Craig's tombstone is finally in place.
Technically it is a monument, out of rock. I suppose this makes it fitting since Craig's name originates from 'crag', which actually means 'rock'. I always used to tell him that he was my rock, my Craig.
Only this rock is not my Craig.
It is not the one I would have chosen for him.
And it breaks my heart.
He does not belong inscribed on some piece of marble, his photograph and two sets of dates all that is left to tell the world who he is.
If I could, I would have created one for the two of us, not just for him and his parents, so that he and I could be together for eternity just as he promised. I would have used it to tell the world who he really was.
"Here lies Craig Garvin, my beloved, the lover of my soul.
He was taken from us far too soon but even if we had grown old together, as promised, I would still have begged the heavens for just one more day.
He was loved by many, his smile lit up every room he entered, and he meant the world to those that mattered.
Forever and always, my love, I am your beloved and you are mine.
The spaces between my fingers are right where yours fit perfectly."
I hate the finality of this piece of rock.
I hate that there is a marker locked away in a cemetary for him.
It just isn't right.
None of this is.
Craig, my love, where did you go?
Come back to me.
Come back.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
The Glass Wall
So I was chatting away with (okay, kind of babbling to) our pastor this morning and we were talking about how isolating it can be going through something this difficult in your life (grief, loss, illness, etc).
As a general rule, humans avoid pain at all costs. And often times, the people closest to you will avoid you because of it (FYI you can't catch widow).
He asked me if I've felt isolated because of it. Separate from other people in my life.
And then this image pops into my head.
It's like being one one side of a glass wall and everyone else you know is on the other side. And the glass is half-frosted and smudgy and you can't quite see through it. It's all hazy on your side and you can just see the shapes of the people on the other side, their outlines, that they are milling about in a large crowd.
And you are shouting as loudly as you can for them to look at you, to see you, to understand you. You are trying to make them notice you and hear what you are saying, to understand what it is you are going through and how profound and life changing it is. You can't help but wonder to yourself, why can't they hear me? Why aren't they looking up? I have had this enormous thing happend in my life, that is all-consuming, and now see the entire world in a whole new light. How can they not as well?
But the glass is soundproof.
And difficult to see through.
And they haven't even noticed you shouting, all this time.
So they don't even look up.
And then you realize, there is no way to make them understand. No matter how eloquent your words, how clever your analogies, how carefully you explain it... they simply cannot cross over to your side and understand until they have experienced this kind of pain and loss firsthand.
It is very lonely on the other side of that wall.
It's just you, alone in your thoughts. Your life is changed forever and you want desperately to bring everyone with you but it is a journey you must make alone.
And then out of the nowhere, someone else pops onto your side of the glass. Sometimes for just a few minutes, sometimes someone you don't even know. But they are there. And for just that little blessed while, they get it. They understand the hurt. They are hurting too.
I have been very fortunate to have a few people on my side of the wall. A friend from 8 years ago who lost his son and mother, who understood what hurt really is. He was only here for a couple months, but having someone who finally got it made all the difference in the world.
And today my pastor, going through his own heartache, truly understood and stood on my side of the glass with me.
I hate that they have to hurt so much to understand.
But I am just so grateful to have that person there with me, even if it's only for a short while.
As a general rule, humans avoid pain at all costs. And often times, the people closest to you will avoid you because of it (FYI you can't catch widow).
He asked me if I've felt isolated because of it. Separate from other people in my life.
And then this image pops into my head.
It's like being one one side of a glass wall and everyone else you know is on the other side. And the glass is half-frosted and smudgy and you can't quite see through it. It's all hazy on your side and you can just see the shapes of the people on the other side, their outlines, that they are milling about in a large crowd.
And you are shouting as loudly as you can for them to look at you, to see you, to understand you. You are trying to make them notice you and hear what you are saying, to understand what it is you are going through and how profound and life changing it is. You can't help but wonder to yourself, why can't they hear me? Why aren't they looking up? I have had this enormous thing happend in my life, that is all-consuming, and now see the entire world in a whole new light. How can they not as well?
