Kiss At Midnight

December 30, 2009 by  
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There is overwhelming silence when you live alone. It’s hard to conceive that I am 53 and living alone for the first time. I lived with my parents until I got married at 19. I became a mom at 22. Extremely uncomfortable and unbalanced with silence, I became the social director for my family and consistently filled our home with friends and laughter.

It has now been 376 days since my husband passed away. I miss him more than words can describe. I continue to experience such a range of emotions not having his arms and legs wrapped around me when I go to sleep. Waking up alone each and every morning only reinforces the reality that he is truly gone.

Each night snuggled securely in each other’s arms, we could be intensely intimate through touch, even without making love. Touch can offer a climax of passion that begins deep within your heart. I still find myself aching with raw emotions, reaching to retain the memory of his body against mine. There are times when I open the bathroom cabinet and the smell of my husband’s cologne is so strong it overwhelms me. With the smell of his presence, I close my eyes and hold him close.

The adjustment of traveling this journey alone has been terrifying. I know I have the choice to either make this transition move forward or settle and remain captive in my grief. There are days when the sadness overpowers me. The end of last year was spent existing in shock. Numbness and indifference pushed me through the year. I had moments when I felt somewhat confident yet they were gone as quickly as they came.

Now the end of the year is almost here. On New Years Eve I will be alone for the countdown. Even though I won’t feel my husband’s kiss at midnight, my soul will know he is there. I cherish the years we had together in this life and the love we shared.

When we look back at this year, what memories will we think about? What will we treasure the most?

What will I take forward with me, from this year filled with moments without my husband?

I will treasure memories of my family and friends, always there for me when I didn’t have the strength nor desire to stand on my own. Memories of honoring my husband by trying to do the best I could without him. Memories of hope.

Always treasure your special memories. Happy New Year.

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Celebration Of Life

December 21, 2009 by  
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Walking the beach and listening to the ocean. A vacation? It definitely doesn’t feel like one. A vacation would include my husband. This trip is immensely beyond the horizon of my comfort zone. I am here alone, in a city I’ve never been, not knowing a single person.

This trip was planned around one day, December 19. The day last year when my husband left, no longer walk beside me in this life. A time in our marriage that my husband had unending peace and strength  yet I was overcome with fear and weakness.

I’ve watched the sun come up and go down every morning. Walked up and down the beach for literally hours at a time. Hypnotized by the serenity of the ocean I’ve sat and cried. I thanked him for all of our memories. I honored his life.

“You’re stronger than you think you are” my husband kept telling me those last 24 days we spent together. I’d tell him through the tears “But I don’t want to be strong” as I felt my world crumbling in front of my eyes.

My man from the land of enchantment… he brought meaning to my world and guided me to be a better person.

My husband. One year as my Guardian Angel. I love you.

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Home Doesn’t Feel Like Home

November 12, 2009 by  
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All Dorothy needed to do was click her ruby red slippers together three times and repeat the words ”There’s no place like home.” She is my role model for self-discovery, for personal power and believing in myself.

I also agreed with Dorothy that there was no place like home. Home is where you would celebrate birthdays, graduations, and holidays because there was nothing better than a house filled with family, friends and laughter. Home was where I would sit with my husband talking for hours about nothing and about everything. It was where we laughed about funny things from the past and planned for the new adventures in our future. It was always my safe place. My husband and home would protect me from the worries and pressures of the world.

Home was also where my husband wanted to be when he knew his days on this earth were limited.

After Hospice was called we had 24 days. We sat together and held hands. We talked about our life together. He told me I was stronger than I gave myself credit for. He helped me make a list of how to take care of our home, when to change the oil in my car. He had me write down words of wisdom and what he wanted our grandchildren to know about him. No longer were there plans for our future. I didn’t want to let him go. I didn’t want him to leave me. I asked him if he believed in reincarnation. I told him through the tears that I have to believe he would hear my prayers.

After my husband left for Eternal Life our home became so quiet. I deeply miss hearing the sounds of his presence. Being quiet wasn’t his nature. He loved to laugh and had so much fun making up songs and jingles using various voices and accents. I often told him he should volunteer to read books to children or record books on tape for the blind.

When we would go shopping I could always find him because he would walk around whistling. I still find myself turning around to look for him when I hear that sound. I remember how he would hide behind something even after he knew I saw him. He would always make me laugh. We had so much fun together.

If only I had ruby slippers and could go back to home. Home to the world I shared with my husband.

I keep reminding myself of his favorite quote by Dr. Seuss…

Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.

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The Difference Between My Dog And Me

October 20, 2009 by  
Filed under Blog, Popular Posts

When I leave my house my dog sits outside my office door and waits for me.  He sees me go out the front door but he goes outside in the backyard, where my office is, and sits by my locked door.  He does that because during the day that’s where I always am and in his mind he can’t understand where else I could be.  I’m always there so I must be there.

I think people do the same thing when we lose someone.  Death is such a confusing experience.  One minute a person is part of our lives and then in the next they are gone. How to make sense of it?  Not in a religious or spiritual way but in a visceral physical way? Not possible. So we go to the places where the person we lost used to exist and look for traces of them.  We sit outside their doors and hope somehow they are inside.

But just like in my dog’s case no matter how long we wait our “person” won’t mysteriously materialize. They now occupy a different realm in our lives and it’s a hard transition for the people left behind.

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