The rain cloud…

A friend recently told me that through the writings in my blog, she believes that I saw myself as a burden during those final months. She then reminded me that my true friends, the ones that had been there during those difficult and painful years did not feel burdened. They were glad to have been there for both of us. That when they were feeling so helpless, it helped them to be able to make a difference at a time when it felt like all hope was lost.

I had not ever stopped to truly think about that. But yes, I guess I did. Those days were so dark. And the days turned into months. We were all just trying to survive and I felt like this walking storm cloud that brought sorrow, pain and disconcertion with me.

I used to joke that I was the “Oh fuck girl” because whenever anyone heard my story or knew what my family was currently going through, they would look mortified and you know they were thinking…Oh fuck. Along with: Glad that’s not me, I couldn’t deal with that, or that just plain sucks. Or the ever popular…how do you do it?

I still think of myself as the “Oh fuck girl” sometimes. When people hear that I am a young widow, or that David died of brain cancer, or that I have a 4 year old son...I get that same look. They suck in a deep breath and stare at me wide eyed and you know what they are thinking. Oh fuck.

But, that meant a lot to me, especially from her. And it was probably something I needed to hear. I remember near the end and one of the last times David got out of the house, we went over to her place. I needed so desperately to get out. Get out of the house. Just get out. And I took Alec and David over there to unwind and play. It was a difficult day and by the end of that visit it was painfully obvious that David would not be physically able to do this much longer. I had a tough time getting him into her house and while we were there, he was distant and disconnected. It was hell.

Watching him. Knowing that somehow I was going to have to get him up and moving again and back out to the car. The impending dread and anxiety. And just wanting a quiet moment where I did not have to worry about anyone or anything. A moment to curl up into the fetal position and just be. But in those final months I did not get many of those, except when the boys were all down for the night.

But I remember that day. It is etched into my memory and it was interesting to hear how differently my friend remembered that very same day. How yes, it had been sad and heartbreaking. But how also she had just been glad to have been there. To give me a hand. Something to hold onto when I so desperately needed that. I was going under in those days. Barely surviving. Barely breathing. Barely living. Many moments I was mere seconds from exhaling one long, last breath and going under altogether. Everything stopping. No longer having to labor on.

But somehow I managed to keep my shit together. Keeping myself above water and ensuring that both Alec and David were safe and cared for. But it still brings tears to my eyes to know that through all those dark times, people were there for us. Because they loved us. Because they were our friends. Not out of some sense of duty as I so often felt like. No obligation. No burden. Just friendship. That, my friends, is one of the most precious things life has to offer. Love and friendship. If you have that, everything else is inconsequential….

The support surrounding us was amazing and I felt and still continue to feel some days like our whole situation was a burden. I was so damn independent. I hated asking for help. Knowing that without it I would possibly not be able to stay afloat frustrated the hell out of me. I felt like this enormous failure to have to lean on so many for support. I wanted to be able to stand proudly on my own. And yet, I did. I asked for help and accepted it. I knew that if I did not ask, I would go down. And if I went down, the whole family went down with me. I was their caregiver which meant I could never go down...not even for a moment. So, I swallowed my misplaced pride and reached out. And when I could not, friends invariably would swoop in periodically and miraculously take care of things that I was unaware or unable to ask for specifically. They just did it. They watched me like a hawk and made sure to take care of me when I was unable or too distracted to take care of myself. And through this all I made deeper connections with those friends. With myself.

I think I am finally realizing that they did all of this not out of some misplaced sense of obligation. Not a burden. Not a duty. They did it out of compassion, love and friendship. Even now I cry when I think about it. How selfless, caring and loving everyone was towards us. And how they continue to be now.

I still feel that sense of burden when I have dark times. When a moment takes me unawares and brings me to my knees. When I am sad. When I cry. I feel like a dark cloud again raining on everyone’s parade. And maybe someday I will learn to show the same compassion towards myself that everyone else has shown towards me?

Moving Forward...

It is difficult thing...moving forward. Terrifying some days. I think the vulnerability can be more acute, because you truly know what it means to have loved and lost. It is a complex and often delicate topic. Creating murky waters. Some will dip their toes in the water, testing them only to pull them out and sit on the shore for a bit longer. Others may choose to never get in again, preferring to dance on the shoreline alone. And some may go for a leisurely swim and then decide to take a break on the sand, basking in the sun on their own. While others will dive in head first, totally submerging themselves. There is no right or wrong way. Just the way we choose. Each of us will find it on our own and in our own time.

