The Balancing Act

“So be sure when you step, Step with care and great tact. And remember that life’s A Great Balancing Act. And will you succeed? Yes! You will, indeed! (98 and ¾ percent guaranteed) Kid, you’ll move mountains.” ― Dr. Seuss, Oh, The Places You’ll Go!

Careful, careful, oh…there you go, there you go…you got it! Balance! Balance? Yes, balance!  Very soon after I was widowed, a huge sense of disbelief settled in…I think we call it denial.  I couldn’t believe that this was happening to me.  I couldn’t believe that it was my husband who had become ill and died.  I couldn’t believe that I would be raising my kids on my own.  I was in a state of complete disbelief.  I discussed this with a dear friend of mine, who is also a MSW, and she told me that someday I would be able to balance the disbelief with the reality.  I didn’t believe her…not one bit.

Sitting here today, I have found that balance.  I still can’t believe this is the life I lead, but it is.  Make sense?  I still can hardly believe all that I have survived…but I have survived it.  I look around and I don’t always recognize my life, but I know it is mine and I own it.  I have found, well, really worked very hard, and found a way to survive.  I even thrive most days now.  I am happy most days.  I laugh most days.  I enjoy my work, my kids, my life…most days.

I can still hardly believe it though.

I balance every day.  As a sole parent, it is the balance that holds everything in motion.  One little glitch…and whoops…the whole thing can fall off track.  I wrote once about balancing spinning plates…it is much like that.  I can run and spin and spin, but every now and then I may trip and lose a plate.  I may trip over my own feet or sometimes things are thrown in my path that trip me.  It doesn’t take much to let a plate fall, to get off balance…that’s how it is when the balance is so delicate.

I do think that balancing takes great care.  I do think it takes great tact. I think there is much inside me that I don’t let out…so I can keep the balance.  I think sometimes it builds up so much that it spills out and I trip over it.  I do think that it’s hard to be the one holding the scales balanced for my family…but I will always do it…no matter how hard or what the personal cost is.

So is balance success?  I do think it is…I think the ability to hold things in balance…my disbelief, my reality, my grief, my joy, my stress, my relaxation, my responsibility, my fun, my care for others, my care for myself…I think that is success.  It took a very, long time to be able to balance these things, even for a small amount of time.  Now that I can do it pretty regularly, I find that pretty amazing.  I do count that as a personal success.  If I slip, that’s ok.  If something throws off the balance, I try to address it and get back in sync again. Most times I can do that.  Most days, I have balance.  On those days when I don’t or can’t, I forgive myself, pick myself up and try again….and again…and again.

Balance.

Disbelief, reality.

Balance.

Success.

Blogging and Hopping!

Welcome back everyone!  It’s hopping time again!

I hope you enjoy the following links.

How to Participate:

1. Visit each of the links below and read their post. Leave them a comment with encouragement, commiseration, community, or however else the post touches you.

Samantha of the Crazy Courage blog

Janine of One Breath At A Time

Red’s The M3 Blog

Becky’s Choosing Grace Today

Marriott of Miracles and Answers to the Prayers in the Life of Marriott Cole

Robin of The Fresh Widow

Tim’s Diary of a Widower

Running Forward: Abel Keogh’s Blog

Carolyn at Modern Widow’s Club

Andrea of International Brotherhood of Single Mothers

Tamara of Artful Living After Loss

Jessica at Buttons to Beans

Missing Bobby: A Widow’s Journey

The Grief Toolbox

Ferree of Widow’s Christian Place

From Me to We: A Young Widow’s Journey

Happy May Day!

“Once there was a way…

to get back homeward…once there was a way to get back home.”  Golden Slumbers,  The Beatles

So once there was a place that felt like home.  There was a place where I felt safe, loved, protected…home.  Eight years ago, the door blew open, my love left and my home didn’t feel like home anymore.  That place, that state of being, that knowing and belonging slipped through my hands like sand.  I tried to hold onto it, but it wasn’t possible.  My home, my heart was empty.  This emptiness was to become the deepest, darkest place I have ever experienced.  Every ounce of joy spilled out of me and I was filled to the top with sadness, loneliness and brokenness.  I felt abandoned even though I hadn’t been.  I felt alone, even though I was surrounded by those who loved me.  I felt only pain.  I never thought I would recover.  I sincerely didn’t think I would survive. I knew I would die of a broken heart.

I could never go home again.  I would never be in my safest place again.  I would never be held by him again.  It was over, forever.  It was beyond my comprehension. Home. Gone. Forever.

