Archive for November 2009

Roller Coaster

29 November, 2009

All of this is one big roller coaster. And I’m really not a big fan of roller coasters…especially this one.

One day I start to feel like I can manage and do fine and have some happiness and laughter – and I actually have laughter and happiness. Then the next two days I’m completely done with it all.  I think that the fog is lifting more and more each day, which brings no comfort. The past few days have been probably the worst since the crash and losing Doug. I don’t think it is necessarily because it was a holiday but more because I feel alone.

Completely alone.

It was supposed to be the two of us who raised our son. It was supposed to be the two of us who made a home, planned, dreamed. The two of us. The help I am receiving from family and friends is needed but it does not replace and never will replace what Doug and I had as a couple and as parents. I know I have come down hard on my Mom these past few days especially because I know she is only trying to help. But it is hard to discuss my son, my plans with anyone other than Doug. I’ve gotten so angry these past few days. I’m tired of being told things that I already have thought of…I just want him back.

My whole body just aches and my stomach turns constantly. I just miss him so much and the feeling of loneliness is just too much. The feeling of love and happiness that I once knew that only he could provide – the loss is too much. It hurts too much.

It is all definitely a roller coaster that I’d like to have never gotten on. It is just so completely unfair. A great, good, loving person taken. This isn’t the path that we were supposed to be on. This wasn’t in our future.

My heart is too heavy to write anymore. Maybe the roller coaster will take me on an upturn soon and I’ll write more.



24 November, 2009

These past few days have brought remembering…of all things. It has been two months now and I find that I can allow myself to remember things about Doug and about us. About our life before. It isn’t easy. In fact, it is so hard to remember – to allow myself to remember. With remembering comes pain. With remembering also comes happiness…something that is also hard to have but needed.

I can go a couple of days with doing things. Going out with friends, running errands but after those few days, two days, one day, I find that it is hard to get through the next day, the next days.

Remembering has been good but hard with the start of the holidays. I try and remember all of the times we had but try not to dwell too much on what we would be doing right now. What we would be planning for the holidays…I do try and remember what we did in the past so that Lido can have those same things. So that he knows this is what we did before all of this happened. It keeps Doug near us. It keeps him a part of our lives.

I haven’t written Lido’s letter for this month…so I think I should with this post…

My Dearest Lido,

You are fourteen months. You have grown out of a pair of your sweatpants that were too big for you just a couple of weeks ago. I was thinking just today that I needed to find a place in the house to chart your growth…I think that we will be here for a long time. You have almost a full set of teeth and you smile just like your Dad. You have two little dimples that are in the same spot as your Dad’s and you are laid back, loving and you gave me your first real kiss tonight. It caught me off guard…I tried making you do it again but you wouldn’t. I’ll be ready the next time…although it was nice to be taken by surprise.

You are into everything and have been helping me put things together and even though I try and limit what you see me do (for fear of you figuring out how to do it yourself – or undo it) I love that you want to be a part of everything. You are not interesting in playing with your toys but are more interested in figuring things out, doing what I am doing. Just today I switched out three of the electrical cover plates with enclosed “baby proof” plates to hide the cords and within 5 hours of me doing this you had figured out how to twist the ones that don’t have anything plugged into them and take the entire thing off. You are unbelievable.

You love brushing your teeth. You have even let me do it once without a fight. You love your bedtime routine and if I forget to brush your teeth…well, you head to the bathroom and get your toothbrush. You have been having a lot of fun with new friends and playmates and love Ro and Bebe and Yaya.

You point to your Daddy’s pictures around the house which makes me feel good. I know that you remember him and that you will always remember him. The two of your were so great with each other. I look back on the nights prior to your Daddy’s death and one particular night stands out. I was trying to put you down and you just kept looking out your bedroom door and yelling for your Dad. I finally called for him to come up and you went right to him and went to sleep in his arms. I am so glad you did. I am so glad that you had that. I don’t know if somehow you knew but I am thankful that I have the memory of your Dad smiling because he thought it was so great and so cool that it was him that you wanted and only him. He loved and loves you very much.

