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my continued version of my blog. I hope to eventually shift my blog over to this address but not now. Too much to do and not enough brain power to do it.

they are okay

There are days or moments that I watch my little ones and think, "Bloody Hell. They are going to be so messed up after all they've been through." Then there are times that I see them blossom and bloom with smiles, laughter and play where I think, "If you didn't know what had happened, you would think these two had a 'normal' life."

All I know for sure, is that no matter how our lives unfold, they are stronger because they have eachother.

They still know how to laugh and be silly without guilt or remorse.

And that these two little ones are the most amazing teachers of living after your life has stopped.

I am practising seeing the world through their eyes....It isn't as dark as it is through mine.

Rainbows

Liv and I go to a group once a week to talk about our grief. It's actually a support group for children, but they have a parent's group that runs at the same time. When this difficult journey began, both Liv and I felt like we were the only family that this had happened to. I wasn't aware of other young widows in my area and none of Liv's friend had lost a parent to death. She was worried that her friends would laugh at her. I felt like a social anomaly.
Somehow, we found a group that deal with loss and grief....not just death, but divorce as well (although the adults dealing with death or divorce are placed in seperate groups as many of our problems are different....though there are some similarities).
I've met other young widows. Liv has made friends that have lost parents. I think both of us feel understood and not so alone when we go to our meetings. I can not say enough about how wonderful and kind the volunteers have been. The understanding Liv has been shown is reflected in her little smiles at the end of each session when she tells me about her feelings and the projects they worked on.
I want anyone out there with children dealing with loss to know of 'Rainbows'. If you know of anyone who is traveling this road, let them know that there are people who understand. If you are not touched by these difficulties yourself, maybe, if you can afford it, send a small donation to this society to allow it to continue helping the little ones and theri parents who feel so lost and so alone.
*The link above is for the Canadian group....Here is one for the US...
Thank you, Rainbows....

flying solo

I am finding this new responsibility of being thrust into the world of solitary decision making terrifying...But I am doing it and it's okay. I would prefer to bounce all these thoughts, necessary choices and responsibilities off of Jeff, but I can't. So as I forge ahead with my life alone, I am finding these mountains that I am climbing difficult; but in someways, I am getting better at them. I am learning to trust myself and the believe that I can make these decisons alone. That I know what is right for me...or us.
Today, I sold our car. The car that Jeff bought me for Valentine's Day in 2006. The car Jeff died in. My little blue Toyota Matrix. It was small, safe and economical....But we had the truck for carrying larger loads and muddy dogs. I didn't need to bring multiple children in the car very often as I wasn't caring for anyone other than my kiddos or the occasional playdate.
But now, life is different. I am going to need to look to a future where I can bring in an income and care for my children alone. I need to be able to move objects by myself and cart various things home that would not fit in my little car.
So now, I own a minivan. I decided and made the deal myself. It was scary and I kept worrying that I was being taken advantage of....Possibly a bit paranoid. But I did it. Myself.
The kids and I quite like the van. It's a few years older than the car thus making it more affordable. It's clean and safe. It is blue just as my little car was...Jeff's favourite colour as Liv pointed out.
Liv had her trepidation about the van. She cried the first night and asked me to go get the car back because it reminded her of Daddy. I remembered crying when my dad talked of selling our little Vauxhal (a little white German car that our family had when I was a child - it`s floor was rusted out, we would watch the road go by as we drove along and we sang songs about `Daddy`s little Vauxhal`). It was certainly a different circumstance but I could empathize with her feelings of security and comfort in the car....especially after losing so much this year. But now, it is like a fort. She wants to show all her friends her new van. They ask to `play in the van`. I am loving the space and the ability to comfortably take our friends along.
So although one door has closed, another has opened. I do feel sad. I do have such fond memories of our little car that I had thought the kids would learn to drive. But I must be flexible and not hold onto things that do not provide the needs we now have just because they are a link to Jeff. This is a hard lesson to learn. But I am doing it.

this coming seasons' inspiration

I am so inspired by so many of the blogs out there in the blogosphere. Recently, I came across this post and had the "I have to do that" feeling. Although I am not a lover of the holidays (over-consumption, divorced parents, too much travel, and the nauseating push towards ridiculous amounts of consummerism)...in fact, I am largely a nay-saying grinch, but I am really attemping to give my kids a Christmas that they may remember for something a little more than just sadness and the void their sweet daddy left behind. So here I am trying to pull together a Christmas built with anticipation and joy. And I am going to borrow something we did in church as a child (although I am not religious and no longer attend church). We built ourselves an Advent wreath. One of the things I so love about Waldorf education is the bringing together of various seasons, diversity, cultures and traditions. There are so many things to learn from so many cultures and beliefs. So we are going to light one candle every week in the build up to Christmas. Today we made this:
We started with a store bought (cringe) straw wreath to which we used hot glue to adhere four long red ribbons through the centre of the wreath.

I bought four small wood candle holders from the craft store which we painted green and glued to the wreath as well.
I lined up all the ribbons, tied a knot and hung it up! Simple! We are going to do some candle dipping this coming week to make some candles for the wreath (although traditionally three are purple and one is pink).

I love how it turned out! It looks so earthy to me....and Scandinavian.

While Liv and I worked on our masterpiece, Briar played in the bin of birdseed. So fun! An hours worth in fact!

i love green kitties

His sister's lovely kitty artwork took awhile to wash off but made for a lot of giggles. She even managed to draw a purple collar on his neck and little black nails on each finger and toe!

