If it’s not something new, it’s something new I want.  I seek it out.

I thought this Summer would be filled with possibilities, and it is, just not what I expected.  I’m booked, pre-planned, not much room for spontaneity.

But then I see that spontaneity used to be my escape routine.  Leaving room to escape.

I’m not escaping anymore, and I guess that scares me more than anything.

I’m committed to this life.

To moving on.  To love.  To career.

I’m committing to family.

To future.  To dreaming.

Marking things on my calendar says ‘I’ll be there’, or I will at least try attend.

It signifies that things are important enough to dream of them.

Instead of dreading them, and looking at ways in which they may disappoint me, I am trying to see how these things will enrich my life.

Lots of family commitment.

That’s important.  To me.  It doesn’t have to be to everyone, but it is to me.

To the boy.  To our future.  To dreaming of creating that with someone else again.  To commitment to allowing all of myself in our life together.

To my faith.  Accepting that God isn’t out to get me.  That I can sit on His shoulders and trust him to uphold me.

To my career.  To acknowledging my strengths and using them to advance my career, my skills, my income.

To travel.  Exploring the world beyond my front door and learning and expanding from those expeiences.

To living.  To living.  To living.

One of the first products I found in my search for top-rated sun protection, was Aveeno SPF 70 Continuous Protection spray for the body, and Continuous Protection lotion for the face. The product is not only waterproof, but very lightweight, so that you don’t feel sticky throughout the day.

I love people – being involved with them, interacting with them, watching their mannerisms, and of course, judging them.

A friend said to me tonight that she wasn’t worried about cleaning before I came over because I wouldn’t judge her.  She was mostly right.

Where does my judgy-ness come from?  Is it just part of my DNA, or was it taught to me growing up?  Is it from the people I surround myself with?  It’s not a very good characteristic.

I want to be more apart, judge wise, from people – interacting with them without feeling the need to change or fix or give advice, but just to be with them.  That was something I craved deeply after Kevin died.  For someone to stop talking to me and someone to just be with me.  To be quite honest, it’s still something I crave.

But it’s nothing something I’m particularly good at.  I want to share MY side, what my influence is on the subject, how I can help, what should be fixed.  But that’s probably not what people want to hear.  I was doing *so* well at it for a while, but then I slipped back into new habits.

How do you just be with someone else without overbearing someone else?  I think it’s time I figured that out.  I guess I don’t need an anthropology degree for that after all.  I just need to do it.

My city living history first started out of intrigue to be somewhere where life was happening, because it just wasn’t happening in Conestoga.  That want slowly progressed to a necessity.  Cheaper living, convenience to work and the places I love, and being located fairly central to my friends and family.  It never remained my number one choice.  I always dreamt of finding a small studio apartment on a nice farm with a vista to enjoy.

As I stepped out of my car last Friday, excited to explore the First Friday festivities later that evening, I beheld a site that is not all that uncommon in the city: dog poop.  A massive one.

I grew up surrounded by 4 farm fields, I am NO stranger to poop.  But something about ‘Poop in the City’ just doesn’t work for me.  Or the sidewalk.  Or the fact it stood stinkingly between my car and my apartment building’s front door.  This is what makes me hate the city.  Inconsideration.  To me, leaving your poop right outside my front door out of laziness, is the same as putting a flaming bag of poo on my front stoop for me to stomp on.  Because I know that some absent minded pedestrian will, in fact, be stepping on that poop at some point in the future.

A few hours later I was in the company of my boyfriend, enjoying the sights, sounds, smells and tastes of First Friday, the local arts crawl, in downtown Lancaster.  I loved it.  I saw people I knew, enjoyed free sampling of food, took in all the crafty people around me.  It was fantastic.  I was again, in love with the city.

Most people probably feel this way about wherever they live.  I know I felt that way when I lived in Montana – missed my family and close friends (hate) but the scenery was breathtaking 24/7 (loved).

I just crossed the 3 year mark at being in the same, tiny, 3 room + a bathroom apartment just 4 blocks from downtown.  I’m near the hub of life for this city but I’m definitely outgrowing it.  No, it’s not outgrowing necessarily, but my needs have changed.  I have outgrown my 20s I guess – coming into myself, my career, my relationship, my friendships, my family – all of these factors create a need for me to step out of this front stoop and onto a grassier platform.

I have no imminent move planned, but sometimes, the city’s vibrancy just doesn’t shine for me like it used to.  It’s changed, and I have changed too.

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Hello and greetings from CrazyWidow & CampWidow CWx2.