I think that opening yourself up once again takes great courage. You risk getting your heart broken. But that is always a risk, whether or not your beloved has died. You risk finding love again, only to lose it once more. You risk watching another lover die. You risk giving your heart to someone and then having them do a two step all over it. And yet, I believe the benefits far outweigh the risks. Because only if you truly open yourself up, can you ever truly experience love again. And for me, that cushions the fall a bit.

Not that you will ever have that same love again. You can’t. And it one of the damnable things to accept. But that is not to say that one cannot find hope again. Or love. Or passion.

I have found that some on this journey may try to replace their beloved. I think that is a difficult path. Your lover is gone and no matter how your heart breaks, they will never be coming back. They are gone and I do not believe you can ever truly fill that specific void again. Time and healing will help us to discover how not only to survive but to live. It will always be there, but hopefully the ragged torn edges will heal and we will be left with a more tender pain and quiet sadness. But something that is no longer all encompassing. It will become another tread on our heart. Not to diminish the pain and heartbreak we feel when we lose a loved one, our heart was torn apart and that kind of heartbreak is going to leave scars. And those scars will become a part of us, changing us as we carry them. Some days they may weigh us down. But our hearts will mend and beat strong. Thankfully our hearts seem to be made of stronger stuff than I ever imagined. They can be torn out of your chest, beaten and dragged around. Run over repeatedly. And yet it still beats. We continue to live despite that fact our heart seemed broken beyond recognition.

I believe one can never have that same love though, it is unattainable. You will never find that person again and for better or worse you are no longer that same person anymore either. That love you had is gone and can never be recreated. And yet, I do not think this means the end of all hope. It just means that if you choose to find love again, it will be different. It will always be different. But with that, you may discover new things about yourself that were hence undiscovered. And you can find joy once again. And hope. You can smile. Maybe your heart has the capacity to hold more love than you ever imagined. And that love might be just as amazing as the last, only different. Like different hues in a rainbow. You will find someone who will take your breath away. Someone that you can see yourself hopefully growing old with and when you look at their hands, you may imagine them spanning the years…becoming aged and wizened, but still clasping yours. You may look into the eyes of a new lover. Or friend. Or both. And you may see love and tenderness. Someone who can sooth your own aching heart. And you will discover a new love. A new life. And with it new dreams.

Some have said they do not want to find love again. They only want a partner, a friend, or a good father. That they found love once and that is enough. It is different for everyone. There is no right path. No map really. We are all just wandering along creating our own paths. For me, I want rockets. I want someone to take my breath away. To have that glorious feeling of butterflies in my stomach when he enters the room. And when he touches me I want my skin to be on fire. Some believe that you can find a lover, or a good father, or a friend. But not all at once. Call me crazy but I believe that is all possible in one man.

There is no perfection in love. I am far from perfect as was David. And I think it is so easy to canonize your dead spouse. Yes, you loved them and there will never be another person like them in this world, but they were not perfect. Sometimes it is easy to forget that. A wise friend once said most men would never be able to live up to a saint and some would not even try. Dave was no saint, but I could see what he meant when I went back and read some of my writings. We had a beautiful marriage. Our love was strong and we had a good run for longer than many. It is easy to remember all the amazing things about him, and with that I think in some ways I was canonizing him. Creating this person that was larger than life. But he wasn’t. He was all too human as his own mortality is evidence of. He had strengths and weaknesses. He had hopes and fears. He rose to the occasion, but it is not to say he did not stumble. But bloody hell, we all stumble.
He was an astounding person and my life will forever be better for having had him in it for the last 16 years. I hope to take all the beautiful things I learned from him and being with him in life…as I live. As I move forward.

So here we are. It is a painful lesson to learn but a priceless one as well. Life is too short and love is one of the most precious things this world has to offer…and I for one believe we should embrace that however fleeting or eternal it may be.

It is a potty for cripe's sake!

It is that time. One of those milestones in your child’s life. Alec is potty training and doing phenomenal. He is a bit behind on the curve, but that is ok. Many children have regressions with the loss of a parent. Be it social, behavioral or cognitive. Sometimes they are subtle and sometimes they are earth shattering. But it affects them all, just as it does us.

