To Live and Love

To live and love for the both of us
Ten years ago today I made that vow
I've struggled in the decade since
Not always knowing exactly how

Ten years you've been beyond my reach
But death can't take you from my heart
The best of you dwells within me
As you have from our love's start

I've done what I believed impossible
Rediscovered joy without my bride
I carry on living for us just like I vowed
Despite the ache that lingers inside

Much has changed in the past ten years
And much has remained largely the same
Your kids are healthy and happy
Loving their mother like an eternal flame

Your grandboys are nearly adults now
And I weep you never saw them grow
But they do remember their Maw Maw
As their words and expressions show

I'm a "me" post-we now
And I endeavored to learn what that meant
But much of me was shaped by you
In all those years together we spent

So yes, I vowed to live and love for us both
The loving's been easy, the living not so much
But no matter my task or cast of eyes
I still experience your love-filled touch

Always yours, Angel Baby,
- Jeff

Homesick

My journey through grief has now lasted three years. Three years with a chunk of your heart in a place so distant, so unreachable, seems an eternity. I close my eyes and remember her smile, her laughter, and her embrace. The tangibles now are photographs, dresses in the wardrobe, and the smell of her perfume that I keep on the nightstand beside the bed. They're pale shadows of what was and reminders of the hope of what will be.

Three years on this journey since I first asked God "Why?" and I'm finally now no longer crippled. The void inside me no longer causes my chest to crumble and collapse. The ache of her absence no longer saps the entirety of my essence in an unrelenting tempest.

Finally, after three long years, I have begun to discover the true "me after we" and am able to accept that the "me after we" has value, purpose, and hope. The "me" is better for having been "we" and can finally say with confidence, "I will live." The "me" will always miss and long for the "we", but the "me" will survive.

I see storm clouds ahead of me on this road, but I see storm clouds behind me as well. I found my way through those and have faith that I'll find my way through those to come. The mountains and valleys and ravines waiting for me are not the first I've faced. I'll slip and stumble and scrape my knees, but the road stretches onward and I've resolved to walk it to its end.

The vow of "forever" is still "forever" and carries no regret. I will hold fast the heart she entrusted to me until my final breath. I'll always be homesick for where my heart is and that's okay. I will never know on this side of eternity the answer to the question of "Why?" but I'll forever carry gratitude for the time that "me" was "we."

Homesick - Mercy Me

Ten Thousand Times

Today.  Feels like it took a century to get here, but its ominous gray has loomed on the horizon for only a year. And I've made it through every single day that it took to get here.

I'm proud. I'm surprised--shocked really. There were times I didn't think I'd make it this long. Truthfully, there were times I didn't want to make it this long. But I promised her. I said I'd live and love for the both of us.

And I have.

My year of firsts has come to an end and I'm still here. I'm still living. I'm still loving our children and grandchildren for us both. I've survived the birthdays, the holidays, the anniversaries. I've faced the quiet house, the empty bed, the missing lunchtime phone calls and the absence of her I Love My Husband messages on my Facebook wall. From the "see me off to work" kiss to the night's last embrace, I've persevered without it all.

I'm doing my best to do my best, if you follow my logic. That includes my writing. I've had two short stories published since Myra died. The Orchid, the first one I wrote after July 17, 2013, was by far the most difficult story I've ever written. Every single sentence came about as easily as a wisdom tooth yanked out of my jaw. But I kept my word.

I wonder sometimes if I'd have been able to keep that promise were it not for family and friends. Your prayers, your words of encouragement, your patience and understanding, they made the difference--literally--between life and death. I am forever in your debt.

In the eyes of society, the state and God, I'm a widower. In my heart, I'm a husband and will remain so until death reunites us. The poem below, I wrote for my wife.

Ten Thousand Times.

10,000 times I've kissed your rings

10,000 times I've whispered your name

Knowing not what tomorrow brings

Wondering why that woeful day came

10,000 times I've shed a tear

10,000 times I've asked God why

All those times in just one year

Seldom a day do my eyes stay dry

10,000 times I've pictured your face

10,000 times I've struggled to smile

Knowing that you're in a better place

And I'll join you there after my last mile

10,000 words I've penned in letters

10,000 times I've prayed for grace

To endure this grief that fetters

And find true peace as I run this race

10,000 days were we on Earth wed

10,000 times has my shattered heart beat

10,000 ways will my soul have bled

When comes that day it's again complete

The first of 10,571 days "on Earth wed"

Three Months Separated

I decided a momentary break from my blogging hiatus was due. I'm surfacing for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which is to convey gratitude to all who have been checking in on me from time to time. Your compassion and support have been incredibly welcome and helpful.

I also wanted to let you all know how I'm faring.

Three months ago, death separated me from my wife of twenty-nine years. For all twenty-nine of those years, I've loved her more than life itself. I've searched for reasons and meaning. I've clung to hopes and promises. I've remembered and I've cried. God, how I've cried.

Her wedding rings are never far from my heart

This tempest of emotions is neither brief nor tame. I'm but an island besieged by a hurricane, its fury unyielding. Moments of calm are only the storm's eye. I've wept in its wind and railed at its rain, but the tempest persists. It always will.

