Karin

I'm feeling a little better about this semester after an e-mail exchange with my professor yesterday. I realized that signing up for the previously dropped class with the same professor, who knows my situation, was a smart move. I assumed that I would have to complete all previous assignments over again, 6 weeks of work before I dropped the class, restarting rather than resuming the course. I asked her to confirm, reminding her of why I dropped the course last semester, and she told me that she's perfectly okay with me resubmitting last semester's work for those assignments. Yippee!! That's a huge relief, since I'm still not feeling 100% focused yet, and I really didn't relish the idea of writing new papers on the same assigned topics.

Thanks, everyone, for reminding me I'm not alone in this kind of experience. I don't understand people. Days after that conversation, apparently oblivious to the fact that I'm avoiding her intentionally and that hey, this loss may have changed me and my whole world . . . . she reaches out and asks me if I'll do her taxes (as I have in years past). No. Just . . . . no.

I really need to get this off my chest to some folks who I think will "get it". A few weeks ago, a friend who claims me as her "bestie" (I hate that word) asked me how I was doing/feeling. Mind you, today marks 4 months since Eddie died, so at the time, I was at 3 months and change. She caught me in a weak moment, and I told the truth, though I should have known better. I told her that I was ready to sell off anything worth selling, give away anything else I don't want to pack, and move back "home". That's 2,000+ miles from here, where I grew up and where all of my family lives. Eddie's family is here, and I love them, but they're no substitute for my own family. Though this friend has known for years that our ultimate plan was to move to the area I grew up, so this should come as no surprise, I should have known better than to be honest. She proceeds to tell me that since I've been away from "home" longer than I was there (not true), I should stay here. She also goes on about how she's too old (mid-30s) to find a new friend, so I can't move, or she'll be friendless if I do. Also, she tells me that I would have to be the one to break the news to her 5-year-old child, who already has anxiety issues due, in my opinion, largely to her parenting style. Yes, of course, that's what I needed to hear. I hear all of this as her telling me that my feelings aren't valid, and all that matters is how it would affect her. I had no words. I finally had to just make her stop by telling her that it's happening, though not immediately, and I won't discuss it. This from someone who tells others that I'm her best friend. I've been limiting contact with her since then, as I don't need that kind of friend, especially now. Thanks for providing a "safe" place to share. I really needed to get that out. I don't think I'm being overly sensitive, but no one else understands.

A trio of songs by Diamond Rio: "I Believe" - "One More Day" - - This one played on a loop in my head for days between when E died and his funeral service. "You're Gone" -

"I Miss My Friend" by Darryl Worley Based on lyrics alone, it's unclear if this is about a break-up or something more permanent . . . . . but the message of the video is clear.

I'll be re-starting my third semester of coursework toward earning a Masters of Library & Information Science degree. I'm not really looking forward to it, wondering if I'm going back too soon.

I'm planning to be in San Diego for Comic-Con during that July time frame, to the date change has changed my response to "Can't make it, but hope you all have a great time!".

I think everyone's experience will be different, and you have to do what's right for you. I don't have any advice to offer, but I'll give you my story. I will preface it with the fact that burial location and cemetery visiting mean absolutely nothing to me. If I want to feel close to Eddie, there are so many other places I would visit before the cemetery. To me, no matter where he's buried, he's not "there". I've visited once since the funeral and am sure to visit again after the stone is placed, but other than that, I don't feel the need to be there. I had to decide quickly how to handle the single/double question, as it was a question of real estate that had to be decided before Eddie could be buried. On the day following the night he died, his parents and I were to meet with the funeral home to make that decision. In my case, we lived in California, while all of my family is in the Midwest, and all of his family is in California. I chose to have Eddie laid to rest in California, in the same cemetery as his grandparents, where his parents and one sibling have also already made pre-arrangements for themselves. That place is so crowded that unless you plan for both residencies, so to speak, at the same time, there's no way the second person can end up next to (or on top of!) the first person. So, I had to decide immediately. Knowing that he would not want me to feel tethered by the financial obligation, that my family is 2,000 miles away, and not knowing what else life has in store for me, I opted not to plan to be buried with him. We never had kids, so no need to stay together for their benefit, either. I did, however, agree and arrange with his parents to move forward with the double plot, with the intention that his brother (99.99% likely to never marry) will be buried with him when his time comes. Eddie and his brother were always very close, so I know he would approve. My difficulty, now, is in choosing a dual stone layout that works well for the two brothers, as consistency will dictate that however the wording and details on Eddie's side are laid out, his brother's side will follow suit, or at least my little symmetry loving mind hopes so. That's still in progress, with a very irritating amount of wait time between my requests for information and the coordinator's responses.

3 months, today. Feels like yesterday, and at the same time, feels like years ago. My memory stinks, on a good day, so I really don't remember much at all from the time around his death and funeral. That lack of memory, I've heard, is my grief protecting me from pain, but because I don't remember, it often feels like he's just not home right now. Then, I remember, and every reminder or fresh new memory is like a punch to the gut, triggering a brand new round of pain. I miss him so much.

