theWiddahood.com

The Things People Say…

momtofourkids — Fri, 17 May 2013 16:22:40 +0000

Or... how to seriously hurt a widow... I was having a conversation with someone last night about where I live. I've lived in the house where I am for the past 8 years... my husband's presence is embedded in every nook and cranny, every fibre of the house. No matter what I paint or what furiture I bring in, or how I move things around... I still expect to see him in the kitchen, in our bedroom or in the living room. I still expect to see him there. It hurts. I try to keep busy - I blog, I facebook, I visit other websites, I talk to people, I invite friends over, I furiously clean, I play video games. I do whatever it takes to keep my mind so busy that by the time I go to bed... I'm so exhuasted I pass out. Sometimes I drink to forget. Sometimes, though, I can't. My mind won't stay occupied and I become *aware* of the lack. Aware of what's missing. Aware of who's missing. And it hurts. It's like a knife, sliding into my heart, hot, sharp and painful... it takes my breath away, it leaves me doubled over in pain. If I'm lucky, I'm able to cry and release some of the pain. I can't shunt those moments of awareness away. They hurt too much. They are always lurking. So this person says to me something like: well, it will get better... it won't hurt so much eventually. I'm like: it's not the same. Your husband was not living with you when he died. You didn't expect him to come home. He was never getting well enough to come home. He had lived his life. And her response? "Well neither was yours, either." Even now, thinking about that, the pain hits, sharp, hot, and unreasonably painful. No, my husband wasn't living with me when he died. But 2 days before he died - I was still being told that he would get better and come home. The day he died, the surgeon tried to convince us that there was still something that could be done. Until he actually took his last breath - I still held hope that he *would* get better and come home to me. I sat there, kissing his forehead, hoping beyond hope that his breathing would get stronger, his heart beat would get stronger, that his blood pressure would go up and he'd get better and COME HOME to us. Her husband, on the other hand... was 95 and not expected to come out of the nursing home he was in. There wasn't hope. There wasn't a possibility that a miracle would happen and he would come home and resume his life and his role in her life. Don't get me wrong. I am not, in any way minimizing her loss. Her husband died. For that, I have compassion. For that, I have empathy. I understand how much it hurts that her husband died. But she expected him to. When she moved him into the home, she knew he'd never be coming out. I expected my husband to celebrate 50 years of marriage with me. Wandering around my house late at night, I see everything that was lost. I am mired in the sadness of what isn't here anymore. Trying to compare grief, expecting someone to be over it, or at a certain level of "over it" is hurtful and unreasonable. Everyone's grief journey is different. Everyone grieves differently, everyone heals differently, everyone comes to a place of acceptance differently. We all need to realize that... and be kind and compassionate to one another... after all - you never know what journey another person is on.

I think I found it…I was lost

hobby — Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000

As we travel down this road of grief many things change. We change and yet we are still the people we were. For years I went to work, I came home, we had dinner, cleaned up the kitchen and watched tv...Rob in one room and me in the other......we checked on each other, we scared each other coming around a corner...we did go places and do things...just stayed in after being out at work all day. Then Rob got sick and for nearly two years I was his caregiver.....I have told this story before......anyway after he died I spent a couple of years totally alone, but making trips here and there and coming back to THAT house where I was lost...so here I am married again to my colonel, have been retired since 2006. Retired, what is that? I am running, going, doing, planning..I am getting tired thinking about it. What I found was love again with the Colonel, what I found was I have enough energy now to rescue two Dachsunds with issues.....carrying one up and down a flight of stairs so he can potty....how did my heart open up to do this? Me the person who never had an indoor dog.....now there are two and of course my two kitties...We are on the go pretty much several times a week...I feel like God has given me a second chance at life and I must pay it forward..anyway I can....so my friends on the Widdahood believe God won't let you down and life will surprise you..honest......I see beautiful butterflies everyday....Angel wings sent by God as reminders of lost loved ones. Rob and my mom.

