I know, I've been slacking. I haven't written in this blog for almost 4 months. I've been writting in my journal and working on my book, but for some reason everytime I sat down at my laptop to write HERE I'd break down. And I am so TIRED of breaking down and picking my ass up. You see living with my two furbabies (cats) means no one can pick me up but me. But I do it all the time. Every few days I crumble and piece myself back together strand by strand.

Tomorrow Tim would have been 35. And I was planning a massive surprise party for him. Complete with a Chicago Bears theme, tickets to a game and a week in the Windy City. It would have been the best thing I could have ever done for him in his eyes. But instead, I will visit his grave at sunrise and lay the blue rose I chose as I shed tears for the love of my life and the life that was stolen from us.

I've also been busy the last few months climbing those pesky roadblocks that always seem to be right around the bend. What have I done? Well since you asked I've:

• Said goodbye to persons who were not helpful, supportive or understanding of my pain and grief.
• Bought a car - well not any car, but "our" first car. His name is Bear, his plate says BearsGrl cause that's what I am, and Tim would have loved it
• I drive everywhere and anywhere now - I am planning several roadtrips this summer
• The t-shirt quilt in memory of Tim is being designed and should be ready well in time for Autumn when I'll need it on our bed
• My memorial tattoo is being designed by one of Tim's friends and I will get inked later this summer
• I've been mediation free since the last week of January. 4 months now and NO intention of going back
• I am cooking again - not every meal, but a few times a week
• My balcony garden is almost ready for Spring/Summer blooming - just a few more annuals to plant

So you can see, I haven't been exactly twittling my thumbs.

But as I said to a friend whose 11 month old son I was holding, wishing he was mine: These are all just distractions. These are things I HAVE to do, not necessarily want to do. I have very little joy that eminates from these things, events, moments. I am not happy and can't remember what that feels like. Sure I have had moments where I am crying tears because I am laughing so hard, but they are far and few between. I am still just existing - I have yet to return to living. I am not sure if I ever will. 17 months is around the corner as is 1 1/2 years. And I feel just as lost as I did on day one.

It was a hard weekend. It was an emotional weekend. And I am glad that I rented a car so I could drive, and drive, and drive just to escape it all. I find it peaceful and serene when I am focused on getting from point A to point B safely. I crank up the radio or CD player, and sing at the top of my lungs, and my lead foot occasionally pushes me to 120km/hr. I quickly decrease my speed and feel in control. This whole past year I have felt as if nothing was in my hands and everything was out of my locus of control. I think that’s why I like driving so much. No one is in control but me then.

Loading the car up on Saturday with his things was hard. I painstakingly went through most of Tim’s things last month and set aside things I either knew he’s want given to Matt (his brother) or that I felt I didn’t want anyone else to have but Matt. I bawled as I was sorting. It was as if I was losing him all over again by giving his things away. But I kept hearing his voice telling me it was time. That in order for me to keep his memory alive, I had to share him and his favourite thing with those closest to him. I almost didn’t. I almost wanted to keep it all. But then I’d have a shrine. I’ll never ever be able to have him the way I want to again. And he’d hate what I’ll have become by preserving his things and his memory like that. But it was fucking hard. It was one of the hardest things I had to do.

Since I was already in so much pain, and a mess, I went through his closet too. I lovingly packed up all his sweaters, pants, ties, shirts, khakis, shorts, jeans, hats, scarves, mittens and shoes. All except his t-shirts (for the memory quilt), a few sweatshirts I still wear, that one special sweater, and his work boots. And I packed them all for Out of the Cold. And I called the church and arranged for a drop off date.

Yesterday was that day. I gave Matt what I set aside for him, and once I got back to Toronto, I took the 5 large boxes of clothing for the church and packed them into the car. And as soon as I sat in the drivers seat and saw them sitting on the back seat I cried. I sat there and cried for what felt like an eternity. I wasn’t even sure I was going to be able to compose myself enough to drive downtown and get them to the church.

And then this song came on…. Josh Groban’s "Never Let Go" http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=dKJ24gn3taQ

I can't understand it.
The search for an answer is met with a darker day.
And we've been handed these moments forever.
But I'm reassured there's another way.
You don't have to close your eyes.
There is room for love again.
Ease the pain to realize
All that love can be.
Forced apart by time and sand.
Take a step and take my hand.
And don't let it go.
Never let go.

Broken, once connected,
We were so strong and so blessed in a simple way.
So don't let me go it alone.
Turn your head up to the sky.
Nothing down below but me.
Face the truth to realize.
All that we could be.
Torn apart by rage and fear.
Hold onto what brought you here.
Don't let it go.
Never let go.
Turn your head up to the sky.
Nothing down below.
Don't let go.

And I started the car, and I listened and knew in that moment, that I don’t have to let him go, by lettings parts or things of his go. He will be with me forever, and I will carry him as part of me for the rest of my life. It was as if he was telling me it was ok – that its what he would have wanted – that as much as it hurt, I wasn’t “giving him away”. I was ensuring his spirit would go on by the good deeds he did on Earth and all the ways he will help people with his death.

And then just like Tim, I dreamt of him last night…he was there; I felt him. I begged all week long for him to visit me. I wanted to see him, hear him, and hold him again. We were holding hands, and he was telling me where he wanted to take me. He was all dressed up, in a nice shirt and tie with dress pants. I never got to see his face, but I was able to be wrapped up in his arms in a nice hug and hear his beautiful voice. He told me he was happy. He told me he had a surprise for me and was taking me out on the town for a nice dinner. He sounded so alive and felt so real. I didn’t want to let go of his hand. I could feel the warmth emanating from his palms. We were walking – it was sunny and clear. It felt like Autumn. He told me he loved me. He whispered he’d always be there in my ear. We never got to the restaurant. I remember holding his hand, and then he was gone. My hand was still warm, and crumpled from being wrapped tightly in his.