I realized, on my second year here at Camp Widow, that you can take time for yourself while you are here.  Last year, I was overwhelmed – having broken my back 2 weeks prior to arrival, the trip was long and painful, and I was heavily medicated.  I was presenting a blog workshop with the awesome Supa Dupa Fresh but just did not feel I had my wits about me.  Combination of injury, drugs, and just plain widowhood.

I was overwhelmed.  I went to every workshop I could, barely resting in between despite my body’s need.  I pushed and pushed and pushed (what’s new, right?) and ya know what? It wasn’t worth it.

Camp Widow was worth it.

The pain was worth enduring.

But it wasn’t worth it to push myself to an unhappy, unsatisfied level.

So this afternoon, if you are just filled, you are aching, you are tired, you just need some solitude; it’s ok.  Take the time.  Self care is the most absolutely important thing in your life right now.

That’s what I’m doing.  Yesterday I volunteered and led a roundtable.  At about 9:30 last night I finally shut off, went out on the beach by myself and talked to my Kevin, in the only way I truly feel I can talk to him – while at the beach. It’s where we spent most of our great memories – fishing off the shores of Assateague in Maryland.

Then I had animal crackers in bed, without beer like the night before   I checked the weather forecast – it was going to be thunderstorming, so I figured I’d go to workshops.  But this morning, the forecast had drastically changed.  It was going to be nearly 80 and sunny.  I knew where my heart and body had to be.

After the keynote, I changed clothes and off I went to the beach where I wrote and tried to solve all my life problems in my head.  Alone.  Because that’s what I needed.

Now I’m back volunteering for Widville, but after this, I think it’s more beach.  Because that’s the self care that I need right now.

So stop guilting yourself, and do what you need to do.  It’s ok.  No one’s saying where and what you need to be doing while you’re here.  Love on yourself, let go, and enjoy whatever presents itself to you.  Ok, maybe not EVERYTHING, but enjoy what you truly need from this.

As some expressed during Part One of this two-part blog series, there isn’t always a separation of feelings based on the fact that we are widowed with no children.  This blog series, and the roundtable discussion, will discuss some of the concerns we have for those of us that are struggling due to the fact that we had no children and therefore our dreams have been altered.  Whether you chose not to have children, or lost the opportunity to with your late spouse, this discussion series is to imagine how life will be as we grow, move forward, and adapt to live without our spouses and without children.

Here are some things that come to mind when I think of being widowed with no children:

There is something that I can recall people saying to me after the death of my husband: At least you didn’t have children…as if that was supposed to make me feel better.  Kevin and I had dreamt of a family.  I know others did not, and either way, that statement is cutting to the receiver.  It instantly dissolves the dream you may have had with a late spouse and attempts to make it all OK.  It’s that good ole ‘look at the bright side’ philosophy that can be quite painful to hear.

Becoming too old to care for ourselves – most of us, as married folks, assume we will grow old together.  We don’t necessarily plan for one not to be around to take care of the other.  So when a spouse is gone, our plans for growing old together drastically change.  This question, posed, on a Widville Facebook thread, heated up some discussion quickly.  It was amazing to hear about the awesome people each widow had in their lives to help them continue to see a positive and strong future, but it also raised some discussion on the assumption that life would be more difficult because there would no longer be a spouse or a child to care for one as they aged.  Life without a spouse or without children doesn’t mean a more difficult life, it just means an altered life.  I believe that has everything and anything to do with just plain widowhood.

One of the big aches for those of us who wanted children but did not have them, is the baby showers.  Ohhh, the pain that lays in that room of celebration.  Secondary loss for sure…

There are so many variations of being widowed with no children and each includes a different journey, just as each widow has his/her own journey to walk.  But we walk it together, and I look forward to doing that with many of you this coming weekend in Myrtle Beach.

Bring your hugs and I’ll bring my love.

“As a widow with no children, I invite you to join our ‘Widowed with No Children’ round-table discussion on Friday at Camp Widow East. Whether you and your spouse/partner planned to have children, or you never intended for children to be a part of your future, we will discuss the unique challenges we face. Some of these topics may include concerns about who will care for us as we age, mourning the secondary loss of being unable to have children with our late spouse/partner, feelings of alienation in the widowed community, questions from others about regrets in choosing not to have children, dis-connection with in-laws, considering becoming a single parent, and more.”

Many of these topics have come up in our discussion board on Widowed Village, but I also noticed some of these feelings at last year’s Camp Widow.  While I made some amazing connections, I also felt like this group was lacking.  Our issues are unique and magnified because of one thing: we have no children.

