On Monday Ethan and I went out to visit Christopher and give him some flowers. While driving up to the cemetery I could see that there had been a funeral. I will admit that even looking at a funeral brings back allot of feelings that I have worked hard to work through, yet it is still agonizing to see one or the aftermath of one. Driving around to where Christopher was I saw the little tent they put over the new grave, the casket on it's mighty perch, the rose flowers that adorned the top of it and a single woman with her sunglass on just sitting there. My heart dropped, I knew her place, the amplified pain in her heart that she felt, and her frame of mind. I pushed on past her and around to Christopher's grave. I told my self over and over I couldn't deal with this today - not this day.
I put the car in park and looked in my rear view mirror. I saw Ethan - so much like Christopher. I saw the small figure of that woman sitting at that grave beyond him. Then there was me, tears quietly streaming. Out my right window was Christopher. I was there for him and yet all I could do was think of that woman. Alone. It ate at me. I didn't know her story, and hers is different than mine - yet we all share the same emotions - we both lost someone we cared for, loved and treasured. I composed my self, got out of the car, then Ethan and I went for a walk.
I knew Christopher wouldn't mind if the first stop we made wasn't for him. There was something else I needed to do first. Something was pushing me to do what I was about to do; what I don't know, but it felt natural. I walked down the path towards this woman. The scene was an all to au fait; dressed in black, using sunglasses to hide the sorrow, having everyone there and yet feeling completely alone - I knew the model. As I walked up to her she turned and surveyed Ethan and I, but I don't think she knew what to say or do.
"I know you don't know me," I replied.
"No. No I don't know you," she said as if I was going to give her some other news flash she didn't want to hear this day. I explained how Ethan and I were out visiting Christopher, how he had passed away a year ago this very day and I thought she needed a hug. I wanted her to know that there are people out there that care even though she might not know them.
She started to cry. She said she had been waiting for them to physically burry the casket. She needed to see it, she needed that part of her closure - she needed to see it done, she couldn't stand the thought of leaving him like that, up on his perch. She talked about how her family wanted her to leave and she was sure they were all talking about her at the church reception calling her nuts, crazy, and even overly emotional. I sat next to her, held her hand, took a breath and as if it just flowed from my lips without even thinking about it told her that people are going to talk.
"They are going to talk about you, the great things you do and the weird things. It's the nature of the process. Death brings meaning into peoples lives and sometimes that meaning is pointless, but there are times when it's prolific. The thing that you need to remember is, you do what you do. What makes you feel comfortable; because in that is where the healing begins. Only you know what you need. So do what feels right in your heart."
She cried. Thanked me. Told me I was her angel. We said our goodbyes and Ethan and I went back to what the original plan was - visiting with Christopher. Walking back to Christopher's grave, as I walked I looked over my shoulder back at that woman dressed in black. And as if God was trying to play it all out for me, I got it - the symbolism of it all. Looking back at this woman, that was me - then, the path I walked back to the car, my journey - now and what lies beyond Christopher's grave - my hopes.
On the way home I contemplated this symbolic moment in time that God afforded me to have. This week the cycle became complete. I won't lie it was hard, yet empowering that I did it - I made it a year. The bills got paid, I made the choice to put Ethan in pre-school, there has been food on the table every night, laundry got done, a roof was fixed and a new fence was put in. And I did it all - on my own. That is not anything that anyone can take from me. If there is anything I can take from this year it is that I am a survivor. I have looked the most difficult of times in the eye - stared it down, most importantly didn't blink and told it to bring it. But then again I am a 5ft-2 spicy-part-Itailan woman. I'm sorta born with 'tude if you will; it flows through my veins like propane.
A year ago I was that woman sitting by her husband's grave, questioning "what's next? what am I suppose to do?" It had only been 16 short months prior to that that I was planning what great anniversary gift I was going to get the man I loved, the man that gave me a beautiful child, the man that meant the world to me. I was planning a great evening of candle light, romance and everything that goes with it. What I got him was a visit from his Aunt who had been told she had stage four breast cancer and beat it in the hopes that it would give Christopher hope that he could beat his cancer. We spent our anniversary in the hospital, his room adorned with photos of Ethan and I, flowers and cards of wishes of "getting well soon". That's sorta when life changed. I changed.
