Go

This is a piece I wrote tonight. It is me talking to myself, and also my husband, talking to me.
It is about the latest changes and shifts in our relationship – the one we have now, with me living on earth and him living as energy in the universe. I cried the entire time while writing this, and yet, it felt so cathartic, like it needed to be written. It represents so much that is happening in my heart right now, so much of the fears i have about the future, and the changes that keep happening within me. Thank you for reading …

Go
Step into your life
The one that waits for you
the one that knows
of the promises you made long ago,
to dream
to risk
to dare …

Step into the moment,
to become that thing
the thing that you were meant to become
the thing that you always were,
somewhere deep within,
but lost along the way.
Be that thing now …
Right now.

Go
Walk beside your vision
crawl there if you must
breathe through the fire that burns you,
the swords that stab you,
the fears that stop you,
time and time again.
Each time you fall, or each time that needle
travels through your heart and into your open wounds,
stare it down.
push it into the cold bricks.
Look it in the eyes and tell it,
“You are nothing,
for I have been through worse.”

Go.
Run into that spotlight
Stand upon your mark
Claim the very universe,
that is yours in which to play.
Seize the absolute second,
in which the world receives your talents,
that I have always seen.
Go.

Are you afraid?
I know you are afraid
Please, my Sweet Angel,
Don’t be afraid.
For you have loved me better,
and with more wholeness,
to last ten thousand billion moons.
And even though I can no longer sit beside you,
I am still beside you.
In heart.
In spirit.
In soul.
And everytime you take your life,
and you create it,
and you build it,
and you fill it up with wonder,
you embody
the very thing
That is Love.

You loved me better,
than I have ever been loved or felt love,
before.
You filled my life with everything,
in the short time I was here.
And now that I am living
On a star,
Or in a sunrise,

I want you to know,
that when you Go,
when you go off to collect your dreams,
when you leap forward to grab that Bliss,
when you dance wildly across the finish line,
Do not be afraid.
Because in that moment when you have reached
the brightest star
and called it your new home,
you will not have traveled away from me.
You will not be leaving me behind.
No.

When you reach that star,
and you sit along it’s corner,
There will be a breath of air,
and a hint of music,
a melody
hidden just for you,
within the silence.

That is me,
us,
Love,
Our Love,
Living and laughing and singing
deep within
the night sky
And you will always feel that love
and be aware of that love
every single time you decide
To live.

So go,
Sweet Angel.
Go and step into your life,
And I will meet you,
Inside
our special place.
I will meet you,
inside the rhythms of the music.
Hurry up, my love.
It’s your time now.
Step into your life.
I love you.
Now go …

Grief Tantrum

Had a pretty epic “Grief Tantrum” this morning, resulting from a series of events that left me inside of a zipcar with no key, crying hysterically and screaming to nobody at the top of my lungs: “I JUST WANT MY HUSBAND BACK!!!! WAAAAAHHH!!!! THIS NEW LIFE SUCKS!!! I WANT HIM BACK!!! DAMMIT!!! F**K!!!!”

What is a grief tantrum, you didn’t ask? Well, I just made up the term, but it’s when you think you are “doing okay” and then suddenly find yourself beating up on the steering wheel of a car while yelling things that a child might yell, like “IT’S NOT FAIR!!!”, and crying the way that a child cries when having a tantrum, where you give yourself a massive headache from your own over-dramatic sob-fest – except you are not a child, and you are a grown-ass adult, having a tantrum inside of a rental car.

It’s the little things. The tiniest, smallest of things, which when adding up to bigger things, make me miss my husband so badly. We used to sing and play guitar together. He played guitar. I sang. I miss it so much. I miss singing and making music with him in our apartment. So I recently joined a singing group on Meetup. They meet in Flushing every Sunday and sing, everything from Motown to The Beatles. I keep missing the meetups because weird things keep happening that stop me from getting there.

Today, I had the zipcar for a few hours to go to the meetup. Walked outside in the pouring rain to where the car is, about 2.5 blocks away, got soaked and drenched, got in the car, and there’s no key inside the car. So I have to call zipcar and cancel the reservation, because I cannot drive the car. Second time this has happened with this car. Its pouring rain and I just wanted to go somewhere and sing again, and now I cant. and it all starts to pile up – the emotions of the six degrees of seperation, always leading back to “my husband is dead.”