Crazy Eyes

Kathryn3 — Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000

I was driving down the road today, taking Petey to school. When all the sudden I am just a puddle of tears. I thought of Pete's face and I missed him. That's all. Just that I missed him. With all the changes that have gone on in my life recently and since his passing, its in those sometimes quiet moments that it still hits me. I miss him. Trying to explain this to someone who is on the outside looking in, would never know that I still have these thoughts. Its not like I don't talk about him. I just don't feel the need to talk about him as much. My perspective has changed. Lots of things have changed, but mostly its me that's changed. I look at my world with new eyes. More like one eye has a new perspective while the other one still see's things has they used to be. Sometimes its gets very confusing. And at other times it makes me want to shout to "Don't you see?" I haven't wrtten in awhile. I again was back in hibernation. Recently the more I come out of my inner cave, I see new pieces of the puzzle called "life." With each light bulb moment, I whisper to God and Pete. Thank you for the new perspective. Even in moments of rage and sadness, its still a new idea or thought that I hadn't realized before; and I feel grateful for "seeing" it. It seems that everyone around here, even as we move forward still finds themselves in moments of grief. Aryanna has been talking lots about Pete, and in things she remembers. From his cakes to games they played. Currently she is getting ready for her dance recital. She had one two years ago and I remember it like it was yesterday. The dress rehearsal where she looks around and see's all the mommies and daddies taking pictures and laughing. That vacant look in her eyes, as she takes it all in. The moment where she comes alive when the music starts and she knows her dance so well that she is right in front. Its the moment that happens after everyone is home and in bed and its just her and I in my room that stands out so much. We are lying in my bed together and she is crying so hard. Huge tears roll down her little cheeks. "I miss daddy, I wish he was here." And that helpless empty feeling I have as I hold her close. All I can say to her is "I know, Mommy does too." Aryanna has the memory of an elephant. Nothing gets by her. I feel that as she prepares for another recital I can't help but feel, that maybe she remembers that longing she felt. I hope that she doesn't remember all the crying and extreme sadness. Since she was all of 4.5 years old. However I look at this recital with a new perspective. its that one eye that see's things in a new light. We are happy. We have grown and changed so much in these past two years since, and we now have J in our lives. The kids look at him like a father. I see Aryanna and Petey come alive when he comes to their soccer game, ballet class, or even just being able to sit in his lap whenever they feel like it. Aryanna even said last night that she wanted to do something special for J for fathers day. That makes my heart smile. Its a sign of healing, of new beginnings, of new life. She heals and she grieves, like me. Another milestone for me was Pete and my wedding anniversary. It was the 26th of April. I realized the night before that it would have been our 10 yr. It hit like a ton of bricks. Really?? 10 years!! Who was I 10 years ago? Who was he? It seemed hard to believe that I was even old enough to be married 10 years. The thoughts of how young I was. And the memories of that beautiful day 10 years ago. I didn't tell many people. I at first didn't want to even tell J. I sort of just wanted it to come and go without notice. I don't know why really. When in reality its actually huge. Its the beginning of our life together as a family. Like the first chapter of being an official Barajas. When I did finally tell J he was very supportive and asked what he could do to make it easier. I didn't know. I planned to go out with my girlfriends to have sushi. I don't really go out to dinner and I hardly ever have sushi. So, it was something new a different to do. Along with something to look forward to. The day came, and I was OK on and off. Then late afternoon. I really wasn't. All I could do was cry. Cry for the life we had, cry for the husband and man that wasn't physically here and cry for me. With one eye, I saw the pain and the hurt. With the other I saw a man who see's the kids and I as his present and future and vice versa brush the tears off my face with concern and say, "I'm sorry, I don't know how to help." However he was helping. I had him. Where in years passed I didn't. I wasn't alone in the present moment even though it felt like a very lonely place. Perspective. Who was that young bride with the whole world in front of her. She was strong and she wanted to stop the cycle. She found a good man, with light in his eyes and passion in his heart. She had the whole world and didn't know it. She lived under a rock and lived a little bit like "#June Cleaver." On one level that wasn't bad. She learned what a loving family was. What it meant to have trust in another person. To finally understand what being husband and wife was all about. Understanding that he was my best friend, and husband and how important that was. The bond that would pull us through moments where we didn't really like each other very much but why we still kept holding on. The beauty and the frustration of becoming a mother. Learning the balance of motherhood, parenthood and even partner-hood. How to be a team, how to be a home-maker, and how desperately not to lose my identity. But I still did lose who I was. I conformed. I didn't ask questions, I didn't pay enough attention to things that I should have and eventually I felt very helpless. But, That young bride who in a moments eye, lost my whole world. Learned a very important perspective. Strength in a form I never knew I had. I put one foot in front of the other and kept going. I didn't lie down and let the emptiness, bitterness, and depression take over. I got up every morning. I hated it. I didn't want to be where he wasn't. But we did it anyway. Where is that Bride now? She is strong, courageous, loving, and most of all found out who she is. More that what she thought. I can't be walked on, I can't be taken advantage of. I ask the questions and look for the silver lining. I look for a perspective when I know there is a better way. I found love in an unexpected place. I found love because I knew what love looked like. I knew what it meant to be loved unconditionally. In both forms. One, with God who carried us when we could not even move. And in another form from Pete, who taught me the importance of family and marriage. While I have seen this with new eyes. I get why my grief of my 10 year anniversary was a big deal. Its remembering the beauty, the joy, the beginning chapters, as well as the heartache. But still. I am grateful. These eyes of mine have seen much. I know they will see and experience more. The perspectives I hope to gain. The ideas of doing it different and in ways that I didn't know I could. . Knowing that this mother and eventually wife knows the importance of holding on to the Woman inside who is capable of incredible things. It's putting the puzzle together one crazy piece at a time, with these crazy eyes.

