In less than 48 hours I will be once again be a wife in this life. I will no longer have to check the box that decides whether I am merely "single" or actually "widowed." I will no longer be merely....me, again.
This all comes with beautifully mixed emotions. That really is the point of this life, isn't it? The experience of great pain and the rise of such joys. I've felt quite a few of those in the past 5 years. I've embraced them and am stronger for them.
The boys and I went to see the new Disney movie "Cinderella" yesterday. A common quote throughout the movie was, "Have courage and be kind." That resonated so deeply with me. It's a whisper that I hear as I navigate through my own grief, my children's grief, my family's grief and even the joyous occasions. Sometimes the hardest decisions are the ones that bring about the most joy and are the ones that require the most courage to make.
In less than 48 hours I believe I will once again wrap my arms around joy. I've noticed that little by little the color that was drained from my existence at Steve's passing has slowly been swirling back in. It hasn't been a rush all at once, but rather a gradual, quiet, oftentimes hard to discern movement much like ink being dropped into a glass of water or smoke swirling up from a lit flame. Anything loud or sudden would have scared me back into the refuge of my sadness, Heavenly Father knew this and has sent the perfect antidote to my grief- he is patient, kind, silly, wise- he is strong, and most of all he is quiet in the way that he cares for me. His kindness runs so parallel to the way that I've been loved before that it is comforting and peaceful. I love him differently than I loved before and this is also comforting, as he reminds me constantly that neither of us is replacing- we are adding to and thus differences are necessary.
In less than 48 hours new beginnings will happen. The boys are thrilled to be uncles and I am delighted to be a grandmother. I don't imagine for a moment that it will always be smooth sailing, but then again- why not? We both have champions on each side of heaven and Earth. We both have walked through a refiners fire that books are written about. We both have struggled and prayed, remained faithful and endured.
In the words of Cinderella's beautiful mother on the eve of our new beginning, my prayer as we all walk the path laid out for us by our loving Creator is that we will all "have courage and be kind," for that is the true mark of love and hope.
All my love,
Kami
Thursday, March 19, 2015
Sunday, February 22, 2015
Children and Closets.....
working through it all......
I'm getting married in less than a month to a wonderful man. We both share the heartache of love and loss, and we both have remarkable families and friends that have supported us through it all. We are counted among the lucky in this regard.
As the day get closer and closer to becoming a wife again, there are things that must be worked through. One thing in particular was working through the process of letting go....again.
In the days, weeks and months that followed Steve's passing I found myself standing in the doorway of our walk-in closet, looking at the clothes that Steve used to give life to. Two shirts in particular stood out under such scrutiny. One is a blue and white button down that he wore the first time he took me out. The second one is a red plaid button down that he wore in some of our fun engagement pictures and quite possibly every week since then until he passed away. They spoke of memories, of happiness, of quiet moments tucked safely within his arms as tears soaked through to the skin. Those clothes helped in being the keeper of Steve's memories for our family.
After a conversation with our Bishop today I realized that I was standing & moving. That I had gone beyond just surviving. I am living. I am loving. I am back. When I said a heartfelt "Yes!" nearly two weeks ago, I chose life and love and happiness and new memories that are flavored by past joys. With this epiphany came the realization that I could not hold onto what was in hopes that it could once again be what is. What is can have joy. It can. It does. It is joyous.
At dinner I asked the boys what they thought about going through Dad's closet. My oldest answered, "I'm ready." My youngest said, "Me too!" My second child merely looked back at me with wide eyes and slowly nodded. I explained to them that they could have whatever they desired: ties, t-shirts, shoes, sweaters, anything- but to remember that these were merely things. Their dad's love went beyond ties, t-shirts, shoes, sweaters and anything that was to be found in that closet. We began with a prayer. In it was the key to the peace that was found.
We knelt/sat down on the cream carpeting and began with the ties. One by one their new owners claimed them. Each tie brought about a new story of origin or use. Each tie brought about a smile, or teary eyes. We then moved onto the t-shirts. Each boy collected 7 to 9 shirts to be used later in his own, unique quilt. They then chose a couple of extra shirts to wear to bed if they wanted. Then my oldest said, "The rest should go to dad's brothers if they want." I gulped down the lump in my throat as each son nodded solemnly. A text was sent out regarding such and we continued on through pajama pants, shorts, jeans, slacks, button downs, hoodies, shoes, belts. and all the items that make-up the wardrobe of a well loved man.
