Another year has breezed by with such limpid zest and disinterest that I know not how to distinguish one day from the next. I've tried to delve into projects or past motivations that seem to have no impact on my search for distraction. Even words are becoming harder and harder to come by. My thoughts seem to flow ever so mysteriously to worlds that no longer exist - times gone by and people who are no longer living. Now all those desires I worked so hard at squeezing from this life are superimposed on the lives of the people who are gone before me. It's become a constant game of wondering what those people were able to get out of life before their deaths. I think about the plane crash that took the life of my cousin, Jack, when he was 24, and how it affected my aunt and uncles' lives. How did they react? How did my father react when the news of his daughter's death came over the phone one night when I was only 6 years old? I never knew he had been married before, nor that he had other children. There are times when I wish I had of been more exposed to these things so I would know I'm not alone in my sorrow and grief. I still miss Eric so much.

I was able to keep focus on my plans for a trip with several of my girlfriends to Mexico for Dia de Los Muertos this year. It was a great time and I'm so thankful that I was able to share it with friends. We built a beautiful altar and all were reminded of the losses we suffer as human beings - inescapable human truths we believe we cannot bare, but do and go on sometimes very alone.

This last weekend, my oldest son, who is a mere 31 years of age, told me I was getting gray. "Yes," I said, and didn't think much of it at the time. I don't have much - more growing in around the temples, and a patch just above my forehead on the left side, almost like a streak, but I know more is coming. I've never worried about my age or wished I was younger. The past three years however, have aged me quite a bit - in ways I would have never guessed. I hurt all over. My hands, feet and shoulders being the worst. Sometimes I feel like my arms are not quite connected to my body. My face definitely looks older, ravaged by sadness and grief. But, all in all, I know growing old was inevitable and, quite frankly, it doesn't bother me. There hasn't been a time in my life when I felt this comfortable in my own skin, and yet I wonder if it's because I don't really care much about anything anymore. Maybe it's just a symptom of my apathy at life in general. I do know the only things keeping me going are my husband and son. Without them, I would not be here today.

The Joy of Cooking

I've never been a mayonnaise fan. When I was in elementary school the trauma is still raw when I remember opening my lunch box, carefully unwrapping the bologna sandwich and discovering there was mayo on it. It didn't happen often, but when it did, I was devastated. I guess when you have five children to make lunches for everyday school day, sometimes the order wasn't quite right. There are things now I will eat with mayo, but it has to be mixed in. For  instance, tuna (but not on the bread), egg salad, macaroni salad (only my Mom's recipe), potato salad, and a little dip of mayo on each of my artichoke petals. But now, the game has changed a bit. Little did I know how easy it is to make homemade mayo and how absolutely delicious it is. The recipe in the Joy of Cooking will have you saying, "bye bye to Best Foods." My Mom's macaroni salad just hit a new level. I just hope I don't eat it all before our get together tonight here at the house. Yum.

I haven't done much pottery since I finished my Mom's cremation urn. Unconsciously, I may have processed the finished product as an end and then didn't notice any creativity creeping back in. Her urn is beautiful and I know she would have approved. I believe she was with me in spirit while my hands imagined it into reality. In the past couple of weeks, I have been doing a little more and today I stacked a couple of totems in the yard and took pics.  They add a
little color and cheer. I can't use the word "whimsical" as it reminds me so much of the many times Jay and Eric and I watched some home decor or garden show on TV and continuously laughed our heads off as it seemed every other word used by the hosts was "whimsical." It was a constant in our vocabularies after that making fun of all sorts of news articles, people and work situations. We always had fun that way. Due to the overuse of some other words like, "shameful" and "stupid," I still can laugh out loud without a care as to who can hear me! Jay and Eric's voices are constant companions to me.

 I love walking at Riverview Park - so does Meggie, note the flapping tongue. Each season finds the trees, sky and general appearance of the landscape displaying the most beautiful of it's attributes as if in a competition. I'm not sure I could say I favor one season over the other. Each is so uniquely lovely.

