Orlando's Loss; More Revelation

I have been writing about my journey through my own profound loss.  This weekend at least 50 other families are beginning a journey they never wanted to take.  My heart breaks for them in a way that it never could before.  Now I understand firsthand the pain of planning funerals, making decisions, considering well intended suggestions, learning to go forward and live without someone who maybe meant the world to you, or someone who was your world.  My heart hurts so much that it now brings tears.  And why?  For what?  These families will have to reconcile even more than I have had to manage, because these were violent, senseless deaths.  The terror and fear that had to have been present in that club is beyond anything I want to try and comprehend.

Anyone who knows me well knows my belief system, probably understands where I lean politically, and my own personal behavior.  I’m proud to be a Christian, and proud to be conservative.  That does not mean I hold any bias.  Life has taught me that there is no merit to that.  It does not matter who I vote for, or what church I attend.  What is important is that I find love and tolerance for my fellow man.  I don’t have to believe what you do to respect you and your right to your opinion.  I don’t have to worship in the same way to believe that there is a higher being looking out for us all.  And if you’re not a believer, that’s not my business either. 

I am going to share here what I believe that we, as human beings, are called to, whether we are atheist, agnostic, Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Democrat, Republican, Independent or anything else.  I think that first and foremost we are called to be human. 

Full Definition of human

1. 1:  of, relating to, or characteristic of humans
2. 2:  consisting of humans
3. 3a :  having human form or attributes b :  susceptible to or representative of the sympathies and frailties of human nature <such an inconsistency is

very human — P. E. More>

Now add an “e” at the end for humane.

Full Definition of humane  

1.   1:  marked by compassion, sympathy, or consideration for humans or animals

2.   2:  characterized by or tending to broad humanistic culture :  humanistic <humane studies>

So, as an entire horde of humans that often have nothing we believe in common, we absolutely do.  We want to live, to be healthy, to find love, to find validation and success.  Unfortunately, far too many of us place parameters on those desires, for ourselves and worse, on others.  If we could live by the golden rule, “Do Unto Others as You Would Have Others Do Unto You” or the biblical command “Love One Another As I Have Loved You”,  Would it matter to me what color your skin is?  Would it matter to me how many children you have?  Would it matter to me who you love or where you work or what you do, whether you carry or are anti-gun, or where you attend church services or if you do at all?  Would it matter to me who you vote for?  Do I care if you believe in global warming?  Would I want to ridicule you for your choices or might I want to engage you in conversation to learn why we feel differently.  Who is to say who is wrong and who is right? 

If I were to scream at you that you were going to hell for one reason or another, would that be modeling love toward my fellow man?  Why do I get an opinion on that and why is that really my problem?  I have my hands full more than I can manage just trying to be the person I aspire to being.  And if then your retort was that I am bigoted, racist and ignorant for my particular belief system, are we going to gain any ground?

In my very humble opinion, we have isolated ourselves with the need to believe that we are “right”, “superior in intellect” and very self assured that how we view things is the way it should be.  Can we not step back, and be interested enough in each other, and brave enough with each other to share who we really are?  If we begin there, sharing ourselves and truly listening to our friends, neighbors and strangers tell their stories, would we not understand that the reasons for our personal behavior has roots.  We feel one way or another for a reason.  Some of us have been blessed growing up in the midst of love and safety.  Many, many others have not been as fortunate, and their stories are very important to hear.  We need to be tolerant of what has molded us, and understand that as a child, you don’t get a voice in how that happens.  When we encounter someone suffering, should we not share what we have, materially and emotionally?  When we meet someone celebrating, can we not put down our own burdens for a moment to celebrate with them and understand that one day we have the potential to celebrate as well?  And I mean no matter what their race, religion, sexual orientation, political party, alma mater, etc.

