Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes...

How do you measure a year?  The answer to this question, according to RENT, which happens to be one of my favorite musicals (natch), is that you measure a year in seasons of love.  I am always going to remember 2012 as the year in which I lost my love, but in many ways, I can still measure this atrocious year in the various sources and types of love that surround me.

2012 kicked off with so much promise.  JP, Max, Maddy and I spent NYE with my wonderful high school friends, who are like sisters to me, and their families (including not just husbands and kids, but siblings and cousins, too).  We had just gathered together to meet the newest addition to our group, and I was thrilled to be welcoming in the new year with my girls.  We put Max to bed and played board games, while Maddy snuck her big tongue into wine glasses.  I remember feeling so lucky, blessed, and excited to see what 2012 would bring.  There I was, with my perfect little family - sweet dog, perfect baby boy, married to my best friend - surrounded by friends, cocooned in love.

When my world crashed down around my ears, there were moments (and not the short kind) when I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest.  How would I ever experience love again when I had lost my true love, my best friend?  Over the past 10 1/2 months, I have learned important lessons about love, and how much of it I have in my life, in so many different forms.

First and foremost, I have Max.  As a mother, I get to experience a love that has no parallel.  Hearing Max say "mama" or "mommy" gives my heart wings, and seeing JP in him - in his face, his personality, his expressions and movements - is a constant reminder of the love that brought him into this world.  Not only that, but Max is a constant reminder that although JP is no longer physically with us, my love for him, and his love for me and Max, is not gone.  We will always have that.

And where would I be without the love of my family?  My parents have made so many sacrifices for us, and I am ashamed of how poor a job I do at showing them how much I appreciate everything they do for me and for Max.  I am so lucky to have such a loving, understanding family.  My parents have taken such amazing care of us.  They have such a special relationship with Max, and although it has been a challenge for all of us to adjust to my attempt to balance family, school, and a social life, they have been wonderful.  And let's face it - sometimes I need someone to reign me in.  As for my brother, he has been a rock for me.  He lets me vent about the frustrations that come from living with one's parents, and does a good job playing mediator when necessary.  Not to mention being an amazing uncle to Max.

But the family love doesn't stop there, of course.  I have the world's most wonderful mother in law.  Max's Grammy is a pillar of strength and amazingness.  Thinking about the losses she has suffered makes me so angry: losing her firstborn and her baby - how is it fair that someone so kind and wonderful should have to experience those tragedies?  And yet she has not lost her faith.  And she still manages to put everyone else before her, and take care of those around her.  I'm in awe of her, and I am so glad we are close.  Max has a wonderful family on his daddy's side of the family, and one of the intentions I have set for myself is to ensure that he has strong relationships with them.  His cousins are so wonderful, and seeing them with him does my heart good.

Then there are my friends, and JP's friends.  Listing all the ways in which our friends have shown how much they love me and loved JP would turn this into a novel.  Suffice to say that the acts of love have not let up as time has passed.  I read about widows whose friends seem to forget about the loss they have suffered and my heart breaks for them.  My friends are the absolute tops.  Those who knew him miss him, and they all show me every day in big and small ways how much they love and support me.

Of course no discussion of love could be complete without mention of Maddy.  My sweet baby girl.  JP loved her as much as any man has ever loved a dog.  And she and I have been through a lot together recently.  For a while I thought that 2012 was going to take my husband and our dog.  But Maddy and I fought back.  Her therapy team has given her a new lease on life, and while things are not easy for us, she is happy and sweet and I will continue to fight for her and provide her with the best care possible for as long as we have together.

Although I'm glad I can look at the past year and measure it in love, not just loss, I am glad to close the book on 2012.  2013 will not be without its trials and sorrows, but I look forward to the joys and healing it will no doubt bring as well.

And to bring it back to another lesson learned from musical theater...

Hasa Diga Eebowai

The Ghost of Christmas Past

Last year JP and I drove to Cape Cod to celebrate our first Christmas as a family.  We decided on the long drive rather than flying because we wanted to bring Maddy.  We were taking a long trip, and didn't want to be separated from her (no one would ever say we were the type of people for whom the dog became "just a dog" after the arrival of a baby).  So we loaded up the car with all the necessary items for holiday travel with a dog and infant, and made our way from Chicago, IL, to Falmouth, MA.  It was a wonderful trip.  We took lots of pictures with Max, and showed him the ocean for the first time (he loved the waves!).  We spent lots of time with JP's family, and rang in 2012 with my wonderful high school friends.  We were feeling so blessed, and so in tune with the holiday spirit.