It’s The Little Things

widowchick — Fri, 03 May 2013 21:03:12 +0000

Effort. Ugh. I'm exhausted just typing it. If you're making the effort to do anything in life, that means that whatever it is that you're doing isn't coming easily to you. Whether it's learning something new, keeping a friendship or relationship healthy, or just getting out of bed...you're concentrating on getting something done for the greater good. Because you know what you want the outcome to be. And in widowhood, sometimes the greatest effort comes from just trying to...well.... Live. Years ago, before my husband died and I was at home with three toddlers on my own because he was out of town, my mother stopped by the house just as we were sitting down to dinner. It was a beautiful summer evening and I had served dinner on the back porch, something that took a lot more effort than just plunking everything down on the kitchen table. "I think this is great," she said as she took in the scene outside. "It's nice that you're making the effort even though you're husband's out of town." I don't know why I did it. I guess at that point, I just felt the need to do something that would make me feel good for a few minutes and a pretty table was what I had decided it was going to be. But thinking back, probably part of what I needed was the whole process - the set up, the take down, and ultimately the distraction from the fact that I was lonely for my husband. When he died, it took so much effort to do everything because it felt like everything I had in front of me was just so damn BIG. Dealing with the paperwork, the millions of decisions that all came at once, and three children who had become my full responsibility...it took an enormous amount of energy just to open my eyes in the morning. And as we began to get into the rhythm of our new life and I started getting used to the role I never wanted to play...I was just so bogged down with life that somewhere along the line, I forgot how to live. At some point, I started doing what I thought at the time were really frivolous tasks. I've made no secret about my addiction to pedicures and for the first time in my life, in the months after my husband's death, I got my hair highlighted. I threw the most enormous Christmas party for my friends that took weeks of preparation and probably wasn't completely cleaned up for days after. I even remember an obsession with finding the perfect red purse. Because...you know...every widow needs one. Years ago, I thought all of these things were ridiculous and a complete waste of time. But now I realize they were actually more significant than I gave them credit for. I think I was somehow slowly practicing life again. That when all of the big things got to be too much...it was the little insignificant things that got me through. It wasn't just the fact of having people over - it was the preparation and the thinking behind it that had me blissfully distracted for a little while and concentrating on something other than how scary life had become. That while the idea of a pedicure seemed inane, while I was standing there trying to decide whether I wanted my toes painted "Cancun Fiesta" or "Chick Flick Cherry"...I wasn't thinking about widowhood for a few seconds. That while I was shopping for that red purse, I was envisioning what it would go with which meant that I was thinking about getting out of my sweats at some point and going out again. We've all heard the saying, when it comes to raising children, that the days are long but the years are short. That applies to widowhood, too. One minute you feel like your spouse just died and then you blink and it's been 10 years. Much of life happens in leaps and bounds, but sometimes it's the little things that get us from one big transition to the next. And before you know it...you've bounded.