Then comes the question of how do you not judge the Boston Marathon Bombers, or James Holmes, or this weekend’s shooter?  Their acts are horrific.  At this point, I will pray for the situation, pray that there will not be copycat crimes, pray that justice is served and glad that justice is not mine to have to dole out.  Cop out?  Maybe, but the reality is, I won’t be involved in those processes, therefore, what I do is pray for the victims, pray for their families and the family of the person responsible for the tragedy.  I vote for the legislators and judges that I think will handle things appropriately.  I do not need to chastise, name call or publicly denounce someone on Facebook just for entertainment.  I have done that and am now ashamed.  When events like this become memes I don’t think we’re going in the right direction.  I’m interested in doing better and will hopefully change my ways without a slip.  These events are not entertainment, nor should they ever deteriorate into that.

I see so much that is harsh on Facebook from people I know, respect and admire.  They are convicted.  I understand that.  But is it more important to be right than compassionate?  I find it amusing when I see people who are more passionate about animals than other humans.  Probably because they’ve been disappointed by creatures who judge more than those furballs who only love.  None of us have had identical experiences, therefore none of us have the right to be unkind to each other.

I have hope for this world.  I look at my grandchildren, my children, my nieces, nephews, anyone’s child and see the wonder of creation and such beauty and potential.  Why in the world do we want to plant seeds in them that will rot and fester.  We need to be examples, good stewards of humanity.  A good friend reminded me that it costs absolutely nothing to be kind.  We need to quit worrying about who is right and who is wrong, who is smarter, who is taking advantage.  If we begin to behave on a plane that includes everyone, those who so angrily retort may not feel as threatened and may begin to respond in kind.

Trust me, I have not mastered this.  I, like all of us, am a work in progress.  But the older I get, the fewer reasons I find to be exclusive, intolerant or just plain rude.  Life is short.  If you want to enjoy it and live it well, I think it is meant to lived with a spirit of joy and love, and not just for a select few, but for any person we encounter.  It’s a start.  I am making my own renewed effort on behalf of those who lost their lives this past weekend and for those who will work to find their way forward in their grief.  We have to begin somewhere.  I challenge any of you who read this to take a softer stance in your encounters with others.  Do it for 50 days.  See if it makes a difference.  I’m not a gambling woman but this is a bet I’m willing to take.  God bless those souls in Orlando, and Fort Hood, and Columbine, Sandy Hook, Oklahoma City, and all the other tragedies, which unfortunately, the list that is too long to print.  May their families find comfort and peace and may we all walk more softly in this world that is filled with individuals who need each other.  If we are softer, kinder, we can be of more help to those who need us.  We can be better versions of ourselves and by doing that we help ease a family's suffering, a mother's grief.  Make it your best day.

Muhammed Ali, My Fight, My Grief

This past winter and early spring are maybe the most difficult months I have spent in my life.  I know that my husband and son have been gone for just over 18 and 15 months respectively, but I’ve shared that this year has been harder.  I had been warned it would be that way, by people I know, love and respect.  But no one can prepare you.  So I’ve wallowed, I’ve cried, I’ve held epic pity parties, and I’ve just existed.  What few positive things I had done to take care of myself i.e. exercise and diet, went totally by the wayside.  I’ve discovered many, many things about myself, other people and my husband and son, good, bad and indifferent.  For anyone who has already been down this road I am walking, knows that it takes a TON of energy to grieve.  Suddenly it’s harder than ever to peel yourself from your bed in the mornings, to do the things that are good for you, that you need, because the reality is you just don’t care.  It doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t mean you have stopped loving those who you have always loved that are still here; in my mind, conversely so.  I cherish them more than ever, because I have learned all too well how fragile life really is.  But the distraction those loved ones provide during their texts, phone calls, visits, can’t cover the span of vacant time when your mind wanders and where your heart inevitably returns.

