On April 5, I married the boy.  Big, big step.  Big, big move forward.

The month prior to the wedding, I also finalized my book proposal to send off for a non fiction writing contest (didn’t win).  Finishing the proposal helped me to feel some closure in my life before the boy, but it also raised a lot of thoughts about what it would mean to no longer be a Boitson, to enter a new life with someone else, a new forever.

I’ll admit, it was scary.  Some days, it still is.  But mostly, it’s wonderful. 

I think a lot about Kevin, and what our life was supposed to be.  Let me rephrase that: what I thought it was to be.  The reality of life is that it doesn’t happen as I expect it to.  Life happens as was planned out for me.  That’s still a tough adjustment some days.

I haven’t given much thought to long term, to future.  That sounds weird coming from a woman who just married someone, doesn’t it?  But we are happy, and we compliment each other well, and I love him so very much.  I think my love with the boy is practical, is adult.  Wow, this doesn’t sound very romantic at all does it?  But it is.  I’ve been able to move forward, to see a future.  Even if I haven’t been able to fill a dream book with all the things I want us to do together, I have those hopes and expectations of our life together.  I think that part of me is just still a bit afraid to think too far ahead.  I know what can happen, and that part still scares me.

Remarrying after widowhood isn’t just planning a wedding, writing some vows, and marrying the man that you love.  It involves a much more complicated thought process than I ever expected.  I’m not quite ready to delve into all of that yet, publicly, but it’s been scary and wonderful, and comforting, and satisfying, and joyful and tearful, and lovely, and exciting, and thrilling.  It’s been all that.  Here’s to forever, however long that will be.

Last week life threw me another curveball when my boy landed himself in the hospital.  A month before our wedding, this was not ideal timing.  As we went through the steps of figuring out what was wrong, I did a very good job of keeping my blinders on.  I would not allow my brain to go into complete psych out mode, but it was difficult considering all of the “could-happens” of being in a hospital.  It’s hard not to.  It felt too similar.

But he’s getting better every day and things seems to be smoothing out.

All these doubts run through my head about myself; what can I handle again?  If something happens to him, how will I handle it?

But I don’t want to live that way.  I fight those thoughts nearly every day; not to live in the past.

It’s difficult not taking my brain back there.  It’s difficult allowing yourself to love again while knowing it could all end at any second.  This was something I dared not believe could happen the first time.  Now, I know at some point it could very well happen.

But that’s not  healthy, it’s not vibrant, and it does neither of us any good.

This is what I have to tell myself.

I’m not the woman Kevin married.  I look for pieces of her, but ultimately, the person I am today only contains bits and pieces of that woman.  Some good, some bad, some just there.

I brought strength along to this new woman that I never thought I was capable of.  I brought along a talent to take charge while still being a bit sound-minded (although that escapes me some of the time).  I brought along a depth that I had not known in my soul.  I brought along some pain and heartbreak that causes me to leave a guard up.

Ultimately, I am a morphed version of myself.  I think all people morph and change, and yes, I do believe your core structure, moral, and beliefs can change over time.  I also believe that if you don’t allow those things to change, or allow your partner to change, you can both suffocate one another and yourself.

It’s hard for me to admit that I’m not the same woman that I was.  I no longer care about some things, yet am deeply concerned about others.  But I do believe that it is healthy, but sometimes painful, to let yourself be changed by your experiences.  I hope that these changes are mostly for the good, but sometimes I don’t know.

I am 2 weeks away from marrying the Boy.  What a journey it has been as we approach 3 years together and I approach 5 since Kevin’s death.  My life is so different, yet so wonderful and blessed.

I don’t want to lose sight of that, overall, when frustrating and scary things come my way.  In everything I know that the purpose of my life is greater than all of my combined fears.  My fears are not meant to eclipse what I need to experience and grow.

But damn, it’s tough.

For the past month or so, life has taken me down a road whether I wanted to walk it or not.  I officially moved in with my fiance, I came upon the deadline to get my book proposal to my editor and I’m finalizing the details on our wedding.  Anxiety has been a frontrunner in my emotions.

I only recently realized that I hold my breath…a lot.  My coworker heard me sigh and asked what was wrong.  Dave also mentioned that I sigh a lot.  I knew that I did, but I never realized it was because I hold my breath when I’m feeling stressed or anxious.  I wonder when this started?