I would give just about anything to go back to this time last year...

The holiday season this year pretty much kicked me in the gut, slammed me to the ground, and threw sand in my eyes.  Looking back over the past couple months, I am starting to see how much of an impact the awful specter of The First Holiday Season Without JP had on me.  I acted in ways that I regret.  I did things that I can't take back, the consequences of which are truly unfortunate.  I practiced a near-extreme version of escapism. And while I can't undo the things I did, I can focus on moving forward in a healthier way.  Coping with grief is incredibly difficult and complex, and there is no formula that says "at x point in time, you should feel y, and here's what to do if you start feeling z."  But I'm pretty sure that no self-help book and no therapist would have recommended pretending to be ok, or engaging in the distractions that I was favoring.

I have my work cut out for me - closing the door on this chapter, and working on being a better mother to an insanely wonderful toddler who is insanely attached to his grandmother.  I had envisioned lots of Max and Mama time over this break from school, but of course that hasn't really happened.  And the whole holiday thing has left me exhausted and unmotivated.

I have tried to get into the holiday spirit in small ways - dressing up for Crossfit, making my brother wear an elf hat to go with my Santa hat while running errands, decorating the tree, decorating cookies, even willingly putting on some Christmas carols here and there.  But my heart isn't in it.  Maybe next year, but right now I just don't have it in me.  And that's ok.  This is going to be the toughest year, I'm sure.  And once Max is old enough for Santa, I have a feeling I will be able to really get into the spirit - for him, and for JP, who loved Christmas, and always went over the top with gift-giving.

I went to Mass with my mom today.  I did enjoy seeing all the little kids in their cute outfits.  But as soon as the choir launched into O Come, All Ye Faithful, I started to weep.  Then I sort of went numb and tuned out the priest.  Then I actually fell asleep for a while.  There were times when I felt a sense of peace, but for the most part, I just wanted to get out of the church.  I looked at their little flyer about the past year.  They held 14 funerals.  I just sat there wishing that number had been 13, and I had been reading that fact while holding hands with JP.

My family will be celebrating Christmas on the 26th.  My dad is working tomorrow, and Max is too young to know the difference.   Tomorrow my brother and I will go to see Les Mis (yes, I will be seeing "the miserables" - the irony is not lost on me).  Max will open some presents (we will FaceTime with my MIL, in-laws, and nieces/nephews).  And we'll prep for Wednesday.

And I will get through it.  There will be tears, no doubt about that, but I will get through it.  And after the holidays, Max and I will be traveling to LA to visit a friend and her family, and I think that will be an incredibly healing trip for me.  Perfect timing - at the start of a new year, right before a new school semester, and at a time when I really need some time away, some time with someone who has been such a rock for me, and some binding time with Max.

I hope that everyone is able to find some peace and joy this season, and I wish the same for myself.

Speechless

This post is going to be disjointed.  That's just where my head is these days.

I'm not sure where to start.  Since Friday, I have felt physically ill with grief.  So many others have spoken so eloquently about the heroes of 12/14, about the tragic loss of innocent children, not to mention gun control and the state of mental health care in our country.  I have avoided much of it, I have to admit.  The past week has been, to put it mildly, a challenge for me, and it is impossible for me to view the events of 12/14 without seeing them through the distorted lens of my own grief journey and what I'm going through right now.

For a while after JP died, I was too consumed by my own devastation to process anyone else's sorrow, with the possible exception of my fellow young widows and widowers.  But recently I have noticed that the losses of others affect me in a much more profound way than I could have ever predicted.  I still don't know how to express this (there is something so unique about every person's situation, and I honestly can't even remember what, if anything, made much of a difference when I was early in the process).  What I do know is that the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary has left me feeling absolutely crushed.  Losing a child must be the only thing worse than being widowed at a young age (not to mention being widowed suddenly, and with a baby).  And as an only parent, I can't even let myself think about what would become of me if I were to lose Max.  Just the thought of it makes my throat close, chest constrict, and hands go weak.