But the glass is soundproof.
And difficult to see through.
And they haven't even noticed you shouting, all this time.
So they don't even look up.
And then you realize, there is no way to make them understand. No matter how eloquent your words, how clever your analogies, how carefully you explain it... they simply cannot cross over to your side and understand until they have experienced this kind of pain and loss firsthand.
It is very lonely on the other side of that wall.
It's just you, alone in your thoughts. Your life is changed forever and you want desperately to bring everyone with you but it is a journey you must make alone.
And then out of the nowhere, someone else pops onto your side of the glass. Sometimes for just a few minutes, sometimes someone you don't even know. But they are there. And for just that little blessed while, they get it. They understand the hurt. They are hurting too.
I have been very fortunate to have a few people on my side of the wall. A friend from 8 years ago who lost his son and mother, who understood what hurt really is. He was only here for a couple months, but having someone who finally got it made all the difference in the world.
And today my pastor, going through his own heartache, truly understood and stood on my side of the glass with me.
I hate that they have to hurt so much to understand.
But I am just so grateful to have that person there with me, even if it's only for a short while.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
The World of Dreams
It's 3:00 a.m. and I can't sleep.
Why?
Something Craig did once, some repressed memory, just popped into my head in the middle of a dream and woke me up. You know those incredibly lucid dreams where you actually acknowledge that it's just a dream while you are still in it? One of those.
Reminds me of that movie, Inception (not a good one for the newly widowed by the way). If you haven't seen it, I'm totally giving away the ending here so avert your eyes if you don't want to know.
Basically they have a way of creating a world that someone else can dream in so they can talk to that person (or essentially their subconscious) to find out all kinds of things. I am probably butchering this a little but the main character is so distraught over the death of his wife that his subconscious keeps pulling her into every dream world he enters, trying to find a way to be with her as long as possible. Only it's not really her, just a manifestation of his memories and feelings about her.
Needless to say, the concept is one I can relate to. Who wouldn't want to find a way to bring their loved one back to life, even if it was just the shadow of them?
Yes, I was that loud and annoying movie-goer who sobbed through this entire movie in the theatre.
I'm sure I've mentioned this before but I have been unable to really dream about Craig since the accident. I hear from other widows all the time that they have amazing dreams about their spouses, sometimes every night. That they see them, touch them, talk to them every night when they sleep. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hit with a little stab of jealousy every time I hear this. I've only had 2 dreams with Craig in them and they were quite early on and not particularly comforting.
In one he came back to me as a corpse after I had frantically been looking for him and he wouldn't react or move or even speak to me except to tell me that he really was dead. All the while I frantically tried to get the attention of the police officers to show them they were wrong. I kept shouting, 'Look! He's really here! He really is alive! I told you that you had the wrong body.'
In another, I saw him at the scene of the accident and he was battered and bloodied and reaching for me and all I could do was scream and try to get the blood and broken glass off my arms.
Yes, I have issues.
Clearly.
Anyway, even in the dream that woke me up tonight I did not see Craig. Merely remembered something from years and years ago. My subconscious clearly at work, trying to piece something together.
Even in our dreams we are haunted, I guess.
Why?
Something Craig did once, some repressed memory, just popped into my head in the middle of a dream and woke me up. You know those incredibly lucid dreams where you actually acknowledge that it's just a dream while you are still in it? One of those.
Reminds me of that movie, Inception (not a good one for the newly widowed by the way). If you haven't seen it, I'm totally giving away the ending here so avert your eyes if you don't want to know.
Basically they have a way of creating a world that someone else can dream in so they can talk to that person (or essentially their subconscious) to find out all kinds of things. I am probably butchering this a little but the main character is so distraught over the death of his wife that his subconscious keeps pulling her into every dream world he enters, trying to find a way to be with her as long as possible. Only it's not really her, just a manifestation of his memories and feelings about her.
Needless to say, the concept is one I can relate to. Who wouldn't want to find a way to bring their loved one back to life, even if it was just the shadow of them?
