Today was a Cry Day.

It's been a while since I've had a "Cry Day."  There were many in the beginning.

There were even many during the ending.

And to be sure, I have cried on many days since.

But it's been a while since I've had a day filled with cry episodes. If I wasn't post-menopausal (thanks to cancer and surgery, for surely I am not THAT old 😀)  I'd probably blame it on pms.

I  awoke at 5:45 this morning, which is more regular than not, but I decided I would make a coffee and take it back to bed. On the way back I glanced and noticed Albert's phone sitting on the charging station. I grabbed it and decided I'd peruse through his photos and videos. A job that's been on my to-do list for 9 months so that I can save, back-up and do whatever else is necessary so I can cancel his iCloud account and maybe sell his phone.

So yeah, my cry day started shortly thereafter.

Some tears were tears of grief. Some were tears of joy. Some were just tears. Like memories and love leaking out of my eyes and flowing down my cheeks.

It was fun to see photos from his perspective of events that I also have photos and memories of. And I  cry.

It was fun to see his memories of events I didn't record, some I didn't even witness. And I cry.

Holy Jesus, he was a character, wasn't he?? And I cry.

I am so overcome with gratitude and amazement that this incredible human chose me to be his partner in life that it makes it hard for me to be angry that his life was cut so short. And I cry.

Me! He picked me.

And I cry.

And I smile.

My Albert was such a blessing. Truly he was.  And he intentionally made it so.

This is his phone:

He loved his phone and the connection it gave him to so many people, many of whom he rarely, if ever, had met in person.

He had a little handwritten note on the back of his phone to remind himself to always give a positive word when using his phone. This is actually quite impressive, coming from possibly one of the most sarcastic people on the face of the planet.

Anyway, I just want to share a few things I encountered on his phone today that blessed me, made me cry, made me laugh and made me grateful...

Hugging Mommy goodbye one last time. <3 nbsp="" td="">

Our last kayak paddle.  In Sept 2018 explored the "island" at Vivian lake for the only time in our 10 years at the lake. 

Quality time with his Little Buddy Xander walking to Goat Island in October

We stayed close to home and did our own pumpkin patch with the kidlets. Haha - Bea's version of "bunny ears."    

Maeve entertains with the violin. The kidlets were his greatest joy. <3 nbsp="" td="">

Bea and Daffers build a snowman and name it "Papa."

My sick sense of humour saw the irony in watching the Papa snowman waste away.  

Rocky Harbour Newfoundland. Iconic. 

He read that book dozens of times to Daphne. It was always Xander's favourite book too. 

Typical. Wanting to occupy the back seat but even so is the leader. 

 

His phone fell facedown so there is no video. But this is his last session in the music room. 

Rattling and Prattling Nine Months In...

I can't say that it's daily, but certainly more often than once a week, people hug me or message me or communicate in some other form that they appreciate me blogging my way through this journey of grief that I am on. And to be sure, I am blessed that others are blessed by my putting to words the process I am experiencing. But puking out these words is truly therapeutic for me.  And I am grateful for the encouragement to carry on.

It's quite likely there are equally as many people who roll their eyes and quietly judge me for my exhibitionism. They (you??) are welcome and encouraged to unfollow, unfriend, or refuse to click the links to my public therapy sessions if you don't find them helpful, enlightening, encouraging or entertaining in some way.

******

I know the fall is a favourite time of year for many people. While I do find aspects of it beautiful, I actually find it depressing. It signifies the coming of winter. And winter and I aren't really the best of buddies.

When people start posting about "fall being in the air" or "pumpkin spice... anything" I generally want to throat punch them.

But this year, I am trying to make a pointed intention of being grateful each day - I find it's truly difficult to be grateful and angry at the same time. Or grateful and sad. Or grateful and depressed... you get the picture.

I know that fall is the season of nature dying off in preparation for it's hibernation before starting its cycle all over again, but often September feels more like "New Year's" to me than January does. The lazy days of summer are over and school and all the programs and routines seem to kick back into gear.

Kind of a new start if you will.

Today, August 28th, I am nine months into life on my own.

I was struck today how this sort of correlates a bit to nine months of pregnancy for me.

I reach my nine month marker, and summer is winding down. My last few months of whirlwind travel that has seen 13,000 km on my new car and another nearly 10,000 km to Maui, but for now, I have no plans to leave home until a wee trip to Kamloops in November.

I feel like September might indeed be a kick-off to a new season. Sort of like my new real life starts now.
I've had nine months of growing pains and discomfort, excuses, or rather, reasons for just 'checking out' and not feeling the need to feel guilty about doing whatever the hell I figured I needed to do.

But the travelling is done for now. The guests have quit cycling through my door. My book has been published. My pension is in place. It's probably just time to settle in.

Oh to be sure as I move forward, the scars of the pain - physical and emotional, even spiritual,  I've had to make in the past nine months will be with me forever.

Do I long for the days from just one year ago when neither Albert nor I had any clue whatsoever what lay in store? You bet yer ass I do.

Do I have a gaping hole in my heart? You bet yer ass I do.

Do I hate functioning my whole life with only half of my being? You bet yer ass I do.

Do I acknowledge I had the most amazing thirty-eight years with a very incredible human? You bet yer ass I do.

Do I acknowledge that even in my pain, even in my sorrow, I have so very much to be grateful for? You bet yer ass I do.

So here I am, nine months in, completely spent. Exhausted. Crying. Sad. Still in love. Grateful. Hopeful. Determined. And moving forward. One teeny tiny step at a time...


*****

Once again my keyboard just takes off running with a mind of its own when I start to blog.