When I learned about the shooting, I was sitting on my parents' couch in Florida looking for a flight back to Chicago for that afternoon, cutting my trip short by 3 days.  I had arrived on Wednesday, and from the minute I decided not to turn around on the jetway at Midway (mostly because I was afraid they would think I was a terrorist), I was regretting my decision to come down to the Sunshine State.  Not just because it was cold and rainy, and there was no cable or internet, and I had a million things I could have been doing in Chicago.  And not just because being there brought back memories of recent trips - for Christmas in 2010, when I was in the early stages of pregnancy, and this past spring/summer right after JP died and I sold the condo.  And not just because I didn't want to be there for the 15th, the 10-month "sadiversary."  It was a combination of all of that and a million other things as well.  I was hoping to get some good bonding time with Max, who is extremely attached to my parents, and without the option of doing things outside, that was just not going to happen.  I had gone down hoping to clear my mind, detox, and give myself some distance from things.  Instead, I was worrying about things that I couldn't take care of there (like yet another issue with the estate lawyer...)

Oh and it didn't help that at the Orlando airport I ended up having a conversation with a woman who turned out to be a widow (her husband died in February of 2011) and was originally from Springfield, MA, right near where I grew up.  When I told her that I was also a widow, she gave me a look I am so accustomed to by now, the pitying 'WHAT?  But you're so young!!!' look, and then asked me if I go to bereavement counseling.  When I replied, "no, but I do Crossfit, and working out is the best therapy for me," she looked at me like I was crazy pants, and told me that the holiday season would break me if I didn't go to counseling.  Wow, thanks.

So there I was, having been scolded about my choice of "therapy," feeling like a bit of a failure as a mom, and rushing headlong into holiday season and another month closer to the one-year mark.  No wonder I wanted to hightail it back to Chicago, where at least cold and dreary weather is expected and I had no shortage of projects to help me "shark" - or stay in constant motion to avoid thinking too much.

And then I had a vivid dream about JP.  It was only the 3rd or 4th I have had.  In the dream, I was working on some sort of project in a house, and was with a bunch of couples.  Suddenly, the men started getting sick and dying.  I was running around warning people - to save those who hadn't been infected or to allow couples to say goodbye (an opportunity we never had).  I went into a room and the guy was working on the closet, and he turned around, and it was JP.  My legs gave out, and he sat on the floor with me and hugged me.  He was smaller than he had been in real life, less broad shoulders and chest.  He was giving me this look - sort of a squint, sideways look, with a hint of a smirk, like "whaaaat are you up to?"  Anyone who knew him would know the look.  And he said to me, "it's going to be ok, and whatever you've done, it's ok."  I woke myself up sobbing, and that continued for a long time.  The next night, I didn't want to go back to sleep.  I still kind of don't.

I didn't think too much about the shootings on the trip back to Chicago.  I was too busy managing Max.  He was an absolute gem on the flight.  The parents of the 15 month old boy sharing a row with us were pretty vocal in expressing how jealous they were of Max's disposition.  I can't remember if I shared my situation with them, but I do know that when they announced how exhausted they were from the flight with their kid, I wanted to smack them.  They were traveling with the guy's parents, so there were 4 of them to one baby.  And honestly, he wasn't even that wild.

Anyway, once I was in the car, I turned on the news.  And then to give myself a break, I flipped to a music station.  A Linkin Park song came on - Iridescent.  Here are the lyrics:

You were standing in the wake of devastation

And you were waiting on the edge of the unknown

And with the cataclysm raining down

Insides crying, "Save me now"

You were there, impossibly alone

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?

You build up hope, but failure’s all you’ve known

Remember all the sadness and frustration

And let it go. Let it go

And in a burst of light that blinded every angel

As if the sky had blown the heavens into stars

You felt the gravity of tempered grace

Falling into empty space

No one there to catch you in their arms

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?

You build up hope, but failure’s all you’ve known

Remember all the sadness and frustration

And let it go. Let it go

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?

You build up hope, but failure’s all you’ve known

Remember all the sadness and frustration

And let it go. Let it go

Oh my god.  I mean, this song is basically my anthem now.  

