Hands

A simple photo opportunity.

A day in the sun. A day with the one I love.

Our hands.

Proof that he is here for me. Proof that he exists here in my life. Proof that he offers his hand to me.

I sit here looking at this innocent photo that I took today.

My hand on his. His hand at ease. His hand already used to mine finding it's way over to his.

I am very fortunate. I never forget this. I never take the offer of his hand for granted.


It reminds me of another photo I took four years ago.


Another day in the sun. Another day with the one I loved.

Our hands.

Proof that he was there for me. Proof that he existed here in my life. Proof that he offered his hand to me.

My hand on his. His hand at ease. His hand already used to mind finding it's way over to his.

I am very fortunate. I never forget this. I never took the offer of his hand for granted.

Thankful

Two Thanksgiving celebrations down, and one to go.

It's been an interesting couple of days. Friday night I hosted an office Thanksgiving potluck at my home. Almost every person from the office came, along with their families. There was so much food, wine and desert, and everyone was in a very good mood. Most had hoped to meet Abel, and since he had to work, I was explaining all night as to why he wasn't present.

Since most of the folks I work with have never been to my home I took the time to give each of them the official tour. What I realized is that this crowd of people never knew Michael, or of my life with him. Of course many have likely heard that I am widowed, but it is something that is more historical information to them. As each entered my bedroom they were greeted by the large wedding photo of Michael and I, which is balanced across the room with his urn. To create a festive mood throughout the house I had votive candles everywhere. Two specific candles are often burning on each side of the urn. I think these images were a bit jarring for each guest, as it put some reality into what I have experienced over the years.

On Saturday I had another early Thanksgiving celebration, this time at my parents' home. All of my brothers and their families were present, and with each person that greeted me there was the same question, "where is Abel?" That part was very similar to the questions and responses on Friday night, only this crowd had a very personal perspective of not only my loss, but of theirs.

I was enjoying a glass of wine with my sister-in-law, and having a real heart to heart when she commented about how quickly life can change. She was remembering her weekend visit to my home at the end of the summer, and how I was expressing that I was now ready to begin dating. She pointed out that the expression on my face now is very different than times in the recent past. She said that I look happy for a change. As we spoke more about Abel she shared with me that even though she is happy for me, and Abel seems like a nice guy, it is very difficult to see me with somebody new. She told me that even though it's been two years, she still thinks about how much she and everyone loved Michael, and how she misses him. My sister-in-law said that Michael was such a special person, the type that doesn't come along very often.

I appreciated what my sister-in-law shared with me. It was a good reminder that others around me continue to be affected by Michael being taken so soon. I know that my family is pleased that I have found happiness with someone new, but they will need time to adjust, as they don't see me, or us, often.

Before we began to eat our Thanksgiving meal all of us formed a circle in the room. We joined hands for the Thanksgiving prayer. My father voiced a collective thanksgiving for all that we have, and for what God will continue to provide us. These words sort of took me to another place. Yes, I am thankful, yet part of me is still feeling the sting of personalizing that God took Michael from me. I know that this internal debate, did he take him, or was it just his time, is not something worth wrestling with. I know that if God did take him, it is not for me to know why. So for now I will focus on being thankful for what I have.

I am thankful for my children, and the love we share between us. I am thankful for all of my extended family, and for the many years my parents, and each of my brothers, have been given in their marriages. I am thankful for all of my widowed friends, and all those that come here to read, connect, and heal. And yes, I am thankful that for now, and for how ever long I am blessed with this new person in my life, I have companionship.

One more Thanksgiving to go, which will be just my kids, Abel and me. No explanations needed.

Knocked Back Down, Momentarily.

Knocked back down to my knees.

Momentarily.

I was checking out Facebook earlier, as I like to see who is celebrating their birthday. Today was the birthday of one of Michael's best friends, so I went to her page. While there I decided to check out her photos, and didn't prepare myself for what I might see. It was the photos since Michael's death that hit me, and hit me hard.

I got through our two year wedding anniversary really well last week. I had the loving support of my kids, and of Abel. I had a quiet evening, but a peaceful one. Today, looking at photos of Michael's friends spending time together during the past couple of years was very hard to look at. I suppose it was just a harsh reminder of how much time has passed since he's been gone. I think I incorporate my daily life, my life without him, and it all is beginning to feel more comfortable. Yet, I don't often think about how much his presence is missing in the rest of the world.

