I am trying to find the motivation in life, and in the things I have committed to, despite resenting right now. School-it needs to be completed. I am so close, and it is a commitment I have made. It may be frustrating and exhausting, but somehow I need to find some motivation to complete it, and work hard at it.

Back to the gym and healthy eating this week now that my Canadian friends have returned home. Despite being exhausted from the new medication and Daylight Savings Time, I am thoroughly going to enjoy the sun setting later, and getting out on my bike again. It’s tuned up and ready to ride.

I am just trying to refocus my energy and my thought processes to feel good about my life, even in the transitions. It’s frustrating to not be at the points I think I am ready to be, but it’s all about transitions. Life is constantly that, is it not?

We can hope to be at the next stage, but then we lose sight of the transitions, of what brings us to that point. I wonder how much of life I missed out on just hoping to be at the next stage? In grief, this is a constant hope-hoping to be out of this feeling of living with a time bomb, always hoping to be moving forward from that point. But even in wishing we weren’t “here”, we miss out on so much.

I’m sick of missing out!

I love National Parks. When the Ken Burns PBS special on ‘The National Parks: America’s Best Idea’ was aired, I DVR’ed all the epidsodes and have watched them repeatedly. I’m a park geek.

I am trying to figure out what it is that I enjoy in life, that is solely my joy, not the joy that Kevin & I had mutually. I have finally found SOMETHING that is me. National Parks and Camping. I love the exploration and the history of National Parks. They’re all unique gems of the best things about the United States.

So far, I have visited Yosemite, Yellowstone, Glacier, Badlands, Grand Canyon, Theodore Roosevelt, and I think I’ve been through Shenendoah & Sequoia as well. There’s a total of 58 National Parks (technically over 300 National Park UNITS), and frankly, I want to see them all.

Bucket list. This is now on my bucket list. In the next 10-15 years I want to visit every National Park in the U.S. Some I can do in 1 trip. Others will be 1 park for the entire trip (Alaska and Hawaii). I don’t think it’s a completely ridiculous dream. I love road trips, I love to camp and hike, and I’m hoping to take a few weeks off next summer to explore the West again and visit Montana.

But then I get to thinking. I have nothing to tie me down. I have family whom I love dearly, but I will love them, and visit them, and be part of their lives no matter where I am. By December of this year, school will be done, and well, being that none of my regular jobs are a career path, what do I have to tie me down? Pretty much nothing. I’ll be FREE. It is exhilerating.

Back to National Parks. Why don’t I work in one? Moving to Montana, I had gotten accepted into the University of Montana for Recreational Management solely because I wanted to do events for National Parks or Park Systems. Where did that dream go? It didn’t go anywhere. It’s still there, but now I have a second chance at it at this second life. While my degree may not be that, I can use it towards something within the Park System, whether it takes me to California, Arizona, Montana, Alaska, or Maryland. So many wonderful options. Plus, I can freelance ANYWHERE.

I’m really really digging this idea. This dream. This bucket list. Could it be that I finally found a future I could get excited about?

Freedom. A whole week of no assignments, house guests, and 1.5 days off of work. I like this way too much. One of the discussions at Saturday night’s widow’s group was about how much time we took off work after losing our spouses. I was off roughly 5.5 months from the time Kevin got sick and I became his full time caretaker to a few months after he passed. I was fortunate enough to have a supportive family who let me live with them, and some funds to pay bills while I recooperated from the hell of those prior 6 months. I had some time, some have more, some less.

It felt good to go back to work, even though for me, it was different jobs. I don’t know that this is what I would have sought out, but it’s what landed at my feet, and in these economics times, you cannot turn those opportunites down.

There never seems enough freedom to let yourself feel the emotions of grief. We get thrown back into daily routines, and are forced to pick up and move forward even though we are ill equipped to deal with the daily stressors of life on top of grieving. There is no freedom to grieve.

I have taken off little time since I went back to work about 2.5 months after Kevin passed away. I’ve done long weekends, and had a whole week off for swine flu, but that has been all. I’m looking forward to some more extended trips this year when I’m not bombarded with school, to enjoy peace and freedom.

I miss having a clear schedule, I’ll admit it. While I love to plan things, I also hate being over-committed to the point of suffocation. It’s half tempting to just sign up for summer courses, bite the bullet, and FINISH IT just because I want to be done. However, I can’t do that. I need this summer off, to enjoy, to relax; come next Fall, I’ll know it’s my last semester of school until I next choose to continue the Bachelor’s journey. But for now, this is all.

Grief is such a hindrance. There is no freedom in grief. But this week, I am feeling some freedom, ambition, drive, and frankly, joy.

On Saturday evening I had the rare opportunity to sit down with 8 other widows. I was the youngest, but it was good to be around others facing the same emotions, questions, and concerns that I do daily.

One of the other widows’ husband had passed just 3 days prior to Kevin, so we’re both about 16 months out. We discussed dating and where we were on the timeline of Chapter Two. We both acknowledged that it has become increasingly hard for us to figure out who we are, and the things we enjoy.