From what I’ve read online, it seems this is directly correlated with anxiety.  I know I’ve been stressed and over-committed (this sound familiar to anyone) but I figured it was just my typical reaction.  That may be so, but I am finding that my unhealthy habit of anxiety instead of healthy stress, might be back.  That terrifies me.

I never realized I had anxiety until Kevin became very ill and I had a panic attack in the surgical waiting room in front of my entire family.  I went on meds to control the problem on an as needed basis. I have been proud to say that I’ve been off my anxiety and anti-depressants for a couple of years now, however, I can’t say that the problem is “solved”.  Will it ever be?

With another new chapter of my life just around the corner, I want to find healthy ways of dealing with stress and anxiety.  One seems to be completely correlated with the other.  I don’t want to hold my breath; it’s not healthy.  In fact, now that I’m putting this down, I wonder if the caffeine I cut out (coffee) was not the trigger, but moreso the holding of my breath would trigger my heart palpitations.  Or maybe, it was the combination of both things making my heartbeat go nuts.

Whenever something goes a little bit wrong, I tense my shoulders and hold my breath.  I would love your suggestions for releasing this and just rolling with the punches, something I’ve never been good with.

Anxiety has such a control in my life, and with a dominant personality, I crave control far too much.  How do you let go?

Wed morning my Great Uncle John was found dead in a field.  It sounds solemn, but the way he was found there, makes me wish, hope, pray, that he thought he was going to sleep.

After hearing the news that he had gone missing Tuesday afternoon all kinds of worry consumed me.  As a man in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s, I knew his wits were not about him.  I remembered my late Grandfather’s battle with the disease, and how confused he could be about his surroundings.

When the search resumed Wed morning at 8 am, I wanted to help however I could, so I took off work to volunteer to search.  Our team of 6 volunteers and 2 Fireman searched neighbors’ barns and hidden places until we got word that another team had found John.

When I looked around at all the folks I knew, from second and third cousins, to great aunts/uncles, to fireman and EMTs that had volunteered when my Dad was an active fireman and EMT, to my high school prom date who now serves a great organization, I felt the deep sense of community and my Mennonite roots.

For the past 5+ years I’ve struggled to find peace with religion, particularly my Mennonite heritage.  I think I’ve been holding a grudge against my Mennonite upbringing and I’m not sure why.  Maybe it’s because in adulthood, I’ve been forced to face some deep and dark questions that were not posed to me in my youth (widowhood, death, sex, other religions/beliefs, acceptance).  I feel blame because I felt unable to ask some of these questions for fear of being judged.  I don’t know where that fear came from. Religion, God, Authority?

The blame, though, is misplaced.  There is nothing wrong with asking or raising questions, especially about religion and faith.  I am seeing that now.  I also find that my upbringing has helped me find a deep appreciation of community, moreso even than my appreciation of faith.  I see the strong ties of being a part of a deep roots community and the way that community steps up in times of need; as they did this week, and as they did 4 years ago when Kevin was ill.

This past week also unveiled life to me again.  Being outside in nature sometimes does that for me; being invigorated by the Sun and the Wind, elements that help to sustain life.  I had a similar feeling a couple of years ago when I was driving past a cornfield and saw the Sun in its brilliance for the first time in the months since Kevin had died.  The unveiling of grief.

Yesterday could have clouded me again, with the loss of life, of family.  Instead it made me look at where I am heading in life and how I am getting there.  Fretting over my disorganized life living between 2 homes; worrying about cleaning up and staying organized after the holidays; thinking about entering the publishing contest for my memoir; wishing my wedding plans would just be set so I could enjoy the present moments.  I’m forgetting to live in the now and thinking too much about what “needs” to be done in the future, completely forgetting to live in the present.

It’s hard to relax, to soak in what I have now.  After all I’ve been through, all I’ve been shown, you would think living in the now would come the easiest to me, but that’s the furthest from the truth.  It’s sad to me that the death of my great Uncle is what causes this refocus, but sometimes that’s what it takes.  I hope my restlessness can find peace just as I hope John is finding peace above at this time.

_ _ _

How do you strive to live in the now?  How do you embrace what’s in your life now?  How do you put off worrying about the future?