I made up my mind not so long ago – 43 days ago to be exact – that I was going to do my best to start the days with my best foot forward, to start my days with a positive inspiration, to plan for a future I had no idea I’d need to dream about.  And it has helped.  It truly has.  People who love you, who watch you suffer, want so badly to be able to help.  They want you to move on, move forward because when you love someone you don’t want to see them hurt.  It’s been a fight, because I’m not healed, but I want to live and love with purpose.  I want to present an example someone could point to and use impressive words like “strong”, “inspirational”, “courageous”, “grace” and “dignity”.  I’ll be lucky if I get “clean” and “on time”, but I’ll keep trying.

With the recent death of Muhammed Ali, I remember sitting with my dad on the couch and watching him fight – when he was Lew Alcindor.  He was sometimes thought of as very arrogant in those days, but didn’t say a thing he couldn’t back up.  He also had a wonderfully dry sense of humor which his eyes couldn’t belie.  After he converted to Muhammed Ali, matured, aged and battled illness which had to have been more than devastating to a man who had relied on his body, his mind was still strong and not just viable, but witty and playful.  Again, you could see it in his eyes.  I thought of his courage with his battle as he was remembered on TV.  I was touched deeply by the expression in his eyes.  He wasn’t winning his battle with Parkinson’s, but he didn’t stop living.  He just changed the way he did it to suit himself.  And I thought “There’s a role model I can use”. 

I had some really rough moments this past weekend.  I felt like they had the potential to be huge setbacks in the small progress I have made.  But I’ve decided that it was just one match in my career.  I’m in training and I can keep improving.  No matter how positively I think, or how hard I work, the pain of not being able to speak with, touch or hug my husband or son is knife-like and it will cause me to pause, react and heal some more.  I’ll wear those scars like medals of honor, for the men they represent are worth them.  Or maybe my better metaphor for this particular day is that they will be my champion’s belt.  Maybe one day I’ll feel like floating like a butterfly and the sting of sorrow will fade.  Here’s to you Mr. Ali.

Memorial Day

It’s coming.  It’s another landmark day to remember my son and my husband.  I feel as if every time I turn around, there’s a date that signifies something special for one or both of them.  But, honestly, isn’t that wonderful?  It means they participated in this life they were given.  They were born, made mothers of some fortunate women, they graduated, and they went into the military and valiantly served their country.  They sacrificed much for that service, as did those who loved them.  Every New Year’s Eve I hate the idea of going into another year where they won’t be present.  Then comes a birthday, Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, Father’s Day, another birthday, 4^th of July, my birthday, the Marine Corps Birthday, Veteran’s Day, Thanksgiving and Christmas.  There is no break when they are not missed.  None.  Sometimes a random day can be as painful as a holiday.  It just depends what comes our way.

I’ve been running the gamut of emotions over the past year, and if you’ve followed me, more specifically in 2016.  It’s as if the gauze that was protecting me was removed and I began realizing, stressing, agonizing, mourning and raging.  And guess what?  None of that has done a damn bit of good.  It has only caused me to be irritable, jealous, angry and exhausted.  I sound like a fun person to be with, don’t I?  And I know that my husband and my son would both be disappointed in me, not to mention my son who remains here with me, and all of the others in my life I love so dearly.  I suppose it’s somewhat healthy to purge yourself of all of those nasty emotions that grief introduces, but I don’t want to live in a state of perpetual grief.  I will always mourn and desperately miss those who have gone before me, but what possible good can I be to myself or anyone else if I give in to this monster.  If jealousy is a green-eyed monster, grief is a black and purple and grey 6 eyed monster with long teeth, slimy skin and claws that grasp and hold.  What I think I need to have to fight this demon is light.  I need to fling open the curtains and welcome each day, for it is a gift.  I need to be open to all the new experiences this new life can bring.  I need to smile and choose joy.  I need to pray and not complain.  I began just this weekend wearing an “x” on the top of my left hand, between my thumb and forefinger as a reminder that complaining is not allowed.