My favorite moments were when a shirt was pulled from the rack and stories tumbled out over the top of each other. Each child remembering something different, or stories that overlapped in general idea but separate in details. It was beautiful and healing. It was exactly the right thing for this night.
Sitting in the corner of my room now are 5 large, black lawn bags. Gazing back into the closet I realized something very profound. In this life, Steve's things took up very little physical space. However, his life continues to consume vast eternities in my heart and the hearts of his children, family and friends. It is remarkable how content he was to let me sprawl throughout the house of our dreams while he quietly rejoiced in the laughter of his children & the love of the Gospel; taking up very little space but leaving the largest of impacts.
It is because of his goodness and our shared life that I can love again. It is because of the joy that I find in remembering the way he looked in each shirt in that closet and the twinkle in his eyes when they met mine that I am fearless in giving my newly healed heart to another. What we have is eternal and I am secure in that knowledge. I am also grateful for the patience and love of another who sees the need to work it through and understands the value of the process.
Children and closets- typically incomparable, but tonight both very good for this soul.
All my love,
Kami
I'm getting married in less than a month to a wonderful man. We both share the heartache of love and loss, and we both have remarkable families and friends that have supported us through it all. We are counted among the lucky in this regard.
As the day get closer and closer to becoming a wife again, there are things that must be worked through. One thing in particular was working through the process of letting go....again.
In the days, weeks and months that followed Steve's passing I found myself standing in the doorway of our walk-in closet, looking at the clothes that Steve used to give life to. Two shirts in particular stood out under such scrutiny. One is a blue and white button down that he wore the first time he took me out. The second one is a red plaid button down that he wore in some of our fun engagement pictures and quite possibly every week since then until he passed away. They spoke of memories, of happiness, of quiet moments tucked safely within his arms as tears soaked through to the skin. Those clothes helped in being the keeper of Steve's memories for our family.
After a conversation with our Bishop today I realized that I was standing & moving. That I had gone beyond just surviving. I am living. I am loving. I am back. When I said a heartfelt "Yes!" nearly two weeks ago, I chose life and love and happiness and new memories that are flavored by past joys. With this epiphany came the realization that I could not hold onto what was in hopes that it could once again be what is. What is can have joy. It can. It does. It is joyous.
At dinner I asked the boys what they thought about going through Dad's closet. My oldest answered, "I'm ready." My youngest said, "Me too!" My second child merely looked back at me with wide eyes and slowly nodded. I explained to them that they could have whatever they desired: ties, t-shirts, shoes, sweaters, anything- but to remember that these were merely things. Their dad's love went beyond ties, t-shirts, shoes, sweaters and anything that was to be found in that closet. We began with a prayer. In it was the key to the peace that was found.
We knelt/sat down on the cream carpeting and began with the ties. One by one their new owners claimed them. Each tie brought about a new story of origin or use. Each tie brought about a smile, or teary eyes. We then moved onto the t-shirts. Each boy collected 7 to 9 shirts to be used later in his own, unique quilt. They then chose a couple of extra shirts to wear to bed if they wanted. Then my oldest said, "The rest should go to dad's brothers if they want." I gulped down the lump in my throat as each son nodded solemnly. A text was sent out regarding such and we continued on through pajama pants, shorts, jeans, slacks, button downs, hoodies, shoes, belts. and all the items that make-up the wardrobe of a well loved man.
My favorite moments were when a shirt was pulled from the rack and stories tumbled out over the top of each other. Each child remembering something different, or stories that overlapped in general idea but separate in details. It was beautiful and healing. It was exactly the right thing for this night.
Sitting in the corner of my room now are 5 large, black lawn bags. Gazing back into the closet I realized something very profound. In this life, Steve's things took up very little physical space. However, his life continues to consume vast eternities in my heart and the hearts of his children, family and friends. It is remarkable how content he was to let me sprawl throughout the house of our dreams while he quietly rejoiced in the laughter of his children & the love of the Gospel; taking up very little space but leaving the largest of impacts.
It is because of his goodness and our shared life that I can love again. It is because of the joy that I find in remembering the way he looked in each shirt in that closet and the twinkle in his eyes when they met mine that I am fearless in giving my newly healed heart to another. What we have is eternal and I am secure in that knowledge. I am also grateful for the patience and love of another who sees the need to work it through and understands the value of the process.
Children and closets- typically incomparable, but tonight both very good for this soul.
All my love,
Kami
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
There is no timeline.....
not in life and not on grief.
I've found myself over the past few months running towards happiness with wild abandon. Occasionally I trip myself up with over-thinking and concern for what the community, who loves our family, might think. When I find myself so completely lost in what I think other's might be thinking- I have found that taking a moment to pause and reflect saves me from myself.
