Are You Sad?

Last night was a nice evening. My son and I arrived home from our day at work and school a bit early, which made the evening feel less rushed than usual. Abel was there, and had done some cleaning, which made me smile. After checking in with the my daughter, her boyfriend, and a visiting friend, I went to my bedroom to have a bit of quiet time with Abel.

Those of you who are parents know there isn't too much quiet time when arriving home from work. There is homework to be supervised, dinner to be made, mail to be read, and whatever chores you had planned. While my son was at the table doing some reading, my daughter, Abel and I were busy getting dinner started. In between checking on the food I was running outdoors installing more landscape lighting which needs to be done in the dark to know what I want to highlight.

At some point I came back into the house, finished preparing dinner, then sat with my family to eat. When we were done there was the usual kitchen clean up, then back to my bedroom to change out of my work clothes. It was at that point that Abel asked, "are you feeling sad?"

My children know my moods very well. They are also very protective of me since Michael died. They have seen me at my worst, especially those early days when I would be down on the ground crying with no end. Those severe days of grieving are far behind me, but what continues are the various layers that continue to be experienced. Sometimes those days of sadness are clear to me, and I can pin point the reason. Other times my sadness goes unrecognized by me or others. Yet, my sadness is always clear to my children.

No dear, why are you asking if I am sad?

"Arianne said you looked sad tonight."

I responded that I just had many things on my mind, and was likely preoccupied with many concerns. I told Abel not to worry, yet he still put his arms around me to show that he cared, and that I had someone there to support me.

What came to mind wasn't whether or not I was truly sad, but how much all this loss has affected each of us. Driving home yesterday my son Remy was talking about how the kids as school joke about things. He said they often play a game where they call out that someone has died. Remy said that while he gets that they are just playing, and that they obviously have not been touched so closely by death. He said that if they knew what it was like to have their father die they would be less likely to find this type of humor funny.

Death has greatly impacted my family. Death has brought each of us a deeper sorrow than we had ever experienced before, even through the death of many extended family members. When death comes to your door, and takes someone from their bed at home, you are never quite the same.

I don't think I was sad. I think my daughter recognized a pattern of behavioral responses by me, and attributed them to sadness. I believe it will take some time before my kids see me with a host of expressions and moods, and not connect them to grief. Loss has been with our family since my children's birth mother was taken away by circumstance, and then by death. Loss has been with us since Michael was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and then by death.

Loss is being experienced by us with a new person in my life, who is now sharing a space in my heart with Michael. Yes, even with the joy that Abel brings me I am always aware that his presence is because Michael was taken. Even though the kids see how happy Abel makes me, they experience loss by seeing a new man occupy the space in our lives that Michael used to occupy.

No, today I am not sad.

Super 8

For those that did not read my post on today's Widow's Voice, you might want to follow the link and read before continuing.

A Child's Grief.

For those that have read it, you will see the irony in finding myself in the theatre, watching this film.

I picked up my son from his summer day camp this afternoon, and was eager to hear about his first day. His initial comment was that it was kind of boring, but then he quickly shifted gears, and said that he did enjoy getting to know this younger kid. They both attended a Skateboard/Scootering Camp, and he came home with all the expected scrapes and bruises.

On the way home I mentioned that I wanted to stop and have dinner, as I don't usually cook at home but a couple of times a week. He quickly noticed that we were by one of the local malls, and suggested we eat dinner at the food court. I made a quick and abrupt right turn, and parked the car. After we were finishing our meals, his a hot dog on a stick, and mine, Mediterranean, he asked if we could see a movie, as the theatre was conveniently right next to the food court. Hmn, was I just had? I laughed at his clever ploy, and said that I was quite tired from work, but he reminded me that I have taken many a nap in other movie theatres.

Because we didn't want to be out too late, we chose a film that was just about to start, Super8. I didn't know much about the film, other than it was a bit of a retro sci-fi. I thought, okay, it looks like fun. I had never been much of a sci-fi fan, but that changed when I met Michael. He was the biggest sci-fi freak. I remember the kids looking at me strangely when Michael would first start coming over to the house for dinner and a movie. Eventually the kids walked into the living room to announce that "our dad must really like you because he hates sci-fi films." Oh how poetic kids can be.

Anyway, yes it is a sci-fi, and a fun one at that. The part I had no idea about was the back story. As the film opens, the boy, who happens to be the same age as my son, is sitting outside on a swing, as guests fill his house. He is sitting there in a black suit, and as the camera winds it's way into the house, it is clear that this is a funeral reception. The boys mother died, and he is left alone with his grieving dad. The film them quickly moves forward four months later. The kid is at his friend's house across the street. His friend comes from a large family, which includes five other siblings, a mom, and a dad. The house is loud, chaotic, with kids running and laughing throughout. Quickly we hear the mother calling her kids to the dinner table, which is filled with a big home cooked meal. The mother looks to the main character, and lets him know there is plenty of food if he wants to stay. He thanks her, but says he needs to get home, as he has dinner waiting for him there as well.

The boy walks across the street, and you begin to see his body language change. It's as if he is suddenly carrying a heavy load. He opens the door, and enters his house, which is quiet, and still. He walks through the kitchen, which has an obvious layer of dust throughout. He walks down the hall, and calls out for his dad. As he comes to the end of the hall way he sees his dad, sitting alone in the bathroom, his eyes, and face, filled with tears. The father quickly wipes the tears from his face, and with a quick closing of the bathroom door, he announces that he will be out in a minute.

Loss. It's everywhere. It's in my life. It's in my son's life. And, it's on the screen in this harmless sci-fi movie. I won't go too far into the plot, but it's your basic alien, trying to get back home. Near the end, the boys says to the alien that he understands. He tells the alien that “Bad things happen, but you can still live.” It's corny, yes, but spoken from one who knows.

Throughout the movie we see the father and son at odds. They are both grieving, and are joined by their loss, but they grieve in very different ways. They are separated mid way through the story, and in the end are reunited. When they do find each other, the father holds his son so tightly, that you know he doesn't want to lose him again. He then whispers into his ear, “I’m just doing the best I can to save you.”

Isn't that what we are all trying to do? I know that is what I am trying to do. I'm not always good at it. I sometimes get angry, and lose sight of the fact that my son is also grieving, and in a way that is not my own. I need to remember that he too fears that we may not find our way back, but I was reminded last night, and I am reminded again tonight, that I too am doing the best I can to save him.

This is what I need.

I thought I would return to my blog tonight. I realize I have been absent for some time, as I really did need a break from the discipline of writing. I wish I could say it was a welcome break, or that it created space for some fun and enjoyable times, but life doesn't seem to work that way just yet.

The first thing that I found as I didn't write was that I was quite lonely. I have become so used to sharing my every thought and action with so many of you, and I have benefited so much from each of your responses. They really give the acknowledgement that I need. I think it's acknowledgement that while I am making progress, you know that it's a daily struggle. When I realized how difficult it was to not have this, I actually made myself hold back from writing to better understand what it is that I seek, and figure out how I can start having that need fulfilled here at home as well.

I have been going through a pretty bad depression. I have been sinking deeper and deeper, and worrying about where I was headed. The big problem was that I wasn't sharing it with anyone. Fortunate for me, I have a bit of a guardian angel, known as my cousin Fred, who paid me a visit this past weekend. We were able to get out of the house to talk heart to heart. He really gave me a lot to think about. I need to not isolate myself, especially during this difficult period. I need to seek help, support, or just some kind of activity. I don't need to make any major strides, just keep making some kind of effort.

Tonight I went to a meeting/workshop that was supposed to be focused on dealing with your grief during the holiday season. It was held at the Lesbian and Gay Center. I thought I might meet other widowers, yet I didn't find exactly what I was looking for. It was a very small turn out, and the few that did show up seemed to have other compounded issues that needed to be addressed. The end result was that the meeting seemed quite of task, but helpful in the end. I came away realizing how fortunate I am, and how many tools I already have in my grief tool chest.

