Stuffing…

Well I made it. My first holiday without David. Suffice to say, it was one hell of a roller coaster ride. The morning was the usual routine. Honestly, it did not even really feel like Thanksgiving. I was not cooking a meal here, so the house didn’t have that Thanksgiving smell or the usual hustle and bustle it always had. David was always the turkey guy and he would be flying around the kitchen, getting this and that ready. The kitchen would be a myriad of smells and sounds. This morning, the kitchen was sadly silent…

But it did not stay that way for long. I was having Thanksgiving over at the In-laws and was in charge of making my stuffing. David loved that stuffing. I used to have to make a double batch, so he could enjoy it for an entire week. And he would eat it every damn day, never tiring of it. At first I thought it would be hard to make it again, because it became so quintessentially David during the holidays. He would come up with any excuse to make it, from now through December....and as many times as possible. And as I began, the smell reminded me so much of him. But it felt kind of good to be chopping away at something. Continuing traditions. Moving forward. And as I cooked, I actually smiled. Because as I looked around, I had dirtied a billion dishes to make that one pan of stuffing. And I remembered how it used to make David absolutely insane that I could dirty so many dishes for one meal…let alone one mere dish. And I laughed. And as I cut up the onion, I pulled out one of his latest contraptions to help dice up the onion quickly. David was always all about the efficiency and making everything as easy as possible. He was like that before cancer, and even more so after his diagnosis. His thought was that there is no use wasting time doing menial tasks when you could streamline or buy a tool that could make it faster and easier! And funnily enough, it did. It actually worked, and that got a smile out of me as well. And I thought to myself, maybe this day isn’t going to be as hellish as I originally thought it was going to be…

Yeah, not likely. I keep forgetting that grief is like a river that ebbs and flows continually. And you never know when you’re going to hit waves or worse yet slam into rocks. Today was no different. Not shortly after feeling like I may actually survive this day without the tidal wave of pain or tears. I was knocked down once again. Alec had a mini-meltdown in the morning after talking to Nana, who just recently returned home. Alec is having one hell of a time transitioning to her departure. He is unable to differentiate between going home, or away for a while and death. For him, it is all one and the same. So, he tends to refuse to talk to her since she left and also talks less about David as well. Not surprising I guess. Regressions should be expected and are part and parcel to this whole childhood grief thing. Two steps forward, one step back. But damn it sucks. To see the fear in his eyes. So terrified that someone else he loves is going to leave him. It breaks the heart. So, as I am talking with Nana he basically gets hysterical and tells me we have to stop talking to her because it is not “fun.” I asked him why it wasn’t fun, and he says, “because it makes him sad.” Can’t argue with that, I guess. And I am still continually amazed sometimes at how well he can express himself for an almost 4-year old boy. But we got through that moment and then went over to the In-laws to begin the next leg of this seemingly endless day.

That was tough. Tougher than I ever imagined. That house. God there are so many memories there…so many amazing moments. And my heart just aches. He lived with his parents when we met, so our courtship was there. And then the first couple months of our marriage as well, before we got our first apartment. And as I roamed around the house, the memories just hit me like a ton of bricks. And the crazy thing is, I am there twice a week to pick up Alec because they watch him while I am at work. And yet usually it is run in, grab the kid and then run home to get dinner, bath and night-night in. But today was different. I was there. For hours. And the memories surrounded me like a blanket. They were so wonderful and warm. And then as I became lulled by their warmth…they dug in and ripped my heart out. Everywhere I looked there were memories of us staying up late watching movies, having tea by the fireplace, long walks, long make out sessions, and you can imagine the rest. The start of our new life together, and then all the subsequent 16 years of holidays, celebrations, and all of the other little precious moments that make up our life. It was all there. And as I looked out the leaded glass window, I could picture with such clarity Dave flying down the driveway like he always used to. He was so excited and happy to come home to me. He would fly in and whip out of his car like a banshee and come running into the house to see me. His face would be alight with so much love and life. And he would give me the most tender and passionate kiss and then he would grab my hand and we would be off doing whatever crazy thing we had planned for the night. Those memories are so beautiful. And as I stood there staring out the window, the pain just washed over me. The desperate longing and sadness. I missed him so much I swear my heart was going to explode. And then behind me I heard this toy start making music. For no apparent reason. I was standing alone in that room and as my mind was drowning in one of those dark grieving moments…I believe it was David just saying, “Hey, babe. I’m here. You’re not alone my love…even though you can not see me.” I turned around and smiled. I could just feel him there. The toy did not make the noise again and I am not even sure how how it did it to begin with. But it does not matter. Because I believe my love was just reminding me that I was not alone, no matter how isolated and sad I may feel. But god how I miss him.

