Absence, Acclimation, Possibility

This holiday season has been a bit different for me.  I am feeling ok…even better than ok most days.  The sense that I am beginning to thrive again is sinking into my soul.  Our seventh Christmas since he died, our eighth Christmas since cancer struck, my first Christmas not completely taken back by his absence.  Each year has been different.  Every Christmas growth has occurred.  From the first Christmas when we left town because I knew I would not be able to handle a Christmas morning alone, to the second and third when I marched through dutifully, to the fourth, fifth and sixth when we began our own traditions and tears came less and less often during the day.  He is always missed.  His absence will always be felt. Losing him will always be woven into who we are, but as year seven holidays begin to pass I think we’ve acclimated.

There were no tears yesterday.  There were no children with deep, sorrowful eyes.  There was no mommy running off to the bedroom to cry so the children’s Christmas morning would be spoiled.  There were two joyful, grateful children who opened gifts and said thank you.  There were hugs that meant something deep.  There were kids playing joyfully (without much sib fighting) nearly all day. There was a mommy who rested peacefully. I have mixed feelings about this one…no one said “I miss daddy” or “I miss him so much today”…I know that we don’t have to say things to still be feeling them, but the feelings of grief never bubbled into words yesterday.  In only one short moment before my big boy went to bed, he came to me with some tears wanting a hug.  He said he’s afraid of me getting old…he wants me to live forever…he doesn’t want to be separated from family again.

Acclimated.

We have acclimated.  We have survived.  We have begun to live a life we are accustomed to now.  We know he won’t be here for Christmas, for New Year’s, for birthdays…well for any day at all.  We know he loved us and did everything within his power to stay here.  We know he died.  We know it changed us forever.  We are living in the change.  We have acclimated.

So what about possibilities?

My heart has always been open to possibilities.  First there was the possibility that I would survive this heartache.  Then there was the possibility that I was open to caring for someone again.  Now, I have been given the possibility to open my heart wide again.  Someone has walked into my life from an unexpected place and wants into my heart.  I am filled with trepidation yet he feels familiar.  I am nervous, but he calms me.  He knows my story and he doesn’t run away…he embraces it.  Possibility.  A chance to risk again invigorates me and terrifies me. What if I give my heart again wholly and completely, only to have it land in shattered pieces on the ground again?

What if I give my heart completely and wholly and everything works out? I don’t know which terrifies me more…

What if my boys open their hearts and have them broken?  I don’t know if I’d survive that one…but what if they open their hearts and find a place of peace that helps them heal?

Possibility? Yes, definitely. Terrifying? Yes, definitely. Calming? Yes-all of these things all at once…

Hope. Yes. Definitely.

Welcoming the morning

Today I woke up feeling…well, dare I say it…happy.  I am! I am happy and so grateful for feeling this way.  Not to say over the years that I haven’t felt happiness.  I have. Today is different though, there is a depth to my happiness that I haven’t felt in a long, long time.

Over the past months, well actually over a year, I have been working on a plan.  This plan is to maintain financial health, while maintaining my presence in my children’s lives.  This is not an easy task as many parents know.  For me as a sole parent, it has felt like a mountain of weight on my shoulders.  Several years ago, I went back to work full-time in an administrative position, but it was just too much.  We were all coming home cranky, tired, and I just wasn’t giving my kiddos the care they needed.  I did enjoy the work…I love working outside the home…but as I fulfilled the need to provide for my family financially, I lost footing on the emotional and spiritual support they craved too.

So, I adjusted.  My little one still in preschool, I cut back.  I only worked part-time at a very flexible, low paying job.  I sat in the moment, held on, humbly accepted the generosity of others, and in time, he made it to kindergarten and I was able to work more.  I looked for work that fit into the kiddos daily schedules…not super easy to find…but was open to receiving what was available and in a very short amount of time, part-time work grew into a full-time position in a place I love to work and look forward to every day.  I have been truly blessed in this part of my life.

