Moving Forward

I think it's time. Perhaps I'm narcissistic. Perhaps, just curious. More likely, I suffer from narcissistic curiosity. Regardless, I googled myself. To be fair, I googled you as well, but most of you don't have a publicly readable online journal of some of the toughest times in your life. When I googled myself last month (after googling someone I'd met through an online dating service), I was shocked to see that this blog topped the list of results. Immediately, I felt naked and hid it from your view. It's not that I'm ashamed of what I've written but I was terrified that this blog might be the first and consequently only impression that someone could have of me. It's not exactly the whole package, and the fuller my life gets, the smaller no-sleep tricia seems.



Early in my grief, I came across a visual representation of the grieving process. It displayed a glass jar containing a large blue ball. The ball, labeled "grief" barely fit inside the jar which was labeled "life". It perfectly illustrated how I felt at the time. Everything revolved around my loss of Dalton. I was so full of sadness and loss that there was barely room for anything else. The second picture was surprising, though. It, too displayed a glass jar containing a large blue ball labeled "grief" In fact, it was exactly the same ball, identical in size and shape to the first one. What had changed, however, was the size of the jar. In the second picture, the jar was much larger. Consequently, "grief", even though it was the same size occupied a much smaller space in "life", and there was room for other things. That is how I now feel.



My experience with cancer and the loss of my husband, best friend, and father of my child has forever changed me. It will always be a part of my life in the same way that every single thing we ultimately affects who we are. However, it is no longer the defining characteristic of my life. I am many things of which widow is only one. I am mother, friend, activist, advocate, Christian, optimist, thrill-seeker, dinner party host, writer, soon-to-be triathlete, business owner, realtor, connoisseur of indie music and modern architecture. I am playful, trusting, unflappable, inquisitive, peaceful, passionate, compassionate, and generous. I struggle with many things which will remain unwritten.



Consequently, I'm really struggling with what to do with this blog. I keep thinking that it's time to stop writing in this space, but even when I type that, it feels wrong. I think, instead that I will change the names to protect the innocent and guilty alike. Hopefully, that will alleviate the google problem while still allowing those of you who care to keep tabs on me a way to do so. With that being said, I will soon post an update on both me and the boy who will subsequently be called PB (short for Pooh Bear, the nickname given to him by his father who will subsequently be called DJH2).

Small parts

Sometimes it riles my skin
to think a part
is still
here.

Two years
gone.
His body wrapped in satin
wood
concrete
Earth

I am peeling today.
Sunburned.
I forgot my spf 90.
The flakes fly to his chair.
Where he sat
sunburned
peeling.

Settling in.
Crawling into nubs of peppered upholstery.
Working their way
into
foam.
Encased in wool
wood
air
Earth.
Small parts still here.

Unremarkably Human

Over six months. I'll make no excuses, so don't ask. I couldn't answer if you did.

I haven't been writing much. Funny, I quit my job in the name of writing and have written less in the last six months that in the six weeks prior to that event. Unless of course you count papers on the economics of stewardship and effective leadership in times of change - in that case, I've written a bunch.

Shortly after I stopped "working", I realized that my focus needed to be on school. On May 3rd, fifteen years after finishing high school, I finally graduated from Azusa Pacific. See, Dalton and I met while I was finishing my junior year at Santa Clara. One thing led to another and I never quite finished up those last few courses. When he died, I figured it was time.

So now, I'm at a loss. At least for clarity of purpose. Or maybe more accurately clarity of income. You'd think after everything I've been through with God, I'd be better at trusting Him, but only just a little. What I want to do, what I feel called to do is launch a business focused on the needs of cancer patients and their families while writing a book or two about grief and redemption for the unremarkably human Christian. What I keep coming back to is a nice safe job in some downtown financial services firm and a life that looks, well, normal.

For most of my life, I've felt different. A little too heady. Too sarcastic. Too dreamy. Dalton and I had finally achieved the look of normalcy when God reminded me that normalcy wasn't in His plan for me. He had something else in mind. So now, I need strength, encouragement, discipline and faith to embrace that idea, to trust Him that it - whatever it is - will happen.

In the meantime, I'll once again try (gosh I hate my own lack of follow through) to write. Musings. Poetry. Chapters. Who knows? I may even need to put some categories into this blog for those of you who are more interested in reflective thoughts on God's mercy than on the difficulties of an uncoordinated single mom trying to teach her desperately athletic 3-year old how to properly throw a baseball. Both are me.

Nothing to Write Home About

Nothing profound happened today. Nothing at all. I woke up, got ready, fed Iain, took him to school, came home, cleaned my house, did some schoolwork, picked up our Christmas Cards, ate lunch, went to the bank, went to Target, replied to some emails, picked Iain up, played trains, fixed dinner, gave Iain a bath, read some stories, and watched Private Practice.

See. Nothing interesting.

So, I need to figure out what to write when the day doesn't provide much material. Should I write a short story, reflect on something I read, present a dilemna, post pictures, or just let it go?

For today, I'm letting it go. Nobody wants to read filler, and at the moment, that's all this is!

Advice Poll

Can someone please give me a simple way to say, "I'm not interested." I've been on several first dates now, and I have yet to master the art of "Thanks, but no thanks."

