Moving Forward - American Widow Project

A second chance at love.

When I first met Matthew, it was like love at first site. He was the first man to make me smile again; he was the first to want to get to know me despite my tragic past. Most guys found me broken, but if he did then all he wanted to do was fix me. And I wasn’t opposed to letting him.
I remember one night we were lying on the couch just talking and talking and he asked me about Shawn. I cried telling him everything from the first night Shawn and I met until the day two men in uniform showed up at the house. I wasn’t sure how we would handle it; I had never let anyone in that far. Turns out that despite how “messed up” I thought I was, he saw something in me that he liked and later loved. The thing that I find romantically cheesy is that he asked his mom for advice, lucky for me it was some good advice.

Since that day I fell head over feet, even throughout deployments and weeks long training in other states, we have been “inseparable”. We have been blessed with almost three beautiful children and a wonderful life. And we both know we owe it to Shawn. It may sound a little crazy but I believe 100% that Shawn picked him out for me and made sure that we not only met but fell in love.

It has been four years since Matthew and I met and five since I lost Shawn in Iraq. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss him. Most people think because Shawn is no longer here, that I can just move on and forget about him. The thing is Shawn and I didn’t divorce, we didn’t separate, we never stopped loving each other. Shawn died doing what he loved, defending our country. The process of grieving is lifelong. I will always love him. But that doesn’t make me love Matthew any less. Matthew has a strong understanding of the whole situation and he respects me and how I choose to deal with it. And he honors Shawn right along beside me. I respect and appreciate Matthew for being there for me, for helping me cope, for guiding me to be the woman I am today.

I realize how lucky I am to not have just fallen in love once but twice and both times to wonderful men. They are both my heroes and they both hold my heart in different but yet the same ways. I thank God for giving me a heart big enough to love them both. <3

Hang On

Today is 12 years he’s been gone. 12 years of fighting to push forward. Fighting to stay afloat… I wont let this beat me. Someone asked me if its still fresh, just like yesterday. In some ways it is.. It keeps playing over in my head.
Our story was over before it began. We were planning a wedding… he was the love of my life. He was my best friend and we were so happy we made it this far. I was 29 at the time. Engaged and preparing to spend the rest of my life with Todd. The war in Iraq just started. It was 2003. It was uncertain if they were going to be deployed or not. He was in the National Guard… “weekend warriors”. Things always changed so we kept planning and hoping we would make it to the wedding we were planning . Things with the war started heating up in January of that year. The wedding dress was bought, the invitations were about to be ordered, things were moving along. But then he called me at work, not saying a word, but I knew it was all going to change. They were going to be deployed..for up to a year. So instead of the wedding we planned, we went to city hall the next week and got married by the justice of the peace. All of our family were able to attend and it was a great day! We were going to have another wedding after the deployment–the wedding of our dreams, but we just had to wait for it to happen. He got the call that night of the wedding, that he had to report the next day to the armory.. they were leaving.

He left me in February to go to Fort Drum in NY. Just married a week.. never got to wear that dress. Now saying goodbye and not knowing when or if Id see him again. I did though. Twice while they were in Ft Drum before they left for Iraq in April. Once in Iraq, we wrote letters everyday. I made mini-cassette tapes so we could hear each others voices.. we sent them back and forth. Phone calls back then were only for 10 minutes once a week.. so the cassette tapes were a God send! We’d talk about the life we were going to have when he returned. We just wanted to be together.
The night of September 1st I got a knock on the door at midnight.. “this is Colonel so and so.. you need to open the door”. “why are you here?” The rest is a blur of crying and screaming..
It still hurts.. the dreams we never had together. The wedding I never had and babies we were planning on having. Baby showers still suck to this day and I try to avoid them as much as possible. I spent most of my 30’s trying to get a grip on life. Trying to survive and recover.. Some days were better than others. My mother in law told me to “keep my heart open”; there’s more to life waiting for you.
I learned so much in my grief journey and I think finally it’s okay. I’ve made mistakes along the way.. I thought I had a second chance with someone new…that we were going to have a family I always wanted. But after 5 years in a no where relationship it ended. I’ve moved several times, changed jobs, thinking THIS will make it better. But I still miss my best friend.. I’ve learned that crying is easier than fighting back the tears. I’ve learned “to make room for joy” .. that there is something everyday to be thankful for. I try not to think of the dreams that were supposed to happen.. because it’s just too sad. I learned to live in the here and now because the past sucks and the future is too scary. I embrace life! I travel. I want to discover new things and new places. I make things happen. I don’t let the small stuff weigh me down.

