Another First

I went to the movies by myself for the first time in my life today. I saw Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi. I enjoyed the movie and felt empowered by my decision to go alone. There was quite a bit about the movie that spoke to me and I was particularly aware of an underlying theme to let go of the past in order to realize your future.

I believe my current season of solitude is an integral part of my story. I have been wrestling with this from the time we knew Brian would not live through his illness. I had JUST gotten past the devastation of learning I would never be a mother. The idea that I would now also lose my husband and the love of my life seemed unnecessarily cruel.

God's hand in my current isolation is as obvious to me as the build-up of support prior to Brian's illness and death. I believe it's important that I'm alone right now and that this loneliness has a purpose. I have asked why and for how long at least a thousand times over the past two and a half years. No answer.

I have tried to find my own solutions. I've dated. I've joined groups. I've gotten involved in church activities. I've volunteered. I have met a TON of amazing people who are all probably reading this and thinking, "How can she feel alone??"

To that, all I can say is try not to take it personally. I love you and I feel loved by you - but from a distance. I'm not where you are and you aren't where I am and that's ok.

Over the past week or so, I've had some really good in-depth conversations and I think I'm starting to get some insight on what this is all about.

The most important insight is that it's special and unusual to be alone with God. I shouldn't take it for granted or let even one day slip away. Time alone is where relationships develop. It's where love deepens and grows. This is my time and place to fall in love with God.

Another insight is that deep and lasting love doesn't always feel exciting. Those endorphin-driven emotional experiences that happen when a spark turns into a flame are fun and necessary whether it's a romantic relationship or a relationship with God, but in both cases, it's just superficial brain chemistry. It is necessary and good for things to settle down over time and transition to something more genuine and sustainable.

I've also come to the conclusion that my season of isolation will most likely transition into something else eventually and I genuinely believe that the 2nd half of this story is going to be epic. I'm poised for the type of comeback Tom Brady and Bill Belichick can only dream about. I just have to be patient and wait it out. The final insight is that God is in the waiting.

If I can learn to love anything the way Tess loved Brian I think I'd be doing pretty good.

Thanksgiving Observations

This was my 3rd Thanksgiving without Brian. I think the weirdest thing about this year is how not weird it was.

I don't really remember the first year. Most of 2015 is hazy for me. Mom, Dad, and Grandma came to stay with me through the holidays that first year and I think the focus was primarily on distraction.

I was still working at the college at the time, so I had a lot of time off for holiday breaks. We did some fun local activities and a very nice day trip to the Verde Canyon Railway. As far as Thanksgiving day went, Mom did most of the meal prep and I believe we ended up serving a party of about 14 (Petorella's x5, McDowell x4, Daley x3, Jason and I).

The 2016 holiday season was a little less dramatic on the whole. My parents came to stay again, but we kept it low key. We did a few day trips, but nothing spectacular. I put the magazine on hold and didn't yet have my job with the Boles Group, so once again I had plenty of time. Mom and I shared the meal prep, but it was a much smaller group. If I'm honest, I don't remember who was there. I know the Petorella's ended up going out of town, and the McDowells were there. Other than that I think it was just Mom, Dad, Paul and I.

This year was different, but in many ways, it was less disruptive. My parents didn't come to stay this year because there is simply no place for them to come or to stay. I was really worried about being alone, but it turned out ok.

I was invited to have Thanksgiving dinner with a family from my church who made me feel 100% at home. In fact, it felt exactly like it would have if I had been at home. If my mother had hosted the dinner herself, it would have been nearly identical. The home and the table were beautiful and it was clear that quite a bit of thought and effort had gone into the arrangements. The dinner was perfectly timed and everything was fantastic.

On my way home from dinner, I stopped by a friend's house with whom I have a special bond. Her parents were in town and we visited for a bit before I had to go home to bed. 

The rest of the weekend was spent with the McDowell family (which is the same as saying the rest of the weekend was spent with MY family). Friday we went to Butterfly Wonderland followed by lunch and Saturday we made candies and had a slightly scaled down Thanksgiving dinner.

All in all, Thanksgiving 2017 was good.  I was surrounded by people who love me and whom I love. Although I'm still not comfortable being comfortable with it, I think Brian would be glad to know that his absence played a much less prominent role.

