A week or so ago I decided to sit down with the boys and see what they thought about, perhaps, their mother dating. I wanted to have the conversation and get their thoughts prior to doing anything about it. It's not that I was 100% ready at the time, and I'm not sure I'm 100% ready now- but then is anyone ever 100% ready? When I met Steve I would say I was about 85% ready and we ended up talking marriage on the second date.
When I spoke with the boys I just asked simply, "What are your thoughts about me going on a date?"
I wish I could clearly convey the looks on their faces. Parker looked very thoughtful. Klarke looked calm and Grant....well he looked ticked off.
Parker spoke first and said, "If it will make you happy Mom, then I think you should do it. I support you." This warmed my heart.
Klarke chimed in, "Yep! We could have someone to watch football games with again." This made me feel two things: sadness for the boy who is missing his dad so much, and nervous that he would expect that right away from any sort of dating situation.
Grant simply said, "No way! You can't. I don't want anyone but Dad in our house." This was expected. Steve was his best friend.
I just let them all know that nothing was in the works. My first priority is to my boys- always. They come first. This doesn't mean that I won't go, should the opportunity arise, but it does mean that I will be very, very careful about who meets the boys and when.
I guess what I'm saying with all of this is that the thought of moving forward is appealing to me. I've stagnated for too long. My heart aches and the desire to find a friend is there. Anything more than that right now seems to overwhelming, but I would like a friend to at least laugh with. No pressure.
That's where we are tonight. Much love, Kami
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Monday, September 22, 2014
Learning to Live Again....
When I was in Utah this summer I ran into a wonderful woman who began the walk I'm currently walking nearly a year before I did. She said something that really struck me. She said that music spoke more to her now than it had ever before. I couldn't agree more.
Just after Coach had passed away, I was brought to my knees with the gut wrenching grief of missing him. I just wanted to know that he missed me, still loved me, still thought of me. As I was kneeling upon my tile floor Jon Legend's song "All of Me" came on. If you've never heard it before, it details the love between Jon and his wife and the love they have for each other; all their idiosyncrasies, joys and all that goes into the middle of a love that deep that it inspires music to be written.
It was an answer to prayers.
Lately the music has been quiet. Songs come and go on the radio. I hear music in church and it doesn't reach me. I feel as though I may be dying inside. The numbness has worn off and I typically feel everything so raw- not lately though. I'm not sure why.
I am lonely.
I'm sure this will pass as well. I hope this will pass as well.
There is such joy, safety, happiness, peace in sharing your life and being half of a whole.
This feeling won't last forever. I know that it won't, and I can recognize that it is real in this moment.
I opened my arms wide open, chose life, and now I get to live with that choice. I took his ring off from around my neck- it was choking me, not literally. I've worn it since it was handed to me by the medical examiner in the emergency room. It was the first symbol that meant he wasn't coming home ever again and the weight of it all was making it increasingly harder to stand, to choose life, to live. I tried taking my wedding ring off, because now when I fill out forms it requires that I check the 'widow' or 'single' box, because I can no longer claim that I am married in this life, though I know I am in the life to come.
I put the ring back on. It is a symbol of a promise that I have made and will continue to keep. It is a strength to me, and so I waiver between needing the strength from a small symbol of eternity, and wanting so desperately to be strong enough to stand without it.
In the words of Garth Brooks from his song "Learning to Live Again" - "This learning to live again, is killing me." Again, not literally, but man this process is slow, arduous, painful, and with small moments of joy. Thank you for coming along on this journey with me.
All my love,
Kami
Just after Coach had passed away, I was brought to my knees with the gut wrenching grief of missing him. I just wanted to know that he missed me, still loved me, still thought of me. As I was kneeling upon my tile floor Jon Legend's song "All of Me" came on. If you've never heard it before, it details the love between Jon and his wife and the love they have for each other; all their idiosyncrasies, joys and all that goes into the middle of a love that deep that it inspires music to be written.
It was an answer to prayers.
Lately the music has been quiet. Songs come and go on the radio. I hear music in church and it doesn't reach me. I feel as though I may be dying inside. The numbness has worn off and I typically feel everything so raw- not lately though. I'm not sure why.
I am lonely.
I'm sure this will pass as well. I hope this will pass as well.
There is such joy, safety, happiness, peace in sharing your life and being half of a whole.
This feeling won't last forever. I know that it won't, and I can recognize that it is real in this moment.
I opened my arms wide open, chose life, and now I get to live with that choice. I took his ring off from around my neck- it was choking me, not literally. I've worn it since it was handed to me by the medical examiner in the emergency room. It was the first symbol that meant he wasn't coming home ever again and the weight of it all was making it increasingly harder to stand, to choose life, to live. I tried taking my wedding ring off, because now when I fill out forms it requires that I check the 'widow' or 'single' box, because I can no longer claim that I am married in this life, though I know I am in the life to come.
I put the ring back on. It is a symbol of a promise that I have made and will continue to keep. It is a strength to me, and so I waiver between needing the strength from a small symbol of eternity, and wanting so desperately to be strong enough to stand without it.
In the words of Garth Brooks from his song "Learning to Live Again" - "This learning to live again, is killing me." Again, not literally, but man this process is slow, arduous, painful, and with small moments of joy. Thank you for coming along on this journey with me.
All my love,
Kami
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
The Wheel We Run On
I shared this on Facebook last week, and thought I should post it here as well-
The house is quiet. Well it would be quiet if Normandy the Hamster would quit running on his hamster wheel. I swear, just when it's time to lay my head down and get some sleep, that little guy thinks it's time to run a marathon and off he goes! He probably covers the equivalent of 26.2 miles every night on his run....well to nowhere. How often do we do this? Climb onto our wheels and then just go....without a destination in mind, without a purpose, except to be moving? I did that. In the months following Steve's death, I got on my hamster wheel and just ran. I was trying to outrun the pain, the loss, the missing, the life that I had built together with my best friend. Guess what...it didn't work. It was only when I stopped running, opened my arms wide and fell into all that I'd been outrunning that the healing finally began. It sounds so cliche' and perhaps it is-just a bit. But for all of those who have ever been faced with seemingly insurmountable odds- be brave. Perhaps it won't be today, or even tomorrow, but at some point you will need to get off the wheel, take a deep breath, and decide to live by embracing what is necessary to live: LIFE. Happy Tuesday my friends.
The house is quiet. Well it would be quiet if Normandy the Hamster would quit running on his hamster wheel. I swear, just when it's time to lay my head down and get some sleep, that little guy thinks it's time to run a marathon and off he goes! He probably covers the equivalent of 26.2 miles every night on his run....well to nowhere. How often do we do this? Climb onto our wheels and then just go....without a destination in mind, without a purpose, except to be moving? I did that. In the months following Steve's death, I got on my hamster wheel and just ran. I was trying to outrun the pain, the loss, the missing, the life that I had built together with my best friend. Guess what...it didn't work. It was only when I stopped running, opened my arms wide and fell into all that I'd been outrunning that the healing finally began. It sounds so cliche' and perhaps it is-just a bit. But for all of those who have ever been faced with seemingly insurmountable odds- be brave. Perhaps it won't be today, or even tomorrow, but at some point you will need to get off the wheel, take a deep breath, and decide to live by embracing what is necessary to live: LIFE. Happy Tuesday my friends.
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