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