Out of the Blue

I am apparently a pathetic blogger. So this post is out of the blue.

Out of the blue also describes how grief hits more than 7 months after losing Charlie. 

It's not like I don't think about him and what happened all the time. I do. So you'd think I wouldn't be able to be "surprised" by the sadness, the anger, the short-temperedness that hit me. But in some sense I am. 

When I think about the hell Charlie had to endure, I am grateful his suffering ended when it did. It wasn't just a physical hell (though how else could one describe literal starvation, chemotherapy side effects, repeated ER visits and procedures, shortness of breath, and fluid retention?), but it was emotional and psychological hell for him too. His diagnosis came out of the blue. The worst of surprises. We both thought he had an ulcer. A simple damn ulcer. He felt like crap for almost 8 months and lost normalcy and was scared even while brave and watched all of us who loved him ache in our powerlessness. He handled it with amazing grace, but it was still horrific. 

What I am not grateful for at all is any notion of strength I or others who really loved Charlie may have gained or found in the process. I am not grateful for any life lessons learned. And I am surely not grateful for nor do I believe that God had anything to do with choosing Charlie for this awful fate.

This week I have been easily angered by any implication, in person or online, that any of this is God's grand plan, and that I just don't get it because God is God and I am not. I think that is a cop out. We love to abdicate control to God when it serves our needs or explains away things we'd rather not solve. I think Charlie got sick and died because the world is broken and, imperfect creatures that we are, we humans have no idea how to really fix it. Yet. 

And I wonder, really wonder, if people who can easily say or even imply that God's plans for those who are struck with illness are greater than we can fathom would feel the same way if they lost their child or parent or spouse or sibling in a drunk driving accident or due to a terrorist bombing or in a brutal murder. Because if dying from cancer can be seen in some twisted way as part of some grand God-plan, then why isn't murder or negligence or a freak accident explained away the same way? Why is it that terminal illness can be written off as means to a Divine blessed end, but murder is not? Wouldn't a God who would exert his/her will through disease have no qualms about doing the same through crime or human negligence? Why don't we praise God for serial killers and plane crashes in gratitude for the opportunities they present to be more faithful and forgiving and to grow into better people ourselves? And yet what kind of messed up loving deity would do any of the above? 

These are thoughts -- from out of the blue -- that plague me some days. Today is one of those days. Tomorrow will likely be one too. 

So, on that happy note, aren't you glad I decided -- out of the blue -- to dump these thoughts here for you to read?

Stuck

Everything about this winter makes me feel stuck. Stuck inside, stuck in procrastination, stuck in the quicksand of sad thoughts. 

I know this is normal. Well, normal for someone who lost their husband 5 months ago to a horrendous disease. Normal for someone who misses someone like I miss Charlie. And normal for someone who lives in a climate that is record breaking in the areas of snow and cold this year. 

The worst thing about being stuck is the not knowing how to get unstuck or even if it is a possibility, now or ever. I am trying. God, I am trying every single minute of every single day and sometimes I think I am doing remarkably well. But I'm still stuck. And it sucks.

I am also stuck when it comes to thinking about what I can write about beyond all the crappy (to put it mildly) stuff of the last 17 months. I don't want to just write about cancer or grief or how much I miss Charlie. But it sure is hard to think of what else I could write about. 

Write what you know, They say. I don't know what I know anymore. I know I used to have a happy life, filled with love and laughter and dogs and books and baking and a home that felt like home. I knew I had faith in good things. And now, although I still have so many people I love who love me, and my amazing pups, and yes, sometimes I DO laugh, home and real happiness and something (Someone?) to believe in seems really hard to find. 

For now. They (the same they as above) say it gets easier or better or not so difficult, but I am not there yet and still not convinced that is true.

So, if anyone is reading this, give me something to write about. Help get me unstuck in that small way. Because somehow the rhythm of stringing letters and words and sentences and paragraphs is a small comfort to me. I can't promise that I will write anything worth reading, but I sure would welcome some new thoughts to tumble around in my brain. 

Thanks.

Love,

Jen

Five Months

I'm journaling in a new place but some patterns can't yet be broken, if ever.

I lost the love of my life, my best buddy, my biggest fan, a faithful and generous husband, and a good, good man 5 months ago today. 

He was taken too soon and too cruelly and a lot of my faith and most of my joy went with him. 

