Jen

(((((((((LESLIE))))))))))))) Let's keep climbing together. No words needed.

I'm always happy to hear about dream visits-- I've only dreamed about Jim a handful of times, and the last three have been upsetting-- he's always mad at me, and I don't know why. Maybe mad is the wrong word... frustrated? Disappointed? Unhappy, anyway. That changed this morning, but I still don't understand it. Someone want to take a stab at dream interpretation? I'm pretty lousy at it. Jim was standing by my bed, but he was unbelievably tall-- at least 10'-- and stick-thin. I didn't think it was really him, but then he hugged me, and he smelled right, so I decided it had to be him. That part was incredibly vivid. Then he gave me a ring-- a cladagh, anyone familiar with that? It's an Irish symbol, hand and a crowned heart, representing love, loyalty, and friendship. It was not a pretty ring-- the heart was huge, about the size of a dime, and some red stone. But he gave it to me, so I was determined to wear it and like it. He put it on my ring finger-- but with the heart upside down, pointing out. According to tradition, that means the wearer isn't spoken for. He disappeared, and I wasn't sad about it-- I was glad he'd visited me. I don't know how I feel about it. It was a weird dream, not a great one, but at least he wasn't mad at me!

Aw, SVS, you made me cry. (((hugs))) LisaPop gave me a good phrase: if I can't hope, at least I can hope for hope. I keep thinking... maybe, if I keep to that... a little real hope will creep in. I know my grief has changed; I know I've made significant progress (if only because people around me tell me so). I'm surviving. I just wish I could believe that one day I might thrive. I think we all deserve that.

((((((((SVS)))))))))) I am shocked and appalled at how the reporting officer totally dropped the ball! Ditto what Calimom said-- you're AWESOME for showing up at the hearing. I don't think it would even have occurred to me to try. I'm glad to see you back. Sending healing vibes for that wrist, and calming ones for the stress. You have every reason to be anxious about driving! Just keep breathing. All will be well... eventually. ((more hugs))

So... it's been a year and eight days. I have only the vaguest memories of where I was this time last year-- on the road between here and D.C., I think. I was numb then-- the tearing agony didn't begin until we got home from the forced "vacation" (my mom insisted it would help, I think she was just afraid-- maybe with good reason-- to leave me alone) and the kids went back to school. I remember having lots of calm conversations with Jim inside my head-- "What do I do now? Why did you have to go?"-- in which, of course, nothing was ever resolved. I was shell-shocked. I couldn't think five minutes ahead, let alone a year. April 2015 might as well have been a millennium away. And now it's here. Nothing has changed, and everything has changed. The days are interminable (except the ones I really want to last, which are few and far between; they fly by in seconds)-- every single one feels like I'm climbing a mountain. I struggle up the slope-- some days are steeper than others, but they're all exhausting. I make it to the top, look around in wonder that I actually survived to see it-- and wake up at the bottom the next morning with the sick realization that I have to do it again. And again. And again. My heart hurts. Truthfully, it's so scarred and broken that I'm amazed it can feel anything at all. I almost wish it would go completely dead, so I wouldn't have this constant ache, but it stubbornly persists. It tells me there is still love, and love is worthwhile, even now. My head tells me that's wishful thinking at best, and pathetic self-delusion at worst. Which do I believe? I know which one I want to believe... How do I get them on the same page? Can't I just make up my mind to be okay with what is? I'm not suffering. I'm (mostly) functional. My life seems so empty; I know it's up to me to fill it. My poor shattered heart still wants to try; my head is utterly defeated and tired of thinking, it wants to give up and just let whatever happens, happen; if an avalanche carries me away, so much the better. So which is it? What do I do? Anything? Nothing at all? I feel like I'm at war with myself. I don't know which to believe: heart or head? Do I dare hope for something better when the odds are that I'll never get it? Or do I fix my gaze firmly on the ground right in front of my feet: one step at a time, stay in the here and now, never look for the horizon-- or the peak? I'm not a Pollyanna, but I don't want to live what's left of my life in the pits of despair, either. If I have to climb the mountain every single day, can I at least learn to enjoy the vistas? And... is it all right to harbor the tiniest hope that maybe somebody will want to climb with me, one day?

Michael, I'm sorry. Beyond sorry. There aren't enough words to express it, and it's too daunting to try. I could find quotes, but I promised not to do that, so-- here I am. Basically wordless. ((((hugs)))) How's things with me? Do you want the honest answer? Sigh.

Fuck that my heart refuses to accept what is.

I almost never dream about Jim, but when I do, he's always mad at me. I don't understand why. What did I do wrong? I'm not the one who left... I'm still right here in hell.

