That song

That song ... you recognize it immediately. From the first few notes, you know it ...it's that song. On my drive home tonight, I was stopped at a traffic light and my mind started to wander. Then, I heard them ... the first few notes of that song ... one of our songs.

For our first dance during our wedding reception, Steve and I decided we both would choose a song to dance to, to sort of dedicate to each other. So, I guess they were our first dances! The song I chose was popular at the time and probably played as the first dance at every wedding that year. Still, I loved the words to the song and wanted to dance to "From This Moment On" with Steve.

As I sat in the car, stopped at the traffic light, that song began:

"From this moment life has begun
From this moment you are the one
Right beside you is where I belong
From this moment on"


I immediately was transported back to the dance floor, remembering our wedding and remembering Steve. My eyes got teary.

It's amazing how music can transport us to a different time.

I listened intently to each word.

As I drove home, I continued to think of Steve. It can still feel so surreal. Even nearly five years later, I can question, "Did that really happen?" or "Did Steve really die?" Weren't we just sitting at the cousins' table at another wedding?Just as quickly as I question it, I remember that day and know it did happen. He did die.

As fellow widows often say ... "Death Sucks," but love lives on. It's not the same. But, love does live on. Sometimes that love is eclipsed by anger or sadness. But, it's still there. Nearly five years later, I am coming to appreciate that there is love in heaven and here on Earth. I feel blessed to have both.

And, as for the song Steve had played for me ... "Let's Stay Together" by the great Al Green. For a long time I couldn't bear to listen to that song. The words actually made me mad ...

"Let's stay together
Lovin' you whether, whether
Times are good or bad, happy or sad"

Oh, the power of music! 

But, tonight, as I listened to "From This Moment On," I wasn't sad. I was just remembering.

And, the journey continues.

18 days ...

I feel like a little kid. I am counting down the days to my birthday like a little girl about to turn 10! Turning 10 is a big milestone. I remember the excitement of finally being "double digits." Now, I am giddy about turning 40.

Some people dread a milestone birthday, especially birthdays after 29! I am looking forward  to this birthday for a couple of reasons.

The biggest reason is the symbolism of closing the chapter on my 30s. My 30s started out on a huge high. About one month after I turned 30, I found out I was having twins. Holy crap ... twins! I was excited and scared at the same time. As my 30s progressed, I was balancing working full time and raising three children. I certainly didn't do this on my own. My husband, Steve, was an amazing father to Steven, Emma and Stella. He adored all four of us.

Behind his smile that could light up a room was an ongoing struggle with major depression. That never mattered to me. I cared for him and took over caring for the kids when the depression reared its ugly head. It wasn't always easy, but I did what I needed to do because I loved him and I loved our family.

By the time I turned 35, his illness was the worst I had ever seen it. That was the same year my life changed forever.

The next four years have been a roller coaster. There have been ups and downs and tunnels where I couldn't always see in front of me. Amid the sadness, I've also had the opportunity to meet so many other women and men from across the country who have been widowed. There's something comforting about being in the company of other people who really "get it."

Another reason I'm excited about turning 40 is the unknown. I don't know what lies ahead, and that's exciting. As I move forward to the next chapter, I know I possess a confidence I didn't have in my early 30s. I also know I am surrounded by love, love of family and friends.

As I move forward onto my 40s, I'll never forget the love and loss I experienced in my 30s. It will always be part of me ... always. Still, I move forward, living my new normal.

Here's to 18 more days ... and a journey that continues.

Source: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

One word critique for "Resurrection," disrespectful

For anyone who has lost a loved one, the fact that our loved one is gone from this Earth is painfully clear. Although we may wish our loved one was still with us or wish that somehow he or she could come back to us from the "great beyond," we know it's just not possible.

The first time I saw the commercial promoting the new show, "Resurrection," I got mad. The premise of the show made me mad. In the commercial, a man opens his door to find a little boy who supposedly had died 32 years ago and was returning home to his parents. The father and mother both are in disbelief that their son, who still appears to be around 9 years old, is standing on their doorstep. In another scene, a woman is sitting in a church. When a man approaches her, she asks, "Did I really die?"

After seeing the commercial for what seemed like the hundredth time, it was the song that eventually sent me over the edge. "I'm comin home ... I'm comin home."

No. People who have died don't come home.