Is There a Time Limit on Grief?

singlesassymom — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 03:00:03 +0000

It has been a very busy few weeks at our house. Every year we do the Out of the Darkness walk and the money raised goes to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. We do this in memory of my husband. I started doing the walk because having something to focus my energies on really helped me with my anger. The more I learned about suicide the more I forgave my husband and the more I realized I needed to do something to keep others from having to go through this hell. Anyway, that is a whole other post. So, my main fundraiser for the walk is a yard sale. I put the word out to friends, family and neighbors if they want to do spring cleaning and get rid of stuff, bring it to me and I will sell it. I raise several hundred dollars every year for this cause by doing this and people get rid of their stuff! This year is going to be the biggest one yet. People have been amazingly generous! My garage is completely full and I am still receiving items every day. I might have to have two yard sales! The other day I watched the movie P.S. I Love You. It has been several years since I have seen the movie, so I thought I would try it again. I remembered why I don't watch it very often. I cried (and laughed!) through the whole movie. Hillary Swank is very good at portraying grief. Those moments of not wanting to leave the house, the realization that they aren't coming back, the fear of moving forward. I also have a facebook friend who is struggling right now with her grief. She thinks she should be past the crying. It got me thinking, is there a time limit? I don't think there is. There are different stages in our grief, we all know that. However, I think we will always grieve to a certain extent. We are always going to feel that sense of loss and emptiness. We loved them. They were a part of us. It has been over 8 years for me and I still cry when I hear a song, see something of his, Anniversarys, birthdays, Father's Day, when my kids do something amazing, when my kids are especially naughty, when my kids struggle with their own grief, when I watch certain movies or go somewhere that we used to go. It doesn't mean that I sit and cry all the time. It means that I still love him and because I love him so much I miss him. I am ALWAYS going to miss him and I am ALWAYS going to have moments where I cry because I miss him. That is why it takes a very special person to want to step into the life of a widow or widower. They know that there is always going to be that place in the widow or widower's heart that they can never fill or touch. They have to find their own place there. So I say to those that think they should be past the crying, reminding myself too, it's okay to cry sometimes. You are just remembering them and loving them. Just be sure to laugh too, because there is no greater healing power than laughter.

The Unsaid

widowchick — Tue, 23 Apr 2013 21:34:48 +0000

The Unsaid keeps me awake. It visits me, mainly at night, as I'm trying to go to sleep. Sometimes it's all of the things that I should have said when I'd had the chance. But most of the time it's all of the things I should have said if I'd had the nerve. It looms before me, this subconscious shadow, as I lay in my bed thinking about not just the day, but the weeks, months, and years before. The few times when "I love you" should have been whispered and wasn't. But mainly the times when "what you have done is unacceptable" should have been brazenly declared. The Unsaid was born out of my need to avoid conflict and my overall belief that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. But there have been times when I wish I had a little more vinegar in me. Because there is a difference between avoiding conflict...and allowing a swarm fed by complacency consume you. Years ago, my therapist told me that I should eliminate the word "should" from my vocabulary - what I "should" have done or what "should" have been said. Because in some cases that word self-implicates and implies that we've done something wrong. And I can understand that we use it all too often in our thoughts and, therefore, are constantly condemning ourselves for things we "should have done." But when it comes to the Unsaid...the word "should" comes back into my personal dictionary. And sometimes it comes with a lot of regret. It's strange to think that silence can be so peaceful and overwhelming at the same time, but it can. Because I've come to realize that my silence has led others in my past to believe they were right to do whatever it is that they've done - and that I agree with the outcome. When in reality, what they've done has hit me so hard it has stunned me into that hush. And that means I've left things unsaid.