…. If he wasn’t dead, I would be singing with him and wouldn’t have to join some group of strangers just so I can sing again. If he wasn’t dead, I wouldn’t be living in stupid Flushing Queens where I can’t GET anywhere I want to go ,easily, without a car. If he wasn’t dead, I would be driving OUR car and if I had to go somewhere and it was pouring, he would go get the car out of the parking garage and pull it up to our building so I wouldn’t have to get soaked in the pouring rain. If he wasn’t dead, I wouldn’t be desperately searcing for new ways to meet new people, or get out, or do something new – all to try and distract myself, from the very awful and always present and harsh fact, that he IS dead, and nothing I do makes that go away.

So yes, even after 3.5 years, and even after getting to a place where most days, I am doing “okay” – there are still grief tantrums, and moments where this new existence is just NOT okay with me, and I’m sorry, but I need to whine about it. It sucks, and the only thing that even helps a tiny little bit, is simply acknowledging that it sucks, and beating the crap out of a rented steering wheel, before walking back home in the pouring rain.

I hate Death.

New Years Crash

(written late-night on New Years Day.) Ever since that calendar started to read 2015 about 24 hours or so ago, I have been feeling a little bit down. I keep forgetting that New Years Eve and New Years Day make me incredibly sad. I don’t know why I keep forgetting this, but I do. Each year since my husband’s death, the sadness surrounding New Years always seems to come out of nowhere and surprise me. So here I am again. Sad. Alone. Down.

Last night, for New Years Eve, I spent it all by myself in my apartment in New York. I actually didn’t mind this at first. I had just returned the day before from 10 days in Massachusetts staying with my parents for Christmas, and although I had a really nice time this year overall, I am emotionally exhausted and needed to be alone and just doing nothing. So it was fine. Until it wasn’t. Until about 10 minutes before midnight. Until I put on that stupid Ryan Seacrest / Dick Clark Rockin Eve crap and saw tourists in the streets kissing each other happily and giggling with silly glasses and party hats on their heads. I sat there stone-faced as the countdown began, and then turned the TV off before it got to the number one. I didn’t want to hear anymore of it. No more counting of things. No more acknowledging more years that my husband doesn’t get to live in. So I went to bed. But I couldn’t sleep. At all. I had one of those nights where the ache of missing him just wouldn’t go away, and absolutely nothing helped or made me feel better. I laid there trying to focus, really focus, on his face and his blue eyes or the way he held my hand lying in bed, and he would start lightly humming out of nowhere. I tried to concentrate on the tiniest molecule of specifics about him – all those things that made him him that were starting to feel so far away. I tried to keep remembering and remembering, so that I would never ever forget. But in the end, I stayed awake until 5 a.m. in the morning, tossing and turning, crying and not crying, remembering and not remembering. It was just one of those nights.

Today I got up late, because I am off work for the next couple weeks until the spring semester of teaching starts back up, and I wandered aimlessly around my apartment, trying like hell to find myself in the foggy air. I felt so tired, so drained from the holidays and from feeling joy for the first time in 3.5 years during Christmas. Yes, joy is joy – but joy is tiring. And in the land of grief, massive joy is usually followed up by a massive crash.

So I crashed. And I felt the missing of him some more, and I let myself sit around and feel the sad. I can’t force it away – this I have learned. It will be there until it no longer needs to be there, so I feel it and let it be there. Tonight, two very close friends of mine came over to my apartment and we ordered pizzas and I had snacks and drinks out. They are a couple, and we have been good friends for about 15 years now. In 12 days exactly, they are packing up their life and moving to California. They are both from New York and have lived here most of their lives, and they have always wanted to try things out west and see what it’s like. So, earlier tonight, we hung out and said our goodbyes. This will most likely be the last time I see them before they head west, and the last time I see them in who knows how long after that. I am extremely sad about them leaving. Not only because I will miss them like mad, but because they are Don’s friends too, and it feels like just another piece of the puzzle of “that life” that is moving further away from my vision. It feels like saying goodbye to another piece of my husband, and I don’t want to say goodbye. I don’t want to.

New Years is supposed to be all about new beginnings and resolutions and new goals and hopes for the future. And maybe in a few days, I will be able to see it that way. But right now, right this very minute, the only thing I can see is that another whole year has ended without my husband in it. Another year went by that he doesn’t get to breathe or experience life or grow or laugh or be a dad or realize his potential as a human being on this earth. Another whole year is gone, and thats 12 whole months added to the distance from me to him. Yes, time marches on. Life continues. The earth keeps spinning. The years go by and change each December 31st. I need to accept that. But I refuse to be part of the countdown that celebrates more time away from my husband, and the life I knew.

I will be okay again in a few days. But right now, I just need to crash.