I recognized that I have maintained a great sense of optimism in spite of my loss. I still see the world as a good place. I still see kindness in people, and I find compassion when I am willing to open up. As I shared at tonight's meeting, I don't go out into the world expecting anyone to take my grief away. I don't want someone to put their arms around me while I cry. It's just not me. When I am in that state I want to be alone. It's when I am alone with my tears that I can feel Michael's love holding me close. What I want in others, is to be willing to hear about my experience, and be willing to share theirs with me. I want serious talk, and some laughter. That is what reminds me that I am still in the land of the living.

In looking ahead at the holidays, I know what I need, and what I don't need. I need to be around my kids, and my family. I need to see the smiles on their faces, and see them interact with joy. I don't need over the top celebrations. I don't like to be around too much laughter quite yet. It is still a bit too painful, and it makes me feel out of place. I don't want to bring people down, or cause them concern. I just want to enjoy every one's company, but in a quiet way.

Therefore, the task at hand for me is to explain to my family what my needs are. I need to give them permission to enjoy the holiday as they like, yet allow me to be myself. I need to ask that they not try to cheer me up. I need to remind them that Michael is still always on my mind, so sharing a memory of him is a welcome gift. I would like them to be gentle with me, and to put their arms around me even if I say I am alright. With this I will be able to slowly come out of my shell. I will feel safe, and I will feel cared for. Most of all, I will feel understood.

What more could I ask for?

Recovery

Today I was thinking to myself about how damaged I feel. These past few years of going through so much trauma and loss, have really taken their toll on me. I feel like my daily reserve of clear thinking, motivation or empathy, are always working from a clear deficit. There just isn't much left in me.

I come home each day, and look at the ever growing mounds of mail that never get opened. Really. So you thought I grew past all of that? Not a chance. I'm not sure if I just don't care, or I don't have the energy anymore, but day to day tasks, such as opening and following through with mail, just rarely seem to rise to the top of my lists these days. These days? Actually, these years.

I wonder how I managed to do all that I used to do. I wonder how I managed to care about things like I used to care about. I know that the term I used above, damaged, is not a word people like to hear. Unfortunately, it is really how I feel. I'm not capable of all that I used to be. I still feel like I walk around in a fog most of the time. Yes, I do have some moments during the day when I am able to focus, or to lighten up and just laugh, but it's the immediate moments afterward that are concerning. It's as if a light goes immediately out. I suddenly realize that I am once again walking around in the dark.

I often hear other widowed people speak of "widow brain." I know that they often use this term in humor, but of course it is spoken about a true experience that many of us share. We are now so forgetful. We have less ability to multi-task. Actually, we can be a bit spacey at times. I know that I am. I'm starting to worry that I will never fully recover from this, which made me think about the various 12 step groups that have evolved over time. When one speaks from a place of addiction, they recognize that they will always be an addict, so for them, recovery is an ongoing life long process. Is that what grief is too?

I know that people who have gone through significant experiences, such as death, or a trauma, of someone close to them, often later experience post traumatic stress. I get it. I really get it. So it has me wondering how to best address this. What can I be doing to help myself in my ongoing recovery?

Well, how about this. First, I have to admit that I am powerless over my grief. I can't will it away, and I can't just "snap out of it." I also know that I need to rely on a higher power to get through the day. Now, for some this may be God, for others some non-deity. Whatever one chooses, and believe me, I have turned to just about everything lately, we need to speak it out loud. We need to talk, listen, and learn from each other. We need to walk side by side with others who are also struggling with this. We don't necessarily need cross talk, and we are not really looking for advice either. Just understanding.

Maybe 12 step meetings would be the way to go. Perhaps being able to drop into a meeting now and then, without having to tell your story, but to just be there, and to share what you are feeling on that day, and in that time, would be enough to keep us moving forward in our recovery. Will the end result be full recovery? Not that I can see. But, it can mean one less major relapse into our known darkness. I don't think ongoing bereavement groups are the answer for me either. I don't have the patience to sit with a group of people emoting all the time, or to feel that I need to take care of them. I have enough on my hands with my own life. What I need is a place to support myself by expressing myself, or listening, to others traveling the same road.

Hello, my name is Dan, and I am a griever.

Sleep

So here is my son Remy, laid out on the living room sofa, fast asleep while I talk on the phone with my daughter. In the next room is Dante, sprawled out across his bed, which lately looks two sizes too small for him.

Let's not forget Ranger, who is currently sleeping in Dante's laundry basket. I'm not exactly sure how he came to sleep inside the basket, but he looks quite cozy. Fido has been quietly curled up on the large pet bed across from me, and Carelli seems to move back and forth from sleeping on top of Remy, and over to the love couch across the room I had a wonderful talk with my daughter, mostly listening to her describe a difficult period she is going through, but hearing her express it in a calm and thought out manner. Evidence of growth.

It all seems so simple. One would look at this picture, and when doing the math, would see that it adds up to a pretty peaceful place to be. Then why did I sit at work resisting the realization that it was time to go home.

You know, it's horrible when your spouse dies, leaving you alone to cope with life. It's absolutely cruel if they do it when the kids are all going through adolescence.

I did not sit down to whine in front of all of you. No, really, I didn't. I just feel so damn tired of all the strife that is common here in my home. I'm am tired of facing problems that are so beyond simple explanation or solution. It's not that I didn't have to deal with these same complex challenges before hand. And it's not as if Michael was always able to contribute to the problem solving that these challenges present. It's that I am alone with it all.

I'm feeling like the pace of life that I was enjoying this summer, has become completely annihilated. I enjoy where I am working, but it's just that by the fact that I am back to working that I find myself feeling just as overwhelmed, an exhausted. So much of what I accomplished for myself this summer, is already vanishing. I know I need to bring it all back, but since I am dealing with so much again, I find it too easy to just withdrawal.

I guess that what I am trying to say, but having a difficult time doing so, is that I wish for a more carefree kind of existence. How can I get it? How do I sustain it? And, is it even possible.

I envy each of these sleeping creatures that surround me right now. I know that none of them are sleeping with out a worry in their little heads. Oh, contrar. I know that they each have their demons, and that when push comes to shove they do work toward through that day's worries.

I suppose that what I most need right this minute, is to sleep. I need to take notice of how my family is dealing with life as we speak. Tonight's agenda, of which I was not given notice, is to just shrug it all off, and zone out. Not such a bad idea.

There you have it, a less than thought out post. But one that has caused me to reflect on what can be done to replenish my soul.

Sleep.

Message to Michael

Dearest Michael,

I have been feeling the need to talk to you all day. The past few days, especially today, I have felt that I am just biding my time, allowing the hours to pass without any real focus. I am back to where I don't see the point in doing much.

In all honesty I can't say that I have been unproductive, as I got both boys enrolled in school, and have them both ready for school to begin next week. I am looking forward for them to begin school, as they both could use the opportunity to begin making new friends here in our new community.

I too will be making a new start in a couple of weeks. I was offered, and accepted, a new job today. I'm feeling really good about this opportunity, as it gives me the complete break from the type of social work I used to do, and brings me back full circle to what I was doing prior to moving to San Francisco 25 years ago. I will be working for the Regional Center Program, providing services for the developmentally delayed. It feels good coming back to this type of work with now so many years of added experience. The agency is very excited about my joining them, and have a plan in place for how they can best utilize my skills. I won't be making anywhere near the amount of money I used to, but I am hoping that the new work environment will help to continue creating a lifestyle where I feel calmer, and at peace.