And I knew as I smiled upon waking up, that he had been there. That he had held my hand yesterday, and came to tell me it was all good. That he was okay with the decisions I made for us, and that I never have to let him go for he will never let me go. And that is just fine with me.

I have been writting for over a year now. Most of it has been in private journals...pages and pages of tear stained notes and messages. I don't think I will ever let anyone see those, but I know the will be the source of the book I plan to write on being a young widow living in 2009. Not sure if it will be fictional with some true bits, or a non-fictional account of what I've been through. I'm not there yet. But I do know the main character...me. Whatever route or category I choose to publish in, she will be the centre. The girl I once was, the girl I was destined to be, and the girl who actually emerges as a result.

Many have told me they find my writing insightful, meaningful, truthful, painful, and inspiring. I just write. I don't even think half the time. I just sit and let it all come out, usually with a cup of tea and a box of three-ply tissues on standby. After thousands of used tissues, don't let anyone tell you three-ply is overrated or a luxury. Its a neccessity for vast amounts of tears I have shed in 403 days.

I have a Facebook account with almost 300 contacts, and I have posted a few pieces I have written over the last year there. Some are pure raw emotion. Others are insights into what this journey along the crooked, rocky and sometimes rough yellow brick road has been like. Since not everyone who may read this blog has access to my Facebook account, (nor do I want everyone to have access to my Facebook account), I have included my writings on this webpage. By clicking this link, you will be able to read the writings I have made public outside of this blog.

For those of you who are newly widowed, I hope by reading and experiencing my pain, you will know you are not alone. Even when I am at my lowest points and feel as if the world had isolated me, I know based on the messages I have received about these writings, that I am never really alone.

http://www.slideshare.net/BearsGrl/slideshows

I heard this song a while ago; Josh Groban's Awake. It drove me to tears. I sobbed for hours just listening to the words. I kept thinking of Tim and how it felt like this song was written from my darkest journal moments.

I heard it again today. Again I was brought to a sobbing ball on the floor. Again I ached for him. Again, and again, and again. It hurts. It will always hurt. These are the beautiful lyrics which capture so much of what I have been through.

A beautiful and blinding morning
The world outside begins to breathe
See clouds arriving without warning
I need you here to shelter me
And I know that only time will tell us how
To carry on without each other

So keep me awake to memorize you
Give me more time to be this way
We can't stay like this forever
But I can have you next to me today

If I could make these moments endless
If I could stop the winds of change
If we just keep our eyes wide open
Then everything would stay the same
And I know that only time will tell us how
To carry on without each other

So keep me awake for every moment
Give us more time to be this way
We can't stay like this forever
But I can have you next to me today
We'll let tomorrow wait, you're here, right now, with me
And all my fears just fall away, when you are all I see

We can't stay like this forever
But I have you here today
And I will remember
Oh I will remember
Remember all the love we shared today

http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=AbpGUGIo3ME

I just want the pain to end.....

That's the best way to describe the last 13 months. 13 months ago I lay in bed with Tim, lying on his chest as we watched LOST Season 3, and as he ate Bailey's ice cream. He was smiling. He was happy. We were in our flannel pj's on our new fuzzy sheets and we were happy.

Fast forward to tonight. I have been suffering the worst bouts of nausea, have thrown up repeatedly over the last 4 days, have been unable to keep anything down including crackers and toast, I am dehydrated, scared and alone. 13 months. How has this become my life?

I've told my doctor no more anti-depressants. Not because I was worried about the bleeding disorder they made worse, or because I am better ( I am FAR from better, I think I am actually worse). But for 13 months I have been functioning because of these tiny pills and coming off them has been absoute hell. I am already dealing with a body ravaged by a virus that has not only given me the flu, and then a case of hives, as well as this new form of nausea. I am already dealing with what has been the worst month emotionally for me since Tim died. And why should anything be easy for me? Withdrawl from these medcations has been brutal. I am unable to function. I sleep for 15-18 hours a day. I throw up all the time. I sweat and feel hot in -20 degree Celsius weather. I have headaches which feel as if my head is going to expolode. And this is after my doctor has weaned me off them slowly. This is withdrawl done professionally and correctly. I feel like a crack addict who is jonsing for her next hit. I want it all to end. I wish this pain that is ravaging me from the inside out would just end. I wish I was just dead.

But I am not. I am still here. I am trapped in this body and forced to live this life. I have been crying and screaming for him all month long. I wake up in the middle of the night reaching out for him only to realize again for the 400th time he isnt there. I look for him. I ache for him. I need him like no one can imagine. And I am here alone. No one can possibly understand what it feels like to cry, throw up, scream, and be in so much emotional pain every day for 13 months. And this isn't over. My withdrawl will last at least a few more days, maybe weeks. But I will be forever in withdrawl from Tim. I was not weaned off him. He was ripped and taken from me. We were happy and then 12 hours later my world was forever gone. It was replaced with a mind who is confused, a body who is unable to cope, and a soul forever tortured. And this has been the last 13 months.

Some people think because a year has passed I should be over it, over him, and getting on with my life. Amid the spells of throwing up I laugh. What exactly do you think I have been doing the last 13 months. I have been trying to make sense of this new life of mine and am getting through it. I will never get over it. A year.....is not enough to pave over a lifetime of memories we will never have or the years of memories we did. A year, is not enough to repair my heart and soul from being ripped in half. A year is never going to be enough time to get used to a lifetime without Tim. A year is just 12 months of agony to be followed by more pain.

Excuse me...I think I am going to throw up again.