Widow's Walk: The Blindside

When you have lost someone, there are days that you mentally begin to prepare yourself. For example when a birthday, holiday, or anniversary is imminent. For me, I would spend so much time anticipating how awful I would feel, that when the eventful day finally arrived, it wasn't as bad as I had predetermined it to be.

I learned in a psychology class that it is called defensive pessimism. Once I have entertained all the possible bad outcomes, I am ready to accept what occurs. So I view the worse cast scenario and then I'm able to cope. This works well for me, except for the blindside, those little moments when something unexpected happens that you can not prepare for.

Here are some of my past blindside moments:

A song on the radio that reminds me of him.

Finding another pair of his reading glasses tucked away. I believe he had hundreds and yes, I am still finding them.

Having to buy dryer sheets. Why dryer sheets? He once laughed in Costco as we bought a ridiculously large box of dryer sheets that they would last a laugh time. And when I took the last one from the box, meltdown.

Raspberry Toaster Streudels in the freezer case at Walmart. These were Mike's favorite and he always requested two boxes. He never quite understood there were six servings in a box. He would have a whole box for breakfast.

Passing by McDonald's. After chemo, Mike went on the McDonald's diet. He craved a Big Mac and a chocolate shake. For variety he would sometimes have a strawberry shake instead. After three weeks on said diet, he stepped on the scale in the doctor's office only to scream out "Holy Crap!" He had gained nearly twenty pounds back in just those few weeks.

Pink Bougainvilleas: Mike's favorite flower that reminded him of his beloved Senegal.

After you've lost someone, there will always be those blindside moments. I lost my sister twenty-four years ago, but yesterday I had one. I was riding home after work. The sky was a bright blue with huge billowy clouds that made a lopsided heart. I thought my sister, we loved to sky gaze where we would search for shapes in the clouds. And for a moment I was sad, overcome with emotion and I was ready to just have my own little pity party right then.

But then I thought of Dawn. The way she gritted her teeth when she was angry. How she was shy until she got to know someone. She loved babies. She would carry my son around as if he were hers. She was always practical. She loved the color pink. In high school, she wore Ozzy Osborne t-shirts and an old Army jacket, it drove our mother crazy. She was my best friend when she died, a fact that I never thought could have been possible back when we were teenagers.

It doesn't matter how long it has been since you've lost someone. Grief can make an appearance at any moment. But with time, that grief does not always overwhelm you, but leaves you with the warmth and feeling of the memories and love you once shared.

Widow's Walk: Get Over It

http://www.oprah.com/spirit/How-to-Get-Over-Anything-Faster--Be-Happier

My first thought when I saw the title of this article was to be offended. I was really expecting some quick-fix peppy way of dealing with things, but that was not the case.

This is a lovely and insightful article meant to help those dealing with intense pain.

Sometimes the best way to deal with pain is to truly experience it. After my husband died, I often found myself watching the movies Nights in Rodanthe and P.S. I Love You. Spoiler alert, but each is about a woman dealing with the death of a man. It helped me to go experience it with them - I was not alone. I understood their pain, frustration, fear, and loss. I cried when they cried.

When you lose your husband, people are very helpful at first, but eventually they return to their reality while the widow is facing a new normal - he's not there after work, at bedtime, on Saturday mornings. Nothing is the same and you have to learn how to navigate own your own.

And as I've said before, don't give yourself a time limit. You'll have good days and bad days. It has been three years and I still have difficult moments. Accept this as a reality.

I don't think that time really heals, but rather allow you to accept the reality of your situation. Don't rush the grieving process and understand that it never truly ends.

Widow's Walk: Experience Every Moment

My brother and I were talking the other night and he reminded me of how Mike used to like to tease me by tickling me. Mike thought it was funny and I would respond with a giggle.

But my brother knows me. "How did you put up with that? It drove me crazy and I wasn't the one he was tickling." The whole tickling thing is really a major source of annoyance to my brothers and me. As kids, it wasn't fun, it was torture.

And there were times during those months with Mike that I wanted to tell him to just knock it off, but I couldn't. For some reason, it was special to him. It was his way of showing affection. And I realized he did it to his mother and sisters as well. It was his way of loving us.