It hasn’t taken me much to decide that it’s time for spring cleaning in preparation for Memorial Day.  Living in the darkness with that creepy 6 eyed creature is not much fun.  He guards the door and keeps me from the things that will make me feel better.  Things like walks outside, yoga class, church, even visits with friends and family.  

Of course I’m lonely, and of course I will continue to cry at times for those I miss so desperately.  But I’ve thought so much about them and have decided to use them for my inspiration, and probably Adam more specifically, because I was around to see how he challenged himself and became who he wanted to be and needed to be, even when he wasn’t sure if it was possible.  The Marine Corps Boot Camp is the hardest boot camp you can experience.  You constantly have challenges and mind games thrown at you which are the hardest experiences physically and mentally experienced to date.  But they are very specifically designed to give you the courage and tenacity, the backbone and loyalty you need to survive.  And for my Hollywood Marines, the Reaper was the final challenge.  Well, the Reaper has challenged me in the last year and a half.  It’s time I climb that bad boy, reach a summit, stake my flag and claim my medal.  And as arrogant as it may sound, I need to be proud of that accomplishment, for sadly, I belong to a club no one should belong to and could also be called the few and the proud.  Parents who bury children are never recruiting members.  Just hearing of a parent having to bury a child now is crushing to me, for I wish this on no one, ever, anywhere.  But if I can conquer this pain and find my way to live in the light and make the rest of my time on this good earth count, I will have won and I hope they will smile down on me for my perseverance.  I have begun my own “Crucible”.  I am at the foot of the Reaper.  And I will ascend, and I will triumph.  I’ve come too far, learned too much, and would disappoint too many to fail.  Failure is not an option.  “Strength is releasing pain from the body and the mind”.  I may not have managed it all by Memorial Day, but when I enter that hallowed ground at the national cemetery for a service to remember, not just my husband and son, but all of those men and women who had the courage and fortitude to offer themselves for the betterment of others, I want to be able to hold my head high and be living in the light for them, and for me.  That would be a Memorial Day I could celebrate and not be mournful about.  They did not give of themselves for us to be sad and broken.  Memorial Day should be a day the Phoenix rises, along with a beautiful sun, shining on our hearts filled with hope.

Spring

I decided that while I was experiencing such anger that it may be a good time to suspend blogging publicly.  I may not have anyone speaking to me or caring if I ever put pen to paper again if I continued when everything set me off.  I feel the anger slipping away.  It truly was a storm that came in and blew everything around, made me fearful and protective.  I went into self-protection mode and in reality, probably the one I needed the protection from most was myself.  I am the first one to say that no one can understand this unless they themselves go through it.  Then why in the world, do I let others’ seemingly insensitive remarks or advice upset me, when it means that I have people in my life who truly care and are only reaching out with the best of their ability to try to be of some help or comfort to me?  And when I don’t know what to say or do to please myself, how in the world would someone else have that magical ability?  Doesn’t make sense, does it?  Well, oftentimes now, neither do I.   

However!  The reality is that I am a happy person by nature.  Buoyant I might even say.   I also like to work smarter, not harder.  (I can be quite lazy if afforded the opportunity!)  It takes a lot of work and a lot of energy to maintain anger.  I found myself in constant chaos, constantly jealous rather than joyous of those I love, and quite frankly, slowly slipping into the role of a victim.  And that realization stopped me dead in my tracks.  I refuse to be victimized by this, by the unfortunate circumstance of losing two people I loved so well, so deeply, so constantly.  What a disservice to them.  Why in the world, when I claim that I want them to be remembered, would I turn this into something about me?  Well, the simple answer is that it just simply is human nature – grief does strange things to people.  But what can people, or more specifically me, do to grief? 

I’m realizing now, that a great deal of my anger is due to the fact that I have to change.  No one wants to change.  I thought a year ago, I would go through a period of mourning, one day it would end and life would go on as I always have known it.  That is perfect evidence of the cloudy thinking that shrouds you when you are grief stricken.  I am no longer a wife; I no longer have a son living in Indianapolis.  Everything changes.  So must I.

