Jen

Thank you for this... thank you all, in fact. I've been ill, which just makes everything worse-- I've been reading, but I haven't been able to make myself respond. Just no words anymore. hugs, Jen

Yesterday was Thursday-- 50 weeks since Jim died. For the first four months or so, I counted every week, almost obsessively. Sometime in the summer, I lost track... couldn't remember if it had been 16 weeks, or 17,or 18. But I couldn't bear to look back through a calendar and count, so I had to let it go. Then it became months-- the 10th of every month. Even so, Thursdays are still hard, especially if I'm at work, as I was that day. I start to get anxious and depressed about 4 pm-- my son called me at 4:16. It's like my whole body remembers. Two weeks from today it will be a year. It feels *so* much longer-- maybe ten times that long. When I think back, it's like trying to remember someone else's life. I don't want to count anymore. One year, three, five-- what difference? He's gone. All that's left is me, trying to hold onto some sense of him, but that's all but vanished as well. I know he loved me. I know we were happy. That seems so... academic now. That and two bucks will get you a cup of coffee at Starbucks. It's not real. It was, but it stopped being reality when his heart finally gave up and quit beating. What's real now is that I still have to get up every day and face this life-- kids, work, school, all the thousand things, big and small, that crop up-- and I do it alone. I trudge through the hours like I'm on the Bataan death march. I think the worst part is that I'm constantly aware of it-- not "Jim is dead," but "I am alone." I feel horribly guilty even typing that. I don't think about Jim constantly. I miss him, but I don't yearn for him like I did. Sometimes I glance up from my computer and see his urn and think, Oh, yeah. That happened. Then I go back to reading my email or the board, or cussing at my stats homework, or whatever. Doesn't he deserve better than that? It's like what's left of my heart is so scarred over, I can't feel much about it anymore. Thinking about being alone, though... that sends me into the abyss. If I believed it was just temporary, maybe it wouldn't be so bad, but I can't let myself hope that it will ever be any better for me. Hope is a dangerous thing. I had some hope that I could survive this, that I could soldier through hell and find something worth the agony on the other side. Somehow that's gone away, and hell seems infinitely worse-- darker, deeper, more terrifying than ever. Reality has most definitely set in. This isn't a phase. It's not going away; this is my life. I won't say it will never change, because I've learned the hard way that things can change in the blink of an eye-- in the time it takes a blood clot to travel to a 40-year-old man's lungs and snuff out his life. But change for the better? That's harder to believe. I'm like Mulder; I want to believe. I want to... I feel like such an egomaniac-- I apologise for that, but grief is inherently selfish. He died, but it was my life that was destroyed. I'm not a victim, but I still feel sorry for myself (and, yes, I'm aware of how attractive that's not). I was a good person, I never deliberately hurt anyone, and I've always tried to help where I could. So why... ? No sense in even asking; there's no answer. And I'm okay, honestly. Functional, anyway. I have good moments, I'm not totally broken. My heart still works-- I still love, and deeply. I am loved. I'm grateful for that. It's the hopelessness that's hell. I don't dream anymore. Is a life devoid of hopes and dreams even worth continuing? I'm done counting. I don't think there will be a one year post; I think this is it. I can let myself think as far ahead as July, but everything after that is a vast emptiness. I should think of it as infinite possibility, but it just seems oppressive... infinite bleakness instead. For months I wrote in my journal, over and over again, "I'm done. Please come get me. I don't want to do this anymore." Day after day, and I meant it. I would write that before turning out the light at night, then cry when I woke up the next morning and realised no one was coming for me. I don't journal as much anymore-- I've said all there is to say, evidently-- but I still think it nearly every night. All I want is for someone to tell me it will all be okay. Of course no one can say that with any authority, but still-- that's what I need. Someone to tell me that it's worth holding on. Because right now... as much as I want to believe that... I just can't.

Oh, Jerald, I am so, so sorry. I can't even listen to the CD; I can't imagine actually seeing the show. Especially since your dd was in it-- you had to be so proud of her, but at the same time-- My heart would have been lacerated to ribbons. ((((((HUGS)))))))

I love The Secret Garden-- I got to see it in Chicago a long, long time ago. It's still the one show I can't listen to. I tried-- I made it through three tracks before dissolving into helpless sobs. But I hear Rebecca Luken singing that song over, and over, and over in my head. And Mandy Patinkin: "How in the world, tell me, how in the world, can I live without your love? Why on the earth, tell me, why on the earth, should I stay now that you are gone?" I'm having a bit of a bad day. I'm trying very hard to hold on: "Hold On" (Secret Garden): (The song starts at :50 or so.)

