Ok

Today is a day that will never leave me.  One year ago I told my best friend it was time for him to rest.  I told the father of my child I would watch over our daughter and take care of her as long as I lived.  I told my husband I would carry our love with me to help me get through every day after.  I told the most significant person in my life that I had chosen and that had chosen me…I told him it was ok.  That I would be ok.

Here I am a year later.  Sometimes I believe it, but I am not the same; I am not ok.  I spent some time looking back on pictures of Evan and Addi and I from the time when we first moved to Mooresville and he started school: long before he began to fall ill again and we found out about his glioblastoma.  It was such a beautiful life and those memories are so precious.  I will cling to them when those memories filled with sorrow creep up on me.  I will try to.  But, most of the time I feel like I am a completely different person; I feel like there is a front that everyone sees that shows who I was that shows I am ok.  But I’m not.  It feels like that life was never mine because it was gone so quickly.  So much has happened in the last year and a half; sometimes it is difficult to remember those good times.

Here it is a year later.  Sometimes I believe I am ok, but I am not the same and I never will be and that is what is truly ok.  Evan changed me in so many ways.  He changed my life.  He made it have so much more meaning and I miss the hell out of him.  I always will.  And THAT is ok because he is worth it.  All of the pain I feel has a silver lining because feeling this way means I loved someone so passionately and so completely.

Advertisements

Meteors

Well hello there…

Today starts the Perseids meteor shower that will take place over the next few days.  The peak is on the morning of the 13th if you read this in any time sensitive capacity.  I remember the first summer Evan and I lived together and this meteor shower occurred.  I had just gotten off my closing manager shift at the movie theater.  Evan had pulled out our huge blue comforter (the one our daughter is currently sleeping on) and he had it waiting in the grassy area beside the apartment’s parking lot.  It was a little chilly so he had grabbed an extra blanket (yes it was chilly in August-we were in western Washington; it was 2am; I am always cold); he learned my quirks quickly.  We laid there beside each other, holding hands and giggled and exclaimed excitement every time we saw a meteor.  It was beautiful and it was romantic.

I just went up to my crow’s nest (upstairs deck) to see if I could make out any meteors.  It is the first night and it is only about forty-five minutes after sunset, so no luck, but I am hopeful.


My mother-in-law and I were talking about a wedding she was invited to at the end of summer.  It just so happens to be the day after the one year mark of Evan’s passing.  And you see, the thing we have to remember is that that day will come.  I know it will come because the day after he passed came around, some how, it still happened.  I didn’t know how I was going to face the days, the weeks, the months after Evan passed, yet I have, because the world hasn’t stopped.  That is probably the saddest thing because my personal world did, but everything else just kept going, and it continues to do so.

Nothing was going to stop what happened from happening.  Evan did not get hit by a drunk driver.  He did not pass away due to negligence.  It was uncontrollable, as uncontrollable as the world is.  And it is hard.  Yet, here I am facing a new day…thank goodness for Addison.

Blog-iversary

IMG_2321 IMG_2370 IMG_2380

Well, exactly one year ago I was laying in a room in the SECU house in Chapel Hill, watching District 9, contemplating the doctor’s appointment I would face with Evan the next day.  He was asleep beside me.  Addi was at our house three hours away with him mom.  We were going to find out what his new tumor was exactly–he had had a biopsy on July 10th and the results were in.  I was feeling overwhelmed and nervous and I wanted to write so I could have an outlet.  I wanted to create a voice for things I felt I couldn’t say and for things Evan couldn’t say or didn’t want to say (relaying news to family across the country was a rough task, let alone when you were dropping the C word left and right).

So, here it is one year later from restarting this blog and repurposing it.  I am sitting here now on a new couch in a new place.  A rescue dog is asleep beside me and Addi is asleep in the bedroom.  I have pictures now.  And memories.  And emotions.  I am so glad I have those memories and those pictures, but I wish I still had him.  Nothing makes this easier and sometimes when I look back on those moments it is harder because I am slammed with the reality that Evan was an amazing man, but he is no longer here.