*Please excuse the all white kitty's fur decorating Briar's blue shirt!*

eight months

Today is a 'doozy'. Jeff died on a Tuesday and on the 25th. I am trying to not keep track....but it sneaks up on me. And here I am. Remembering it all again.

insert foot in mouth....here

Since Jeff died (god, I use those three words a lot) I have had a many moments that have just left me with a 'Huh? How can someone ask/do/say/act that way?' I have empathy and understanding for the people who do this most of the time since I myself have had to insert my foot in my mouth often over my life. BUT there are times that I just feel the need to shake my head and wonder at the motivation behind some incidents.
While searching for a Fuckles-proof kennel at one of the pet stores in town, an attendant came to give me a hand. I explained that the dog is having some issues with seperation anxiety since the recent death of my husband followed closely by the death of my other dog. She kindly gave me a hug (although I seem to now be immune to the tears that used to accompany any sentence that involved Jeff and death...it is just my life and I am used to saying it unfortunately.) She helped me pick out a fully metal kennel and we continued to talk about things that could help Freak-les feel more comforted in my absence.
I was explaining to her that this destructive behaviour has baffled me. That he has been a pretty good dog up until the death of Jeff and Eli. That he was annoying but sweet and great with kids (as I gestured to Liv and Briar as they looked in the window of the grooming salon with Robo's help).
Seemingly out of the blue, she says to me, "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" To which I agree with trepidation thinking that she'll ask me the standard, "How did he die?" or maybe "Do you want me to tell you that you have a bean stuck in your front teeth?" But no, she says, "Is this someone new in your life?" ......My brain goes "Huh?" I say, "Who? What?....Him?! Dear lord, NO. He's like....an uncle to the kids and has always been around." I laugh uncomfortably and wonder at the impetus behind this question. I am torn between laughing hysterically at the idea or feeling indignant. I am guessing she sensed my shock and spewed out some ridiculous explanation involving the dog feeling threatened by another person in the house. Bloody hell.
It seems to me that some people have preconceived notions of what a widow looks like. What her actions should be. That my life is their business. Maybe these people would lack the tact and sensitivity to know what is appropriate conversation in any situation and maybe I am feeling overly sensitive and presumptive but, dude, he could have been my brother or my boss. And even if he had been someone 'new in my life' it wouldn't have been any of her business....although I opened the door when I agreed to answer the personal question....I still find it funny....
A more funny incident happened when I went to the drugstore to fill Freckles prescription for antidepressants. While handing me the medication, the pharmacist laughingly explained to me that I shouldn't leave the medication where the dog can get it in case he's having suicidal thoughts. That it may leave him with a dry mouth or constipation. I asked the pharmacist if he often filled prescriptions for canines. He said that while they often did, he had never seen one for antidepressants for a dog. Laughing, he asked me what I did to the dog to make him so upset. I looked at him and said, "Well, first my husband died. Then my other dog died." I think I could have just left it with 'my husband died'. He looked at me with a completely straight stare and I could almost see him replay our conversation with horror. No smile. No hint of his previously expressed sense of humour. "Oh", he says, "You can pay at the front counter." I felt badly for his discomfort but wondered at the society we live in where it is 'wrong' to laugh when faced with hard times. That stoic faces and hushed speech are used when talking about those we have so loved and are now gone from us.
Both of these incidents have reminded me of people's prejudices and judgments regarding others. We all do this. Since Jeff's death, I have learned that these preconceived opinions hurt more than I knew before. But I also am realizing that Ellen Degeneres is so wise when she says, "Other people's opinions are none of my business." I am trying to live my life in a way that helps my kids get through these hard times, puts a smile on all of our faces and protects our future and not worry what anyone else believes is 'right'. I am learning to trust that I know what is 'right' for us. And this may not be right for anyone else.

Fuckles strikes again

Okay, this time the victim wasn't of the soft, feathered sort. The bloody dog has turned his attention to.....construction DE-construction. He's become a one dog wreaking ball. An incomplete list of his targets is:

• light switch at Marnie's (completely pulling it off of the wall bearing the wires).
• two door knobs (they still work but are dented and pocked).
• trim around the front door.
• drywall beside the front door.
• backyard gate (bent, chainlink removed, hole dug underneath)
• most surprising of all, one extra-large Varikennel. (He completely annihilated it in two hours and managed to escape free to reak havoc upon various household fixtures).

He is now on medication for anxiety (aka seperation anxiety) and has a new metal kennel. I have started filling his Kong (a type of dog toy) with peanut butter to attempt to keep him busy while we're out. I am attempting to minimize the cues that we are leaving.

It's is just odd. He has never been my favourite (only because he is not Eli and is very exuberant with his affection) but he has always been sweet to the kids, undestructive, and clean. After Jeff died, he started killing (although we only got chickens after Jeff was gone so this one isn't completely fair). After Eli died, he was fine for a month....and now this. He's lost it. I am angry.....but I feel a small amount of empathy for his acting out. If ingesting drywall would make me feel better, I would do it too.

can't beat 'em...sew for 'em

Liv doesn't want to leave the house as of late. If we do manage to go out, she insists on wearing her homemade nightie....Then she wants tries to wear the soiled nightgown to bed. Around and around it goes. I am tired of arguing. I am sick of trying to convince her that getting dressed is a fabulous idea. I am fed up....So, I've decided to do it her way. She LOVES the flannel nightie that I made for her as a Christmas gift last year. I pulled out the pattern and started sewing. In two days, I made her three dresses from the modified nightie pattern and one other flannel nightgown. She is so very pleased. In a moment of mommy genius, I even had her choose the fabric so I would KNOW that she liked it. She is completely enamoured with 'Little House on the Prairie' books and chose some calico-type flowery prints for two of the dresses.
I am so pleased with how they've turned out. In fact, Liv is so tickled because everyone seems to notice her new attire and compliment her on them....even her buddy, Kale.

