Tag: Grief

My Achy Breaky Heart

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I remember the first time my heart was truly broken. I was 15 years old and my first “real” boyfriend had broken up with me. I can’t say that I blame him. While super cute at age 15 (haha!), I was also super insecure, jealous and an all around bitch. But I remember that pain like it was yesterday. It took me years, literally, to really get over it. I can remember every day, for a while anyway, waking up and knowing something wasn’t right, not quite remembering what and then it hitting me all over again. That deep ache in your chest, the gut-wrenching sense of loneliness, the wondering if you were ever going to be ok again or ever find love again or always be this sad, broken, spinster. Ok, so I was a bit dramatic at age 15, but, hey, at least I’m honest. I’ve grown a bit since then. At least a bit. The point is that it was awful and I can still feel that 15 year old me’s pain. The pain of rejection. Is there any knife that cuts deeper? Maybe just one.

I had another serious relationship in college. It ended from natural causes. While it made me somewhat sad, it wasn’t the pain that I had felt all those years ago. I graduated. He was transferring 6 hours away. He asked me to go with him. I thought about it, applied for jobs and then said no thank you. Take your cat, but leave my sweater. He moved to the mountains; I moved to the beach.

I had a series of other “friends” over the next few years but no real heartbreaks. Maybe some rejection that stung but easy enough to get over. I was maturing. Ha. Ha.

And then I met Ash. And we know how that went. It took a while to get going, but once it did, man, did we have fun. He ended up by moving away from our cozy little beach town. I felt that awful heartbreak all over again. Not because we broke up, but because he wasn’t an every day part of my life anymore. I loved him. And he was gone. (Ash had this great knack for always leaving me wanting more – in my more immature days, I think most of the time dating someone was more about “winning” and getting what I wanted; once I did, I got bored and moved on. With Ash, I never felt like I was winning and boy did that work! I’m not saying it’s right, I’m just saying that’s how I was at that point in my life. Stop judging me!) I’m not sure if he asked me to come or if I forced it upon him (he would tell you it was all me; I will tell you that it was both of us), but either way, 3 months later we were living together in Durango, CO in a studio apartment (our bed was literally right next to our refrigerator) making a “living” being mountain bums (instead of beach bums). Being the spoiled little brat that never left her comfort zone that I was, it was a hard transition for me. I made it so much harder than it had to be instead of just living and enjoying. I guess hindsight is always 20/20 and that’s not really the point of me writing this. Ash was great at getting me or anyone really out of their comfort zone. It was one of his gifts. He liked to draw the box and live just outside of it!

We lived in Durango; moved to Denver; got pregnant; moved to Texas; got married; had a baby; moved back to our cozy little beach town where it all began; we worked jobs we hated; we fought a lot; we went to therapy; we took cool vacations; we had another baby; we quit the jobs we hated; we opened a business; we got cancer (yes, we, Ash, Jack, Colt and me); we sold a business; we took more cool vacations; we died (yes, we, Ash forever; for the rest of us, life as we knew it died.)

Death cuts more than any rejection knife ever could. It’s so final. Unless, of course, Ash is a Jedi and we didn’t know it and he’ll come back to us in hologram form but only when we’re really in trouble. In which case, send on the Sith, I’d really like to see my person again.

All jokes aside, I have grown from that 15 year old girl (bitch). Obviously I feel a shit ton of pain. But it doesn’t consume me. I’m able to get up, get dressed, function and even have fun. I’ve had lots of fun over the last almost 2 months since Ash has been gone. But it’s all tainted with heartbreak. So many times I have so many things to tell him, or text him, or call him to say. The other morning I woke up to this pushing on my lower back, to the point where I thought I was going to fall out of bed and I reached my arm back and said out loud, Ash, stop. But it wasn’t him. It was his damn puppy. Because he’s not here. I know I sound like a broken record. But fuck. It fucking sucks.

Beautiful, Awful Day

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Full disclosure – there’s a lot of whining going on here. Proceed with caution if at all.

It’s Christmas. We did it. We made it through. The boys were strong, happy and, you know, young boys who are slightly less than grateful.

Christmas Eve was the same as it always is, except someone was missing. I had my parents over, Ash’s mom, my brother and his wife. We had our traditional Christmas Eve fare of hors d’oeuvres and vodka. Not for the kids. They didn’t have vodka. It was mainly for me, don’t worry. The boys opened a couple of presents. But someone was missing. It hit me several times yesterday that he wasn’t there. If the boys ever noticed, they didn’t say anything. They had a wonderful time, ate until their bellies were near popping and jumped and skipped around like they were all hopped up on Santa and Mountain Dew, except it was Coca Cola because that’s so much better for them (insert eye roll here)!

We tracked Santa. The boys went to bed. My mom and brother stayed at the house so that I didn’t have to do everything alone. They were super helpful. Super loving. But someone was missing. I couldn’t sleep. I literally felt like my chest was caving in most of the night. Because someone was missing.

Christmas morning came. My oldest woke us all up by coughing as loudly as he could for several minutes. The boys still had the same excitement that they always have. It is me that is different. I half relished in their joy and half wanted to climb in my bed and not reemerge for a week or two. They got bikes, nerf guns, a baseball net, video games, more Star Wars action figure than anyone on Earth could possibly need and all the love they need. But still, someone was missing. I noticed. All day I noticed. We had breakfast – sausage gravy, biscuits and hash brown casserole, same as always, but again, someone was missing. Everybody left after breakfast. It was just the boys, me and dogs.

They played with all their new toys. I probably snapped at them more than once. We tested out the bikes, although very short lived, because, unfortunately, someone was  missing and this girl had a flat tire that she thought she had pumped up, but apparently needed to add “teach me how to pump up a tire” on that all important list of shit to go over before you peace the fuck out on me. We watched a movie. More family came to visit. Someone was still missing. And my fucking God, does it hurt. Bone deep. Pain. Tears. Anger. Sadness. Grief.

We went to dinner at my parents’ house. Prime rib, twice baked potatoes, roasted broccoli, yeast rolls, fresh cut vegetables. One of Ash’s favorite meals. And he wasn’t here. He was missing. I ate my dinner silently. I cried at the end of my meal. Then I ate a piece of 12 layer cake, then cried for a different reason. I got in my car, drove my babies home and cried the whole way. My oldest asked what was the matter. I just said Daddy. And he understood.

We got home, took showers, cozied up on the couch and watched junky TV. I put them to bed, read to them for 40 minutes, laid with them until they fell asleep. And now, here I sit, still fucking crying. Because someone is missing.

Someone told me not long ago to use my boys. They are a great distraction. And they are, except they are little and I am strict. I enforce bed time (not always but a lot of time) because it’s important and necessary. But then comes that loneliness again. Because my person is fucking missing. And I fucking hate it. (In case that wasn’t clear.)

Merry Christmas. It was one beautiful, awful day.