It is different now...

Food doesn’t hold its sway on me the way it once did. Some of it is sadness, sure. And some of it is something altogether different. Are my eating changes a bad thing? Not necessarily. I eat three meals a day, for those of you that have expressed concern. But my portions are smaller, I rarely snack much, and treats are almost non-existent. This isn’t a bad thing. I am still eating fruits, vegetables, whole grains and trying to stay relatively true to all the dietary changes we made when David was diagnosed. We began living a healthier lifestyle then and I continue to do so now. I have become even more twitchier about some foods, if that is even possible.

But I know that some of you worry. The weight loss has slowed down. Honestly. Do I miss my bodacious girls I once had, most definitely, but the gerbils are happy (See The slow progression... for clarification) and now they probably not only have room to have a spot of tea…but they could have a whole damn squash game in there as well. Does it bother me? Sometimes. But my body is just a reflection of yet another change in my life. But otherwise, I am happy to have lost the weight. I had been trying to do it for years and having a husband with the metabolism of a hummingbird who could eat entire ROWS of brownies in one sitting certainly didn’t help the cause much.

So, like everything else in my life, things have changed. I look at food differently now. It does not have the affect it once did. It used to be a comfort thing. As it was for David as well. But as things progressed…it lost its luster, as many things did. As the steroids increased, so did David’s appetite. And if any of you have ever had a loved one on prolonged, high doses of steroids…it is ugly. They are a necessary evil…I know that. And I know they kept the swelling down in David’s brain or the pain would have been unbearable for him and there could have been severe cognitive changes or even sudden death. But man they were some nasty shit. David’s already voracious appetite was insatiable. And he hated it, god how he hated it. He knew that his body was full and yet he would continue to eat and eat...he couldn’t stop himself. He would try and he just couldn't and it disgusted him. It was so difficult to watch. And now, those moments and many others have forever shaped me...for better or worse. They changed how I see food myself and maybe that is ok.

The long road…

Alec is grieving and some days it is hard enough coping with my own grief let alone being responsible for someone else’s as well. This is one hellishly long road…with no end in sight for either of us.

And sometimes, when Alec is having a really difficult moment, I must take my grief and tuck it away in a little glass jar and place it high upon a shelf. I am then able to pull myself together and be completely ‘there’ for Alec. And once he goes to sleep, I will take that little jar off the shelf once again and open the lid and peer in. The jar may appear empty… but the grief is in there, swirling around at the bottom. Sometimes looks can be deceiving. Just like when you look at me…I may look fine…but the grief is still there. Always there.

So we continue down this road. At night it has become part of the routine. Alec is processing…So we talk about David. We talk about Cancer. Alec talks about his daddy’s head and how his brain got hurt. And then he’ll talk about the Cancer and how the doctors couldn’t get it all out. Sometimes he’ll stop there. Other times he’ll talk about the day David died. How daddy’s body stopped working. He’ll remember all the people that came to visit and the noises daddy made. That always gets me. I want him to remember so much, but there are some things I wish I could forget…and there are some I wish he didn’t remember and that is one of them. That awful rattling, moaning sound haunts me. And as Alec recounts that day…sometimes I just want to scream. And yet I can’t…not now. I must sit next to him, rub his back and smile. Encouraging him to talk about it and intern helping him come to terms with it on his own.

But the disheartening thing is...we’ll being doing this again and again. And as Alec continues to grow and his mind continues to develop...he will be able to understand things on new levels, and we’ll go through this all again. And for better or worse…this will always be a part of our life. As Alec hits certain milestones in his life, he will relive his fathers’ death. That’s normal. It’s part of the healing process. And it sucks.

