When It Just Hits You

Sometimes, when my day is going along "normally" - including my new norm associating with others who have lost, taking the dogs out myself, living in a place that is not my true home - I suddenly am slammed down to earth with the thought

Ryan is gone. He is dead.

I am not running around actively denying to people that I will see Ryan again, that I will get a text or a phone call or he will wake up in bed next to me (or I'll be woken up from him snoring while snuggled into the back of my neck...) I know, ok? My head knows that he's gone - it's not like a secret or any possibility. Sure, sometimes I still have the reaction to call him, to walk into a room and look for him. These are .001 seconds in time which used to cause break downs and now I chastise myself and shake it off.

The sobering moments are the ones where your heart just figured out the finality of what happened. 

I will move back to going through the motions of the day, taking care of what needs to be done and staying busy when I can. I will still spend time lying in bed, sometimes with sometimes without tears, but most definitely in sorrow and loneliness. There are no triggers for these events and their frequency is unpredictable but without a doubt there is no way to describe the feeling when you're smacked with that reality that he is completely and utterly gone.

Why you don't want to be a grieving fiance

I don't like sharing with people that I lost my fiance. It's not that it's hard to share it but that it's hard to deal with people once you tell them. You will forever be treated differently. Typical scenario:

Well, I lost my fiance 18 weeks and 1 day ago.

Question 1: Oh, wow. I'm so sorry. What happened?
Response 1: Well, his death was a suicide.

Now this typically goes 1 of 2 ways

• Compassionate response not dependent on details: "I'm so sorry, I lost my (insert relationship) the same way (insert time) ago" or "I have no idea but I am so sorry"
• Making things more awkward: *Fumble over words* or *Flag me as a "victim"* or (god forbid) "Did you find him?" <none of your damn business

Almost without fail my very next question if it comes (if they haven't run out of the room yet):

Question 2: So, how long were you together?

*Usually at this point, they also look down at my left hand. I'm not sure why...just to make sure I'm telling the truth?

Awesome. I've just shared with you the hands-down-most-difficult-event-of-my-life. And now the person that is questioning is setting themselves up to assess (in their mind) how difficult it is for me. Ugh. 

There are people married 20 years that hate each other's guts. Time doesn't equate to quality of the relationship or difficulty of grief. 

I opened up to his mother, an absolute Angel of a woman, that in some ways she has the 'benefit' (terrible word) of being a grieving mother in that I haven't heard of anyone asking "how close were you with your child?" or otherwise provides compassion contingent on first deciding the strength of the relationship... Usually, after question 1 it's something like "Oh my god. I can't even imagine..."

Guess what? You can't imagine what my heart and mind are like right now either.

If you want to know how much it hurts: I spent 3 1/2 years with someone that I was overjoyed at the prospect of spending another 50-60 years with. Within the first year of dating him, I was modifying some life goals because I wanted happiness in us more than just me. In the 6 months before he died, I was putting myself in a position to support him - no matter what it took (financial, geographical changes) I would let him decide. 

I lost my emergency contact, my best friend, my confidant, my advisor, my lover, my partner. I lost my Every Day. I marked up on my cell phone bill the number of times I called or was called by him, just in the last 2 weeks he was alive. The page was bled through with pink pen underlined multiple times every single day of the week. I'm now caring for 2 dogs, caring for the house we bought, except I'm doing it all alone. Try and think about how much that hurts before you judge how important he was by the length of time I was blessed to have him...

Wordless Wednesday: A Broken Heart

It's Hurting Again

One of those days...

Wordless Wednesdays: Glitter for the Stupid

Making Ourselves

After a rough, rough night last week I stumbled across this on Pinterest (trying to get schoolwork done for a social media class...honestly).

It was just what I needed. I'm not so sure about the amount of work being the same but I was smacked upside the head with what amounts to a choice.

Trying to pull myself together doesn't mean I've forgotten Ryan or that I'm moving on. I can't forget him. It also doesn't mean that I will never have meltdowns or terrible weeks or weekends. It doesn't mean that I'm ready or looking for someone else. It means I'm trying to reinsert me back into my life.

Am I still waiting for him to walk through the door? Yes, honestly. Yes. Do I know that it's not possible? Yes, I do. But that doesn't stop me from looking or wishing right now. I can't change that anymore than I can change the color of my blood. I understand things like that will lessen in time. I'm not in a hurry.

I've Finally Found Something Perfect

Ryan was not a fan of tattoos, though he never stopped me from getting another. And I tried my best to be tasteful about it. I understand that part of my journey for survival is going to include doing something that I need to do regardless of the thoughts or considerations of my Sweetie.

I found the most beautiful and perfect memorial tattoo that I'd like to do. It came up initially on Pinterest and I tracked from their to tumblr where it was linked to a user Luster who interestingly enough is a Kelsi... Same as his beautiful sister. What are the odds?

Ryan loved van Gogh. His only interest in visiting Amsterdam on a trip to Europe (shortly before we met) he told me was to visit the museum there. I know what you're thinking -- "ha, yeah right, it's Amsterdam" -- but you don't know this guy like I do :)

I was quick to proclaim that on future vacations where he wanted to visit an art museum I would happily go with him - but that my time spent in there was capped out at 2 hours and then I'd be running off to a natural history museum or botanical gardens while he enjoyed the rest of his tour through the galleries in peace. I just don't "get" art. I can appreciate that it looks like a lot of work and understand a story behind the piece if first told "oh, ok, I get it..." but wandering for hours or meditating at a few solo pieces is not my cup of tea. And that's ok because it was his and I was happy to share short moments of that with him and then head out to retain my sanity.

On our bedroom wall hangs a replica of Starry Night. I've spent the last few weeks meditating on a solo piece of art. Much longer than I thought I would ever take time to consider something. I've read up on van Gogh as an artist, his style, personal life. The one thing everyone remembers is the claim he cut his ear off and that he was deranged.

Starry Night represents the turmoil seen in the sky set against a very defined world below. Straight lines and simple drawings are captured amongst the "normal ones" asleep while the world rages in the sky above them. Many other fine points are captured and I can relate to (now) in the painting. If there's one place I will travel to this year it's NYC...Ryan always wanted to go so I will take him with me and I intend to sit in MOMA and meditate on the turmoil that my life has become within the normalcy of the rest of the world.

I miss you Sweetheart, with every last breath. I understand your struggle.