"Remember me and smile, 

for it is better to forget than to 

remember me and cry." 

-Dr Suess. 

In the Meantime...

I find myself reminiscing a lot lately. I think it's because there's nothing in the present worth thinking about.  

I'm in a bit of a holding pattern until the new house is complete.  I'm really uncomfortable living in my tiny little temporary apartment with disposable furniture, loud neighbors, and cheap appliances. I feel a little removed from reality - like I'm in purgatory waiting to find out what the rest of eternity will be. 

This apartment and the economic restrictions of my saving-for-the-new-house lifestyle have taken me back in time about 10 years. I'm a little surprised by the impact of my current environment on my mind and even my personality. 

If you spend time around me you may have noticed that I've regressed back to relating EVERYTHING to Brian or our life together. I tell almost as many Brian stories now as I did when he first passed away, particularly stories from the early years of our marriage. Some other peculiarities include a strong desire to smoke when I'm on the balcony, increased use of vulgarity in casual conversations and I'm back to eating a majority of my meals at Taco Bell. 

I find that I like thinking about Brian. I like keeping his memory at the front of my mind.  Every step forward into my own life is a step away from our life together and selling the house was a pretty big one. What I'm coming to realize, however, is that it's not a step away from Brian. Brian is no further away than he's ever been or ever will be. 

Driving To Las Vegas for my birthday in 2014.

A New Chapter Begins

So the house is sold. I'm moving to an apartment in Queen Creek this Friday and the movers will come on Monday to put the rest in storage. The new owners will get their keys the following Friday and it will no longer be my house.

I will spend six months in a tiny apartment. I'll then move into a beautiful, newly-built home in one of the top neighborhoods in the country with a mortgage that can be paid on minimum wage.

I haven't had this much security or stability in my life since - probably ever.

I feel like when I move, Brian will become a smaller part of my life. How could he not? I think in some ways, making Brian a smaller part of my life is the whole point.

I know it has to happen. I know it's a good decision. I know it will be empowering to live in an environment that looks more like the present than the past. It's just really uncomfortable.

The entire process is super stressful (it probably would be even without the grief element).

I'm doing this pretty much on my own. All the risks are mine to take. All the decisions are mine to make. I have to make the phone calls. I have to pack and clean and figure out what to keep, what to sell and what to throw away. I have to schedule services to be turned on and off. I have to meet with the movers and pick out a storage facility and secure transitional housing.

Had. I had to do those things. They're done now. I did them. Because I'm awesome.

It's uncomfortable. It's not easy. But it's done now - and it can't be undone.

I'm Pretty Sure This Is Just How it Goes

My grief is what's left of everything I've ever felt for Brian and I never want to stop feeling it.

I don't know where that statement lies on a scale of healthy processing to bat-shit insane, but it is the honest truth.

I'm not sure if the sadness I feel is just a part of grieving or if it is a treatable chemical imbalance in my brain. I don't want to leave a medical condition untreated, but I don't want to medicate away my genuine life experiences.

I don't value happiness above all else. I want to experience everything including feelings of sadness, anger, loss, and loneliness. Happiness is just one of many emotions and there is value in all of them.

Sometimes I feel like I'm addicted to being sad. Sometimes I feel like I'm reluctant to recover. Am I depressed or is this still a healthy grief experience? Am I still processing? Am I still making progress? Am I stuck? Am I functioning? Is this normal?

I don't think my current state of mind is dangerous, but it's not good and pretending to be ok sucks almost as bad as not being ok.  I'm not ok. I'm very, very sad. I'm not strong. I only look strong because I have no other choice.

So This Happened...

I just want to capture this while it's fresh in my head.

For those who don't share my faith, when I say God spoke to me, I don't mean that I heard the voice of God speaking to me in English. Some people might interpret the experience as the universe bringing them to a decision, others might say they followed their gut and others might say their sub-conscious observations led them to a conclusion. If you are put off by my faith and how I choose to interpret my experiences you probably aren't going to like this story anyway.

Ok so...

God and I have been talking a lot lately about my current state of well-being. I have asked him for help with my physical health (including my apparent inability to control my weight), as well as my emotions, anxiety, and grief. He has been impressing upon me the importance of healthy relationships and the impact of unhealthy ones. He's also been rolling his eyes at me for not letting go of the issues I'd given to him months ago.