Arianne is doing very well in her program. I feel like she is making the needed adjustments to not living at home, and is becoming more and more open to the new experiences that living in a community of women can bring to her. I think you would be very pleased with the progress she is making. In fact, I know you would be very proud of her. As I write this I can picture the way you would be looking at her, and telling her how proud you are. It brings me to tears thinking about this.

Michael, I miss you so much. My body is hurting right now, needing some part of you to hold onto. Tonight at yoga I arrived a bit late, and didn't have the time to greet anyone, or to look around the room at the guys that were present. Once we were all moving in sync I realized that there were many new faces in the group. I was trying to stay focused on myself, and focus on my breathing. As I moved into the various poses I began to sense that the person to my left was having some kind of effect on me. At one point we were instructed to turn our gaze to our left, and I immediately understood why I was feeling pulled toward this person. He didn't look anything like you, but he had your build and skin color. As he moved, I could see your movements. When he flexed I could see your muscles stretching and relaxing. I tried to distance myself from this observation, but I was weak, and kept finding my gaze returning to him.

This made me ache for you all the more. I'm finding that as time goes forward I am able to intellectualize what has happened to us. I understand death, and know that it touches all of us at some point. In a way understand that you had to die. We knew that it was coming for two years. We talked about it, and we prepared for it. During those years we loved each other madly. We held each other close every night. We made love as often as we could, and when your health took that away from us, we made sure that each touch was purposeful. I loved the touch of your skin, and how all the little hairs would stand up when my hand grazed across you. I loved your furry chest, and smoothness of your shaved head. I loved your scent, even when you put on far too much cologne. I loved the devilish look in your eyes, and the desire that spoke through them.

Michael, I know this is leading me to a dark place. I know that giving in to these thoughts, and acknowledging my own desires will only bring me pain. I know that I cannot seem to stop myself from wanting you. It goes beyond logic, and enters into the memories that are imprinted on my skin. Nothing really gives me pleasure any more. I desire to be touched, but know that it is the touch of your hands that I need. What do I do? Where do I turn?

I often worry that these needs will eventually cause me to either implode or explode. Do I close myself off from the world, and learn to not need, or desire, anyone else? Do I go off searching for someone else to fill that need? I sometimes worry that my depth of pain and desire will lead me to such extremes. Do I isolate myself, or do I become completely promiscuous? I know that most will say I don't have to go in one way or the other, but life has felt so extreme these past few years, so why change that now?

I wonder where you are, and what you are doing. I wonder if there is a place, or if there is a state of being for you. I wonder if you see me, or even still have a connection to me and this world. I know that I will never know, and will likely come to a point of just defining that which brings me the most peace of mind. It's crazy how we that are left behind are each inventing our own sense of afterlife. We each are out here trying to define what will work for us, creating our own individual reality.

I feel like I could keep writing to you, talking to you, way into the night. After all, isn't that what I do every night anyway? I sit, I stare, I wait. I can call it whatever suits me at each moment, but I know that it is always you. I sit with you. I stare into what used to be our reality, and I wait for a sign that the wind is changing.

Could I have one moment back? Could I have one visit? It could be as simple as feeling your breath against my face. It could be as quiet as hearing the air move in and out of your lungs. It could be as gentle as your heartbeat resounding with mine. Am I asking for too much? Probably.

I shouldn't be asking you for these things. If you are hearing my requests then I am only causing you distress. I don't mean to do this. I don't want you hurting because you cannot deliver upon my requests. I'm sorry.

Michael you gave me plenty in the short time that we had. Perhaps I should stop referring to our time as short, as that seems to minimze all that we had, and all that you gave me. I know that I was fortunate. I was blessed. Don't worry about me. I'll adjust. You were a wonderful husband, and a beautiful lover. Remember how you used to look at me and say, "I'm a lucky man." Well, Michael, the truth is, I was the lucky man.

I am yours.

Dan

September Morn

Here it is, 1:54 am, and I can't sleep. I have been tossing and turning, feeling frustrated that once again, I don't see the point of sleeping. My days and nights are all the same. I can make them pleasant, and I can either busy myself, or just sit. Either way there is no escaping my reality.

As I laid here in bed it dawned on me that it was now September, a month I didn't want to come around. The moment I realized this I broke down, heaving a groan of despair. I feel like my heart is being pulled under, or that I am being sucked into a big black hole. I desperately want to escape this. September is bringing back so much pain. Pain I don't want to feel.

I am starting to doubt my own words of optimism. I feel like I want to run and hide. I don't really want to think about how difficult this time was last year. I don't want to think about Michael's suffering. I don't want to picture him so helpless.

Night time often feels like hell to me. I can occupy my thoughts by writing, reading or watching something on television, but eventually I have to lay down in our bed alone. I have to turn out the lights and experience the empty darkness around me. I have to lay here needing a comfort that will not be mine.

Nothing is going to help. I need him. It's him that I want.

I sound like a broken record. I'm tired of hearing myself think or say this. I want to smack my own head and tell myself to snap out of it. Michael is dead! Deal with it.

This is the time, that in the past I would start going through everything of Michael's in the room. I would go for all the cards he gave me. I would read all of his words. I would start touching all of his clothing, and hold them near to me, hoping to smell his scent, or to grab hold of his DNA. Next I might even make the mistake of getting out the DVD of our wedding so I can hear him recite his vows to me. I would sit here in tears, looking at the way he looks at me. I would get to experience that wonderful smile, and those glorious eyes.

Broken record. Broken record.

Get over it. Get a grip. Get on with life.

I hate the night. I hate September.

I'm up late every night. It's getting worse and worse. I want peace. I want acceptance. I want to stop feeling so victimized by life. I want to wake up and realize it was all a fucking dream. I'm still so damn mad.

This is stupid. It feels like it's getting me no where. I spend all of my time with my computer attached to my hip. It is like a lifeline for me, but one person's lifeline can be another persons addiction. Am I addicted to this cyber world where I can just throw out my thoughts to the Internet, and sometimes within minutes have some kind of response?

Even now, at 2:29 am, I am keenly aware that once I stop typing, and put away my computer, I will once again be alone in my room, and alone in my grief. I am so tired of telling myself to just relax and sleep.

Sleep, what for?

Light-hearted Reprieve

Today delivered a bit of an light-hearted reprieve from the otherwise heavy grief laden days of late.

Now that was a wordy sentence!

I find that my day to day emotions don't always follow any set format, or a direct cause and effect relationship with other factors. Some days I am just down, and some days I am just up. Of course lately my emotions have been weighing heavy around my heart, and tied to the memories of where I was a year ago at this time.

Last year I was preparing my husband Michael for death. I was busy meeting all of his physical and emotional needs. Some things I was feeling, but mostly I was putting my emotions, and needs, aside in order to focus on his. This year I find that my body, and mind, are following a pretty specific road map, which entails all the bumps and turns that are the emotional landmines that were laid into place last year. I can either chose to look for them, and carefully navigate each day, or I can just go about my business, and be open to what ever comes my way.

There is no correct way to do this. Some days it is helpful to know why I am feeling about the way I am. There will definitely be days that I will want to anticipate so that I can surround myself with either support, or space, to feel what it is I need to feel that day. And yet what I find is that if I over anticipate my emotions I will likely limit what the experience of each day might actually be.

Today has been a surprising reprieve from those more difficult and sorrowful days. My heart is light, and my worries are fewer. I seem to be wearing a natural smile on my face, and there is a bit of a bounce to my step, which I have enjoyed. I don't think that I could have planned this type of day. Most days I do wake up wanting to have a good day, and to not feel that intense pain of loss. Yet if the pain is due to come, then I don't find it helpful to deny it. I may delay it for a more convenient time in the day for a full expression of it, but I don't have the power to completely control it.