Looking back, it feels like I slept through the years to survive.  Grief was thick and it filled my waking and sleeping hours.  I longed to be comforted, but comfort never came.  I crawled into bed alone every night, hoping I’d wake to my former life, but that day never came, it never could…there was no way back home.  Even if it didn’t feel like it, I was the only home…home was me…for me, for my boys.

So, for many years, I have been carrying the weight of widowhood.  I have been carrying the weight of sole parent.  I am stronger.  I can handle a heavy load, yet I still long to go home.  I long to rest in his arms at the end of the day.  I still long to have him give me the “don’t worry baby, you’re with me.” I still am bewildered that I do it every day…without him.  Every now and then it hurts deeply again.  Every now and then I have to stop and remember to breathe.  Every now and then, I must stop and remember how good I had it.  I must be grateful for before, during and after.  Some years pass more easily than others, some anniversaries go by and I don’t remember them until they are gone.  This year though…I am remembering that I can’t find my way back home.  There has been so much growth, so much change, I’m not sure I’d recognize the way home even if it appeared magically before me.  How can so much change so radically?

Home was ripped away from us.  He was ripped away from us.

Sometimes, I look back and think that maybe that part of my life was the dream…the part that I just imagined…it seems so far away now…only eight years since his last breath and my life is so different.

It is different because I loved him…not so much because of the tragedy.  It is different because I was changed by his love. I hope he was changed by mine.  I am changed because he trusted me to carry on without him…he knew I could.  I wasn’t so sure.

Eight years ago, I sat on the bed next to him, nursing our baby. While I sat, he was leaving us.  His breathing changed.  I set our baby in the crib.  His breathing rattled and then his breathing stopped.  I laid my head on his chest and his heart beat was gone…so many times in an embrace I had felt his heartbeat, I heard it…this time…it was gone, he was gone, home was gone.

” And in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love, you make…”

Matters of my heart…

So, I’m wondering about my heart again.  It’s a strange thing to know that I am ok on my own.  I wonder if my heart will know when and where it’s right to surrender again. I think the new found confidence in knowing that I can really, really do all of this on my own makes me unsure when it comes to matters of my heart.  I’ve been on my own for so long now, some days, I really think that I will be alone…well, forever.

When I was married, I knew that I had to have a life of my own to maintain a healthy relationship with my husband.  I couldn’t lose sight of me in him.  I have always been independent…guess that comes with being the oldest child in a large family.  I knew that I had to have friends that met the needs that my husband didn’t meet for me.  I learned through one failed marriage before Dave that no one person can ever meet your needs.  I was very young when I married the first time.  I had no idea who I was or who I was to become…really, really no idea.

With one failed marriage under my belt, I was very careful the second time.  I was pretty good about knowing what I wanted.  I wasn’t all that good about communicating it yet though.  I learned that skill with Dave.  We worked hard through the years to be happy and be together.  It was hard work that was filled with smiles, laughs and many good times.  There were many difficult times too.  That happens.  We spent 14 years together…good, bad and ugly…but also many beautiful.  My heart was in it fully and completely.  That being said, it still took many of those 14 years for me to believe that he wanted me, loved me, and would stay.  After the first marriage failure, I wasn’t sure I was worth staying with…

But he stayed.

He stayed for many, many years.

So, now, he’s been gone for many years.  I have now spent eight years alone.  Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that I would be on my own this long.  I like being in a couple.  I like being with someone.  Now I am used to being alone.  I think it muddies up the matters of my heart.

I’m not sure anymore.  I’m not sure when someone is attracted to me and if they are I really don’t know what to do with it.  I don’t really go out looking for it either.  I’m not sure if this is good or bad.  I was lucky to have one very sweet fella fall into my world for a bit.  It was nice.  Here is where my confusion begins though…I don’t know what vibes I send out because I am ok on my own.  I’m not sure what type of signals I emit.  Although I don’t seek out an intimate relationship, it doesn’t mean that wouldn’t appreciate one.  I actually think I’d be pretty good at it again…

With matters of the heart though, it is still not clear for me.  I am still insecure about myself.  Although I know my list of competencies, I find myself doubting my appeal.  I just don’t know if I have it anymore…

It’s so silly…but there it is.  It is so weird to feel insecure about matters of the heart when I know all the things I have survived and grown through.  It is so strange to feel competent in running my home, my career, raising my boys (well this one wanes at times) but not feel like I’m not enough for a relationship…

Kind of feel like I did when it all began…

I never thought I’d have to start over again when it came to matters of the heart, yet here I sit at the beginning again.