Twas the day before Christmas, tears dripping on blouse,

Many hearts and souls breaking, yearning for their spouse;

Stockings were missing from where they hung last year,

In their place was a silence that brought on tears.

Lay down beside the empty spot in the bed,

The grief came upon them and filled up their head.

She snuggled in his sweatshirt and he in her knit,

The emptiness upon them felt like a pit.

The next morning they rose and what did they hear,

Their favorite carol which brought such endear;

The family they came and gave hugs and their cheer,

Wasn’t Christmas without them but family was near.

I went through the motions as thought was expected,

To recall the memories we had collected;

I missed them so, no celebration was wanted,

My home, my heart, and my soul all were haunted;

I pulled over twice on the way to Grandma’s,

I could not hold it together, felt so raw.

When I arrived at her house I felt no better,

Tried to hide my tears in the sleeve of my sweater.

They hugged me as if I would break into pieces,

Avoiding the mascara pooled in my eye creases.

I plastered on a smile as best as I knew how,

Not thinking of future only here and now.

Present in body but spirit gone missing,

Up with my husband eternity wishing.

I got home that evening and sunk in his chair,

Wondering why I was left of our wonderful pair.

I prayed in my soul that I would find solace,

My grief go away and he be made flawless.

I cried and I cried, no miracle happened,

Tissues thrown out with the ripped Christmas wrapping.

I drove to a place so I could feel more near him,

But felt farther away and memory dim.

The first Christmas without my dear husband was hard,

My heart felt of rubble, my dreams were all charred.

I walked and I walked and in time I grew weary,

My life seemed so empty, of toil and such dreary,

5 Christmases now and I still think upon,

But colors are back and each day a new dawn.

I miss him and cherish those times we created,

He left much too early, God could have waited.

But it is what it is, and I hate saying that,

Just this past week I tossed his favorite hat.

I make way in my life for new and for old,

Wondering what Christmases ahead will hold.

To each of you on this Christmas of empty,

Of this grief and this sorrow we will never be free.

Look one step ahead it may just be better,

You are on a journey that will cause quite a stir.

In your heart and your soul, restless now for sure,

This journey must be walked, for their is no cure.

Walk ahead as you’re able, with a friend if you can,

Kick out the demons that haunt you, entering banned.

Lets tears fall when they call and don’t be ashamed,

You’re a widow of love, for that you are named.

~B.L. Boitson 12/24/12

It’s easier not to take myself back there.  Back to the first time I saw our Nation face tragedy.  I remember sitting on the carpet in front of the old cabinet TV in my bedroom and watching Oprah as images and information streamed in about the Columbine shooting.  I remember watching the twin towers burning on the TV just minutes after the second plane hit and I had just entered my pre-calculus class in agonizing awe.  I remember sitting at work watching the news pour in about the Amish school shooting that had just happened about 40 minutes from my home.  I remember the reports of Virginia Tech.  I remember the lack of understanding.

I remember my grief at losing Kevin, but it’s easier not to take myself back there.  I remember knowing it was coming, thinking we had weeks, and then spending the night next to his hospital bed hearing his labored breathing and realizing that tomorrow would be the bitter end.  I felt like I had no time to say goodbye, but even I had more time than any of these other tragedies.  Yet, saying goodbye felt stolen from me as Kevin slipped in and out of consciousness that night.  I said goodbye and prayed over him hoping he could hear me releasing him into the unknown, what I hoped was a glorious light and a heavenly Savior welcoming him.  I hoped.

These family members probably hoped the same thing when they heard of losing their loved ones in the Sandy Hook elementary shooting.

It’s easier for me to not imagine what they felt.  That deep ache, that numb disbelief that this can’t really be happening to them.  Just as I watched Kevin’s body being taken from him by cancer, his body never really looking like himself.  But even as important as saying goodbye can be, remembering them for what they were, is more so.  At least, the longer I grieved, the easier it was for me to remember him as he was, before his illness.

It is easier for me to not remember planning a funeral for a life lost too early.  It’s just easier.

Until I read this: http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/lookout/first-person-harsh-reality-reporting-young-lives-lost-161206457.html

Reading this just sort of snapped something when I, for one brief second, allowed myself to imagine their grief, like my own.  And I felt that jolt, the hysteria, the breath being taken away at that moment of loss.

