Jen

... this would ever be okay. It's just hell. And that's all it ever will be. Just needed to get that out.

This is precisely what I'm trying to come to terms with. Not having a lot of luck, but I'm working on it.

What a beautiful memory. (((Maureen)))

I love this show so much. One of my first performances ever was to sing "Wouldn't It Be Loverly" in a talent show when I was 8 years old. How awesome to see Noel Harrison as Prof Higgins! This is the mood I'm in today, sad to say: "You Oughta Be Here With Me," from Big River Lyrics: http://www.lyricsondemand.com/soundtracks/b/bigriverlyrics/yououghtabeherewithmelyrics.html

I've been looking at this post sporadically for the past-- oh, 15 hours now. Nope-- hasn't changed. Damn it. If I thought anything I said would do any good at all, I'd write a long impassioned post... but I know better. And that's heartbreaking to me, because in the end, all I've got is words, and I set great store by them. Your words gave me the courage to live again. That's not a small thing, and I hope with all my heart you know how grateful I am-- will always, always be. I haven't seen Pirate Radio, but this quote made me think instead of Firefly-- well, the movie, Serenity. Can't stop the signal. The impact of what you've done-- what you've given us-- will last longer than you'll believe. Funny... just now, thinking of the incarnations of this thread, from the original transmissions to the pirated thread, to the various Radio Hell threads on the new boards... I'm thinking of the fugitive wizards in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows-- the Weasleys and Lee Jordan and Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin, how they had to keep moving and changing passwords and dodging Deatheaters because the message was that important. Did you ever think maybe Radio Hell was something like that? Because, you know, for some of us... it is. And the message is crucial-- I think it is, anyway. Know what it is? This whole wid gig SUCKS. It's an all-expenses-paid trip through hell, full of curveballs and insanity (your own and others') and jackboots kicking you when you're down. But there is love, and there are hands to pull you through, if you're brave enough to reach for them. Hell is one long fucking nightmare, but the company is excellent. We will survive-- because, in the (paraphrased) words of Mal Reynolds, "we are too damned pretty not to." In other words, yes, we are heroes. This is much longer than I intended it to be. All I know how to do anymore is babble. But at least you gave us a safe space to do it in, and I thank you, from the bottom of my heart. love always, Jenni

As long as I've been posting in online forums, I've been Jer-- that was what my sister called me when we were kids, and I started using it online to differentiate myself from the 900 million other Jennifers out there. My family usually call me Jenni, but Jim called me Jen. He was the only person who called me that, so when I registered on YWBB, I wanted to make sure it was clear whose Jen I was-- I was Jim's Jen, and I thought I always would be. I wrote a post sometime late last fall... I'd started to lose the sense of him. In the early days, he had seemed to stay so close, but he was slipping away. I didn't dream about him, I didn't feel him. Finally, one day I realised that he was gone. That wasn't a bad thing-- he was done, he'd gone on to whatever comes next. His business with me and this life was over. And I was left. Not his anymore-- not anybody's. Just me. Just Jen. That's where I am now. I still cherish a tiny hope that someday I'll belong to someone again, but as we all know, in the end, all we have is ourselves. It terrifies me to think I'll be alone for the rest of my life-- when it gets unbearable, I think of Dune, one of Jim's all-time favorite books, and the famous Litany Against Fear: I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing....only I will remain.

You're exactly right. The words have always been so, so important to me. In the aftermath of Jim's death, I found that my voice was gone. Not literally, but I couldn't sing. Not even "Happy Birthday," and it broke my heart all over again. Losing him, losing the life we had, losing the music on top of that-- I was terrified that it would never get better. It took months, and some encouragement from one compassionate soul, but I gradually began to regain my voice. I started with Frozen and-- yep-- Once More, With Feeling. I'm a huge Buffy fan, and I *love* that episode. I have the soundtrack, and that's the first thing I was able to sing through-- I was about 7 months out. So much of it resonated with me, but Spike stopped me (forgive me) dead: Life's not a song, life isn't bliss, life is just this-- it's living. You'll get along. The pain that you feel you only can heal by living. You have to go on living... So one of us is living... It was as if Jim was singing it himself (and he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket with a lid on it). My heart stopped. I think... maybe... that was the day I realised I had to keep going. Spike sings at 3:41.

Please don't apologise! It's a beautiful song-- it's not in the stage show, but when we did it (I was Mother Abbess, years and years ago-- no, I do not sing "Climb Ev'ry Mountain," ever!) we put it in anyway, because it's just such a lovely, moving scene. I would give anything to have that again, you know? I mean... I wasn't a terrible person, and I really felt as though Jim and I deserved each other, deserved to be happy. Then this happened. So do I still hang onto the idea that "somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good"? I know there's no answer to that. And there's nothing wrong with having a good cry over a song. That's why I love Broadway, it encompasses the whole range of human emotion in such a meaningful way (for me). I'm probably not saying this very well-- but I love that I can find a song for literally *any* occasion. So many times the songs speak for me, and I love them for that. As far as a parenting win, yes-- I think you can claim one. I certainly do-- my daughter and youngest son troll YouTube for shows. The other night we watched Spamalot on our smart TV via YouTube. How cool is that??