When I turned 40 I celebrated all year. The 30’s sucked so much that 40 had to be better!! It has.. I think I’m a better me than I was before. Stronger and more confident -that this journey has made me. I met someone new who is my best friend again. He understands and gets me. He says my past isn’t all of me, just part of me. He says I deserve to be happy..for the longest time I didn’t believe that.
I want to tell those of you on this journey .. hang on.. when things don’t seem like they will ever get better.. on the days you just cant do anymore.. hang on. That, eventually, there will be more good days than bad. That it’s okay to make new memories and to make room for joy! The tide changes with time. It’s going to be okay.

A Promise

I met Robby Frantz when I was a hostess at IHOP. I started receiving little notes giving me clues as to whom my secret admirer was at my hostess stand and flowers made out of napkins. Robby was always friendly and willing to help me and walked me home for a full two weeks before I learned it was him who was my secret admirer. That was the beginning of Ana and Robby. We had a relationship built on love and laughter. He did the littlest things for me to show his love such as surprise me with a bird when my parakeet passed away, or shower me with roses and love notes on my door. He had a daughter who was a baby at the time and we would often spend our time with her as our “dates”. He however, wanted to make his daughter Shannon proud and had higher goals for himself. He would go onto to join the Army where he was an infantryman. One of my happiest moments was when he asked me to marry him. Of course, the answer was obviously yes. I remember our goodbye kiss at the greyhound station and never wanting it to end. He said to me, “Anne I will love you for the rest of my life, and that’s a promise I intend to keep.” He went to Germany and then would get deployed to Iraq, but between college and making wedding plans, I kept myself busy as I awaited him coming home, with letters and phone calls as my sources of light and encouragement.

12 years ago today, June 16, 2003, was the worst day of my life. The day before I talked to Robby for 10 minutes through a satellite phone from Iraq as we talked about when he was coming home, gold jewelry he wanted to buy the ladies in his life (his mom, daughter, sisters, niece, and me), how hot it was, and that we loved each other and to lay low and talk to each other later. Later that day I received a call from his mom Kim telling me he was injured badly and would be coming home and be retired from the Army. I was scared but sighed relief he was alive. I knew he was probably missing a limb or needed some rehabilitation, and I spent the entire night looking up household accommodations and information on prosthetics. I was determined to take care of him, and we would face everything together! Then at 8am, June 17, 2003, 12 years ago came the nightmare. Robby’s mother called me to tell me two uniformed men were at her door… he had passed away during the night. I hung up, my world started spinning, and I screamed like a maniac.

The rest was a blur, but then the media started arriving to his home. The next 2 weeks were constant interviews when I just wanted to be alone. The casualty assistance officer was wonderful and he and Robby’s mom Kim allowed me to be part of the process… We shifted gears from planning a wedding ceremony to planning my soldier’s funeral. I couldn’t eat or sleep, and 3 days later his letters came back and I cried hysterically at the mailbox. His mom, stepdad, and sister and I were driven to the airport a week later so we could greet him, but this time I greeted his flag-draped casket surrounded by uniformed servicemen. We followed him to the funeral home. My fiancé was home.

The hardest thing was being a few feet away from him and not being able to hold him. I would spend the entire next day at his visitation; I refused to leave him. I was NOT going to leave my soldier. On the 30th, about 500 people attended his service. Veterans on motorcycles, several generals, tons of family & friends came, and people lined the streets and saluted. The service was beautiful. The pastor spoke beautifully, the choir was great. I remembered scribbling a poem to him as something moved me to during the service on random scraps of paper. His step grandmother watched as I did it. They asked who wanted to say some words. I stood up and walked to the podium. It was the longest walk I had to do. I said goodbye to him with a poem at the service. I remember as we exited the service the Casualty Assistance Officer escorting me with my arm interlocked with his–looking back the poor guy was actually holding me up as I walked. Then came his burial as we lay white roses on his casket. Everyone filed to give his family and I their condolences but all I saw was a blur and couldn’t comprehend a single thing anyone said.