Light hearted days, like today, are little jewels during periods like this. I know that having a day like this likely means that there are more of them on their way, as the difficult days have somewhat dominated for some time. It's a nice built in reminder that grief has it's ups and downs, or as others like to say, peaks and valleys. It is neither linear, or completely predictable. For me, I am trying to adopt the notion that with time, the lighter days will be what I can count on, and the difficult days will be more familiar, thus less threatening.

I accept this reprieve with gratitude.


Late night add on:

Tonight at my yoga class one of the other guys was standing next to me as I removed my shirt. He turned to me to say that he had not had the opportunity to see all the tattoos that I had on my back up close. He then reach over to outline one of the tattoos, which was the lotus with Michael's initials on it. "I especially like this one" he said. I felt so much warmth come over me. I just smiled, and said thank you. He has no idea what the tattoo means, or what this simple gesture did for me.

Message to Michael

Dearest Michael,

It has been 345 days since you left this earth. It's been the same amount of nights since you have slept in our bed. And, it took 345 nights before you came to me in my dreams.

I have often wondered why I hadn't dreamt of you. I have been telling myself that it is because I need to keep moving forward, and to dream of you, might just set me back. I worried that if I was somehow capable of conjuring you up in my dreams, along with the perfect scenario, then I would want to sleep all the time. You know that is a very strange thought coming from me, the person that rarely sleeps.

In our years together, I spent a good part of it, sitting up and watching you sleep. You were always so peaceful. Now I can't say that I always liked that I was wide awake, while you were off in dreamland. There were the occasional nights that I would 'accidentally' wake you up. Oh, I'm sorry dear, were you asleep? But then I always made it worth your time, and attention, to be wakened from your sleep. At least, you never complained.

Well, last night was the night you appeared. We were living in a very large loft sort of building. People were arriving from all over the world. Everyone was so excited, and they were all trying to get settled into their spaces, or rooms. We were all preparing for a big event. You were asleep in our bedroom, but once in awhile you would come out to check on things. I would stop what I was doing with everyone else, and quickly go to you. You were rather advanced into the late stages of your brain tumor, and were not too steady on your feet, but you didn't seem to realize this. You wanted so much to help out with the festivities, but I had to remind you to take care of yourself, and keep rested.

At that point my dream seemed to shift to a slightly different scenario. It was as though I was watching a different story unfold. There were these women, who seemed to be from a Middle Eastern country. They were helping one of the women find her child. He had been missing for quite some time. For some reason, the reality of him being missing had always been accepted, then at some point the mother decided she really needed to know the fate of her young son. The other women traveled with her to try to seek out this child in the country that she was originally from. They met with so many people, and looked at so many children, but the woman never recognized any of them as her child. In the end the women decided that it wasn't meant to be, so they gathered all around the mother, and gave her comfort. All of the women, but one, returned home with the mother. They helped her move on with her life, and helped her adapt to the reality that she may never know the true fate of her child. The woman who remained behind chose to keep looking for the missing child, only her search took on a different direction. She began talking to the men in the village, and tried to get to know who among them were either alone, or widowed. In talking to each of these men, she learned so much about their inherent loneliness. Eventually this woman came across a man who said he was caring for his son, and that the mother of his child had been missing for quite some time. Without truly knowing if this was the child the mother was searching for, the woman suggested to the man that perhaps he should begin his life anew in the country where she lived. She let him know where this was, and left him to decide for himself. The woman returned home, and picked up with the other women where they had left off. Some days went by, and one morning, a child appeared on the shore. In the distance was the father, who was wading in the water. The mother, who had all but given up on finding her son, saw this child standing at the shore. For some reason she felt drawn to him. As she walked toward the child she was filled with immense love. As she approached the child, the man took notice, and began walking toward her. Their eyes captured each other's gaze, and then both turned to the child.

At that point, Michael, the dream turned back to you. The same woman who brought these people together was also present in your part of the dream. She was decorating a banquet room for a big gathering. As I was helping her, I realized that what we were doing was preparing a big goodbye dinner for you. I was filled with so much love and appreciation. There were beautiful flowers, full of rich colors, on every table. People were beginning to mull around, so I started walking back toward our room. Again, you were walking out on your own, but obviously needing some help. I walked up to you, and you had a very child like innocent look on your face. I wasn't sure if you recognized me as your husband, or just as someone who took care of you. I put my arms around you, and held you tight. I remember breathing in your scent, and moving my face right next to yours. You looked into my eyes with a realization that this was your going away party, and that you would be dying soon. You didn't seem scared, although you did seem quite tired. People were walking by us, and as they did they would reach out to touch you, or to whisper soft sentiments in your ear. I could feel that my heart was filling with so much love. I knew that in your heart, you were happy. I could see the light of joy in your eyes.

At that point I woke up. I realized that it was very late in the morning, and I had a splitting headache. I felt like I had been asleep forever. The headache took my focus away from the fact that I had finally found you in a dream. As the day has gone by, I have been feeling something coming over me. I didn't know what it was, but slowly, and piece by piece, I have been remembering. As I prepared to return to our bed tonight, the realization of the dream came through. This is why I have been feeling so much emotion today. This is why I needed a day of sitting, thinking and feeling. It wasn't until I returned home from yoga that I had the ability to let go, and allow the memory of this dream rise above to my consciousness.

You know dear, I love you more today than even before you left. Is that possible? I am losing my breath just thinking of you. Tears are welling up in my eyes, and falling upon my face. My skin needs to meet with yours, and yet I know that is not possible.

Help me to be strong.

I need to survive the night.

Tsunami

Some days we wake up in another state of mind, or one we didn't anticipate.

Today has been a rather odd day emotionally. I have felt tired, worn out, or as some may say, spaced out. It started with a headache in the morning, which a couple of cups of coffee, and some Tylenol took care of. My youngest son asked if I was okay, saying that I looked as if I had been crying. No, no tears this morning, just a headache.

Later my daughter asked if I would give her and a couple of friends a ride to an art class. I of course said yes, thinking this would be a nice diversion from the funk I am feeling. I dropped them off, came home to relax, then went back to pick them up. On my way back home I was feeling a need to cry. I don't exactly know why. I wasn't feeling sad, or even thinking about anything in particular. I got back home, put on some meditation music, and was fooling around with my computer. My older son then asked if I could drop him off at his jiu jitsu class. I said fine, and we got up to leave. He turned to me to ask if I was angry about something. No, why do you say that? I found myself feeling a bit annoyed with his question, wanting to be just fine, rather than think there were some negative feelings rising to the surface.

Once back at the house I found myself doing a whole lot of nothing. As I sat here on the couch I found myself once again fighting back tears. What the hell is going on! I shouldn't be feeling like this. I started to wonder if maybe I was just wasting my day, or just wasting my life. I know this is a bit dramatic, but when in a strange mood, strange thoughts tend to come with it. I started to rethink my evening. Perhaps I will skip my yoga class tonight. After all, I'll just go, participate, and go home without much of a conversation with anyone. Won't I just feel worse in the end?

Something tells me today is significant. Perhaps something happened on this day last year that my body is remembering. It's likely a memory tied to some heavy emotions. I'm sure if I try to trace back what was happening last year, there is a reason for these feelings. But I won't fall prey to this type of search. If the avalanche of emotions is heading my way, then there is no use in trying to prepare for it. It's like standing on a beach when someone announces that there is a massive tsunami heading our way. You can turn and run, knowing very well that you cannot out run it, or you can just lay on the beach, relax, and let it hit.

I think I will go to my class, and just see where all this takes me.

When the dust settles.

I'm struggling with the thought of what direction my writing should go. I tend to be one of those people who is always looking ahead, trying to map out somewhat of a direction. When I first started this blog, I didn't really know where it was going, or what I wanted to say through it. In a short time I realized that what would help me, and maybe others, was to commit to writing on a daily basis. I wanted to have a chronicle of my grief, with all of it's nuances, written for those that follow me on this path.