When Steve and I met in July, 1999; it was easy. The conversations were quick, hilarious, and we were drawn towards one another by a desire to know more about life and love. He and I quickly became an 'us' and 5 short months later, we were married. The next chapter of our life was spent learning about each other. Likes, dislikes, pathways to happiness and histories of sadness. We learned so very much about what it takes to care for someone else, and to put another's joy above our own.
We also moved.....and moved........and moved.......had children......and moved.
Our last move together brought us to where I am now.
The boys and I are nestled in a lovely community, where we've been loved, and protected and prayed for time and again. We have grown stronger, and with that strength the longing for what might have been becomes less sharp. Instead, I've found myself longing for joy-memories-happiness, again.
There are those who would say that finding someone, falling love, and risking hurt is too great a price to pay. That a year must pass before healing has taken place. There are still others who think that to love again means that you love less the one before. I emphatically disagree.
When I made the choice to move forward, I did it in a way that I believe Steve would be proud: head back, arms wide, completely.
I recall a conversation that he and I had shortly after cancer treatments had begun. In this conversation we talked about what he should do- if I didn't survive the treatment or the cancer. It was decided that our boys needed a mother and as such he should find someone (preferably a nice someone) to marry. This someone would need to shine, to have joy, and to fill our children's days with laughter. He reassured me that he would never need to find another because I would be fine. He was correct in this. However, he then told me quite clearly that should something ever happen to him that I was to find someone to serve as an example to our boys. A righteous priesthood holder who loved to laugh, could find it in them to love the boys (even when they were grumpy trolls) and who loved the Lord. The thought took my breath away and at first I denied the need for this conversation. However, in his wisdom- he made me promise him that this would be the goal; and I agreed.
Such wisdom is a comfort now to me. I feel that I have been given the gift of acceptance by my eternal companion to find another to love and share my life with. In this gift is an assurance that my heart is safely bound to his and that in the view of everlasting light- there is the promise of forever with him. There is also the agreement that I would not have to navigate the rest of this existence without someone physically by my side to lift me, strengthen me, and help me to raise our boys. The timeline of searching, finding, and progressing towards that lifetime belongs to no one but myself.
The timeline of grief and desire to live beyond that- belongs to no one but those who walk that path.
Please recognize that grief is different for every person. That the loss of a spouse comes in all forms and all stories. My grief will not align perfectly with yours, and that's okay. It is this remarkable ability to be separate in the process, but united in hope for better days to come, that makes this experience so rich and full of growth.
I choose life. I choose to live and to find happiness in this life again; secure in the knowledge that this is okay; because I've been told so. May you find the happiness that you're seeking as well and that you're a bit kinder with applying timelines to others rather than seeking to enjoy yours.
All my love,
Kami
I've found myself over the past few months running towards happiness with wild abandon. Occasionally I trip myself up with over-thinking and concern for what the community, who loves our family, might think. When I find myself so completely lost in what I think other's might be thinking- I have found that taking a moment to pause and reflect saves me from myself.
When Steve and I met in July, 1999; it was easy. The conversations were quick, hilarious, and we were drawn towards one another by a desire to know more about life and love. He and I quickly became an 'us' and 5 short months later, we were married. The next chapter of our life was spent learning about each other. Likes, dislikes, pathways to happiness and histories of sadness. We learned so very much about what it takes to care for someone else, and to put another's joy above our own.
We also moved.....and moved........and moved.......had children......and moved.
Our last move together brought us to where I am now.
The boys and I are nestled in a lovely community, where we've been loved, and protected and prayed for time and again. We have grown stronger, and with that strength the longing for what might have been becomes less sharp. Instead, I've found myself longing for joy-memories-happiness, again.
There are those who would say that finding someone, falling love, and risking hurt is too great a price to pay. That a year must pass before healing has taken place. There are still others who think that to love again means that you love less the one before. I emphatically disagree.
When I made the choice to move forward, I did it in a way that I believe Steve would be proud: head back, arms wide, completely.
I recall a conversation that he and I had shortly after cancer treatments had begun. In this conversation we talked about what he should do- if I didn't survive the treatment or the cancer. It was decided that our boys needed a mother and as such he should find someone (preferably a nice someone) to marry. This someone would need to shine, to have joy, and to fill our children's days with laughter. He reassured me that he would never need to find another because I would be fine. He was correct in this. However, he then told me quite clearly that should something ever happen to him that I was to find someone to serve as an example to our boys. A righteous priesthood holder who loved to laugh, could find it in them to love the boys (even when they were grumpy trolls) and who loved the Lord. The thought took my breath away and at first I denied the need for this conversation. However, in his wisdom- he made me promise him that this would be the goal; and I agreed.