When Liv's little friend/pretend sister, Jaiden, came for a sleepover, I was instructed that I must make Jaiden her own nightie as well. Off to the fabric store we went again for the six year old selection of the best, cutest, coziest, purplest fabric yet. Success and another pleased little customer!

I'm actually really enjoying mixing the fabric and changing up the patterns and creating again...I fell comfort in my mind and my soul when I'm sewing. I am accomplishing something and pleasing my little one all at the same time.

not the same...but trying

Jeff loved to build wooden toys for Liv. He built her a wooden doll pram. He had put so much thought into how to put it together and how to provide some traction for the wooden wheels (he used rubber boot bands from his fish boots). He built a wooden toy kitchen complete with an oven rack made of wood dowling.

They made a bird feeder together the week before he died. He always signed his work, "Love Daddy". He loved to putter in the garage with some project especially when he could see the joy it brought.

Last Christmas, Briar was a bit too young for a daddy wooden gift so I had made a few little wooden animals for him. Jeff had decided that this coming Christmas he'd build a wooden barn for the animals to live in.
Unfortunately, almost all the legs broke off the little herd I had created. Then Jeff died. Briar didn't get a wooden creation made by his daddy.

Liv cherishes the toys he made for her. Even the piece of bark into which he carved her name while sitting on the beach is coveted. I so wish that Briar had something to hold onto. Something that his father had made with his huge, rough and capable hands simply to see a happy little face light up with wonder and excitement.

I thought of trying to build one myself....but, dude, the legs fell off my animals and I am afraid I'd wreck this project that has now become so important to me. For Briar to have something that his daddy wanted him to have.

I decided to try to find one on Etsy. After searching for a surprisingly sort time, I found one. It's perfect. It is beautiful. It is built by another daddy. I unwrapped it from the box when it arrived on my doorstep smiling while bittersweet tears rolled down my face. In someway, I feel like it's okay. Jeff didn't build it. But someone else who loves his children did. I am hoping that some of that fatherly love went into building the barn. For me and for little Briar, it was so important.

I know that giving some of the things that Jeff had hoped for his children are beyond my control now. Some of these things, I need to let go. I will need to relinquish this feeling that I can make 'it' better. But for now, I am pleased that I may be able, at least, to try to give second best. Because it is the best I can do.

And in the meantime, this little barn, with so much meaning, will be so loved and be a reminder that a daddy loved his little boy oh-so-much.

my love with his little ones

This seems like yesterday. To think that 1 year, nine months and twenty six days later he would be gone is completely surreal. I miss him so ferociously. I sometimes don't know how I have made it this far from that day.

t.v. dissent and rebellion

Do you remember before you had children and you'd see a television portrayal of a woman giving birth? You'd wonder how accurate it was...but it was probably all you had to go on. Not many people witness true and actual birth experiences before they have the pleasure themselves. After you gave birth yourslef, you realized how skewed the media's illustration of labour is.
Since losing Jeff, I find the same phenomenon occurring within various productions regarding widowhood. 'P.S. I Love You' and 'Grey's Anatomy' annoy the fuck out of me now. I mean, really?
I am a cynical, crabby widow bitch. Pshaw.

