Climbing My Mountain

I love the talk, Mountains to Climb, by President Eyring.  I have always felt strengthened by the message that without "mountains" in our lives, we cannot grow into the person our Heavenly Father knows we can be.  I don't know my full potential, but He does.  I have to trust that each trial I face in this life will refine me.

As is true for everyone, I have faced many very tall mountains throughout my life, but none so steep as the one I am on now.  Each day is a struggle to keep moving up, rather than letting myself slide down to the bottom.  My faith helps keep me on track.  I recently had a talk with my Bishop where I admitted I had fallen far down my mountain, and I was just too tired to progress any further.  Being a wise man, he pointed out that perspective is key. He told me I had not fallen down the mountain, perhaps I had only slipped and skinned my knees, but that I was still holding fast to my hard fought place on my mountain.  He recommended I not look up or down, but rather that I look out.  That I should see how high I had climbed, and that I enjoy the view.  This mountain analogy is always with me.  At times in the past I had found myself near the top, only to find another peak to conquer.  Being my best friend,  Richard was always there to encourage me, to pull me up and to steady me when I felt weak.  I tried to do the same for him.  Now I feel so alone at times.  I can't just roll over to face my love and tell him what is troubling me, I cannot ask his advice any time day or night.  I miss that. Richard was compassionate and understanding. He always tried to see things from my perspective and then show me another perspective.  He gave me great advice. He had learned just how to offer it, and I had learned how to accept it. He was like a security blanket, helping me feel warm and safe.  At times I now feel that I am walking on a tightrope without my ever present, kind and loving safety net. 

I could allow myself to feel the injustice of what I have lost.  It is not fair that I have to go forward without my companion. That I have to do it all alone.  But I have chosen to view this as a great opportunity.  I am developing a close relationship with my Savior.  I cannot talk to my husband to get advice, but I can pray to the Lord anytime.  When things seem uncertain, I don't have to feel fear. I can trust that the Lord will guide me.  I know that He is aware of me and my children.  I know that only He understands the sorrow and loneliness that I feel.  I know that He will not let me down.  I, in turn, will strive to not let Him down. I wonder if this deep relationship would be possible if my husband was here.  Please don't misunderstand, I loved the Lord even when my husband was here. But I never had to rely on him fully before.  I was slowly developing the ability to rely on Him, through struggles that Richard and I have had over the years.  But what I am experiencing now is a crash course in learning to depend on the Lord.  Though I cannot say I am grateful for these exact circumstances, I am grateful for the direction it has given me.  I truly can say I am grateful for the years of heartache and struggle that led me to have a testimony of the Gospel and my Savior.  I know so many people turn away from the Lord when times get hard, as if they somehow justify blaming Him.  I am grateful for the desire I have found to run into His arms, rather than turn away.  Who else could more perfectly comfort me? 

Am I okay?  Am I over it?  Do I feel peace and happiness all the time now?  NO!  I still struggle deeply and I have times where I question myself. Sometimes the sadness is overpowering.  Is that the Lord turning his back on me?  No, not at all. That is me, needing to learn and grow, maybe someday I will have learned sufficiently.  I have talked before about the need we have to feel the pain for a time, so we can better understand the power and miracle of the atonement.  I have fallen into the depths of despair, but I always come out on the other side and I know the full measure of the burden that has been taken from me.  What a blessing this is to me.  I am so grateful for my mountains, even at times when I can't help but think of the steep climb, the muddy spots, the seemingly impassable sections.  In the end I know that I can and will climb my mountain and at the top, the beautiful view, the peace, joy and love that awaits me, will all be worth it.

