My health

Grieving can be tough on you. Take it from me. In the last seven months, my health has been shot.

Over the last ten years, my weight has averaged around 195-205. A year before Aimee and I got married, I was in the upper 170's. When Aimee died, I was at about 210.

I weighed about 180 lbs in this picture,
roughly 50 lbs less than I weigh now.

I now weigh 230. And I can't stand the sight of myself in the mirror.

But it's not just the weight. I am normally a VERY healthy person, as in I don't get sick often at all. Maybe 1-2 colds a year, tops. A stomach bug every few years. And to this point, knock on wood, I've never had the flu (or had a flu shot). Of course, until this past March, I'd also never had bronchitis. But that hit me then, and I still today have on again-off again bouts of chest congestion and coughing. I also have had increasing trouble with my digestive system.

The reasons for these troubles are simple and obvious.

• I have been eating like crap, partly due to already poor discipline being nonexistent the last seven months. Partly because Aimee fixed healthy meals and now I get premade stuff that can be thrown into the oven for 45 minutes and put on a plate.
• I drink WAY TOO MUCH Starbucks. A certain amount of coffee is healthy, but drinking sugar-infused lattes pretty much EVERY day can't be good for you.
• And the big one? I have been chronically sleep deprived since Aimee died. The horrendous effects of lack of sleep are well documented, and among them are several reasons why not only does weight stay on, it increases.

In other words, if I'd just get some decent sleep, I'd probably lose at least a few of these pounds

Spraining my right ankle twice in three months didn't help either, and given that part of the foot is still numb and another still feels frequent pain, I'm a bit afraid there may be nerve and ligament damage from the second incident. That makes it a bit tough to go to the gym and burn some calories on a treadmill or bike. And I can't swim to save my life. Um, actually, that may be a terrible cliche to use right now. Anyway, I have little to no time to exercise.

But this is going to change.

Long story short, I used the occasion of my birthday this past weekend to put my foot down (the left one). While I understand that reversing this will take some time and patience, I simply can not afford and will not allow my health to continue to deteriorate further. I've let the effects of grief do a lot of damage to my body. It's time I do the hard work to put myself back together again physically. Because gaining weight and being sick is not going to help me heal emotionally either, and not getting enough sleep is especially going to wreak havoc on my emotional well-being.

It's time to start kicking grief's ass.

My birthday

Warning: this post is a little raw. And a bit blunt. That's how I feel right now.

Tomorrow is my birthday. 42 years. That's how long I'll have been alive on Planet Earth. It's no small miracle I've made it this long.

I have some fun plans for the day, and that's good. But today, right now, I hurt. I miss Aimee. I'm terribly lonely. I feel so bad for Rowan, who also dearly misses her mommy. And we both seem to feel it worst at night.

Tonight Rowan and I are going to go to Donna's and having a little birthday dinner and cake. Then Donna is going to keep Rowan tonight and tomorrow so I can have the whole day to do what I want. And like I said, I have some fun plans. But after I leave Donna's house tonight and go home, I'll be there alone.

And I hate that.

I hate watching TV alone. I hate cleaning up the house alone, doing laundry alone, making lunches alone, And I sure as HELL hate going to bed alone.

That last one isn't just about sex, either, though trust me, I miss that. A LOT. It's when Aimee and I would sometimes just lie there and talk. Or hold each other. No matter what kind of day we'd had, holding each other at bedtime was always comforting and reassuring. And yes, I do also miss my and Aimee's sex life. Frankly, we had a great one.

A number of people close to me have asked me if I've started thinking about dating again. Hell yes, I've thought about it. Not because I have completely moved on from Aimee. How could I have already? No, I've thought about it because I miss so much the things she brought into my life.

Any ideas as to what my birthday wish might be?


PS: I didn't always hate living alone. I used to love it. I had a hard time coming around to marrying Aimee because I was enjoying my single life so much. I had my own space, answered to no one about how decorated it, what time I went to bed, what shows were on the TV. But I decided what I was gaining was worth more than what I was giving up. Wow, I had no idea how right that was.

The Climb

You don't know how you got here, at the bottom of this hill, this mountain.
You don't know how far up it is, shrouded in fog, mystery.
But you know there is only one way to go
You have to climb this mountain

There is a barrier behind you -  no retreat, no escape.
The paths to either saide are blocked, and leave you only one option.
There is only one way to go
You have to climb this mountain.