As a refresher of sorts, I came to this because I was looking for a widowed voice that sounded like mine. I looked for current writings from male widowers, and I was looking for writings from gay widowers. Unfortunately for me, there wasn't much out there. That is what led me to write something myself. September 13th will be the one year anniversary of Michael's death, but not the one year anniversary of beginning this blog. That date would be October 19th, which was our first wedding anniversary, which I celebrated without him. The one year anniversary of the "one year" commitment to write daily would likely be October 31st.

What I worry about is becoming a professional widower. Does that make sense? It's a touchy subject, as I have been party to some conversation about this on more than one occasion. While I am a widower, will I still be a widower if I were to remarry? Some would say that I was a widower, but if newly married I that just that, married. And no, I'm not getting remarried. At least not that I am aware of. Along this same frame of mind, would continuing to write about grief lead me to plant my feet a bit to firmly into the widowed ground? Can I truly move forward if I only identify as a widower? If I begin to write about other themes, would my readers feel like someone changed the channel when they left the room?

I sometimes already feel some of this self resistance building up within me. Like many others, I want to write a book. Not some book for a massive audience, but a book for people like me. So in beginning to write this book I have to think, who will read it, and what do I want to convey to them? I would have to say that in my adult life there have been two very significant "movements," if we were to describe it as music. There is the parenting portion of my life that has been quite challenging, yet one which I have used to help others in many arenas. I have done plenty of speaking about public adoption and gay parenting. I have also helped others in navigating the mental health system and special education system. As a husband, I have had significant experience in being a caretaker, and widower, all while navigating a system that is not necessarily gay friendly.

Maybe because I am raising kids with special needs, I don't have the luxury to focus all of my attention in one place. This could be a good thing, and this could be something that prevents me from ever accomplishing my own personal goals. Unfortunately, that has been the fall out of my adult choices. I rarely seem to have a period of time that is conducive to achieving these goals that I have set.

I feel like these past few years have been like an enormous forest fire. And now, after all this time, the ashes will begin to settle. Well, likely not. But I want to believe that my life can get easier, and that my time can be more self managed.

If the figurative dust begins to settle, what do I want to say?

Gravity

Isaac Newton defined gravity as a force -- one that attracts all objects to all other objects.


Often when we think of gravity, we think of that which keeps us grounded.



For the last couple of nights I have been watching a series on the Starz Channel. The series is called "Gravity." It is what can be described as a quirky 'dramedy'. The story centers around a support group for people to have attempted suicide. The group brings together people who never would have likely met, but who have this one experience in common.



Right away I thought of the people I have met in my quest for support and understanding as a widower. While most of the people I have come to know have been by way of the Internet, I will soon have the opportunity to meet many of them when I attend Camp Widow in August.



What caught my initial interest with the series, apart from the good looks of the lead male character, was the back story for this character. He is a young doctor, who's wife died of ovarian cancer a few years prior. He has struggled with his attempts to move on with his life, and feels the pressure of those around him to see him move on. In the story he can no longer deal with his pain, so he attempts to drive off a cliff, so that he can at least be with his wife in death.



It wasn't that long ago that I found myself contemplating this very thing. I was feeling so miserably in pain with the loss of my spouse, Michael, that I didn't feel like there was enough of a reason to go on. I'm fairly certain that I am here writing this today, solely because I have my children, and didn't want to leave them without a parent. But in all honesty I have to admit that I played out various ways I could end my life. This is something that people don't usually want to admit, and certainly not something others usually want to hear about, but my purpose here is to be completely honest, be real.



I used to think that only those that lost their minds would seriously contemplate such a thing. Now I know that there are many reasons why someone would do take such action, and that it is never as simple as we want to make it. Some of us suffer from clinical depression, which can be brought on by many factors. Some of us take medication for this, some of us seek out support. However we come to experience these thoughts, or however we go about finding a way to get through them, I believe the best way to address this is honestly.


In the series, the cast of characters have to struggle to maintain a sense of feeling grounded. They learn to depend on each other, and to take responsibility for each other. If someone in the group is not present, or not doing well, the other's are asked to look out for that person, and make sure they know that person doesn't feel alone. Of course we can't always be found when we are at those deep moments of pain. Sometimes it comes along at unexpected times, and we have to draw strength from our own personal experiences to get through them.



As you read in yesterday's post, I had a good day, and was feeling quite at peace with the world. But something happened after watching a few of these episodes last night. I found myself very intrigued by the lead widowed character. I was watching his every move, and trying to find familiarity in the way he spoke and moved through his world. I wanted to see what his face looked like when he was once again feeling the pain of his loss. I think this was because while I write, and read about being widowed everyday, and interact with other widow(er)s online, I rarely have the opportunity to see another widower's expressions, or how they carry themselves. That in-person reflection is missing from my life right now. I often wonder how I appear as I move through my grief.



At the end of the night, I turned off the television, and headed down to my bedroom. I was feeling good. I had just spent a nice relaxing evening watching television, and was going to get to bed relatively early for a change. As I climbed into my bed the wave of grief hit me with such a strong force, that it took me by surprise. Almost immediately I began bawling my eyes out. I mean the deep heaving kind of crying. I was doubled over in pain, in a way that I haven't experienced for some time now. This went on for quite some time. Occasionally I tried to stop it, and would sit up, and take some very deep breaths. As soon as I thought I was better it would hit me all over again. It was like being caught in an extremely volatile storm.



Eventually I felt a calm rise up from within me. I got up to wash my face, then laid back in bed. I laid there just listening to my own breathing, and tried to bring back a sense of peace within. After a few minutes I had returned to that calm and peaceful place. I closed my eyes, and slept.



Once again, I felt grounded.



Gravity.

Feeling Stuck

Today I feel so stuck!
Originally uploaded by Jerry Lentz

Tonight I'm feeling a bit down on myself. All weekend the kids and I have been boxing up household items we don't use daily, and putting them into a new storage locker that I rented. We then went through all of their things once again, and bagged up items that we want to drop off at the local Salvation Army for donation. Yesterday the boys and I emptied all the contents of their attic bedrooms, furniture included, so that new carpet could be installed today. Then this afternoon, all of us put everything back in the boys rooms. All of this took many trips up and down the stairs, and now my poor body is feeling a bit achy.

In spite of yesterday's hard work, I also managed to cook dinner, which doesn't happen very often around here any more. To be fair to myself, we are very busy trying to ready the house in the event that we are moving sometime soon, and with that, putting the house up for sale. Yet, as I ran an errand this afternoon, and brought home dinner, I began to miss the days long past when Michael and I cooked almost every meal.

I could tell that the kids have missed the home cooked meals, as they each made such a fuss about yesterday's dinner. This is one area where I have yet to fully recover from the initial shock to my system that happened when Michael died. It's been almost 9 months now, and I still have not yet picked up my stride. And while it's not like my kids go without, I do feel terrible that I haven't been able to get back much of my groove.

There are other indicators that also tell me how much I am slacking off. Summer is here, and I have yet to look into a summer day camp for my youngest son. Every year I have him registered in a camp that can keep him occupied, and out enjoying summer activities with other kids. This year I haven't scheduled one thing. I kept meaning to do it, but have nothing but lame excuses to give myself.

And although we had a lot to accomplish on the house these past three days, I should have done something with the kids to acknowledge the end of the school year. I should have taken them somewhere, or did something. Now I am heading off to work in the morning, and I have nothing in place for them.

Again, I get that I am doing the best that I can. I get that I am still hurting from losing Michael, hurting more than I am willing to admit, but I don't like how my life feels at the moment. I wish I could rise above all this, and move forward easier. I wish that I could do more for, and with, my kids.

I trust that life will get easier, and possibly better. It's just that I feel so stuck right now. I feel stuck on the fact that I miss him so much. My mind tells me that he is gone, and there is nothing that is going to change that. I can never have him back. Death is about as final as it gets. So what is it about final that my heart doesn't seem to understand?