Facebook statuses are a shallow replacement, but I find them somewhat helpful. While blogs are more therapeutic, they literally take me one to three hours to formulate, hence they are less frequent.

I sat down to explain how I experience grief differently when I am at home and when I am travelling (which I've had the privilege to do quite a bit in the past nine months) ...


I've got nearly 13,000km on Francesca, my shiny black Rogue that I've had for about six months. I averaged about 9500 per year in the Granny Mobile, the black Kia Soul I previously owned for nine years.

It probably seems natural to think that traveling is a form of 'escape' or a chance to just get away from the grief or to occupy ones mind with other things. But in fact, my experience has been kind of the opposite.

When I am at home, just living my day-to-day life, there is a sense of the ordinary. Being that Albert worked many years of straight nightshifts, sleeping alone is not a giant adjustment for me. And in the spirit of daily finding things to be grateful for, this training of sleeping alone is something I truly am thankful for.

However, when travelling I find it more apparent that he is gone.

Of course there is the aspect that more often than not, he travelled with me and he always did 100% of the driving. But more noticeably to me is the fact that he is not there for me to call or text at the end of the day to share my experiences of the day with.

I find when I travel or do something beyond normal day-to-day, I'm more apt to think, "I've gotta text Albert about..." And then am dashed when reality reminds me I can't.

I know this will lessen as time goes on, as I experienced this same sort of phenomenom, and even occasionally still do, after losing Mama six years ago.

But here's the odd thing. I don't actually want to experience this less and less.  The pain of grief is intense. On one hand you want it to go away. On the other hand there is pleasure and solace in the ache. Somehow there is comfort in knowing you were loved and capable of loving to degrees you can't quite explain.

The loss of it unbearable. The gratitude for it having been, immense.

Another Carried Away Status Update Turns into a Rambling Blog.

Many of my blogs start out as Facebook status updates that just get carried away with their word count...

Home. There is nothing quite like it, no matter how fancy or chaotic or dysfunctional or humble it is. And tonight I am home. Ahhh.

It's been a month of guests in my house, laying my beloved's remains to rest, travelling, family reunions, hotels, touristing, grandkidlets, parties and fun. And 5000km on my car. I've loved pretty much every moment of it, but I exhale a breath of release as I walk alone into my silent home tonight.

And I find peace. And I am grateful.

Ultimately, I am grateful to Jesus for my blessings. But more tangibly I am grateful to my Albert. I miss him horribly. But even in missing him, I have to acknowledge my gratitude for all that he has provided me - physically, emotionally and otherwise. Truly all that I am is due much to all that he injected into my life.

Fuck.

(Sorry Mama, sometimes an f-bomb is all that I have.)

Life in the midst of grief often feels like such a juxtaposition. How do you reconcile your sadness and anger with your joy and gratitude?

*****

I arrived home tonight after 5000 km to find a shipment of 200 copies of my newly published children's book, "Bluebird's Song," sitting on my steps. I am a published author. This ticks a bucket list and other life boxes for me.

My inspiration for the story is 100% Albert and his wisdom.

And I am grateful.

And I am angry.

Angry that he's not here to share the moment. Angry that checking my bucket list item of authoring a bonafide book is a result of losing a very substantial part of my being.

Angry.

Angry.

Angry.

I am angry. But I am grateful. I don't know how to reconcile this within me.

Fuck.

******

But now, back to reality...

Here is my original Facebook status update, that got carried away with wordage, and resulted in this little expulsion of words (and I offer no apology nor explanation as to how my emotions and/or a glass or two of wine carried me off):

Driving home on the final 100 or so kms of my emotionally packed month I was travelling through Quesnel.

I got to the right-hand turn onto Front Street (hwy 97) in Q-town and had to stop because there was an obviously apparent drunk woman stumbling into the crosswalk blocking my driving lane.

She stopped in the middle of the lane with her back to me and other oncoming traffic, with her arms flailing towards the walking bridge across the Fraser River as she yelled obscenities and instructions to unbeknownst persons.

After a few seconds of standstill in the middle of the street, I honked a short beep of my horn.

And my ever-eager Jed also reached over and honk-honk-honked the horn.

Which of course, startled the apparently intoxicated women, who turned around  and started yelling obscenities at me and leaning over the hood of my car throwing two hands of middle fingers at me while she started kicking the front of poor Francesca, my car.

I regretted not being quick enough to have Jed take photos or a video of the incident on the fly, but on getting home an hour later I don't see any damage to the car. I'll double check in the morning.

11,111km on 6-month old Francesca as i left Kamloops this morning. At this rate she'll only last me about as long as her 4-year warranty and maintenance package. 

Bluebird's Song

Bucket List? Dream? Hope? Reality?  

Seeing my name on the cover of a published book checks all of the above. 

As of today, I am a published author.  Bluebird's Song is available now for purchase on Amazon.com and will be available on Amazon.ca in the next few days. The Kindle version will be released on August 30th. 

While it is all very exciting to be able to search my name on Amazon and see my book come up on the screen, my preference is that you buy the books directly from me. (Is that a bit presumptuous of me to assume you actually want to buy a copy?) I should have stacks of these little babies arrive on my doorstep next week.

It all comes down to money, really. If you order from Amazon you will pay $15 each in US funds. If you buy direct from me, you will pay $15 in Canadian funds, and I won't have to pay royalties to Amazon.  Kindle will be $2.99 CAD. 

If you'd like a copy and you aren't located near me I will ship via Canada Post for a nominal fee. Ok, nothing from Canada Post is nominal. Shipping within Canada will be $4 for one book, $6 for two books and $7 for three. And if you'd like dozens for all your grandchildren, we'll work something out.  :)  

That right there is MY name. On the cover of a published book.