As I have mentioned before, I love going out in the Jeep.  I wanted to learn how to put it into 4 wheel drive and I wanted to take it up a mountain.  But I didn't want to do it alone.  My Bishop and his sweet family came over early one Saturday and allowed us to follow them up a mountain trail to Relay Ridge, a favorite spot for my family when Richard was with us.  Joseph came with me.  I was excited, I was nervous, but I was ready!  Part way up, the Bishop's Jeep had a mechanical issue and he had to take my Jeep to get a part.  What a blessing in disguise! Joseph and I waited on the mountain trail with Angela and her daughter.   The weather was perfect. We had an incredible view and we had fun talking.  When my Jeep got back, Angela and I, along with our kids, headed up the mountain.  The view was incredible at the top, 360 degrees!  The Tetons were right there!  It was an amazing feeling to have made it to the top!  I had taken some smooth rocks up the mountain with me. I had written on each rock an emotion I wanted to leave on the mountain, things like guilt, fear, weakness, doubt. Joseph helped me arrange my stones in a small pile and there they stayed.  I came down the mountain that day feeling lighter and more capable than I have felt in a long time.  I am grateful for people who are willing to help me accomplish my goals and even encourage it. It is so hard to ask for help, but I am learning to allow myself to need others.

A beautiful place to be stuck for a couple hours! 

Heading up!

 

Me and my Jeeping buddy!

 

4th of July & PTSD

I wasn't there when my husband died.  I did not hear the gunshot that took him from us.  I was blissfully unaware for over an hour that he had left this Earth. 

Last night I put the kids to bed and as I was walking to my room, I heard the loud crack of fireworks in the neighborhood.  I immediately started to cry and shake uncontrollably. I put on my headphones, turned my most comforting songs up loud and sobbed in my bed for hours.  I even took an anxiety medication, but it did little to calm me down.  I couldn't stop seeing his last moments. In my mind I saw his reconstructed face as he lay at the mortuary and I sobbed.  This caught me completely off guard.  It wasn't by choice and I was truly helpless to stop it, so I rode it out, alone.  I am exhausted today and a quick trip to Albertsons to get a few things for dinner took forever. I wandered around, not sure what I was doing there or what to get.

I feel most of the time I am in control of my emotions and I deal with what comes along fairly well. I am good at the day to day.  I don't like emotional surprises.  I haven't yet learned to grieve in the presence of others.  I put on my smiley face and pretend all is well.  It is manageable.  But occasionally something will take me completely by surprise and I hate that. 

I am not sure what to do this evening.  More fireworks.  I want to be prepared.  Not sure if I should just try to get through it, or if I should put on my music early and climb into bed. I feel so sad for my kiddos, because mommy is emotionally checked out. I am so grateful for Adrienne, Jon and Jacob. Hopefully, no matter what happens with me tonight, they can help the kids celebrate our great country.

Happy 4th of July everyone.

Life In A Bubble

I live in a bubble. Some refer to it as widows fog, but I feel like bubble fits better for me. I try to avoid the "w" word, as I am not yet ready to accept that is what I have become, but I may very well be living in a widow's bubble.  It causes me to move/feel/process in slow motion, while the rest of the world is moving ahead at full speed.  Often times my view of the world through my bubble is clouded or foggy.  Other times I see the world so clearly, but I just cannot keep up.  This can be so frustrating for me, but at times I am able to accept that it is just how it has to be for now.

Life in my bubble is what causes me to look directly at you and not even process that I have seen you until hours later.  Or when one of you has performed some wonderful act of kindness for myself or my family and it takes me weeks to appropriately acknowledge you and offer my thanks, even though I feel gratitude towards you immediately. It is why I can get a sweet text or email from a dear friend and then find weeks have gone by before I sit down to reply. Sometimes I find it hard to properly articulate my emotions and thoughts, I may come across as a little off, or on a rough day, REALLY off.  But so far everyone is kind and patient with me.  I try to hide just how far behind the rest of you I feel.  I smile and pretend things are getting back to normal, even though they aren't. 

A very select few people know how to leave the high speed reality of life and join me in my slow motion bubble.  They comfort me and reassure me that it is okay, that I am okay.  They aren't uncomfortable around me.  They don't expect me to be something I am not, they don't expect me to do things I just can't.  They are fine just being with me.  I know this is a gift most people do not naturally have.  It is not a gift I have, however it is something I want to work on and hopefully develop. I am so grateful for these people in my life.  They inspire me in so many ways.

