A Sad Anniversary

For some time I’ve known I was going to write a blog on this, the one-year anniversary of my Vince’s death.  I think I had even roughed out a draft in my head. Which is a complete waste of time because I can never ever remember my perfectly phrased and clever composition when I finally sit down in front of the computer.

 

But when I opened my blog document and entered the date, I found I couldn’t get past it. No words would come.

 

So I forced myself to at least start.

 

And that’s what the past year has been. I’ve been forcing myself to start – over and over again. Every day.

 

It’s hard. And it’s painful. And I can’t believe I’ve done this for an entire year.

 

But what I’ve discovered is that I’m stronger than I thought I could be. And I’ve managed to accomplish a lot – even though I didn’t think I could get beyond waking up and brushing my teeth and walking the dog. Hair washing was optional. And the only reason I wore actual clothes instead of my pajamas every day was I figured the neighbors would start talking and worrying a little bit about my sanity.

 

In the past year, I cleaned out and sold my too-big house. And I’ve managed to make my smaller abode a nice haven that feels warm and welcoming.

 

Experts say one shouldn’t make any drastic changes in their life after the death of a loved one. Well, I’m apparently not one to listen to the experts.

 

Because moving – for me – was one of my better decisions. I’m completely and utterly relieved that I don’t have to worry about keeping my too-big house clean on the inside and repairing and replacing things on my own. Not to mention maintaining the outside – pulling weeds or planting anything. (If you know me, you know I do not like digging in the dirt!)

 

I knew I’d miss my neighborhood. The friends I’ve made there are special.

 

But, without Vince, I knew I needed to simplify my life.

 

Certainly, I didn’t accomplish this all on my own. I had a squad of friends, family and neighbors who were there to support me – in person or via calls, texts, cards and notes. The in-person ones were especially appreciated as they helped me focus as we pulled boxes and bins from every nook and cranny in that too-big house. And, believe me, there were a LOT of nooks and crannies!

 

My sister Denise dropped everything to be with me when she heard the terrible news about Vince. She also scrubbed the grout in my kitchen and later helped clear out and box up my many drawers, cabinets and closets. (And she could only shake her head at me as she pointed out the multitude of cleaning products I possessed.) My brother Andrew also drove more than 10 hours to be with me after Vince passed and helped me get through those first few incomprehensible days.

 

My friend Joe painted my incredibly high living room ceiling and lent support as I made arrangements at the funeral home. Sue carefully packed Vince’s clothes to donate to Dress for Success and helped pare down countless rooms and Debbie helped pare down boxes in the overflowing attic and the lower level kitchen. She also made many runs to donation centers for me. My brother- and sister-in-law came over numerous times to take things out of the house that I wasn’t going to use and helped it become a little less overwhelming to plan for the movers.

 

Once my house sold and I was now on a deadline, my neighbor Susan helped pack up the garage. And my neighbor Suzy (tried to) help me catch my cat Jinx and put her in the carrier as my final act in that house – but neither of us could catch her as she streaked from one floor to the next and back again. When I had a meltdown after Jinx (in her terror) scratched me, Suzy sought out reinforcements in the form of neighbors Barb and Dave, who came over wearing thick gloves and carrying a blanket. They calmly and efficiently coaxed Jinx into the carrier and put her in the car for me. And Barb tended to my wounds so I wouldn’t contract cat scratch fever and wind up in the ER hooked up to IV antibiotics.

 

I hadn’t planned to name people who helped me because I know there are many others that lent a hand or a shoulder or an ear – whenever I needed it. And I don’t want them to think their contributions weren’t incredibly appreciated. Because they were.

 

In the past year, I’ve learned that asking for help is not a bad thing. So often we try and do it all on our own – and we can make a mess out of things by doing so. At least that’s true of me.

 

So I’m grateful for the life lessons I’ve learned.

 

All this is not to say that I don’t desperately miss my Vince. I do. Every minute of every day.

 

Up until recently, I cried every single day. But then, I’m a big baby and cry easily. Sad movie? Check. Sappy song on the radio? Check. Little kid giving his mommy a weed he picked for her thinking it was a pretty flower? Check.

 

Many times they were silent tears. But sometimes it was a full-on ugly cry…so I was grateful that I was usually by myself when that happened.

 

There are some days when I don’t cry now. Or the utter sadness I feel doesn’t last quite as long. And sometimes I can get through an entire evening with friends without tearing up.

 

I used to think that meant I wasn’t being “loyal” to Vince. And I worried when someone said to me, “You’re more like your old self again.”

 

What does that even mean? I certainly don’t feel like my old self. I’m not sure I ever will again.

 

I feel like I lost part of myself. I can’t tell you how many times something has happened in the last year and my first thought is I can’t wait to tell Vince… only to remember I’ll never again get to tell him.

 

And I get very sad when I know that we will never plan for and take that dream trip to Italy together. I miss his companionship and know future cruises and vacations will seem…I don’t know – "lacking" – since he won’t be with me.

 

I miss the meals he lovingly prepared for us. Walking past the meat aisle at Costco can reduce me to tears when I see packages of chicken wings or racks of ribs. (He was the best cook!)

 

I’m so sad his grandchildren don’t get to Facetime with their Grandpa – and will grow up without him.

 

I miss the simple act of sitting next to him in the morning on the loveseat drinking our coffee and planning our day. And I miss seeing the look on his face when he told me he loved me. Because I felt loved. Every day.

 

Now I have to settle for pictures. And my memories.

 

Fortunately, I have a lot of the former, since Vince was the snap-happiest guy I’ve ever known. And we crammed an awful lot of memories in our short thirteen years together.

 

So I’m grateful for that, too.

 

I’ve said this before (and I’m sure I’ll say it again…!), but I know that I had true love with Vince. I hadn’t known what that was like before I met him. And many people never get to experience that kind of love. So I was incredibly blessed.

 

Now I just have to keep on going without him. And I have to revise my future from a “Vince and Jane” life to just “Jane.”

 

But I know I don’t have to go it completely alone. I have that squad, remember?

 

So my dear Vince? I wish you were here. What I wouldn’t give to spend more time with you. But I know you’re in a better place. And you don’t have to shed any tears.

 

I’ll close with this poem I used in the program for Vince’s Memorial Service:

 

Until We Meet Again

We think about you always,

We talk about you still.

You have never been forgotten,

And you never will.

We hold you close within our hearts,

And there you will remain,

To walk and guide us through our lives,

Until we meet again.

                            Author Unknown