In my little world, I define "home" as being here with me. In that case, no, Steve isn't coming home. I hate that. But, that is real.

A few nights ago, my son, Stevie, and I were sitting in our living room. I was watching TV and he was playing on his iPad. Of course, the commercial came on again. Without even looking up from his iPad, Stevie said, "That's disrespectful." When I asked him if he was referring to the show, he said yes and went on to say that the idea of the show is disrespectful to people who have lost someone.

How insightful.

This is just my opinion, but yes, I feel like the idea behind the show is disrespectful. I'll never open my front door to find Steve standing there. I'll never walk into a church and find Steve sitting in a pew questioning whether he had died.

Maybe there are other people who find comfort in the fantasy that their loved one would return "home."

I just don't find comfort in that.

Regardless, my journey continues.

My "new normal" is now normal

Just days after Steve died, it was already clear to me that the life I had known was never going to be the same. While I was just embarking on this journey called widowhood, and I really had no clue what wild ride was ahead of me, knowing life would be very different was a sense I was sure about. Without a doubt, totally sure. I remember telling people that the kids and I would need to find our "new normal."

New normal meant moving forward as a single mom with three young kids. There was no choice but to move forward. Although there were many days when I wanted to stay in bed huddled under the covers as life went on around me, I knew that couldn't happen. It wouldn't happen. I had three amazing kids who depended on me and needed routine and normalcy. The irony ... we needed normalcy, yet nothing seemed normal.

Life seemed to go back to normal ... for other people, that is. For us, our world was turned upside down. Since I knew hiding under the covers wasn't going to be an option, I had to get up each morning and figure it out.

It was the four of us finding our way. And, we did. Throughout the past couple of years, we lived our new normal.

During the holidays, it hit me. Our "new normal" had become normal.

As Thanksgiving approached, it dawned on me that it would be our fifth Thanksgiving without Steve. Five ... That shocked me.

There have been five Christmases, five birthdays, five anniversaries.

Now at almost five full years into this new normal, I had another realization. One that I don't like. One that can still seem so surreal. I realized that I have gotten used to Steve being gone.

I hate that thought. But, it is reality.

I'm beginning this year on a really positive note. In a few months, I'll celebrate a big birthday and FINALLY close the book on my 30s. In July, we'll celebrate Steve's life ... not dwell on the sadness that he is gone as I did last summer. I have vowed to move forward and live a full life. There's a lot to be grateful for ... there's love, laughter and happiness in our new normal that'
s become normal.

So, the journey continues.

*Source: The Grief Toolbox; "A Different Kind of Parenting, Kota Press

Double whammy

I have always loved fall. October and November are two of my favorite months out of the year. The air is crisp and the colors of the leaves on the trees are stunning. My favorite holiday is Thanksgiving. November is also a month I refer to as my double whammy. Steve's birthday is Nov. 12 and our wedding anniversary is Nov. 13. (Guess who picked the date for our wedding?) I always teased Steve that he chose that particular date so he would never forget the date of our anniversary. He never disagreed!

Now that he's gone, it's like a 1-2 punch. One day the kids and I will mark his birthday and the next day I will remember our anniversary. Without question, those are two sad days.

This year, I want to change that.

Rather than being sad that he is gone, I am trying to put a different perspective on those two days. I want to remember the good memories and celebrate the time we did have together.

We met when I was 23 ... fresh out of college and beginning my career. We dated for two years then got married on Nov. 13, 1999. During the 12 years we were together, we shared so many great times. There were some challenging times, too. With each passing year, our love grew stronger. We were blessed with three amazing children.

A funny side story - When Steve and I first talked about how many children we wanted to have, Steve said he wanted three and I said I wanted two. Steve came from a family of three children and I came from a family of two children. Made sense. Ironically, we both got what we wanted - three children through two pregnancies!

With his birthday and our anniversary approaching, I find myself focusing on time, both how time passes and how it stands still. For me and everyone around me, time has gone on. Whether we like it or not, time has passed and we've gotten older. But, time no longer passes for Steve.

Recently, I've caught myself thinking that he would be 49 this year and we'd be celebrating our 14th wedding anniversary. But, Steve won't be 49. He will always be 44. And, it won't be our 14th wedding anniversary. We were married nine years, a few months shy of our 10th anniversary. That time stands still.

Time. Does. Go. On.