I’m sure the spring season helps me want to lighten my mood, and we know I need some new beginnings.  Clichés are easy to go with, so why not use them when they are available?  I have homework from my grief therapist which is much harder than I imagined.  I have to write a five year plan for my life, and then extend it to a ten year plan.  That means I have to try deciding who I want to be when I grow up.  Where, when, how and most importantly I believe, why.  That takes a lot of deep thinking, analysis and soul searching.  If money were not an object, I would secure a place on Lake Maxinkuckee, where my soul has always relaxed and sort it out as I go.  But since that is nowhere close to a possibility, I have to work a little (lot) harder at how I’ll go about finding my joy.

I am encouraged though, for I see myself, breaking ground, arising from the sometimes frozen, sometimes muddy, sometimes rock hard clay here in Indiana, and seeing the tip of something blossoming.  I can’t be sure exactly what will bloom, but I’m looking forward to it.  I’d much rather it be along the lines of a fragrant lilac or a beautiful pink peony, that someone would choose to cut and bring in for pleasure.  I don’t want to be those nasty thistles that overtake your yard making it unpleasant, and painful to touch, or even the dandelion that can be pretty for a moment, but is an undesired weed after all.  It takes a lot of water (tears) and fertilizer (you know what that is) to produce a beautiful blossom and I’d say there have been enough of both in my life of late.  I need to just persist and turn my face to the sun.  

Wanted: A Heart, A Brain & Courage

Dagnabit.  That word is specifically chosen in lieu of other, possibly offensive choices that probably would have more accurately reflected how the last week or so has gone.  But I am peeking around the corner, hoping to garner the courage to step around it.  It appears to be brighter there, and it leads to other sidewalks and streets never before explored.

I started early on in this grief journey determined to rise above it.  I was determined to behave so as to make my husband and son proud of how I could manage.  It’s what every Marine wife and mother should be able to do, right?  And for the most part, I was able to do just that.  It lasted until about the first of this year – just past having Dave gone for a year and approaching that same anniversary for Adam.  It hit me HARD that I didn’t want to go forward into a year that neither one of them had lived to enjoy.  And then the death spiral began, pun very much intended.

Let me preface what comes next by saying I know much of what I have felt in the last several months is not even rational.  Intellectually I can tell a far different story than I can emotionally.  The heart pumps so that the brain can work.  When the heart is broken, your thought processes are bound to be off as well.  I am able to still know what Dave and Adam would expect of me, what others would hope for me, what I ultimately want for myself.  However my heart has been damaged so badly that while I understand that there is a new plan, I haven’t found the energy or motivation to really review the plan, let alone to implement new strategies.

I also believe that due to my seemingly wonderful coping mechanisms within the first year, I have thrown people off by falling off the cliff at this point.  There is an anger evident that was nowhere to be found a year ago.  I lose patience with well-intentioned urging and suggestions.  The anger is not directed anywhere but at the situation I find myself in.  My frustration with others wanting to help is that there is nothing they can say to me that hasn’t already crossed my mind, something I’ve read in a book, or heard in some form of formal grief support.  And I know my irritation is misplaced.  Yet it remains.  I think because some of the time you just want to scream “you live in my shoes for a month and then tell me how all that’s working for you!?!?!”  Yep, there’s a little anger.  And I apologize if I've offended anyone with it.  It's not at all personal.  It's all meant for the Grim Reaper.

Initially, for at least a year, I did my level best to be positive – “Yes, it’s a lot, but there are people who have had to cope with way more than this.”  “It can always be worse.”  I denied some of my own grief because watching that of my daughter-in-law and grandchildren broke my heart even more.  They had so much more ahead of them that they were denied and I wanted them to have the rest of their lives with their husband and daddy.  It just wasn’t to be.  And that hurt me deeply on several levels.  I wanted to be strong for them as they found their way.  I don’t know if I succeeded there or not, but I knew for sure the last thing they needed was a blubbering Nana in the midst of all they had going on.  Nor will they need that ever!