When I got home, I fed and bathed Max, we watched a little bit of Rudolph, and when I went to bed I brought him into my room because I needed to be close to him.  It would have been sweet, had he not been doing sleep acrobatics.  I woke up to see him fast asleep in down dog, or with his legs over my face, flopping all over.  

The next day, the 15th, was the 10-month mark.  I spent most of the day in a haze.  I was glad to be home with Max, and he didn't seem to mind my chaotic project-tackling.  I cut up a bunch of shirts for the memory quilt, which was no easy task.  I went through some boxes.  I even dug through a bag of sympathy cards trying to find a poem that had stood out to me, to share with a friend whose father passed away suddenly recently.  

Despite everything, I have been trying to find the spots of light in the darkness I feel has been consuming me over the past few days.  Focusing so much on  Max has been the big one.  He is so entertaining, so bright, and it's so fun seeing him talking and pointing things out.  Being on our own made me feel a little more confident that when I'm working and my parents aren't living with us, we'll be just fine.  We make a pretty good team, not to mention a ridiculously good looking one.  

(Or at least a ridiculous one that likes to play with hats...)

I don't expect to feel better soon.  I know the whole holiday season is going to be incredibly difficult.  I will have to dig deep to pretend to share in the joy of the season for Max's sake, but I will do it.  I will do my best to shield him from the shadow of my own grief and that of our whole nation in the wake of this devastating event.  I'm not going to forget, but since he is too young to understand some things, but old enough to understand others, I have to make the choice to work on instilling the magic of the season in my little guy.

In the Driver's Seat

Anyone who has ever been in a car that I've been driving can attest to the fact that I am a Terrible driver.  Ever since I got my license, someone else has always driven my car.  I was a day student at a predominantly boarding school, and since boarders weren't allowed to drive on campus, I would drive to the edge of the parking lot and switch seats with my friend Emily.  My signature move, when I was forced to man the wheel, was to sit waiting to make a left turn when there was no traffic, and then suddenly peel out in front of a Mack truck.  And then there was the narcolepsy.  I literally ran off the road one day on my way to school, and we were all just lucky that I swerved off the road instead of into the oncoming traffic. 

JP never let me drive.  Unlike me, he was an excellent driver, and enjoyed driving.  I seriously can only remember two times when I was allowed to take the wheel - once was when I was 6 months pregnant and we'd been at a wedding, and the other was when we were driving 2 hours to spend NYE with my friends.  We had driven from Chicago to Cape Cod (second time making that drive, and he didn't let me behind the wheel for even a minute).  Not surprisingly, he wasn't really looking forward to another 4 hour commute to spend one night with my friends.  One of us had to be in the back seat with Max, and he thought he was making me pay for insisting that we go by having me drive.  Little did he know how awful it was being cramped in the back seat!  Needless to say, he drove us back the next day.

I never had to think about limiting my alcohol intake when we drove to meet up with people.  I never had to worry about what parking would be like, or anything like that.  Never had to know how to get anywhere.  Now I'm in the driver's seat.  Ok, I might rely on GPS for directions, but I've definitely been working on parallel parking (won't say I've seen any marked improvement yet...)  It still feels weird.

And I'm in the driver's seat for everything now.  I have to make the decisions.  I have to consult the map, come up with a plan.  For me, and for Max.  It's overwhelming, and I know I've been practicing some escapism to not think about the reality of the situation.  Sure, I have a great support system to go to for advice and consultation, but at the end of the day, I’m the one behind the wheel.  I'm the one who has to decide whether we turn or go straight.

I had a mini-meltdown the other night, and realized that while spending a week partying and enjoying being done with finals was all well and good, I need to tone it down and act like an adult.  I have to take control.  I’m not in the passenger seat anymore, and I’ve got precious cargo on board. 

Will I still give myself permission to blow off steam?  Absolutely.  But I can’t let that part interfere with my efforts to learn how to drive this big rig I’m captaining now.

Shake it Like a Polaroid Picture

December was not off to a good start for me.  Last night I went out for a friend's birthday, which we all thought was also going to be a "Congrats on getting engaged" party until she walked in and said "hi, I'm not engaged."  Being the good pals we are, we proceeded to interrogate her boyfriend and demand that he speed up his popping-the-question timeline.  Did I mention that a couple of us had never met him?  Yeah, he must think we are crazy bitches.