Most married couples share in their hobbies. For Kevin and I, it was camping, surf fishing, going to the gym, watching 24, and music. While I do enjoy all these things, and enjoyed some of them prior to meeting Kevin, it has become hard to distinguish what I have continued solely to continue with the memory of the life we had, and what I have continued because it is my hobby and something I enjoy.

One thing is for certain: I love the outdoors. I always have, and probably enjoyed them even more than Kevin. I also love to write, but I consider that more of my career than my hobby, although it is a bit of both. I read. I like movies. I love music. But those are so general. Anything specifically referring to my distinct hobbies are a big ole blank.

I look forward into the future, and I see myself doing the things that WE would be doing this summer, but it has become nearly impossible to see the things that I would be doing this summer. I cannot even go back prior to Kevin, because now I am such a different person. I am someone that is so unrecognizable, that I cannot even define my passions.

It is certainly the year of discovery and preparation. With all of that, comes many feelings of being LOST instead of feeling loss. While I feel that as well, it is more that I don’t know where I fit into my own life anymore. It will be nice to discover what it is that I actually do enjoy, what fits, what hurts, what just doesn’t work anymore.

There is no doubt that when you are grieving, you are depressed. It is natural to have anxiety, mood swings, sadness, anger, bursts of crying spells. There comes a point though, where you need to recognize if what you are dealing with in grief, is beyond the point, and if it has become depression.

I doubt that many of my friends or family would call me a depressed person. I smile, I laugh, I go out, I get up. So for me, at 16 months out, to think of myself as depressed, it’s still a tough stretch. But underneath the facade of the smiles and laughs, I know there is something much more deep and dark that is lingering. Unfortunately, it is lingering beyond grief.

I think negatively, I lack energy, motivation, drive, and generally have little cares about much in my life. I know I have crossed the line beyond grief and into depression. I have also been experiencing mini panic attacks. I hesitate even mentioning this, because again, it makes me feel so vulnerable, and weak to be dealing with this, let alone admitting it here. I never understand anxiety-the inability to control that ‘feeling’ that overcomes you where you want to escape, where all concentration is gone, where you simply even have trouble breathing. For the past several months, I have been dealing with miniature versions of attacks sometimes 3-4 times daily, sometimes not at all. I wake throughout the night, I cannot concentrate on my studies with school…I feel like I am slipping away.

Depression.

When I first lost Kevin, my family doctor prescribed Lexapro. I took it for a few weeks, and then stopped. I decided I wanted to feel all the emotions that came with grieving. I didn’t want to cover up what I was supposed to feel. Not having a history of depression, I figured I could do this. And I did, for 16 months.

But this wave, although it may not be deeper than the others, it has certainly undertook me to the point where my everyday life and being is affected. Throughout the past 16 months I have contemplated anti-depressants. I have always chose against because my life philosophy has been ‘I have to feel it to get through it’. I have felt it. Plenty. I’m not DONE feeling it, but I am done with it being out my control. I would like some control back. This week I chose control via Celexa.

I am now on day #2 of Celexa. A huge decision for me. HUGE. The ‘old school’ part of me sees anxiety and depression as weak: that I can’t just suck it up and deal with it frustrates me. But I have sucked it up, and I have dealt with it even after the multiple blows that I have faced since Kevin’s death. And I am NOT WEAK. I know I am not. I am strong. Moreso than I can imagine. It is ok to seek help: I seek it with 2 regular mentors that I meet with, and now, with some chemical help. I’m intimidated, I am concerned about the side effects, I dread being one of the 10% that has these side effects (so far just dizziness and a bit of loss of appetite, no complaints on THAT one) and I won’t be able to take it! But I am going to try.

I feel weak being on meds. I hate that I have to go this route, but I have even more the lack of control of my anxiety, the negativity I can only see, the absense of drive and motivation. I know this can’t bring him back, or take me back to pre-Kevin, but it may help me be able to establish my new life with a clearer head.

That which we don’t talk about: Depression. It’s ok to talk about. We’re not weak is seeking help. Don’t be afraid to seek help.

I will not lie: I am in a BAD place. I thought the 6 month mark was bad. But apparently 16 months sucks too. I am burnt out from school. I am trying extremely hard to connect for more freelance opportunities. I am working 3 jobs besides the freelance. I feel done. I am checked out, but with all the guilt, I just keep trekking away…out of GUILT. The only thing I am doing out of want is freelance. Everything else? Obligation, commitment. Overcommitment.

I want to sleep, but I can’t sleep. My mind is so jumbled, it doesn’t even think before it falls asleep, yet I can’t get to that deep peaceful spot where my body releases the tension and I just sink into a deep sleep. Nope, I wake roughly 3 or 4 times throughout the night, confused, cranky, and hit the snooze about 3 times longer than before. Which means I now hit the snooze 5 times. EEK.

Right now, I kind of hate my life. My apartment needs cleaned, but I have no time. I have friends coming to visit next week who I’m so excited to see, but I’m so tired I can’t imagine being a good host. My grades are struggling because I cannot focus enough to study, and I’ll be lucky if I get a C this semester. Ok, I will definitely AT LEAST get a C, but that will disappoint me coming off of a 4.0 semester!

