Slop and Tator Tots

So many of my followers look to me for inspiration and strength, but I refuse to sugar coat my emotions for their benefit. The truth is that the last couple weeks have been really difficult. I'm fighting with my faith and I'm fighting to understand something that can't be explained. That is the uncensored truth. My favorite quote has always been: "I'd rather have 5 minutes of wonderful, than a lifetime of nothing special!" It is still my favorite and it is still the truth. I will forever be grateful for my time with Steven. My anger, however, comes in to play when I realize that my son - my sweet, innocent, untainted, baby boy, didn't get 5 minutes. He didn't even get 5 seconds.

The memories that drag me down are the same memories that get me through the day. It never fails; everyday I am reminded of Steven's quirks. Today, it started with tator tots. I was with my in-laws when Steven's sister, Cari, was making her grocery list. She mentioned that she had tator tots in the freezer and I immediately smiled. You see, Steven was a meat and potatoes kind of guy. He liked his meat on one side of the plate and his potatoes on the other. Under no circumstances should the two be mixed together and mentioning the word casserole might as well have been a sin. One night, I asked him what he wanted for dinner. He said he didn't care, so I told him I had hamburger thawed. I reminded him that we had spaghetti the night before and I really didn't want hamburgers or tacos, so I was going to throw some stuff in a dish and call it a casserole. He thought I was kidding. An hour later, I called him to come in the kitchen and fix a plate. The look on his face was priceless. He said, "I ain't eatin' this slop! What is it anyway?" Smiling I said, "I'm calling it hamburger casserole and if you don't want any, there is a Hungry Man in the freezer - help yourself." Steven picked up a spoonful, dropped it back into the casserole dish, and about that time I heard him say, "Wait a minute.... are those tator tots? I like tator tots."
He was always funny like that. We were constantly in a power struggle. He was the King of our castle. If he wanted meat and potatoes, I'd give him meat and potatoes, but he got them however I felt like cooking them. Actually, I just decided on a name for that dish - it will forever be called "Slop".

"There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief... and unspeakable love."   - Washington Irving

Stage 2

It’s official, I moved passed denial and ran head first into anger. Actually, I’m not angry. I’m more than angry, I am pissed off!

Tonight, I read Andrew a story from a children’s parables book. The story was based on the Parable of the Persistent Widow; Luke 18: 1-8. I should have known better. I should have skipped it and gone on to the next. The story was about a little girl whose father dies and she prays that God will send her a new father. We finished the story and as always, I grabbed Steven’s picture, we said our prayers, and told Daddy goodnight. It was then that I realized the picture is of Steven’s head on my pregnant belly and that is as close as he ever got to Andrew. It was then that I realized Andrew will never know the sound of his Father’s voice or see the look on his Father’s face when he was determined to figure something out. I lost my cool, not because I was sad, but because I was angry. I just don’t understand why.

The people around me have noticed this change. I know this, because I keep getting the fifth degree. I also know the exact moment when the denial turned to anger. It was Saturday night, I was out having a few drinks with some friends for my birthday. It was closing time, the DJ started playing slow, sad, country music and I went to the bar to retrieve my tab. There, I bumped into someone I hadn’t seen or talked to in a few years, someone who did not know the hell I have been through. He asked how I’d been? I told him I had a new baby and pulled out a picture to brag. He asked why I tensed up? If I tensed up, I didn't notice. While pointing to the picture, I said, “His Daddy died. I don’t want to talk about it.” and I left the bar. My girlfriend later told me that she knew something had happened, she just didn’t know what. I haven’t been the same since. I’m not sure why though. I don’t know why that was the mind altering moment. I cried all the way home and continued crying when I got there. It took nearly an hour for me to get myself together to go pick up my son.

Needless to say, I have spent the majority of this week with my nose in the Bible. I keep hoping - and praying- that somewhere, I will find the answers I need. I feel my faith taking a hit, so I push myself to keep reading. I bought a book called “When Women Walk Alone” and all it has done is piss me off further. It basically says that when women are left alone, it is so their relationship with the Lord can prosper. I hope my Christian friends can forgive me for this: But, what a load of crap! Our relationship is not prospering, I am fighting to keep the relationship! So, I ordered a devotional journal that was written specifically for a Widow, by a Widow. There is no other way to describe what I am feeling - just angry! A little bit angry for me, but mostly angry for Andrew. If there is one thing that I learned from tonight’s Parable, however, it’s that if I keep praying, God will answer. He may not answer as quickly as I’d like, but eventually, he will answer.

Excess of grief for the dead is madness; for it is an injury to the living, and the dead know it not. -Xenophon

 

"Thanks for the Privilege!"

