Friday, February 25, 2011

47 Days Later.

One step forward, two steps back.

47 days.

47 of the longest days of my life.

I keep writing here, keep blogging- it feels like I keep saying the same thing.

This hurts. I miss Tony. My life truly, truly sucks at the moment.

But I feel like I can't quite... this pain, this stifling, all consuming, dementing pain. It's too awful to capture in words, on a screen, out loud.

Just too huge. There are no words, in the English language at least, to describe this.

The finality of it.

How someone can be there, one minute, filling up space, making noise, living life.. making the world turn.

And then... just... not.

Four and a half years, Tony and I were together for. After six weeks together, we bought a bought a house. After three months, we were living in it. Two months after that, I was pregnant.

And then we were engaged.. then pregnant again... then married.

And then he died.

We laughed about it, often, how quickly it all happened, how we just knew it was meant to be. It was tough sometimes, especially with a squalling newborn and two people who really didn't know each other that well, but we made it.

Time and time again. We made it. We worked through problems and stayed together. Because, deep down, that was what we both knew.

That we were in love. that, to each other, we felt like family, even before we were married. That were in it for the long haul. there would be no divorce here. We would work things out.

And we were looking forward to the rest of our lives together.

We were looking forward to, one day,w hen our kids were a bit older, having a proper honeymoon. We were planning on a few holidays, a new house, to watch our kids grow up.

Not a whole lot to ask for. Simple dreams.

Why are they so fucking difficult now, when it was so simple? When we had all we wanted. Each other. Kids. Happy, normal little life.

It hurts, and I feel cheated. That what I wanted was so simple, that I was easily pleased. That it was taken away so horribly, so violently.

This really is as bad as it seems.

My head struggles to wrap itself around the fact that Tony, who seemed so immortal to me, who was the strength of this family.... that he's gone. That the trials and tribulations of raising two children under four years old fall to me, and only to me, for the rest of their lives.

That I'll never talk to him again. That I'll never see him again. That his body, his physical presence, doesn't even exist anymore. It's ash. Trying to imagine that transformation, of skin and tattoo and solid reliability to flakes of white and grey ash, with pieces of pearly green scattered through... it feels like my mind may turn inside out, from the weight of that concept.

I was so secure in my life. I was so happy, so confident that we were blessed, that we would always be happy.

Maybe that is why my mind is finding it so difficult to do this final shift, to let go of the tiny subconscious strings of memory in the back of my mind that keep tricking me into thinking I will talk to him again soon.

I don't trust my own mind anymore.

I don't know who I am.

I read drafts of blog posts from Before, and remember sitting every afternoon in my sunny kitchen, waiting for Tony to return home from work, loving our simple little laugh and relishing in finding the humour in it.

I read those posts... she's gone, the Lori that wrote them. The Lori who's head was a place of jellybeans and sunshine and fairies and all that good crap, she's been exploded, left as the core of herself.

Some days, the reality of this just... it feels like it's frying my mind.

Some days, I wonder if I'm going insane too.

***

The old Lori, she was terrified of flying.

Tony was always badgering me to fly. I always said no.

I promised him, in the ICU, that if he came out of this, we'd fly. We'd go whereever he wanted.

And now... I'm flying anyway, without him. Part of me thinks he'd be so proud of me. Another part thinks, maybe, he's just pissed, because it took him dieing for me to fly- I couldn't do it for him when he was alive.

Oddly- or maybe not so much- I'm not afraid of flying, right now. If the plane starting going down, if the oxygen masks fell from the roof... the relief would be palpable. Thank God. It's over. Bring it on. I won't have to wake up tomorrow morning and do this again.

And I may just get to see my Man again, too.

Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars... I could really use a wish right now.

post signature

51 comments:

Ms Styling You said...

47 days - a long time - but not a long time. You are doing this and you are strong. Now your flying. I like that. See you soon Lori x

Mich said...

oh hun, IM proud of you for flying. and I cannot wait to see you. xoxo

Brenda said...

Just keep on surviving my love.xxxx

bgirl said...

Oh Lori. Just ... hugs. B xox

deardarl said...

"It hurts, and I feel cheated. That what I wanted was so simple, that I was easily pleased. That it was taken away so horribly, so violently."

Yep.

We wanted to stay in love, raise our children, own our home, be healthy, happy and grow old together ... not much to ask for really is it??? and yet it's everything there is to have.

Hugs.

Barbara said...

47 days. Time is elastic. It is weird how the same stretch of time can be an eternity and also a split second.