Any good engineer will tell you that you can only shore up a faulty dam for a while before it breaks.  Suffice it to say, it’s been flood season this spring in my corner of the world.  I’m tired of going home to an empty house.  I’m tired of wanting my husband to help me make decisions and hold me when I miss Adam.  And when I was worried about Dave, who had I talked to but Adam, who also offered so much comfort and encouragement.  My primary emotional support system disappeared in a blink within 3 months.  And silly me thought I could manage this without a hiccup.  Dave had promised me 30 years of marriage.  (He was 60 when we married, and though I knew that 30 years was unlikely, he made so much magic in my life, I began to believe it might be possible.  Adam had always promised that he would be there for me, no matter what.   And until he couldn’t be, he was.)  How in the world did I think I had the ability to compensate for what they brought to my life? 

And now I come to the meat of this entire rant.  The realization that I need to “move on”.   My daughter-in-law is braver and/or smarter than me.  She is finding a way to do just that.  And I say Bravo!  It’s absolutely right.  I see smiles from her and the kiddos that I haven’t seen in a long time and it warms my heart.  I can't know what that has cost her, but I do see that it is bringing good things to her life.  And again, bravo to her.  Others, as time pass, I think are surprised at how much worse I am now than I was initially.  On the surface it doesn’t make sense.  I presented a pretty brave image in the beginning.   And I wasn’t acting.  I was coping.  But suddenly there was nothing left for me to do but look to the future.

This feels much like I would guess it would be to take your first steps onto the yellow brick road.  Looking back and seeing lots of happy people, wonderful times, singing, dancing, laughing and safety.  Looking forward the road twisted and turned giving no clue as to where you might end up.  Everyone promises it will lead me to the proverbial Oz.  But going there was never on my bucket list.  To go there, I had to leave some very dear people behind.  And it’s a bit paralyzing for a while.  The further you go toward the promise of something unknown and unseen, the further behind you leave your beloveds.  And the damning part of it all is that you can’t do both, you can’t have both.

So there it is.  I am having the hardest time in the world letting go.  I know it's semantics but

 I hate “letting go, moving forward, and finding a new normal”.  People do let go of husbands, but not if you found “THE ONE” as I did.  I know my life led me to him and God meant for us to be together.  All the more reason I should trust the future.  But ten years out of 59 was not nearly enough, although his impact will last many lifetimes.  And leave a child behind?  It’s unheard of, criminal in fact, if they’re living.  And who would want to?  All you do from the time you welcome them into the world is love them, comfort them, care for them and protect them.  And you do it still in your heart from afar when they grow up to be big, bad Marines and act like they don't need you anymore.  And there’s the rub.  I need them both to continue to live in my heart and I’m just not able to take those steps forward yet.  The more others do, the more firmly rooted I find myself.  (That’s part of what is irrational, for I know those who loved him best will never forget him and will take him along with them in the way that is right for them.)  But I promised to always be there, no matter what.  And my heart can’t tell my brain that it’s okay to signal me to move ahead.   I find myself holding on to heartache.  And if I tell the truth, it’s no longer heartache for them, for they are experiencing what we all desire – the glory of an eternity with our God.  The heartache is for me.  Pure and simple, in my head I’m left behind with not a clue how to fit in anywhere.  Again, irrational, because I know how well I am loved and where I am welcome.

