Just Frances

It’s been more than a year since I’ve updated this site. Not because I’m out of beta; not because I’m magically healed; not because I’ve ‘moved on’—because you never really do move on from widowhood; you just learn to cope with it.

This blog was started at a time when I really needed the extreme grief outlet, but also at a time when I couldn’t bring myself to share everything with everyone. Some of that was the negative response I got to my public displays of grief from some people, but some was also my own uneasy feelings with sharing my grief alongside my mundane or even happy thoughts and activities.

So I started a personal blog (Just Frances) a few months after I started this one, keeping my grief here. But slowly, I started to share more and more of my emotions over at Just Frances. And eventually, I stopped posting here because I was getting everything I needed there.

Of course, that means I’ve left readers of Frances 3.0 out in the cold—you’ve gotten the grief but you’ve been denied the ability to see that beta models have some pretty awesome things happening along with the glitches.

To that, this will [most likely] be my last post here, and instead I’m offering a formal invitation to you to join me over at Just Frances: Made with 100% pure awesomeness.

If you’ve stumbled on this blog as a grieving widow(er), I hope that my other blog can stand as proof that—no matter how much widowhood sucks—there are happy futures out there for those who seek them. (Sadly, the grief still seems to tag along!)

If you’ve stumbled on this blog as a reader of Just Frances, I hope you don’t take this ‘other blog’ as some sort of emotional secrecy or blog affair. The apartheid was one of my [many] coping mechanisms.

If you’ve always been a follower of both: Aren’t you glad to know that my insanity will now be consolidated?

Stone crosses; Part two

It’s been about six months since I started working with the monument company on Paul’s headstone and I’ve finally seen the first photos of the work in progress. It’s taken a while to get to this point but only because I’ve been very cautious about making decisions too quickly. However, once I knew everything was right, I was ready to just get it done!

Stuff: His, Mine, Ours

I have a house full of stuff. Stuff I accumulated before I ever met Paul. Stuff Paul accumulated before he ever met me. Stuff we accumulated together. It’s funny, the stuff I accumulated before meeting Paul doesn’t seem important anymore. It’s his stuff and our stuff that has my mind consumed.

The big steps are the scariest

I met with my real estate agent today. He came into my home and looked around; he’d not seen it since shortly after we moved in and a lot had changed. I remember when Paul and I first met with him. He said he wasn’t going to be our agent for this one purchase – that he’d be there when we were ready to sell and buy something bigger. (Though our home is nearly as big as both of our childhood homes combined so I doubt we’d have been looking for more space.) We always knew we’d call him again. We always knew we’d be selling on at some point so that we could move back to Scotland with our children and future firmly in our grasp. I never imagined I’d be making the call on my own – and without knowing what the next chapter in life would bring.

Stuck

I feel stuck some days. Frozen in this place of fear; this place with an uncertain future. I guess I thought what so many people thought: that after a year, things would get better; that after a year I would start to feel “normal” again. But here’s a little secret: in some ways, it gets more difficult.

There is a difference

Being an early adopter of Widowhood means not only learning the kinks and bugs on my own, but it also means that I have to explain things to others who aren’t looking to buy but are curious about the program none-the-less. It also means that I have to explain that, no, Widowhood, Singledom, and Divorcee are not, in fact, the same bit of software in a different package. And, of course, the less-popular “Widowhood for the Young” sub-version is considerably less understood which adds an extra layer of frustration to both the users and those peering into the window.

Anything but late

“How do you refer to your husband when talking to other people?”

That’s a question often asked by young widows, uncertain of how to acknowledge their spouse without upsetting those around them – or themselves. It makes me wonder if this is a question and concern of even “traditional” (i.e.: elderly) widows. (Expect a post on the “age of widows” one of these day…) We are accustomed to hearing older women talk about their “late” spouses, and they appear to use the term with such grace and ease. Almost as if it’s a natural progression to add the word in front of husband. Almost as if there is a formal dictation that says a man goes from being a boyfriend to a fiance to a husband to a late husband – and so it is written; and so it shall be.

