Thankful

So this Thanksgiving I was actually thankful for something, unlike last year.
And the picture is what it was. When I see them in pictures together I get a sense of pride and I share this pride in my heart with Jim. Where ever Jim is I hope he cannot see them, that would surely cause him pain. I'm sure that the next life gives us some sort of magnificent understanding of all the pain and pleasures of this mortal world. But at times I feel like Jim's love for his kids could transcend this "understanding". He had waited till he was in his 60's to have children, they brought him complete joy. It was different from my love for them, which sounds odd, but it was. And his love is still here, I can feel it. So much so that when one of the kids is sick and needs to go to the ER my instant thought it "Jim, don't you dare take one of the kids to be with you!" ...how silly this thought is. But I think it automatically when I feel like one of the kids is in danger.
Jim's love for his children was strong and I still feel the remnants of it. I hope that they can feel it too.

i told someone something about me today, something that they hadn't known before. i'm sure that it doesn't matter much to them but i can't help but feel that i've put an incredible about of weight on them. that i  threw some unpleasant feelings upon them. and its not really "this" person that bothers me but that one day i will meet new people and they will think that me and my kids are a cute little family; then they will learn little bits of what has happened to us, what the sick jim did to me, what my adorable little kids saw. then, they will feel unpleasant emotions. this makes me feel ill, that the hurts of my past will hurt others who care about us in the future.

Life is moving on for us. I am now at peace at the time I had with Jim and with the time he had here. But our children's time with Jim i have yet to make peace with. I see and hear them hurting. When they watch other children play with their fathers, when Dorian asks me almost everyday if Daddy can come back, when Arwen proudly plays jims piano next to his urn; I hurt for them and the time they don't have with Jim. I wish I could take away their sadness and feelings of loss. This past year I had been mentally absent from them. They lost a part of me when their father died. I hope to fill that missing part of myself up with something good and loving for them. That is about all I can do at this point.

Grief Shift.

I had my first widow nightmare last night. In my dream I was trying to get to Jim. He was in a hotel confused, hungry, and looking for me. I was in a car with the kids trying as fast as I could to reach him. I kept on having delays; car accidents, road blocks, flat tires... And the whole time my anticipation and frustration level was going off the charts. I finally get to the hotel and run in. I see his back, he is trying to tell a hotel worker something and they are looking at him strangely. Jim is sweating and looks so lost. I call out his name. He turns around and sees me, a huge smile of relief fills his face. We embrace. I think, finally I have him, he is okay now.
This doesn't sound much like a nightmare but it was. It was too close to our reality. Him being lost and confused and I rushing to get to him. To know that he is safe...for him to know that he is not alone, that I am with him...to take that lost feeling away from him, to bring him peace.
When I wake up reality hits. He is gone. I want to hold him so bad.
The year Jim was sick I was filled with emotions that could move mountains. The year after he died I was filled with very raw emotions that I never knew existed.
This year, after your mind starts to clear up, you've been telling yourself that he is not coming back and now you actually believe it. My emotions are now cold and empty, they give me the "pit in the stomach" sort of feeling. My tears are no longer fueled by anything. They just are.
I feel my grief changing. It is becoming less intense. This is good for me and the kids. But it makes me feel farther from Jim.

Hope

Today is the 1 year anniversary of jims death. I'm staying at home today. Nobody is coming over. I will not call anyone to "talk". Why? Because I don't want to have someone try to make me laugh or discuss how I need to move on or point out that I am doing much better. Nor do i want to feel someone roll their eyes on the other end of the phone as soon as I mention the significance of the day, and then pretend to be interest for the rest of the conversation.
I have 2 friends on this earth that would respect my need for solomnness on this day. But I won't call them today.
That's it, only 2 fucking friends who have shown me true brotherly love in this past year. They don't understand the pit of despair that I was in for the past year but they were willing to go down in it with me whenever I asked them to.
The day Jim died is the day I felt like the Holy Spirit left me, I felt like this the whole past year, that God had reniged his promise. Now, on the anniversary of jims death I realize that the Holy Spirit had been showing itself to me though these 2 friends. That God had never gone back on his word and never will. Hope. That is what I feel today. Hope.

Thanks

On behalf on my late husband, who's one year death anniversary is tommorrow, and myself, I would like to dedicate a whole hearted FUCK YOU to the Medicare system and the three hospices that refused to accept him.

I repeat, FUCK YOU.

Duet