It recently became necessary to completely sever one of my most important relationships and (although it was ultimately the right decision) the end of that friendship creates a bit of a vacuum in certain areas of my life.

I don't like having a ton of people around and I hate having plans (although I love spur of the moment activities). I really enjoy solitude, so it's a paradox that I struggle so much with isolation and the feelings of loneliness, anxiety, and depression that come with it.

I knew that cutting ties with my most reliably available friend was going to amplify this struggle and I have been working on finding something to fill the gap.

It seems odd to say that God told me to join Mountainside Fitness, but it's certainly not an idea that I would have come up with or pursued on my own. I have been thinking about it for a few days and have received a few pretty solid confirmations.

I was hem-hawing about it today and trying to talk myself out of it. My primary concerns being my current lack of disposable income and my chronic lack of balance or agility. Finally, it just clicked and the decision was made.

I had to go pick up my car from the service center and I stopped by the gym to sign up on my way home. I spoke with a woman who showed me around and she asked me what I was looking for from my Mountainside membership and what I hoped to get out of it.

I don't know why, but I told her the truth. I told her my attempts to date had gone poorly and I was just looking for a mildly social environment where I could come when I didn't know what else to do with myself.

We ended up talking about my housing situation and the transitions I've been through. We talked about the desire to move on and become my own independent person and how involuntary inner strength can sometimes be.

We talked about exercise machines and yoga classes and membership dues.

We talked about her relationship with God and her own fears and doubts. We talked about how hard it can be to clearly hear God's voice and to act with confidence on his instruction.

I wasn't trying to witness to her, but I could see that she was internalizing my story. She told me a bit about her situation and it became clear that my experiences were very relevant to her current circumstances.

I don't remember what it is that I said, but her response was, "That's exactly what I needed to hear right now."

I have been in conversations like this a million times over the past 2+ years, but it's completely bizarre to be on this side of it.

Being silly with Brian. I think this was from the very first First
Friday Concert in Eastmark. 

Moving Out Or Moving On?

I'm experiencing a lot of anxiety over the sale of my house and building a new home. In fact, I find I'm obsessing about it and unable to calm myself. Thoughts about the following have taken over my brain and won't allow me to be present or mindful of the things I enjoy in life:

Money - The sale price of my current home, the purchase price of my new house, size and terms of my mortgage, paying for the backyard and ceiling fans and other finishing touches, operating costs of the new house and what my new budget might look like. The cost of interim housing. 

Prestige - My new house will not be as impressive as my current house. No built-in double oven (that I never use), no walk-in shower, no unnecessarily large laundry room and ridiculously large walk in closet, no cabinets or workbench in the garage and no den at all. My interim housing will probably be a bit humbling as well.  

Moving - changing my address (twice) with the VA and the potential for problems with my DIC claim that has already been in process for 2 years. Changing all of my services and utilities (most of which are still in Brian's name). What to take with me, what to sell, what to give away, what to throw away. What to do with Brian's stuff - his bike, his lightsaber and swords, his video games and movies, his popcorn maker, his guns, his remaining clothes, his Army uniform and the list just goes on forever. How much of Brian do I bring with me to the new house? How much of my downsized space do I dedicate to artifacts of Brian's life? 

Interim housing - What are the move-in costs? Will Cooper and Tess be ok in an apartment? Do I need to rent a house? Should I try to live cheap and save up some cash? This could be my opportunity to live downtown for a little bit. 

None of these things are entirely out of my control. Some of them have parameters and some rely on other people, but for the most part, it's up to me to determine what price I'll accept for my house and what I'll pay for the new one and what I'll do in the backyard and what loan terms are acceptable. The value I place on the design options I choose or don't choose is entirely up to me. I can't control the VA's incompetence, but I can follow up with them every day until the end of time to make sure my correspondence isn't going to the wrong address. I control what comes with me to the new house and I get to choose where I live in the meantime. 

I actually think that's the piece that makes this so unsettling. 

I'm really proud of how far I've come. Money and these types of things were not a concern of mine when Brian was alive. For good or bad, we did things Brian's way. When he died, I got thrown in the deep end.

I had to make quick decisions on some fairly complex financial options at a time when my brain was just barely functional. For obviously emotional reasons, I fixated on keeping my house. 