After the reception, I slept for days and then began the hell. At least I had Kim & Vincent and his family to lean on. I think about how normal my life would be if he was alive and if we were married and how many kids would we have, etc. Instead it was pain that led to mental break downs and feeling like I didn’t want to live. I cried every night for almost 8 months. I remember laying in bed almost a week, not showering, not eating, and my three friends carrying me to the bathtub, undressing me, and washing my hair as I rested my head on the edge of the bathtub while another friend sat on my counter and my other friend sat on the closed toilet seat saying, “Anne! You can’t live like this! Robby would not want this” while my other friend ran shampoo in my hair. I was at my lowest. Alcoholism hit after that. But one day, when I was at home crying and screaming, I screamed “Robby! Why can’t you be here?!?” And at that moment (I SWEAR on everything on this– EVERYTHING), the pages on the magazine on my coffee table visibly and dramatically… Fluttered. And the couch settled loud. I was home alone, the AC was off, and there sure as hell wasn’t a reason for my couch to settle. An overwhelming peace came over me. He was there all along. I stood up and wiped my tears and said “NO MORE!” And to this day, I carry him with me. 12 years hasn’t minimized my feelings for him, but my way of honoring him is to do what he would want me to do: live life to the fullest.

And that my friends is exactly what I intend to do. Until I see him again, and I know I will. It’s not goodbye- it’s see you on the other side. I carry the greatest gift, however: he said “Anne, I will love you until the day I die. And that’s a promise I intend to keep.”

And he did. He kept that promise ♥.

Transformation Of A Widow

As I turn 40 today I am at a point in my life that I am reflecting on the last big birthday 10 years ago. 10 years ago I was with a girlfriend eating breakfast as my husband was at forward training on his way to Iraq, that was 2004. 10 years ago on this day I had the privilege to speak to him and yet I was crushed when I was done talking to him. He had forgotten that day was my 30th birthday. I remember telling myself it was ok it’s just another day and what he was training for could save his life. I was a young mother of a 4 year old daughter and not even 1 year old son. I was a wife of almost 10 years and I was now the head of the household.

To my surprise on April 16 2005 My husband was severely injured to the point that I was now his 24/7 caregiver. I learned very quickly to find my voice to not only protect him but our family as well. From the medical community to the Department of Defense to the Veterans Affairs. Everyday was a fight to survive for all of us. That fight lasted for 6 years until Bob suddenly passed away from his brain injury that he incurred while serving in Iraq. During those very long 6 years we fought for our family and others like us to improve this so called life. We were very honored to fight beside some amazing wounded warriors, their caregivers and people who truly cared for all of us. I would never change it for a minute as we were blessed so many times after that April day even thou it was pure hell.

Since Bobby’s death I tried to carry on the fight that we had both worked so hard on yet I couldn’t even get myself out of bed to take a shower unless someone dragged me there. Let alone take care of my two young special need children or run my small business. Over time and some very difficult times that included trying to leave this place I went inpatient to find my own two feet again and a glimpse of what used to be a boisterous voice. I am finding my journey again, day by day spinning and walking on the fence of sanity of secondary PTSD, complicated grief and widowhood.

So much has changed in 10 years. I have witnessed and experienced death and near death, I have fought, I have been betrayed, I have had people leave my life because they could not handle me after death. I have been lost. I have experienced things that most people could not even dream of, good and bad. I have loved and been loved. I have cried and laughed so hard that I cried. I have been lied to. I have witnessed miracles and answers to prayers both of life and those of death. I have learned. I have grown and most importantly I am still here breathing and transforming. I am a war widow, a single parent and we would have been married 20 years onNovember 19th, half of my life. My journey now holds new friends who understand without saying a word, experiencing life again thru a different set of windows and always transforming.