Sleepy & Weepy

Edie613 — Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000

I am sleepy. I have spent this entire day weepy. I'm tired. The lack of sleep comes from a few things: I did not take my handy dandy prescription for sleep (trying not to rely on it every night). The explosion in West, TX happened last night. My daughter is a dispatcher for Waco PD, she was dispatching & handling 911 calls -- she (and her co-workers) were many, many people's lifeline in the late hours of yesterday and into the wee hours of this morning. Handling life & death situations, one right after another. I was fervently praying for her, for the first responders, for the victims. I felt much better after I talked with her this morning--I'm one proud Momma, she has a tough job, sometimes thankless, but she was a hero last night.

It was after 1am this morning when sleep finally came, then the storm blew in, so I was awake again at 3am. Have I already said, "I'm tired?" I got up and did what anyone else would do, shower & bake. I had many errands today and the first one, at 7:15am (on my first day of VACATION) was an oil change & tire rotation. I always bring breakfast for those wonderful guys at the shop--they are so good to me! Here comes the weepy part. I got the Mustang's vehicle registration renewal in the mail a few weeks ago. It's due in May. It has Jim's name on it. My heart always does this weird leap when I see his name, especially on mail. I hate it, it upsets me. My solution is to get the car in my name only. Today was my day to do this. I was helped by a very nice clerk. She told me that the title says his name OR my name, I didn't have to change it. My head was screaming, "YES I DO!! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, IT HURTS MY HEART WHEN I SEE HIS NAME ON MAIL!!" Mission accomplished. On to more errands. I stopped at probably 6 other places, picking up odds and ends getting ready for my trip...I leave Saturday for Italy, lots to do. Thank you neighbor, for interrupting my day with a lunch date! I wasn't very hungry, but the company was great as was the carrot cake! No weepy-ness at all! I also got to chat w/my mom and sisters today. I love them so! I stopped at Kroger--things to buy. My Angel, Bennie, from Fred Meyer Jeweler's, was working. (I blogged about in November 2011) I'm so glad she was there! I needed a hug so very bad from someone "who gets it". She held me tight for a few minutes, whispered to me that God's got this until I could stop my tears. We moved on to catching up, chit-chat and I felt better after I left her. Tonight, I had Praise Moves, it's christian based yoga--the music is christian, the moves have amazing names: Mt. Zion, The Dove, The Cross, The Shawl and each move has a bible verse. At the end of the session, it's quiet, relaxation & reflection time. As the leader reads a devotion & prays, I'm laying on my mat, quiet, relaxed, listening. I was asking myself why, oh why is today so weepy for me, as tears roll down my face once again. As I let the words I was hearing wash over me I realized that changing the car into my name only makes me feel like it's one more way Jim is being erased from ever existing. Oh, I know he's in my memories, my heart, my head & I see him in my kids -- but his existence, in all things worldly, is disappearing, disappearing and one day, poof, gone. So, that thought hit me hard. BINGO: weeping! I want so much at this very moment to be held, hugged and to be told that it's going to be alright, I'm strong but it's OK to cry, it's OK to be sad, there's not expiration date on grief. I want to be held by Jim. As time slips by, I still get so caught off guard by that rogue wave of grief and it just knocks me flat on my ass! My prayer for me tonight (because I really need comfort) is for a restful sleep, for the memories of my husband to surround my heart and my mind. That the Lord wrap his loving arms around me, holds me tight & gives me the comfort I so desperately need! I also pray for safe travels as I embark on an amazing trip. Lord, open my eyes on this trip, let me see You as I travel make new friends, have new experiences and make new memories. Amen

Two Years into my Viduity-Lessons Learned

Guitarman — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 23:44:46 +0000

I'm sitting here on the eve of two years since Lisa died. My Dad died on the same day in 2007 so the 18th is not a good day for me. Hopefully I can share with you some of what I've been through and how I handled it. This is really the point of all this is to share our sadness and joy and find solace and solidarity in our experiences. First off, HUGS to you all. I haven't contributed much but I have read a lot of your posts and it has helped a lot.