Changing rooms

I moved the bed around in my room yesterday. It’s the first “big” change since Paul died more than a year ago. I suppose I did it because I could, not because I wanted to. And I don’t know how long I’ll leave it that way. I had also considered taking over “his” side of the bed as it would be more convenient, but whilst I don’t have a preferred side, he did and I just can’t take over what was his. I know – it’s all mine now.

The return of memories

The last few weeks have been really hard. It seems that the closer I get to the anniversary of Paul’s death, the more memories I have. I remember vividly the things we did the week before he died; our last full weekend before he died. I remember conversations we had and I can almost feel the joy of our laughter as we worked in the garden together one week before I lost him.

Of death and taxes

I finally filed my taxes. I say finally because I normally have mine completed and filed the first week of February – based on the fact that tax documents generally arrive the last week of January. Yep. A Version 2.0 was a geek to the core; I used to love doing my taxes. And this year I tried, but just couldn’t do it through the tears. I think it had something to do with the box that I needed to tick that read: Qualifying Widow.

Back to church

Today is Ash Wednesday, and the first time I’ve gone to church since Paul died other than his funeral and memorial service and a wedding. It’s the first time I’ve been able to bring myself to go alone, and it was harder than I thought in some ways; easier in others.

Inside jokes

I hear voices in my head most days. I hear these little quips and one-liners; I hear comments and jokes; I hear moans and groans; and if you could count them (which would be a stretch), I ‘hear’ eye rolls and other similar body language. I say “voices” but it’s all just one person I can hear – with varying accents depending on context.

Eight years ago

Paul and I met eight years ago today. February 6, 2002. It was such a funny and unexpected day. I was meant to be in St. Andrews with a friend; he was meant to be working in York. Through a series of mishaps and circumstance, both of us ended up at shop called Whigmaleeries on the Royal Mile in Edinburgh. And we met; all by chance.

Nine months

It dawned on me today that it’s been nine months since I buried Paul. I just don’t know how that’s possible. I still have trouble comprehending how things could go from a happily-ever-after fairytale to horrific nightmare in a flash. No warnings, no time to prepare. It just doesn’t make sense. There are days when I think “I can do this. I can live on my own without Paul and be happy. I can build a new life and it will be good.” Then there are days when I wonder how I can possibly function without him. But I manage, mostly.

Finding joy

My new year’s resolution was simple this year; or so I thought. I resolved to find a bit of joy in each and every day. The idea is that each day I will reflect on what’s happening in my life and in the world around me and pick out the things that bring me joy – no matter how trivial. After a month, I’m finding it to be extremely difficult!

Finding the words

I wrote not long ago about finally getting around to making arrangements for Paul’s headstone. At the time, I was maybe a little sad because of the three options I was looking at, I was certain that my first choice would be well out of my price range because it’s so very different from a ‘typical’ headstone in the region – maybe in the nation. With that knowledge, I began to think of the words that would go on the second and third choice stones, both of which would have given me more space than the first choice.

Unscented memories

Science has proven time and time again that scents are the biggest human memory triggers. Of course, most of us don’t need to read boring articles in scientific journals to know this to be true because we experience it so often. What I’ve recently learned though is that ‘unscented’ can trigger memories, too.

Deleting files

I spent much of my life as a fixer, a pleaser, a rock in the storm. I was always the calm, rational, sane person in my circle of friends. Of course, back then I was operating the tried-and-true Version 2.0. I still have the software for those traits, but it seems that there are glitches with Version 3.0 that make it difficult to run constantly.

Carrying on

The last few days have been bitter-sweet for me. I’m trying to move forward with life; trying to continue doing all of the things I used to enjoy. And in some ways I’m very happy to be continuing but I’m so very sad at the same time.

Soothing words

In the hours and days after Paul died I received countless emails, Facebook messages, and sympathy cards. Everywhere I went I was bombarded with the most inane and superficial platitudes. “Time heals all wounds.” “At least he didn’t suffer.” “You’re young; you can start over.” “There will be better days.” “He’s still here with you.” The list goes on.