The distance is unknown, as you can't see very far.
But you can tell this jounrey is going to be long, and difficult
And there's only one way to go
You have to climb this mountain

Slowly you begin your painful journey, despairing at the enormity of the task.
You feel you'll be slogging up this incline forever.
But what choice do you have?
You have to climb this mountain.

Two steps up, one and a half back. It's freezing, you're sweating. And crying.
Places of rest and refuge are hard to come by, and never enough.
But you can't go back down.
You have to climb this mountain.

Hours turn to days, weeks, and months. The landscape does not change.
Still in a fog, no end in sight. Progress? Sure, but how much or little in the grand scheme?
Unsure, but pressing on.
You have to climb this mountain.

But as time wears on, the journey is slightly less arduous.
Not easier, but you're somewhat accustomed. Perserverance gained.
You still hate it, but
You have to climb this mountain.

Then one day a knowledge, a hope. There is a top and one day you will reach it.
Not a triumph, not a victory, simply a destination, a new beginning.
It's what you now look for because
You have to climb this mountain.


________________________________________________________________
One day someone asked me what this journey of grief felt like. I replied that in some ways it felt like I was standing at the base of a mountain, and I had no choice but to climb it. It was shrouded in fog, so there was no way to know how long the climb would take, or how hard it would be. All I could do was start, and climb some each day, and trust in the hope that one day I wouldn't have to keep climbing anymore. It wouldn't be some great accomplishment, just a transition into a new phase of life, one that is a little easier.

From 'our house' to 'my house'

Aimee walking around our house on the day the "SOLD"
sign went up, May 1, 2009.

Aimee and I bought our house about three years ago. It was a foreclosure, and had been absolutely trashed by the previous tenants before they left. We moved in about three weeks after we closed, with about 60% of the work having been completed by contractors (the really big stuff). We planned to do the rest on our own.

Little by little since then, Aimee and I worked to fix up our little home. We painted the interior, put new doorknobs on, stuff like that. But we still hadn't finished everything we wanted to do as of last December.

So when Aimee died on December 18, the house, at that point, was "ours" in the sense that everything that went into how it looked was decided upon by both of us.

Since December, I've walked a fine line of trying to keep our house 'same enough' that Rowan feels like it's still her home, while making it different enough to ease the overwhelming reminder of Aimee everywhere. It's one thing to have pictures of Aimee displayed - I think it's critical for Rowan to see those - but some things just needed to be altered enough to make the place a little less 'ours' and a little more 'mine'. I know that might seem cold and heartless to some, but I have to live there, and I need to be able to be comfortable and relax as much as possible. After all, our homes should be our sanctuary, not a cause of more pain.

So first it was new bedding. I moved a few things around. Then new bath towels and mat. After that I moved a lot of Aimee's stuff out - her clothes, makeup, most of her books, stuff like that. More reently, I bought a new shower curtain (the old one had been hers, and for some inexplicable reason, I felt it just had to be replaced).

But not everything I'm doing is changing to be different from when this house was 'ours'. Some of the bigger projects I'm undertaking now were on our wish list before. Especially the two that I initiated this past month, one of which is done and the other which will be completed soon: new heating/AC unit and closet doors on all the bedroom closets.

These two things, especially the closet doors, were a big deal to Aimee, and a part of my feels like I'm carrying on part of her desires for our house by doing these. Don't get me wrong - I would have done them anyway because they were both necessary. But it also doesn't feel like an 'independant' project, if that makes sense.

Overall, though, I feel driven to make the house a little less 'Aimee' in feel, because it's just too hard sometimes.

I feel good about the changes. Some of them are for me, and some are for the things Aimee and I always wanted to do to the house. But there is also sadness, because with every change I make without Aimee, I remove a piece of her from the house. It's necessary, and good both for me and for the house, but this continual process of letting go is difficult.

The making of a modern single father

I do not know what most of today's fathers are like. I know what MY father was like (we're not even going to go there!), and I'm not much like he was. He had a lot of faults, but in some ways his attitudes about being a father were fairly typical of his generation: child rearing was for the women, his job is to go earn the living. His involvement in my life was mostly restricted to discipline or assigning work.

