Every Remembrance

     Twenty three years ago I married the love of my life, oh how it seems like just yesterday.   The website where I ordered his ring from had the option of engraving something on the inside.  I debated and agonized about what to engrave.   My name?   Our names?   Our wedding date?   Nothing seemed quite right.   Then a friend recommended a scripture reference.   It was perfect.   I ordered the ring and was so excited to give it to him.   He loved his wedding ring and all that it represented.   We were united together as one.   He was my husband and I was his wife.   He wore it with pride and gratitude.  Sadly with all the health challenges that he faced, his ring one day didn't fit any longer.    I ordered a simple replacement and then another.   I didn't think about burying him with it. Perhaps I should have.  He kept all three of them close to him at his desk.  But in a way I'm grateful I didn't.  Perhaps one day I'll put it on a necklace and carry it close to my heart.   

    

      Over the past several weeks this picture keeps popping up in a digital picture frame that is filled with memories from the past several years.   That picture frame was so hard to look at earlier this year.   I was tempted to turn it off, but slowly it has become tolerable, although still often difficult.  Sometimes it makes me smile, sometimes it makes me cry.   Those photo's capture a snapshot in time.   There are many moments in my life which are difficult markers.   Time is often measured in before or after.   None more defining than December 3rd, our wedding day another, but this close third.    This picture was taken on Saturday October 14th, 2017.   Five days before he was diagnosed with cancer. 

     He was going through so much as apparent by the eye patch (because his eye wasn't working right), his trach and the ventilator is there in the background.   He was in kidney failure and would start dialysis a few days later.   Yet it was just the beginning.  Thanks to our friend John and my aunt Roxann, Chris had someone to stay with him so that I could spend a day at work.   It was one of the last "normal" days I had before our lives were forever changed.   When I returned they were worried about an infection so guests had to wear plastic gloves and gown.   It was HOT!   In a quick moment before he left John took a picture of the two of us.   I love how even though I'm reaching over putting my arm around him, he was reaching out and attempting to touch my arm because he had missed me while I had been gone.     The ten hours we were apart for me to go to work was a long time.  But even though we were facing significant hardships and the future was uncertain, we were smiling, because we were together.   

     The scripture on his wedding rings speaks of "every remembrance", not just the good.   Some may think that I only share the good of our relationship.   That isn't true.   Our marriage was blessed and we were very close.   Except for very early on when we were figuring out how to balance life, work and family, we didn't argue.   We faced hardships and challenges like any marriage.   Finances, life decisions, health problems...   The blessing of our relationship is that difficulties and hardships were external.   

     As I've reflected on different memories of our life together another unique thing emerges.   Much of our happy memories are in video games.   I picture our characters running around in various video game universes including Ultimate Online. Dark Age of Camelot, World of Warcraft, Burnout Revenge, City of Heroes, Diablo,  New World, Ark, Raft or Valheim.   I've also likely left out countless others.   Amidst all the difficult memories of last fall, there is a very sweet and tender memory of us the end of November adventuring together with his nephews in Valheim.   What a blessing that while his physical body lacked the energy and ability to leave the house, we were still able to make a treasured memory and connect with his nephews.   For many that was their last memory, I'm grateful it was one filled with fun and laughter.   Hopefully one day we will all be reunited and can begin making memories again.   

      

    

 

Simply Be

     Early in this journey I found one thing that was helpful.   Structure.   For the past eight months this blog has been an important structure.   It's helped me to have something to ponder throughout the week and complete each Sunday.   But as I've thought about it over the past several weeks, I've realized that that has changed.  Constantly thinking about, evaluating and trying to articulate my thoughts takes a lot of mental and emotional energy.   I still plan to write, but I'm taking a step back.   I've finally reached a point where the weekend is not as terrifying and difficult as it once was.  It's still time to fill but I've slowly been working on things around the house and trying to find things to recharge.   Throughout our marriage, Chris would always tell me that I wasn't good at relaxing, he was right.   But that was because there were so many things that needed to be done.   Now I've got all the time in the world and much less that must be done.    I'd give anything to just be snuggling with him attempting to watch a movie and failing by falling asleep.   But it sadly cannot be.   So for my weekends, nothing is changing drastically.  Most people won't think anything has changed, but I'm shifting focus to spend the time focusing on whatever helps me recharge in the moment.    