I'm so glad you posted this-- I was going to ask if you would! Thank you!

I can't listen to the one from Sound of Music-- just seeing the link made me start crying. I sang that to Jim, once upon a time. I keep wondering if I'll ever have a reason to sing it again... and then I think I have no business thinking such a thing. Sometimes this whole thing really, really hurts. So here's my anecdote (warning, language):

Bwahahahahaha!!! That'll work too!

Seems like all I've got today is (((((HUGS)))) but you're welcome to them! Hope you feel better soon, Tweety!

(((((((HUGS))))))))

((((((SVS))))))) I was lucky enough to have this too. Sometimes... in my darkest moments... I wish I hadn't, because then I wouldn't have to endure the pain of losing it. Of course I don't mean it... I don't think... I'm so glad you made it here, and I hope your recovery is going smoothly. Are you loving your new vehicle?

;D Right now, in this particular moment, I'm okay. I'm trying to think about what comes next... and that's terrifying. I know, I know-- don't get too far ahead, take it one day at a time... But at some point I have to figure out what to do next, if I want something different than what I currently have. I have to think about the future if I want one, you know? This is a genuine question: how do you go about doing that? I'm not sure I'm making any sense. I'm okay where I am-- I'm employed, I'm stable. But I don't love it, and I know it's not what I want the rest of my life to look like. How do I start forming a picture, then making it happen? I'm serious-- I'll take any suggestions anyone has. I just know that I don't want to be the widowed mum of three who lives with her mother for the remainder of my days! I don't even want to be a nurse for the rest of my working life. I want-- something. Just have to figure out what that is...

Aww... give it here, you're making me feel bad. You've got more important things to do-- I want my t-shirt!

Ever since I started to come out of the deepest part of hell, I've hung onto one thing: the need to pay forward the amazing support I've gotten from this incredible community. You captured it perfectly. Thank you. (((HUGS)))

I agree, it's *not* healthy to stay in an acute grief state all the time. It's just frustrating when my time-tested coping mechanisms are all offline, apparently! I've said it before and I'll probably say it again: this grief journey reminds me a lot of labor. I've gone through labor twice-- the first time in hospital, a big medical production with IVs and wires and monitors, and the second time at home-- a much lower-key affair that was actually enjoyable at times. I remember, though-- with my first labor, I developed a ritual to get through each contraction (a common response among laboring women). I would count-- a slow, measured count to 20. I knew that once I got to 14, I could make it "down" the contraction and start preparing for the next one. Got through 12+ hours that way. So when I was getting ready for my second labor, I thought I had it figured out-- I assumed that ritual would work. Guess what? It didn't work. I remember feeling so cheated-- damn it, I had this labor thing figured out! But what worked before was absolutely useless the second time around. I had to adapt-- find something else to get me through. And I did (howling like a wolf-- not in pain, just vocalizing), and it went swimmingly well. But I was still pissed, lol. I don't know... maybe I'll take up racquetball. Or basket weaving. Something...

Oh, bless your heart, Jason... you did beautifully. Is it terrible of me to say I'm glad to hear you? ((((HUGS))))

Oh, I was going to add that version of Cinderella to the list. We did that one my junior year in high school-- I was Portia, the klutzy stepsister. I had to learn to prat-fall all over the stage. It was a blast! There's a Great Performances recording of Cats out there somewhere-- I've heard they're going to make a big-budget Hollywood version. Of course there's the Jesus Christ, Superstar movie as well, and the Donny Osmond Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.

Hell, no! I'm going for hugs and laughs!!

More hugs... I'm proud of you for standing your ground with your son. I'm right alongside you, trying to choke that damned elephant down. Lol. That just reminded me of something I haven't thought of in years: http://shelsilverstein.yolasite.com/melinda-mae.php

Today I'm sitting at home waiting on a plumber. I hate it. I don't like to call people, I have anxiety attacks when I know someone is coming into my house, and I'm really pissed at my husband right now. This is *his* job. He was the one who arranged service calls and took care of stuff like this. He dealt with people. I need to call Comcast--ever since we moved and transferred service, I can't log onto their website, so I can't pay my bill-- I've been having to drive to their brick-and-mortar customer service center, because I opted for online billing, but I can't get onto the site to change it! AIGH! Anyway... long story short (too late), I have at least an inkling of how you're feeling, and I'm so sorry. (((((((HUGS))))))) I miss being taken care of... Jim was so good at it, even after be became disabled. Just because I *can* do all these things (if I buckle down and make myself) doesn't mean I *want* to.

All these self-help gurus exhort us to "be in the moment," but what happens when the moment is utter crap? Sigh. And I used to be *so* good at escaping... As far as humor-- Radio Hell is my go-to source. That's what made me start laughing again, and the first time it happened I was so shocked I cried. It was morbid, irreverent, sarcastic as-- well, hell-- and just what I needed. Being able to laugh did make a difference... I hope you find that ability again soon. Hugs.

DITTO. Big time.