Trust

Well, I'm beginning to panic. Today I got a call from the San Diego Superior Family Court, wanting to get a couple of references. Sounds like things may be going my way. Of course, my supervisor said she may just sabotage things so she can keep me from leaving. And in talking to my retirement office, it looks like I won't be quiting my job, I will be retiring from my job. Apparently, at 51, with 21 years in, I qualify for a service retirement. Now I am definitely feeling old. But, as long as getting old comes with a monthly check attached to it, I'm all for it. Now what did I do with that AARP card that came in the mail?

My house is a complete wreck, as I am quickly boxing every thing, getting ready for new carpeting to get laid down, and painting to get done the following week. I'm also getting a second opinion from another realtor, as I want to be sure I am happy with which direction I choose to go.

Throughout the weekend the kids kept catching me staring off into space as I was boxing various items. They kept asking if I was alright. "Yes, I'm fine. Just thinking." The honest response should have been that I am beginning to freak out a bit. There is so much to do, and very little time to get it done. And in between speeding through this process, I am feeling the weight of this decision.

I keep reminding myself about the words to the song that is my current ring tone, "A House is not a Home." I know this is a good decision for me and the kids, but my insecurities are being played out a bit. "Am I ready for this? Will I be walking away from Michael?" Most of the time I have my answer to these questions. Michael will be going with me of course. He is not in this house, he is within me. He is in the memories of the things that make up our bedroom, the things we shared, the love in my heart. I will be taking all of these things with me. Yet still, it is making me sad, bringing me to tears. This is where he died. This is where our memories are.

I need to work through this, and fast. I need to come to peace with these insecurities, as there will be no turning back. Even if there was, I wouldn't allow myself to turn back. It's not my nature.

You know, I'm a bit thrown off tonight. I was feeling so humorous last night, and now I sit here emotionally wrecked. Go figure. I'm going to stay with these feelings tonight. Somehow I know I have to feel this. I'm not going to rush myself through this. It's going to emotionally draining, but it's not something I can rush through or side step. I know enough about my grief at this point to recognize that I will get through it. I will be okay. Maybe not tonight, but tomorrow things will look, and feel, much different. I can trust in my process.

Visceral Calmness

Nature . 自然 . Sea . Solitude (Les Eaux Noires)
Originally uploaded by Tiquetonne2067

It's 3:31 on a beautifully sunny Friday afternoon. I should be at work, but instead have been home most of the week with my youngest son, whose emotional challenges have gone beyond the limits of what his school can handle right now. A little medication fine tuning, a new IEP (individualized educational plan) that adds a higher level of behavioral support at school, and an offering to the gods, and hopefully he will be back in school next week.


Throughout the week everyone that I come across has asked how I am managing. I mean everywhere I go. Am I missing something? I have felt okay most of the week. Am I in denial, or out of touch with my reality?


It would seem that given the ongoing demands of parenting children with special needs, and now being an adult with special needs (today's description of a lonely widower) I am doing fairly well. I haven't been feeling overwhelmed. I haven't been falling into the depths of my grief, and my mood has for the most part been calm and steady.


For a good part of this afternoon, I have been sitting quietly. I have been aware of my surroundings, which is my home, with various entrances, and exits on the part of the kids. Each of the kids have required my focus, and each has needed some guidance to meet their day's goals, and my level of mood has needed to fluctuate throughout the day. (read sometimes a quiet reminder, other times a stronger direct critique of their behavior) Yet with each of these distractions I have made a concerted effort to return to my calm.


It has all been a good exercise in my ability to recognize the calm within. It is a good place to be in. It is neither good nor bad. It is neither happy or sad. What it is for me I suppose, is a place where I can experience my day, and all my thoughts, with a deeper, gentle spirit. It is allowing me to think of what I have enjoyed about my week, and what has been challenging.


Because this has been a calm week for me, I have been able to experience my loss in a different way as well. It has provided me with a safe place to explore my visceral memories of Michael. How I felt when he looked at me. What my reactions were to his gaze, or his smile. As I look at pictures of him, I am focused on the ones that I took of him. I am studying his face, and his body language, as he stands there before me.


I am recognizing Michael's look of desire. I am remembering Michael's look of heart felt love. I see his look of concern. I can feel the warmth that emanates from his presence back to me. At times during the past 6 months, I was in too much pain to even attempt to explore these thoughts. Today especially, I have been focused on my memories of his touch. Of how his breath felt against my neck and face at night. About what his scent was like, and how it could feed me.


These simple details are now part of my being. They are memories I have stored within my body. I have only to seek calmness to access them. It is a very comforting realization.


I am beginning to answer my own question.


When Michael died, I sat for many days asking out loud, "where did you go?" I needed some logic to explain what I was experiencing, which was a lack of his presence. I am finding that rather than look beyond me, and beyond the world that I am part of, I should be looking within.


I have Michael here within me. I can access my visceral memories of him whenever I need them. Or, at least I can attempt to access them. I'm sure it will not always be as easily accessible as today. Yet, if I strive for a visceral calmness, then I will have my experiences of Michael within my reach.

Family Welfare

mom and me
Originally uploaded by Sara Heinrichs (awfulsara)

These past few days at work have been significantly busier than in recent past. I spend a lot of my time in the Family Courts, working to help put families back together after a significant trauma or circumstance which caused their children to be removed from their custody. It really hit me strong today just how personally invested I can get when a parent is really working hard to make things right. Sometimes making things right involves asking the other offending parent to leave the home so the children may return with less risk of harm.

I have been doing this work for over 20 years now, and I am still not the least bit jaded. I like to joke around with my peers about being that well tenured worker who is gathering dust and cob-webs in the corner, and who is so jaded it is pathetic. But in truth, I take the responsibility given to me by the courts to assess each family and to give a well thought out recommendation for successful reunification very seriously. For me, the work is very personal.

My own children were adopted from the very county program for which I work. In their case the recommendation was for no reunification to the parent. In cases like this there is a great loss for the children. We like to think that children in these circumstances are being spared some great hardship of neglect, and being given a chance with a much healthier, higher functioning, and loving family. These things are true, yet we cannot turn away from the fact that these same children will be forever grieving the loss of separation from their biological families.

In the cases that I am working on recently, one parent emerges as the stronger, healthier primary care provider. In order for the children to return, or stay, in the home, the other parent cannot be with the family. Often this is due to substance abuse, and the other parent is directed toward treatment programs with the hope that they will be able to rejoin the family at a later time. Which ever the case may be, these children will mourn the loss of that parent being involved in their day to day care. The remaining spouse will grieve the loss of the other parent, yet must continue to focus solely on their children.

Today in meeting with a couple in court, they were sharing with me the multiple losses they had experienced in the past month. They had lost a step son, a friend and a godmother, all in a 30 day period. And through this they are being reminded of the classes they must attend, the programs that must not miss, and to continue to be involved with their children as much as possible. What a challenge this presents if they are also trying to recover from substance abuse.

Today I stood there listening to my clients talk of their loss. I listened as the mother was moved to tears in communicating her mourning process. I tried my best to provide her assurance that she will get through this, and to acknowledge how difficult the task at hand is for them.

When my husband Michael died in September 2009, I had not worked but a few months in the past year. I had spent so much time caring for him, that work was put on hold. I was a complete emotional mess at that time. I felt like I was walking through a battlefield, stepping over the many casualties as I moved forward. I was in no condition to adequately care for my children. I was in no condition to adequately care for myself. I was also very fortunate to have loving friends and family members calling on me, and helping out with the responsibilities of parenting my kids. The pain I went through during those initial few months were so intense that I often prayed that God would take me too. I didn't want to live without Michael, and I didn't want to live through the pain. I felt as though the person I was as a parent, no longer existed. I didn't know how I could go on adequately meeting their needs.