Alec’s regression was the potty. He wanted to be little forever. To be taken care of. To feel safe. Can you blame him? His whole world was turned topsy turvy when David died. When Alec lost his dad, he learned way too young how incredibly fragile and precarious life can be. The rug was pulled out from him and he felt scared and fragile. Hell, we all did. And he just wanted to be taken care of…I can relate.

But as things have begun to settle, Alec is now embracing potty training. Seemingly ready to grow up a little. He now is excited about growing older. He is getting more confident every day and my heart fills with sunshine to see him doing so well.

Potty training is a momentous occasion but one that has stirred up some dark memories for myself. Cleaning Alec’s potty is way too reminiscent of that damn commode we used for David. It takes me back to those last five months and the dark roads we traveled together. How I had to assist him in so many of his daily tasks and how as the tumor progressed so his need for more and more assistance did as well. David often needed help dressing, as he would become confused with the arm and neck holes. And as things progressed, I had to dress him completely. He also needed help with eating, daily hygiene, bathing, and the bathroom as well. God how those were dark times. And god how I hated that fucking commode. Dave hated it to. I remember once how he just cried. He loathed that I had to help him. That he could not do the things that most people do every day without a second thought and how at the blink of an eye everything can change forever.

I loved him and would have done anything for him. It brings me peace that I was able to care for him; it is what you do when you love someone. You take care of them no matter how messy or painful it is. But it still sucked. It was still heartbreaking to see and it tore at my heart every day. During those dark days, I cried myself to sleep nightly. Every night. Week after week. Month after month. Time did not seem to exist. I slept little and my entire world, my entire focus was caring for both of the boys. It seemed like I was living one long hellish day that never ended. Although it may have been only five months, it felt like a lifetime. And now some of those damnable memories persist, roiling to the surface.

When I cleaned Alec’s potty for the first time, it hit me. The memories flooded over me with all the subtlety of a Mack truck, and I sat there and cried. All the crap from those final months swirled to the surface.

It is almost laughable how sad and fucked up things can be. How most parents doing the potty experience will doubtfully not have so much emotional crap tied up with what should be an ordinary event. It is a potty for cripes sake! He is peeing on the potty and I am crying in the bathroom! Seriously?! And as I sat there laughing and crying, I thought to myself, get your shit together girl! And I did. I came out and we laughed, clapped and did the potty dance. He got his sticker and the moment passed. Not to say that it still does not bring a little sadness every time I clean it, but I am finding each day is a bit easier than the last. We will be sitting on the big potty soon and this too will just become a memory. And maybe someday I will not have quite so many dark memories lurking near the edge of the surface. And maybe one day those memories will not carry with them the sharp pain of loss and heartbreak that they do now. One day they will just be that. Bittersweet memories of the life I once had and a man I once loved and shared my life with.

And maybe that is what true strength is?

What I would not give to be living a quiet life with David and Alec. Romping in the sunshine. Going on road trips with the tunes playing loud. Living the life I had imagined. But life is not always what you plan. I say that frequently, almost ad nauseum probably, but its true. I am learning that does not mean your life is over. It just means the life you originally envisioned is gone. But with each end there are new beginnings…

The dream of our life together is gone. Like grains of sand in my palm, one big gust came and scattered them into the wind. The life of us growing old together is a path that will forever go untraveled. We came to a crossroads and David got off. He got off way too damn early. And I am here.

I stopped ever so briefly at that crossroads, lying on the ground...curled in the fetal position. Wishing the pain would just end. I cried and cried until I felt there was no more tears left it me. And yet somehow there always were more and the tears would come again. My soul felt empty and I was spent and tired from the years of worry, caregiving and grief. I contemplated not moving forward. Not moving on. Just stopping. Everything. But that was a transient thought. That damn resilient nature of mine forced me up, picking my ass off the ground and shaking away the utter blackness that threatened to consume me. I stood and with no clue what the hell I should do or where I should go I began to blindly put one foot in front of the other. I picked a random direction, put my head down and barreled forward.