This lovely job, that I enjoy with all my heart isn’t really enough financially though.  I hold on, I budget wisely and we are not losing ground anymore.  I needed a plan.  I needed work that would provide me with the time for my kids, the financial resources to feed them, and if I’m lucky, provide an outlet for my own gifts and talents. For many years, I have resisted the urge to teach.  I have always felt my calling was to work with kiddos outside the school environment.  I know that I am blessed with the gifts to work with kids, but always hemmed and hawed about teaching them.  I have a substitute teaching certificate, but never committed my heart and gifts to this profession.  I studied theology in the 1990s and became a youth minister working with jr. high and high school kids for a decade.  I loved it.  I worked as an after care director for an elementary school and loved it.  I also ran a preschool, but just never made that commitment to become a certified teacher.

About a year and a half ago, that changed.  I had the opportunity to continue my education and enrolled in a program to earn my teaching certificate and a master’s degree in education.  It was a paradigm shift for me.  The old me, who wanted to be that adult outside of school that provided support for kiddos, became the sole parent who needed to find a way to participate in work I love without forgoing my vocation as parent.  I have been working pretty hard over the last year or so.  I went back to school part-time, did the work, made the grades and now am ready for the final piece…my student teaching. I really didn’t know when I began if I’d be able to complete the task.  Today, I welcome the morning because I made it this far.  I made it through the course work, the homework, the being away from home, the asking for help with the kids…I’m standing here nearly completed with the process and am so grateful for the grace and strength to have made it.

The even better part of the deal is that I get to student teach at the place I work now.  I get honor of working with teachers I admire and kiddos I already know.  I get the opportunity to develop my own gifts and talents in a place where I am loved and I love being.  This is one of the greatest gifts I have ever received.

I promised myself when Dave died that I would take this journey one step at a time.  I did not know how I would survive it.  I knew that I would survive it…even though many days felt like I wouldn’t.  I knew I had to survive…there really wasn’t an option. What I didn’t know was that I would grow so much.  What I didn’t know was that his death would lead me to a place that wasn’t in the plan or familiar, but I knew I was meant to be.  I remember in those early days, opening the curtains and looking out on the morning and thinking…why? Why do I need to be here? Why do I have to continue? Why did this happen? I remember cursing the beautiful sun for making me live my life another day.  I only opened those curtains because I had to…but today, I opened the curtains and something different filled my heart…gratitude that I kept on plugging, gratitude that I took the risk and kept going without him, gratitude for all those lovely hearts along the way that said I could do this…I woke today looking forward again.  Looking forward to something good, looking forward with happiness in my heart, looking forward without pain…and today that feels really, really good.

Lonely vs. Alone

I have always been one of those people that doesn’t mind being alone. I don’t mind the quiet moments and enjoy solitude.  For the most part I am pretty extroverted so I think some folks might find this out of character for me.  Of course, after becoming a parent, alone time became a valuable commodity.  Most parents know that your children will follow you everywhere…the bathroom, bed, even into a closet if you are desperately searching for some quiet solitude. It was a challenging adjustment for me as I became a parent.  I couldn’t just slip away and I did miss that time alone.  I knew lonely too.  Lonely is somehow different.  For me, there is a hopelessness when I’m lonely…also out of character for me because for the most part, I can find hope in most places.  Loneliness is different for me because many lonely moments are those moments without hope.

I thought I knew loneliness before Dave died.  I thought I had felt loneliness deep into my being. The loneliness my grief brought me was different than the loneliness I had experienced before he died.  It is laced with the finality that only death brings.  That permanent separation brought a deep, penetrating hopelessness to me.  The finality of death, the no second chance, the permanent absence brought a depth to loneliness that I had not experienced before.

So through the years since his death, I sat with my loneliness.  There are moments when I have been overcome with it.  There were really years that I wore lonely on my back like a heavy cloak.  For me that loneliness meant never again.  Never again would I feel him, see him, touch him…well, all those things that many of us know too well. Loneliness was my companion…it was very different than being alone.  I was alone, but somehow that was different.

Loneliness was painful, alone taught me about my strengths, weaknesses, challenges, and brought growth.  Alone taught me about how capable I was.  Alone taught me I was a survivor. Alone taught me I was going to be ok.  As alone taught me, loneliness became less constant.  The reality of my loneliness set in and oddly enough with this reality came the knowledge that somehow loneliness would pass.  I wasn’t sure how this would happen, but my hope kicked back in and tempered my loneliness.