Grief is still with me and I have a bit of a better handle on it in the respect that I think I can tell the difference from grief and feeling sorry for myself. Not all the time mind you, I'm not freakin' Superman.
My daughter and I are communicating more and sharing our grief together. I guess now that she has moved to the Midwest, she likes checking in with me more frequently.
I still talk to my in-laws even though I don't get to see them much. They are still my family but they live about 3 hours away. When I told my Mother-In-Law that I started dating again she said "Good, you're too young to be alone."
Anyone who would date a widow(er) and not be one them self is a brave and wonderful person. I'm usually not the one to bring baggage to a relationship but..... And furthermore it is unique baggage. Stuff you don't see every day, "I can't see you tonight, I have to stay home and cry"
Love is still wonderful, love still makes life worth living. Don't be afraid of it.
I still miss her and I always will. That will never go away. When you lose a spouse, it's like having your whole self ripped in two and that emptiness doesn't go away.
Sometimes I wake up in the morning and feel her with me, I love that.
I've come to appreciate a glass of good red wine or bourbon every now and then on a level that I could not before. For those of you that partake, you will so get this one.
Nothing does the heart good like laughing out loud, nothing cleanses the soul more than crying out loud.

Dating & Grief

momtofourkids — Mon, 15 Apr 2013 14:49:08 +0000

When I was involved in my tryst with "George" early on in my widdahood, there was no worries, no thoughts about the future together. I knew what he wanted, what he planned. He didn't want a live-in girlfriend, he didn't want to get married again, he didn't want forever. And he lived close enough that the "Walk of Shame" was short. It didn't bother me to date him because I knew I'd never be "married" to him, never merge our lives. And that was ok. Its not what I wanted out of that relationship. And now there's Mike. Mike is a blast from my past. He found me through POF. But my POF profile had certain restrictions such as marital status, location in order to contact me. After all - what's the point in meeting someone who doesn't live close enough for me to plan a future with? I'm not moving, I love my life, my kids' school, my friends, my job. All my memories and my past is tied up in the house I'm in. And on a purely practical note - I have really great rent. Between all that - whomever I dated - I swore - would be either local, or willing to become local. Not only that - the ones that weren't local would have to come to me for the first date. And now there's Mike. I've read somewhere that you never stop loving someone. That you may be separated by time, distance, etc., but if there's real love there - you never. stop. loving them. And Mike showed up in my life recently. I dated Mike 20 years ago. I was young. I loved him fiercely. My memories of our relationship are disjointed and fractured, but aside from the colour of love that permeates what memories I do have, I remember him doing and saying some things that hurt me deeply. I loved him enough to accept them... and in the end we broke up anyhow. So now Mike and I are back together. Who would have thought? I wouldn't have ever thought I'd have ended up dating a man who I'd dated in the past; after all - you're ex's for a reason. The problem is... I have to rely on him for the reason. When I'm with him, all I know is that I love him, still. I love being around him. He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel loved. He makes me feel protected. It's a good thing we live far apart. He lives 7 1/2 hours away from me. His life has complications. Him moving down to me would be WAY more complicated than me moving up to him. It's a really good thing that we live far apart. I was up visiting him last weekend - and I was looking at the town where we'd live if I moved. I was looking at the houses, the potential, the plans he has. I was looking at the family that would suddenly be close by, the change in lifestyle I'd go through. And I'm grieving hard. What should have been a lovely weekend (and was for the most part) became an exercise in grieving over holding on to the past vs. embracing the future. My home... is where I lived with my husband. My bedroom I shared with my husband. My garden he built for me. The apple tree we planted in Kamloops then transplanted in Squamish when we moved back. The pathway he built me by hand. His Jeep. His fishing gear. My marriage, my husband, my loss, is all tied up in that place. My job is a daily reminder of what I had and what I don't have any longer. Everything reminds me of him. I'm not ready to let go of that yet. I'm not ready to go into the craft room where his stuff is, and sort through it. I'm not ready to pack up his things into boxes. Most of his stuff has been sorted through, but there are pockets of "Mark" all over my house. I'm not ready to sort through those. When I move forward with another relationship, I will have to, in order to be fair to that new relationship. It would be unfair and inconsiderate for me to insist that someone new move into my home, with all the reminders of my husband, and expect that person to be comfortable in calling that place "home" So dating, and getting serious about someone, is a new form of grief... there will be some letting go. There will some be a moment of saying to myself, my children, my family, my friends... "Yes, Mark was and is still a very important part of me... but he's part of my past and I'm looking towards the future" I'm not quite there yet. I have some grieving to do first. And some honest assessments of how I want my life to look. There is a part of me that feels guilty about wanting a future. That feels that I'm betraying him in some way, even though I know that he'd want me to be happy. It's almost as if by choosing happiness, choosing life, that I am choosing to say goodbye. Fuck. That threw me. I wrote that... let the words fall... and realized... I don't want to. I desperately want happiness and love and life and laughter... but I don't want to accept that he's not going to be a part of that. I don't want to acknowledge that he's never coming back. I know it logically. I just don't seem to know it emotionally.