I find I am no longer running blindly anymore. It is more of an amble now. I am meandering along, no longer slumped with my head bowed against the winds that threatened to take me down. I am looking forward. Looking around. Checking out the scenery as I go. Finding new music. New friends. New adventures. New Dreams. Moving on…

Some days I feel like the energizer bunny. I just keep moving. People say I am strong, but often I think it is more that I am too damn stubborn to give up. It keeps me moving like it kept Dave moving. Dave could be one stubborn man. Mind you, that gave him immeasurable strength. And that coupled with his intense will to live made him a supreme fighter. And yet, as he began to decline, it was a bit to our detriment. It made caregiving quite a difficult task for me some days.

And I have come to realize that honestly I am just as stubborn as he was. Some people say I am tenacious. I think that is just a nice way of saying I am an obstinate pain in the ass, but that too has helped me I think. It has kept me moving forward despite the circumstances because there was no way I was going to let this take me down. That fucking tumor took Dave down, so I will be damned if I will let it take down the rest of my family as well. I know. It is a tumor, not a person…not a living entity. But sometimes it did not feel quite that way. The tumor seemed to take on a life of its own as it began to send those tendrils deeper into David’s brain, slowly taking his life. It would move around obstacles we placed in its path, almost laughing as it got a deeper hold into him. It was not just a mass of mutating cells. It became this beast we were all unsuccessfully trying to contain and tame. I know some brain tumor patients who went so far as to name them. We never did that, but we felt its presence in our life for the remainder of David’s days.

And now here I am. Writing about this journey…the journey I began with David and that I now continue alone. I am constantly astounded that people read this blog. Seriously. I never considered myself a writer. Albeit, after going back and reading the beginnings of this hellish nightmare in June 2006, I can clearly see my writing style has developed and progressed since those days. But often I do not know what I will say when I begin these posts. And invariably the post I originally intended to write does not get written once my fingers hit the keyboard. Everything rattling around in my head just seems to flow out when I sit down at my computer. This is my heart and soul that I pour out onto these pages. I open myself completely here for everyone to read; because ironically it is so much easier for me to do this here that when I am standing before you.

And yet some days I feel it is utter insanity that I can journal like this. Putting all my pain, hopes, fears, and insecurities out here for the world to see. I am touched that people have found hope and comfort in reading my words. This blog has helped sooth not only my aching heart, but has helped refocus my jumbled thoughts into some sort of cohesive structure.

In those first few months where time was meaningless and many sleepless nights were spent at this monitor, it was a place where I could channel all of my pain, fear and loneliness. And along the way I found people out there who were listening as well as others walking a similar path.

Many of you have helped me feel less alone on this dimly lit path I travel. So I thank those who have continued to stop by for a read, despite the dark roads my mind took me some nights. The listening without judgment and the unconditional support and love that has and continues to surround me is precious. The kind and gentle reminders that I will survive this and that although even to this day I do not always believe it…I am strong. Stronger than I will ever probably give myself credit for.

Some days I still feel fragile. Like my heart is made of glass and that at any moment it could burst into a thousand shards. And some days I feel as if acknowledging that vulnerability will somehow weaken me. I fear that if that were to happen, I might stumble and fall. I know there will be people to lift me up if I do, but I do hate to fall. It is messy, painful and I get all bruised and banged up.

I also think I fear people seeing that vulnerability. I have this crazy notion that somehow I have been keeping up this great farce and someday everyone is going to stop and say…”Hey, wait a minute. She’s not that strong. She is just as scared and fragile as the rest of us!” And I am, you know. I may have an inner strength inside me that burns brightly, but I too am fragile. Sometimes just needing strong arms to wrap around me, sheltering me from the storm once in awhile.

I keep my head held high. I keep moving. But that is not to say I still do not hurt or mourn. It is just my damnable nature to keep moving. Keep dreaming. Keep fighting. Some days I used to think it would have been so much easier to give up, but that goes against everything I am. So I trudged on.

But I find I am more at peace these days. I am embracing more quiet moments of just being. Life is full of more smiles. More laughter. More hope. A future. I am finding my way and learning more about myself everyday…and that is something. And maybe that is what true strength is?