     Earlier this year my aunt Kim shared with her a meditation that had helped her.   My sweetheart and I had tried years ago to try meditating together at night, we searched for quite some time before finding one that we really liked and then we meditated together holding hands at the end of the day for a long time.   It was amazing to me that of all of countless possible options she connected, the one she was suggesting was the exact same one, from the exact same narrator.   It's called Simply Be by Scott  Langston.   While the sweet and tender memories of meditating at the end of the day while holding his hand are still too difficult to listen to it, the words often come to mind.   

     Take a moment to stop doing and simply be. 

     Take a moment to stop thinking and simply be.  

     Take a moment to stop worrying and simply be.  

     Take a moment to stop planning and simply be.  

    

     Grief is a very difficult journey. It's confusing.  It's unpredictable.  It's individual.  It's exhausting.  It's inherently lonely.  With the loss of my sweetheart, I lost the person that I could talk to about anything and everything. In our unique case the one I lost the one who was with me 24/7 for nearly two and a half years, and as much as possible before that.   We've been through good times and impossibly difficult and trying times.   We were truly "one".  Having lost that, I'm doing my best at reaching out and trying to connect with others and letting people in.   It's not easy, but I know it's important so I'm trying.   However I've been blessed with some good friends and family who love me, I'm grateful for them.  But it went from my soulmate with me 100% of the time, to likely a single digit number at best spread between several different people.   Those people see a small part of my life and trying to be open and vulnerable with multiple people is hard.   I'm learning the people who can sit with me in my grief and the journey of trying to discover a new me; without trying to fix me.  It's not easy, I know people want to help, but sadly sometimes the things they do to help makes things harder.   Last week our friend Steve came over.   Knowing it had been Chris's birthday, he asked how the week had been and how I was doing.   I tried to keep it light, but as soon as the words came out I knew that it wasn't what he was looking for.  He knows just how difficult those milestone days can be and was there to support.   We then proceeded to have a good and heartfelt discussion.    I shared with him another visit with a friend of Chris's and how lucky I was that Chris had such great friends who are watching out for me in his absence and I consider them my friends.   I was also blessed with other friends who came and listened, family who did things to let me know they were thinking of him...me...us, and some who had text conversations with me, helping me to get things off my mind.    

  Just as there are thousands of different recipes for bread, the same can be said for grief.   There is no right or wrong way to grieve, and there is no set amount of time that it should take.    Everyone grieves in their own way and at their own pace. Talking with my therapist this week she said much the same, something that she has said multiple times.  "Grief takes time, and cannot be rushed.  Regardless of what you or others may wish."  I've accepted that.  

     So since the rest of the year seems daunting, I'm going to do my best to stop doing, thinking, worrying and planning and focus on simply being.  Whatever that looks like.   Our life has been anything but simple for the past 10 years, and quiet evenings and weekends to "simply be" feels like what I need to heal.    Maybe that will mean inviting a friend over, or watching TV, sitting outside, perhaps even reading a book.   I'm sure I'll still write, as writing is therapeutic for me.   But for now it might be nightly in my journal with the occasional blog.   Chris if he were here, would be proud.   He would be happy that I'm taking care of me.   

     As well, while therapy has been helpful for me, I've also decided to take a break from that as well.  I skipped a session a month ago, which is what helped me to realize a break might be good.   I've worried about the decision but when I suggested that I was considering it, it was great to hear her say "I Get That, I Like That."    Talking with her this week said she 100% supports my decision.   She also said she completely trusts me and my intuition.   That was very reassuring as it's so easy to second guess myself, especially when others think they know what's best for me.     She then proceeded to tell me that having the ability to acknowledge that I need a break is a healthy sign.  If I feel like I need a session one week I can call and ask what slots are available.   She said she would even stay late if needed.   Perhaps I'll start up again in the future to work through some of the difficult things that I've been carrying, but for now I'm just going to set them down and do my best to "simply be."    