Family-in-laws

I spend a lot of time here complaining about things that I find upsetting and frustrating, but there are many things that I find comforting and joyful, and some of those things have really helped me to make it through these past months with at least a shred of sanity remaining. Funny, the most comforting of those things is the thing that so many people complain so loudly about: The In-Laws!

Emergency contacts

I had my first doctor visit of the new year today as a follow-up after becoming quite ill on Christmas day. Sadly, a new year means new paper work. And new paper work means new answers to old questions. And new answers mean new realizations. It was inevitable, I suppose, that those simple check-boxes would bring tears.

Facing 2010 boldly, with a side of tears

It’s the first new year of this new life and I wish I knew what it had in store for me. For possibly the first time in my life, I don’t have something to dream for in the coming year. I don’t have that anchor point that says “2010 is going to be a great year because [fill in the blank].” And for the first time in nearly eight years, I don’t have someone to share the year’s daily adventures with.

Christmas tears

Several weeks ago I decided that the best way to deal with Christmas was to avoid it. I figured that if I treated it as a normal day it would feel like a normal day. So I didn’t decorate the house or send Christmas cards. I didn’t play Christmas music or attend Christmas-themed events. And the plan worked – for a while.

Stone crosses

For nearly eight months I’ve been putting off ordering a headstone for Paul. Even after I knew what I wanted, I still couldn’t bring myself to start the process of ordering something. I hoped that at some point, I would just feel ready to face the task, and planned to wait until then. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but at some point during my trip to the UK, I knew it was finally time to make the call.

Being selfish

Before I met Paul, I was one of those habitually single people, and quite happy that way. I did what I wanted, when I wanted. I never had to consider the thoughts, opinions, likes, or dislikes of someone else. In the first few months after we got married, changing my habits was very difficult. I had to learn how to make joint decisions for the first time and I had to remember to get input from someone else on what to make for dinner, what color throw pillows to get for the couch, and where to hang what pieces of art on the walls. It was so hard to do, and caused so much frustration on both of our parts.

There is a future to be had

I spent nearly two weeks in the UK with family and friends, and have returned feeling refreshed and relaxed. A break was just what I needed to face reality again. I am so glad that I went and if I’m honest, I really do wish I was there still. I can’t explain how amazing it was to be surrounded by people who are so very supportive. It was nice to be able to laugh without worrying that I was upsetting someone by not grieving ‘correctly’ and it was nice to be able to laugh with people who would also allow me to cry.

When sadness hits

I’ve gotten quite good at forgetting that I’m a widow at times. I can be rather comfortable laughing and joking and just being ‘in the moment’ when the times call for it. Over the last two days, I’ve been on the game. Traveling for work with the bosses and working hard to make a great impression for our first-ever benefit auction was easier than I thought, really. Maybe more so because everyone knows that even though I look the part of a ‘normal’ person, they all know that I am still grieving and expect that I will be a bit sad from time-to-time. And when I get around people who are OK with my laughter and grief being combined, I relax and find it easier to be myself.

Things get easier with a second take

I’ve found myself at a fancy hotel for work once again. It’s one of those really fancy rooms with a separate living room and a bathroom bigger than most people’s bedrooms. This trip comes right before my holidays, and I’ve been psyching myself up for it for a while now, trying to figure out how to make it bearable. While my last stay at a fancy hotel was miserable and gloomy, this trip has started out to be fairly positive and slightly empowering.

A comforting visit

I went to visit Paul’s grave site at the weekend and realized that it might be the last time I’m able to sit there and talk to him until the spring because of all the snow. I took a small chair with me, and trekked through the snow, then sat there in the cold talking to him.

First snow’s sorrow

The first flakes of snow have started to hit the region and while it’s blanketing the ground with soft, white flakes, my heart and soul feel like they are being weighed down with sorrow. I didn’t expect a simple weather change to affect me so profoundly and I’m finding it a little hard to cope with the thought of a long winter.