Yes, I was that loud and annoying movie-goer who sobbed through this entire movie in the theatre.
I'm sure I've mentioned this before but I have been unable to really dream about Craig since the accident. I hear from other widows all the time that they have amazing dreams about their spouses, sometimes every night. That they see them, touch them, talk to them every night when they sleep. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hit with a little stab of jealousy every time I hear this. I've only had 2 dreams with Craig in them and they were quite early on and not particularly comforting.
In one he came back to me as a corpse after I had frantically been looking for him and he wouldn't react or move or even speak to me except to tell me that he really was dead. All the while I frantically tried to get the attention of the police officers to show them they were wrong. I kept shouting, 'Look! He's really here! He really is alive! I told you that you had the wrong body.'
In another, I saw him at the scene of the accident and he was battered and bloodied and reaching for me and all I could do was scream and try to get the blood and broken glass off my arms.
Yes, I have issues.
Clearly.
Anyway, even in the dream that woke me up tonight I did not see Craig. Merely remembered something from years and years ago. My subconscious clearly at work, trying to piece something together.
Even in our dreams we are haunted, I guess.
Monday, September 27, 2010
26 Candles
For those of you close to me you know how much I had been dreading my birthday. I didn't want to 'celebrate', I didn't want any reminders, I didn't want to mark the day at all. I wished nothing more than to pretend it did not exist or have it disappear at once into the past.
The very mention of it was enough to choke me up.
Let me explain why.
For the first time in my life, I am now as old as Craig. By this time next year, I will officially be older than him. The year after that I will be older still. And so on and so forth.
For this reason my birthday grieves me more than his did, more than our anniversary did, more than any other occaision.
I dread aging. Not for the reasons other people do (although I will cling to my youth as long as humanly possible like the rest of us) but because it is a sharp and painful reminder: My life will continue on and Craig's will not.
I will age and grow older without him, while he remains forever frozen in time - the 26 year old husband and lover of my youth.
Time marches forward unforgivingly. My future will barrel onwards, neither slowing nor stopping to align with the abrupt halting of his.
It is a painful and suffocating loss.
I cannot hold onto him forever. I cannot bring him with me. There will only ever be a greater and greater distance between us.
So for those of you who wondered at the strangeness of my requests or disinterest in doing much of anything, this is why. I apologize to the people I didn't see and for my lack of enthusiasm. I greatly appreciate all the cards, gifts, and well wishes. I really do.
Just know that this is why it was a painful day for me.
The very mention of it was enough to choke me up.
Let me explain why.
For the first time in my life, I am now as old as Craig. By this time next year, I will officially be older than him. The year after that I will be older still. And so on and so forth.
For this reason my birthday grieves me more than his did, more than our anniversary did, more than any other occaision.
I dread aging. Not for the reasons other people do (although I will cling to my youth as long as humanly possible like the rest of us) but because it is a sharp and painful reminder: My life will continue on and Craig's will not.
I will age and grow older without him, while he remains forever frozen in time - the 26 year old husband and lover of my youth.
Time marches forward unforgivingly. My future will barrel onwards, neither slowing nor stopping to align with the abrupt halting of his.
It is a painful and suffocating loss.
I cannot hold onto him forever. I cannot bring him with me. There will only ever be a greater and greater distance between us.
So for those of you who wondered at the strangeness of my requests or disinterest in doing much of anything, this is why. I apologize to the people I didn't see and for my lack of enthusiasm. I greatly appreciate all the cards, gifts, and well wishes. I really do.
Just know that this is why it was a painful day for me.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
The Front Line
Upon widowhood, the people in your life immediately split into three factions.
The first, the DGI (Don't Get It) Masses. They seem to be the most prevalent but this is likely just a trick of the mind - they seem to crowd around you the most simply because they are so damn memorable. They often are too busy thinking of themselves or how they feel to bother being concerned with what comes out of their mouths. They pop up all over the place - at the grocery store, at work, at home, even at the bloody funeral.