The Ones Left Behind – Finding Your Way as a Widow

Hello! This is a poem I wrote about being a military widow and also finding other widows to help heal. I recently read it at a ceremony to honor GSW day here in Massachusetts. Thanks.

The Ones Left Behind – What It Means to be a GSW

To know a heart can truly sink,
To hurt
To dream
To survive
To thrive
To fill your heart with love again
To honor
To remember
To lose
To find
To stumble
To know what it means to cry from your gut
To surprise ourselves
To screw it all up
To figure it all out
To realize we still haven’t
To wish everyone away
Then search high and low
For someone who might comprehend
Your pain and your mind and where it has gone or
The time in which you’ve
Gone crazy
Come back
Tried hard
Slept it all away
Given up
Recovered
Reinvented
Reimagined
A life you never thought you’d live
A title you’d never thought you’d have
When you wake up in a life you never dreamed of
A life no one dreams of
A reality too cold to talk about
Nevermind feel
But there it is
In your hands
In your heart
In your face
And you can’t escape
(I know you tried)
So you accept
So you struggle
So you cry
So you scream
So you kick and punch and curse the skies
So you fall to your knees and pray you find a way
Back
To the day before
That last day of life as you’d known it
In all its beautiful
Perfect
Imperfect
Peaceful
Chaotic
Innocent
Splendor
You can see it now
Like looking through a window back in time
Thinking if you could just run fast enough you’d beat the clock and be there again
With a smile on your face
Love in your heart
Your soulmate, your partner
Making mistakes, being human
But doing it together
Now this life will not allow it
Your heart will not heal
People will not stop going on with their lives
While yours has stopped forever
But it doesn’t stop
You haven’t stopped
You haven’t realized
But
You have changed
You have thrived
You have made it to the “other side” of grief
You are strong
You are real
You are a survivor
You are a new you
Like a baby giraffe whose legs are far too long for its body
(Because you know the analogy works)
You’re awkward
And unsteady
Where’s the manual?
How do I walk in these widow shoes?
Where do I walk?
Where do I go?
What do I do?
What’s the right thing to do?
What if I screw it all up?
Why does everyone care what I do?
Why are so many people watching?
When did my little humble life become a public one?
Why isn’t the one person who could help me through this not here anymore?
His opinion mattered
None of these opinions matter
I don’t even know my own opinion anymore
Who am I?
Pressure
Closure
Wonder
Shut it all out
Help me. Someone.
The one
Is gone
My soul
Hurts
Then you find a group
Of Hurt souls
Of Broken hearts
Funny
Smart
Resilient
Strong
Compassionate
Beautiful women
Missing their other halves
Their life loves
Their heroes
Their pasts
Their futures
Their hopes
Their dreams
Their men who went off to war
Doing a job most could never bear
Giving selflessly
Their lives
Their families
Their future
And their love
Women left to raise their children in their memory
Or to realize they will never hold that little piece of their husbands they so wish they had
But they hold onto that flame
That fire
That life inside
And they fight and claw their way into a life all are proud of
Shining a light
And offering hope
Wearing their hearts on their sleeves
To be healed
To heal others
To listen
To laugh
To cry
To have a dark widow humor
That can often frighten others
But delights those in the club
To know
To feel
To share
To reassure
And to hope.
To share your mistakes and successes with
Your feelings no one else would understand
When you ask a question and somehow
They understand
Wait.. You get it?
You’ve been there too?
I’m so sorry
Thank you
Thank you for showing me there is no right way
Just your own way
Your own timeline
Create it
Embrace it
And know
That it’s okay
It will be okay ❤