A couple weeks ago I had a serious emotional breakdown and reached out to someone. I didn't know what to do or say, but I knew I had to let someone know I was not doing well.  Though it was late, she was willing to come to me. To sit with me, to talk, to listen. She offered, but I was afraid to ask so much of someone.  I was afraid to admit my weakness and allow her to see my at my worst. I was afraid that I wasn't worth the effort.  I must seem like a crazy woman, reaching out for help and then refusing it!  She came to see me the next day.  We talked and I felt better.  Just knowing that she is there for me gives me hope.  Hope that maybe I can let down my guard at some point and allow someone in at the worst of times, when I need someone the most.

I don't know if my bubble will ever release me back into this fast paced world. And maybe that is okay.  One of the things I used to get so frustrated hearing was "you are being prepared so that you can help someone else through their trials".  I would think to myself,  how can I help someone else when I can't even overcome my own pain? But I have learned that is really what I want my life to be about, helping others know they are never alone.  I hope to be able to share my journey and help others find the faith to get through the things that seem so impossible to overcome. I am by no means an expert, but perhaps through my bumbling experiences, I can be helpful to someone else. 

Trusting the Process

Grieving and raising a family are not very compatible early on in the process.  I try so hard to be what my kids need me to be right now, because I know this is terribly hard on them and they need someone constant and strong in their lives.  Some days I fail miserably.  A couple of Saturdays ago, Annalina had her first volleyball tournament.  It was an all day event and Richard and I went to each of her tournaments together last year. They were always so much fun.  I wanted to be there for Annalina and let her know that I would always be there to cheer her on.

It was loud and chaotic.  I began to feel physical pain sitting there watching.  I took Advil and Tylenol, but nothing helped as the pain got worse and worse.  Finally after 5 hours I told Annalina I wasn't feeling well and I needed to go home.  She arranged a ride for herself and I left, feeling like an utter failure as a mother.  I got home and climbed into bed and within minutes the severe pain faded and then was gone.  Is my emotional state manifesting itself physically?  And if so, how do I balance my own needs in this grieving process with the needs of my children? I feel the weight of parenthood crushing down around me at times.  I love being a mother. If I could spend eternity raising children, it would truly be heaven to me.  But it is so much harder when it is all up to me, alone.

I spent much of the rest of Saturday in bed. Then came Sunday and I spent the entire day in bed. I just could not leave the comfort of my warm, accepting bed.  I felt so much emotional pain on Sunday.  At times I could not help myself and I laid there sobbing.  I tried to read, but got sleepy each time I opened my book.  It was like the emotional dam that has held back all the feelings of despair had broken completely. The kids spent some time with Adrienne, they spent time together, but they spent little time with me. I just could not do it.

There is no handbook that goes along with grieving.  But there are resources.  Lately I struggle with concentration when I read, but I have been reading bits and pieces of the book, "On Grief and Grieving".  I found a section called Isolation.  It was very familiar to me.  It is what I have always done in times of great emotional upheaval.  I have always felt that I was doing "it" wrong because I turn inward.  But the book told me that isolating is a natural part of the grief process and that it is okay as long as it is just a step and I don't get stuck there.  People often see isolation as a sign of danger. I have a friend who really does not understand that it is okay.  She gets frustrated that I am not ready to go out with her, or when I don't answer my phone, or when I miss church.  She says, "what am I going to do with you".  She loves me and I appreciate her concern. But sometimes I feel I am being judged. I feel like I need to explain myself and right now I just cannot do that.

