I’m at the beach. My view is of the water, and finally, I feel some calm, a bit of relaxation. As usual the drive down was “difficult”. I put in a book on cd which helped pass the time since I was cruising by myself. I miss the conversations on the road with a co-pilot, especially when that co-pilot was Kevin.

I brought my fishing gear as usual, and as usual I struggle with why I fish. Do I really enjoy it all that much? Is it just being at Assateague that I love so much? What causes me to continue with this hobby that was granted to me by Kevin? Is it my love of fishing or my love of just being HERE? I love it here. But today I’m in OCMD, not Assateague. I was up early, and for the first time ever, rode my bike on the boardwalk and watched the sunrise: it was lovely.

I’m not camping, another things that is not like my usual beach trip. Many things are different this time around. I feel much more relaxed and calm. Overall, I feel like myself. The buildup to this weekend has been difficult: I have been feeling extra emotional as of late about Kevin. The mourning has come back in a surprising fashion.

Maybe this is the start of new traditions: of finally creating the beach as my own zen. When I sit on the island of Assateague, as soon as I smell the salt of the air on the drive down, my senses go nuts and I feel at ease. That’s what I miss constantly-that particular feeling that is all me.

Everytime I visit here, I am constantly reminded of Kevin, but this time it does feel a bit different. My purpose isn’t to recreate what we had, but to just enjoy myself and relax. There’s no agenda, no timeframes, just relaxation, as it should be.

I’m happy to find some zen today, and I hope you find some too.

I believe I am going to get cancer at some point in my life. No, I do not consider myself a super paranoid person, nor a pessimist by any means, but a definite realist. Sometimes I DO look at statistics. I see what my genetics have foretold, and I see my health as it stands now, and I just have my game face on to one day hear the “C” word. Like most Americans, I have an extensive family history of cancer: Mom, Dad, Grandparent 2x, and in non-relations, my late husband. My life has been surrounded by cancer since my Dad was first diagnosed in my junior of year of high school, and it hasn’t seemed to stop since. But to be honest, I really do not expect it to.

I spoke with a friend last night who lost her mother to cancer, and what it came down to was this: we are both prepared to deal with cancer at some point in our lives. Frankly, we both believe it’s inevitable. It is almost as if we wish we could just get PET scans every 5 years on top of our female exams just to be aware. I do not think either of us will be at all surprised when we hear the big C word. Sometimes I think I woiuld rather just hear it and get it over with already.

The more I think about it in such a clinical way, it does depress me. Having been surrounded by some bad cancer stories, and some that turned out with a positive ending, it is hard for me to be optimistic about the C word. I am hopeful for those that have it, but when there’s even a chance that someone suspects cancer, I automatically think it will be the worst outcome.

Today I am in the dumps, no lie. I await the results of a family member’s PET scan and I cannot help but be quite anxious and upset. I slept horribly as the thoughts revolved through my head of what I will do if this occurs again, and if the diagnosis is not good. I am fearful to think that God believes I can handle more the C word in my life. I do not care to continue to be this strong to be able to handle it. I am sick of the suspicions, the worry, waiting on results. I would just like a peace and a break from the C word, but I guess that’s not my fate.

I choose to be a speaker and advocate for those dealing with cancer and grief, so that’s what I have allowed into my life. It is what I choose to surround myself by, and whom I choose to help. I would just like some good news, please.

According to Bankrate.com, funerals are friggin’ expensive. I agree. The AARP (formerly American Association of Retired Persons) lists the average cost of a funeral at $10,000. Kevin’s funeral cost over $9,000, so ours was even “less” than average. Death is a rackateering business. It is one of the reasons that one of my close family members has already lined up a number of friends to call upon when it’s his time to build a pine box and bury him by hand. He has already pre-planned his funeral just to avoid the expense of the funeral biz, and he’s dead serious about it.

Bulletins, memorial cards as shown above, casket, flowers, church, burial assistance, headstone, catering, etc. If I add in all the above things, we’re pushing $12,000 for all the services involved with dying. That’s also not including any lawyer fees racked up from closing out his documents (I was blessed enough to have mine donated) and the time spent filling out form after form closing out the deceased’s former life.

The business about dying has become criminal. Many of us are unprepared financially to deal with an expense as large as dying, and who wants to spend our life insurance money just on our death? Shouldn’t our family at least be left with some extra money after the funeral to help with bills and things, or a nice post-death vacation? I know I could have used that, but again, we didn’t have life insurance.