But I am weathering the storm!

It's grueling. It's painful. But I promised her I would live and love for us both. And I'm doing it. Thankfully, I'm not doing it alone. My mother, brother and children have given vital support. And those three precious grandsons of mine are three very important reasons to succeed.

I've chosen to share some very specific things that have helped me succeed so far:

• The bereavement counseling at Hospice. (Thanks for persuading me to give it a shot, guys!) There, I'm free to talk about Myra and my loss without burdening family and friends. And I've received some excellent suggestions and comfort.
• Wearing her rings around my neck. Having something of hers that's tangible somehow preserves the physical connection. I hold them, kiss them and tell her how much I love her.
• I remind myself--frequently--that Myra was God's before she was mine. She was God's gift to me, but only for a time. I choose to be grateful for that time.
• I write Myra a letter every single day just as if I were on a business trip. Captured within those letters are every significant thought, event and emotion I've experienced since her death. They express my anguish, my love, my despair, my hopes--everything. It's probably the single most therapeutic thing I do.

I've already filled up one 160-page journal, and am well into the last third of this 200-page journal. I have two more waiting.

I have no idea how long I'll continue writing her or how long I'll continue writing daily. I'm guessing that I'll never completely stop.

In the short term, I have a couple very difficult months ahead of me. We've always made big deals of Thanksgiving, Christmas and even the traditional New Year's Day dinner. However, December also holds her birthday, my birthday and a grandson's birthday. Those too were big deals in our family.

This week has been a good one. Last week was tumultuous and I wrestled with some serious anger. Bouts of depression arise--often without warning. Laughter can become tears in mere seconds and vice versa. It's all normal and part of the grieving process.

The important thing is that I am healing. It's an agonizingly slow process, but it is happening. In time, I'll return from my hiatus. I'll resume work on my writing, hop some blogs and again contribute what I can to this awesome community of writers and bloggers that I've come to call friends.

Six Weeks Report Card

When I was in middle and high school some thirty-five years ago (wow!) we received those dreaded report cards every six weeks. Mom had to sign them to prove sneaky little students weren't scamming the system.

It has now been six weeks since I lost my perfect-for-me wife. While I don't expect anyone to sign and return this report card, I wanted to let everyone know how I'm faring.

Overall, I think I warrant a B on my report card. I consider this to be phenomenal seeing as how I expected a D-.

Most expected my biggest challenge would be the quiet, empty house. It's not. It isn't easy, but in truth, the solitude gives me the privacy I need to grieve unrestrained. There are, however, two significant hurdles in my path.

Hurdle #1: I can't keep my mind from returning to the ICU and reliving the event (the whole day, really) that changed my life forever. This is something with which I will have to deal eventually. It's the only aspect of the grieving (or healing) process I've intentionally deferred. It sets me to borderline panic. I will get through this, but it will take a while.

Hurdle #2: Guilt. I feel guilty when I spend hours upon hours moping, mourning and weeping. I know she doesn't want that. She wants me living, loving, writing, experiencing joy and making the most of myself. However, I feel guilty when I do that too, as though I'm ignoring or forgetting or even betraying her somehow. I hope to come to terms with this one soon. It's unbelievably distracting. And guilt can quickly become an unhealthy emotion.

I give myself an A in the regrets category though. Of the few regrets I have, most are not major or significant. We were unbelievably happy and content together. We did well all the crucial things required for a joyous marriage. We also did well in avoiding (or quickly correcting) those things that can divide or even destroy an otherwise thriving marriage.

For Myra and me, love was not a state of being, but an action stemming from choice. I usually call that commitment. Commitment is something we had in abundance.

So there you have it, my report card. I'm still on hiatus (or summer break if I stick with my theme) and am unsure how long I will remain so. Prayers and well-wishes are still welcome and appreciated.

The Love Muscle

In my story, Alpha Among Dragons, the dragons refer to the heart as the life muscle.  In this post, I'm referring to the heart as the love muscle.

Perhaps I'm still dealing with the grief from the loss of my mother-in-law, but I can't help thinking about the grief and losses to come in the future.  I've been married for 28 years, well over half my life, and I can't really fathom--let alone prepare myself for--the heartaches ahead.

I still have the fortune of having a happy, healthy mother in my life.  She's 70 now.  She may have decades ahead, but I know--barring my death coming first--that it's coming.  And so is the devastation such loss brings.

My wonderful wife has a few years on me, but with average lifespans being what they are, it's an even bet which of us will have to endure that unbearable sorrow.  My selfish half wants to pass first and avoid what will likely be the most devastating period of my lifetime.  My selfless half wishes the opposite to spare my wife from that very same thing.

And then there are my children to consider.  My greatest fear has always been having to bury my son or daughter.  No parent should have to endure that.  I know some who have and I can't help but wonder how they find the strength to carry on.

I have grandchildren now, three wonderful boys.  I hope to see them grow, graduate and have children of their own.  God willing, I'll be able to do that.

I guess the point of this post is simply to say that the time to cherish--and remember--loved ones is while they're still with us, when they can can know and return that love.  Time is short.  Love endures.  Make your time count.  Exercise your love muscle so that its love will be ever stronger.