not much left to say

As you've noticed, I haven't been writing with much 'substance' lately. I am at a loss for what to say. I wonder if I've said it all before. I hardly remember at times if I've felt these things before. What I feel is unknown even to me. Things here are changing and evolving but staying remarkably the same. Life is moving forward. Things are needing attending to. Other people are forgetting. This movement takes me farther away from the moment that Jeff died. Those few minutes are never far from my thoughts, but they are no longer the first thing I think of in every situation. I don't 'see' Jeff's face in my hands and 'hear' myself screaming as I have a totally unrelated conversation with someone. The voice has stopped telling me, "Jeff's dead". The terror and trauma are there, but to a lesser degree.
I am finding that as I emerge from whatever you would call that place...shock? hell?....I forget that Jeff is gone more often. I don't think 'forget' is actually the correct word. The fear of the moment is not as sharp and it is easy to remember and to sink into my now pseudo life as it was/would have been. I think this may be denial. I try to avoid his photos. They just make me remember the feel of the curls at the back of his neck. The smell on his clothes. The shape of his feet. It hurts too much and makes me long for him so intensely it physically hurts. I steer my mind away from the pain. I try to tell myself that it is okay. That I am strong and I am surviving.
But I have more of those moments where I think, "I can't wait to tell Jeff!" "When Jeff gets home..." I can't totally understand why these thoughts are actually increasing, other than that somehow, the last moments I had with him cease to be the last moments I remember of him. In someways, it feels as if March 25th, 2008 happened years ago and that he has been with me since. Maybe, I'm just going insane. Maybe my brain is coping by sending me on a mental trip....but this is so NOT a holiday.
Last week, I got 'Jeff mail'. It was from the sheriff's office. I worried that I had forgotten to pay his speeding ticket and now they were going to take him/me to court. I tore the envelope open to find a jury summons. A jury summons. Those of you who knew Jeff well will know why I then burst into laughter. Jeff on a jury! Hilarious! I couldn't wait to tell him....Then I sat down and sobbed. I couldn't tell him. I couldn't laugh with him about the absurdity of a jury summons for Jeff. I would never laugh with him.
And now, I just have to keep walking. These kids need to be fed. The house needs to be cleaned. The washer needs repairing. I need to pick up a parcel....I feel like we're....I'm pretending that life goes on. And sometimes, I think I'm doing okay. Like when you learn to ride a bike and you're thinking, "LOOK! I'm doing it! I'm doing it!" And then you fly over your handlebars and get gravel shoved up your nostrils and scraped knees. I'm angry about how this life is.
I don't want to move on. I feel like I'm rebelling. I do things that would have never occurred to me before. I just don't care anymore. I have nothing to lose (except my kids and I would fight to bodily death for them). Everything is...empty and ridiculous. Things I enjoyed in my life 'before' are devoid of meaning. I scoff at the stupidity of society and the motivations behind most actions. It's all vacuous crap....But then, on the other hand, I find myself staring at people and wondering what their story is. How did they get this way? I am falling in love with elderly people who have been through so much. Who have endured wars and lost children and the loves of their lives. Have suffered atrocities and terrors. Still they stand. Some have found meaning. Some have gained the spark back in their eyes. They are my heroes. I want to hear them. I want to ask them how long it was before 'they' returned. I want to know that I am not alone in grief. I want to hear that people have suffered....worse and lived to live again.
My brain and my emotions have left me. They left an empty shell. An automaton. I exist. I don't live. I died as he took his last breath.....But maybe. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe one day, I will live again. I can't see it now. But if I look to people who have endured and survived through horror, I know there may be hope.

rememberance

^

We will not forget.

* photo by Fotobob#

sickness and bombs

This illness is still hanging over me. I'll be going for some tests this morning and hopefully, they will shed some definitive light on what is going on with my body. I am so tired of being sick. It is amazing to me how stress can cause you body to act against you. That worry can cause your body to forget to protect you from sickness in an effort just to keep you upright and standing.

One thing that seems to help my aching body is having a gloriously hot bath. Last week was Tabitha's turn at our weekly homeschool craft day to instruct us on a craft for the kids to make for the Christmas craft fair. We made bath bombs!

This is an extremely easy (but a bit messy - yummy smelling mess, though) craft...even Briar enjoyed it! I thought some of you may enjoy making them as well....

1 part citric acid aka Vitamin C (can be bought in bulk at health food or wine making stores)

2 parts baking soda

*mix together well.

Add 10-12 drops of essential oils.

*Mix well again making sure to break up the small lumps of oils to ensure their even dispersal through the powder.

Using a spray bottle containing witch hazel, mist contents of your bowl small amounts at a time while mixing with your hands. Hold the spray bottle far enough away that it does not make foamy puddles as you spray. As you mix, press the mixture together into balls to test whether it is ready to put in molds. As soon as it holds together loosely, it is ready! Do not add too much liquid!!

Use something to mold the bombs as they are drying or form them into balls with your hands.
We've used ice cube trays, muffin tins, jello molds, etc. Let them dry for 24 hours and pop them out for in the bath. Keep them in a dry place or they won't work when you want to use them. We pry them out of the mold with a butter knife but I have read that if you oil your mold, the bomb will pop out more easily.

We've been thinking of all the various ingredients we could use to colour them, scent them and even embed in them.

P.S. Don't taste test it...Although it won't hurt you, it is pretty sour...

paranoia will destroy ya

Since Jeff has died, not many things scare me. I figure this is all temporary. Possibly a dream. I still get worked up and stressed but not about the same vacuous ephermeral junk.
The one thing that freaks me out, however, is the fact that if something happens to me, my kids will be orphans. So although I`d worry about illness, etc. before, I am now downright paranoid.
A quick morning scan of my symptoms via the internet has introduced the bloody terror that my body is harbouring Saroidosis, Leptospirosis, Hodgkins disease, Rubella, Kawasaki Disease (although this is a child`s disease), etc. I am perpetually telling my sister to stay off the computer when searching for medical advice. I only meant to see if my symptoms warranted a trip to the doctor...I need to listen to my own advice and STOP LOOKING FOR MEDICAL ADVICE ON THE INTERNET!!!!

kindness of kiddos

There are days. Days that I could pull my hair out and stomp my feet and wonder who the hell dropped these kids who fight and whine all day off at my house. On these days, nothing gets done. The kids need me and I need time to myself...a cycle that is not mutually beneficial or quiet. Although I know I shouldn't, I take score of how long it took them to start screaming, who made the last mess and how old someone should be when they start to retrieve their own underwear from their drawers. I forget that my housemates are four feet and under and are very immature...and for good reason! I get tired and sullen. They get exhausted and crabby. I feel sorry for myself and my 'lot in life' and have a little pity-party.

Then, the next day comes and mommy is sick with whatever ailment they have been battling. I feel achey and cold. My glands are swollen and I want to be tucked into bed with a hotwater bottle.