The Mix…

Life is a lot like a mix tape. It has angry songs, poignant songs, invigorating songs, sexy songs, beautiful songs and songs that take your breath away. Songs that make you cry and songs that lift you up and bring a smile to your face. And just like in life, the songs change. Music you once listened to does not quite resonate like it once did and new music lights up your soul. And a new mix is created…

We are like that. We change. Hopefully moving forward and embracing the new directions and paths life presents us, but not always. Things that once used to be so important no longer seem pertinent in our lives. Songs I once loved now do not seem to strike the same chord they once did. My tastes change. I change. Life changes. I have new interests. New insights. Some things remain the same. Some things are just who I am. My core remains unchanged like this stone sitting at the bottom of a river. The eddies swirling around me, bringing new life, new hope and new direction.

Even now, I have noticed a shift in my musical tastes in the last year. Yet another signal of all the changes I have undergone. I am not the same woman I was and never will be again. Sometimes I think about her, the woman I was, and it makes me sad. I miss her complete innocence. Her utter naivety of the pain and heartbreak one person could endure. Her total incomprehension of what it truly meant to die and how messy, painful and heartrending it could be. I miss her simplicity.

And yet, I like the new Skye. She is more confident. She has an inner strength that goes to her foundation that can never be torn down again. She is a warrior and a survivor and not one to be trifled with anymore. She has a low tolerance for bullshit and platitudes. She has few filters left and finds people should not ask her opinion if they really do not want the answer. She is not one to be fucked with anymore. Life is too short and there is enough crap out there to deal with in our everyday lives that anything not positive and/or productive is not worth her time.

Do not get me wrong. I still get insecure. I still get scared. And I still hate being fragile. I am still an emotional, passionate woman and probably always will be. I still cry…a lot. I have always been a crier and probably always will be. But David taught me that crying is not a sign of weakness and I try to remember that when the tears come…as they invariably do.

I am human and I will make mistakes. I will fuck-up. But hopefully I will not be quite as hard on myself as I once was when I do. I will continue to try and embrace life with all of its insanity and unpredictability and continue to dream. To live. I will hopefully continue to change and evolve and move forward…just like those mix tapes.

Dave loved mix tapes. He used to create them for me regularly. We always had a strong connection to music and throughout our courtship, marriage and life; it has played an integral part. Songs have always been something I identified with. Kind of like sign posts for the moments in our lives. Little musical moments that bring back specific memories and emotions.

And over the years as those tapes became CD’s, he did not make quite as many as he once did in those first few years, but he still made them. Sometimes they would find their way into a card or onto my front seat …waiting for me on my drive to work. They always had a theme. Dave was all about themes. And they were splendid! His mixes had a certain rhythm and cadence to them. I used to throw a bunch of songs on a CD I liked and call it a mix and David would laugh. Mine were always a bit of everything. Scattered and quirky…kinda like me.

Music was such a big part of our lives from the moment we met. We both loved music and it was something we shared. I have always believed music has the power to transport you to wherever you want to be. It can uplift your spirits and make you soar and it can also strip you down to your core, laying your vulnerabilities bare. And seeing as our love affair began with music…so it should end that way.

So, I think it is time for one last mix for David. I know it may not have the same flow and rhythm David’s would have had, but I will do my best.

Below is a brief musical journey through our life. Songs that were quintessentially David or pivotal in our lives and marriage; little moments captured in song of our all too brief life together. And a few that reflect my own journey through grief and my path towards a new future…

Note:
Two songs are missing from my mix link because the songs were not available to be added.
Men without Hats – On Tuesday
Assemblage 23 - Drive

A song list is below as well and a little bit of history on the songs I chose and why....

The Hooters-And We Danced
This song takes me back to the early years…

B-52’s – Roam
Dave loved the B-52’s and this song reminds me of all the travels we were going to go on and places we were going to see, but never got the chance.

The Rembrandts – Chase the Clouds Away
I came across a mix tape that David had made for me way back when we were dating in 1993. I absolutely loved this song then and what it had to say. Ironically, it became more apt in the final years of our marriage than it was then. Strange how life leads us down different paths than we expected to take.

Dire Straits – Romeo and Juliet
People used to say our love was like a fairy tale, sometimes comparing us to Romeo and Juliet. Unfortunately, we were two close to that fateful pair and ours was a tale of tragedy too. But we both always loved this song and its passion. A love that would transcend everything.

Genesis – Follow You Follow Me
The lyrics pretty much say it all. Genesis was one of David’s favorite bands and we saw them in concert his last year of life. When this song came on, it brought David to tears. I think we both knew that we were on the final stretch of this journey and that our paths would be parting in the near future.