When Aimee and I found out we were going to be parents, we talked about what we saw our roles as being. We both agreed that my role should be considerably more involved than my father had been. I would help with the tasks of raising Rowan from Day 1, and be more than just a breadwinner, but a parent with whom Rowan had a significant and close relationship with from her earliest years.

So, this was how we proceeded, with me helping with feedings, changings (yuck), and other parts of raising her. But more than that, I spent time with her, playing, reading, etc. As she got a little older, we did daddy/daughter dates. She helped me when I worked in the yard or did laundry.

Yes, I have a goofy daddy,
but I love him

But, there were differences. For example, while I sometimes travelled for work for several days at a time (up to 10-11 for some trips), and took the occasional trip to Phoenix to visit my best friend. During these, Aimee was often parenting solo. Me? I never had to do that, and the thought of it terrified me. My longest stretch alone with Rowan as of December 18, 2011, was about 8-9 hours. Never even once overnight.

When Aimee died, this was one of the things that I was dreading - being a single parent. The lack of someone else to 'tag-team' with was bad enough, but going days on end on my own? God help me. And God help poor Rowan. But there was one thing going very much in my favor. My involvement with Rowan meant that we already had a close love and bond. Plus, it meant I knew the basics of how to care for her. I knew where her clothes were, I knew her routines, and I knew how to handle her moods, fits, and fears. I wasn't starting from scratch.

Well, we're going on seven months now. That knowledge has helped immensely. So has Donna's frequent help, plus the occasional break provided by friends here and there. But as expected, I've had to step up and be a single dad. And as much as I've felt inadequate at times (see also "Single parenting, I didn't sign up for this" and "I make a lousy mommy"), I know that on the whole I am making this work. I've cared for her when she's been sick. I've weaned her off of her pacifier (without scarring her). Threw her a birthday party, bought clothes that fit her, made sure she saw a counselor when she's needed it, and most importantly, showed her love and let her grieve in her own way. Much of how I am raising Rowan and coping with these circumstances is due to things I learned from Aimee. Between her degree in early childhood development, training in childhood grief and trauma, and her amazing empathy and love, I picked up a ton more knowledge from her than I would have thought possible.

She used to say to me with some regularity, in a very happy and proud tone, "Patrick, I want you to know that I am very confident that if something ever happened to me, you'd do a great job taking care of Rowan." I'd typically tease her and tell her she was off her rocker. And in all seriousness, I DID think she was off her rocker. I felt like a competent father with her by my side, but had serious doubts I could do this it on my own.

Now, there are days when I am just clicking as a dad, when doctor's appointments are scheduled and clothes are clean and food is fixed and Rowan is happy, and I WISH WISH WISH Aimee could see me and I could see her and I could say to her, "Love, you were right. I doubted you, but you were right. I CAN do this, thanks to you." And she'd smile her sweet, proud smile that she gave me more often than I deserved and she'd nod and tell me I don't give myself enough credit and that I am a good man and that's why she married me. I know this because she said those things to me often.

I want Aimee to be proud of the job I'm doing. I think on the whole, she would be.

A glimpse at what Rowan will deal with

Humans have a tendency to focus what's in front of them. This is especially true in crisis situations like the one I was in for months. But as things have settled somewhat and my focus has shifted, I have begun to see a bigger picture. A part of that was the recent realization of things Rowan will face.

Rowan drew a picture of her
family earlier this spring, and
it included me, her, and Aimee.

When Aimee died, I was able, as an adult, to take in all the information about what happened and begin to process it. I could understand what happened, why it happened, and why the result was what it was. I HATED it, but I could understand it.

But for Rowan, who was only 3 1/2 at the time, I could really only explain the basics: mommy was on a boat, there was a accident, and mommy drowned. She's now in heaven with Grandpa. Rowan understood what that meant, and it's probably as much as she coudl handle and was all she needed at the time.

But one day...

As she grows older and continues to process the loss of her mother in each new stage of her own development, more questions will occur to her, which was a sudden and new revelation to me. It hasn't happened yet, but it will. It'll probably occur to her to ask:

• What happened? Why was there an accident? How did it happen?
• Could it have been prevented? Did mommy have to die?
• Why didn't you keep her from going scuba diving that day?
• Why was mommy the only person on the boat who died?
• Was this someone's fault? If so, have they been punished, and what was their punishment?
• And probably many more.