In time the intensity of my grief began to change. I started having days when I could emerge from my home with some emotional success. I slowly began taking back some of the responsibilities that my friends had taken on. This was not an easy process. There were days when I would arrive at the school to pick up my youngest son, and couldn't get out of the car. I would feel completely unable to move. I would just sit there and cry. Eventually the teacher would notice my car and call out if I was able to come in. I would just shake my head, and he would then go get my son for me.

These days I have taken on more and more responsibilities in my work and home life. I feel good about my abilities to function at this point, but I also know that I am not the same person I was before all of this. I now suffer from significant attention problems at work. I still find myself sitting for long periods of time just staring into space. I have told my supervisor and coworkers to double check my work, and to question me more often. This is the only way I can feel that I am adequately serving my clients.

At home I am no longer the same person as well. The loss of my husband feels is as if my heart was cut out of my body. I don't always know how to function with this great loss. In everything I do I am so aware that I am doing it without Michael. When I am having fun with the kids, laughing and being silly, a sudden wave of reality hits me, and I realize that there are no longer two of us experiencing this. When I am having challenging times with one of the kids, I feel so alone. The weight of parenting without my spouse is so significant. There is no longer that buffer that a second parent provides. When the days finally comes to an end, there is no one there to process my thoughts and feelings. There is no one their to put their arms around me. There is no one their to give me pleasure as a distraction. There is just me. I am learning that I must accept this is my new reality. I have to talk to myself about my day, or talk it out in prayer. In the end, I must let go, and try to get some sleep. The next day will arrive, and once again, it is only me.

The point of all this is that my experience is not unique. Across this world are parents who are struggling to provide a good and loving home for their children. They feel broken, and unequipped for the task at hand. They feel judged by the standards of others, or of themselves. They are being asked to take on an enormous responsibility irregardless of the loss in their life. Where do they turn? If they pick up the phone, is there someone they can call on?

I am assuming that the majority of my readers are living through a very similar circumstance as I find myself. If that is the case then you know clearly the challenges. If you are reading this, and are fortunate to not know the pain of losing a spouse, then you are in a position to reach out to that family you know that has been touched by death. Reach out to them. Support can come in many forms. You can be that person they can call on. You can surprise them with a cooked dinner. You can take the kids on a play-date with your kids. You can ask the parent if they would like to join you for a dinner out. And, please be aware that the time they have spent grieving is not an indication of how much better things are for that family. Grief is not linear. It brings many highs and lows, it is cyclical. You would be surprised how intensely that family is still grieving months, years later. In this way, any of us can be agents of change. Any of us can be that one person that help keep that family together. A little attention now can mean a world of difference tomorrow.

Ocean Beach

Tonight the kids and I went to Dante's Jiu Jitsu class. Well, Dante went to his class, the rest of us wandered around while he was at his class. Arianne went walking down along the store fronts to talk on her phone. My youngest, Remy, and I walked over to Ocean Beach. He wanted us to go running, but I was wearing dress shoes from my morning at work. I stood by the sea wall, and watched the sun set while he ran around the beach.

For those of you unfamiliar with San Francisco, Ocean Beach is in the north west side of the city, where you find the Cliff House. It is one of those tourist destinations, a beautiful restaurant with beautiful views. It is also one of the places Michael and I considered for our wedding reception.

Ocean Beach was a favorite destination for Michael. He loved the beach. We would occasionally pack up a lunch, our books, and our youngest, Remy, for a day in the sun. It's a great spot for playing with your dog, running, or playing in sand. It's not the safest place for swimming, besides the water is awfully cold. I do remember one scorching hot day when Michael and Remy actually swam in the water. It was a wonderful afternoon. Michael and I had just started dating, and it was our third month anniversary. Yes, third month. When you first start dating, you look for every opportunity to celebrate with a romantic dinner. Ours was with Remy in tow. After an afternoon at the beach we went to Tommy's Mexican Restaurant, where they have killer margaritas. I remember sitting at the table, toasting to each other with our drinks, and Remy asking, "are you going to marry my Dad?"

We laughed, me feeling quite embarrassed. But I do remember us looking into each other's eyes with that certain twinkle. I felt so happy. That was almost four years ago. It's hard to believe that in only four years, we did get married, battled cancer, and said goodbye. Today was my first visit back to Ocean Beach since my last visit there with Michael this past summer. I stood there looking out at Remy running around the beach laughing and having fun. It was a scene played out many times before, but there was that one difference. Whenever we went to the beach I was the stick in the mud, who sat on the blanket reading a book while Michael and Remy played in the sand or water. Today was a good day to return. The weather was cool, but felt refreshing. The sun was setting, and it felt very peaceful. There were not a lot of people around, so I wasn't distracted from the sound of the waves crashing to the shore.

I looked out and spoke to Michael. "Here I am Dear." I immediately wished I had brought some of his ashes with me, but I hadn't really expected to find myself there today. Now that Dante wants to take this class everyday, I expect that we will be spending a lot more time at Ocean Beach. I promised Remy that I would bring my tennis shoes next time so that we can go running. When I do I will bring some of Michael's ashes, just a small handful. I'm slowly spreading a tiny bit of his ashes at our favorite places. A pinch of Michael here, and a pinch of Michael there. I'm wanting him to be one with the world. I'm wanting to know that he is blowing in the wind, and washing up on the shore.

As I stood there looking out at the beach I realized how lucky I was to live in such a beautiful place. I wondered why I didn't come there more often. I made a promise to Michael to go there more in the future, and to remember all the fun times we had. I looked out at Remy running around ridiculously, and reminded myself to make more time for play.


We got home, and Dante gave Remy and I a quick lesson in Jiu Jitsu. We wrestled, laughed and had a really fun time. Arianne just looked at us boys as if we had lost our minds. Once again, I reminded myself just how lucky I am.

Faking It

Fake it
Originally uploaded by Mariss Balodis

My thought today is this, how do we create joy in the midst of grieving?

This morning I awoke to rain and dark skies. And while I tend to love the rain, the change in weather has mirrored my mood. I have not fallen into despair, but my mood has come down from where it has been these past few days. It is always very telling when the kids are putting in so much effort to engage me in conversations, or activities, with only minimal success. I'm sure they see it, and without thinking, begin preventive measures to save me from sliding downward.

I sometimes feel like my grieving is similar to what a manic-depressive person goes through. Without much cause, my mood can shift dramatically, or subtly. Today has been more subtle. My voice has a monotone quality to it. My movement in minimal. I have a calmness about me that walks a fine line with numbness.

When I am like this I tend to make choices that don't necessarily help me counter my downward shift. Earlier I was searching for a movie to watch. I saw that there was a Patrick Swayze film on, City of Joy, that I have never really completely watched. I selected it, then settled onto the couch. The kids were in and out, but eventually settled into the living room as well, watching the film with me. Of course they were not aware that this film choice, or actually it's lead actor, was not going to help my mood.

Patrick Swayze died the day after Michael did. During the past couple of years I have been very aware of some of the stars who were battling cancer, such as Patrick, or Farrah Fawcett. Somehow seeing their pictures in all the magazines these past couple of years were an ongoing reminder of my reality with Michael. Every time I went into the grocery store, every time I turned on the television, there might be something about the stars conditions. It was a reminder of how frail we all are, no matter our position in life. Even watching a favorite sit-com on television reminded me of our reality. One of our favorites was Ugly Betty. Last year the character Daniel fell in love with Molly, who ended up with cancer, and who died at the end of the season. In the middle of the season, the storyline got too close to home, and I stopped watching.

Now I look back over the past year, and all those that I was following, be it actors in the news, characters on t.v., people in my previous brain tumor support group, or my Michael, have all died. Now I no longer view the world through the eyes of hope. Now my vision is clouded by grief. On a more clearer day, I no longer can see forever. I feel like there was once an innocence of life that is no longer.