Then. Then! My sweet and thoughtful little six year old takes her little brother to the kitchen. I can hear them crashing around and giggling. I lay there anticipating and dreading the mess that I will have to clean up when I emerge from the coccoon of my cozy bed. Suddenly, two bright and sweet little faces bounce into my room with the larger one carrying a tray of food. Mommy's favourite breakfast of yogourt and granola and their standard morning fare of cinnamon toast. We sit in my bed eating with Liv so pleased that she could help and me so pleased with the empathy that she is expressing. And although again, I was anticipating the sugary crumbs I'd have to clean up, I am so thankful that I have these two little people to share my home with.

Later, when I pull out that vaccuum cleaner, an eager two year old tugs the hose from my hand and proclaims, "I do it, Mommy!" I happily relinquish the clean-up to him and relish the fact that I have such sweet, funny and kind little ones in my life. Thank you, you two. Mommy is so lucky to have you....even when you're not making breakfast or vaccuuming. Even when we have a stomping, growling, crabby day, I am so very blessed.

at a complete loss for words

I have had trouble posting for the last few days. I haven't known how to express how I'm feeling. I wish their was some way that my heartfelt gratitude could be transported through the internet or through space or SOMETHING to say 'thank you' to everyone of you who have read, commented, donated, contacted, assisted and cared for our family. The most recent expression of this kindness and generosity has come from my dear friend, Matt, his creeps, readers, and supporters. I hope you know how much you've touched our little family and that this assistance could not be more appreciated at this time. Matt, you are truly a wonder. A kind, generous and amazing person that I am so honoured to be able to call 'friend'. I only hope that there is some way that I can help you in the years to come following our losses.
Please know, all of you, that it will be paid forward...
Thank you. Sincerely. Thank you.

happy halloween

Last year seems like a life time ago. Or maybe just a different life. I read my post from last Halloween. I stare at the pictures searching for any small detail that I may have missed before. Look at Jeff's face trying to see if I can find any reason or foreshadow of what was to come...But he looks so vital. Immortal. Strong.

It had been so fabulous to have him come with us trick-or-treating. Often he had been away for Halloween because it wasn't a real holiday. Liv had been so proud to have her daddy walk her down the street with all her little friends and their dads. We had joked that Jeff was dressed as a sasquatch. He had only been home for a few hours and drove back up to the boat hours away after tucking the kids into bed and kissing them goodnight.

Oh, if I could go back. Savour it a little more. I am so glad we did have that day, though. So happy that I have these memories of what an amazing man he was.

guilt and acceptance

I have worried since Jeff's death that he didn't know how much I loved him. The stupid things I did and the things I took for granted have weighed so heavily on my mind. I have felt terribly and guilty for the things that I complained about and the issues I thought were important.
Since Jeff's death I have realized that these 'things' were nothing. Not important. Not worth the words or the breath I used to express them.
I have always known Jeff loved me. I have always felt his comforting presence and his teddy bear gentleness when it came to 'us'. I have never doubted that he loved me and I was his 'Snuggles'.
A friend recently expressed her worry that when she dies, it will be after she has lost her patience, yelled or been in a generally foul mood. She worried that this would be the last thing her kids or husband remembered about her. I assured her that it wouldn't. That they'd remember all of her and those times of stress and anger would be forgiven and almost forgotten.
I told her of the last few minutes I had with Jeff before he died. He had been an ASS. He had told the doctor that he thought I was hoping he was having a heart attack so I could 'be right'. I had replied, "No, Jeff. I am concerned about you. I am worried and I want to find out what is wrong."
Jeff didn't like going to doctors. He didn't like to admit that anything was wrong. He could be combative and angry trying to dissuade me from taking him to a doctor. Years ago, he once told me that he would leave me if I took him to the hospital again after he had passed out on the floor and was turning blue. It became the source of laughter just days later. But it didn't mean he didn't love me. It meant he didn't like going to the doctor. He didn't like being 'told what to do'. As simple as that.
Since telling my friend about these incidents, I have been thinking about it. I am realizing that even though I have had my complete 'ass' moments, Jeff most likely had the same feelings about me. That I am human. I obsess about ridiculousness much to my detriment just as he did. Even though he was angry with me for dragging him to the doctor, I was there. I was trying to save his life. I loved him enough to go up against his defiance and fury to find out what was wrong. Even after he used these angry words, I tried to save him. I would have no matter what he ever said, did or was. I knew he loved me. And I loved him. He died in my arms as I tried to save him. And, now, I am sure he knew I loved him. And it is a relief. I can let go of my guilt. I can realize I am human and like everyone else, I am imperfect. He loved me despite of it all. And I loved him despite any of his faults. And he knew.

autumn leaves

While quietly riding in the cars back seat, Liv says, "Mommy, I know why the leaves drop in the Fall."

"Oh?", I say.
"Yup. The trees go to sleep in the fall. As they fall asleep, they forget to hold onto the leaves and they drop them onto the ground....Those leaves blow away, so in the Spring when they wake up they have to make new ones."

"That's cool, Liv."

"Yeah, it is.", she says as she stares out the window.

seven months (yesterday)

Jeff loved my long hair. I loved Jeff's beard. He'd tease that he was going to cut it off when we'd 'mock argue' (our thing...some people didn't get it). I'd always pretend that I had cut my hair off when I had a trim and talked to him on the phone. I loved him. He loved me. We did small things to show eachother...even if it was keeping old hair styles on our heads and faces to bring the other some pleasure however silly that is.
Yesterday was seven months since he died. Seven months by myself. Seven months paralyzed with this pain and loneliness. He is never coming back.
He doesn't care what my hair looks like now. I don't care what it looks like now. Now it's just hair. Just an accessory. Just strands protruding from the follicles on my scalp.
So, instead of drowning in thoughts of 'before' on this melancholy anniversary, I decided to do something different. Something I wouldn't do if Jeff was here. I cut my hair off. Like shedding an old, sentimental garment and putting it away to remind of another time, I put it in my drawer with Jeff's wallet, cellphone and watch. It was for him.
I'm not moving on. I am just trying to learn to move forward....in a world that is so very fucking different now.

