Disappointed

As I analyze my feelings from the past week, I realize I am disappointed.

This past week, this past month, as I approached the one-year anniversary of Ed's passing, has been difficult.  All the memories of a year ago come flooding back as I relived the last days of Ed's life.  It has been a tough month with the culmination being this past week--the exact anniversary of his passing and his burial.

As I look back on the past week and how I was feeling, the word that comes to mind is "disappointed".

I am disappointed in the lack of acknowledgement both from family and friends.  In the lack of outreach.  What were people thinking?  That I didn't know?  That they were going to upset me?  I have spent a lot of time this past year in investing in relationships and friendships and most were not there for me this past week.  Could I have reached out to people and asked them to go to Ed's anniversary Mass with me or stop by my house and spend 10 minutes with me on Tuesday?  Yes, I could have.  But why do I need to ask?

There were the very few who did reach out, through a text or a card, and I appreciate that.  It just surprises me those who didn't.  Did they remember or have they already forgotten?  Or those I saw in person who didn't say a word.  What were they thinking?  Had they already forgotten or were they afraid of "reminding" me?

So I'm a bit disappointed and a bit sad because that one person I could count on, that one person who was always there for me no matter what, I no longer have.  That was Ed.  And I can only rely on myself to fill that void.

One Year Later

Today is the one-year anniversary of Ed's passing.  I'm not quite sure what I expected of today.  I took the day off from work.  Part of me contemplated taking yesterday off as well.  I had feared that Sunday evening into Monday, marking the day Ed passed might have been more difficult.  But I went to work and Monday was okay.  Last night I went out to dinner with an acquaintance--we haven't seen each other in a while--and it was fine.  I was afraid I'd be in a "mood," but I wasn't.  It was just a nice dinner out with good company.

This morning I went to 8 AM Mass.  Dan and I had it said for Ed.  I knew this was the perfect way to start this day and to honor and remember him.  Dan was working so he could not go with me.  I had contemplated asking someone to go with me but then thought better of it.  I'm a big girl and I need to do these types of things on my own.  And if someone shows up, great!  But otherwise, I'd be fine...and I was as I drove to the church.  When I arrived, my friend from choir, Brooke, was there.  She came for me, for Ed. She lost her husband last August, so she is one of those who "gets it."

Brooke and I then went to Kristina's for a light breakfast.  I had gone there with Anna on the anniversary of Bob's passing (again, after morning Mass) and I thought it would be nice to do that again today.  So we had a nice breakfast.  I then went to Stop & Shop to pickup some flowers for Ed's grave.  I wasn't quite sure what I wanted to get, but once I got there and saw what they had, I easily made up my mind.

Yes, I bought two bulb plants--daffodils and hyacinths.  I will keep them at the grave for a while and then I will find a place to plant them in our yard.  And I'm thinking this might be my tradition so that every spring as the bulbs come up and the flowers bloom, I will think of Ed and smile because he will be proud of the fact that I actually grew something and didn't kill it!

I spent about an hour at the cemetery.  I talked to Ed, I enjoyed the warm, spring air, and I sat and listened to Josh Groban's "You Raise Me Up" (which Dan and I had played at Ed's burial).  I said a couple prayers.  I cried.  I found I cried more than I did a year ago when we laid Ed to rest.  And then I told myself I needed to go be productive and not sit in the cemetery crying all day!

I spent the rest of the day working in the yard.  I find peace when I'm working in the yard.  It's hard, physical labor.  But it is what Ed always took care of and so now I take care of it and do the work to honor him.  To make him proud.

While working in the yard, my neighbor Charlene stopped and we chatted.  Yesterday marked the 25th anniversary of her mother's passing.  She says it still hurts.  But still, 25 years later, she still takes the time to honor her mother and remember her on the anniversary of her death.  My feelings were mixed about this--that after 25 years, the day doesn't necessarily get any easier which is disappointing.  But at the same time, I'm comforted by the fact that I won't forget and that, after 25 years, I will still remember and Ed will still be as special 25 years from now as he is today.  I won't forget and that comforts me.

