piece of jewelry I wear.  The small, pale blue Chatham diamond sits humbly but proudly, prominently, in the middle of my well-fitted platinum band.  I am proud of my lab-grow diamond.  It was the only diamond we would purchase.  My ring made me sparkle from within. It shone magic. It carried the bravest of the bravest story; our story. The ring has grown into my personality; it has become a part of me. Deliberate, purposeful.  Rebellious. Unconventional. Gentle as a whisper, tough as a warrior.  

Our wedding rings belong together. 

Photo courtesy of Katie Wat and Adrian Rus

It is symbolic as well as practical to string them together today - our wedding anniversary.  It is an act of remembering the blue bird winter day I married Eric. December 10, 2005.

I wrote a marriage manifesto on my blog as a celebration of our 7th wedding anniversary last December. I dedicated my manifesto to my husband, and attributed my growth as a person to the journey we shared together over the last decade. It was the best anniversary gift I could give him.  In Eric's honor, I read a part of the manifesto at his Remembrance. It was at once comforting but heart-wrenching. Most stabbingly painful.  I wished I had read it to him when he was alive. I am fortunate that I have very few regrets in my life.  This, I may have to live with for a while.  

There is no manifesto or celebration beyond 7th.  What needed to be said was said; needed to be written, written.  Love and adoration, expressed.  It was all done. He knew.  My husband had always known. 

Together again, our wedding bands, for one last time, on the day we were married. I was his proud wife.  Before, during, after.  Always.  Without bounds.   

I felt that I have taken the most deliberate, necessary, and courageous step forward and beyond.  Every bone in my body seems to hurt.  Frankly, it pains me.

But - still, All In.