Your Light

     For New Year's this year, I spent the evening reading journal entries from my sweet husband.  Simply put, they were amazing.   What a blessing to have a glimpse into his mind and heart.   A chance to know him even better than I already did.  His love for me very apparent and tenderly interwoven into the difficulties he faced.   I was able to publish them into a book which has sat on my coffee table.   As I thought about what to put on the cover, I first thought about "Fight Forever Guardian" which is a quote from one of his favorite video games and a character called Shaxx that became his cancer motto.   But I wanted something that represented his entire life, not just his battle.  I searched through different quotes from Shaxx, and the perfect one was found.   "Good work guardian, your light is Strong."     

    I spent time on his birthday reading that journal, as it felt the best way to feel connected to him.   I cried, I smiled, I even laughed.   So grateful for his humor, his love and especially his light.   He put up with an immense amount of pain and trials to fight as hard as he could to be with me as long as he could, and along the way he faced challenges that many can't imagine.    Even I, who was by his side.   Here is an entry of his from May of 2015.  It's incredible to me that this was two years before he was diagnosed with cancer.   

"Took Michelle to work and then relaxed and tried to live through a dark moment.   That is when I realized it was just a dark moment.   Nothing more.   I now knew how to tell Michelle what I was going through.   She needed to know what last night for what it was.... just a dark moment.   I will have those.   And I have no description for them.   But now I know.   And She knows.   And things are okay.   I love her and she knows."   

     The phrase "I love her and she knows" felt especially profound and touched my heart.  He undoubtedly faced more difficult and dark moments.   But his light survived.   Good work, guardian.   

     

     So as the weather turns to fall, I've also thought about two events we have been able to participate in that are very symbolic with light.    He had the blessing to work for an events company called The Lights Fest.   The put on amazing event (think Tangled) where lanterns are launched into the sky.   One of his friends from there came to visit me this week.   Drew and I had an amazing discussion.   The genuine concern that he had for me was so touching.   Chris sure did know how to pick friends, as I've been blessed by several who check in on me and offer help and support.   Chris and I were able to attend the event three times.   Once in Mesquite, another in Eagle Mountain and another in Tooele.   Each time they treated Chris like a VIP and made special arrangements to make sure we were comfortable.   

    

     As well, the year after he was diagnosed with Myeloma we were able to attend an event called Light the Night.   It's put on the the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.   They are a non-profit who raise money for research and help patients receive treatment.    They were of great help to us.   At the event each person carry's a lantern which represents if they are walking as someone currently battling, someone supporting or someone who is walking in honor of someone who has passed.   

      For those in Utah interested in attending either of these events here are the dates.   LLS is free, but it is a fundraiser if you want to raise funds to help fight blood cancer.   For those outside of Utah, both events also are available in other states.   LLS also has a virtual event in November.   For me this year the memories are sufficient, but perhaps I'll go in the future.  

     

       

September 16th, 2023 - The Lights Fest

October 14th, 2023 - LLS - Light the Night

One Less Day

      Well...I survived a difficult summer, which unfortunately was harder than I thought it was going to be.   Which makes me even more nervous for the coming months.   I've reached a time where the memories of the difficulties of last year are intertwined with special days.  

      This week is my husbands birthday.   Oh how I wish he were here and we were celebrating.  However I can't help but also remember the events of last year.   His family in Montana and their efforts to fulfill his birthday wish by figuring out how to ship his favorite homemade enchiladas.   Early morning assistance from a friend and eventually emergency personnel to help him up from the floor.   A sweet niece arriving with another birthday request of homemade macaron's and a visit from his nephews.   Followed the next day by him pleading with me to call 911 as he crumpled to the garage floor.   Several of the same firemen and paramedics arrived and he was transported the short distance to the hospital, only to be life flighted shortly after to the main hospital.   Sepsis was terrifying but it was only the beginning of such difficult things to come.  Just as with the difficulties of his birthday, I'm trying to remember some of the tender things that happened as well.   To acknowledge the good and the bad, because they existed, forever intertwined together.    

     Birthday's always mark a the milestone of being another year older.   But even though it's his birthday, he won't get older this year.   

     My sweetheart had a brother pass away unexpectedly one cold January, 16 years ago.   A short time after his brother passed away he figured out precisely how old his brother was when he passed away, including months and days.   His oldest brother died at the age of 38, 3 months and 9 days.   He then did the math and figured out on what day in his life he would have lived longer than his brother.   Which occurred in December 9th, of 2012.   I often think of sorrow of his parents, who have had to bury two children.  I also think of his siblings who have lost two brothers.   Nieces, nephews, cousins, friends.   I like to think that he touched a lot of lives.   Loss is painful, but it's different when it's after a long life.  Mourning the loss of a life cut short, adds a different depth of sorrow.    