My current house has been my comfort zone since shortly after Brian died. It's more than a roof over my head. It's the manifestation of our life together.

We started out with nothing. Brian was an orphan and my family didn't have any money to speak of. Our wedding probably cost less than your last birthday party and it wouldn't have occurred to either of us at that time to even dream of living in a home like this in a place like Eastmark.

Our first home was a 350 sq ft studio apartment in Alliance, Ohio.We worked in fast food restaurants for just a little over minimum wage (which was $4.25 at the time). Brian actually lost his job a few weeks after we were married.

Education and opportunity were not easy to come by, so a few years later Brian joined the Army. When he got out he took a job with the phone company in Arizona. A few years after that he agreed to work his ass off so that I could become a full-time student. I graduated in 2009 (at the height of the Great Recession) and worked in retail and call centers for a little bit longer before my real career actually started. 

It took us 15 years to get our shit together, so moving into this beautiful house in this amazing community was a point of pride. It was the culmination of our efforts. We'd finally gotten to where we were going. 

It has taken two full years to even consider the financially-sound option of getting something smaller and more manageable. In my mind, so long as I live in this house our life together isn't really over. 

I think I'm uncomfortable, not for fear of the unknown or the uncontrolled, but because I am in control. I've made a choice that comes with a lot of emotion. I've chosen to move beyond my life with Brian and into whatever the rest of my story will be. As empowering as that is, it's also incredibly uncomfortable. 

Brian in a hard hat during the construction of our house.

Two Years Down - The Rest Of My Life To Go

This post is a reflection on my personal experience and I, myself, am the intended audience. I'm concerned that the first few sentences will seem morose or attention seeking, but that is not the case at all. I share these things in this way because I believe they may help someone who knows exactly what I mean. Someone who will look at the words and think to themselves, "yeah, that's a good way to express how I feel" 

A person who has been through what I've been through probably won't need this explanation, but since a ton of my friends and family read this stuff, I just want to make sure you all know that I'm fine. I'm not depressed and most of the time, I'm not even all that sad. 

We had so much fun together.

The woman in this picture died 2 years ago. The man in this picture took his last breath a little after 4 in the afternoon on June 13, 2015. In that single moment, she too ceased to exist.

I know this because I have been walking around in her body for the past two years.

At first, I tried my best to impersonate her. I thought if I could act just like her, she would recover - like one might recover from illness. I thought I could eventually return her to a previous state of wellbeing. As it turns out, it doesn't work that way.

I think of the time when Brian was alive as my past life. I even talk about it that way sometimes. His death is a milestone event, like graduation or marriage. It's a life-changing, identity-altering, priority-shifting experience and the only way for the next phase of life to be successful is to let go of the previous phase, accept the inevitable changes and embrace the future with hope.

Or something.

I'm still working on it.

Some days (like today), I'm zombie Tricia - the animated corpse of the person I once was. Hungry for the past, I shuffle around with no real purpose. I feed on memories and emotion and do my best to make it to tomorrow without destroying the people around me or getting my own brains bashed in.

-----------------------------------------------------------

With that said, I thought it might be a good idea to reflect on some of the positive changes that have happened in my 2nd year of life without Brian.

1. Started (and stopped) dating - This has been super awkward and uncomfortable and I'm choosing to opt out for now, but I've learned a ton about myself in the process so I count it as a win.
2. Changed jobs - Twice actually. The business I started didn't quite work out, but it was part of a natural progression towards the job I have now. The job I have now is fantastic. The people I work for are amazing and have made me feel like family. (A red-headed step child is family, right?*)
3. Got Baptised - If you've been following my writing, you'll know that I've struggled significantly to define my relationship with God. Getting baptized was an important declaration of faith and a major personal milestone.
4. Had a roommate - I learned a ton about myself from this experience. Most importantly, I learned that having a roommate is not a good solution for me. I also learned that (although I'm not super fond of confrontation)  I'm capable of having difficult conversations.
5. Went through the Eastmark Leadership class. This was a fantastic learning opportunity. I'm also proud of myself for not flaking out on it when things got tough for me in the last few months of the class.
6. Created Mesa-Gateway Connection magazine. It didn't work out, but it was a great experience and I learned a lot.