Our time together was precious. We didn't have room for fights, arguments, or days without speaking. If there was a problem, we dealt with it. But Mike was a man of integrity. He was conscientious and aware of my feelings (except for tickling and I did keep that to myself).

But when you know the end could be relatively soon, you look at things differently. I've heard that song by Tim McGraw Live Like You Were Dying. Maybe more people ought to enter into relationships like that.

Forgiveness comes easy, you don't have time to hold a grudge. The special moments are intensified. Vacations and trips are meaningful. Holidays are joyous and sentimental. You don't put things off until next time. You jump right in and experience the moment.

Sometimes I think we lived a lifetime in those eleven months after Mike's diagnosis. We lived and loved deeply, appreciating every moment.

Widow's Walk: Earthly Angels

When Mike was first diagnosed with cancer, the nurses, doctor, and nurse practitioner became some of my best friends. The receptionist could recognize my voice immediately. They said call with any questions and I did. Everyone on staff at that office was wonderful to us as we faced our tragedy.

When Mike was hospitalized with blood clots, Diane, a feisty motherly red headed nurse jumped right in. She was compassionate and yet firm when he needed it to. She talked him through several minutes of intense pain, soothing and calming him until the medication could take effect.

One night at a Mexican restaurant, I recognized a woman's voice, she was Holly from the ICU. She had cared for Mike after his surgery. She was wonderful with him. She was thrilled to see him, alive. She confessed that she had not expected it.

When Mike took chemo, there was a nurse who administered it. Her name was Kim. She began every session with a hug. She flirted shamelessly with him and teased me that I would just have to deal with it. Mike loved having two women fawn over him. She was a cancer survivor and she gave him encouragement and advice better than anyone else.

At the hospice house that Sunday morning, she was there working a shift to make some extra money. She was surprised to find us there. I told her how his breathing had changed as I desperately hoped that he would come back to me for at least a few minutes. He had not spoken in days. Our eyes had only briefly locked the day before, with his gaze he seemed to recognize me - even offering a slight smile before returning to sleep.

As I hoped, she explained the reality to me. He didn't have long. We talked for awhile and then she left saying she would be back soon. When she came back, I was holding his hand, searching, hoping that it was one of his practical jokes and he would pop up laughing at me. She waited as the shock gave way to tears, holding me through my pain until family arrived.

As  we said good-bye to Mike, I was amazed at the number of people who had cared for him during his illness came. They didn't just care for the patient, but the family as well.

Doctors, nurses, and medical staff see people at their worst. And yet they all marveled at Mike's disposition even through the worst of it. Mike always told me that he thought his cancer was also his opportunity to glorify God. I believe Mike brought out the best in people.

I once asked Mike what was on his bucket list and he told me that it was the average ordinary days that were extraordinary. He chose to spend his time with family and friends, helping our church set up a prayer ministry, and studying the word of God.

So many people were there for us during that time and so many continue to be there for me even now. I am forever thankful for all our earthly angels.

Widow's Walk: The First Step

Tomorrow would have been our fourth anniversary, but we never made it to our first. My husband, Mike was diagnosed with cancer in March of 2008. We were married on May 10 of that same year.

Mike was a man, who always took his time and did not make rash life decisions. He even had trouble picking out laundry detergent. He would compare brands, prices, and claims before making his final selection. We had been dating for a couple of years and we thought we had all the time in the world, there were no hurries. We had both been through difficult divorces. But when you get that kind of diagnosis, you reevaluate everything.

One evening, he called me outside. We sat on the back porch, one of his favorite places. He told me he knew things would get bad and since I had nursed my Mom through lung cancer, he would understand if I didn't want to go through that again. He told me he would not hold it against me if I left. And in that moment, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be and I had no intentions of leaving him to go through it alone.

"I don't know how much time I have left, but I do know that I want to spend it with you. Will you marry me?" he said.

And of course I said yes. He apologized for not getting down on one knee. We married in between his chemo treatments. Two days before the wedding, he was so sick we thought we would have to postpone the wedding. The night before he wanted hot dogs for supper. If he could eat that, we could definitely get married.

Anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, and other special days are difficult when you lose someone. But tomorrow, I will remember Mike's laugh, his love of black coffee, and that smile he seemed to have just for me. I'll also say a prayer of gratitude for I am thankful for the time we did have together.