      He lived almost exactly 10 years longer, passing away at 48 years, 3 months and 3 days.  Ten years longer, but still much too young.  He found a song called "Dying Young" by Rob Thomas after he was diagnosed that we listened and talked about a lot.  We often discussed the question of... "At what age is someone no longer considered as dying young".  We never did come up with an answer.   Just as when you were a child and anyone a decade or two older than you seemed OLD.   It seems dependent on your current age.   He died way too young, and I feel way too young to be a widow.   

      I realized this week that I'm the age the he was when he was diagnosed with cancer.   A realization which hit really hard.   I know he felt much too young to be diagnosed with cancer, but even while he struggled with that, he was thinking of me.   

       With his birthday this week, I've struggled with what to do.   It's not for a lack of trying, just nothing has come to mind.   I want him to be remembered, but my heart doesn't feel like celebrating.   I've taken time off from work so my plans are to just do whatever feels right.   It helps to know I'm not the only one who will be thinking of him this week.  I've requested a couple things to other people, which has given me some peace.    The greatest gift I can think of is the gift of memories.   I likely will spend time reading his journal and looking at pictures, thinking of the wonderful life we had together.   While I'm certain they would make me cry, if there's anyone reading this who hasn't shared their thoughts and memories, please share.   I'm still collecting and eventually want to print them into a book.   

     Happy Birthday my Archangel.   

     

  

Golden Handymen

      A couple months ago a read a quick article about the needs of a widow.   One of the top things it listed was a handy-man.   It talked about how they were worth their weight in gold, and I completely  understood.   At that time, my toilet which had been slowly running  for a while.   My attempts to fix it were unsuccessful and I had made the problem worse.   In the past my brother in law from Montana has often come to the rescue, including lovingly remodeling our bathroom to make it more accessible when walking, standing and stepping were too dangerous.  Just asking him to help me know what parts to order was overwhelming and had me in tears.   Knowing I was in over my head, I was trying to decide who to ask for help with a neighbor also named Andrew offered to come help.   He not only fixed my toilet but a few other things around the house.  

       This week two neighbors came to the rescue, fixing something that has had me worried for at least a couple years.   Every time I would see it I knew it was something that I needed to get fixed and I'd tried to think of how to make it happen.   It was clearly something above my skill level (which isn't very high).   A board had warped on two different sets of windows.  Steve and Phil came and replaced the badly warped pieces.   One had become a shelter for spiders, ewww...   It took them a couple hours and it looks so much better.   However it's the peace of mind and one less worry on my plate that means the most.

      I know not everyone is quite so lucky to have a pool of good friends, family and neighbors.   I'm grateful for the many people in my life who help make life a little better.   

My Sunshine

      I've decided to take a break from thinking and writing so deeply about grief.     It's hard enough to live through it without constantly trying to evaluate how you are doing.    Writing has been helpful, but  takes a lot of work.   So instead today I thought I'd share a memory.  

     In 2017 we spent the first time in an ICU when we finally were able to get help for his airway.   It was a insanely difficult and we're lucky he survived.   While he pleaded with me prior to the first surgery to not allow them to place a trach, in order to be able to leave the ICU it ended up being necessary.   When the doctors told me that was the next step I was worried how he would take it.   But he had learned that being intubated, restrained and on a ventilator was worse.   They told him he likely would not be able to speak and the though of never hearing his voice again was hard.   But he proved them wrong and taught himself to speak.   It was a lot of work and often wore him out.   

       Sleeping through a plastic piece in your throat and on a ventilator at night, we spent most (if not all) of the summer sleeping on our couch.    As we would go to bed at night, he one day started singing to me as we would go to bed.   