Grief Journal

I bought a journal specifically to be used as my “grief journal” after Jeremy passed. On the cover it reads “The soul would have no rainbow if the eyes had no tears” It began to mock me.
Regardless, I wrote in it on numerous hopeless nights. My feelings sprawled openly and desperately in this book looking for some release. I found none. I tore them out unable to look at them. Fearful of someone reading it. The serrated edges of the paper torn away from this journal remind me of my heart. Maybe it says more. Where I was then is not where I am now. So today I picked it up again with my ball point pen and now I’m transferring it virtually word by word.
Tuesday February 24, 2015
Today I took a bath for the first time since Jeremy passed. That’s 4 years 7 months and 4 weeks without a bath. Don’t worry folks I have showered since then. It’s just every time I ran the water for a bath in particular, I’d think how relaxing it would be. And then I’d stop and let the water go down the drain. Again and again. I couldn’t because it reminded me of him. Overwhelmingly. All I could think about was how loving he was. How relaxed I felt to just be myself with him and enjoy the stillness of the moment. When he was alive as we departed for our daily duties until meeting again, he left me feeling rejuvenated with an extra spring in my step. Much like the feelings a nice warm relaxing bath can produce. He always reminded me to take a bath. Not like a “Honey you stink take a bath” although, maybe, sometimes. *wink wink*

He’d say “Baby let me run you a hot bath.” And he would. He just understood and equally lovingly accepted that I was tightly wound, the type of person who never stopped going and always had my guard up. He knew this was my learned method of self preservation. Maybe the only way I knew how. Instinctively he knew I needed to relax and be taken away from myself and my worries and thoughts like I needed air. Not necessarily a distraction but just peace, stillness, comfort. He reminded me to require this for myself often. He wanted that for me, whole heartedly. Now he’s gone and I forget, or either it hurts too much, or whatever. I’m sure there is a name for this type of avoidance that a licensed psychologist could give me with a definition matching my description about not taking a bath for 4 years. Right? Surely. So as weird and or crazy as this may be to any of you who happen to read this, (ahem, everybody’s hand goes up. crazy…)
This taking a bath thing it’s simple. Really, it is. It’s just that’s what sometimes I think we miss about the people we loved that are no longer with us the most. The silly things. The unspoken. The quiet things that no one really cares about besides just you and that person. Those things… They last forever.

And I couldn’t help but humorously pat myself on the back with a slight tear in my eye. Cheers self, here’s to taking baths again!

Kaitlin Fine Proud Military Widow of SPC Jeremy Charles Fine

Transformation

How many times have you heard someone say, “People don’t change”? I can speak for myself and I imagine many others out there; that change/ transformation is inevitable. I know that to my core, I am the same genetic makeup for the part 4 decades. However, our experiences, stories and the people we share them with shift and change all the time. It’s our stories, emotions and people we share this with that can help us evolve in the journey of change.

When Ben Skalver entered me and my son’s, Danny, lives in 2008, I was filled to the brim with love, hope and a future as bright as I could ever imagine. Ben’s kindness, passion, energy and love of life were contagious (as many people described him). Before I met Ben, I was a single mom getting my footing back after a divorce. Life with Ben was easy! Our families are close friends and neighbors in a beach community in CT. Our first “date” was celebrating July 4th with all of our families together. It was literally true love at first sight. And yes, the love we share changed me. Our partnership brought out the zest for life that had been hiding within me for a while. I felt alive; ready to experience, explore, learn, share and build a family with Ben. We were a team; a unit and he treated and loved Danny as his own son. We made so many memories in our limited time together and so many plans for a future where we imagined growing old. We planned our beach wedding, a drive across country in an RV, taking classes together when we retired, raising more children, and so many more.

October 2, 2009, the moment two men showed up at my door, I felt darkness, shattered, scared and disbelief. I don’t remember much about the process or what they said. I remember sitting in my closet shaking, I remember family arriving in a weird time warp. I remember making phone calls and the shock, pain and despair almost impossible to explain. Of course Ben’s tragic and violent death changed me. Every ounce of me felt hopeless. I questioned my purpose on this earth. How was I going to raise Danny with the experience that life can be so evil? Ben, the man who led through example, our hero, was taken away from this earth in an instant. Ben lived and acted on the belief of “be the change you wish to see in the world”. We were creating a life of love and giving to others. How could I trust a world that would allow this to happen to such an extraordinary man?