A widow lives in my body

Just a quick share today: While reading a blog post by another widow, I saw this quote and it just seemed so fitting and true to how I feel most days.

“A widow lives in my body and I don’t know her. I don’t know how she’ll act. I don’t know what to expect from her. I can’t let her out in public.”
-Jennifer Kennedy Dean

From Gleanings

A lost focus

As strange as it sounds, there are days when I wish I could go back to day one of the grieving process and start over. It’s not that I want to re-live those first horrible weeks—because I don’t—but I wish that I’d given myself the time I needed to just sit and grieve. As I keep working on the glitches with that came with Frances 3.0, I realize that I never really gave myself the time I needed to get used to the fact that Frances 2.0 doesn’t work anymore. I didn’t give myself time to test drive the new version before taking it public.

When you lose someone you love, your life becomes strange

A while ago I shared with you the Desiderata, a poem that has always meant so much to me and reflects my views of a happier world that is waiting for me. It’s a rare poem in that it truly speaks to me and I feel a connection to it. Tonight, I heard another poem that struck a chord with me: For Grief, by John O’Donahue. It is the first time I’ve heard someone else’s words so accurately describe the grief I feel. I hope others find the same peace from the words that I have.

I don’t want to go out and play

It’s Halloween. I should be excited and giddy; it’s always been a much-loved holiday of mine. In the weeks leading up to it, I would be busy making costumes for everyone I knew—hoping there’d be enough time to make one for me. Last year, Paul was Sponge Bob Square Pants and I was a vampire. It was our first Halloween in our new home; our first in a neighborhood where we could expect trick-or-treating. We stayed home to hand out candy to the kids, many of whom shrieked with excitement at a grown man dressed as Sponge Bob—which made Paul grin from ear-to-ear.

Lessons learned

Paul and I used to spend a lot of time talking about our relationship. We’d reminisce about the early days, talk about the present, and dream about the future. We always joked about these “State of the Marriage” conversations, but knew that we were lucky to be able to just talk about things. Every year, we would spend our anniversary remembering the details of our first date, Paul’s proposal, and the time leading up to that evening’s dinner. We were less than four weeks shy of our fourth anniversary, but we were already starting to chat about how lucky we were to have found each other.

Getting angry

Sometimes I feel very angry and I can’t figure out where to place the blame. I know that my anger is part of my grief, but I don’t have a person or a thing to blame for my anger, nor do I have a recognizable focus for it.

Support networks

I joined a grief support group a couple of weeks ago and have found it oddly comforting, despite the fact that I’m the youngest one in the group and that most are not widows. I suppose there is comfort in talking with others who are grieving because it’s a safe place, and whilst our grief comes from different life perspectives, it’s still grief. What I find most useful about the group isn’t the time spent with others, but rather the thought process that happens between the weekly meetings. I find myself focusing on my feelings and emotions because of something someone in the group said about their own grief journey, or because of a “homework assignment” given by the group’s leader; I like that it makes me confront something that I had never thought of—or something I may have been avoiding.

Looking forward to shared laughter and tears

I booked my ticket for a holiday to the UK today. Now I’m happy and sad; I’m looking forward to my trip and I’m dreading it.

This will be my first holiday since Paul and I went to England for a family reunion about two months before he died. I took less than two weeks off from work right after he died then another week a month later to go to England for funeral services there. But I’ve yet to have a real break from my dreadful new reality; there was just too much to do at work to be able to take time off.

It is still a beautiful world

I reflect quite often on the Desiderata these days. Mostly because I know that my Paul wants me to be happy and the words of the Desiderata seem to speak to that so very well. The world for me these days seems so bleak, so frightening, so lonely, but still I know that there is goodness in it. I know that I will find my way through the misery and will be happy once again. I try each day to remember that there is so much good in the world, and that my life will continue and that it will be a good life. It’s difficult to do most days, but it is my duty as a wife to be the happy person my husband wants me to be.

