Abundance

I have excellent health insurance that paid for today's mammogram on the equipment that S set up, with the tech who probably knew him, wearing the same dosimeter he wore, using the institutional soap of which he always smelled, in the hospital where he died. I am utterly exhausted. I have collapsed on a comfortable couch, under a soft blanket, in a safe home, near my healthy daughter. Today I am thankful for abundance.

Tea and sympathy

OK, it was coffee, but tea sounds so much nicer in the headline, no?

Yesterday I met two total strangers for breakfast. They had organized a gathering for young widows the week before, but I had to miss it because my sitter canceled (and truly, I didn't go out of my way to find a replacement because I was ambivalent about the whole idea). They kindly reached out after I was a no-show and asked me to meet them. I was nervous, people are so different. It could have been incredibly awkward.

It wasn't, not at all. Rarely have I fallen so quickly into sync with new people, immediately sharing things I haven't even told my best friends and family. Common experience is such a powerful bond. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I guess I still hold some stereotypes about widows. Fragile creatures they are, just waiting patiently to join their dearly departed husbands. But I saw so much of myself in these women. They were both widowed a bit ahead of me, so I listened with interest as they talked about moving forward with their kids, with living life on their own terms, even with finding new love. Their stories and feedback inspired me.

With exactly four weeks to go until the one-year anniversary of S's death, I am all about forgiveness and gratitude. I need to finish forgiving him for leaving us so that I can keep his memory alive for the girls without feeling conflicted about it. And I want to be sure to live in gratitude for all of the amazing people who have helped us through this year.

Today I am thankful for Fern and Gayle, who helped me make a month's worth of progress in one hour yesterday morning.

Too much hubris

A friend, also widowed, asked me what was coming up for us. I knew he was talking about difficult milestones, but it felt almost as if the question didn't apply to me. I talked about the anniversary of S's death next month, which will be quickly followed quickly by our wedding anniversary. No surprises here - I know the dates and I have full understanding of the passage of time. As long as things don't sneak up on me,  I can manage them. Right?

It hit me this morning. During this week last year, the week before school starts, we headed to the mountains for our last family vacation. We had the best time we'd had in months, and I was cautiously optimistic that we were through the worst of S's illness. Laughing with my family in a boat on the cool mountain lake, I had no idea that his final decline would begin on the way home from that trip. Then came the beginning of a new school year, then Pickle's birthday, then my birthday. Then the last tortured weeks, then his death, then the funeral, then our anniversary, then Critter's birthday.

Just a week ago, when asked what was coming up, I shrugged off the question. Now I see a rough road ahead for the next six weeks or so.  So it's back to basics for a while. I'll try to get plenty of sleep and exercise. I'll check in with my therapist and take a day or two off of work to just breathe. I'll spend time with the most special people, the few who don't need me to pretend everything is fine. I'll celebrate the girls' birthdays and surround them with the family and friends who love them most. Who knows? Maybe I'll even throw a birthday party for myself.

Date night

It's supposed to be Wordless Wednesday, but I slept for several consecutive hours last night (for the first time in a week) and awoke full of words. So consider this evidence that I'm evolving... I've always been such a blind rule follower.

All of my best reader-friends have been recommending the Steig Larsson books. I bought The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and started reading it three times, but just couldn't get into it. Then I watched the movie and was enthralled - it seems my attention span is better suited to film than literature these days. It was available on Netflix streaming, the current film venue of choice for my limited and largely solitary leisure life.

I used to love to go to movies by myself during my pre-family days in Washington, D.C. Since I moved to Tampa and married a man who loathed seeing movies in theaters, I gave that up. In retrospect, I realize that I could have continued going by myself, I just didn't. So when I saw that part two of the trilogy was playing at our local independent theater last week, it instantly became one of those things I had to do. I have had pretty good luck lately when that feeling envelops me, so I'm starting to trust the instinct.

I asked Pickle to babysit, something she hadn't done except when I was running a quick errand. She's almost 14 and I was only going to be a few miles away, so it was time to trust. I prepared dinner for the girls in advance. I made sure I had cash and figured out where to park. I totally felt like I was preparing for a date.

Does that sound crazy? Maybe it is, I have no way of knowing.

I do know that I felt good walking into the absolutely beautiful old theater - peaceful, powerful, independent. Happy. Completely myself.

There's lots of advice for married couples to have date nights, to reconnect with each other and without the children. The same advice should apply to sole parents. It is so easy to get lost, to become mired in getting through each day. To lose yourself in the grind of packing lunches, washing clothes, walking the dog, cleaning the bathrooms, driving the car. But I don't think it serves me or my girls well to be that person, the long-suffering widowed mom who is constantly overwhelmed and just gets through each day.

I had a great time on my first date. I think I'd like to see her again.

Wordless Wednesday

Halloween 2003, my favorite photo of all of us.

This just in: I have a mental disorder

There was a story on NPR this morning that caught my attention at about 5:45 a.m., no small feat. The American Psychiatric Association is proposing changes to diagnostic guidelines that would remove the "bereavement exclusion" from diagnoses of major depression.

The symptoms:

• Difficulty sleeping
• Crying over the memories of a loved one
• Loss of appetite
• Loss of energy
• Loss of concentration

Check, check, check, check and check. If these symptoms last more than two weeks... that's two weeks... the diagnosis is major depression, with a recommended treatment of therapy or medication.

Major depression? Me? It's just not true. But I lost my husband twice - first to mental illness, then to suicide - and that makes me sad. My daughters don't have a father, and that keeps me awake at night. I have an overwhelming amount responsibility, and that saps my energy.

Ten months in, I still have most of the symptoms (sadly, loss of appetite seems to be gone). It gets better as time marches on and even better when I'm disciplined about using the tools I've developed to help myself.

If I had resolved all of these symptoms in two weeks, then I think a diagnosis would be in order. As my wise friend Polly says, "Some things are supposed to suck."