((((((KAM))))))) I totally had a meltdown like this last week. I had to print a Powerpoint presentation to take to work, and I only have one flash drive-- it's Jim's. I took it to Staples and handed it over so they could print my file. The guy had a big print job going, told me it would take about 20 minutes to clear the queue, so I left and browsed a couple neighboring shops. When I came back half an hour later, the print guy had gone on break. The girl who took his place found my print job, but couldn't find my flash drive. She called the manager, they were both searching all over the print center, and they couldn't find the thing. I started to panic-- it had only been half an hour, how could they have freaking lost it in half an hour? They kept showing me drives they found-- no, not that, that's not it, no, I told you, it was black and red-- and then I started to cry. "I've got to have it back, it's irreplaceable, it's my husband's and he DIED-- " Major gasp from another customer who was waiting for help. I broke down utterly at that point, I was just a helpless sobbing mess. Finally, the print guy came back from lunch or wherever, looked around, and found my flash drive. They all apologised profusely-- I know they just wanted me to get the hell out of there. They didn't even charge me for my prints. I was mortified, but at the same time-- well, don't mess with a wid!

Go for it! I say all bets are off now-- jump in with both feet. What have you got to lose? (((hugs)))

Hugs. And right there with you on the crying. Hang on. One day at a time, one hour, one breath. We got this.

If anyone happens to come across my purpose, could you let me know? I desperately wish I knew what it was... :-/

Can. Not. WAIT.

I've never dealt with rejection well, which is why I've never really dated, and probably why I alienate people by trying too damned hard to please. Knowing that doesn't mean I know what to do about it-- nothing to do, I expect, and I have only myself to blame for the inevitable outcome. Sigh. Hugs, Grace. Just... hugs. This whole gig sucks donkeys.

I wasn't near a computer most of Friday, but I did think about you, L. We made it through another 10th. What else can we do but keep going? (((((HUGS))))))

Moncoeur, I'm just now at a year-- and I'm going to stop saying that; I'm determined to stop counting-- but I feel much as you do. I've dealt with depressive tendencies since I was 13 years old, and a year of profound grief on top of that is definitely not helping matters. I tried counseling, but that was a bust; my current doctor declines to prescribe medication. The glib answer, of course, is "get another doctor," but that's easier said than done. I suppose I need to do something, though, because I'm not having much luck beating it on my own. The lack of purpose is something I struggle with constantly. Why, other than the duties and responsibilities of this existence, am I here? What is the point of getting out of bed in the morning? Get the kids up for school, go to work, run all day, come home. Repeat ad infinitum. It's exhausting and thankless, and time seems to pass so slowly. I completely agree that this is no way to live. I don't have any answers, except to think that maybe-- just maybe-- we're here to get each other through, so I'm trying. Mostly failing, I suspect, but still... trying. ((((HUGS)))))

I desperately hope you're right, sweet lady. Pain has to subside eventually, right? Or maybe we just become inured to it? I'm afraid that's the best I can personally hope for... but I do cling to the hope that someday, somehow, things will get better. Because I'll be brutally honest... they're not that great right now.

I made it through, with help. Thank you all. (((((HUGS))))))

Been away a few days, but wanted to add some more (((((HUGS))))))

It took me long enough, but I finally understand what Michael has been trying to explain for months: I needed a bago! Thank you all for making my first one so wonderful-- and for ensuring it won't be my last. ((((HUGS))))

I couldn't sleep-- I've been up since 2 am. I'm packed and ready to go-- have to leave for the airport in 30 minutes-- but I still can't decide what to wear! Ack!

So many hugs back-- I will never be able to adequately say how grateful I am. <3 <3 <3

Here I am... I made it. I can't quite believe it. Thank you all so much for being here. (((((((HUGS)))))))))

Very true, lol! When we did Oklahoma! in high school, we spent a lot of time shaking our heads over the dialect. I guess Rodgers & Hammerstein didn't have much on idea how folks in eastern Oklahoma actually sound...

Jim was a donor, but they weren't able to use any of his organs or tissues... truthfully, I don't think they even tried. I'm still a little resentful of that; I don't think he had good medical care before he died, while he was dying, or after he passed. But it's moot now, so I've let it go. My mother is a kidney transplant coordinator for the local university hospital, and I'm amazed at what they do to match organs. From the surgeons and OR teams to the nurses who coordinate each case and then follow the recipients literally for the rest of their lives to the donation orgs who support the donor families... it's just incredible. I've been a donor since I first got my driver's license, and I've told my family to please give any bit of me that's usable once I'm done with it.