It’s just easier for me not to remember.  Because that pain is still palpable.  There’s enough of those feelings going around without me feeling that too.

So I will sympathize and shake my head and continue to ask “why”, knowing I will never truly understand, just like they never will.  I will feel empathy.  But it’s just easier for me to not remember.

Soon I will no longer be a resident of Lancaster City.  For a majority of the past 10 years, I have  called Lancaster City my home.  I have seen it flourish into this great arts and culture community.  When I first moved into the city in 2003 with one of my best friends, we ended up on this little side street in the not so flourishing part of the city.  Our little street, Hillside Avenue, was safe, but around us, not so much.  We didn’t care – it was the first time on our own, exploring the world of independence.

Soon enough, my friend was off getting married, I was going through a very soured ending to a relationship, and off I moved to the West Side: Walnut Street.  This may still have been my favorite city apartment.  3 rooms, a studio technically, with an amazing built in cupboard in the back and an open kitchen that led out to the backyard.  I didn’t always feel safe there; being completely on my own for the first time, but it remained my home for nearly 2 years.  Months after moving in I found myself laying on the futon bed in the front room for hours talking to a Canadian thousands of miles away, dreaming about what was ahead.  Always dreaming about what was ahead.

Then I left.  I was sick of my job.  I was sick of here.  I wanted to explore.  Montana called me home.  In February 2006 I hit the road with my parents, who graciously moved me and my shit approximately 1930 miles to the town of Missoula.  I found my apartment there on craigslist, trusting to live in a strangers’ basement.  God must have been watching over, because he was a divorced father of 2 adorable girls, he had the cutest Corgie named Oggie, and GOATS AND BABY GOATS running around in a backyard pen.  But at the 5 month mark, after Kevin and I became engaged, I realized how much I missed home, how lonely I was, how wasteful I had been, and how difficult it would be to live there with Kevin not being able to legally work the first 6 months after we would wed.  We prospected places to be married – found a B&B with an amazing view of the Bitterroot Mountains.  I wanted it so badly, but I could not justify it.  I sold everything that would not fit in my car, bartered my futon for a carpet cleaning appointment, and headed home just over 6 months after I arrived, by way of Glacier National Park.

I lived with my parents.  This would be my first return home.

Kevin and I got married in February 2007, and lived for about 2 months in my Grandparents Farmette in Willow Street while the property was awaiting auction.  Privacy was limited, so as soon as we saw a semblance of some financial stability (which turned out to be a falsehood), we went apartment hunting.  1 place we looked at.  1.  3 other couples were looking at it the same time we were.  I had good references, but our income looked shady; I couldn’t imagine she would approve us.  But she did.  We lived there 1.5 years until Kevin’s illness landed us longterm in the hospital, and we were unable to work.

This would be my second return home.

I lasted there until just 4 months after Kevin died.  My girlfriend’s mother had passed away and she was waiting for a work visa to come through to head to Canada to live with Kevin’s best friend.  Perfect setup.  We looked at a few places, none really fit.  I went to see the 1 bedroom apartment that I have now lived in for nearly 4 years and I fell in love.  Orange St.  Busy with traffic, but a decent neighborhood, a decent landlord, a private feeling apartment on the 2nd floor at the back of the building.  Built.  In.  Corner cupboard.  I was in.

My girlfriend was there with me for about 8 months before I was on my own.  My cat joined me from the beginning once I got him back from another friend who was watching over him during Kevin’s illness and my tenure at my parents.  Orange St has been the longest place I have called home since I lived with my parents until I was 19.  It’s where I allowed myself to become part of the community, where I placed roots, made friends with neighbors, walked to coffee shops, restaurants and bars.  January 31, I will be leaving the city.

I love my new-to-me home – with the boy and our dog; but melancholy exists.  My cat is in his new home with parents who aren’t allergic and can give him the attention he needs.  My stuff, some of it, will come with me, others will go to friends also transitioning, and the rest to a garage sale or thrift store.  Nearly 10 years in the city.  Oh what a time it has been.