*Said in a spooky whisper* I see DGI's. They are everywhere. And they don't even know they are dumb.
I won't get into all the entertainingly ignorant things said to me over the last six months - they are too many to count and most deserve their very own post. So lets move on.
The second faction, which is actually larger (instead of just seeming so) are the Indifferent Masses. These are the crowds of acquaintances, friends, neighbours, family, coworkers, and random strangers who are so moved to discomfort at the idea of death (particularly their own) that they avoid you at all costs.
These are the ones who have not bothered to call, email, or stop by even once in the last six months. 'It's not my place' they tell themselves. 'I don't know what to say' they insist. Many of them I have even begged to help me, suggesting words or actions that would bring comfort, but they have refused with their silence. In truth, they are merely scared and choose their distant comfort over the possibility of a few awkward moments. Or perhaps they have just forgotten that car accidents are not contagious.
They are perhaps the most hurtful because their distance shouts that they care so very little for me and what I am going through.
The third group is one that does not get nearly enough recognition. They are brave, they are uncomfortable, they are willing to risk a few tears and an ever-running nose. This tiny handful of friends, that my counsellor refers to as 'the front line', have been there every day. They are the ones who call even if they have nothing to say. The ones who stop by just to make sure I'm not shutting myself up and hiding from the world. The ones who give up their time and peace of mind to be sad with me when I am incapable of anything else or to cheer me up when I need it.
They run errands, take care of paperwork, drag me out of the house, make me laugh, let me act strangely, forgive my widda brain, and never once make me feel like I am anything but their Emily, loved just as much as I ever was. They do not judge my actions but merely support me in what makes me happy, knowing just how fragile that happiness is. They cannot possibly understand but do everything they can to try to. They see me at my worst and are genuinely happy in the moments when I am at my best, because they are the few who can truly recognize the difference.
I wish there was some way to recognize them or pay them back in full. In a world where indifference reigns supreme and people so easily slide in and out of your life, they are treasured gifts. And I am so grateful for each and every one of them.
So today I just wanted to say, hugs and love to all the 'front line' out there.
May you be blessed beyond measure.
The first, the DGI (Don't Get It) Masses. They seem to be the most prevalent but this is likely just a trick of the mind - they seem to crowd around you the most simply because they are so damn memorable. They often are too busy thinking of themselves or how they feel to bother being concerned with what comes out of their mouths. They pop up all over the place - at the grocery store, at work, at home, even at the bloody funeral.
*Said in a spooky whisper* I see DGI's. They are everywhere. And they don't even know they are dumb.
I won't get into all the entertainingly ignorant things said to me over the last six months - they are too many to count and most deserve their very own post. So lets move on.
The second faction, which is actually larger (instead of just seeming so) are the Indifferent Masses. These are the crowds of acquaintances, friends, neighbours, family, coworkers, and random strangers who are so moved to discomfort at the idea of death (particularly their own) that they avoid you at all costs.
These are the ones who have not bothered to call, email, or stop by even once in the last six months. 'It's not my place' they tell themselves. 'I don't know what to say' they insist. Many of them I have even begged to help me, suggesting words or actions that would bring comfort, but they have refused with their silence. In truth, they are merely scared and choose their distant comfort over the possibility of a few awkward moments. Or perhaps they have just forgotten that car accidents are not contagious.
They are perhaps the most hurtful because their distance shouts that they care so very little for me and what I am going through.
The third group is one that does not get nearly enough recognition. They are brave, they are uncomfortable, they are willing to risk a few tears and an ever-running nose. This tiny handful of friends, that my counsellor refers to as 'the front line', have been there every day. They are the ones who call even if they have nothing to say. The ones who stop by just to make sure I'm not shutting myself up and hiding from the world. The ones who give up their time and peace of mind to be sad with me when I am incapable of anything else or to cheer me up when I need it.