As these questions hit, I fully expect that anger will suddenly become part of the range of emotions she'll feel. In a way, Rowan will go through her grief process SO much more slowly than the rest of us who have been affected.

Knowing this now, I realize I need to be prepared for when these questions come. I need to provide her with as much information (appropriate to her age when she asks these things) as I can, as honestly as I can. And I need to be prepared for the fact that she may explode with sorrow or rage or some other emotion, even though by then years and years will have passed.

Rowan will be dealing with this a long time. Probably all of her life.

Grief Perspective (I am blessed)

OK, so this is roughly the third iteration of this post. I never published it before, because it just never felt right. But after it stewed in its own juices in my brain for a while, I finally hit upon what I truly wanted to say.

I am ridiculously blessed.
When really bad things happen to us, that's often all we can see for a while. Some people never get past it to see anything else. Some people focus on the bad their whole lives, even when the 'bad' isn't that bad at all. But for most of us, we can eventually look past whatever terrible circumstance has befallen us to take a more realistic and wholistic view of our lives.

Over the last six-plus months, I've seen and heard of tragedies that have befallen other people, often much worse than my own. Additionally, I have traveled to rural parts of Africa (through my last job) and seen places where those who have it the best have it FAR worse then I've had or will have. I have no excuse for dwelling on my own misfortunes and crying that 'I have it so bad and everyone else should feel sorry for me.'

Orphaned children in Mozambique, eating
porridge provided by a Community Care Center

So I took a quick look at my life, and decided I'd just count a few of the biggest blessing I have right now.

• A strong faith in God that helps me and gives me hope of the future, in this life and the next.
• My loving and extremely supportive family. This includes not only my mom and two sisters, but Aimee's mom, brother, and sister-in-law as well.
• Regarding Aimee's mom (Donna), she has been a total rock star the past six months. Despite the horrific loss of her daughter just one year after losing her husband, she has been a great resource for me with Rowan, taking her a couple of times a week so I can run errands or go to the gym, and often having her over for a sleepover one night a week so I can have a night off. Sanity - saved.
• Rowan is another HUGE blessing to me. Not just because she's my precious little Rowie-bear, but because without me having to be present and strong for her, and without the need for me to 'stay on my game' to take care of her, God only knows what sort of epic collapse I might have had. She's also been a source of happiness in some very dark times.
• My job, and my colleagues past and present. Wow. I have received more support and encouragement from the people I work with and many I've worked with in the past than I can express. I could probably write a whole post just about that. What's more, having a stable job that I love, in this economy, is a HUGE blessing regardless of a person's circumstances.
• Aimee's planning. After Rowan was born, she had each of us draw up wills, and we got life insurance policies. The policy on her wasn't huge, but it was enough that I didn't have to worry about losing the house when we lost her income.
• Rowan's preschool. They've taken amazing care of her, and been a HUGE help to me (in several ways) as well.

These are just some of the BIGGEST blessings I have right now. I could go on and on. The point is, if I could block out (or better yet, reverse) this one terrible tragedy, I'd see that my life is great. Which shouldn't be a surprise to me, since that's how I felt about it on December 17.
 

So, despite my pain, my grief, and my huge sense of loss, things could be SO much worse than they are. I recognize that, and so I also must recognize that I am truly blessed.

Rowan is talking to Aimee

Rowan has started to open up more the last few weeks. Lately, it's taken the form of talking to Aimee. But this isn't what you might imagine. She's not staring into the sky at some unseen heaven talking to the stars and not getting an answer.

 

That'd be too simple... for me.

 

This is the photo of Aimee that
Rowan was talking to tonight

No, she's talking to a laminated photo of Aimee she has in her room, and I get the privilege (and discomfort) of carrying on the "Mommy" side of the conversation. Yes, you read that right, I get to be Aimee to Rowan so she can talk to her mommy. Or at least the voice of mommy while she talks to the photo.

 

(People who've been following since the beginning may recall she did this once before, but it was only once or twice. This time we're going on DAYS of this, many times multiple times a day. And most often at bedtime, which makes sense. This is often when I miss her most as well.)

