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.

I called the lady who is going to turn the 40 or so t-shirts I have boxed up into a quilt. Anyone who knew Tim will remember his love for a good comfy t-shirt, and he was most comfortable in one. He had work ones, Disney ones, the beer ones (aka free ones), the volunteer event crew ones, and concert/theatre ones from our trips and adventures. He also had one that pre-dated me - his Leahy one. Yes, that is not a typo. A Leahy one. Its tattered, it has holes, its faded, and it will be at the centre of the quilt. I thought I was.ready to have them be carefully crafted into this King sized quilt. I am not so sure anymore. If they get cut up I can't snuggle into them ever again. When I have a meltdown and want to feel his arms around me and get lost in the smell of him I can't. But then again that's the point of the quilt. So I can wherever or whenever I can have him around. I can remember the places we went, the events we got to see, and the amazing times we had spread over our 7 years. Am I ready - no I never will be ready. But I think its time. I meet her next week to talk about patterns, fabrics, and styles. We should have been decorating our house and picking fabrics for our drapes. Nope I am not ready for this. But its here and I have to face it. He is never going to walk in our front door and hold me in his arms. I will have to be content with wrapping his favourite things around me, closing my eyes, and feeling his breath on my neck. Forever.

So I went to the local hospital yesterday because they have a walk-in care centre instead of a full emergency room, and my hives were significantly worse than the day before. And I was slapped in the face by everyone who asked me about my husband/boyfriend/partner. I have never felt so aware of the fact I no longer am part of a couple than I did yesterday.

Triage Nurse: So who brought you in today?
Me: No one. I came alone.
TN: Oh, well if you happen to go in before your husband comes, what's his name so we can send him in?
Me: Um. I don't have a husband. He died over a year ago.
TN: Oh I'm sorry. Is anyone coming for you?
Me: Nope. No one even knows I am here.

Doctor: So are you taking an anti-histamine?
Me: Yes I am taking Benadryl but it doesn't seem to be working.
D: Oh you didn't drive yourself here I hope - they can cause drowsiness.
Me: Nope came by bus. No car so we're ok.
D: Well we are going to give you a shot of steriods and send you home with more steriods and we'll also give you a shot of Benadryl.
Me: Mumh, ok. How long do I have to wait to see an effect and then can I go?
D: Well I don't recommend taking the bus. Would you like to use our phone to call your husband?
Me: No thanks I don't have a husband.
D: Well can we call your boyfriend then? Someone has to be able to come get you.
Me: Nope, no boyfriend either. I'm a 29 yr old widow. I guess I'll call my sister to see if she can pick me up.
D: Oh. I'm sorry. Let us know if you need a taxi chit in case no one can get you.
Me: Ok thanks.

I miss that. I miss calling Tim knowing he would be there in the blink of an eye to resuce, save, or help me. I miss knowing that there was one person in the world who always wanted to be by your side taking care of you. I miss having someone hold my hand when I am worried about the rash growing all over me, and telling me it's going to be ok. I miss lying my head on his chest so I could melt away my fears and be safe in his arms. I miss being the couple we were. I miss him so very much. I miss knowing that I always had someone to call. I miss knowing he'd always be there.

Hospitals are lonely places. I know that because of when Tim was sick in 2006 & 2007 and I spent a full week there each time, leaving only for an hour each day to shower. They are not places you want to be alone. But I am alone. Sure there are tons of family and friends around, but there is no one to pick up all the things Tim was for me. There is no one who can replace who he was to me. And as I sat there yesterday, he just kept flooding my mind. As I looked around at all the families and couples (young and old) I became more and more sad with the notion that I am no longer one of these pairs. I don't have another half - he died and took most of me with him. I no longer have a partner in life. I just have me.

Being alone - not sure it is something I will ever get used to. It seems as if the world was made for pairs and I will never understand why mine was taken away so soon. I found in Tim my perfect partner, my life mate, my love, my best friend, and the person I wanted to wake up to every moring until I died.

Why, when I found all that, was it taken away? I will never quite understand.

Seriously what else can happen to me - the plague? I went to work after a 2 week vacation over the holidays and expected it to be crazy and busy. And it was. Nothing new, and I was expecting it. But sometime around 9:30am I broke out into a itching and scratching dance and was covered in red splotchy hives. WTF? I am only allergic to seasonal alleregens like pollen, ragweed, grass, but since its -10 degrees Celsius here and winter that's not it. I cannot have any sulpher based medications, but didn't have those today, so what the hell?