Tackling long-overdue gardening tasks

One week before Paul died we spent the day working in the yard. I remember sitting on the edge of the flower beds removing mulch and weeds while Paul raked the front lawn. It was our new cat’s first venture to the great outdoors and she took a bit of enticing to leave the front steps so from time-to-time we’d stop working and play with the cat. We walked around the yard making notes about what needed to be done for spring cleanup and sketching out designs for a couple of garden and seating areas. When we were done we enjoyed a nice picnic lunch under the cedar trees with a bottle of chardonnay.

The physical side of grief

The process of grieving and mourning is really starting to wreak havoc on my physical being. This, in turn, intensifies some of the mental and emotional turmoil I’m going though; which, in turn again, adds even further to the degradation of my physical being. And therein lays the problem…

Surprising moments of upset

One of the hard parts about grief is not knowing when it’s going to hit. I can be going about my day quite happily one moment and the next moment I have tears streaming down my face. I never know what’s going to trigger those tears and I am often surprised by what does or doesn’t cause me to become upset. Today was one of those surprising moments of upset.

Just a widow myth

I’ve heard a lot of things over the past five months that have taken me by surprise. From “helpful” comments about how I should be grieving to hurtful questions asked by people wondering if there was anything I could have done to prevent Paul’s death. I try to remind myself that people just don’t realize what they’re saying and that no one means any harm by the questions asked and comments made. I’ve spent some time visiting online forums about grieving, some specifically geared toward young window(er)s, and have found that the questions and comments I’ve received are very similar to the experiences of others.

The confluence of seasons

There’s a crispness in the air now that the fall as started to settle in after a long summer. I’ve always enjoyed the confluence of seasons; it’s an awkward meeting between weather patterns—one anxious to begin its reign whilst the other tries in vain to retain its glory. There will be a few weeks of battle before the summer finally fades, giving way to the changing colors of the trees.

It’s not contagious

I met a man the other day who lost his wife not long ago. He is now faced with raising his young children alone, and is feeling very lost in the world without his partner. And I hate that I understand oh-so-well what that means. While it’s not nice to learn that someone else is walking this lonely path of widow(er)hood, I found it oddly comforting to hear his words of confusion as to why the world seems so afraid of us. I suppose that his similar experiences help me feel a little less self-conscious about my own place in the world.

Finding the things I can control, and taking charge

When I was operating Frances 2.0, I would most often be found with amazing vintage accessories—mostly in the form of handbags from the 1920s-60s. (And bonus points to Paul for encouraging my vintage accessory collection so much that he allowed me the largest closet in the house to store it all!) But when the occasion called for it I would use a “modern” bag because they tend to be more practical if you want to carry more useless junk.

Do I have the courage to start over?

I’m in this really weird place right now where I don’t want to let go of the past but I don’t want to move forward. I really loved my old future. I worked really hard and was rewarded with a wonderful husband, a lovely home, and a job I enjoyed. I was just about to have the added reward of two lovely children to call me Mom. My future looked amazing and I was really excited to have such a great life. I was going to grow old with Paul, and the two of us were going to play with our grandchildren one day…

I hate fancy hotels

I spent the last few days in a fancy-schmancy hotel in downtown Seattle. And being there made me realize how much I miss Paul; how very lonely I am without him. I was in Seattle for work—a bi-annual event that Paul would normally accompany me to. We’d stay in the fancy hotel, go out for a fancy dinner, then sit in the hotel lounge drinking martinis in our best “la-de-da” fashion. I always looked forward to these trips because of the time I’d spend with Paul.

First holiday

I’m taking a holiday in November, and I should be extremely excited about it. I’m going to Scotland, the place where I feel most at home, despite the fact that it’s nearly 6,000 miles from where I’m from. It’s still more than two months away, but I’m already finding myself anxious about the trip.

Venice: A random happy memory

It’s not all doom and gloom in my mind. Some days—most days—I think about the happy moments I shared with Paul and I even manage a laugh or a smile in between tears. Today I got to thinking about our trip to Venice, Italy, way back in spring 2004. It was truly one of my most memorable holidays. Ever.