We are coming up on the 5 year anniversary and I still miss Ben every day. Over the years, I opened myself up to many ways of “healing”. I have beautiful and supportive family and friends. My circle of support is incredible and I am truly grateful. The American Widow Project is one of these circles that I have no clue where I would be today without. The AWP created a space that allowed me to explore fears, obstacles, and JOY. Through many events and mostly the love and understanding of all the women, I have accepted where I am today and proud of it. At my first event in 2009 (I was just about at the 1 year anniversary), I had no idea how I was going to get through the weekend. Before I even got there, in my mind, I planned on an “escape” route if I couldn’t handle being around people. You all know what I mean by this! The next thing I knew, we were a group of widows standing on stage at a piano bar. The musician heard who we were and invited us on stage. He sang, with the entire bar, “Proud to be an American” with a standing crowd of people in tears. That weekend and other events I attended involved LIVING; we surfed, parasailed, and released lanterns/hopes by the ocean, shared, cried, and laughed. I wasn’t sure where I fit in the world. However, I was certain that I now had these women to hold me, understand my pain and sadness and give me hope and light, together. Fast forward to my most recent event in March 2014, WidowU Overcoming Obstacles, it was this weekend, where I was ready to take in more “change” than I thought was possible. This weekend was the beginning of a new chapter for me, and one that I am embracing whole-heartedly. In the last 6 months I changed jobs (I will be a social worker in an inner city school), am becoming a Reiki master and opening up a private practice focusing on Reiki and counseling. I am even attending the Fire-walking Institute in September!!

Since the day Ben was killed, I knew that the best legacy would be living my life to the fullest. I knew that to honor Ben in the best way possible was to be courageous, loving, compassionate, giving, a wonderful mom, to be me, the woman he fell in love with. I knew this, yet living this authentic life without him is not what I wanted. It’s still not what I want. I want to experience and share all of this with Ben. Well, in many ways I am. I know that our love will never die.

I have found an inner strength, confidence and self-love that I am eager to share; this is the “transformation”. The AWP gave me the opportunity to explore, face fears, be vulnerable, be honest, share my story, listen to others’ beautiful stories, put myself in situations I could never have imagined and create a “family”.

I don’t refer to “change” so much anymore. Rather, I instill phrases such as process, journey and evolving. Through time, practice, energy, love, trust and incredible soul sister relationships with some kick-ass women, I am walking the walk. I am embracing life in a way that I feel excited about. I will always wish I had more time with Ben and I will always miss the future we were “supposed” to have. However, I am creating a new future starting and being in the present moment. I accept and embrace change as a place for personal growth. I am more at peace, balanced and loving my life and all the people I am fortunate enough to walk the road together.

It’s not always simple. But here’s the thing, I hope that “losing” (I hate that world in reference to death) the loves of our lives the way any of us did, unexpected, tragic, not prepared, will be the worst tragedy we experience. After the fog lifts, which I promise it does, who will you be? In the beginning, I couldn’t imagine light. I felt heaviness, fear and dark, but one day when someone asked how I was (such an annoying question in that first year!!), I said “Ok, there are ups and downs”. I hung up the phone, sat up straight, wide eyed, and thought, “Wait, I just said I was having ‘ups’.” It was true. Moments of good turned into hours into days and nights and weeks. Time is a peculiar concept. It’s healing yet also a daunting reminder. It’s evidence of so much Ben has missed. He didn’t get to turn 33 and it pains me not to have any more pictures together, days at the beach, wine by the fire, cooking dinner together, sitting on my patio reading a book and his touch.

Each day, I am thankful for experiencing true love with Ben Skalver. I am forever transformed by my experience. I am grounded and dreamy, living a life with hope, goodness and light. Ben was a gift to many and our love continues to ignite a fire and desire to LIVE and experience JOY in all aspects of my life.

I know and understand the pain and fear. Please, hold on and TRUST. And, as Steve Perry sings and the widows love to shout out, “Don’t Stop Believe’n’”. There are people, me included ;), who want to hear your story and share the journey with you!