They run errands, take care of paperwork, drag me out of the house, make me laugh, let me act strangely, forgive my widda brain, and never once make me feel like I am anything but their Emily, loved just as much as I ever was. They do not judge my actions but merely support me in what makes me happy, knowing just how fragile that happiness is. They cannot possibly understand but do everything they can to try to. They see me at my worst and are genuinely happy in the moments when I am at my best, because they are the few who can truly recognize the difference.
I wish there was some way to recognize them or pay them back in full. In a world where indifference reigns supreme and people so easily slide in and out of your life, they are treasured gifts. And I am so grateful for each and every one of them.
So today I just wanted to say, hugs and love to all the 'front line' out there.
May you be blessed beyond measure.
Monday, September 20, 2010
The La-Z-Boy
Last Christmas Craig bought himself this gorgeous leather La-Z-Boy recliner. He loved it and wouldn't let anyone else sit in it (if he caught me sneaking in there, he'd give me a hard time for wrecking his butt groove).
He only had it a couple months before he died so it's pretty much brand new, mint condition. I've been planning to sell it for some time since I never use it and it just takes up space in my already cramped living room.
A friend of mine came over to help me move it into a spare room to store it for now along with some other boxes.
Fine, no big deal.
I don't know what the hell happened. As soon as we re-adjusted the couches in the living room it was like the chair had never been there. I don't know why, but I burst into tears. All out sobbing, sniffling, you name it.
Eff.
Just when I thought I was doing ok, not crying every day, making it on my own... something stupid like a chair derails me.
He only had it a couple months before he died so it's pretty much brand new, mint condition. I've been planning to sell it for some time since I never use it and it just takes up space in my already cramped living room.
A friend of mine came over to help me move it into a spare room to store it for now along with some other boxes.
Fine, no big deal.
I don't know what the hell happened. As soon as we re-adjusted the couches in the living room it was like the chair had never been there. I don't know why, but I burst into tears. All out sobbing, sniffling, you name it.
Eff.
Just when I thought I was doing ok, not crying every day, making it on my own... something stupid like a chair derails me.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Stupid House
I want to sell this house. Badly.
Much as I love our little home, I'm tired of the constant reminder while I'm here and I really don't want to endure another winter driving up and down that road Craig died on. I barely survived last winter, don't know if I'd make it through another one.
Problem is, I have no money to buy a new house.
And, currently, no job.
I could rent, but I so hate 'living in transition'. As in, hey, this is not really my house and never will be, but lets pretend for the time being.
Craig and I did this for a couple years with our crappy apartment (500 square feet of less-than-fun accommodations) and lets just say we practically danced down the steps when we finally moved out of there.
Oh, and that reminds me, did I mention how much I can't stand moving? Too much work. All the boxes and the dust and the newspaper and bubble wrap and the lifting and breaking your back and the trying to find which accursed box your toothbrush is in... ugh. No thanks. Why haven't they invented the teleport yet? It would totally be worth it for moving alone.
For now, the goal is just to get out of here. I would like to have a nice home, a real home. Completely new, totally fresh, without any memories attached.
Time to start buying those lottery tickets, I guess.
Much as I love our little home, I'm tired of the constant reminder while I'm here and I really don't want to endure another winter driving up and down that road Craig died on. I barely survived last winter, don't know if I'd make it through another one.
Problem is, I have no money to buy a new house.
And, currently, no job.
I could rent, but I so hate 'living in transition'. As in, hey, this is not really my house and never will be, but lets pretend for the time being.
Craig and I did this for a couple years with our crappy apartment (500 square feet of less-than-fun accommodations) and lets just say we practically danced down the steps when we finally moved out of there.
Oh, and that reminds me, did I mention how much I can't stand moving? Too much work. All the boxes and the dust and the newspaper and bubble wrap and the lifting and breaking your back and the trying to find which accursed box your toothbrush is in... ugh. No thanks. Why haven't they invented the teleport yet? It would totally be worth it for moving alone.
For now, the goal is just to get out of here. I would like to have a nice home, a real home. Completely new, totally fresh, without any memories attached.
Time to start buying those lottery tickets, I guess.
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