Such wisdom is a comfort now to me. I feel that I have been given the gift of acceptance by my eternal companion to find another to love and share my life with. In this gift is an assurance that my heart is safely bound to his and that in the view of everlasting light- there is the promise of forever with him. There is also the agreement that I would not have to navigate the rest of this existence without someone physically by my side to lift me, strengthen me, and help me to raise our boys. The timeline of searching, finding, and progressing towards that lifetime belongs to no one but myself.
The timeline of grief and desire to live beyond that- belongs to no one but those who walk that path.
Please recognize that grief is different for every person. That the loss of a spouse comes in all forms and all stories. My grief will not align perfectly with yours, and that's okay. It is this remarkable ability to be separate in the process, but united in hope for better days to come, that makes this experience so rich and full of growth.
I choose life. I choose to live and to find happiness in this life again; secure in the knowledge that this is okay; because I've been told so. May you find the happiness that you're seeking as well and that you're a bit kinder with applying timelines to others rather than seeking to enjoy yours.
All my love,
Kami
Friday, January 2, 2015
Moving Forward......
By Taking Baby Steps.
I recently went on a date. It seems a bit silly to even use the word "date," but that's what happened. To add to the silliness- I really liked it. We met at a public location, ate dinner, and then walked around the Gilbert Temple grounds here in Arizona. It was awkward, and nice, and lovely, and made me smile quite a bit. I liked the whole evening very much.
I realized a couple of things as I've had time to reflect on this process:
1. I'm not moving on, I'm moving forward and
2. I'm still here.
For the longest time I would find myself coming home each day to love my children, and rejoice in their joy while struggling to find joy in the life I was living. What a waste I was making of the life I'd been asked to live. What a gift it was to wake up in the morning, to breathe in and out, to have a job where I work with people I enjoy and youth who kept me thinking! What a gift I have been given to know love the way I do- and to be able to recognize it when I see its beginnings and feel it begin again.
The small snapshots of time when I feel guilty for laughing with someone else, or wanting to share my day's stories with another person have started drifting into oblivion. I realize each day that Steve loved this life, loved the opportunities given and even rejoiced in the trials that had to be overcome. Why should I do anything less? There have been moments when I have worried about what others would think. I've come to realize that there is no timeline on grief, or even on life. We are each asked to do our very best and one day I woke up no longer satisfied with being alone, and missing having someone to share this life with. It was then that the last remnants of the fog lifted and have not come back.
So, I'm not moving on. To move on makes it sound like I'm leaving this life that I've built. That I've packed it away never to be looked at again- but that's not it. I am part of this life that we've built together. All that I am and will be has been touched, shaped and created by the experiences that have brought me to this point. You don't just leave that behind. Instead it is lovingly placed in the quiet of your heart to be taken out and reflected upon when new joys come and new trials appear. So I have it tucked away in a special place and am moving forward with it securely placed forever in my heart.
www.realfeelproductions.com
Last of all- I'm still here. On October 8th, 2013, you could have placed me alongside my sweet husband and I would have been perfectly content to be done with the next sunrise. It was as though my spirit had lost the will to fight for the life's experience still yet to come. In the past 6 months that spirit has stretched, yawned and zipped back into existence and I've realized what everyone around me has known all along- I didn't die. Instead I took a step back, reevaluated my purpose and place in this life and have now recognized the job at hand. I have to live so that my sons will understand the legacy they are; and know that they are never alone in this life. Neither am I, and neither are you.
The next few posts will probably bring some growing pains and tentative movements beyond baby steps, to toddler steps to possibly even running towards embracing this life again. As that happens, I'll share with you the 'hows' and possibly even the 'whys' though the 'whens' are still hard to determine as each soul much work through finding their purposes at different moments in time.
All my love,
Kami
I recently went on a date. It seems a bit silly to even use the word "date," but that's what happened. To add to the silliness- I really liked it. We met at a public location, ate dinner, and then walked around the Gilbert Temple grounds here in Arizona. It was awkward, and nice, and lovely, and made me smile quite a bit. I liked the whole evening very much.