How am I supposed to do this "life" thing without my other half? Suddenly, I am as unencumbered as a recent high school graduate with a whole world of options......and nothing sounds appealing.

central California. So far, looks like Phoenix area dwellers are my closest neighbors in the group, and that's around a 10 hour drive. :-\

I miss him. I hate this.

When I called to deal with Eddie's outstanding credit card balance and learned that I have to pay exactly ZERO of it, I was surprised and initially elated to not have that burden to worry about . . . .then quickly ticked that I had put the $2K plus it cost to reach the out of pocket maximum for his recent hospital stay (before insurance covered the rest) on my card instead of his.

Eddie proposed to me on April Fool's Day. He had no idea that was the date, as he was so nervous and focused on the proposal itself. We were in Monterey, sitting in the gazebo on Asilomar State Beach. He said all these lovely pre-proposal things to me, and asked me to marry him. I told him that he better be serious, because if he was pulling an April Fool's prank on me, I would get in the car and leave without him. lol That's when he realized the date. I said yes, of course, and I would again.

Eddie and I met online and lived many states apart. The first time I visited him, one of the outings he planned was an overnight at a bed and breakfast in wine country. It was the off season, so we were the only guests that night. The house was quiet when the innkeeper let us in and showed us around, in the early evening. Later that evening, still alone in the house, we started to hear faint piano music coming from nowhere and everywhere. It just started, all by itself. We searched for the source and were half convinced the place must be haunted when we couldn't find anything. It was actually kind of creepy. We felt silly and had a good laugh at ourselves when we finally found the source, a hidden stereo in a random cabinet, wired to some very well hidden surround sound speakers, and with a timer the innkeeper had set to automatically play during certain hours. That memory made me smile while writing it. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to share.

Today was the first family gathering with my in-laws since DH's funeral and the first time I've seen his parents since then. I've visited with each of his sisters and a few other members of their families and talked to many of them (including his parents) on the phone, but today was the first time I saw them all as a group, and I wasn't sure how I'd be able to handle it. Something about DH's funeral service, or the priest who presided, or just the reminder of our mortality prompted my niece to decide to have her 2-year-old little girl baptized. That's what brought us all back together today, just one month later. I wanted to go, and at the same time, I wanted to just crawl back in bed and cry. I convinced myself to go, if only for the baptism ceremony. I didn't have to go to the party after. I had no definite plans beyond the church ceremony, and decided to see how I felt about the party when the time came. I ran into some of the family, including two sweet adorable little girls, in the parking garage on the way in, so it was nice to walk into the church with them instead of all alone. I was probably the only person crying during the ceremony, not for any religious reasons but just because all I could think was that he should have been there with me for this. He adored all of his family. I decided to go to the party, at least for a little while, but not without tackling another "first" before I went. I stopped at the cemetery (or "memorial park") for my first visit. I don't need to be there to talk to him, and I probably won't visit often, but today, stopping felt right. The place is absolutely huge, and unless you know just exactly where you're going or you have a map, you might spend hours walking around without finding the right site, especially without a headstone to mark it yet. So, I went to the office to ask them to mark the right place on the map for me. Not tremendously helpful, as there are lots of markings on the paper map, but none on the actual landscape. . . . so there's still some guesswork and hunting involved. And yet, I parked in exactly the right place to walk straight back in the row right to his spot, temporarily marked by a little plate bearing his name. No guessing, no walking around searching. I stood there for a while, talking to him and crying, and poked an American flag into the ground there for him. He was always so proud and patriotic, so I know he would like that. But, I didn't feel any closer to him there than if I were talking to him while lying in my bed. He's not there, in the ground. He's in my heart, soul, mind, and memories. I felt closer to him on the beach in Monterey a couple of weeks ago, sitting in the gazebo where he proposed, than I did standing there in the cemetery. I'll go back when the headstone is there, just to make sure everything is correct, but I don't know how many more visits I'll make. After, I did go to the party, and even stayed longer than I thought I would. One of my nieces, after having read some guidance on coping with grief and seeing a counselor herself, had the courage to risk making us both sadder and talk about how we can help each other through this. She understood that we're all grieving, but we're all grieving different relationships, and if we can't make it better, can we talk about how to make it "not worse" for each other? It was the start of a really honest, open conversation that, over the course of the afternoon, pulled in some other family members as well. What it really came down to, for us, is that we need to be open and honest, acknowledge how much this sucks, and just be there for each other, whether that means talking, sitting in silence, or cursing the world together (or all three in the space of 5 minutes). I was glad she opened the topic, because many of them were afraid to upset me or hurt me in some way, so they didn't know what to say. Bottom line . . . . . no meaningless platitudes. Say what you really feel. If you ask how I'm doing, mean it, and don't tune me out or get upset if the answer is longer and more complicated than "okay" or "hanging in there". If you don't really want the answer, don't ask the question. Most importantly, talk about him often. Don't avoid talking about him for fear of making me sad. I want to hear all of those stories. I need to hear them. He lived, and I don't want to forget any of it. I may cry, will probably cry, but I'm not fragile or broken, so please don't treat me that way. That conversation felt like a great first step in healing for all of us. I'm still struggling, though, with seeing his parents. I had been in town a few weeks ago, but I didn't go to their house. I wasn't ready. I still don't feel ready. As irrational as it sounds, I feel like I failed them, and I'm not sure how to face them. Rationally, I know that DH was a grown adult (was already a grown adult when we met), and that he was responsible for taking care of himself. On the other hand, it was just him and me, a team, and I feel like we each had one major job, that of taking care of each other. He was their baby, youngest in his family, I took him away, and it was my job to take care of him . . . . and I failed. I know that's not really true, and his parents don't feel that way at all, but until I can shake this feeling, it's very hard for me to see them. I feel like such a fraud, because they love me so much for loving and taking care of their baby and making him happy, but in my mind, I failed. I can't share this with them, as I don't want them to feel any blame for the irrational feelings I have, and I know they would feel bad. They're grieving for their child, so they certainly don't need that added stress. And I know they want to see me, so I feel like a terrible person for withholding that visit from them, but I don't know how to get past it and let go of this feeling that I let them down.