Time to hop again…

Greetings All,

It is that time of month again.  Please take time to visit, read and comment at any of the blogs listed below.  Thank you for stopping by Widow Island and thank you to Samantha for another month of coordinating this great idea~

Samantha of the Crazy Courage blog
Janine of One Breath At A Time
Red’s The M3 Blog
Christine of Widow Island
Tim’s Diary of a Widower
Running Forward: Abel Keogh’s Blog
Tamara of Artful Living After Loss
Jessica at Buttons to Beans
Missing Bobby: A Widow’s Journey
The Grief Toolbox
Ferree of Widow’s Christian Place
The Widow’s Mite: Encouragement for Widows

Enjoy reading.  I hope that this words bring you great comfort and a feeling of solidarity.  Don’t forget to comment!

Chris

Faith?

It’s nearly Easter again.  Lent has passed for another year and for me that it really all that it has done…passed. The three holiest days in my faith tradition end today and while I recognized that they were happening, it was nothing like it was.  I don’t believe that I know what it is like to lose faith completely, but I understand what a lengthy lapse in faith is. I also know that a lapse in faith, a transformation of some sort is absolutely normal after experiencing a life altering event.

During Dave’s illness and death, I clung to my faith.  As I was drowning in losing him and knowing he would die, I remained strong, steadfast and true to my roots.  I prayed for him, with him, with others, on my own, I trusted that this would be survivable.  I felt like his illness was about new life, in a good way, not the way I have actually experienced this new life following his death.  In those early years after he died, I begged God for mercy. I begged God to lessen the pain.  I begged God to wake me from the nightmare that had become my reality. I begged God to bring him back to me.  I surrendered myself. I was able to keep moving, but began to feel more and more abandoned by the God I had worked so hard for and trusted.

As the years go by, I try to hang on to the little miracles that I witnessed along the journey of his illness, death, and my life after his death. They were there. It gets much harder to believe in those miracles though when I didn’t receive the one miracle that I wanted most…his complete cure, recovery and survival…

I will never understand why he died.  I will never understand why my children didn’t get to grow up with their father with them. I will never understand why after so many years of searching for a love that brought me peace, it was ripped away from me.  There are no answers for those whys.  There is no reason for this…no matter what people believe about a “God’s plan”, no matter what I may have believed about “God’s plan.”

My experience of losing him, watching my children lose their father has transformed my beliefs forever.  I am still rocked to the core by the beauty and goodness that surrounds me daily.  Those moments of beauty that are overwhelming and move me in a way I am unable to put into words remind me that there is something bigger than me out there.  I see other people get the miracle I prayed so desperately for…there must be something.  I have also been rocked to my core by heartbreak, sadness, despair and loneliness. I don’t feel that we were unworthy of a miracle…but I don’t cling to faith the way I did when he was sick and died.  I still feel inspired, but it is rarely to the faith life that I knew so well, the faith life that I worked hard to let others see through me.

The best way I can describe it…disconnected.  I watch the church that I belonged to transform, for better or for worse, and I don’t feel like it fits anymore.  My heart is less tolerant of intolerance.  My soul longs for place to belong that doesn’t exclude others for how they look, who they love, or does the judging of character that is God’s job alone.  This land of milk and honey doesn’t come easily though.  Church is filled with people, their bias, their judgment, their intolerance, their need to be superior or have power…just like everywhere else humans exist.  The last bit, that last sentence is really the entire reason I worked in church…I wanted to show others that sinners, broken, hurting, forgiving, hopeful people were on the inside of church.  I have been all of those things and I was there.  I wanted young people to feel compassion, not judgment.  I wanted to show that the most broken could find peace through community.  It wasn’t always my lived experience, but I had experienced it throughout my journey and I wanted to be able to give back as others had given to me.