And somehow I have to keep my shit together so that he is able to do this. Making sure he is in a safe and loving environment so he feels secure enough to process the things he needs to, so that he is able move beyond this loss. All in hopes that someday he will become a well adjusted man who is able to have normal and healthy relationships. Life is hard enough without throwing abandonment issues into the mix...and this little guy has already had too much thrown at him in his short little life.

The path of grief...

There are so many people out there going through this. Too many of us…learning to live without our loved ones. Today my thoughts are with a few special ladies who I spent the last eight weeks with. It was a bereavement group and we learned a lot about each other and it was my pleasure to have gotten to know these strong women. Our final meeting was last night and now we will continue our separate journeys…hopefully to a place of peace and acceptance someday. But it was so good to hear other people’s stories. To hear their pain…and their joy. And to learn that what I was experiencing…things I was doing…weren’t crazy. They were just part of the process of mourning. Grief. It can be a dark place filled with forgetfulness, tears and loneliness. But you are never alone.

Many of us had lost our spouses and most were lost to the beast we call Cancer. We learned a lot over the past month and a half. We learned about each others beautiful husbands, our lives before and after, and what we were doing to survive the days. We lost 11 of the original 17 people. It was a long road. Many couldn’t bear the pain of remembering the loss. Reliving it. But a few of us knew this was the beginning of the road to healing. We knew this journey wouldn’t be easy. How could it be? But we did it and I for one know that I am stronger and better equipped to face the future and the continually changing face of grief than I was before. And in the end…the six of us became closer and stronger for having shared our grief with one other. It made the burden not quite so heavy…

I am still on that road to healing…and I will be for a very long time. I may get off periodically, to rest and regroup. But then I will have to get back on and continue trudging through it all once again. But the path to healing is not filled with flowers and singing birds…if it was, everyone would be doing it. But it is worthwhile and imperative to my survival. Not only physically but emotionally.

And I need to remember that I never walk this road alone. I have all of you, who have seen me through the past two and a half years, and I know many of you will be there for many years to come. Many new friends have joined me on this journey as well and I am sure that many more will continue to in the years to come.

There is no normal...

I have been told that hopefully someday soon I can get back to my “Normal Life.” But really, life isn’t normal. There is no set standard for normalization people. Life just is…simply put. It is constantly changing and evolving. But if you consider my normal life to be the life I had before. Before Cancer. Before David’s death. Well, I can never get back to that place, no matter how desperately I would love to. I would give anything to have my beautiful soul mate back in my arms again, but that is just not in the cards for us this lifetime.

So. Here we are. There is nothing to get back to. That path ended. David is gone and he is never coming back. And so with him, our life, our future together is gone. All the dreams we once had and the life we planned to live will never come to fruition.

Someday I will learn to live a new life. A different life than I ever envisioned and it sucks. I will move forward. For David. And for myself. But I will never get over this in the sense that people think. A part of my soul died the day David did, and that part will never come back. That hole in my heart can never be filled. I will learn to adjust to that hole and someday the pain may not be as raw. But it will always be there and my heart will just have to learn to work around it. And someday hopefully I will adapt to my new life...and open myself to a new future and the many new uncharted paths that lay before me. And maybe then I will be able to move beyond the pain and loss and learn to live without David. Definitely not today...and probably not in the near future. But someday.

The future is a frightening and lonely notion right now. And the thought of a lifetime without David brings me to my knees. But there is a future…however dim it may seem to be right now. Because the damnable thing about life is that it moves on. So, I will keep stumbling forward. Reaching towards an uncertain future. But knowing…believing something has to be awaiting me. I am here for a reason. Damned if I could say what sometmes, but I am here. I am Alec's mom and I am that little guy’s world. And unfortunately, life dealt him a shitty hand too. So we will stumble along together. And new doors will open. I may not see any doors right now. But I know they are out there…just waiting to be unlocked.

I am reminded of a Van Halen song, where they said something like ”Standing on broken dreams...never losing sight.” So, I will pick myself up and someday stand on all of our old dreams together and dare to imagine a new future. We all have broken dreams. Some dreams never come to pass…and that’s just life. But I believe that strength comes from being able to climb up and stand upon all of those lost dreams and begin anew.

New dreams will be born. New paths...
Will the thought of my lost future with David still linger. Most definitely. But David will be with me always. He is a part of me now and I will carry him with me for my remaining years. But someday I will take all the strength and love we had. And dare to continue to dream again…