What I need friends and family to understand is that I am doing the best I can.  I am not one to let anything conquer me and I will get back on my feet and keep fighting to move forward.  That is just who I am.  But there will be setbacks and there will be times when I don't do what seems normal or "right". But I am doing what is right for me.  I am listening very closely to my inner voice, trying to do what is best for me and my family.  I am trying very hard to trust a process that I do not completely understand.  I need for others to trust that I won't give up, but sometimes I will need a break.  I feel like my state of being right now is exhausting. If I had a broken leg no one would question my need to take it easy and heal.  No one would push me to run a marathon, or even walk down the street.  A broken heart is no different. 

5 Things About Grief

Here are my thoughts on some advice I just read on grief.

"#1 - It won't look normal. What the heck is normal anyway? Cry, don't cry, walk around in a daze - it's ALL NORMAL."
Funny thing about me, I like to do things "right", how I perceive they should be done. I struggled for a while in counseling because I felt like I was doing it wrong.  The same has happened with grieving.  A sweet friend came to visit me last week. She said she had heard that people were worried about me because I wouldn't go out walking with them or go visit with them or answer my phone.  She wanted to check in with me to be sure I was ok.  I apologized and started to explain how sometimes its just hard to pick up the phone, or to leave my house.  How the world seems somehow scary to me now that it is missing the presence of my sweet companion Richard.  How I am afraid someone will need something from me that I just cannot give right now.  She said I did not need to explain it to her.  She told me I was doing what my mind/body/spirit needs at this time to feel safe and that grief looks different to everyone experiencing it.  I am a worrier, I am often more likely to try not to offend someone than take care of myself and my own needs.  She told me that my friends are not offended when I don't take them up on their offers and that was nice to hear. They are just trying to help in any way they can think of.  That day I learned its okay to admit I am not okay and that I don't have to put on the face of "everything being okay" when its not, when I am not.  I don't have to grieve in the way that seems "normal" and that each day my grief can look very different. 

So what is normal?  Some days I cannot get out of bed, some days I cannot stay in bed. Some nights I sleep an incredibly long stretch at a time, other nights I barely get an hour or two of sleep.  Some days I feel no emotion, other days I could cry all day long if I allowed myself to.  Some days I feel ambitious and attempt to get things done, others I can barely motivate myself to take a shower, let alone plan dinner for my family.  One thing hasn't changed, and that is this: I miss my husband so much. And I love him still.  Some days life just feels like it is something to endure and while I have heard that the joy will return to my life, I just don't see it...yet.

"#2 - You will want to talk about the person who died - at length."
When my mother was here I talked a TON about Richard and our life together.  She was wonderful to sit and listen to me and to join in with her own thoughts and memories.  So much reminds me of him and it is hard for me not to talk about him. Having my mother here to listen to me was very therapeutic. She loved my husband so much and that has been such a blessing to me.  Sometimes when I talk about Richard in front of the kids, its makes them sad, so I find myself thinking carefully about what I say about him.  A couple of weeks ago I wanted to write down memories of him that the kids have so we could always remember them.  It was too soon and Annalina just turned around and went to her room.  I found her later in her closet with the door closed.  It is a tough balancing act, all of us grieving in our own way.

"#3 - People will shun you to protect themselves from feeling uncomfortable."
I am probably hyper aware that some people are uncomfortable around me.  And its okay, it makes perfect sense to me. I try not to talk too much about things with people I sense may be uncomfortable.  I have a few very close friends who come by to visit whom I feel very comfortable sharing with.  My friend Lisa came from Oregon to spend almost a week here in Rexburg with me and I was telling her how everyone is always asking me if I am working yet and sometimes it drives me crazy.  She told me it was a safe question for people, that it showed they were interested in my life and how we are doing without talking about the heavy stuff.  Brilliant!  That made so much sense to me and that question doesn't bother me anymore.  The last thing I want is to make other people feel uncomfortable.  Maybe that is another reason I prefer to stay in my home and not interact with people.

"#4 - You will laugh at the most inappropriate things probably for the rest of your life. I call it widow humor."
I think my mom and I started to do this a bit while she was here.  Sometimes its easier to laugh at the things that really hurt rather than to cry about them.  I don't do this a whole lot yet, but I can see where it may be something that develops as time goes on.