My 12-year-old son is determined to smoke. NO ONE in our family smokes. I have swept his room repeatedly, I have seized contraband, I have grounded him and taken away all his electronics, and somehow he is still finding ways to get cigarettes. I have no idea how he's doing it-- we just moved, he has no friends in the neighborhood, and I sincerely doubt the first grade girl across the street (the only other kid in the area, apparently) is helping him. While most of me wants to strangle him, part of me secretly admires his ingenuity. Also, I'm considering joining him.

I'm honestly not sure. I think you could order an autopsy report, but I don't know if that would include photos. I know it's useless to say this, but I am so, so sorry this is even a question. (((((((huge hugs))))))))

I've been listening to Big River a lot lately-- several of the songs resonate; tonight it's this one. "Waitin' for the Light to Shine": The song appears twice in the show-- the first (slow) part is the one I prefer right now. The reprise is more upbeat and determined... fabulous, but I'm just not there tonight. :-\

Other than the fact that I do say fuck quite often-- yeah, what she said.

This topic has been moved to Young Widowed Parents, thanks! [iurl]http://widda.org/index.php?topic=340.0[/iurl]

((((Hugs)))) I wish I could give you a magic fix, but there's just not one. One day at a time-- one hour, sometimes one breath. Hold on.

This is has always been my favorite, and I can't even tell you why. It cracked me up the first time I saw it-- it might have been the first time I laughed out loud after... well, you know. Glad to see you back here. (((Hugs)))

Hugs, hugs, hugs!! I can't say it better than Mangomom. As parents our instinct is to rush in, scoop them up, and try to fix everything for them, but in the long run that doesn't help them. Stay strong. He'll learn; he's got a good role model. Meanwhile, you have to focus on taking care of you.

So many hugs, Maureen. I wish...

I went ahead and booked a rental car, just in case-- it should seat 5, and 2 seats are taken, so that leaves room for three more. We can still meet at the train station and go from there, whether we finally settle on mode of transportation. Could I get a head count of who's planning to meet at Secaucus? If it's more than three, I guess I could look into upgrading to a minivan or something-- but I might have to take up a collection.

I've been a confirmed bookworm my whole life-- started reading when I was 3 and never stopped. Jim and I had that in common, and some of my happiest memories are of lying in bed together, each with our noses in our respective books. It hasn't been the escape for me that it used to be since he died, and I hate that. I miss losing myself in a good book. I still read, but it's not the immersive experience it used to be. It works for a little while, but not long enough. Jim loved hard sci-fi-- Herbert, Heinlein, Asimov-- and a few days after he died I picked up his copy of Dune. In the weeks that followed, I waded through the whole series-- I can't say I loved it, but I felt like I understood him better after I was done. Then I picked up the first Harry Potter book-- told myself that I would finish the series, then (sorry, this might be triggering, but it's how I felt) I could kill myself. Got through Deathly Hallows... thought about it... and started Stephen King's Dark Tower series again. Now I'm onto Jean Auel's Earth's Children series (what Jim used to call anthro-porn, lol)-- six more great big books that require virtually no thought, since I've read them enough to have practically memorized them. Long story short (too late), I haven't been able to read much of anything new-- King's latest two books, but that's about it. I keep re-reading long, involved things that I've read before-- LotR will probably be next. It's not exactly satisfying, but it's better than not reading at all. (Or reading my statistics text, which is what I'm supposed to be doing right now, so-- good night!)

((((((LINDA))))))) This is beautiful.

Dahlia, so many hugs... I'm so, so sorry for your loss. Wishing you peace...

I've thought of this song many times too. Hugs.

It wasn't actually in the show, but it was played during the end credits. It sort of blows my mind that it's Minnie Driver singing it. "Child of the wilderness" doesn't strike me as especially Phantom-y, but I often feel like a kid who got lost in a vast, impenetrable forest, frantically looking for a way back to civilization. I'm desperately trying to come to terms with the fact that no one is coming to look for me. I don't think I can ever learn to love this life. :-/

So many (((((hugs))))). I wish I had something more to offer. I remember at 9 months thinking, I could've grown a whole new person in this time (I work in OB, that's just where my head goes). What am I giving birth to instead? Just this monstrous grief that keeps growing... Sigh. And more hugs.

(((Hugs))) Thank you. I seem to be stuck in a mire of hopelessness just now. I can't shake it.

(((((((HUGS))))))) In 17 days it will be one year for me, and I've been feeling many of the same things you describe. I don't want to do this anymore. I just don't.

Oh, Kamcho, you're killing me. I did the same. I still do. And then I try to give it to the living as well, but they don't want it. Where's the Maker that can swallow me whole and take me away from this? (((((((HUGS)))))))

((((((((HUGS)))))))))) There's not a thing I can say to make it better. But I can listen. I'm so sorry.

As the day drags on... this keeps echoing in my head. For the record, I do not love this song. But I can't stop thinking it. "Learn to be Lonely," from the movie version of Phantom-- can we say melodramatic? Sigh...