Here’s the hard part now…I’m not sure that I need to practice an organized faith to be that or experience those things.  I still try to do those things, but from my plain Jane, everyday girl role, not as a minister or representative of a church.  My largest struggle is how this affects my boys.  Unfortunately, only time will tell how they are impacted by my faith journey and choices in practice.  There are moments I feel that I am depriving them of something they deserve and other moments when I feel that I am somehow saving them from heartbreak.  My big boy has seen me in both roles.  He saw me in active ministry.  He saw me catechize, he experienced ritual and community in and through my faith life.  He now claims to be atheist.  At this point in our journey, I am ok with this.  I have enough experience with faith development to let him find his way.  My concern for him…what if I’m not modeling anymore?  What if my lapse in faith has caused his disbelief? Hmmm…

My little one has only really experienced mommy after daddy died.  This mommy went to church (sometimes), prayed, but didn’t catechize him.  His mommy felt betrayed, abandoned and has been searching for a place to belong.  He hasn’t had the experience of ritual, catechesis, and community that his brother had.  He hasn’t been initiated into our faith tradition.  It is his experience that brings me the most pain and guilt.  I wonder how I will share a faith that I often doubt and how this affects his ideas of God, love, permanence and eternity.  I wonder how it affects his grief journey.  I wonder how it will affect him all around…hmmm…

So this Easter, I continue to search.  I look to my heart, my soul, my very being and to God to continue to be open, loving and compassionate.  I hope eternally that my actions won’t ruin the relationship that my children are to have with God.  I hope that beyond practice and tradition, I will continue to experience the love of God and community.  Easter is about new life, that much I still know.  What I didn’t know is how many different ways we can receive new life…now, I do.  I have been transformed.  It is no surprise that my faith life has changed drastically.  The real question for me now is, how and will my faith transcend the change? How will I be different since receiving my new life…this forced life…and if faith will still be present?

A definite work in progress…maybe even a leap of faith?

Whoomp…there it is

I have been feeling pretty good lately, pretty normal…as relative as normal is. I have going through the days happily, enjoying my work, enjoying my kiddos and even added some extra things that I enjoy outside the responsibilities.  Simply stated…life is good.  One phrase I thought I’d never utter again.

So this week, my big boy had a milestone.  He is starting a new phase of his life, a wonderful phase of his life.  He asked a sweet, young lady out on a date.  This is so wonderful.  This is so fabulous! He mustered up the courage, asked, and she accepted.  It is a big deal for him.  Of course, he is totally nonchalant about it.  He came to me and asked me about my schedule for the weekend, told me his plan, and was completely thoughtful about the whole thing.  He shared the whole process with me…and for those of you who know how much I love the process…this was such a gift!

The day came.  We all went our ways for the day.  He asked.  She said yes! When we got home after school, he told me about it.  I am so thrilled for him.  I am a tad nervous about it, but thrilled about it at the same time.

A few hours later, I was back in bedroom alone and WHOOMP!   There it was…my grief swooped in, buckled my knees, and blurred my eyes.  I stood looking out the window as all those widowy feelings consumed me.  I was sad for him, because his dad is not here to guide him through this moment of his life.  I was sad that his dad wasn’t here to hug him and tell him what good kid he is.  I was sad that Dave didn’t get to see his boy turning into a man.  I was sad for me.   I was sad for me because that familiar feeling snuck in and whispered that no one else in the world cares for my boys like I do…and I don’t have him here to share this stuff with anymore.  I miss the joking, the smiles, those parent moments…I just felt so alone again.

My eyes welled up with tears, but no crying came.  My body felt the tension that my sadness can bring, but it did not overwhelm me.  My heart ached, but it felt strong at the same time.  As much as my grief can surprise me, I can withstand it now.  It is like standing in the ocean and letting the large wave come over you and not losing your stance.  It came. I felt it. It hurt, but I am not broken this time.  I held my ground. I let all the thoughts fill my head and then let them exit my mind.  I can let myself miss him like I did in those first moments when he took his last breath and still lead a happy life.  The two have come to some type of odd balance…at least this time.

I reached out to several friends to share my part of my boy’s new dating exploration.  They may not have known that it was one of my survival techniques when my heart is recovering, but maybe they do.  They were open and let me share.  Although it may not be the same as having his dad here to share it with, it was nice.  Being able to have these friends out there that let me process my life, my experiences and see those experiences reflected back to me through our conversations makes a valuable difference for me.  I have to be vulnerable and believe that they care enough to listen and also courageous enough to reach out to them.  It has taken me years to build the courage to reach out to others.  It has taken loving, patient friends who will let me contact them with the mundane…and then just listen and chat about it.  They are kind and let me interrupt their lives with my routine endeavors…that many times seem like daily things, but are big transitions for me.

I love them for that!

So, my big boy will have his date.  I will hold my breath until he gets home to tell me how it went.  Nearly like normal…we will balance our missing Dave with how life is now…and hopefully move toward tomorrow with more love and fortitude in our hearts than we had today.