The first time around, I said yes to the second date before I realized that it might be unwise to date someone who within the first twenty minutes of meeting him confessed to having anger issues and a restraining order against him. When he followed up on my "yes.", I took the easy way out and sent him an email saying I didn't think I was "ready to date."

The second time around, I spent eight hours with the guy, enjoying the conversation and the company but had to admit that I just wasn't attracted to him. When he called to ask me out again, I tried to be honest and say that either I wasn't ready or he wasn't the right one. That obviously didn't work too well, becuase he conitnues to call and invite me to art shows and B-52 concerts.

Last Sunday, I went out with a guy who was just plain boring. Nice to look at, but boring. He texted me Tuesday morning, and I've yet to respond. I don't want to hurt his feelings.

Really, why is this so hard? I really have a hard time being honest if I think it might make someone feel bad. But, leaving them hanging is just plain rude and leading them on is worse.

So, here is my question foor you, the reader...

When someone contacts you following a 1st or 2nd date, and you know you're not interested, how do you respond AND how do you muster the courage to do it?

The Weird Checker

Just days before Thanksgiving, a new Whole Foods opened down the street from me. As a foodie, there aren't too many more exciting discoveries. Depending on how you look at it, the gigantic, two story, block-long structure featuring amongst other things a wine and tapas bar, custom nut roasting and candying counter, massage room, and 300 ft. butcher case is either an insult to the art of gastronomy or an orgasmic adventure in a culinary paradise. Regardless, I chose to do my Thanksgiving shopping there, knowing that the produce would be fresh, the meat Prime, and the cheese nothing short of spectacular. As I loaded the goodies onto the conveyor belt, the redheaded checker asked me how many people I was having over. "Just twelve," I replied, "but this is the first time I'll be doing it on my own so it's still intimidating." "All family?" she asked.

I suppose I could have simply said No and left it at that, but my "no" including a few too many qualifiers, and after several attempts to avoid the inevitable, I ended up explaining that my husband had died and that this was my first year hosting a holiday without him.

Her response was, "I can sense that he is here with you now, though. You must be overwhelmed with how much he loves you."

Um, thanks. I smiled sheepishly and looked away hoping she wouldn't realize my sudden, awkward shifting. Not only did I feel like she was stepping into risky territory, I also felt ashamed and embarrassed at my inability to confidently affirm her assertion. Was Dalton there with me now? Could she see him? What was he doing? Is it against my faith to think these things? She continued, giving me a weird sort of psychic reading in the checkout line at Whole Foods while I stood there, frozen with a forced smile on my face. I left; feeling completely bewildered and ticked off. If Dalton really was near me, why did she get to sense him when I couldn't? And, if he wasn't, why was this crazy woman saying this to a grieving wife. It didn't make me feel better either way.

I've always secretly envied those people that were able to sense their loved one's presence after he/she died. For a long time, I told myself that this sort of talk was contrary to my Christianity, but then I read A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken, an Inkling and close friend of CS Lewis, and realized that he claimed that his wife stayed with him for two years after she died. So, if Dalton or my mom weren't communicating with me, what did that mean? Didn't they love me? Were they ok? Was I too closed off to the spirit world? Was I ok? It was even worse when a friend or coworker would have an encounter with one of them. I mean, who was I, chopped liver? And now, the checker was sensing Dalton's hand on my shoulder and I was oblivious.

Truth be told, I have been having more "encounters" with Dalton. I use the term loosely because they have mostly been dreams. However, since I rarely remember my dreams, anything vivid enough for me to recollect is worth noting. In the past few months, I have had three or four that woke me up and compelled me to write them down. Mostly, they are happy dreams, full of peace and joy. Dalton and I are both in the present time. We talk and laugh and comfort one another, but there is a sense that he is somewhere physically, spiritually, and emotionally that I can't yet be. Weird, I know, but true. Most of these dreams also include some kind of admonition or guidance from him about what I'm doing and feeling, so maybe it's just my own mind trying to accept the loss.

Tonight, I took Iain out to look at the Christmas lights in and around Hastings Ranch. This section of Pasadena, about 4 miles from our house, displays the largest neighborhood commitment to Christmas decor that I have ever seen. Iain and I drove at least 20 blocks and still hadn't seen it all at the end of the night. Not only does the individual homeowner dress up his home, but the sidewalks feature giant Santas, snowflakes, angels, snowmen, etc, and every house has a Christmas tree in their driveway.

This is when I finally sensed Dalton's presence. I was driving around, talking with Iain about the lights, the decorations, and the meaning of Christmas, when Dalton broke into our conversation and said, "I'm proud of you. I'm proud of the job you are doing with Iain, the joy you have in your life, the woman you have become." It was short. The feeling of his presence only last a couple of minutes, but it was significant. And, I hope, I really hope that it wasn't just my own mind trying to accept the loss.

Zapped.

Although I am committed to writing in the blog every day, my creative energies are tapped out. I had a great day writing for the novel and will now be settling down for a little light reading. Specifically, I am reading "The Year of Living Biblically: One Man' s Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible." It's a pretty creative concept, and so far, a compelling read. I'll keep you posted.

Tomorrow, remind me to tell you about the day of ideas.