 

Tonight's bedtime was especially poignant. You see, I take this very seriously, even if it is VERY difficult for me to do. The better I am at recalling how Aimee spoke to Rowan and mimicking that, the more emotional it gets for me. But I try to do the best I can because I know Rowan needs this and it helps her. So here is a snippet of tonight's 'conversation with mommy':

 

Rowan, staring at the photo of Aimee I was holding up in front of her face: "Hi Mommy!"

Me, as Aimee: "Hi, Sweety!"
Rowan: "Hey Mommy, guess what? Me and Daddy went to the beach today."
Me: "You did? Did you have fun?"
Rowan: "Yep. And I wore my new sandals and they didn't hurt my feet at all."
Me: "Oh, that's great, honey. (pause) Hey Rowie?"
Rowan: "Yes, Mommy?"
Me: "I'm really proud of you."
 

And this is where I realized that to Rowan, she really WAS talking with Mommy, and I wasn't even in her consciousness. Because her face softened a lot, her voice dropped down, and she sweetly said,

 

"Thank you, Mommy."

 

I leaned the photo in towards her face and made a kissy sound, as if Mommy were kissing her goodnight.

 
Doing this can be hard for me. But in that moment, where Rowan was genuinely touched by what her "Mommy" had said to her, it was all worth it.

Rowan is starting to feel it

Right around the six-month mark past Aimee's death, I started to feel like I'd turned a bit of a corner, like things were finally starting to improve. Overall, I was feeling less of a weight of grief on me all the time, and more like I could start facing my future.

But for whatever progress I have now made, it seems a bit like a terrible baton has been passed from me to Rowan. She's starting to struggle.

Given how young she is and the special relationship between mother and child, I have no doubt that Rowan will deal with her mom's death, in some way, for the rest of her life. But these first six months were, at least on the surface, somewhat easy. Her moments of grief, after the first couple of weeks, were pretty few and far between. That has changed dramatically in the last week.

Rowan's grief is obviously much closer to the surface now. She has begun to overreact to small things in a way she's never done before. Not with anger, but with sadness. At small frustrations or incidents, she'll burst into tears and pull herself into a ball. She won't talk about why she's upset or what she wants me to do to fix it.

Lucky for me, it occurred to me pretty quickly what was really going on. For now, I'm meeting her sudden onset crying with quiet consolation, hugs, stroking her hair, and kissing the top of her head (she likes that). I also scheduled her grief counselor, who she hasn't seen in months, to come back this weekend.

I don't know if my own state of mind will stay somewhat calm for a while, or if my own pain will come roaring back from the background and overwhelm me again. I suspect that I'll still have many days ahead of me where I'm drowning in my own waves of grief. But at least at this moment, when Rowan clearly needs me even more than normal, I'm so grateful to be in a little better place emotionally to help her through this.

My first Aimee ghost

I saw her. Last week at the Seattle Aquaruim, I saw her.

Last Thursday I took a vacation day, and spent it with Donna and Rowan. Among the other things we did, we went to the Seattle Aquaruim. Not long after we arrived, I left Rowan with Donna for a moment and took a side trip to the rest room. As I was trying to re-find them again, I saw Aimee.

 

Or her ghost.

Well, it was neither. It was a woman with a similar build, a near identical hair cut and color, holding a little girl in her arms not much younger than Rowan. She was even wearing nearly the exact clothes I last saw Aimee in - shorts and a white t-shirt (this gal was wearing green shorts, and Aimee's had been pink, but the style was identical). She was taller than Aimee (most adults are - Aimee was only 4'10"), but she was short enough that when combined with the other things I saw, I SWORE it was Aimee for a moment. As this gal turned, I saw her face and she looked nothing like Aimee, but for just the briefest of moments my heart had just about stopped.

I know this is common for those who have lost people they were close to. Even I have experienced it before. When I was in high school, a classmate I really liked was killed in a car accident, and for the next week or so, I kept 'seeing' her in the halls. Of course it wasn't her, but each time there was that jarring instant when I thought it was.

Frankly, I was surprised it took this long before I saw a 'ghost' of Aimee. But the amount of time that's past since Aimee's death didn't take away any of the shcok I felt at the sudden appearance of someone who, at least for a moment, so closely resembled her.