Get life insurance. But more importantly, fight the system, screw the system, plan ahead.

There’s some articles out in the world wide web telling you how to die for $800.00: Pretty cheap. With my developing knowledge of business, I cannot help but wonder if I should open a funeral parlor to a) make money but to b) make it honestly and do it cheaply. No, I’m not talking the funeral biz based on Christopher Walken’s character on “Undertaking Betty”.

What I’m talking about is a way to do funerals and death honestly and affordably. Not in a way where the person has to make this extremely expensive decision with a numb brain, and an air to “just get the job done”. That’s what I did. While my funeral service was great, and lovely, was it worth $10,000 for a few hours to place him in the ground? He would have hated that it cost that much to die.

The funeral business is a nasty one, plain and simple. They’re out for our money based on our weak, heartbroken selves. Something needs to change.

Plan ahead, save yourself some money. In the meantime, let’s keep aware and help our loved ones through this process in a sensible manner when they cannot make those decisions for themselves.

This morning I read about a $200,000 barn fire in a nearby community. I thought back on last week’s conversation with a client whose house had burnt to the ground and was starting over from scratch with their home. Before I was born, my family’s cabin was burnt to the ground from arson. When I lived in Montana, I experienced my first wildfire and the soot and ash that took over the town of Missoula. Now, I remember the recurring nightmare I had as a child of a fire at our home, and not being able to get away.

What about fire instills such a fear? It can kill, it destroys, but did you know it also recreates?

Sciencebuzz.com explains it best “The forest fires of today lead to the forests of tomorrow. The heat and pressure of the fire explodes cones filled with seeds that start the growth of a new forest days after the fire has stopped.” Forest fires are SUPPOSED to happen. It is a natural part of the environment.

But what about personal fires? Fires and arson to homes. It destroys a lot of things: material possessions, your home which symbolizes so much in everyone’s lives across the globe, but also a deep sense of trust is broken. Nature and evil become a powerful front in your life, unlike you have never experienced before.

Natural phenomenon has always been fascinating to me. As a Hurricane approaches the eastern seaboard, I can’t help to feel a bit exhilerated at the fact that I’m heading to beach this weekend and that I may be able to experience a bit of its’ power. I had this same feeling in high school after watching too many tornado movies and thinking I wanted to become a tornado chaser; then later, during an earth science class, a volcanologist. I have always had a pull towards the destructive qualities of nature.

We really are minions in this big scale of earth, mother nature, our environment, the universe. What we build here physically is in a sense, nothing. It will not last. It may burn, it may blow away, it may flood, and if none of those things happen, eventually it will rot away and may only leave a stain here on this earth, on the environment.

Our lives, however, can leave much more. Thousands of years of history proves that. While some things still stand, such as the beautiful roman buildings, and the egyptian pyramids, they are slowly but surely wasting away. But the history of the stories behind those structures last.

Our presence here on this earth, and the legacies we leave here are what will last. Our earthly possessions will burn, and we should let them. What we “have” really means nothing here on earth, but what we give, what we devote mentally to leave behind, that will last.

Last night I placed a new Canadian flag at Kevin’s grave. It’s the first one to go next to his placed stone. When I arrived, they were finalizing a funeral for a man who I have known forever in my home church. His grave was just behind Kevin’s, and as I walked towards Kevin’s grave, I was reminded of those feelings of when I first walked that path to his grave, with his casket not yet buried.

That feeling is not one we want to be reminded of; the same feeling I felt as I walked to my grandfather’s grave just 6 months after Kevin died. He was buried just two spots from Kevin. The feeling is the same each and every time. A gnawling in the pit of your stomach, a want to vomit, cry, and disintegrate all at once.

His daughter came down the path and we chatted a bit. She reminded me of me about two years ago: putting on the face, talking about the other things that needed to be done, unaware that she was numb. She was one of the main caretakers: that’s such a tough role. You lose that companionship that you didn’t know you could handle 24/7.

I dug a spot for his new flag, covered it with the toughened dry soil and stomped it in. I brushed away the dirt, the soot that was beginning to cover his stone. I didn’t think much about the fact that Kevin’s body lie there. I thought more about missing him.