So through these years of grief, I have become even more comfortable with alone.  Remember…I never really minded alone…I love being part of a team, a couple, being in a relationship, but each day alone revealed more to me about myself.  It has revealed things to me that I may have never known without my grief.  This ongoing revelation prompted by my loneliness has taken me on a journey.  This journey revealed that I really can do this on my own.  Before Dave died, I knew he knew I could do it.  He had confidence in me…it was me that doubted. It has taken years of experiencing my grief to lead me to different sense of confidence in myself and who I am becoming.  It took many lonely nights for me to know what I really wanted my life to look like as I move forward. Being alone has forced me to assess my life and look for a different direction. Lonely gave me the depth I needed to make choices with my heart.  Alone gave me strength and competency to face single parenting and make a home for my reluctant family of three. Lonely gave me the strength to face being alone…possibly forever (in my mind at least.)

But, here’s the thing – my loneliness isn’t forever.  My enjoyment of alone time will be with me and I like that.  I have separated the two.  I can see that for me there is a difference.  I can see the blessings and challenges of both.  I can balance them now.  I can feel those moments of loneliness and let them wrap around me, but not engulf me now.  I can appreciate being alone again and all the things that being alone has revealed to me, about me.  Who knew?

So, I will continue to let both be a part of me now and with the me I will become. In allowing myself the depth of loneliness, the really hopeless part, I find new depth and dare I say it – joy– in being alone. With this gift of my grief intact, I move forward toward the unexpected life I never wanted to know.  This life I hope I will experience and participate in to the fullest.

Ready, set, go…

On a busy day, I can feel it beginning.  I can feel the stress mounting within the walls of my home.  We made it through Thanksgiving, but that’s just the beginning.  The kids and I brace ourselves for the holidays.  I can almost feel them hunkering down, getting ready to maintain and handle themselves as we watch the world move through the holiday season.

I’m feeling different this year.  I’m not as stressed as I remember being in the recent past.  Things are going a bit better for me though.  I have a job I love, I’m nearly done with my master’s (which translates to no school for me right now), and I’m finding myself looking forward to things more.  Heck, I’m actually going to go to the work holiday party and I’m not anxious in the slightest.

The kids don’t seem to be in the same place.  I can feel their stress building.  Their tempers are short.  Their tolerance is nearly non existent.  I know we all grieve differently, but some days, I wish we could be on the same page.  I know this time of year is so hard for them.  They miss their dad.  They see all their friends with dads around and they know something is missing in their world.  They feel it very deeply and that pain surfaces in anger many days, intolerance other days, and just plain cranky behavior throughout the season.

Holiday season is stressful for any kid.  The expectations, the anticipation, the busy schedule all lead to overload.  Add to my kids’ days that they miss their dad, their mom is busy nearly all the time, money is still tight and many days, they just don’t know how all this will play out.  I do my best to keep expectations in check, make time for some fun, provide low stress days and to be present to them.  Some days though they are just so cranky!  I become frustrated and am constantly asking myself…is it their grief?  Is it normal holiday, kid behavior? When do they need intervention and when do I need to let them work it out?  There is always that voice in my head…would it be different if Dave hadn’t died?  Would we see the same behaviors?  How can I help in the immediate situation and help them build the skills they need to work out these emotions and situations on their own?

I think the family member struggling the most right now is my little one.  He’s only seven.  He was six months old when Dave died.  He never had a birthday with his dad.  He was only 3 months old that first Christmas when Dave was still here.  He has no memories.  This frustrates him.  He is discovering what families with a dad around look like as he spends time with friends and is exposed to more at school.  He is very angry and it breaks my heart.  How much of this is grief? How much of this is his personality? I don’t know.  I do know that he is struggling nearly every day.  His holiday season isn’t what he hopes for…he wants more, he longs for more and as much as I try, I can’t give him what he wants most…his dad.

So, I do my best to make sure that he has time with other father type guys.  My brothers spend time with him.  He spends time with his friend’s families who have dads around.  I think it hurts him and heals him all at once.  I tell him stories about his dad.  I tell him how much his daddy loved him and wanted to always be here with him. It hurts and heals all at once…I hope.

There is nothing I want more for Christmas than for my kids to just feel normal again.  My holiday wish is that the hole in their hearts can somehow be filled by the people and love around them. I know that their dad loved them.  I know that the hardest thing he ever did was leave them.  I know that they will be ok, but when the holidays come…it seems like ok is far away.