As I've said before, this was my montage year. Hopefully, year three will be a little less transitional.


*The red-headed step child thing was just a joke. :) I apologize to any red headed step children who might be reading this. 

June is the worst.

So here we are at June again. I don't care for June. Not one bit.

It seems like my emotions respond to the anniversaries, milestones and memories of Brian's passing even when I don't have a conscious recollection of the specifics of the date or event that triggers them. 

There are some obvious ones - his birthday in March, the day in late April when we received confirmation that the mass was, in fact, cancer and the day we first learned the word "cholangiocarcinoma" in early May. June includes the date we stopped treatment, the date of his passing and our wedding anniversary. 

Then there are the not so obvious triggers -- like the start of the NBA playoffs, mother's day, Eastmark Awesomefest, and the first Friday concerts. My brain has permanently tied these events to the memory of Brian's illness and death. 

This makes spring and early summer a really shitty time for me. 

I thought the firsts would be the worst and they were definitely tough. My 40th birthday was a little over a month after he died and it was BRUTAL. The first holiday season was pretty terrible too, but it wasn't the worst. I was prepared for those dates. I knew they were coming and that they would be tough. My friends, family, and church rallied around me to make sure I was supported. Those firsts were not easy, but they weren't the worst. 

The worst is the stuff that I didn't see coming. The sucker punch in the gut when I turn down the aisle in the grocery store and see that egg rolls are on sale and then realize there's no one else on the planet who knows why that's funny.  

The worst is the thousands of little paper cuts I get every day when someone says a joke he would have appreciated or when I accidentally put the cheese on a taco before the sour cream or when something is obnoxiously loud or when Tess goes swimming or when I realize that the good friend I'm talking to never even met him. 

It feels so fresh for me, but it's almost two years old now.  Life has gone on (as it does and should). For the most part, the people around me don't know anything about the person I was before this and the only thing they know of Brian is what I've told them. That's the worst. 

It's a bit of a catchphrase.

Getting Baptized Today

When Brian died, I wasn't sure what would happen to my faith. I questioned God's goodness in a big way. I didn't understand why he chose to leave me completely alone. My family was on the other side of the country, I was never able to have children, my husband was dead and my best friend was MIA. I definitely didn't trust God's plan. I was terrified of God's plan.

I've been through the wringer in the past two years and I've learned a ton and I've experienced a relationship with God that I wouldn't have thought possible. I'm getting baptized at church this morning and I'm in a bit of a rush to get out the door, but I want to post this first.

This is not the end of a two-year story of grief. It is the renewal of a lifelong relationship with God.

Post edited to add this photo from the baptism.
Photo Credit: Shannon McKoy

Leftovers

If you know me in person or if you've been following what I've been writing about my personal experience with grief, you know that for the most part, I've processed what I needed to process. I've established my new normal and I'm a fully functional human being again. Even so, there seems to be some leftover issues that can get in the way from time to time (like the containers of mom's turkey soup that have been in the back of my freezer since Thanksgiving).

One of the things I still struggle with is paranoia. It's similar to the hyper-awareness associated with PTSD. I've lived through a one-in-a-million worst case scenario. The kind of cancer that killed Brian is incredibly rare - even more so for a healthy man in his early 40s with no specific risk factors. After going through something like that, there is no fear that seems entirely irrational. If I can think of it, it can happen to me. If it has happened to someone else, it can happen to me.

I've learned to accept risk so that I'm not paralyzed by fear, but I don't trust easily. I am constantly on the lookout - for schemers and scammers, for physical danger, for illness (human or canine) and for my own vulnerabilities. I like being aware of how precious each moment is and I think it's good not to take things for granted, but sometimes I wish I could get my false sense of security back.

This was taken at a new resident orientation
the same day we got our keys.

The End Of The Montage

Three years ago today, after having moved 10 times in 20 years,  my husband, Brian and I moved into our dream home.  We had finally gotten where we were going and it was time to settle into the rest of our life together. We'd been flying by the seat of our pants for 20 years, but now we had a plan. We knew what the future held for us and what we were going to do with the next 30 years of our lives.

Yeah.

Not so much. 

As most readers will know, Brian was diagnosed with bile duct cancer a little over a year after we moved in and he died in June of 2015 (a week before our 21st anniversary and a month before my 40th birthday). I was a widow at 39. 