It’s been a while since I had to get up and start my day with the sunrise. I forgot how beautiful the world is in the morning, but as always I start my day thinking of Steven. This week has been more difficult than most, though I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the effects of my birthday and the death of yet another miner. I know that I have been in denial and I believe that I’m starting to come out of that phase of grief. I knew it would happen sooner or later and I have expected that one day it would hit me like a ton of bricks that Steven is gone. Forever. I also expected that it would break me. I’ve been spending more “me-time” lately, going out with friends and doing things that I enjoy, but it never fails; on my way home, I feel guilty. It’s hard to explain, but I almost feel like I shouldn’t be having fun. It’s like when I am carrying on, laughing, and enjoying my life, I am somehow doing an injustice to my marriage and to Steven’s memory. I know I can’t feel this way, but I do.

This morning I have been thinking about Steven’s morning routine. Now remember, that his morning was about 6:00pm, because he worked night shift most of the time. Every evening when he woke up I would fix him a cup of coffee. Usually, I fixed his breakfast, but ALWAYS the coffee. He would go straight to the couch when he woke up and I would deliver his coffee cup to him... always the black mug, because coffee tastes different in a white mug. Did you know? He used to jokingly tell me to thank him for the privilege and I would. I miss those quirks. More than anything, I miss that stupid coffee mug. Every single day, he would leave for work and that coffee mug would still be sitting on the end table. I know he did it just to irritate me. I told him once that if he died before I did, I would miss that damned coffee mug. I just didn't expect to miss it so soon. It's ironic to think that I knew, even then, that I would miss it. And I do. I wish I could tell him, just one more time, "Thank you for the privilege, Honey!" and then of course, whisper under my breath, "pain in the ass..."

"When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive - to breath, to think, to enjoy, to love."  - Marcus Aurelius

Wake Up Older

I guess tomorrow I will be another year older. As if getting older isn't bad enough, it will be the first birthday I have spent without Steven in 6 years. He was always good at the birthday thing. My favorite birthday gift of all time was the 357 revolver he gave me... even though he wouldn't let me have the pink one I wanted. I remember him giving me a speech about how no one was afraid of a pink gun. It didn't take long for me to figure out the real reason I couldn't have it -- he wouldn't be able to take it when I wasn't looking. Funny guy.

This year I will do everything in my power to look at my birthday in a positive way. I may be getting older, but that only means I am one step closer to the final destination; Heaven. I am one year closer to seeing Steven again. This must be difficult to understand for anyone who doesn't have someone special waiting for them to get there.

For those who are curious, I will be 24 this year. I have lived a lot of life in 24 years. In fact, I do not feel 24 at all. I feel 34. I'm not the same person that I was a year ago. I'm sure that girl is still inside of me somewhere, but she's been covered up with responsibility and disapointment. I have been forced to grow up; partially because of conscious choices I have made and partially because of my circumstances. In less than two years, Steven and I bought a house, moved in, got married, got pregnant, he died, and I was left to have a baby, alone. Being a single Mother was never part of my plan, but they say life is what happens while we are busy making plans. I have no regrets. I loved Steven as much as a woman can possibly love her husband and I was a good wife! Now, I will carry on and be a good Mother. This year, Steven has given me the ultimate gift. A gift that I could never give myself. A son.

So, tomorrow, I will wake up older. But, I will also wake up thankful.

"We have to be able to grow up. Our wrinkles are our medals of the passage of life. They are what we have been through and who we want to be." - Lauren Hutton

Normal

On Sunday, I recorded the season premier of Army Wives, and just finished watching it. If you have never watched the series, it is brutally heart wrenching at times. This particular episode was all about the death of the General's Wife. Needless to say, I struggled through it. When the General and his daughter were sent to view the body for the first time, I thought I was going to be sick. It brought out emotions that I thought I had smothered, like a flame without oxygen. It brought up tears that I didn't think I had left. My mind instantly went back to when I saw Steven's lifeless body for the first time. The funeral director put his hand on the small of my back and led me into the room. Instant agony. I have never felt pain like that. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart, shredded even. My body felt so heavy that I couldn't lift my foot to move forward. All I wanted to do was vomit, to scream, to hit something. I put my hand on Steven's hand and it was as cold and as hard as the wedding band on his finger. When the director brought in Steven's grandmother and sister, I had to leave the room. Cari screamed the most blood-curdling scream I have ever heard. She kept screaming, "No! No!" All I wanted to do was run. I wanted to go home and crawl in bed next to my husband, but I knew he wasn't there. I had just seen him. I had touched him. He was never going to be in our bed again.

A friend on facebook shared my blog a while back, calling me a "real-life wonder woman," She was wrong. I'm just like everyone else. I hurt and I cry. I go outside at night and I talk to the sky, even though I know he can't hear me. I lay in bed and ask God, "why?" even though I know I'm not suppose to. I show our Son pictures of his father and wonder how in the hell I am ever going to make this okay for him. I pray that God will give me every ounce of his pain, so that he will never have to feel it.

I just don't show that vulnerability in public. In fact, I rarely show it anywhere other than this blog. I simply don't want to talk about it. It hurts too much. Not to mention, most people don't know what to say to me anyway. Awkward. Here's the thing: I don't need people to feel sorry for me. I don't need a pat on the back. I need to feel normal.

"We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey."  -Kenji Miyazawa