I had the most comforting dream of Aaron last night, and I need to write about it before I forget.
(background: it’s been a tough week. Wednesday I had my first “I have to call Aaron and tell him…” in a few months. It hit me like a ton of bricks–again–the reminder that he is in fact, unreachable by phone. That night was my 1st support group meeting in a month, and a lot of painful memories were stirred, as we spoke of regret and guilt. I went home and cried myself to sleep. In the moments before falling asleep, I had one of my nightly conversations with my deceased husband, asking him to show himself to me in a dream or give me some sort of sign).
Yesterday I woke up feeling exhausted. The bags and dark circles under my eyes betrayed the fact that I had cried myself to sleep the night before and slept like crap, to boot. All day I felt numb, counting my blessings that clients weren’t showing up so that I could sit at my desk and stare off into the computer screen.
I got home from work and my plans for frozen yogurt with my best friend and god-daughter got a raincheck, so I put on a long-sleeve comfy t-shirt and jeans, watched the end of the Dodger game (woo hoo! Way to come back for a win in the bottom of the 9th with two outs, boys!), and spaced out on some more mind-numbing TV.
After dinner and a glass of wine, I decided that I was going to take a sleeping pill and crash out early. I curled up under the covers, grabbed a book I bought a few months ago, and started reading. As my eye lids started to get heavy, I closed the book, turned off the light and laid on my side. It was then that I could feel him there with me, spooning me. It was so warm and comforting to feel him there with me, because its been so long since I have had that sense of his presence in the room. I fell asleep, and then that’s when the dream occurred.
We were in a new house, the walls were brown like the wood paneling like the spare room in our old place. Aaron was there, lying down, pale and skinny like he was right before he passed. However, this was not a ”before Aaron died” feeling. He was lying there, telling us (there was somebody else in the room, although I’m not sure who it was) about Heaven and the gift he had to come back and be with us again. I don’t remember all of the details of the conversation, but what stood out to me was watching him become reanimated (for lack of a better phrase).
As the dream went on, I remember trying to get up to get him something, and looked down and my foot had no bones in it. It forced me to sit still and just be with him, something I always struggled with before he passed because there was always something to do–clean, study, write a paper, take care of dinner, dishes, the trash, the dog…I sat there with my husband (!) and just was there. He told me he understood my decisions I have been making for the last seven months and was not angry with me.
Then I woke up, with the warmest feeling of peace in my heart. It was like he had heard me in my desperate cries the night before and came to help me get through this next phase of my grief process. Just knowing that I’m doing ok in his eyes, where ever they may be spying on me from, will help me deal with whatever comes my way next.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: dealing, grief, life without hubs, Mike
We went to dinner the other night and as I looked at him enjoying the glass noodle chicken soup with hot sauce this thought came into my mind: “He eats so verouciously. He eats like he could not. He enjoys the spicy chilis and all the other things he could not. He eats the way he enjoys me–fully, carefully, without missing a beat, and pausing to enjoy the really good moments.”
I hate comparing my boyfriend to my dead husband. Sounds crass, but this is the truth of my life right now.
This past weekend, Labor Day weekend, Mike, Dodger and I went to Big Sur for a three-day camping experience. We had a blast and Dodger got to play in the Big Sur River and stayed close to the campfire at night. Sunday we drove to Monterey and spent the afternoon at a British pub at Fisherman’s Wharf, and had a lovely time walking around, people watching and just enjoying each other.
“He does the things that he could not do. He couldn’t have walked up the hill, much less suffered through sleeping on an air matress in a tent.”
Tonight I am taking Mike to his very first Dave Matthews Band concert (this will be my 10th or 11th time…can’t recall) at the Greek. We’re meeting my friend Heidi for Mexcian food and margaritas before we walk up the hill to enjoy the show in the warm, end-of-summer air.
“He hated going to concerts. The last one was awful, with the cane and the stopping. He had a wonderful time last weekend, dancing the whole three hour show, screaming his head off to the lyrics…”
Next month Mike and I are going to Vegas for a friend’s wedding. We’re driving out, hopefully in a convertable (depending on money and weather) and we’ll probably crash with some friends in a time-share.