Anyway, my plan to have a few beers and head home early turned into staying out late and consuming massive amounts of champagne.  When November rolled over into December, I was deep in conversation about travel with a very nice guy to whom I may have given the wrong idea.

Woke up this morning with a throbbing headache.  Champagne gets me every time.  I think the only time I have escaped the Champagne headache was when I got married.  And wouldn't you know - this morning my dad was working in the suburbs and my mom had to drive him because we needed the car to take Max to the pediatrician.  So the one morning when I'm on solo Max duty, I feel like my brain is about to start leaking out of my ears.  Fortunately, he slept until 8, and by then the Advil had kicked in.

So Max is going through a serious attachment phase.  But he's not attached to me - he's attached to my parents.  Whenever he's with me, he screams and cries.  This, as you can imagine, makes me feel just wonderful.  Not only do I not get to spend time with my toddler, but when I do, he's in tears.  Because he hates me.  I mean, I know that's not true, and soon I will be on a break from school and can focus on spending time with him.  We have lots of fun things planned for my winter break, so that will be good.

I spent the afternoon at school, working on my statistics case study.  Not fun.  Especially since I felt like a zombie.  Even after a coffee, I fell asleep on the desk, and woke up literally drooling on the floor.  But I got as close to finishing as I could, so at least it was productive.

Things took a turn for the better when I went to my friend's Zumbathon, benefiting the American Brain Tumor Association - in honor of her husband, who passed away in March.  It was a great event!  Lots of people came, there were 9 different instructors keeping everyone moving for an hour and a half.  I had an absolute blast.  It was fun seeing some different styles from my regular class, and everyone seemed to be really enjoying themselves.  I don't know when the last time was that I sweat so much!  I mean, I'm sure it happens in Crossfit, but I was Dripping.  And for the cool down, she did "Some Nights," which of course got me a bit teary, but she was amazing, smile on her face, and I know that her husband was watching her and being so incredibly proud of her.  Melissa, you are truly an inspiration.

So now I will conclude the first day of December with some studying for my final on Monday.  Good times.

And I'll leave you with the song lyrics:

Some Nights - by fun.

Some nights, I stay up cashing in my bad luck
Some nights, I call it a draw

Some nights, I wish that my lips could build a castle
Some nights, I wish they'd just fall off

But I still wake up, I still see your ghost
Oh Lord, I'm still not sure, what I stand for oh oh oh
What do I stand for? Oh what do I stand for?
Most nights, I don't know anymore
Oh whoa, oh whoa, oh whoa oh oh
Oh whoa, oh whoa, oh whoa oh oh

This is it, boys, this is war, what are we waiting for?
Why don't we break the rules already?
I was never one to believe the hype, 
Save that for the black and white I try twice as hard and I'm half as liked, 
But here they come again to jack my style

That's alright, I found a martyr in my bed tonight
Stops my bones from wondering just who I, who I, who I am, oh who am I, mm, mm

Well some nights, I wish that this all would end
'Cause I could use some friends for a change
And some nights, I'm scared you'll forget me again
Some nights, I always win, I always win

But I still wake up, I still see your ghost
Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for, oh
What do I stand for? Oh what do I stand for? Most nights, I don't know (come on)

So this is it? I sold my soul for this?
Washed my hands of that for this?
I miss my mom and dad for this?
No. When I see stars, when I see stars, that's all they are
When I hear songs, they sound like a swan, so come on
Oh, come on, oh, come on, oh come on!

Well that is it, guys, that is all, five minutes in and I'm bored again
Ten years of this, I'm not sure if anybody understands
This is not one for the folks at home, I'm sorry to leave, mom, I had to go
Who the fuck wants to die alone all dried up in the desert sun?
My heart is breaking for my sister and the con that she called "love"
But when I look into my nephew's eyes,
Man you wouldn't believe, the most amazing things, that can come from,
Some terrible nights, ah (oh whoa, oh whoa, oh whoa, oh oh)

Oh whoa, oh whoa, oh whoa, oh oh
Oh whoa, oh whoa, oh whoa, oh oh

The other night, you wouldn't believe the dream I just had about you and me
I called you up, but we'd both agree
It's for the best you didn't listen
It's for the best we get our distance, oh
It's for the best you didn't listen
It's for the best we get our distance, oh