It’s just a hard fact to have to face every time I open up and think about the memories.  I read something not long ago that said that hardest part about grieving and moving forward is that you want to live in the past. I feel so torn most of the time because that is true: the past holds my life with Evan, but I have our daughter, she is the present and the future…all I can do is try to find a balance

No snuggling to be had tonight unlike a year ago, unless it is with Addi, which at this particular moment sounds like a solid idea.  I remember cuddling to Evan and crying into his back while he slept.  I was so scared of the news we would get.  I was scared of what it would mean for him and for our family.  I was scared of exactly what happened but I never thought it would happen so soon.  Yet here I am.  Sitting on the couch, crying into his old NTI shirt.  So, on that note….happy blogiversary everyone…I’m calling it a night…

Bereavement

When I look at your pictures, it takes my breath away.  I am hit with the overwhelming feeling of missing you and then it happens again because I am reminded of the love we share and how evident that is.  Addi is a constant reminder.  My heart is a reminder.  My memory is a reminder.  And I am torn.  For that moment I am torn because I love you and I miss you but I don’t want you to be here and in pain…but damned if being without you isn’t the hardest thing possible.  I am tempted to say it is harder for me than it was for you.  It is so hard to go on without you, but I know you are with me still.  I believe it in my heart.  I see it in our daughter.  I have to believe it because it is the only way I can go on.

I finally went to see a grief counselor last week.  She just let me spill my heart along with everything that had happened since losing Evan, since we found out about his cancer…hell since we met.  To be honest, I cried before she even asked me about Evan.  We went into a room and she handed me a form to fill out while she went to grab something.  The form was for HIPPA and a quick questionnaire that asked me things like if I had been dealing with drug/alcohol abuse, weight loss/gain, suicidal thoughts, etc. (which I haven’t been thanks to my daughter).  When I was done I sat there and looked at some of the books on her shelf and got teary.  I was just so anxious.  I had only been to a therapist a few times when my parents separated when I was nine.  I am twenty-seven dealing with the loss of my spouse.  I didn’t know what to expect, or how to feel.  I just had such an overwhelming feeling of so much all at once so when she entered I just started to cry.  I couldn’t help it.  I was just so anxious and my emotions were so built up that the tears just sprang forth.

And then, she let me talk about everything that happened for nearly two hours.  I was exhausted.  I picked Addi up from my grandma’s after and begged Addi to nap with me.  It was so much all at once, but it was helpful and I am thankful to the bereavement counselor and for my friend that got me the info to start going.  I am signed up for a group session that will meet at the end of June and discuss losing a spouse.  I am sure I will have similar overwhelming feelings, but I know all of this is “normal” or at least my new normal–the type where everything is out the door.  I am just happy I have Addi with me to give me strength.  It is a reminder of the love Evan and I have and the strength that that has always given me.  I hope she can be a reminder for everyone else that loved Evan.  I know that is a lot to put on such a little girl, but Addi is a beacon of happiness and love and strength.  She will draw her own power from that.  This I know, just as I know Evan will always be with us.

There is a war that rages inside of me.

There is a war that rages inside of me.

There are two parts to my life.  That is how I think.  My life is now divided in two.  Part of me lives in the memories of Evan.  I want to stay there most of the time.  But I can’t.  I have Addi.  I can’t do that to her.  I can’t do that to our daughter.

The only way that my current self can function sometimes is to not think about those memories.  They hurt.  They linger.  They remind me of what is no longer.  They are hard because they are just…memories.  I hate that I have to make new memories that don’t include him.  I know I have him with me through Addi, but I don’t have him in the way I once did.  I cherish the memories and moments I have of him, but sometimes, after Addi is asleep, it is enough to tear me apart and swallow the current me.

Something as simple as eating Addi’s Easter candy, Starburst, is enough to flood me with memories and emotions. I remember last year, Evan dying eggs with Addi and then hiding them the next day in our tiny backyard. She was one. Most were scattered about in the yard and a few hiding around her Little Tikes slide. She had a ladybug basket and opened the plastic eggs I filled with trail mix in the middle of the hunt. Evan loved Starburst. He knew I loved the pink ones and always saved some for me, although they were his favorites too. Then, we discovered Starburst minis and it was all she wrote on our road trip necessities. I preferred the yellow ones of those. Evan always got two bags of them when we drove back to Brunswick County to see my family. I dyed the eggs with Addi this year. After we watched videos of her and Evan doing it from last year.

There are now two mes.  Before. And After.  And there is no going back.  No matter how hard I wish I could.