**P.S. I laid in bed last night wondering if this post sounded as if I am insane or, worse, frivolous. I can assure that I am neither.
I am looking at all the things that Jeff and I did for each other...things that maybe we wouldn't have done if the other wasn't around. Little expressions of love without words.
Jeff disliked it when I would leave the dishes 'soaking' in the sink overnight forcing someone to stick their hand into cold food-filled water to remove the plug in the morning. So I tried to remember not to do this...
I found it annoying when I climbed into bed to find that the sheets were scrunched up at the foot of the bed. So Jeff would pull them straight when I climbed into bed....
I would make coffee in the morning for Jeff. I don't drink it myself.
Jeff would bring dark chocolate home from the store as a treat just for me.
Although I find feet pretty unappealing, I would give Jeff a foot rub. He'd brush my hair.
I'd tape WWF for him while he was away (if you know me personally, you know how much I dislike WWF. But Jeff loved it.)
Jeff made me a stool to rest my feet while I nursed the babies because my toes would cramp from being on 'tiptoe' to hold the little ones at the right height.
All little ways to tell each other how important we are to one another. Little small things that we wouldn't necessarily do if the other wasn't around.
So although, I still love Jeff with everything I am, he isn't here. So I cut my hair. I leave dirty dishwater in the sink overnight. And I don't tape WWF. I need to do this. I need to let go...just a little. He no longer is appreciates these small expressions of love.

death trap vs. havahart trap

I thought I did most of the work around here. I used to say to Jeff, "You don't even know what size shoes your kids wear." I meant that he didn't do what I did. He didn't do as much as I did. As time progresses without him, I realize how very, very wrong I was. He did a lot. We just had evolved into different types of caregivers with different roles.

I cleaned the bathtub. He washed the dog's dishes and refilled them.

I made breakfast and lunch. He made dinner.

I made sure the kids had warm clothing for Winter. He got the house ready for the cold weather.

I paid the bills. He made sure there was money to pay the bills with.

I changed diapers (he did it too but not as often). He emptied rat traps.

Even though as a fisherman's wife I did things around the house that some wives don't need to do while Jeff was away, I find myself having to do all of the tasks that I would save until he returned from sea.

The most loathesome so far is setting and emptying rat traps. Every Autumn, we get rats in the wood pile. Every Fall, Jeff took care of it. I have real problems looking at those shiny little black eyes and the soft furry heads with their broken necks in those awful traps. It is such a violent end.

I had been thinking about getting a Havahart trap and letting the rats go out in the woods. I don't have 'killer' on my list of indentities....But after talking to Marnie (the ruthless woman that she is. LOL), I am concerned that moving the rats to somewhere else would cause more problems elsewhere. I am a bit tormented over all this. I know it is...well, a bit of a trivial thing to be agonizing over. But I don't want to hurt them. I think of their mommies, daddies and children. I think of their last moments and the little ratty confusion. Yes, I'm a dork.

Anyhow, I have decided to stand up and be a bit ruthless. I can try to 'kill' these little animals and empty the traps. If Jeff can do it, I can do it....also, they ate all our squash and pumpkins that I had stored in the garage this year. I know he would be laughing at me and the trepidation I feel. But I once drove a squirrel that I ran over to the vet....

Golden Girls

When I was little, I would occasionally stay at my grandparent’s house. I loved to go there. The counter tops in the kitchen were beautiful in my small six year old eyes with their turqiouse and gold coloured stars. Grandma made the best popsicles with orange juice and a maraschino cherry in the end. My brother would always throw out the cherry, much to my grandmother’s chagrin. They had a black toy poodle named Cindy whom I adored. I can still recall the smell of her coat, the feeling of her little claws when she’d jump across my lap in the backseat of their silver Volvo, the delight I’d feel from the sensation of her licking my bare summer legs covered in salt from running all day through the vast back yard, and the pride I’d feel when walking her as I’d pretend she was ‘mine’. Grandpa played the piano wonderfully. I was tickled pink to sit beside him on the piano bench to play ‘Heart and Soul’ with him. I felt special. We’d sit and sing ‘Bye Bye Blackbird’ and ‘Ain’t She Sweet’ as he played amazing melodies on the piano and belt out a song with his deep voice. I can still recall the cool sensation on my cheek when I’d lay my head against their electric blue satin jacquard sofas. Occasionally, the glasses that I pull from our dishwasher smell identically to the squeaky clean, dry hot juice glasses that I’d drink from at their house. My sister and I would lay in the bed in the ‘gold room’ and my brother in the crib on these overnight stays to their house. Grandpa would come and tell us amazing stories about a monkey named ‘Jacko’, much to our delight. After he’d left us, my sister and I would lay snug in the bed counting the cars passing their house as their headlights shone through the curtains creating a streak of light that would slowly creep across the wall as the passing car travelled to its’ destination. As an adult, I realize that it is impossible…but in my memory, I could see the actual sillouette of each individual car as it passed. During these sleepovers, we’d be lulled into dreamland to the sounds of Grandpa and Grandma’s television in the next room. To this day, when I hear the theme song for ‘Golden Girls’ or CTV News, I feel safe, comfortable and truly loved. I knew that no matter what, they were here for me. They loved me. I was safe. Protected. And the word outside this little bedroom didn’t matter. I was at Grandma and Grandpa’s. I wish I could feel so safe and comfortable now. Maybe I can borrow a Golden Girls DVD from the library and play it in a loop outside my bedroom. It’s worth a try….:)

success!