Immediately after looking at the photos, and making a casual comment to my daughter about them, I realized that the dark bile of grief was working it's way up my throat. I went into my bedroom, and was knocked to my knees. I haven't felt this level of pain in such a long time. It was cutting me from every side of my being. From within, and from without. I couldn't find comfort laying on my bed, so I did as I usually do. I lit the candles that sit along side his urn, got out my meditation pillow, and sat there before the glowing warmth of the candle light. For comfort I reached out for the pocket watch he gave me five months before his death. It was supposed to remind me of the beating of his heart, yet in the two years that have passed, the battery had died. I sat there on the floor, with a dead pocket watch, crying over my dead husband.

How pathetic.

I must have released a shitload of stored up grief, because it went on and on. As I sat there I felt the need to connect to him physically once again. I didn't want something that used to belong to him, I wanted him. I know this may be morbid to some, yet I know what I need from time to time. I went to his urn, opened the lid, and reached in.

My fingers grazed across the jagged mixture of bone and dust. I opened a small bag that I keep separate from the rest. I let my fingers dig deep, and to feel his ashes in between my fingers. I ran this dust, his ashes, across my hand, and then laid back down on the floor. I laid there, physically connected, spiritually reaching out, and waited for a sense of healing. I wanted so badly to have him reach back out to me. I waited, then waited some more.

I soon began thinking of Abel. I thought about the many times I have found myself lying in his arms. I took that feeling, and mixed it up with Michael's embrace. I laid there on the floor for a very long time, and realized that I was likely missing Abel's nightly call during his break at work. I reminded myself that someone cares about me. Someone cares about me out there in that place I have no real knowledge of. Someone cares about me here in my current world as well.

I feel such comfort knowing that I have Michael so close to me. All I have to do is reach out for him and he is there. I also feel such comfort knowing that I have someone, Abel, who is willing to listen to my stories of Michael whenever I need to speak.

Just a minute ago Abel did call. I took a break from writing, and he could hear something in my voice. He asked, I shared, and he reassured me that if he were here there would be a great big hug for me. I'm feeling so much better now. I am feeling like I am back on my feet, and okay with continuing on my journey.

Funny how there is no conflict between my two loves. They coexist, and I am at peace.

Love to Love You Baby!

I had a wonderful love.

I had the opportunity to love Michael for the rest of his life.

It didn't really matter how long we loved.

It mattered more that we loved.

I learned much about myself by loving Michael.

I learned much about love by being loved by Michael.

I am now able to trust love.

I am now able to love again.

Michael, I love to love you baby.

Expressions of Love

So High. So Low.

My week has been different than what I'm normally familiar with. I'm experiencing such high moments. Moments of feeling the excitement of new love. I look forward to his calls. I smile from ear to ear whenever we are together. I feel so excited with each plan we make.

I also come home each late afternoon, and as I close the door to my bedroom the tears fall down my face. I wrap my arms around myself, and hold on tight. I lay on my bed, and feel such sorrow.

One wanted me to be happy. Another is making me happy.

One gave me all of his love. Another looks forward to sharing more days together, with hopes of a love that can signal a future together.

For two years I slept with his pillows taking up the space he used to occupy. I held onto these soft objects that no longer carry his scent. For two years my arms and legs clung to a form that served to remind me that yes, he was here, but now he is gone.

This weekend someone new occupied his space. My arms were wrapped around this new person. The space he takes up is different. He is not the same person. His form feels different.

There is comfort. There is affection. There is warmth.

Tonight the pillows will be back. Tonight I will grieve the one that is gone. Tonight I will miss the new one that is absent. Tonight I have a longing that is less clear. Tonight there are two that occupy my mind. Tonight there are two that fill my heart.

Wednesday is, was, our wedding anniversary. It's a very odd day. Yes, it is the day we wed. Yes, it is the anniversary of a wonderful love filled day. Yet, it is also an occasion we never celebrated together. Michael died one month shy of our first wedding anniversary. The wedding came later in the relationship. It was a day we never expected would be possible. We seized the opportunity to stand before our loved ones and pledge our love to each other. With all that happened in the year after we wed, few ever remember the day. His death eclipsed any type of celebrated remembrance.

Perhaps this year I will simply celebrate love. I will celebrate that I stood before a man, and pledged my love. I will celebrate that I made a vow, a promise, that I kept. I will celebrate that while I have yet to say those words to someone new, those words have been on my mind. I will celebrate that one day soon, those words will be spoken again. I will celebrate that my heart is filled with love.

I will celebrate that there is room enough for the love of both of them.