Jen

2:30 is fine. Should we meet a bit earlier and see the sights, or just meet there for lunch?

Snicker. I'd cause a traffic accident, to be sure! A walking tour would be cool. I agree, if we want to do the Anne Frank house, we need to make advance reservations-- every site I've seen has warned about the horrific lines. I'm open to anything anyone wants to do.

Me too! One month from today-- woohoo!!!

Baylee... I'm in tears reading this. I wish I had better words. I'm so sorry. ((((HUGS))))

So many hugs. I can barely keep up with my three, I can't imagine trying to navigate this road with more, and pregnant besides! I admire your determination. You're absolutely right, you can do this-- you ARE doing it. I'm noticed over these months that grief is like labor in a lot of ways. It picks us up and carries us, no matter how we resist it. There's no getting away from it. When I was laboring with my youngest, I thought of that old song from kindergarten, "Going on a bear hunt." Can't go over it, can't go under it, can't go around it, gotta go through it. I think that applies to this grief journey as well. (((HUGS)))

When I get overwhlemed-- when it all boils over and I'm approaching meltdown-- I go to the woods. There's a particular trail at a local state park, and a particular tree that is perfect for leaning against. I've cried so many tears over that tree, it feels like an old friend. (((Mark))) It seems vaguely ironic that Stephen King is our best companion through hell, but I'm right there with you. Finished Mr Mercedes a couple days back, and cried and cried. He has a gift for inducing catharthis, I think.

Oh, Deedee... I am so, so sorry. There are no words. You're in the right place-- cry, scream, rant if you need to. We're here and we get it. ((((((((HUGS))))))))

I actually remember this post, and I remember crying and thinking, Yes! Me too!!! Thank you for reposting it. (((hugs)))

I have this sudden image of Bill Murray with a fish in a jar around his neck: "Baby step around the room... baby step around the room... " Then maybe "baby step to the grocery store... baby step to the hair products aisle... " Of course we can do it. We ARE doing it. (((HUGS)))

YES. Thank you for posting this, Hachi. I needed it.

THIS. Yes. Please. You never know where the seeds you throw out will sprout. Those who are further out than me have been, and will continue to be, symbols of hope-- I need to see that life beyond now is possible, and I know I'm not the only one. As far as moderating... I confess, I haven't really done anything, except read and read some more. I'm not an expert and I have no claim to any great insights or qualifications. I just want to help however I can. I'm a relative newbie, not even a year out yet, and my journey gives me no more authority than anyone else's. I still need this place, I need you all, and I'm not shy about saying so. Hugs, you guys. We're all been a bit traumatised over the past several days. I think we do better together, but that's just my 2 cents.

((((Jason)))) I hope it went well. Thinking about you.

((((Baylee)))) The day Jim died, I went to work-- no one had a clue that terrible Thursday would end as it did. I got up, got ready as usual, and left at 5:30, as usual. He didn't have to get up and get the kids ready for school until 6, so he stayed in bed. I usually put my shoes on last, then told him I loved him and I'd see him later, and asked if he wanted me to turn the light on (I'm wizard at getting ready for work in the dark-- it helps when you basically wear PJs!). He would say yes and I'd flip the light on, prompting a muffled curse, which always made me laugh. That morning, I deviated from that routine only slightly, and I still don't know why I did. Instead of just saying "I love you," I crossed to his side of the bed, bent down, and kissed him. I'm so glad I did, because that was the last I spoke to him. We texted that day, but the last thing I know *for sure* that he got from me in person was a kiss and "I love you." Damn it. Crying now. I miss him.

I *love* this. I may do it myself-- or let my kids send one. My youngest, for sure. Thank you for the lovely idea!

I dug through countless boxes of assorted crap, which I had hauled to the new house in January, stuck in the attic or garage, and didn't plan to look at again in the foreseeable future, and found my marriage license, my passport, and my kids' birth certificates. Along the way I found a bunch of stuff that would have sent me into total meltdown a few weeks back, but I soldiered through and even smiled at some of it.