Let's have a round of applause for Lucy, the sweetest, most loveable egg layer in the history of chicken-kind! She did it! An egg! A real egg! I squealed when I found it. We're pretty stoked. Unfortunately, it's going to have to wait to be eaten until we get home from the farm....Oh well, it gives us time to think up a fabulous egg filled meal to use it in. And it gives Lucy time to lay a few more. I am a proud chicken Mommy.

to the farm

We are headed down the island to farm-sit...and 'friend sit'. Brent of B&P's Farm has been injured and needs a hand around the place while Penny is away for work. So down we go to a little piece of heaven . We'll be working hard feeding and caring for the animals and poor injured Brent and we're really excited...I'm a bit nervous about the feeding issue since Brent is used to Penny's amazing cooking. But I am a chronic scrambled egg dinner with salad kind of cook. Not really gourmet. Jeff was the cook in our house. When he was home, I rarely cooked a meal after 4pm. In fact, Christmas dinner is already filling me with trepidation. I have cooked one turkey in my life. It was with my beloved longtime roommate, Heidi, in my early twenties and we were so proud of ourselves that we took pictures of the finished bird. So, I am apologizing in advance to Brent for my cooking skills and the lack thereof. Also, in the awful probably not unlikely event that Freckles may cause some...carnage on the farm. I assure you that he'll be restrained but....he can open an incubator, man!

blueberry 'tree'

This 'tree' or bush suddenly sprung up the spring before last in our backyard where a blueberry bush was once planted for Jeff's birthday (his favourite berry and pie). When it sprouted, Jeff wondered what it was. I proclaimed in all my 'infinite wisdom' that it was the blueberry we had planted a few years previous. Jeff had his doubts. We made a small wager. I was smug thinking that I was right. Early this past Spring, Jeff again doubted its' lineage. Less certain, I still maintained that it was a blueberry bush; although it had grown four or five times larger than the surrounding blueberry bushes. Now, at the end of this growing season, I am ready to say, "That is NOT a blueberry bush. It's some sort of swamp loving willow. I was wrong." But he's not here to hear me. And it makes me giggle to remember how he once told me that he wouldn't admit it often, but that I was almost always 'right'. Well, I wasn't. So I am going to remove the 'swamp willow'. It saddens me because I won't have the reminder of our 'bet' in the backyard...and because I hate to kill plants. But Liv and I have decided to plant an apple tree where this things grows. Right beside all the blueberry bushes that we planted each birthday(except for his last birthday - we planted one after he died) for Jeff. And I'll say he won. And when we get apples from the tree, I'll make him a blueberry apple pie to make good on our bet

autumn

It's Autumn. There was frost covering my motley assortment of surviving veggies in the garden two mornings ago. I thought I would dread this season. Less sun. More rain. More mud....No Jeff.
But I am finding, so far, I am finding comfort in the cold nights. The wood stove burning at the foot of the stairs. The board games on the kitchen table. The return of my 'craftiness'.
The sunshine that comes now seems golden or older. It is less intense and a delicious treat when it's out. The chilling rain forces us inside and together. I slow down. I take a breath and play with the kids. Not worrying that there was something that I wanted to get done right now. It's too cold. It's too wet. And I want to stay home. With the kids, the woodstove and some quiet.
We've harvested most of our garden's offerings. We've taken to feeding the fall orb weaver spider, Charlotte, that resides on the kitchen wall the last of this years flies stunned with the zapper racket.
I've stacked as much firewood as we have for this year. We've raked leaves and found creatures in the yard with the same instincts that we possess...to hunker down, get cozy and be still.

I wish Jeff could be here to enjoy the warmth in this little house. To snuggle under a blanket. To giggle at Liv's holey mouth with the missing teeth and Briar's sweet little grins. To deal with the hot water tank that blew this morning (argh!). To enjoy his little ones piling on top of him in the mornings and cuddling into his warm furry chest with their chilly little toes. And to share in this feeling of home, family and closeness.

But I am thankful that I had him for the time that I did. There is a line in this song that says, "I'm glad I didn't die before I met you." It makes me cry and marvel at how amazing it was that we were here at the same time. And that we met. I was truly blessed. And for the time we shared together, I am eternally grateful.