I realized a couple of things as I've had time to reflect on this process:
1. I'm not moving on, I'm moving forward and
2. I'm still here.
For the longest time I would find myself coming home each day to love my children, and rejoice in their joy while struggling to find joy in the life I was living. What a waste I was making of the life I'd been asked to live. What a gift it was to wake up in the morning, to breathe in and out, to have a job where I work with people I enjoy and youth who kept me thinking! What a gift I have been given to know love the way I do- and to be able to recognize it when I see its beginnings and feel it begin again.
The small snapshots of time when I feel guilty for laughing with someone else, or wanting to share my day's stories with another person have started drifting into oblivion. I realize each day that Steve loved this life, loved the opportunities given and even rejoiced in the trials that had to be overcome. Why should I do anything less? There have been moments when I have worried about what others would think. I've come to realize that there is no timeline on grief, or even on life. We are each asked to do our very best and one day I woke up no longer satisfied with being alone, and missing having someone to share this life with. It was then that the last remnants of the fog lifted and have not come back.
So, I'm not moving on. To move on makes it sound like I'm leaving this life that I've built. That I've packed it away never to be looked at again- but that's not it. I am part of this life that we've built together. All that I am and will be has been touched, shaped and created by the experiences that have brought me to this point. You don't just leave that behind. Instead it is lovingly placed in the quiet of your heart to be taken out and reflected upon when new joys come and new trials appear. So I have it tucked away in a special place and am moving forward with it securely placed forever in my heart.
Last of all- I'm still here. On October 8th, 2013, you could have placed me alongside my sweet husband and I would have been perfectly content to be done with the next sunrise. It was as though my spirit had lost the will to fight for the life's experience still yet to come. In the past 6 months that spirit has stretched, yawned and zipped back into existence and I've realized what everyone around me has known all along- I didn't die. Instead I took a step back, reevaluated my purpose and place in this life and have now recognized the job at hand. I have to live so that my sons will understand the legacy they are; and know that they are never alone in this life. Neither am I, and neither are you.
The next few posts will probably bring some growing pains and tentative movements beyond baby steps, to toddler steps to possibly even running towards embracing this life again. As that happens, I'll share with you the 'hows' and possibly even the 'whys' though the 'whens' are still hard to determine as each soul much work through finding their purposes at different moments in time.
All my love,
Kami
Saturday, November 29, 2014
It Can't be the Same.....And So It Isn't.
There is one thought that I need to discuss with you and others out there. It is the ongoing need to compare the death of a spouse to divorce. I have to emphatically say that in most ways- it is not the same. First I'd like to share with you the parallels that I see in hopes that you know that I am sympathetic about the plight of lost love. I truly am.
When Steve first passed away there were those that struggled to find anything to say to me. Through the fog I could sense their need to reach out, to connect, to find a common ground to pull me back from the abyss of grief. So they would search their own lives and pluck small bits that we could communicate about. More often than not this came through comparing the life that I had lost suddenly to the loss of their marriage. I can now see the comparison of the hopes and dreams that we all set out with as we embark on marriage or a commitment to another. I remember the nights spent whispering of the things that we would do, sharing the deepest secrets and desires that we shared for ourselves and in turn for each other. I still hold those quiet moments quite dear to me.
In having children we all then turn our focus less upon the hopes and dreams of each other, though those are still in the ether around us, rather we fine tune our perspective upon our children and how to work together to accomplish their dreams; to create a better world for them that is without limits. We scrimp for little league, and spend countless hours in doctor's offices, we become unified and strengthened through this common goal of lifting our children towards the stars and celebrating their milestones along the way.
This commonality makes it possible to smile, nod and take a deep breath when I am told how lucky I am that my husband died while we were still in love. What?! Come again... That at least I don't have to endure having to see him every day with someone else. Knowing that he was faithful to me and that I will never have to deal with sharing my children with another household. Wow.
Let me be clear. If you approach me on the street tomorrow and are gulping back tears because you find yourself being spread too thin because of the circumstances that life has thrown you into- I will wrap my arms around you and find you a clean Kleenex, because that is what sharing the human experience is about. But please...PLEASE...remember in your own pain, that I am still wrapped in mine and wear it like a sweater, so please remember to tread lightly upon the life experience that I am still working through with no finish line in sight.
We are similar in the grief that we share for a life that can no longer be; for a love that is beyond our reach though still in our hearts and minds. In all of that we are similar. We are human and so we are the same.
That, however, is where the similarity ends. While you may wish your spouse were no longer breathing, I ache each day and night and long for the time that mine still was. While you tell me how hard it is for you to share your children, I can only think about the fact that they will have another parent to bounce ideas off of. And while you think being single and able to make ALL of the decisions about my life on my own- I can only focus on your children playing with your ex-spouse and finding some sort of solace in the proximity. I would not wish this on you, or on your life for anything in the world- so why do you wish it upon yourself?