Yesterday, I was able to snag a wooden pallet I had been eyeing for sometime now. With it loaded into the Suburban, I felt a bit triumphant considering it involves a project I haven't discussed with my hubby as of yet. I keep hinting that I want chickens but his eye rolling has been a barrier to the forward movement of the project - until yesterday! I was able to get a box pallet which is basically a pallet crate. It's measures 4x4 and if I turn it over, will serve as the base for the hen house. My old greenhouse will serve as the skeleton for the hen yard. The only obstacle for me is getting all the materials together in one place so I can put it together. That's where the hubby comes in, so I have to keep working on selling the idea.

I tried so hard to settle myself down before my head hit the pillow last night. Once I actually got into bed, I really believed I would be able to nod off right away, but alas, that didn't happen. Last time I caught a glimpse of the clock, I had been "settling" for an hour. Better than usual, but still not optimal. I was a bit more refreshed this morning, leaving the comfort of a quiet room and soft bed at about 7am. I sat and watched the birds while I sipped my tea and then took Meggie out to Riverview Park for a nice walk. With camera in tow, I was able to click away and enjoy a beautiful Spring day in Carson City. Meggie was so happy. I have lots to do today to get ready for Eric's birthday gathering on Sunday. It's a great time to reconnect with the friends Eric loved so well and who loved him in return. It's amazing how their lives have developed and how they have grown into those lives they have been building for themselves. I just wish Eric had of been able to continue on the journey with them.

It's almost beyond my ability to comprehend the fact that I have not posted anything to this blog for the past two years. Has it really been that long? But then when I think about it, what have I actually been doing? I should know the answer, but I still don't recognize the changes in my life as truly being permanent. I can compare this time in my life to the process of molting like a bird - but most of the old feathers are clinging on, hiding the new ones trying to grow through. Even when the new feathers do grow, pushing out the old, the bird still resembles what it was before it lost it's feathers. Nothing in my life feels familiar and the restlessness I carried around with me for so long is gone. In the past, reinventing myself was a way for me to cope with my restlessness, but it seems I have totally forgotten how to do that. Of course, restlessness is easier to manage than sadness and grief which still cling to so much of what defines me. It has seeped into every pore in my body and my body reminds me of it constantly. I feel old.

Just one victory a day would be helpful. No matter how small or large, being able to have some satisfaction might be what my body needs to help me feel alive again. The physical pain stops me in my tracks and discovering a way to diminish it's affects would be most welcome at this point. The sleep deprivation I've experienced is contributing to the physical deterioration. I'm sleepy in the evenings but as soon as my head hits the pillow, my mind won't stop. I toss and turn trying to get comfortable and end up a frustrated, tired mess. My best sleep is in the morning when I used to be up and around, ready for the day. It's a sleep shift I don't want to succumb to. It might just be time to take back my schedule and force myself to get up as early as I used to, take the dog for a walk, and try to start my day on a fresh note.

So, day one tomorrow....

It's been so very difficult for me to even think about writing. I keep thinking I should be figuring out how to bring him back, trying to figure out exactly what to do that will prevent this from becoming a reality. I still keep feeling there is something out there I can do to turn back the hands of time and that I must find it.   The idea that this is reality has not crept into my vocabulary yet. I've not yet let go of the idea I will wake up from this nightmare. Each day that goes by blurs into yesterday - tomorrow is the same as today and today is just as painful as yesterday. I can hardly believe it's been almost a year of Eric's absence because I'm still expecting him to walk in the back door.

Each day that goes by isn't immune to the longing for the same day last year. "When Eric was still alive," I've kept saying to myself as each day presents itself and I remember what we were doing last year at this time - when Eric was still alive. I dread the day when I can no longer say to myself, "last year at this time."And the day is looming as my anxiety grows.

The Loss Continues - Unrelentless

We lost so much, but nothing compared to what Eric lost. I can't even begin to try to imagine what he lost - I can't go there for fear I may not resurface from it. Unfortunately, we're the ones left behind to realize the loss and try to live through it. Knowing how much he loved life and how much we enjoyed reveling in the way he demonstrated that love, sometimes feels unbearable. I feel I'm being robbed. Everyday when I wake up and realize my life has changed so profoundly, inexorably, and miserably, and all I have is to anticipate the measly paycheck from a job that's slowly robbing me of the memories, feelings and grief I so much want to work through. The distraction of avoidance and having to deal with the ridiculousness of the day to day activities of the workplace - a place where there is no humanity, empathy or understanding.  Where are their redeeming qualities. I even hate the very people that Eric loved, the friends that wore him like their emblem and then let him fend for himself when he needed them most, the people Eric would have defended even if he didn't know them. He was always defending the behaviors of others, never had a bad word toward anyone. Never gossiped. Now the distrust I wish he had of had even an inkling of, pervades me. And the numbness - continually creeping in and out so that my lowest lows mimic the bare nerve laid out, waiting for the irritant to remind it of the pain that tells it it's still alive and suffering.