I still waffle on my beliefs. One moment I am sure that there is something 'more'. Something unexplainable. Intangible but there. That when I try to imagine what makes 'me' me and 'you' you, I know that there is more. That there is no way that this is 'it'. That there is mystery in life and that love or its' energy is eternal. That nothing ever really ends.
Then there are times that I am just as positive that we consist of nothing more than the primates we are. That this is it. We are biological creatures and that all the coincidences and questions in life are explainable if we look hard enough with open eyes. That there are so many interactions and events happening at any given moment that there are bound to be some that are 'amazing' and seemingly 'unbelievable'. That every emotion and thought can be explained away by hormones and chemical reactions. And that nothing ever ends because we have children and our bodies and waste exists to be carried on as compost...
I go round and round. I can't find heads or tails and I spin myself around in a fucking tizzy. I know I won't find the answer...yet.
I just so HOPE that Jeff is there...here. That I one day will have him hold me in some form again. That he will know just how completely I loved him. That I realize now how stupid most of the shit I worried about was. That I wish I could go back and just be with him. That I let my ego get in the way. That I realize that I spent such a ridiculously inordinate amount of time attempting to see how I could feel 'wronged' or pissed off. We were happy. But I think we could have been happier. And that kills me. That I could have spent that time with him...without all the fucking mental bullshit. He was my anchor. The best thing that ever happened to me. My soul-mate. My best friend. He KNEW me. Really knew me...and he thought I was fabulous. And I took that for granted. I will forever regret my anger, my ego and the waste of time spent on ridiculousness.
I miss having him reflect back to me how he saw me. To see myself through his eyes. To see the kindness, the anger, the vulnerability and quirkiness. And he thought it was great...even when I felt fearful and put up my wall of false bravado. He saw through it and giggled. He knew me. I was safe. He loved me no matter what I did....And I loved him so intensely no matter what he did. I just so very, very much hope he knew that.
I know I write about this so often...I just feel the guilt of the one left behind. And I miss him. So I play back every one of the memories I have of him and I realize that I complained and stressed about shit that didn't matter....I had it good. We had fun. We were a happy family. Now I am alone with two little kids in a tail spin. I don't know which end is up. I don't know if this free-fall will stop. I am lost, lonely and empty. And it fucking sucks ass.

Fall Fairies

We're trying to get our nature table back together. I am hoping to dye some playsilks with the kids...Here is our attempt at making some new fall creations. I was inspired on Etsy by Miesmama.

We made them with Marnie and all the kiddos. It was a great fun activity for all the kids...Except Briar. He just ran around and played. Next year, maybe he'll want to make some too.
I can't seem to track Olivia's fairy down. I keep having sightings of it clutched in her hand, but when I go to photograph it, it disappears. So these ones are just mine.

impossible forgetting

Is it strange that six months and thirteen days after my beloved Jeffrey died, I still forget that he is gone? It's brief. Just a moment. But I will suddenly think, "I have to remember to tell him..." I still pick up the phone to call him. I still think I hear him snoring. I still think I feel his love for me. It's hard to remember that he's gone. It's impossible to forget him.
My grandfather is ill. He needs help with some things. I keep thinking that Jeff will come lend a hand. He won't anymore. He can't.
I am so used to being loved by Jeff. I am so accustomed to knowing that he was out there somewhere thinking of me and the kids. I still can't wrap my head around his absence. I don't think I ever will. But I so wish I could feel the reassurance of his love and the safety of his presense.

thanks in leaves

We've been working again on our 'seasonal tree'. I was trying to think of an activity that educational, seasonally appropriate and fun. Sometimes a hard task. I happened upon these amazing colour diffusing paper leaves that served the purpose beautifully. We used a variety of mediums as we experimented with the resulting leaves. We tried watercolour paints, water soluble felt pens, and watercolour pencil crayons. Spray bottles of water, wet paintbrushes and dunking the whole leaf in water. Liv had a fabulous time and worked on hers for days. While they dried, we thought of things we were thankful for (Thanksgiving is October 13th in Canada). They were as follows:Daddy

each other

friends and family

stranger friends (Thanks for the secret of the 'strike', Marissa!)

chickens

pets

our house

our garden

healthy food

warm beds

Canada

rain

rainbows

walking...staggering...public service announcement

I went to an annual women's event in town with Marnie and a bunch of other girlfriends. Last year, Jeff was home. He stayed with the kids while I went out, drank too much and came home with silly stories. He thought it was hilarious and teased me mercilessly (I rarely drink and I go out in the evenings even less than that).

This year, I decided to go again. I was nervous because I feel, at times, that my new widow-status stands out like a sore thumb and makes me the person that people are uncomfortable around. The very strange thing was that when I sat down, I realized that I was seated beside a woman in an extremely similar position. It was wonderful to have someone who knew what this shit we now live is like. I look at her and see the sadness and loneliness mirrored back at me. But I also see strength....the strength that I so often feel I lack. I see humour. I see an amazing woman who is still standing despite it all...and I marvel at her.

As last year, we drank a bit more alcohol than we had planned. I am not a fan of overdrinking. I roll my eyes when people proudly tell stories of their drunkeness and think 'Wow! You can swallow!" I'm not proud. But I did have...well, quite a few.

It turns out though that I'm not the sad, widow drunk who talks about her grief. I am the annoying boring drunk who tells everyone to get life insurance. Tell their families that they love them. Don't smoke. Go to the doctor if you don't feel right. Try to keep perspective. That's not to say that I didn't dance my face off. Didn't laugh until I cried tears of hilarity. Didn't have a fabulously crazy night. Because I did. I had an AWESOME time. A stagger home and giggle most of the night time.
I just worry about the poor souls who went home with instructions to love everyone, be safe, calm down, and have more fun....Because life is TOO FUCKING short. Maybe I am a drunken annoying passer-on of unsolicited advice....Do I sound like a 'know-it-all'? Because I really don't think I know it all....or much of anything. I just think I maybe sound like I am....And it must be annoying.....Maybe everyone was as sauced as I was and don't totally remember....or care.....Let's hope.