He’s not there. He’s in my heart, and that’s how it should be. Dirt can cover many things, but inside it’s all the same. His memory is still with me and I am excited to continue to put that onto paper so that all can read of the great and wonderful things I remember about him.

For me personally, the dirt is being brushed away, and inside I’m refining myself. Those rough edges are being smoothed out, and it’s just me here.

The wonderful joy of widowhood pops up at times I do not expect. I recently filled out a form for financial aid towards my gym membership, one that had been approved about 8 months ago during my first 6 months at this gym. It was now denied. I only make $1/more hour since that application. The reason? My 1040 which shows Kevin’s pension payout that went to pay for his funeral.

I explained this in the form, but because of this, my application was denied. I have questioned it, and asked for resubmittal. After discussion with an employee at the gym, she said to submit 3 pay stubs and ask that it be reviewed strictly on my pay scale now, not on my prior 1040.

Stuff like this happens a LOT to widows. We are forced to constantly explain how widowhood has screwed up our current life, and for many of it, it comes down to major financial burdens. Letters get sent to healthcare companies explaining there’s no money left, don’t bother to come after, and tons of other scenarios that widows have shared with me: yet, we still have to explain away nickels and dimes to move forward.

As if this process isn’t hard enough, even something like going to the dentist can turn into a process, as you forgot to tell him your husband died, and no you don’t have kids. It comes up, and almost never am I prepared to deal with and to argue my way through why widowhood has brought me to this point.

Let’s give the widdas a break.

I do a lot of things in my life so that others are proud of me and my accomplishments. In grade school, it was one of the things that drove me to achieve good grades, to get accepted into District band, to lead our youth group and worship band, to work and buy my first car. Certainly these accomplishments all benefited me, but I did many of these things for the pleasure and reaction of others.

I think a lot about Kevin and how he might be proud of me. I think of how he would like that I wear my hair longer. I believe he would be grateful that I gave up my Mary Kay business and pursued writing in its place. He would be happy that all of his fishing knowledge rubbed off on me a bit, and it is still something that I enjoy. He would be happy that I lost some weight and encouraging me to stay healthy. But what about the things he didn’t really know about me that have developed more in the nearly two years since he has passed?

What would he think of my twitter “family” and friends that I have grown to know and love? Would he appreciate that I work 5 jobs and am going back to school? What would he think about the fact that I’m taking anti-depressents to make it through the hard spots and stay concentrated in school? Could he handle the fact that I rarely eat potatoes anymore, considering for the 1.5 years we were married we ate mashed potatoes with almost every meal? What would he think of my hippie-esque lifestyle choices?

There are a lot of things that have come about in my life that he never knew about, that have recently developed, or have come back into my life post-Kevin as I re-adjusted my pursuits. I realize it no longer “matters” if he would be proud, but I cannot help but think if he’d be happy with me. It’s natural I guess-much like we still try to please our parents.

I would like to change my life so I did things that make me proud of myself. I want to be humble, but I also want to look back on my life and be grateful for what I was given and what I achieved. Am I happy working 5 jobs? No. It is really too much. But what do I do when 3 of those jobs are in one place, one gives me a fun afternoon, and the other will help me in the future?

Re-prioritizing is extremely hard. Being proud of yourself can be much harder.

There once was two.

There then was one.

Now there’s two.

Meet the other set of feet in my life. Unexpectedly about 5 months ago I had the opportunity to meet someone at a Haiti benefit fundraiser. Since then, those other set of feet have been a part of my life. Despite all you read on my blog about my struggles with grief, and widowhood, I also have quite a lot of joy again in my life.

The moments that I do experience grief have become fairly fleeting, and when they strike, I note them in my phone, and take time later to really delve into what those emotions mean. I analyze them, pursue them, and work on closing them out and dealing with them in a healthy manner. But in between those moments when I experience the pangs of grief, I get to enjoy the company of another person who brings me a lot of happiness.

I figured this Friday I’d “introduce” you and let you know that I’m happy. My friends and family have been supportive about this new relationship, and that has been a major comfort for me. While I never outright sought approval, I did certainly seek acknowledgement that everyone was “ok” with this decision. While I knew it was ultimately my choice to move forward into a relationship, I also knew that I did not want to hurt anyone in that process, especially those who knew Kevin best.