Happy Birthday Glen

phyllis — Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000

Today would have been Glen’s 54th birthday. We started dating just before his 17th birthday and were together until his death at age 51. During the time we were together, we experienced: Two state band competitions, winning a major concert competition, our engagement, two high school graduations, his older brother’s wedding, our wedding and honeymoon in Nashville, one week later his sister’s wedding, building our house trailer, both of us in college, Medical school graduation for his sister and her husband, painting 5 cars, rebuilding the engine on 2, college graduation for both of us and his younger brother, many Groover family vacations – canoe trips, hiking trips, Florida vacations, and the Natchez Trace, his younger brother’s wedding, finishing up building his younger brother’s house, building our house, lots of family camping and boating trips, helping both sets of parents with Many projects, helping his younger brother move 3 times in a year, helping his older brother move, finishing a room in our basement and building a tool shed, building a major addition at his younger brothers, building a BIG garage at our house, building a shed at his older brother’s house, helping his sister with some renovations at the lake house, doing a major fix up on our niece’s first house – while she and her sister are recovering from a car wreck, moving his oldest brother again. All of this plus the birth of 9 nieces, 3 nephews, the weddings of 3 nieces, the birth of two great nephews and two great nieces, death of 6 grandparents, the still born birth of our first child, birth of Richard, then Julie, 4 surgeries for me, one for him, 2 broken bones for me, surgery for both children, numerous asthma attacks for him and the kids, who knows how many stomach bugs, allergy attacks, colds and flu bouts; then came t-ball for both kids, soccer for Richard, Dance for Julie, Girl Scouts, Cub Scouts, Boy Scouts, and who knows how many scout campouts, plus Lego robotics, rocketry, many band trips, band concerts, parades, football games – middle and high school, 11 dance recitals, dance competitions, and school dances. Celebrations of a high school graduation for our son, college graduation for nieces and nephews, and our nieces Medical School Graduation. We managed to squeeze in several visits to family a year, plus many family vacations – Florida, Disney, Water parks, New Orleans, Williamsburg, BSA National Jamboree, Washington DC, New York City, The FLA Keys, Yellowstone-Mt Rushmore-Mall of America-St. Louis, Pikes Peak-Sand Dunes NP-Philmont-Santa Fe-4 corners-Arches NP-Grand Canyon, the Outback Bowl, Tampa, Houston Space Center and Galveston Beach – while he was undergoing cancer treatment. All of this plus river trips most summer weekends. Many job changes, including 7 months of working out of town, stressful times of job uncertainty. Then came the dreaded cancer that he fought so vigilantly for 6 months, but could not win. It is very hard to sum up 34 years of wonderful memories to one page it is even harder to think of the things that have happened since he died –I had to buy another house and move due to things his Dad did, our son went off to college, both of our Dad’s died, I have had to move my Mom into assisted living and get my parents house ready to sale, our daughter has gone to homecomings and proms, has a boyfriend, our son has been inducted into the National Engineering Honor Society, our daughter is about to dance in her 15th recital, then graduate high school, she will be heading to NYC for a Rockette camp, and come August she will be going off to college. Even though Glen is not here with me physically, I still have all of the wonderful memories from our years together and our two wonderful children. I plan to make many more wonderful memories in my life and Glen will always be a part of them – because he is a part of me and the children. I have met someone and yes, I am making new memories. Thankfully, he accepts that Glen will always be a part of my life and encourages me to share memories with him. He keeps telling me to be happy for the time Glen and I had together and the wonderful kids we produced.