“He couldn’t stand overnight trips with my friends. He always bitched and moaned about everything he could…he never saw the positive in the situation, never tried hard to have fun, unlike him. He can have a good time almost anywhere.”
In this stage of my grieving process, I’ve been taking off the rose-colored lenses and am remembering the shitty, awful times that Aaron and I had to deal with. It makes me feel guilty, because so often we’re taught to revere the dead, focus on the positive and the love. But if you think about it, that does a disservice to their memory because it’s not authentic.
I just really wish I could get through this without all of the comparison. It’s not fair to either love.
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August 18, 2009 will be Aaron’s 37th birthday. It will be the first birthday he is not here for.
I miss you, baby. Every single day.
Over the last four months, three weeks and two days, I’ve experienced a number of “firsts.” They pop up on me, without notice sometimes, and most are unwelcome. Every once in awhile, there will be a number of firsts that happen on the same day or at the same event. The worst “first” was in March, when my first non-Aaron birthday fell the day before the first month anniversary of his death.
This weekend was chock-full of firsts. On Saturday, I went to a wedding for a friend of mine from USC. It was beautiful, held in her parent’s backyard, with the setting sun making a stunning backdrop for their vows. Saturday was also the first post-Aaron wedding I attended. I wasn’t sad the entire time, but there were moments where the sadness was crushing and the pain of missing him was almost too much to take. The first instance was after the vows, and before the reception started. The DJ played Jack Johnson’s “Better Together” which was the ringtone I had on my phone for Aaron. Then, during the bride and groom’s first dance, I couldn’t help but look at them and remember my own wedding (even though it was in Vegas and we never had a traditional first dance).
Yesterday I went to the Orange County Fair with Mike, Melissa, Josh and their little girl, Lauren. It was broiling hot (seriously, felt like we were on the surface of the sun…), and there were a few hours where Mike and I wondered around the fairgrounds by ourselves. The last time I was at the fair, I was with Aaron, Josh and Melissa (this was PL–pre-Lauren). Mike and I tried all the disgusting fair food Aaron would have never been able to keep down (fried Oreo’s, chocolate covered bacon, giant corn dogs), and had a great time. Then, during the B-52’s concert, I was thinking to myself, “The last time I saw these guys, I was with Aaron. The last time I was at the fair, I was with Aaron.”
Then there is the part of me that is so conflicted. All of these things I experienced as a first “without Aaron,” were also all things I experienced for the first time with Mike. At the wedding, I caught the boquet and he caught the garter. We slow danced for the first time together. Sunday was our first time at the Fair together. It was our first concert together. I had such a wonderful time with him, and yet I couldn’t help but feel conflicted and sad.
I am so lucky that Mike is such an amazing man who is supportive and loving and tender. He gives me my space when I need it, and is there to comfort me when I need it the most. I can talk about Aaron in front of him, process my feelings, talk about memories and share with him the love that I have for Aaron without him feeling threatened or jealous. I feel incredibly blessed to have found two amazing men to be a part of my life, when there are people out there who never experience these feelings one time. I’m just struggling to find that balance where my Aaron firsts and my Mike firsts don’t get too mixed up.
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It’s hard to believe that it’s been three months (and four days) since Aaron passed away. It’s getting easier to wake up in the morning, and easier to go to sleep at night. There are days where I have to force myself to get out of bed to come to work and nights where I can barely fall asleep because I’m crying too hard and my mind is racing.
However, in the three months since Aaron has been gone, I’ve been finding myself struggling with concept of moving forward. I’ve started dating again. I’m thinking about finding a new job out of state. I’m starting to look into apartments because I’m moving in late August. I rejoined Weight Watchers and have upgraded my gym membership because I’m getting squishy and don’t want to be. I’m navigating a new life that is Aaron-less and it hasn’t been easy.
Many people, especially my close circle of friends, have told me that they feel like I’m moving on too quickly. Many have told me that I need to be alone for awhile. While I understand what they’re saying and why they’re saying it, I also know that I have been grieving the loss of my husband for much longer than three months. I know who I am, I know what I want and I don’t understand why people think I need to be lonely in order to figure that out even more.