I have not talked much about dating, about relationships post-widowhood. It has always been an awkward subject for me, even before I met Kevin (dating that is). Since losing Kevin I have had my share of really really bad dates (insecure mama’s boys who didn’t have a clue about life; talks too much italian; a guy who turned out to be an abuser (yes, thank GOD I found that one out just 2 dates in))-but I’m happy to say that I am once again enjoying a relationship and companionship.

For widows it is a very difficult subject-there is a lot of judgement from the outside world when it comes to dating and widowhood. Everyone thinks they know best about time frames, situations, moving forward, but until you have been here, you don’t have a clue. It really is each person’s journey-some take months, others take years. We all have our reasons for entering the dating scene again-some for companionship, some for intimacy, some for friendship, some just to have some distraction. I think for me, it was all the above. I want the whole package: again.

I feel blessed to have another opportunity at the whole package. I often felt, after losing Kevin, that I would never find anything as good as what I had before, but that I would find happiness and security, and that would be enough. I’m glad I don’t have to settle for that. I am blessed.

I want to let go, I want to move forward, I want freedom.

This was former me-married, with a brand new kitten I love, in my apartment-home of The Boitsons.

That was me. Now I’m a Boitson. Singular. I’m sentimental-I look back at those pictures, and want to keep every thing that holds a piece of that time period in my life. Cat included.

One of the most difficult parts of moving forward is what to do with STUFF. In general, most of us are sentimental. I work for a self storage company part time, and I see it every time I rent a unit. People have a lot of sh*t, most of which really doesn’t need to be stored in $100/month units. Really-do you need that picture from the 1970′s that is obviously NOT a work of art?

But who am I to judge? I have a dragon figurine, which fell off the table and broke part of the tail off, that Kevin bought in my favorite store when I lived in Missoula, sitting on a table in my living room. Why? Because it was sentimental, as is the sword he bought in N. Dakota that we had hanging on our mantle that’s now in my closet, and his well worn wallet-still not sorted through. It’s not that I’m not well enough to do it, but I just don’t know what to do with it. Give it to his brother? His friends? My friends? Give away? Throw away-not sure.

Now I KNOW you have a broken wooden dragon-or at least, something similar, so no making fun of me. Why do we keep these things? Are we afraid that only physical things will tie them and trigger our mental memories? It’s all the more encouragement for me to finish the memoir. I have been encouraged all the more, especially last evening, to put down those memories before I forget them. Maybe then I can finally figure out how to get rid of more of the physical things that tie me to Kevin. It’s himself that I want to remember, not his stuff.

In the Downshifting blog by Shawn Smucker & Sara Otero-Eiser I am reminded again and again that this life should be simple of material goods, and more about being in the here and now. I do not want to continue to be weighed down by earthly goods when they do not last. My memories? I want them to last past my generation and onto the next-by a story that can only be told now, by me.

Some days, this is me. The tree in the storm. Deeply rooted to my beliefs, my morals, my past, my home, but my branches are thrown about in the winds of my future, of the turmoils of my present, or the grief of my past.

I have been feeling very melancholy the past couple of days, and sure, it could be a combination of the quick, 15 degree dip in temperatures, or the recent full moon, or going back to school. It could be many things, but I have such trouble pinpointing. Prior to losing Kevin I could classify a “bad day” as just that-maybe work was rough, or I was PMSing, or some idiot driver cut me off, pretty much a slew of things that happen to most of us could cause a bad day.

Now, it could be all those things, compounded by underlying grief. I attempted to explain to someone recently how certain times of the year trigger me: February for my anniversary, April for his birthday, May for mine, July for when it all started, October for his death. Hell, that’s an entire year of triggers! How is that fair to me, or to that person? That doesn’t even include the just-plain-blue days that sneak up on me and cause me to fall asleep the minute I get home from work.

I never have a good reason anymore for a sad day. The typical triggers seem petty and don’t irk me that much, but sometimes, I’m just sad. I’m sad because sometimes, I really do miss him. I’m nearing 2 years since his death and I have to admit that most days I barely think about him. But lately, he’s been on my mind more often, and I have been missing him, and his friendship. His words.

A close friend recently told me she thinks often of him and what he’d be doing. I think a lot of what he would say. I miss my husband, but mostly I miss one of my best friends. I miss his calm words that would just chill all that worries in my head and made sense of me. We were really best friends, and he was that way to all of my friends, and to family. Above all, I think I could say on behalf of everyone, we miss his presence, because that part of him was the most amazing.