New Year, Old Memories, Mixed Emotions…and how Moving Forward isn’t Moving On

Over the last few years, I cannot tell you how many people have said to me, “Wow, you could write a book!”…I suppose I could, if I had the time, the energy, the organizational skills…I could write about my experiences. Thoughts and feelings. Lessons learned. Perspective and outlook gained. But, really, I am not sure how many people would want to read the jumbled up thoughts and roller-coaster emotions. I already know that there is a limited set of people who would completely relate to or identify with my story. Then again, maybe there are more than a few people out there who share a similar experience and would like to know they aren’t completely insane. So, maybe I should write for them. And for myself, of course.

People always usher in a new year with a certain amount of excitement for what it is to come. I, on the other hand, find myself slightly excited at the possibilities, but also apprehensive and nervous, like I am waiting for “the other shoe to drop” or the sky to fall out of the relatively-happy-new-do-over life I am living now…I always find myself looking backward in time as I look forward to the future, and it makes my head swim.

If I was to write that book, it would, of course, be a story of love and loss and tragedy and triumph. That’s a given…

I would write about being a 25 year old college student, who felt like she didn’t belong anywhere. There she sat, in her college hoodie in her Psychology class, listening to the cute little sorority girls say things like “OMG, last weekend Jason got soooo wasted, it was ridiculous! I laughed so much!” And fighting back the urge to answer their questions about what she did last weekend with responses like, “Well, I looked over the police report from my dead husband’s car accident and filled out more forms for the VA, and wanted to die, myself. That’s a typical Saturday night at my house, you ditz!”…

Or maybe I would write about how the biggest difference between losing any other member of your family and losing your spouse is the constant judgement you feel from everyone around you. Lose your Grandma, and no one really minds if you go out to dinner and have a few laughs a month later. Do the same, when you are widowed, and everybody has something to say about it. There are those who think you are “moving on too soon” and are somehow being disrespectful in your early show of happiness. And then there are those who say you should of been out to dinner way sooner. Either way, there is always SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE who disapproves of your every move, every decision, and questions your motives, loyalty and love every step of the way. This of course, happens at a time when you are in so much pain, it takes everything you have just to BREATHE on your own; you are not strong enough to bear other people’s opinions of you. It will ruin you if you let it, that constant feeling of judgement and accusation, or at the very least, that sensation of total uncertainty. But, you can’t let it ruin you. If you do, you would ruin the best part of the story…And that’s the last thing I would write about—finally being able to live a happy life again. Not because I have “forgotten” anything, but because I want my “memories” to create something positive. And not because I am an entirely different person, but because what I have been through has made me absolutely certain about what really matters in life, and what really matters at the end of my life…And not because the opinions of family, friends and loved ones don’t matter, but because I realize that they don’t understand the whole story. I am the person who has to live my life the only way I know how, and I have no time for or tolerance of anybody’s judgmental attitude. …..And also maybe mostly because I got lucky enough to meet someone who showed me that it is NOT disrespectful to be happy again, nor does it mean that I have “moved on and forgotten everything” just because I want to keep moving, keep living life to the fullest, and fill my time with smiles and laughter rather than bitterness, anger, and sadness.

Maybe, like me, you will meet a person who makes you realize that your past experiences are not the “end” of you, they are just a part of you. Maybe this new person will restore your belief in happiness and love and faith again, make you feel like it’s possible to have a second chance at a happy life. Maybe, instead of judging your every thought, word, and action, you will meet a person who just looks at you and says, “After all this, you deserve to be happy. Nobody deserves to be happy more than you, and you should do WHATEVER makes you happy.”
And then you’ll look back on all your memories and past experiences, thankful to have had them, thankful for the strength and perspective, and also so very thankful for the chance at new memories, and a new life…lived in the most heart felt way.

The kind of life that makes the past bearable, the future bright, and the story worth writing 🙂

Waking Up

Waking up
realizing it’s all still real
and you’re still gone
I’m here all alone

Waking up
it hits me again
the world ticks by
when I just want it to end

And then I get up
and I realize
I’ll be ok
I smile at a friend
and laugh at a joke
and the world ticks by

I miss you everyday
but life goes on anyway

I remember waking up the first few months after he died, and it would hit me anew the reality of his death. I would have to survive each morning through this realization, and have to process my world without my husband. Sometimes, even years later, I still wake up and the reality of losing him hits me again. At first, I didn’t have the strength or the desire to get up and keep going. I had friends and family and even small children to coax me out of my little hole where I wallowed in pain and disbelief. It was a dark place, although my memory is kind to me and has shut a lot of it out. And, eventually I did find my own inner strength and my own desire to move forward through my life even though it felt like the world should have ended with that moment I learned he was gone. I still miss him, but I’m ok, and some days I’m better than ok and life is beautiful.