Hugs to you. xxx

Indica Man said...

It never goes away. You just learn to hide the pain somewhere. But it always sneaks up on you. Even after 14 years. Sorry Lori, my heart feels for you.

Jane said...

I'm crying. Again. I still can't believe what you are going through. You really are an amazing woman xxx

Kymmie said...

Hugs Lori. As always, I don't know what to say. But I'm here sending you love. xx

eof777 said...

Lori,
I send you hugs and hugs and more hugs... I can't take away the pain and I won't even give you throw away words... it hurts, it is incredibly sad...and painful. Please keep writing and sharing and know that you are held in prayer. My heart goes out to you... and your loved ones.
Elizabeth

Belinda said...

Lots of love xxx

PerryinAustralia said...

You have an amazing strength. You can't see it right now, but we can - it flies off the page.

Toni said...

I wish you all the shooting stars, Lori -- every one of them.

River said...

Lori, I'm reading your pain and sorrow here, but I'm also reading a new Lori emerging. I'm proud of you right now and I'd like to give you a hug at the ABC.

Melissa said...

47 days. You've survived 47 days, that is a remarkable thing. You're amazingly strong. I hope you have a safe trip.

Anonymous said...

Lori,

As someone else said, 47 days suddenly sounds like SUCH a long time & yet barely any time either.

For some reason I at a loss for words today. I think because that feeling of finality that you describe is so hard to comprehend. Just keep doing it, one step at a time. You're doing good, girl. You're doing bloody good.

Lots of love,
Sophie xxx

In Real Life said...

*HUGS* I'm thinking of you.

Anonymous said...

Dear Lori
Gather up those dear little children of yours and keep putting one foot in front of the other. You will find another small patch of sunshine to light your way soon.
Stella xx

Anonymous said...

One moment at a time, one breath at a time.
Peace to you.
A fellow widow

Michael said...

You're not insane. You're coping with something that is insane, but you're not insane.

Jacqui said...

Lori, Your strength and your writing amaze me. I know exactly the feeling you describe of not being afraid to fly anymore because if the plane started going down, relief would follow. It will get better...one day at a time...I promise.

SarcasmInAction said...

Hold on tightly to your kiddos and keep taking it one day at a time.

lifeofadoctorswife said...

I don't have anything more to say than I'm thinking of you. Sending you thoughts of strength and peace.

Belinda said...

You may have taken two steps back, but the fact that you took one step forward is good. I'd go as far as saying that you took one bloody great leap, to get on a plane and face your fear of flying! The Man will probably be chuckling at you and saying, "ya see, told you there's nothing to it".

Penny said...

Love that lyric lori, and so proud that youre flying.

rageagainsttheblackdog said...

Lori,

Just leaving some love. There are no words that can ease your pain. I wish you strength.

Donna @ NappyDaze said...

Once again you leave me teary and tingly with the truth of your words cutting into my heart. It is incomprehensible that this could happen to those of us who only knew you from the blogosphere as well.

One second at a time, one foot n front of the other, thats all you can do. And be proud of yourself for surviving 47 days, and for conquering yet more fears with your trip to Perth. You make us all so proud, especially with the way you keep writing and reminding us life is too short. Lots of love to you xx

Amy xxoo said...

47 days probably feels like a lifetime to you Lori, but if you can take it day by day, 47 will turn into 100, which will turn in 365 ...and eventually " day by day " will turn back into " life ". Your on your way there, and thats what matters...

Andrea said...

Wish right now is for you to enjoy flying. To be able to continue to take steps forward, even though there will still be steps back, but eventually more and more steps forward. Wishing that for you.

hugs
hugs hugs.
xxx

Janet NZ said...

Pretending is a good idea. Pretend Tony is at work... out surfing... watching tv in the other room - that's why you can't see him just now. Keep talking to him - he can still hear you. Pretend those planes are shooting stars, God knows we could all do with something to wish on right now. Keep on girl. We're all on your side.

Helena said...

he'd definitely be proud. and maybe also just laugh at the irony of it.
well done, it is a huge step.
Love xox

Miss Pink said...

I don't think he'd be mad at all. He would be hurting over your pain and would smile at all that you're doing, flying, blogging, he would be happy for you to do these things.

Marianna Annadanna said...

I'm sure he'd be so proud Lori. Proud of flying, and of everything you have endured with such strength and grace over the last 47 days. I know *we* sure are.