You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You'll never know, dear
How much I love you
Please don't take
My sunshine away

 

    He would often change the lyrics up, my favorite one being "You'll never know dear, how much I love you, because I'll tell you everyday."   He was a sweet and tender man, who was never afraid to show his love.   Those who would spend time around us were witness to it as well, some would roll their eyes and complain that we still acted like newlyweds.   It brought tears to my eyes this week when my aunt Roxann talked about our love this week it reminded me of a card she sent us on our 20th anniversary.   She said "I admire both of you so much and I think you have a wonderful loving relationship.   You each strive to do all you can for each other, you are very selfless.   If I had been able to find someone to marry I would have hoped to have the kind of love you have."

     Looking up the lyrics today I discovered there is a second verse.      

The other night, dear

As I lay sleeping

I dreamed I held you

In my arms

When I awoke, dear

I was mistaken

So I hung my head and I cried

I miss my sunshine...

The Locked Door

     I was fairly young before I recall my first experience with death.   My paternal grandfather passed away when I was 10.   I was young and didn't really comprehend.   A journal entry of mine expressed sadness, but also excitement about being able to be out of school.   I remember small pieces of the funeral, including a song a family friend sang called "The Garden."   A couple years later a classmate name Yoshi Suzuki was killed in an accident in his backyard.   We weren't super close and I don't recall going to the funeral, but I've thought of him over the years and how tragic it was to die at a young age and of his family.  

      Just a couple weeks after my sixteenth birthday I remember bouncing up the stairs.   Summer was just starting and things were good.   My dad was sitting on the stairs with the long telephone cord trailing behind him.   Shortly after he called us into the formal family room which was only used on special occasions or for visitors.   Something was wrong.  I remember taking sitting in folding chair that was just inside door instead of on the couch.   He then told us that my good friend David had passed away while hiking in the Grand Canyon with his scout troop.   Our families were close and always spent Easter together camping.   His death hit hard and I remember how hard it was to accept.    I remember crying regularly throughout the next year and carefully trying to write down every memory that I could think of.  I also thought a lot about his family and how much harder it was for them to lose a son and brother.   The day of his burial was memorable, but I also remember the peace and assurance I felt that I knew I would see him again.   After the graveside service I remember walking behind some others (I believe some of his relatives) who were distraught and inconsolable because they didn't believe in a life after death.   I remember being was profoundly grateful for my beliefs.   I felt such confidence in peace in what I knew.   I would see him again one day.   Even so, his death hit me hard.   I've thought about him a lot over the years.   Of the experiences and milestones that he missed out on and the opportunities of memories lost.   Wondering how his life would have turned out and the things he would have accomplished.   So many questions that will go unanswered.      

   

     After such a profound experience at the age of sixteen, I thought I knew.   So, I was completely taken by surprise when over the past few months I feel like that confidence I had so many years ago vanished, seemingly overnight.  Plunged into a darkness I did not and could not anticipate.  I went from wondering what heaven was like and very cautiously trying to learn more, to feeling like it's all in our heads.  Does God even exist?  Or is it just some fantasy humans concocted to help us feel better and cope with death and the confusing world we live in?  

     So many others talk about the countless overwhelming experiences of peace and comfort after the loss of a loved one.  But I have not been so blessed and fortunate.  Instead I've been given silence and darkness...  and can't help but wonder... What have I done to deserve this?   I try to grasp onto any moments where I've felt that peace, but they feel like sand slipping through my fingers.   

     When I came across this quote from C.S. Lewis it described precisely how I felt.  While I wish no one had to experience the pain of losing a spouse or loved one, there is some comfort in knowing I'm not alone.    That someone who is clearly much older, experienced and wiser than I was plunged into a similar darkness after losing his wife of four years.   The quote comes from the book Grief Observed, one day I'll read it and find out more of his journey. 

    So that was a couple months ago... how are things now?   I don't know.   It's been a struggle to acknowledge and put into words how I've been feeling.   Plus I've just been trying to survive, so I have tried to not to think about it too much.   Not always successfully.   I still feel lost in the darkness, but it's not quite the same as it was in June.  My prayers still feel unanswered and I often wonder just who is in charge of chaos that is my thoughts.  

     Unfortunately July was also a difficult month for my parents.   My Dad was hospitalized with internal bleeding and needed five units of blood.   He's lucky to be alive, although recovery is a slow and frustrating process.   My mom said "Sometimes it's so hard to understand why this test has to be so hard."  I agree, it often feels so impossibly hard.