Approaching the one-year anniversary

August 1 is around the corner, the start of the month that many of us love to hate. I'll be on the road on Monday, so I thought I'd start this thread today.

Heather, Kim, Tim, Liz... and too many more to name off the top of my head... we've walked the road together, reaching the 1-year mark all too soon. I cannot say how much it has meant to have you in my life -- I don't even want to contemplate where my head would be without my virtual companions.

So... How are we doing so far?

For myself, this last year has gone by so fast, faster than I ever would have believed. But my life with Nick already feels impossibly long ago, because I am so different. It's like that massive change experienced the first year we were married, or the first year we were parents: Everything is different, even though the day-to-dayness remains mostly the same.

I still can't believe he's dead... It took only a few months to get used to his being "gone," but how can that man whom I loved with my entire being really be dead? He was so very alive, coming into his own in so many ways, and he was the center of our boys' lives. It's still so hard to believe that he is dead. I guess that's because he is still with me in so many ways. The echo of his laugh, the constant nudge to do the right thing, the strength of his faith... the mountains of unsorted papers, the shelves of science textbooks, the drawer of his socks...

This last month has been terribly hard for me, as August 8 looms in front of me. So much "one-year-ago" stuff, bitter memories, sweet memories, blurring together in the face of the inevitable. I expect the coming week to be hellacious. I took Nick to the ER on August 1; they found a brain tumor and one week later he was dead. The nightmare of that week lingers with me still, sometimes overwhelming me. I've become numb again in the last few weeks, not feeling much of anything, moving mostly on autopilot and wondering who the hell I am and what I'm supposed to do.

Even so, I am entering this coming week, this coming year, with more of myself than I could ever have thought possible. Yes, a huge part of me has gone with Nick, stays with him in eternal memory, the eternal now. But I am also most definitely here, living in the present, with occasional glimpses of possible futures. Some parts of the future scare the bejeebers out of me; others beckon me with tender hopes.

And you, my August friends -- how are you faring? Let us continue walking the road with one another, drawing strength and comfort from one another's presence.

Widows who never got to say goodbye

I'm part of this group as well. Nick went into surgery to biopsy the monster in his brain, and he never woke up. I was at his bedside almost 24 hours a day for 4 days. I wept as I said goodbye to him, hoping and believing and praying that he could hear me. I wept for all the things we didn't have a chance to say to each other, the things you would say if you knew...

But the truth is that he and I said those things every day, we lived them every day. We were always so loving and gentle with each other. In 13 years together, we never called each other an ugly name, we never failed to kiss each other good morning and good night, we never went a day without saying "I love you" again and again, we never went a day without praying to God in thanksgiving.

Do I wish he and I could have talked about the monster in his brain, about my future without him? Yes. Do I wish we could have told each other how much we loved each other and how grateful we were for each other? Yes. Do I wish I could have gotten one last kiss? Yes. Do I wish we could have said "Goodbye, and see you at the heavenly banquet"? Yes.

Do I believe that he knew I was there, that he could hear my voice and feel my love? Absolutely. Take comfort in the love that bound your hearts together. How could the person who knew more about you than anyone else in the world, the person to whom you revealed your truest self -- How could that person NOT know you were there, NOT hear your voice, NOT feel your love?

Take comfort for love is stronger than death, and just as a part of your heart went with him, a part of his heart stays here with you.

Eleven months ...

... and I hate this. I really really hate this.

So I'm quitting. I don't want to be doing this anymore. I don't want to be a widow anymore.

The DGIs expect us to be over it in a year. Well, I've always been precocious. Here I am at 11 months, and I officially declare myself: OVER IT.

I'm done grieving. I'm done crying. I'm done noticing that there's a huge hole where my heart used to be. I'm done thinking about all the things we should be doing together. I'm done looking at my boys and thinking of their tremendous loss. I'm done with the whole thing. I'm done done done.

I always manage to find the words to comfort and encourage other people, but there really are no such words. I always manage to have the listening ear for whatever someone needs to say, but there really is nothing to say. I always remember to pray for those I love, but I really cannot pray for myself.

So I quit. I hereby renounce my membership in this stupid STUPID club that I didn't want to join anyway. Can I have my membership fee back? Please? It really was too high a price to pay, and I really don't want to be here.

Please. PLEASE. Please let me go home, let me go back to my old life. Please give him back to me. That's all I ask. Please.

My beloved is mine, and I am his.