It's insane - I can't go 5 minutes without trying to tear off my skin. So I buy some Benadryl and anti-itch lotion and pray that this is just some weird reaction to something I may have touched. Nope...nothing works. So I decide to leave and work from home where I can scratch in peace and privacy.

Fast forward 9 hours. Still itchy, but not as bad. Hives appear to have significantly dimished. Only splotchy in some areas, but were swollen. And I managed to get my work done. Perhaps I am allergic to WORK! That would be a interesting disability claim. But no, I don't think its that. Off to see the doctor tomorrow so we'll see what she says. Hope its not a reaction to my meds - I can't handle weaning off yet another anti-depressant. Who knows?

It seems like 29 so far has been full of ailments. Maybe its all psychosomatic. Maybe I really am just crazy. If only - doctor says I'm the most sane patient she has. Great. Something I excel at - being sane amongst all the chaos that is my life.

Excuse me -- need to go scratch my elbows again, Ugh!

I survived the day, and actually enjoyed myself. Minus the migriane headache and bouts of nausea. Not sure what that's all about. But even though I was dreading this day, and what turning 29 was all supposed to be about for me, it wasn't as bad as I expected. Does this mean I am "okay" now - no silly rabbits. I am still processing the last 386 days since he died. It just means I didn't have a shitty day, that I enjoyed people wishing me well, giving me gifts and flowers, treating me to dinners (which by the way not necessary at all, but greatly appreciated!!), and I had an OK day. There is nothing wrong with having an OK day, and having an OK day does not preclude me from having more crappy, depressing, sad, miserable, grief stricken days in the near future. They will come. The bastards are known to come in bouts and clusters as my widow friends know. But, today was not one of them. And I know he is proud of me for actually wanting to enjoy my 'day' and celebrate that I am still alive (no idea why or how) and that I am loved by many, not just him.

Today can't replace the large whole in my heart he took when he died, but it certainly stopped the pain for a few hours.

So thank you...I have 4 more hours of specialness left and I am going to go enjoy them if I can.

xoxo

I have been suffering off and on with it for the last year. I went from a girl who could sleep anywhere, anytime, and soundly all night long, to someone who is lucky to get 3-4 hours a night all broken up into 45 minute sections.

I could not sleep last night. I tossed, I turned, I pulled off the blankets, I snuggled under them, I counted sheep, I took a sleeping pill, I watched CNN, and nothing. Nope not even fluttering eyelid. At 4 am I said to hell with this all and was going to "get up" and then I yawned. And my eyes closed gently, and I feel asleep. This time for 3 whole uninterrupted hours. That's progress!
This insomnia bullshit comes and goes in waves like my grief. I think its getting better...one-two nights of crappy sleep versus weeks on end.

Just when you think you are getting used to what is the new normal, bang! Something reminds you that this is far from over and the road ahead is quite long. At least I am not working today so I might be able to pull off a midday nap with the cats. A girl can dream can't she?

Ok so its January 1st. Almost through the 20 days of hell. 3 more days, then its my 29th birthday and then its all over again. Well until Valentine's Day that is.

So I cooked. Yeah me. I went big. I made a steak with frites (white & sweet potato). And I messed it all up. I so overcooked the steak. Even by my standards. I was a well-done girl when I met Tim, and he introduced me to what steak is supposed to taste like. With his help I graduated to medium-well, and now I am proud to order my steaks medium. Yup the girl who liked chared, blackend, dry bits of shoe leather, now wants to see pink.

But I overcooked it...still edible, but he would have told me I ruined a perfectly good piece of beef and had a mock funeral, fist shaking to the sky, crying out "WHY?" reaction to my dinner last night. Well if he was here, he'd have made amazing steaks, and I would have stuck to the sides and a salad like always. When it came to beef, I was the sous-chef, he was the master.

Another one of the million reasons I miss him, and wish he was still here. I never had to worry about my steak with him at the grill, and I can still see his beaming face everytime we decided to have steak. He'd point all his fingers together (like the child's game....this is the steeple) and exclaim "Exccceeeeellllleeeeennnnnnntttttttt...."

Sigh. I guess I'll stick to chicken for now. That was always when I became the chef. One day down, 364 more to go. Fuck. This really, really sucks. Deep breath. Ok, it royally sucks ass, but such is my life. I wonder if there is a website with recipes for less than 4 servings? Guess I'll go find out.