It was nice to talk to Charlene and as she pulled away and I went back to my raking, I smiled.  I have such nice neighbors.  During the day I received a couple texts and emails from a few special friends--those who have also lost loved ones.  And I was touched by the couple cards I received in the mail.  I appreciate that people remember and acknowledge this day.  More people who "get it."

Some people are afraid to say anything or bring it up, thinking it will remind me and upset me.  So instead they say nothing.  Lesson for today for these people:  Saying nothing is so much worse.  I remember every moment of every day what I have lost.  Not a moment passes when I don't think of Ed.  And every day I mourn my loss.  What has changed is that I have learned to function better and I may not cry as much when I talk about it (but there are moments when I might).  But don't think for one second that if you mention Ed's name or my loss, it is going to remind me and upset me.  I never forget.  That is what people who "get it" understand.  We never forget and that's a good thing because if we mourn and if we grieve our loss, it's because that person who has passed had an impact on our lives.  It meant something and they left a hole in our heart.  It means we miss them which in turn means they lived and loved.  What a wonderful thing.

As I write this post, the goldfinches have returned to the bird feeder.  And there are about 5 of them.  I jump up to get my camera and I sit and watch them.  And remember Ed with warmth in my heart.

I love you Ed and I will always remember and honor you on this day.

April 19th...A Painful Day

I'm not sure why I am hyper focusing on each day and everything that happened one year ago on this day.  I guess that's just how grief works with some people.  I can't seem to turn it off and so I find myself reliving the moments, the feelings, the pain.

• April 19th....my brother's birthday.  A birthday we will no longer celebrate together.
• April 19th....my sister-in-law's wedding anniversary.  An anniversary she can only celebrate in her memory.
• April 19th....2013....the day I signed the paperwork to officially put Ed on hospice.
• April 19th....2014....Holy Saturday.  The sadness of Good Friday lingers and we anticipate the resurrection of Christ, a joyous celebration.  
• April 19th....2014....A day to always remember and honor Michael.  A day to remember Mary and Billy's wedding day which marked the beginning of a marriage of unending love.  A day to remember a decision Ed and I made together, in union, a decision that put my love for him before anything else.

So maybe April 19th is a day about love...

Bits of Happiness

I seem to only post sad moments lately.  That is probably because the pain and grief is still very real.  I work hard to keep busy and ignore it.  But it's there and it usually wins in consuming my thoughts and emotions, especially in the evening as I sit alone or head to bed.  I still miss Ed so much.  The hurt is so deep.  And I still can't believe he's gone--that maybe what I've been experiencing for the past year really isn't real and at some point I'll wake up and Ed and Larry and Mike will all still be here.  For how can they all really be gone?  This is some kind of joke, right?  But it's not a joke.  It's my life.  How I wish I had my old life back--I was so blessed and I knew it and I didn't take it for granted.  But that still doesn't change anything.

I work hard to keep living.  It would be so easy to close down and shut the world out.  But Ed wouldn't want that and it's not fair to Dan either.  So each day I get up and I work hard to live life and try to be positive and take care of myself.

As I write this, a Goldfinch has arrived at the bird feeder outside the window.  And it's a bright yellow against the snow that fell last night.  And it makes me content.  Ed loved the birds and when they come to visit, it gives me peace.  Below are some pictures that represent some of the nice things in my life lately.  For the sun does shine more these days.  I recognize it, acknowledge it, and now want to share some of the brighter moments amongst this darkness.

On April 7th, Dan and I went to a Red Sox game.  We took the T in from his apartment and then I stayed overnight.  It was Ed who made sure Dan had a futon couch so he could have overnight guests.  Thank you Ed!

The tickets were my Christmas gift to Dan, well to both of us.  We had good seats and the rain held off.

From this past weekend.  Spring has arrived!

Ed planted all of these and I get to enjoy them.  Brings me such pleasure.

On April 6th, I ran a 5K in Hadley.  Has been 18 months since my last 5K.
I actually ran the entire course.  Special thanks to Cathy and Lexi for sharing the day with me!

The hibiscus is blooming again.  I've gotten much better at not killing plants!

The Goldfinch (and the snow!) from this morning.