I think that we are doing okay. I have my moments and I have cried with you in my arms but I do try to keep it all together most of the time. You definitely know when I need a bit of extra love and you also know when to get my attention to just focus on you – focus on this moment. That is very much your Dad in you.

I get sad sometimes because I haven’t dreamed of your Dad…then there are times when you’ll just look up and around the room and say Dadda and then go back to what you are doing. We are going through light bulbs like you wouldn’t believe. Just tonight as I was walking with you up the stairs, I told you that I was just talking to your Uncle Steve and that he is a very good man and as I said this I switched on the landing light and the bulb blew. I know it was Doug. I think he was agreeing with me and letting us know he is still around us. I’ve been reading things from other widows and they say the same thing about having to change out light bulbs all the time…It even happened when we were in Portland. There were a bunch of your Daddy’s friends and my friends in the dining room and we were all talking and there was some laughter and I think we were talking about your Dad and the bulbs in the ceiling fan blew. I know that was him telling us that he was there with us. I am starting to think that I should buy in bulk…

I am thankful for these moments. It may seem weird to some people but I know he is here with us when these things happen.

The other night I was having a hard time. You were asleep upstairs and I was laying on the sofa crying and really missing him. All the lights were out and my eyes were closed and all I wanted was to just see his face to know he was here. To have some kind of sign that he was still with us. For a few moments all I could see was a golden light and his face shimmering in the light. Since that moment, that night, I know that he is here. It brings some peace.

There are so many little things that you do that remind me of your Dad. The way you laugh and how your eyes light up when you smile remind me of him. You have that same look of love and happiness in your eyes. There is a look that you sometimes give me where you lower your head just a bit, squint your eyebrows together and give a sly smile – this is so totally your Dad.

Thanksgiving is this week. Your Dad loved having turkey and stuffing and everything that comes with a Thanksgiving meal. I feel a bit bad because I wasn’t planning on making anything…I’m rethinking this…you may have a good T-day dinner after all…however it may end up that we go out to eat it!

I love you so much and I know we will get through this. I am constantly thinking about what your Dad would do, or what he would say, or how he would handle a situation. I know we have to go at this together but he is constantly in my mind, telling me to try something a little differently or telling me that I am doing just fine. I wish you had more time with him. It breaks my heart that you didn’t. I hope that I can teach you as much as I possibly can about him. I hope that you also see what he has given us – love of music, love of reading, knowing how to be a part of the moment right here and now, knowing how to be a good listener and a compassionate person. I don’t know why he was taken so soon but I do know that he left so much for us to learn from and to strive to be.

I’m proud of you my little boy. You are such a love and joy.

Love always,

In this life and the next,

Your Mom

Two long…

17 November, 2009

It has been 8 weeks. Liam is 14 months. The pain will not go away and just seems to be getting worse.

The past couple of days have been hard. I feel so lonely. I spend my days trying to keep busy but I don’t have the energy to do this…so I just focus on Liam but then everything else just stops. I have cried more lately and especially today. It was so hard for some reason today. I keep thinking more and more about you and that you are not here with me and feel like the fog is lifting a little here and there. I don’t know if I want it to lift. I feel like I have no idea how I’m going to do this. I depended on you for so many things – emotional things – physical things. I don’t know how I will ever be complete again – if ever. It hurts so much that you are not here to see your son growing up every day. You were always the cool parent…I feel like I am going to miss so many things that you would like for him to know or do with him. It just all hurts so much.

I need to write Lido’s 14 month letter…I have to. I need for him to know that even though I feel like things have fallen completely apart and I’ll never find all the pieces that he is the most important thing in my life…and my one love.

A Move

6 November, 2009

So I have been here in Portland for a couple of days now and the movers are coming tomorrow to pack our things and haul it to our new home. It was pretty hard flying in the other day and I cried on the plane when I saw the airport Doug flew out of most of his time out here…then the plane had to take a turn and I could see the main airport that he flew out of as well. It was also hard because I still had a feeling that I was coming home to him and had the excited feeling of seeing him again waiting for me at the gate. I had to remind myself that he wouldn’t be there. That I wouldn’t be seeing him when I got home. I flew thru the terminal to pick up the rental car and drove to our place as fast as I could.