I learned valuable lessons ... time is precious and life is short. It's not a lesson we should be reminded of through the death of a loved one. Since Steve died, I've vowed to continue living fully. Yes, I still get caught up in the day-to-day routine of life. But, I try to remember what's most important in life. It's about quality time with family and friends, taking care of ourselves, embracing beauty around us, getting out to do things, making memories ...

So the journey continues ...

Things happen for a reason

I'm sure you hear this phrase a lot ... "things happen for a reason." I know I hear it a lot. Actually, I heard it in church recently. It was part of the priest's homily. "Things in life happen for a reason."

I do believe things happen for a reason. Sometimes that reason is easy to see. I remember a friend told me that he had planned to take a walk one evening. He didn't know why, but for some reason he kept stalling by doing little things around the house; things he could have done after his walk. As he finally was ready to leave the house and take a walk that fall evening, a car pulled into his driveway. The person who got out of the car was in bad shape and needed my friend's help.

It's easy to see that because my friend didn't take a walk earlier that evening, he was able to help someone who came to him in need. I see that.

For other things that happen in life, the reasons aren't so easy to see. Why did a 44-year-old husband and father of three die suddenly?

I'll never be able to understand the reason that had to happened. Never. Ever.

I can, however, see some positive things that have happened as a result of being widowed.

• I have developed deep connections and strong friendships with other widows from across the country. These are amazing women who suffered their own tragedies. Regardless of how we became widowed, we experience so many similarities and some of the same challenges. There is a great comfort in having other people really understand what you're going through. They "get it." Had I not been widowed, I never would have met them
• I traveled by myself across the country to attend an event in which I didn't know another soul. Attending Camp Widow was amazing and did so much to get me moving forward. It's a phenomenal and incredibly supportive community of people
• I became closer with my girlfriends
• I stopped putting off things for tomorrow. Rather than telling my kids we'll have to see a movie or go to Cedar Point "someday," we make plans to do those things together
• I realized how short life is, so I've vowed to live fully

While I can't understand the reasons why some things in life happen, I am able to see many positive aspects of this new life of mine.

So, the journey continues ...

Dreading the beginning of July

Lots of people love this time of year. It's summer. That means school is out. Families are flocking to the beach, mountains or desert for vacation. Soon, people will be gathering to watch fireworks for the 4th of July. For many, it's a happy, carefree time of year.

I hate this time of year. Well, at least the first half of July.

During these several days, I recall sad and painful memories with incredible clarity. I'm talking uncanny clarity. In early July four years ago, Steve was in bad shape. He wasn't himself. He was unusually quiet and withdrawn, so incredibly uncharacteristic for him. Steve was full of life. He loved being outdoors. Fishing on Lake Erie with his friends was the second love of his life (I was the first, of course! He loved fishing so much I jokingly called myself a fishing widow ... oh, the irony.) He had this bold, contagious laugh. He adored his children.

The first two weeks of July in 2009 were bad. I had never seen Steve so down and withdrawn. Regardless of how he was feeling, he wanted to get better. And, he was doing all of the right things to get better -- see his doctor and take the medications he was prescribed. There was one thing his doctor wanted him to do, but he wouldn't do it. His doctor suggested he take a leave of absence from work. He wouldn't do it. Although he needed the rest and the break from the stress of work, it was the stigma of mental illness that kept him from obeying his doctor's recommendation. He didn't want people at work to know what was wrong.

So, he kept it hidden from everyone but his family. He wouldn't even let his closest friends know what was going on. He was embarrassed.

Now, four years later, I am recalling how bad he was but also the hope we had that things would "get back to normal." They didn't.

I struggle with these clear memories that flood back causing grief to rear its ugly head. Driving home from work today, I was thinking about our conversation with a close family friend who had stopped by our house on July 2 to talk with Steve and I. Then, I remembered that tomorrow is July 2. The emotion flooded to the surface.

It's been four years and I feel like I have come a long way on this journey to heal and find my new normal. I realize, though, that at times like this, the approaching anniversary of his death, his birthday, Father's Day and the other holidays, grief can surface with such ferocity. On the positive side, as the years pass, the length of time between these bursts of grief are longer and longer.

During these times when the grief is more intense, I know I need to be good to myself. However, those of you who know me know that I am really bad at that. I mean really bad! But, this is a journey ... so I'll keep trying to take care of myself while I take care of my children. Baby steps.

The journey continues ...