I miss Aaron more than words can express. I hate it when people tell me he’s in a better place because, quite frankly, he’s not–a better place would be him driving home from work, bitching about his day. THAT would be a better place. He’s ever-present in my heart and mind, even when I was on a date or travelling to Napa with the guy I’m dating this past weekend.
The one thing I’m not doing is moving on. To me, moving on means forgetting. Forgetting the love, the compassion, the friendship, the memories, the life that we shared. Moving on means forgetting his smile, his laugh, the way his hands felt on the small of my back, or the way my head laid perfectly on his chest when he’d hold me close. Moving on means that he didn’t mean anything to me when he meant EVERYTHING to me.
Moving forward, however, is different. Moving forward means I’m using the lessons he taught me about life and love and incorporating them into my life. Moving forward means I still call him my husband, and remember everything about him, about us, but I still live my life because I’m not the one who died. I’m the one who is left behind to keep his memory alive. I’m the one moving forward because that is what he wanted for me. That is what he told me to do. And with that, I think that is the most appropriate way to grieve his loss–I hold him close, and live my life.
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Seven weeks ago my life was turned upside down. Its hard to believe that its been that long since Aaron died.
All weekend he was on my mind in a very intense way. On Saturday morning, I woke up to a beautiful sunny morning. I had let Dodger out earlier in the morning and left my bedroom doors open. My bedroom doors face the back den, which is where Aaron spent most of his time as he got sicker. When I woke up and saw the sun shining into the den, my first thought was, “I need to go and check on Aaron, see how he’s doing.”
Yesterday I drove up to Lancaster to spend Easter with my sister and other family members. I drove past the Glendale exit where we went when Aaron was cremated and started to cry as I drove past. I could feel him in the car with me, I couldn’t get his face off of my mind. It was the first real holiday I’ve experienced without Aaron (I think of my birthday as a holiday, haha) and it was really difficult.
Then today. Sigh. Today I wore the funeral dress to work. I spent $100 on it and didn’t want to let it sit in my closet forever. Besides that, I look good in it! So I wore it to work today and all day–ALL FREAKING DAY LONG–I was getting bad juju from the dress. I was in a funk. I had to make copies of the death certificate. I had to discuss losing my husband to co-workers I haven’t seen since I got back. I was running late all day. I was sad. I was tired. Nothing was feeling right. I have no energy.
For some reason the feelings of grief are more intense now than they were when everything first happened. Actually, I know why, it’s because my mind is starting to allow me to feel the feelings. It’s just really hard to deal with it. I can’t wait to start feeling better, and I want to stop feeling this crappy and always writing on here about how sad I am. I promise I will be able to do that. I just can’t say when it will happen.
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Or so I tell myself.
I started back at work yesterday. It was a surreal experience to walk the same familiar hallways, and yet feel like I was a complete stranger in a forigen territory. I dealt with the expected, “Oh how are you” and “We’ve missed you” and “I’m so sorry” comments and the “poor widow” looks. People were kind and gave me space and didn’t pry too much.
The first thing I saw when I walked into my office was the note that Aaron had sent with my Valentine’s/anniversary tulips. My heart stopped beating for a minute and I had the ever familiar, “Hey, this has all just been a nightmare” moment, and then came quickly crashing back to reality.
It was difficult to deal with clients, as many of them had been told I was on vacation. So I kept having to answer, “How was your vacation?” questions all day. I wanted to scream, “Um there was nothing good about the last six weeks of my life, thanks!” Instead I told them, “It was okay.” There’s no reason to tell them the truth…
I was not able to stay for a full day, and I’m surprised that I thought I would be able to. I left around 1:30. I just could not handle being here for another minute.
Thanks to everybody who has been emailing, and checking in on me. I’m hanging in there. There are good days and then there are the horrible, shitty, not wanting to get out of bed days. Here’s hoping those days start to be fewer and far between.
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I can’t believe it’s been three weeks since Aaron died. There are moments where it feels like it’s only been a few minutes, and moments where it feels like it’s been three years. Today has been a rough day, and it’s not even 11am.