If I can make the chosen date work. . . . I'm in.

I was never very adept at cooking for two. . . . . how do I cook for one? Cereal is always a popular choice in my book. Or a sandwich or scrambled eggs. That's the extent of the energy I'm willing to exert, especially if it's just for me alone. Any better ideas?? I haven't tried this myself yet, but my mom insists that this soup recipe is tasty. Makes more than just one serving but not so much that you'll be tired of it before you finish the leftovers. Baked Potato Soup 4 servings 2 lg or 3 med baked potatoes Melt 1/4 cup butter Add 1/4 cup chopped onion Cook 1-2 min Stir in 1/4 cup flour Gradually add: 1 can chicken broth 1 12oz can evap milk scoop out & mash pulp from 1 potato Cook over med heat, stir occas, until mix comes to boil Dice remaining potatoes, skin and all, and add to soup. Heat through. Season with salt & pepper to taste Toppings, crisp, crumbled bacon, cheese, chopped green onion Variations, Omit toppings. Cook 2Tblsp shred carrot with the onion. Add 1/4 tsp dill weed when adding broth.

See that guy in my avatar photo? That's my amazing, funny, kind, supportive hubby, Eddie. Before I delve into the deep, dark weepy portion of this post, I want to share with you the funny story behind this nice looking photo. Several years ago (maybe 2012? 2011? earlier? I don't know), around Christmas time, we wanted a nice photo to send out to family, but neither one of us wanted to deal with a photographer or their studio fees. So, we decided to take it ourselves. The background is a floral painting that used to hang above our couch. We dressed up in nice "portrait worthy" clothes. In order to make this photo happen, we had to stand on the very squishy couch, and use the camera tripod and self-timer. However, the tripod alone wasn't tall enough. It had to go on top of the coffee table. So, now it was too tall for me. Out comes the step stool. Picture this . . . . .he's posed there on the couch, I have to climb up the step stool, frame the photo in the view finder, hit the timer, then RACE to the couch, jump up there with him and "look natural" before the camera snapped the photo. It was quite hilarious, took several tries, and I almost broke a toe on the attempt where I didn't jump high enough, but we got this amazing photo and the great memory to go with it. I'll always cherish the memory as much as the photo. I have more happy memories like that one, but I wish we'd had time to make even more. I've been missing him like mad since we were unexpectedly parted by his sudden death just over a month ago. Officially, he died in his sleep of cardiac arrest in the early minutes of 10/6/15. Unofficially, when I woke up with him next to me, not breathing, called 911 and started chest compressions, I knew it was already too late. So, as far as I'm concerned, he died on 10/5/15. Sounds like a meaningless distinction, but when a loved one calls on what they believe is the "anniversary" (one-month, 6 months, whatever), what they don't realize is that I've already suffered through that day alone, and their offer of support is appreciated but late. So far, taking care of my basic needs (eat, sleep, hydrate) is going okay, but other than that, I'm at a complete loss. For 16 years, he was my best friend and #1 cheerleader, and for the last 12 of those years, my husband. We had no kids, so after the initial chaos of family visiting for support and funeral planning and attendance then leaving . . . . . the house is so quiet. I don't know what to do with myself. I've gone back to work (part time at home, part time in the office), which keeps my mind occupied for some part of each day, but with my perspective completely changed, I no longer care about the work I'm doing other than to do a good enough job to keep employed and keep the bills paid. When I do leave the house for work, coming home to an empty house is so painful. It is so lonely. I miss him so much. I cry most mornings and cry myself to sleep at night. One day this week, I even found myself sobbing while putting dishes in the dishwasher. I have no family close by, but all of his family is within a 2 hour drive in one direction or another. I have great, supportive friends in town, but none of them have been through this (and I wouldn't wish it on them). I'm sorry we're all here, but I'm glad to have found somewhere with folks who are more likely to understand what I'm going through and how I'm feeling without trying to "fix" me. I hate that all of you are here, because it means you're suffering too, but at the same time. . . thanks for being here and letting me share my story. ~ Karin