Etchings in stone

Paul’s grave marker was placed at the cemetery in England last week, and his family sent photos of it so that I could see how it looked. At 35 years old, I never thought I’d be looking at my husband’s name etched on a headstone. It was so very strange seeing the photos – his name there alongside his parents’ names. I can’t really describe the emotions I felt, but they brought tears and heartache.

We never had that conversation

Typical of so many couples, Paul and I never spoke in specific terms about funerals. We’d chat here-and-there about things, but neither of ever said “When I die I want the following…” We were both so very healthy and young; I suppose it never seemed to be such an immediate need. It was just a few hours after Paul died that my Dad arrived and later started asking me questions about what I wanted to do. I was in such a daze; I didn’t even fully comprehend what was happening and all of the sudden I had to start making decisions.

I know I’ve got his love

Four months ago today, my entire world was shaken to the core and all of the certainty I’d come to rely on was taken from me in a single moment. I went from being a happily married woman getting ready to start a family through adoption to a grieving, childless widow. I never knew how suddenly life could go from amazingly wonderful to frighteningly lonely.

Vanity, thy name is widow

I’m sure that to the outside world it looks like I’m a vain woman with all the shopping and regular spa treatments. I’m sure there are those people who think that they would certainly not be concerned about their appearance in the weeks and months following their husband’s death. And for some women, that may be true – believe me, I always imagined I would be in that group. But I do these things for Paul. I shop and make myself look good because I know it’s what Paul always wanted for me. Yes, I shop for Paul! I paint my nails red for Paul, and I wear high(ish) heels for Paul. Oddly, it makes me feel that little bit better knowing that I’m doing what Paul would want for me.

Silent weekends

Weekends are a completely different animal for me now. From the time I get home on a Friday evening until I return to the office Monday morning, it is very possible that I won’t speak to another human being. It is very possible that I won’t step foot out of the house, or even open the shades. I may not even get dressed for the entire weekend.

Who do I share the good things with?

When you lose your partner, you lose so many things that you may not even realize you had. I’m still learning what those losses are, and I’m sure I’ll share many of them here as I figure out Version 3.0 – and all the quirks that go along with it. From the beginning I realized that one of the big things I lost was my confidant – which is something that I never truly had before meeting Paul and after seven years of having someone to share my thoughts and feeling with, it’s difficult to lose.

How am I? Do you really want to know?

We’ve all heard the question a million times before: How are you? We’ve all asked the question a million times before, too. What I’ve found recently is that the way the question is asked has changed. Where in the past, people asked in a slightly upbeat voice, and expected the obligatory “I’m fine” for a response, they now ask in hushed and concerned tones, in a more meaningful way. But for the most part, people are still hoping for the same response of “I’m fine” because that’s the socially acceptable answer.

Learning to breathe again

There are certain things in life that we take for granted. Breathing is one of them. Before Paul died, I don’t know that I ever really thought about my breathing patterns. I just did it – even when I was an active runner, an activity that is not yet compatible with Version 3.0, I just took one breath after another. Yes, I would alter how those breaths were taken, but it was second nature – no thought required.

Learning curve

Version 3.0 is scary. Maybe it’s because I don’t understand it; maybe it’s because there’s no rule book; maybe it’s because there’s no one to help explain the new features because I’m an early adopter of the program.

The end was only the beginning

Paul and I met in Scotland on February 6, 2002. We hit it off instantly and on May 21, 2005, we were married and we settled in Washington State. We were in the process of starting a family through adoption before Paul died, just the day before we talking about excitedly about the young boy and girl who were to come stay with us in just two weeks’ time.

An introduction

My name is Frances, and I am officially entering into my third version of being. Let me start by telling you a bit about the first two versions, because the rest of this blog will surely be heavily populated with tales of Frances 3.0.

Version 1: Early life; pre-Paul
Version 2: Fully-functioning adult; life with Paul
Version 3: The present; life after Paul (surprisingly, it does go on)