I would like to think that I had more power, or persuasion, in creating joy in my life. Sometimes I wish I was better at faking it. I used to do a bit of acting when I was a kid. I enjoyed it. These days it is part of my survival. I act everyday. When I step outside my home each morning I begin playing a character. The role is that of an optimistic widower. I try to wear a smile, and to look upbeat. It can help me get through the day, creating the illusion of joy. Maybe it's not exactly joy that I am projecting, but at least it is a bit of optimism.

I don't really want to be faking my emotions, but sometimes you have to fake it until you make it. And as far as feeling joyful, I would like to feel it more than I currently do. I look out my window, the rain has stopped. The air is very still, not one leaf on the tree is moving. Darkness is setting in.

My youngest just walked into the room. "What's wrong Dad, you look tired, or, something."

The Men of Michael

three men and a tree
Originally uploaded by yuliang11

Yesterday I added some music to my blog. I gave it a great deal of thought prior to posting it, as it has significant meaning. The group whose music I have on the play list is Secret Garden. They are a Norwegian Duo who won the 1995 Euro Vision Song Contest. So how did I come to know of them? Michael.

When I met Michael he had recently moved back to the states after many years of living over seas. For 7 of those years Michael lived in Norway with his previous husband. This was a very significant relationship for him. Part of his reason for moving back to California was that his mother needed some help, as she was raising her raising her grandchildren. Michael needed a break from the relationship, his mother needed some support, and he eventually decided not to return to Norway. Even though he felt good about his decision, he had many happy memories of his time in Norway. He maintained contact with many friends there, one being his ex.

When Michael and I first got together I felt a bit intimidated by the way he described his life with his ex. They enjoyed a lifestyle that I could never compete with. His ex was a well paid doctor, I was a social worker with three kids. In time I became more comfortable with the fact that he still had loving feelings for his ex and the life they had. I realized this was nothing to feel threatened by, as I knew Michael was in love with me.

The day that we learned of Michael's brain tumor it became my responsibility to contact his friends and family. I knew that Michael would want his ex to know. He and I had never spoken to each other, but he knew of me. That day I called a woke him up from his sleep. I introduced myself, then quickly shared what was happening. His ex obviously cared very much for Michael, and he began sobbing. There I was, consoling Michael ex husband.

I later got to me the ex, as he, and a few of their friends came to visit us a few months later. He was very nice, yet we were obviously a bit nervous around each other. On the last night of their visit I asked to speak to him alone. I told him to please call me anytime for updates about Michael, and that he is welcome to visit again. He was very sweet, and wanted to be sure that he was not invading our space by visiting.

The week before Michael died he suddenly became unable to communicate. He was able to understand what we were saying, but none of his speech made any sense. One morning I was looking on his cell phone and saw that his ex had called. I called his number, and explained that Michael's tumor had progressed to the point of his being unable to speak. I asked the ex to speak to Michael as I held the phone to his ear. After a period of time, I brought the phone back to my ear to let him know that Michael heard what he had shared with him. The ex asked if I needed any help with Michael. I thanked him for asking, and let him know that I had Michael's mother, and I had the hospice nurse helping out. After I hung up I realized that what he was really saying was that he wanted to be here. I called him back and invited him to come visit. He got on a plane the next day.

When the ex arrived he walked in with a bouquet of Michael's favorite flowers, Irises. I took him down to our bedroom and gave him the chair next to Michael's bed. He sat there with Michael speaking to him in Norwegian. It was wonderful to hear him speak his native language, and he was so please when he realized that Michael clearly understood him. I wanted to complete the mood, so I put on the CD by Secret Garden. Michael had played it many times in the past for me. I knew that it was a favorite of his from that time. I now understood that we shared Michael. We both loved him. We both knew what made him happy.

Later that day Michael's best friend arrived. Michael's best friend was his best man at our wedding. Michael's best friend was also Michael's first lover. There we were, the men of Michael. We all held a special part of Michael in our hearts, and we all had a part of Michael's history. Together we were a testament of a lifetime of love, Michael's love.

The music playing is the music that played throughout Michael's last days. It is the music that guided him peacefully from this world. It is only recently that I have felt strong enough to hear it once again. And, although I say strong enough, it still reduces me to tears. Tears of love.

Identity Crisis

Identity Crisis (bigger vector)
Originally uploaded by Fuzzy Ink

My struggle at the moment is finding where I fit in. I feel so disconnected from people. I don't know where to turn. I need to find a place to be.

This afternoon I spent some time searching online for some kind of social group to join. I want to find a place, or opportunity, to meet other gay men for friendship. I want to be able to meet other men without the perception that I am looking for romance.

In my search today I was looking for something like a gay writers workshop. I didn't find anything, but I will keep looking. I figured that if I could find a social group that meets occasionally regarding a common interest, then there wouldn't be the pressure, or expectation, that I was there looking for someone to date. I did find a few gay dads groups, but each time I began reading the description it often described activities for couples.

I then tried to see if there was anything for gay widowers, and to my dismay, all I found on google was my own blog. It turns out that what I set out to do has been successful. Many months ago I had gone searching for anything relating to gay widowers, and all I found was one book, written about 15 years ago. While I ordered the book, and found it quite helpful, I still needed more. As I found nothing, I decided to start this blog as a way to cope, and as a place where other gay widowers could turn to. It's ironic that now that I go looking again, all I find is me.

If I google gay widower, I find me. If I google gay grief, there I am. Gay bereavement anyone? How about 'Dan, in real time.' The irony of course is that I feel as though I don't know who I am anymore. Yet, online I have a very clear identity. I am the gay widowed blogger. And while I am proud that what I set out to do has come to fruition, I start to wonder, is that all I am?

I find myself feeling all alone out here. I feel alone in the sense that I don't know where to go to feel part of something. I value the relationships I have formed through this blog, yet I can't rely solely on my Internet friendships. I need to have connections where I live. I need to have a place to go when I want to be somewhere other than in my own home. I need friendships, but I've never really good at making friends. In the past I have relied on meeting people either while in school, or at work. For the most part, I am a homebody. When I go out in social situations I tend to be somewhat of a wallflower. This is what Michael and I had in common. Neither of us felt that confident in social situations. Neither of us enjoyed being out there when single. Finding each other felt like a fluke. We were both shy individuals who happened to connect on one fateful night.

Now I find myself in a uncomfortable situation. I need to meet other people. I still feel married. I am terribly depressed. I am a widower. Where do I begin? And when it comes down to it, it's not like I have lots of free time to put myself out there anyway. I am once again the single dad of three kids. I have four therapy appointments a week to get me or the kids to, guitar lessons, martial arts classes, religion classes, work, school carpool and grief support group. All of this in the course of one week, and I haven't even mentioned any of the daily at home responsibilities.

Married life was quite compatible with me. It suited me fine. I loved being married. I'm an old fashioned kind of guy. I don't need, or want, big city living. I don't want to be out at night. I don't want to be standing in a bar listening to loud pulsating music. Been there, done that. Yet, what choice do I have? If I don't venture out I will never have to opportunity to relate to another individual in person. My kids are going to grow very tired of seeing me sitting on the couch of my living room. I can hear them now, "what are you doing with your life?" "Get out and do something."

I also have to wonder, other than another widower, who is going to want me around? Misery loves company. I am pretty miserable. I need other miserable people to socialize with.

I'm not yet in a space where I have the energy to put on a happy face. I'm tired. I'm sad. I'm pretty pitiful. Maybe I need to place a personal ad.

"Gay widower, sad, depressed, cries throughout the day, poor eating habits, busy life, hates being away from home, obsesses about his deceased husband, slowly becoming more and more out of shape. Call me."