Every chance I get, I wish for you. Birthday candles, eyelashes, lucky pennies, and shooting stars, and airplanes too.

Sending love and strength,
Marianna xo

Leanne Scrapper said...

It seems to me like losing a limb, and I don't think that after 47 days, you wouldn't still be feeling that loss - but you will maybe get used to the loss, compensate for it, find new growth and abilities, strength gained in other areas - you're doing it, and so many people are wishing and praying and hoping for you and your babies.
Wishing you sunshine :)

Wanderlust said...

47 days is the blink of an eye. Be patient with yourself. Healing takes time. Everyone keeps telling me that and I'm sick of hearing it, but it's true. It only feels like an eternity. xx

Misfits Vintage said...

You rock, Lori.

Sarah xxx

Bec @ Bad Mummy said...

I think when they say time heals all wounds they lie. I wonder if the people who say that have ever been deeply wounded. Time doesn't make things better or easier, it just makes them further away.

Sarah said...

He would be so proud of you, doing this because of him, because you told him you would. Pissed that he missed out on seeing it maybe, but not pissed that you are doing it.

You were cheated, but one day the jelly beans & happiness will come back.

Carly Findlay said...

Lori, you are doing an amazing job of getting through the days as well as teaching people about grief and suicide. You're very brave xx

Jess said...

One breath at a time if that is what it takes. Love yourself and your kids. You will make it through this. No one may know what that will look or feel like not even you...but you have to believe you will wake up one day and be surprised about where you are. Hugs

Jess

Watercolor said...

Hugs sweetie. You rock.

Rufalina said...

Reading every day, but not regularly posting. Wanted to let you know I am another one holding your hand from a distance on this part of your journey. May you have the flight soon, without fear, and may it help you in finding your feet on this new, different (and eventually happy) path you are trudging on.
Stay strong, and when you cant, know there are many out here to hold you till you are again. xoxo Rufalina.

Glowless @ Where's My Glow said...

47 days is forever and the blink of an eye at the same time. Sending you love x

cathy@home said...

time is past, present and future the past is always there the present is where we survive and the future is a gift

Rebecca said...

My goodness 47 days seems so long ago but reality its not that long and look at your achievements. You are a lot more forward than backwards. Let your mind fly to happy places and memories to keep moving forward with your little angels. Tony would be so proud of you.

Anonymous said...

I am moved by your posts, by the stark harsh reality of life and beauty of humanity in your words. So full of love and compassion.

And one day becomes two, Two becomes three, and now you have reached forty seven. My. dear you have worked bloody miracles, and second by second, inch by inch the days will go by.

But you dont need me to tell you all of this- you are an amazing person with the strength of a hundred- know that there are folk out there wishing you all the positivity vibes in the universe, intangibly connecting, and taking inspiration from you. xx

LĂ­via said...

I've just started to read your blog, and i wanted to say that i'm really, really sorry. this sucks. i closed my blog for a while, but you can e-mail me if you want to talk about anything to a total stranger.

Big hug from down south (brazil)

Nerdycomputergirl said...

Thinking of you Lori and hoping that the love and support you get here for the next 47 days continues to comfort you.

Suz said...

sending so much love to you Lori xxx

Anonymous said...

I hope you are going somewhere that you can have some comfort. I've been reading since this imcomprehendable event happened and my heart breaks for you and your entire family. I saw this article in the New York Times this morning and thought of you - it is about why we write about grief...
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/27/weekinreview/27grief.html?_r=1&hpw

Anonymous said...

OMG!!! I feel like I am reading my own story! My husband died suddenly of a heart attack right beside me in Sept 2009. Like you I was left alone with two small children to raise (2 and 4).

We met and fell in love within days of knowing each other, by 3 months we were engaged and pregnant. Not long after that came the house, a marriage and another baby. Our whole life together was squished into 5 short years.

I am still waiting for the door to open and to see him walk through it.. I know it will never happen but we all live in hope :) The point of this post is to let you know it does get easier, the pain never subsides but it does lessen. I still have moments where I break down and cry, cry for the dad my children miss so much, the husband I yearn to hold again and yet like you I must keep going, for the girls and all that this world has on offer.

I too question what else is yet to come, like a booming drum I am waiting for the sun to fade and the credits to roll... this is not my life, not one I set out to make and yet it is my reality.

If you ever need a friendly ear, someone who knows where you are coming from... just a little further down the road from where you are now feel free to drop me a line.. trinaw_75@hotmail.com.
Take care, Trina

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