Indigo Girls – Power of Two
This was played on every road trip and the song was us, simply said.

John Mellencamp – Your Life is Now
Dave always loved this song and it was the one he chose to be played at his ‘Celebration of Life.’ It was his motto. His favorite line was, “Do you believe you’re a victim of a great compromise cause I believe you could change your mind and change our lives.”

Tom Petty – Wildflowers
I was his wildflower, hence the name of my blog.
He always said this was my song…

John Mellencamp – Dance Naked
Dave always used to sing this to me and even now it always brings a smile to my face.

Crazy Town – Butterfly
He always used to sing this one to me too. Although I have never had a tongue ring. ;)

Men without Hats – On Tuesday
This song just reminds me of him, when we met and our 15 years together.

Snow Patrol – Chasing Cars
Lazy days in bed. A beautiful love song…

VNV Nation – Darkangel (Gabriel)
This was David’s anthem song. He used to sing it with such passion. He was so angry about what the Cancer did to our life. To our family. To me. He always talked of what I had to do and how much he hated it. How it killed him to see it tearing me apart.

The All-American Rejects – Move Along
David used to crank this on the way to surgeries, chemo, appointments…you name it. It got him focused and ready for “battle” I used to say. It kind of became my own anthem for a time after he died. Keeping me moving forward, despite every ounce of my being wanting to curl up and fade away.

The Weepies – The World Spins Madly on
I blogged about this once and this post pretty much says it all.
Post titled: The world spins madly on... Friday, July 04, 2008
http://dreamsofawildflower.blogspot.com/2008_07_01_archive.html

Lifehouse – Broken
The lyrics say it all and the chorus pretty much captures the place I was emotionally after David died.

Train-When I look to the Sky
If this song isn’t about bereavement, I don’t know what is. All the lyrics are fitting, but the opening lines I have always felt were so true.
Ingrid Michaelson – Keep Breathing
Read the title. This song is beautiful and haunting. Enough said…

Shiny Toy Guns – Rainy Monday
David never heard Shiny Toy Guns but this song reminded me of him. He would have absolutely loved this band.

David died on a rainy Monday, and it rained for days after. But now when I hear this song, I think about David. And although he is gone, I still have the love and beauty that resides inside me…and always will. Not that this song is remotely about that, but that is what it reminds me of.

Assemblage 23 – Drive
I love this song, the lyrics, everything. And as the song says, “The open road unwinds before me, an onyx ribbon spreading out. No idea where I'll be going, sometimes the journey is what counts.” After everything I have seen and experienced, I now believe that the journey is what matters in life, not the destination.

Van Halen – Dreams
This song is just Skye. Pure Skye. I have always loved the line, “Standing on broken dreams, but never losing sight.” It is such a visual image and one I believe to my core. That is life. Some dreams are lost along the way and new ones rise like a phoenix out of those ashes.

I believe we all should continue to dream. Live. Believe. Hope.
Standing on all of our broken dreams and daring to reach towards the sky once more...

The Balancing Act…

Everything in life is just that…a balancing act. I am finding this is even more so for parenthood and more specifically single parenthood.

Someone once told me that you can never be both a mom and a dad. Ok, I understand that. Physically, No...you can not be both. And yes, there are limitations to all of us and how much we can be for our children. But I think one can try as hard as hell to be as much emotionally and physically that they can be. No, I am not a replacement for David and never deluded myself into thinking I ever could be. But I will attempt to fill the gaps that he has left as well as I can.

I remember after David was diagnosed I used to watch him. Watch him interact with Alec. Watch him be a dad. We never gave up hope, but in the back of my mind I knew there was a very real chance that David was not going to be around to raise Alec. The diagnosis was terminal and although we fought like hell for David’s survival…that was ever present in the back of our minds.