"#5 - You will smile again and at first it will make you feel incredibly guilty but in time you realize your smile is a tribute to their life."
The first few days after Richard's death I could not eat and I barely drank. I couldn't listen to music. I could not play cell phone games for weeks. I could not watch tv shows or movies or read books. I felt like it wasn't right that I should go on doing things that I enjoyed when he had been in such despair that he took his own life.I felt like I had to punish myself for still being alive when I couldn't keep him here.  And before anyone says, "you must know this was not your fault and there was nothing you could do to save him", please realize that my mind understands this, but my heart still struggles with it. If I could go back, knowing how bad things were for him, I believe he would still be here and I could have made a difference. I try to keep things light with the kids, we giggle, tease, and play and at times life seems almost normal again.  But it doesn't always feel real or complete.

I am trying so hard to understand what has happened and what will happen next.  I want to see the big picture. I am tired of devastating surprises in life, but complaining about it is not the way to learn and grow.  I find myself leaning on my faith and the Lord to help me develop into the person He knows I can be.  I cling to the beauty of the Plan of Salvation.  I see myself walking into the arms of my husband someday and I find that comforting.  As much as I know that life is a gift, I truly look forward to that day.

Ramblings of a Broken Heart and Clouded Mind

"We've found your husband...I'm sorry to say that he is deceased."  Words spoken kindly and gently and yet they ripped through my life like a class 5 hurricane.  Lost dreams, broken hearts...nothing will ever be the same.  How can our world ever be okay again?  How do I mend the hearts of my sweet children who miss their daddy so much and can't possibly understand why and how this happened?  How do I put myself back together enough so that they I can help them?  How do I be strong when my best friend left me permanently alone in this life?  By choice...he left of his own free will.  I understand that his mind was darkened with mental anguish, but it breaks my heart that the love I have for him couldn't get through to him in the end.  I feel like a failure and my mind races maddeningly with thoughts of what I could have done differently...desperately wishing I could go back and change things.

I realize this may have been the outcome a year ago when our family felt the full effects of my husband's mental illness for the first time.  A year ago today he left for a month, disappearing without a word.  We prayed and fasted and prayed some more.  He finally came back to us, broken, but home.  Many times over the past year he has promised me he would never leave me again, unless I asked him to.  He left, for good this time, and he promised me he wouldn't.  How does my mind even begin to process this?  He told me that last year he wanted to die and he was not going to come home.  But then he wanted to hear my voice one more time.  He was so disconnected with our world that he had no idea what I had been doing to try to find him.  That I was not angry and only wanted him home where he could get the help he needed while wrapped in the arms of his loving family. He thought he would call, and I would be angry, and he could make his permanent exit from life.  He was wrong and I am grateful for that.

I feel this past year is a gift.  We struggled, we worked hard to get over temporarily broken hearts, we talked, we laughed, we spent so much time together, we struggled some more, things were far from perfect, but we kept trying.   I tried so hard to understand what was going on inside his mind.  I knew he wasn't capable of sharing everything, so I tried to be patient with him and just love him.  Sometimes I failed at that, wanting change to come quicker.  He was my best friend.  I miss him so much. It hurts terribly, but if I was given the choice, I'd do it all over again.  The 15 years of our marriage were worth this terrible pain.  Our family is worth it.  He is worth that to me, and more.  I only wish he could have seen that.

I have faith that through the Atonement all will be made right in the end.  I know that we can be a forever family, as we always planned.  I know my children and even myself will be okay through the comfort that only the Savior can give us.  My doctor asked me today, as I sat in his office having an anxiety attack, if I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.  No, there is no light and there is no tunnel, as it feels I am in a small dark place and there is no way out.  But I do believe that relief will come.  In time.  I am once again choosing faith and  not fear.  As heartbreaking as it is to move forward without my Richard, I know I can do it.  But life stretches out so long in front of me...