I was hoping that this trip would allow me to cry as much as possible and have some down time to just cry and be amongst our things. I’ve had a bit of that but as I type I am sitting amongst boxes and on our couch in the smallest space that is available and clean…

I went out to the crash site yesterday. It was the second time I had been out there but the first was with a lot of people and I felt that I couldn’t just be there with him. I wanted to be alone and not with anyone and have enough time to talk to him. This was the main thing that I wanted to do and felt that I needed to do. I just feel like his death was so traumatic for him and that he is there just hating the situation and isn’t at peace. I just wanted to be where he had his last moments and tell him that it was okay. That I need for him to be at peace in order for me to be at peace or at least on the road to peace. For some reason or another I do feel better about moving from here now. I don’t feel that I am leaving him here. I’m glad I went there yesterday. I needed that. He needed that. I want him to be at peace and I want him to know that Lido and I will be okay. I’m not sure how I’ll do it but I have to for his sake.

I am ready to move now. I am ready to be in the new place and to start this life that I have not chosen but rather has been forced upon me and my child. I still feel like I am in a fog. That it is not real. I sometimes feel like I am pushing so much to the back and down below and that maybe that isn’t good for me…but it is the only thing that I can do right now. It is hard to even get myself to remember our day to day life and to remember all of the good times we had…it is just still too much right now…I want to…but I can’t.

My heart is still breaking and I feel that I can’t breathe. I miss him so much. I miss our future and thinking about our future together. I feel like I have none other than my son.

6 Weeks

2 November, 2009

I laid in bed last night and realized that it has been 6 full weeks since Doug died.  I feel like the fog, the feeling of numbness is wearing off more than I would like for it to.  I’ve been keeping busy to a certain degree, finding a house, getting things set up here, being with Lido.  I am glad that I found a house so quickly because I really and truly feel like I could not do anything now if I had to. I’m good getting some things done during the day – then I feel completely sick to my stomach in the evening…it is as if I suppress any feeling of guilt for continuing on until I can lie in bed and miss him…and cry.

It isn’t getting easier. Not that I expect it to be easier right now. I’ve survived Halloween and dressing Lido up and taking him trick-or-treating. I survived an evening amongst his friends that night without completely losing it.  I have found that I can only handle that in very small doses…The entire next day was really tough.  It is still tough today.  I try and move forward and plan and keep our life going forward – even though I would really just like to hide away.

I am heading back to Portland this week to pack our things and I also close on the new house this week as well. It is hard to imagine being somewhere else even though we really wanted to be back here.  Sometimes I think that I should have just decided to stay in Portland. To not even try moving his things, our things. To be able to visit the airport, see the familiar helicopters flying over our place…to stay connected to what we have been living the past 3 years.  Sometimes I feel as if I’m leaving him.  That the life we knew there will just cease to exist…Sometimes I’m just afraid that I’m moving to fast.

I know I’m not. I’m very well aware of what I can handle and what I can’t. It’s just taking the time for myself and mourning the loss of our life together, mourning him that is the hardest.  I lay in bed thinking if I wish and pray hard enough all of this will be a dream…that I’m in a coma and just thinking that this is happening…that none of it is real. God how I wish it wasn’t real.

I’m a planner. For a planner…having to live second by second…it’s hard.  My chest tightens up and my stomach lurches every time I even think about any sort of future.  If I want to plan anything or think about the future I try and shut down everything remotely human in me and figure out things in a robotic fashion.  It is the only way I feel like I will survive.

I called the funeral home today to finalize some things with them and the man I had been working with to arrange everything for Doug told me that prior to cremating him they were able to get a fingerprint.  He said that they felt really bad for me that I was not able to see him one last time.  I’ve been crying ever since.  To think about how badly he was hurt for me not to see him, to think of what happened when they crashed. There have been so many little things that I don’t want to put together because it would paint the worst picture in my head of what they went through.  I think that is why I don’t dream anymore.