I cashed in everything Brian left me and sold my car to pay down the mortgage. I refinanced into a more manageable payment and cut my budget down to only necessities, but no matter how I did the math, my job at the time paid just didn't pay what I needed. It was close, but if I wanted to keep my home something would have to change. There was nothing I wanted more than to keep my home. 

So things changed and then they changed some more. I've been in a dizzying series of transitions for going on two years now with the lasts 6 months being quite dramatic (I like to joke that if my life were a movie, the last six months would be a montage.)

It's not a bad thing. I've learned and grown more in the past 18 months than I can possibly put into words. I have experienced the power and presence of God in my life in a very real way and have developed a depth of faith that I wouldn't have thought myself capable of. I've come face to face with some very uncomfortable vulnerabilities, but I've also discovered surprising strength and tenacity. 

I now know what I am made of. I'm kind of a badass when I need to be, but I'm fully ready to settle in and be average for a bit. 

This past month I started what I hope will be my last career transition for awhile when I accepted a position as the marketing associate for Bay Equity Home Loans Gilbert. It seems to be a perfect fit, I love the work I'm doing and I have the financial stability to stop worrying about losing my house.  

I have also been involved in a romantic relationship that got started this past October.  It's not always easy to balance my past with my present and my future, but this man is patient with me and my emotions. He listens and does what he can to help me feel stable and secure. It's strange for me to discuss this relationship in this context because I feel like there is conflict between my identity as a widow and my identity as his girlfriend, but I'm starting to get over it. 

So the house is good, my job is good, my faith is good, and my relationship is good. Everything is good. It's almost bizarre. I think this might be the "new normal" so many grief counselors like to talk and write about. Let's hope so. 

Brian in front of what would eventually
be the bay window in our bedroom

I'm a little lost

I haven't posted anything in awhile. I don't know anymore what is grief and what is just my own bad attitude.

I believed that the magazine was my calling and that everything would just fall into place because I was doing what God wanted me to do. I had the narrative all worked out in my head. This would be the big reveal for me. This would be the moment that God would make his presence and providence known in my life. But that's not what happened.

I enjoy producing the magazine and will continue to do it as a hobby, but it is a financial failure and a huge disappointment. I can see value in having gone through this, but as a logical person with the capability of analyzing and learning from my experiences, I find my faith yet again called into question.

Is it me? Am I unable to recognize God's voice? Am I doing something wrong in my pursuit of his will? Am I just talking to myself as a way to justify acting out my own will?

I want to rely on God to pull me through, but I can't seem to stand firmly in my beliefs. I want to act in faith, but I feel like I'm in a nosedive and trusting my imaginary friend to pull up on the yoke before we hit the ground.

 I feel like I'm being stupid.

I burned bridges and wasted resources because I thought I was doing God's will and then I wasted some more because I thought God was teaching me patience. I'm just about out of resources and the only thing I've learned is that I don't have a clue about God's will.

In other news: I met a man who has become a pretty significant part of my life. There's a lot of conflicting emotion that comes with this and I have been a bit of a basket case because of it. He's a Patriots fan, but I'm willing to overlook it because he listens to my stories about Brian and allows me to have my moments of grief without taking it personally. I'm not sure I'll ever be willing to change my relationship status on Facebook, but if you are interested, there are a few photos posted of the two of us together and I'm sure there will be more to come.

We've been dating about three months, so when I mention that he is now my roommate, take it with a grain of salt. We are living together because I needed a roommate and I trust him. His previous housing situation was less than ideal, so it seemed like a good solution for both of us. Our living arrangement is not a precursor to marriage or anything like that, but I do expect him to be around for awhile.

So I am changing and evolving and I'm starting to experience life outside of the context of Brian's death. Sometimes it feels like getting back to normal and sometimes it feels like a complete abandonment of my previous life.

I don't fully know where I am right now and I definitely don't know where I'm going, but I know I'm not there yet.

I am hoping 2017 brings with it some permanence. A secure job, a stable relationship and a depth of faith that isn't so easily shaken. I miss Brian and I miss my past life, but I remain hopeful for the future.

Brian in his hamburger shirt. It takes quite a bit of confidence to
pull off this shirt, but he rocked it. :)