I want to address one topic that has continually been brought up around me by other widows (who are mothers or fathers).  I do ______ because I need to be here for my children; I have no other reason to do ______ besides my children, or other various versions.  To this I ask, what is my reason for living then?

I have plenty of reasons, most of which I had to discover through the “normal” grieving and healing process.  I had to discover new hobbies that I enjoyed – ones that were not just things my husband I did together.  I had to build confidence in myself and my abilities. I had to build a will to become a better, stronger, smarter, more loving and caring person.  I’m still working on it, but I had to do it solely for my own survival, not based on the needs of my non-existent children.

For my widow friends with children, I encourage you to look at living life for you.  Yes, you.  Becoming selfish.  You can’t do everything just for you children, just as any average parent cannot.  It’s give and take, even if most days it feels like give, give give.

Please share with me your unique challenges of being a widow with no children, or the questions you have for those of us who are widowed with no children.  Part two will come early next week before Camp Widow begins as a launch pad for the round table.

If you care to help send 1 widow to Camp Widow East or West, please contribute here to help donate a Campership.

They contacted me via my blog to see if I knew of anyone might be interested.  I would hate to “put that” on anyone, so here’s the information, and it’s yours to choose what to do with.  Thanks!

This week marked 2 years ago that I met the boy.  Two wonderful, growing, and enriching years.  This week also marks the week that Kevin would be turning 40.  Overlapping events of a present, a future and a past.

My heart is knotting up today.  It started when I was driving and saw an identical car to the one Kevin drove.  A man inside with a similar haircut and jacket to Kev.  Don’t get me wrong, I knew it wasn’t Kev, but that didn’t mean my brain and heart and everything inside me didn’t go “oh my word.”  Because it did.

I want to choose me and my future.  I want that to win out over grief.  This week, it’s hard to make those two priority.

I want to escape.  I want to drive down to the bay or the ocean and feel immersed in grief and the memory of Kev.  I want to choose that.

But I also want to go to Easter dinner with my family and the boy.  I want to pick up my new-to-me motorcycle.  I want to paint and help the boy around his house.  I want to choose that.

My brain and heart are conflicted.  I want to honor and remember the past, and in some ways, get caught up in that.  But I also want to get on with happiness.

Some days the past seems safer.  I know what will hold me at the bay or the ocean.  I know what it will do to me and I know the pain that will increase if I do that.  It’s almost a safe comfort, that pain.

I don’t know what happiness lies ahead if I choose me, my future.  It may not feel as comfortable.

But I do know that it will be better for my heart to create a new memory and a new comfort.  It may even help pull me out of the tide that’s pulling me under today.

I want to choose me.

I see such life.

Kevin would be 40 on Saturday, April 7, 2012.

It’s a moment I know I, probably more than him, would have looked forward to.  If he were here.

I know myself, and I have a feeling I’d be renting or making one of those “Lordy, Lordy, Looks Who’s 40??” signs.

There would probably be an attempted surprise party, maybe even having his mother and brother visit from Canada.

I’d get the excessive sparkling-and-you-can’t-blow-’em-out-no-matter-how-hard-you-try candles.  40 of them for sure.

I even imagine where the party would be – Would we have moved to Berlin, Md by now?

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Would he be working for an HVAC company or would we have opened a deli like we talked about doing?

Would we have babies?

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I think about the cancer options – if he was alive would we be living in Canada surviving on their free medical benefits?

Would we be living with his mom because the cancer would have taken all of our finances?

Would he even have any level of function left or would he be in a near vegetative state?

So many what ifs.

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I want to remember him.  The way I remember him means a lot – it means I’m not stuck on visualizing him on a ventilator, but that I can see him as I knew him most, like he was in those pictures above.

His last birthday I got him a Steelers colored birthday cake from Giant.  He met me at Tobias S. Frogg for birthday wings with my family and some of our friends.  He pretend picked his nose like the picture on the birthday card his future sister-in-law gave him.

It was a fun night.

But it’s hard not to think about how he would feel about being uncle to my niece.  How she would make him giggle and laugh and how he would become a kid himself.

It’s hard not to think about how he would have aged – gracefully as he was, or horribly as the cancer aged him rapidly.

But he was never meant to hit 40.  I have to come to terms with that.  It’s a number that was not in his book.  It stopped at 36.5.

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What will I do on Saturday?  I don’t know.  I feel like I want to celebrate for him, but I need to celebrate myself.  Because 40 wasn’t in his book, but life is in mine.