It’s ok to be Happy!

Its been two years and five months since my husband was killed. A few days ago would have been our four year anniversary, and in just a few days he would have been 26. Our life together was ended after only being married a year and a half, and he was only 23. It just ended. From the moment I was notified, it felt as if the world was spinning so fast, and my life had come to a stand still. Everyone else was going on with their life, where did i fit in? What was I to do with my three month old daughter, Jaimie, who would only know her daddy from the memories of everyone else?

No one prepares you for planning a funeral. Days before his death, we planned it out. From the picture he wanted next to his casket, flowers,the “after party” . He felt as if something was going to happen, I told him over and over he was going to be fine, but deep down, I knew it too. Then, on November 12, 2008, on a cold Kentucky night, there they were, two uniformed soldiers at the door, holding two sheets of white paper, one directions to the small apartment shared with my sister, and the other, a scripted letter “We regret to inform you..”

There instantly was guilt. His death seemed to be my fault, I felt as if he were not going to come home, and there we were, hours after being notified, “Would you like a stainless steel or wooden casket?” How about a cozy seat on an airplane next to his fellow soldiers, awaiting their families. No, stainless steel or wood. The guilt lasted for a short time, as I knew it was not my fault.

A few weeks after Jose was killed, I received his belongings from Iraq, and immediately felt like i had to give everything away. I felt like hanging onto everything that could help someone else was selfish. Two years later I still wish I would have been selfish and kept everything. I went through the five or six large tough boxes and just sorted things out to reference with the check list I was given. My initial thoughts were, ‘Why is everything washed?’ ‘Who deleted everything off his laptop?’ Ironically, there was a sticker centered on the laptop that said “Am I dead yet?”

At this moment, I wish i had listened to those around me that said “Don’t make any huge decisions right now, give it AT LEAST six months.” I was stubborn, and wanted to go through everything while I was still numb and not have to open the wounds months down the road. I had no idea what I was doing anymore, I was still “new” at being a wife and mother, and suddenly I was labeled a widow.

Two years later, I would love to have gone through his belongings and really looked at everything in those boxes, and now I cant. Everything dwindled into one large box. Is that all his life came down to, just a black box? For a while, that is what it felt like, and it felt like that hurt more than his actual death. This is what life comes down to.

When Jose’s unit returned home, I went to the homecoming, not to be the odd man out and have everyone feel sorry for me, but for the fact that I too belonged at that ceremony. I was only two months away from seeing my soldier walk into the gym to a crowd of excited wives, children, parents, and i needed it to give me the end of the deployment I too had waited anxiously for, not a small airplane carrying his casket. It was then that I had met up with one of Jose’s friends that was in the same unit, and had gotten home days before, he went with me to the homecoming. Something between us sparked. I didn’t mean for it to happen. Maybe it was the feeling that he too had known Jose, or the need for closeness, but whatever it was, led me to where i am this very moment. We rushed into our relationship, and I pushed all grief aside. I didn’t want to feel the sadness or anger. I tried so hard to fight the emotions and not have to deal with them, and for the first year, i did ok. I got by somehow and moved into the second year. The second year is when everything flooded back, the anger, the hurt, the sadness. It had taken me this long to truly realize that emotions help guide you through the grief. It is ok for me to take a moment for myself and get through the grief, to remember the moments that made me smile, and to also realize that life isn’t going to stop. Its going to keep on, and that’s what i have to do as well.

The most useful information that was given to me, that I would pass on to any new widow would be to *Take your time *Don’t make life decisions on a whim* It’s ok to cry* Even more, it’s ok to smile and be happy!*