Oh Eric, why?

When it began

When I started this blog I had every intention to chronicle the life I intended to create in the next few years as a gate that I could walk through to the next passage of my life. I thought I had more or less figured out what I wanted to do, what I wanted to concentrate on and what would give me satisfaction now that my children were grown and walking the paths they were creating for themselves. I felt I had the opportunity to redefine my happiness and take it to a new level for not only myself, but my husband as well. How fulfilling to begin to realize the life we would be living in our later years. With all that has happened and the time that has slipped by, I feel I have been living someone else's life - a life that was not supposed to be mine. Although it has been nine months since Eric's death, I feel it was just yesterday. The grief is still raw and I'm drowning in a sea full of his absence. I try so hard to normalize my life and the relations I have with others, but the facade is beginning to wear on me and sometimes my anger at how normal everyone else's life seems, makes my sensitivities to the things people say quite overwhelming. My role has changed and I want so much to get to the place where I can take all of the love I have for Eric and do something constructive and meaningful with it instead of just trying to get through each day. The depth of Eric's humanity, joy and lust for life is what I so desire to try and verbalize because at times those qualities have eluded me.  To write down those precious memories in black and white would, I believe, help me deal with his death and give something to those who knew him and loved him. Those he didn't touch will have no idea. Those who did bask the light of his life will know exactly what I'm talking about. What little this would be to give back to one who gave me so very, very much love, laughter and meaning.

More now than every I feel the need to concentrate on what will put me back on that path of redefinition, get me over this hill so the tears of grief will be fewer and fewer. The sorrow replaced by the memories of joy over the 24 years that he graced our lives, giving us so many memories, those memories I wish to share of my little family that have given me a reason to live for the past 31 years. It will be my way of keeping Eric alive and chipping away at the immenseness of his absence. I'm sure this is the medicine, therapy, and a type of spirituality I will need to give me back some meaning in my life.

Day One Hundred Seventy Eight

I must say it's been a rather challenging 9 days - so sick and without the distractions of my normal routine, the mind resting on memories and longing for days of the past. There were so many times when my mind would just flood with thoughts longing to be written down. There have also been a few days of numbness, not able to verbalize or recognize any feelings whatsoever. I can't wait for the day when I can remember what I live for.

Day One Hundred Seventy-Seven

The food was eaten. The relatives went home. The cards were written, the words were said. The flowers died and now the ashes are on the mantle. The well meaning friends don't come by, the good friends don't call. We are now alone in our grief. The solitude is incredible. The sorrow unbearable. Are we really expected to go on as if the passing of time will dilute the absence of our youngest son and brother? I've heard the words way too often, "If there's anything I can do please give me a call." I hardly have the energy and desire to get out of bed in the morning, let alone intrude on another's peaceful existence. For a person who's been used to fierce independence, am I really supposed to now pick up the phone and ask for someone to just acknowledge our loss? Who's the strong now?. I don't understand people and I don't understand why my son had to die - this just wasn't supposed to happen and nothing in my life has prepared me for it. I am bitter. I am confused. I don't know what is real and what is an illusion. I don't know what happens after we die, despite the fact that I want to believe our essence lives on. Does my belief in something change the reality? All I know is there is a hole in my life that will never be filled.

Day One Hundred Seventy-Six

I find myself watching TV or a video and wondering when it was made - what year? I can imagine the camera panning out, way out, out until I see exactly what Eric was doing when that TV program or video was made. I take comfort in the fact that while I'm watching, I know that Eric was out there, alive, doing something, anything, but not gone. Eric's goneness - I'm having a hard time with that - an incredibly hard time.