After countless hours of therapy I have come to terms that was the weekend that I started the grieving process. It was hard for me to shake the feeling that we had been down this road with his mother - was this the same road and path that was meant for Christopher? I told my self - his mom fought for 3 years - he can fight for more. And as much I was "Sally Sunshine" to my friends and told them I had hope - the little voice in the back of my head told me to enjoy the time I have with him, because nothing in this world is promised to us.
I spent countless hours doing research during my lunch hour trying to see what new cancer research was out there - what were doctors finding out about cancer - what natural remedies were people finding helpful with the side effects of chemo. I knew more about cancer than I ever wanted to. I was a wife, mother, nurse, housekeeper, friend and therapist. In the last few months of Christopher's life I took care of everything. He's only responsibility was his own work and beating cancer.
I had my moments of sorrow and broke down on him and in only Christopher fashion he made me feel better; that he could beat anything. Besides he always got what he put his mind to - he had me right... He was my rock and all I could wonder was how was I to make life move along without him?
Am I that same person who sat out by that grave a year ago? No. I've had to become so much more. The strong mother, the fun-loving daddy, the breadwinner, and everything else that I was before - and do it all with a smile. I've gained a shell that's a little harder around the edges, I don't put up with, well excuses the term, bullshit - life is way to short to deal with excess drama that doesn't even need to be brought up. I won't justify it. I've always been the sarcastic one - I'm just a little more so now - ok maybe more like ten fold (but whos really keeping track right). I've learned to forge my pain and frustration into sarcasm and amazingly some people find it down right funny while others think I'm being mean. And well, oh the _____ well. I've been through allot, 'nuff said.
I've learned to be a Mommy and Daddy to Ethan. I refuse for Ethan to feel left out of Father-esique projects just because he can't physically give his Daddy his love or a school made version of a soup-can-made-pencial-case. I am both. I can be the stern dad and loving mom. I am building memories so one day when Ethan asks "other kids go camping with their daddy's why can't I?" I can look him in the eye and tell him that his daddy with him always - to explain that when the wind blows on his face, it's his daddy telling him he's proud of him or when it rains down upon him, it's his daddy's tears of love that fall upon him. I will be both for my muppet; the one that plays catch, shows him how to fish, hike, camp, and anything else that boys do with their daddy's.
I will still have days that are hard and there will be days that find my self not in check with my emotions, but I know I made it a year and I will make it through many more.
One of my favorite lyrics is from a song by 10 years' "Day Dreamer" - "the day dreamers nightmare is to never even try." How true is that statement; it's my new motto in life. I am a day dreamer. Always have and always will be. Recently though my day dreams went on sabbatical for the last two and half years. With that said I've been trying to get back to my child like ways and start to day dream again. Right now my day dreams are more hopes than anything, but it's a start, right?
I hope that one day Ethan understands what has happened in his life - that I have given him the foundation of faith and love to accept the hand of "52 pick up" that we were delt. That he finds peace in his heart and mind and that he isn't afraid to ask questions about his daddy.
I hope that one day I am blessed with more children. Yes I said it - I would love to have more children. Is it in the cards? I don't know. Having more children means meeting someone and having a relationship and well that scares the living "shiznit" out of me. I knew how to have a relationship with Christopher - how do you have one with someone else? But then again this is my hope, so I hope one day I figure it out (but I'm in no rush to figure it out either). And to be honest as much as I would like to have more children, I am also at peace if in the end it has been God's plan all along for it to just be the two of us.
I'm glad I went to that woman, sitting there all alone. Even if she left there thinking I'm nuts, the act of going to her and talking to her helped me understand the "d" that looked backed on who she was, is and wants to be. This is real. This is me.
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