God, it pissed me off. That Alec should lose his dad so young. That he would not ever know the amazing person he was. That from the young age of one and a half, Alec was never going to know his father as Cancer free…as healthy. I used to scream at the universe. With all the shitty dads out there, the dads that chose not to be present or who were in their kid’s lives but total jackasses. Why? Here David was. An amazing dad and yet he was not going to get to see his son grow up. He would miss his first day of school. His first heartbreak. He would not get to teach him to drive. Or send him off to college. It all seemed so damn unfair. And yet, as we have all painfully learned. Who said life was going to be fair? No one. And Alec is lucky in the fact that he did have such a wonderful father who loved and adored him. Even if he is no longer with him today and as he grows into a man, Alec will know that he was loved by his daddy and that if there was any way in his powers, David would have stayed. Would still be here today. And hopefully that will be enough…

David knew this would be an eventuality too. He rarely spoke of it. But he knew. It made him sad. It made him angry. But near the end he seemed to find some sort of peace with it. He worried about Alec and hoped that someday I would find love again so that Alec could see how two people in love should be. He wanted him to grow up knowing what a good relationship was and how it was supposed to be. He wanted Alec to have that role model. I thought he was fucking nuts. How could he be ok with another man raising his child? And yet, now I realize it was not about being ok with it. It was David being the ever pragmatic soul he was and that he was coming to terms with the eventuality of his death. And in the end, he was just trying to make sure we were all going to be ok since he was not going to be physically here much longer to do so. It sucked. But a lot about Cancer and this whole shitty journey sucked.

I remember early on, and even more so once the Cancer began to slowly break down David’s body, that I began watching his interactions with Alec. How he played with him. What he did. Because loath as I am to admit it, men and women are different. I may not be your stereotypical girl, but I am still a woman and I interacted differently with Alec than David did. I was more nurturing. More “motherly.” David was just as tender and loving, but he was also playful and fun! He would pick Alec up and swing him around, throw him to couch and then tickle the hell out of him. He would crawl around on all fours and get right down in the thick of it and just play. I watched all of this and drank it is. Capturing every moment. I think guys tend to be more “physical” with the kids. And I am not making broad generalizations or stereotypes here. I do not want a barrage of irate women emailing me. Ask anyone who knows me, I am all about anti-stereotypes and I break many typecasts every day. But some things I think are just how we are wired.

But as I watched, I committed to memory how they played. How they interacted. And I made a conscious decision three years ago that I would be all of those things and more. So now here we are. David is gone and I am continuing on this road of single parenthood.

I run around. I swing him like a monkey. We dance. We tickle. We play cars. We shoot storm troopers. I tend to be very physical with him and romp about. I will never be able to replace the loss of his father. I know that. I will never be able to fill the void that David has left. But I will endeavor to give him the best that I am able of both worlds…

Around the bend…

I have been thinking about this crazy journey we all call life lately...
Our own individual paths. How we intersect with each others lives. How people come and go. I think of the many people that have entered my life that would probably never have been a part of it if David had not gotten sick. Had not died. And yet, here they are. Amazing friends who have decided to walk with me for awhile.

And the many old friends and family who have astonishingly decided to stay on, despite how incredibly dark and dirty this road got. They have helped me traverse the pot holes and the quagmires that threatened to pull me under. They picked me up when I fell down and when I could not stand…they sat with me in the dirt while I cried.

I think about this so often and am continuously astounded. Some of them saw things that people should never have to see or experience. And yet they did, because they were my friends and they did not want me to have to go it alone. And despite all that has happened, we continue on. Some have meandered off my path and onto others. Some may return…and some may very well never. And I am finding I am ok with that. Many more have joined me than have dropped off and I have found that I have some amazingly strong, beautiful people in my life. We are all walking along…we are all walking different paths. But at least we are doing it together. No one should walk alone for long.

And I am finding that none of us really know what is around the bend. I take great comfort in knowing that there are others out there continuing forward no matter what obstacles or crap have fallen onto their paths. We just climb over it, or go around it or turn into an entirely different direction…taking us to places we never expected or intended to go. And along the way there are indelibly new adventures awaiting us! New paths. New experiences. Unforeseen and delightful surprises.

I am learning to try not to fear so much about the future. It will be there. It is not going anywhere. It is waiting for me…whatever it may be. But it is there. I still have a future. It lays spread out before me. It was not the future I was planning. It is not where I intended to be, but it is there.

Much of it is obscured in unknowns and much of it lies further down the path than I can see. Sometimes I try to stand up on my tip toes, straining to see what lies ahead. But the distance is too great, so now I must just dance along my own path and see what comes. Trying all the while to embrace the anticipation of the limitless possibilities and unknowns that await me around the bend.