I love snow, but dangit, I AM SICK OF IT. Go away. You massive piles of gray YUCK, go away. I’m sick of crawling over you and falling into you evertime I get out of my car at the apartment. You melt and make the nastiest puddles that I always step into. I want the grass to be GREEN-you heard me, GREEN, Ireland GREEN. I want to go outside in flip flops. I want to sink my toes in the SAND TO STUDY. I want a sunburn. Yes all you people worried about my insanely pale skin, I WANT A SUNBURN.

I’m angry. Last night I bawled hysterically looking at Kevin’s grace. I’m angry. If he was HERE, I wouldn’t be HERE. I’d be happy.

Instead, I’m in a superbad place. And I hate it. I hate me as THIS. It’s an ugly version of me. Where’s the sun? Where’s my sun? When do I get a break???? When does the world stop and breathe for me for one frickin second so I can start over yet again? When?

KThnxBye is a typical Twitter ending. You use it when you’re posting one of those comments that is only SLIGHTLY (psh) cynical. Like mine today:

Dear God: If you could just give me my husband back, everything would be better. Kthnxbye. :-\

Last night, after a super duper long day-work at the architecture firm, box check for the storage units, aquatics class, new tech meetup, then the meet n greet at Chili’s afterwards, I got a call from a distant cousin to meet up for a beer at Dipco downtown. Well, how could I turn that down? By this point, I was STARVING (1/2 a lowfat chicken salad sandwich and a protein shake didn’t do me for dinner), so off to taco night and a brew at 9:30 p.m. Not exactly healthy, but hey.

As usual, our discussions turned quickly to our love lives: or lack thereof. It’s humorous sharing our dating woes, our crushes, our crushes who are ignorant, us who are ignorant, and so on. Then he said to me, “Bren, my heart goes out to you, because you were OUT OF THE GAME.” I was admittedly caught off guard.

Yes, yes, some of the marrieds miss the loveliness (gag) of singlehood, but I was happy and content to be married. Yes, I craved alone time at moments, but ultimately, I always wanted to come to home to him, to our life-that was what completed my days. I had achieved what many single people dream of: finding a handsome partner, falling madly in love, and leaving THE GAME.

I don’t play the game. I cut the BS out of my life a long time ago, and widowhood has certainly given me a confidence to be even more brash than before. I am not good at waiting, at wondering, or just hanging around hoping. Not that these are traits in which I ever excelled, but widowhood seems have decreased my patience tenfold.

I was out of the game. I had it. It was mine, it was beautiful, it was perfect in its imperfection. And now I am here, blogging in my cynicism, angry at the world, at God, annoyed at school, bored with work, hoping things pan out professionally, but more than anything-the big ‘WHY?’. If he were here, I would not be HERE. And God, I wish I wasn’t here sometimes. If he could just be here, life would be so much better.

KThnxBye.

I collect windchimes. When I first began life on my own, my first roommate and I found a MASSIVE 3 foot tuned windchime at the beach for $30, and we put it up at our apartment. I let her have it when we moved out on our own, but I still miss it. So I started collecting from there…The only place I couldn’t hang them was in Montana, and I missed the cackle and bang on the multi-faceted sounds of the chimes.

When Kevin & I lived on College Ave, I had many windchimes. A Butterfly, Bug, one small tuned, shell chimes, a fish, and the one long tuned windchime that Kevin gave me for our first Christmas together. The cherished chime. All went with me, except for the shell chimes. It was on the north side of the house, and took a BEATING through the winter. It was too broken and bruised for me to bother to bring with, so I left is on the plant hanger outside the North window.

Whenever I drive down College Avenue, which hasn’t been my home for over year and a half, I still feel nostalgic waiting at the red light at Lemon and College looking at what was our front porch. Where Kevin grilled nearly every night, where we would sit with a lager and a cigar enjoying the sticky air of summer watching the neighbors pass by with dogs, one even with a monkey on his shoulders. We’d chat with our elderly neighbor Ruth, her son Jeff, and their boisterous dog. We would laugh, and enjoy the moments. I even drug Kevin out for a parade one day-I LOVED parades, he hated them. When friends were over, we’d congregate on the large porch, on the steps, or on the front lawn. We put our dozens of pots out in the spring planted with peppers, and tomatoes, and other fresh goodies and they thrived facing the Western setting sun. Hanging above the porch were my windchimes-quiet in the serene air, clanging in the storms.

When I pass now, there are no chimes. No chairs. Not even a little table like we had. There are no plants, and there are no chimes: at least, none on the porch.

However, there is still one chime that hangs…the broken and battled shell chime on the Northern facing window hangs in remnants. If the wind were grand enough, I’m sure it would make a noise with it’s pieces of shells left, but they’re barely noticeable behind the overgrown bush. I doubt the tenants that have lived there since Kevin & I even noticed its existence. But whenever I pass the College Ave apartment, I always notice the windchime. And I’ll never forget the memories.