August and Bert (Aaron’s sister and her husband) came over this morning to pick up the cases of Boost out of the garage. Aaron had been drinking Boost to supplement his diet when he couldn’t keep normal food down. I don’t need the Boost, but I wasn’t prepared for the sadness that came with realizing Aaron doesn’t need it anymore. Then, they went through some of his clothes and baseball caps to take some things with them that hold sentimental value.
I haven’t opened up Aaron’s closet in the three weeks since he died, and to do so this morning was really difficult. August went through his t-shirts and took a few things, Bert took a hat and a Lakers jersey. I didn’t really care about anything in particular that they took, but I just don’t want to have to keep doing this. His mom is coming over, I want to call his dad and other friends to see if there is anything in particular that they would want before I donate things to charity or have a yard sale.
After August and Bert left, the mail came and in the mail were the death certificates. I opened them up and cried. Cried because I miss him, cried because its just one more thing that reminds me this is all really real and not just some God-awful nightmare. Even though I can now send in the life insurance money and get some of the business aspects of this taken care of now, it still is awful.
And to top it off, the first really hard day is coming up this weekend. My birthday is Sunday. It will be my first birthday in my adult life that Aaron is not a part of. It will be the first big day Aaron is not around for. I am going out of town for the weekend because I need to be distracted and not be here surrounded by memories.
Okay. Enough depressed thoughts for one day. I’m off to take care of things. Peace!
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Up until yesterday I had been hanging on to some sort of crazy hope that this past week had been some sort of crazy, awful nightmare. After yesterday, I know that is no longer a possibility. Yesterday, Aaron was cremated. I was able to see him one last time, give him one last kiss, run my hands through his hair for one final moment. I had to leave the building when they loaded the box to go into the actual device. Aaron’s mom and best friend Scott stayed. I came back in after a few minutes.
I feel like I’m barely hanging on. Like I said earlier, it comes and goes in waves. I’ve been spending more time alone, which has been good AND bad. Good because I need time to process and reflect and mourn. Bad because this house is giant, empty and lonely. I’ve lost people who were close to me before, but nothing (obviously) like this. The pain is so raw and numbing. I’m trying my hardest to take care of myself, but I haven’t had an appetite, and no energy to work out. I have lost 7 pounds in the last week and have a feeling that there will be a few more lost (I was trying anyways, so it’s not like this is a bad thing).
I know all of this is “normal,” whatever “normal” might be, but it’s awful. I am coping the best way I can, but that doesn’t mean its been easy. Thanks again to everybody who has reached out, it really has brought me comfort during this time.
In all of my years of dealing with cancer and knowing that my husband was going to be taken away from me because of cancer, I never–EVER–imagined that losing him would be as difficult as it has been.
On Monday, I was there, holding his hand as he passed away. There is no way to describe how horrible that moment was for me. After he was gone, that state of shock and numbness set it. To be honest, it hasn’t completely gone away. I have had my support system be there for me in the most amazing ways. My friend Nicole organized my entire week for me so I didn’t have to do much and would remember to do everything. My friend Vanessa helped me to do the programs for the funeral as well as the picture that will be up by the urn. Aaron’s best friend Scott was here when Aaron passed away and has stepped up in too many ways to list here. Last night was my first night in the house alone–everybody has been staying here to make sure that I’m okay.
The grief comes in waves, and it comes in the most unexpected of ways–looking in his t-shirt drawer, going out to the bar with my friends and putting my Blackberry on vibrate in case he texts me and then realizing he won’t, doing laundry and realizing I have nothing of his laundry to wash because I did everything last Sunday. I went to dinner with Scott, his wife Chrystal, and another of Aaron’s friends the other night and I could totally see Aaron sitting right across from me at the table.
Aaron’s mom has been amazing this week. She has to deal with her own stuff, obviously, but she has been very respectful of my space and my grieving process. She is spending the night tonight and tomorrow she, Scott and I are driving to Glendale to be with Aaron during the cremation process. My friends have asked me why I’m going and the answer is simple–I don’t want him to be alone. I’ve been with him throughout the entire journey, and I’m not about to let him go through this last leg alone. I probably won’t watch the actual cremation, but I will be there. He will know that I’m there, he will not be alone.
Thank you to everybody for your kind comments, thoughts and prayers. They’ve helped me get through the longest week of my life.