I am working hard every day to just keep swimming, to do the next thing, to see the beauty and find the good in what was and what remains. And it is the hardest thing I have ever done. I fail more times a day than I can count, but I am trying and I hope he knows that the effort continues because of who and how he'd want me to be. 

When Charlie got sick and we just did what had to be done to fight and survive each day, he teased me that I suddenly was quite the "go getter." He knew better than anyone how innately lazy I could be. I think it amused him that it took a terminal diagnosis for him to shake me out of my natural tendencies. 

So, buddy, I hope you are impressed and smiling and a little amused at how "ambitious" your wife can be even though every action and thought takes more energy than I ever thought possible. All it took was the worst thing ever. Gallows humor, in a way, but you'd get it and you'd laugh. I miss that too: the way we "got" each other and your laugh. God, I miss your laugh.

Love,

Jen

Holding On and Letting Go

With the help of a dear friend and my goddaughter, I cleaned out my bedroom closet today. May not sound like much fun, but considering the company I had, it actually was. And how lucky am I to have a friend who not only volunteers to help with such a project, but one who does not think a even a bit less of me due to the mini-episode of "Hoarders" she encountered!

I tend to be a sentimental procrastinator under the best of circumstances. 2013 was NOT the best of circumstances. And so, my small walk-in (like a foot-in) closet had become overrun with bags of various seasons of clothing, items of Charlie's that made their way into "my" closet from upstairs where he normally kept his clothes when his mobility began to be impaired, laundry, mis-matched shoes, boxes of photos and cards, and random "stuff" I just couldn't deal with. So, today that closet was emptied and organized and bags were filled to donate and to toss. 

It is really hard for me to get rid of things to which I've attached meaning, especially now. Into the donate bag went at least two pairs of Charlie's shoes. Into the "toss" bag went two pairs of slippers he wore around the house when he was sick and even out of the house to chemo when regular shoes didn't fit. (The only reason they weren't in the donate bag was that a certain puppy had gnawed a bit on both pairs when I wasn't looking). And it was hard.

Even the sad-reason slippers were difficult to part with until I reminded myself that his need for them was nothing to celebrate or memorialize, really. But although Charlie has been gone almost 5 months, there is a part of my heart that thinks he might come back and when he does, what will he put on his feet? (I do know he isn't coming back and that sounds crazy, but honestly I think this is a normal grief feeling, from what I have read and heard from others). 

But you know what made it all easier? A hat. A straw cowboy hat. A hat I convinced Charlie to buy at the Minnesota State Fair a few years ago, because he looked handsome and adorable in it, I thought. We had gone to the fair with my sister and her family and had such a fun day together. Then today that hat came off the shelf and on to my (our) goddaughter's head and she looked so happy and beautiful in it. I could see Charlie's smile as if he saw her wearing it too, and that made me smile. 

I realized today, more than any other day since Charlie's diagnosis, that you can let go and hold on at the same time. I can throw away gnawed slippers and keep the faded chambray shirt I was wearing when he proposed. I can miss him and want him here and yet remember and feel his presence all at once. And I can smile and cry at the same time like I am now. 

Not what I expected to find in my closet today, but grateful that I did.

Love,

Jen

New Spot, Same Me

I decided several weeks ago that it would soon be time to stop posting regularly on Charlie's Caring Bridge page. After all, the purpose of Caring Bridge is to provide communication and support during a "health event" and that event, sadly, ended on August 14, 2013. 

I have been so grateful for all the kindness and support of everyone who read along as we navigated a horrible diagnosis, faced treatment options that were, shall I say, less than fun, and went to the ER too many times. I distinctly remember standing in an ER bay in the middle of the night and seeing a guestbook comment from a friend in Australia telling me that we weren't alone and she was holding our hands, even from far away. In the months since Charlie died, I was able to share some of my most precious memories and my most raw feelings with people who cared enough to read them. 

Being able to write about what was happening and how I was feeling was a pure gift. I don't know if another journal or blog can come close to being such a gift to me, and I don't even know if I have anything left to say that is worth reading, but I do know that the only thing people can do when the unthinkable happens is the next thing, whatever that is. For now, the next thing for me is to at least claim a little real estate online where I can write when I feel the need. 

So, on this day, the one year anniversary of the worst news I have ever personally heard, I am launching this blog. We'll see how it goes. 

No matter what, today will be a better day than one year ago today. Except he isn't here.  

Love,

Jen