The good news is that I am afraid if I don’t do something soon, this dark, scary, swampy place will claim me permanently.   It’s a limbo for sure, and it’s not a fun place to be.  Going backwards means I live embracing what I lost, who I miss and what I can’t have.  Dr. Phil would ask me how that’s working for me.  Ha!  There really is only one choice.  I just need to repair my heart to get some forward traction.   I decided yesterday that I would take baby steps, beginning anew each morning.  I’m not even worried where I’m going.  I’m just doing my best to put some positivity back into my life and achieve a few things a day that I haven’t been able to manage in a while.  It’s scary, terrifying actually.  But as a very wise younger sister once told me, a storm can only last for so long, and remember  how fresh it smells and how beautiful and clean everything looks in its wake.  It’s time to venture out of my storm cellar, look around and take a deep breath.  Maybe my heart can reconnect to my brain and I’ll find some courage.  It’s time I enjoy a rainbow and get some fresh air.  One.  Step.  At.  A.  Time.

Revelations

I've had to do a lot of soul searching about where I am right now - physically, emotionally, spiritually, and realistically.  It's not like me to be so unhappy.  It's not like me to ride such an emotional roller coaster.  Tears have always come easily to me for sentimental reasons but the ups and downs of my emotions of late have superseded anything I've ever experienced.  You've heard it from me - lost, lonely, depressed, sleep deprived.  I've been trying everything possible to find my way and figure out how to heal myself.

Recently I think it's begun to sort itself out.  I've written about not being the most important person to anyone anywhere.  I have no one to care for, no one to hold me.  I went to see a Reiki master for Reiki healing and one of the things she told me was that I was carrying tremendous heartache and she tried to relieve some, but that she couldn't do too much as I has still holding on to it too tightly.  That has been two weeks ago and it really stuck with me.  Why would I want to hold on to heartache?  I may feel guilty about moving on - but truth be told, I know David and Adam would both encourage me to do so.  I'm very afraid of no one remembering them, but I know that will never be the case.  They each had too many people who loved them and they each made their own impact in this world, leaving their own legacies.  I go for massage, gua sha, facials, pedicures just to have someone touch me.  I am so lucky to never have understood until now how much a human not only craves touch from another, but how much it is needed for your well being.  I don't mean that in a sexual way - just a caring, loving way.

For some reason, in the last few days, things seem to be coming together in this little pea brain of mine and tonight while talking to my hair stylist, (also a dear friend) I think I had a revelation.  I'm stuck because I'm trying to find the life I had "before".  I'm trying to be who I was "before".  And that means I'll search fruitlessly for someone who doesn't exist anymore.  I can't go back to a place that no longer exists and try to fit in.  It's like trying to go back home, but they've moved and didn't leave a forwarding address so you can't go there.  Well, okay, I do know where they are but it's not time for me to be there.  I hope that I have the same address one day.  What it is about is me grieving, for Dave, for Adam and now I know that I'm also grieving for me.  I didn't realize that at first consciously, but I think my subconscious did and that's when it got so much harder for me.  I've only always wanted to be a mother and a wife.  Thank goodness I'm still a mother, but by half now.  And I'm no longer a wife.  I don't know how to be me now.  I don't recognize who I am, where I'm going nor do I know who I want to be.  I don't know who I can be.  I don't have a freaking clue what my future holds.  And that scares the hell out of me.

Everything familiar has changed.  Certain circumstances restrict the possibilities, meaning I still have to work, still need to live here while I'm working.  But I need to forge ahead, to see what is beyond the perimeters of my past existence.  It's as scary as venturing into a dark, dark forest, in a violent thunderstorm, with no phone or flashlight, not knowing what kind of terrifying creatures lay in wait while trying to find the castle where everything becomes perfect.  Okay, I'll settle for a pretty little cottage that's cozy and comfortable on the other edge of the forest.