Small pleasures; small bits of happiness peeking through the grief and sadness.  And when I try, I can recognize and appreciate it.  And find peace...

The Valley of Grief is Deep

It's difficult right now.  Each day I relive the events of a year ago.  What was happening this exact day a year ago?  It was a year ago that Ed and I agreed that we needed to change our goal from getting him home to him being without pain.  And any hope that we had that he would get better was no longer a reality.

I can't stop thinking how I've been alone in this house for over a year.  I cannot believe it's been a year--where did the time go?  What have I done in an entire year?  I have not made much progress is cleaning out Ed's things.  The golf club he got for Christmas before he passed still sits in the corner of the living room where he left it.  His clothes still fill the dressers and closets.  Yes, I've gotten rid of a few things, but not much.  But I know I'm not going anywhere and so there is no rush.  When it's time; when it feels right.

I fear this year mark as well.  It has been a year since I've held Ed's hand and felt his touch.  To kiss his lips and feel his hug.  And I fear I'll forgot that.  I have many photos that help me remember his smile and the contour of his face.  But how do I capture the images that only exist in my memory, for I fear the day when these images will fade.

Each day, each moment, right now is a mix of emotions and feelings.  I am touched by those who acknowledge this is a difficult time for me--that a year later the pain and hurt is still there.  At the same time, I am amazed that there are those who haven't a clue.  But then again, did I have any clue before I lost Ed?  No, so I credit those who have not experienced this level of loss, but somehow know that my grief is not gone and over.

I know I need to keep myself busy with tasks.  As I sat on the bedroom floor the other day, overwhelmed by the sadness and tears, I forced myself to go be productive.  To do something other than wallow in my grief.  And I will continue to do that this weekend.  I am thankful that the weather will be nice and I'll go outside and work in the yard.  I clearly remember that last year, spring was delayed in coming.  The days were cold and gray, which matched my mood.  And I was thankful for that.  A year ago today I was researching hospice options for Ed.  Today, I will work in the yard, and try to make Ed proud taking care of what he made and provided for me.

I honor the past, I push through the present, and I fear the future.  But every day as I awake, I thank God that I'm surviving.  I thank Ed for giving me the most beautiful 32 years of my life and giving me such love that it causes me to miss him so deeply.  I love the home we built together and I will work hard to maintain it and do him proud.  And I live on for Dan, for he is the best thing in the world to me; the best gift and legacy Ed could ever leave.  As I continue to move through this valley of grief, I will try to remind myself of these things.

It Happens Unexpectedly

I ran my first 5K in April 2012.  It was a goal I had set for myself.  A new challenge.  Something to try to accomplish before I turned 50.  A goal to help me exercise and be healthy.  I did respectable, finishing around 35 mins and Ed and Dan were there to cheer me on.

I ran my second 5K in October 2012.  This time it was to prove to myself the first 5K wasn't just a fluke and at the age of 50, I could still do it.   My goal was to run the entire course (no walking to catch my breath like I did on my first run).  I accomplished that goal and even bettered my time (around 32 mins).  And Ed and Dan were there to cheer me on and be there when I crossed the finish line.

I had signed up for another 5K in April 2013.  There was no new challenge other than this had become a good way to get in shape and work towards a goal.  Plus this was to support Hadley schools--so it was for a good cause.  I didn't run the 5K in April 2013, though, because that was when Ed was in the hospital.

So here I am a year later.  I've signed up for the 5K again in Hadley and it is this Sunday.  I've been running on my treadmill.  I had a pinched nerve that prevented me from running the past two weeks where I couldn't even walk fast.  But this week, I am back to running.  A bit slower, but at least I'm moving.

This morning it suddenly dawned on me that I will be alone on this run.  Ed won't be driving there, to cheer me on as I take off, or to cheer me on and congratulate me as I cross the finish line.  He was always there for me; always so supportive and encouraging.  And don't tell me he'll be there in spirit.  That is not the same thing.  So I will cross the finish line alone.  And once again, at unexpected times, these things suddenly dawn on me and the sadness and hurt and tears return.  More briefly than months earlier, but still there and still breaking my heart...