I come from a line of strong southern women, along the lines of Julia Sugarbaker from Designing Women. I'm ashamed to say I never thought much about their personal losses until you brought this up, Sally. :-\ They all coped in their own ways, like your family, and I'm proud of them-- but I don't like to think I'll end up like them. It scares me, actually-- maybe I'm weak and can't live up to the family legacy. My maternal grandmother married my grandfather in 1934. He died of lung cancer in 1978, after they'd been married 44 years. My Granny "kept calm and carried on" for 8 years after that, on her own, until she remarried a widower-- she and my grandpa had been friends with him and his wife. It was more of a convenience and companionship thing than anything else, but they got along fine and filled the holes in each other's lives. Then he passed away in 1993 or so, and my grandma went down the wid road again. I always sort of assumed she was at least a little relieved (terrible thing to think!), because he'd gotten old and crotchety and demanding. She died in 2002, and I like to think she was reunited with my grandpa. My paternal grandmother was a bit of a wild woman. She married my grandfather and had my dad, but cheated on her dh during WW2 and had my aunt. My grandparents divorced in the 1950s, but didn't tell their family, and then secretly remarried. They divorced again for good a few years later, and Nana was briefly married to someone else. That ended within a couple years, and although I'm sure she dated, Nana never had another committed relationship. She did, however, engage in a torrid affair with her boss (and I'm pretty sure she blackmailed him to boot!), and when he died, I suspect she felt very much like a widow. They were together (in one fashion or another) for 20 years or so. Her sister, my great aunt, lost her dh after 22+ years, right before I was born. Everyone always talked about my uncle as though he were still around, and Aunt Helen never dated or pursued another relationship. She was independent, traveled all over, did what she wanted-- but I think she was still grieving for Uncle Henderson until her dying day in November 2011. She lived 37 years as a widow, which blows my mind. It amazes me at the strength I see in those who have gone before me-- and in all of you as well. I don't know if I can live up to that legacy. I know I don't want to be alone the rest of my life. I don't know if I'll ever have another option. :-/ It all sort of reminds me of that Eleanor Roosevelt quote: "Women are like tea bags. You never know how strong they are until they're put in hot water." (I'm willing to concede that it applies to men too.) Guess all we can do is keep putting one foot in front of the other and see where we end up...

So glad you reposted this. Please count me in!

Everything crossed here too! I'm still on three 12's a week, I work mostly weekends so I can be home weekdays with the kids. It *is* hard to be a wid nurse, especially when winter hits with a vengeance and we're required to be at work while school has been canceled. Those hours sound like a dream-- best of luck!!

No advice here, but outraged at the suckishness of it all. I'm so sorry you have to deal with this crap. ((((HUGS)))

Squee! Less than a month, guys! ;D Do we want to talk time? I'm thinking 1-ish, but that's just me...

Okay, sorry, that was terrible. Just awful. But I couldn't resist. I'll justify it by saying that Jim adored puns, the more dreadful the better. ;D I didn't go back to Panera for breakfast, but I did get past another little obstacle. Very little, and silly-- but there it is. I colored my hair. It had been over a year since I dyed it last-- about five inches of my natural dark brown had grown out, leaving my hair decidedly two-toned. (In my heart I'm a ginger.) For awhile I could imagine that I was sporting that trendy ombr? look, but when my 9-year-old commented on it the other day, I gave up the pretense. It's vain, it's self-indulgent... but it's a move forward. Three months ago I couldn't have possibly cared less about the condition or color of my stupid hair! Call it... another sign of life returning? Jim always liked the results, but he wasn't a fan of the coloring process. He complained that I didn't "smell right" for days. That sounds weird, I guess, but it made me feel so... cared for. I can't explain it. Now there's no one to notice, or gripe about the chemical undertones. I have this image in my head of him wrinkling his nose and saying, "It's pretty, but I'll be glad when you smell like you again." Anyway, I'm claiming it as progress. Wonder what my next little milestone will be? Hugs, Jen

Is there such a thing as too many hugs? I wish I had something more tangible to offer... ((((((Leslie)))))))

I respectfully disagree! Goals are great, but they're not the same as accomplishments. We need a place to pat ourselves and each other on the back for the little victories-- I posted here when I was proud of myself for not melting down and becoming completely dysfunctional when I blew out a tire. Baby steps. I see a need for this thread, so can we please leave it?

I haven't been on a bike in 20 years, and the idea makes me alternately cringe in terror and howl with laughter at the mental image.I'm darn fine on my feet, however, and excited to see the sights!

(((Rebecca))) Are we related? Lol!! I'm a nurse too! Seriously... I'm sorry for the circumstances, but I'm really glad to meet you.