There is a great chance that at some point in both of our lives we will find another someone to share our life with. While we both shift focus between what is and what was, there is one distinct difference: I watched as the only man I have ever loved in this life's spirit drained from his eyes and left his mortal shell. I sat helpless to save him, to breathe life back into his body, and to will him to live once more. There will never be another word in this lifetime pass between us. All the while I was throwing everything I was into willing him to live, begging him not to leave me (possibly in the same way you worked to save your world)- I could not get past my lips the "I love you," that was always said each night before bed but went unsaid that last night. Instead, the words lay frozen in my heart, on my tongue and forever etched into every beat of my heart that his does not.
We both will have to work through our grief in our own way. We both will figure out a way to move through the dark moments and stand tall in the face of great sorrow. I will make you this simple promise: I will never tell you how lucky you are that your spouse is still alive, if you never tell me again how lucky I am to not have to go through what you're going through. Our perceptions are our own reality and as such these circumstances cannot be the same- and so they aren't.
Much love for the life that you are living and the person you want to be - Kami
When Steve first passed away there were those that struggled to find anything to say to me. Through the fog I could sense their need to reach out, to connect, to find a common ground to pull me back from the abyss of grief. So they would search their own lives and pluck small bits that we could communicate about. More often than not this came through comparing the life that I had lost suddenly to the loss of their marriage. I can now see the comparison of the hopes and dreams that we all set out with as we embark on marriage or a commitment to another. I remember the nights spent whispering of the things that we would do, sharing the deepest secrets and desires that we shared for ourselves and in turn for each other. I still hold those quiet moments quite dear to me.
In having children we all then turn our focus less upon the hopes and dreams of each other, though those are still in the ether around us, rather we fine tune our perspective upon our children and how to work together to accomplish their dreams; to create a better world for them that is without limits. We scrimp for little league, and spend countless hours in doctor's offices, we become unified and strengthened through this common goal of lifting our children towards the stars and celebrating their milestones along the way.
This commonality makes it possible to smile, nod and take a deep breath when I am told how lucky I am that my husband died while we were still in love. What?! Come again... That at least I don't have to endure having to see him every day with someone else. Knowing that he was faithful to me and that I will never have to deal with sharing my children with another household. Wow.
Let me be clear. If you approach me on the street tomorrow and are gulping back tears because you find yourself being spread too thin because of the circumstances that life has thrown you into- I will wrap my arms around you and find you a clean Kleenex, because that is what sharing the human experience is about. But please...PLEASE...remember in your own pain, that I am still wrapped in mine and wear it like a sweater, so please remember to tread lightly upon the life experience that I am still working through with no finish line in sight.
We are similar in the grief that we share for a life that can no longer be; for a love that is beyond our reach though still in our hearts and minds. In all of that we are similar. We are human and so we are the same.
That, however, is where the similarity ends. While you may wish your spouse were no longer breathing, I ache each day and night and long for the time that mine still was. While you tell me how hard it is for you to share your children, I can only think about the fact that they will have another parent to bounce ideas off of. And while you think being single and able to make ALL of the decisions about my life on my own- I can only focus on your children playing with your ex-spouse and finding some sort of solace in the proximity. I would not wish this on you, or on your life for anything in the world- so why do you wish it upon yourself?
There is a great chance that at some point in both of our lives we will find another someone to share our life with. While we both shift focus between what is and what was, there is one distinct difference: I watched as the only man I have ever loved in this life's spirit drained from his eyes and left his mortal shell. I sat helpless to save him, to breathe life back into his body, and to will him to live once more. There will never be another word in this lifetime pass between us. All the while I was throwing everything I was into willing him to live, begging him not to leave me (possibly in the same way you worked to save your world)- I could not get past my lips the "I love you," that was always said each night before bed but went unsaid that last night. Instead, the words lay frozen in my heart, on my tongue and forever etched into every beat of my heart that his does not.
We both will have to work through our grief in our own way. We both will figure out a way to move through the dark moments and stand tall in the face of great sorrow. I will make you this simple promise: I will never tell you how lucky you are that your spouse is still alive, if you never tell me again how lucky I am to not have to go through what you're going through. Our perceptions are our own reality and as such these circumstances cannot be the same- and so they aren't.
Much love for the life that you are living and the person you want to be - Kami
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