I believe this to be as true as anything I've written about to date.  I also know I need to work on moving forward.  I need to work on letting go.  I need to find courage that I don't know if I possess.  I need to meet new people who didn't know me "before".  I need to venture outside my comfort zone.  And I will.  Probably with baby steps, but my intent is to remain in forward motion.  I can take Dave and Adam with me in my memories and forever in my heart.  And I'll need my people - all of you.  I'll need your prayers, your cheers and your love.  I will look to my past to fuel my future.  And see what other surprises this crazy life has in store.  It appears I'm about to be off on an adventure.  And while I don't know where I'll go, or how I'll get there, I know who I'll take with me and I know I'll meet some more wonderful people.  That's a start.  And I'll begin the hard task of letting go.  It's going to be scary.  It reminds me of sending my babies off to school where I couldn't control everything that happened to them.  The truth is, we try to control too much and it's why we worry and can't sleep.  It's time to let go and let God.  And make it you best day, my friends.

GPS

About 6 weeks or so I told one of my supervisors that I felt as if I had turned a corner, and was headed in the right direction, with surer footing.  And then almost immediately fell off the radar and have been lost and wandering for the last month and a half.  Traveling alone, sealed within my own mode of transportation, having to stop occasionally and interact with folk only to fuel up and find a little rest was not how I had planned this trip for sure.

I don't have any idea where I was, but I know that it was dark, and my motor was running roughly, the computer was haywire, and the cruise was flat busted.  Every turn I made it seemed as if there was a giant billboard towering above the darkness with images of some of my happiest times with my husband and son.  They were out of reach, and while I saw the joy they had contained at the time, the darkness and inaccessibility swathed them, making me sadder than ever.  I needed windshield wipers on the inside and the leather upholstery was being ruined from the salty moisture in the vehicle.

I think for a while, I didn't even care whether I was finding my destination or not.  I don't really have the address and thought I could manage by just foraging out on my own.  Big mistake.  Every good traveler knows you are supposed to prepare in advance, have a plan, a plan B, be fully fueled, well maintained, and have emergency provisions - for you and your vehicle.  This little trip could now be called an epic fail.  I just was so distraught with it all that I got in, slammed the door and just took off, thinking I'd find my way to something better, someplace wonderful.  And I had no plan, no map, no time frame, no accommodations and no one knew to look for me.  Looking back I wonder if it was subconsciously intentional.  Can't say.  What I can say is that was the scariest, darkest trip I've taken in a while.  Even the high beams that are powered by my loving family and friends couldn't help me find my way out.

Then one day came a sign.  Soon after that sign, I stopped long enough where I found someone who wanted to talk with me.  Someone slightly familiar, but no one I was totally comfortable with.  They asked me lots of questions about where I was going and how I was getting there.  I think they were more curious than caring, but not having good answers to reasonable questions was eye opening for me.  Soon after, there was another stop, one of the required kind, like a weigh station along the interstate for an 18 wheeler.  There was a lot of concern about how much weight I was carrying and assistance in how I could plan my trip so as not to be so overloaded.  Coming from a place of authority and being the semi-good cradle Catholic I am, I seriously took heed.  Pulling out of the weigh station, I realized I was lighter for having had to leave some of what I was carrying behind to be street legal.

Pretty soon, it lightened up around me and I no longer needed the high beams.  No need for sunglasses just yet, but I was able to turn on some fun, sing-along music instead of the heavy Gregorian style chants I had had playing before.  I even opened the sun roof for a little vitamin therapy.  It almost felt like a Sunday ride.  And I began to see things that were more familiar to me.  I still have no map, but am making some smarter choices, and charging up the GPS so that I'll be able to find my way home.  Just for the fun of it I'm going to choose the alternate route.  It just seems like the right thing to do.  Sometimes doing the same thing over and over and rerunning trips and memories in your head causes you to miss what's beautiful along the way.  I need to see what might happen if I choose another route.

I think I wandered quite a bit off course these past several weeks, so I won't be home safely for a while.  The good news though, is that I'm feeling ready to be back.  I'm learning a lot of what not to do and picking up new tips for a new way to get to where I need to be.  I'm getting my tires rotated, my oil changed and changing my GPS from "Gone Past Sad" to "Going Places Safely".  No idea of my ETA but determined to find where I want to be going and definitely trying a new route!  Until I see you again, make it your best day!