When I drove home tonight to retrieve my mail and a few necessities, I did not miss the hustle and bustle of the traffic that sometimes leaves me pounding the steering wheel.  But I did miss that sense of being part of a community.  I will miss bumping into someone I know nearly everytime I go out.  I will leave behind a little bit of me in that city, I hope.  I hope some part of me has contributed to that community that is still growing and evolving.  While I can visit anytime, it won’t be the same.  Sameness never sat well with me anyways.

I have wanted to visit Ricketts Glen State Park since I read this description on Wikipedia:

“These sales left the Ricketts heirs with over 12,000 acres (4,900 ha) surrounding Ganoga Lake, Lake Jean and the glens area of the park. An area encompassing 22,000 acres (8,900 ha) was approved as a national park site in 1935,^[3][50][51] and the National Park Service operated a Civilian Conservation Corps camp at “Ricketts Glynn” (sic).^[52][53] The funding to create a National Park at Ricketts Glen was “sidetracked” in 1936 when the money was redirected to the Resettlement Administration for “direct relief”.^[54] Similar projects at French Creek, Raccoon Creek, Laurel Hill, Blue Knob, and Hickory Run were also defunded (all are now Pennsylvania state parks). The financial difficulties of the Great Depression and World War II brought an end to this plan for development.^[3][54][d] Arthur James, the Governor of Pennsylvania, signed legislation creating Ricketts Glen State Park on August 1, 1941.”

The National Park Geek in me came out and I figured, if it was good enough for them to consider making it a National Park, it has to be worth a visit (I do believe that State Parks rock too BTW).  Everyone I consulted had wonderful things to say about the park, and I was excited to camp there.  Our plans went awry a couple of weeks ago and we ended up staying about 20 minutes away in a mobile home.  It was so nice to be in a quiet area, away from the masses, for the weekend.

Nature has always been therapeutic for me, and when planning on our weekend away, I only hesitated a bit to schedule on the same weekend as the 4th anniversary of Kevin’s death.  Last year on the anniversary I had attended the concert of one of my favorite artists with my friend Marie and the boy.  This year would be a weekend trip with my childhood friend Megs, her hubby, and the boy.  There would be no hiding my grief if it came to the surface…

Saturday all of us, and the boy and I’s dog Molly, hiked up the Falls trail at Ricketts Glen.  We ambled up the path, all covered with the nearly completely fallen leaves.  I was afraid it would be disappointing views to hike up with all the leaves down, but the leaves on the ground created a beautiful landscape and allowed us to see further ahead on the trail; impeccable.  The old growth forest around me soared up high as we walked along the path.

Before I knew it, the gentle climb intensified to a steep incline as we came upon the first of the falls.  We made it up to 3 falls before deciding to stay behind as Megs and her husband traveled on further.  I could see Molly slipping and was concerned about the boy’s ankle that is still healing from last year’s injury.  Then I came to realize that mostly; I was afraid of the heights myself.  The stones were wet and slippery, especially with the fallen leaves.  I wanted a challenge, but I didn’t want anyone to be injured; I didn’t want this trip to be marred by that.

My fear disappointed the boy, and the Dog, who seemed more than ready to travel on.  We made it back down to the bottom of the first falls after several photo-op stops.  As we made our way back to the gentle trail we were both grateful we had turned back when we did.  We were getting tired and had enjoyed the hike without injury.

Sunday came and I reflected upon Kevin’s passing, feeling that emotion well up from time to time.  My anxiety intensified while driving and dealing with the public as we returned home.  I was off.  Having spent the weekend relaxing, sleeping in, drinking, eating, and enjoying wonderful times with the ones I love, helped me to dwell on life rather than death.  I could be at peace in the amazing earth that I am so fortunate to have access.

I look forward to returning next Summer, in a tent or trailer.  It will be great to see the leaves in all their glory and maybe hike a few falls higher on that incredulous trail.

4 years in Heaven; what I hope is up there.

It’s been too long, too short, too something.

Tears, minimal this year, emotion, in between, reflection, heavy.

So much good has happened since you’ve gone.

So much.

Miss you Kev.  Glad for what you gave me, what you gave everyone.

October is here and this is typically the month that throws me down the staircase.  But for the first time since Kevin’s death, I didn’t feel that apprehension, that warning that it was coming, that terror.  I feel a calmness; a sense that I have indeed done some incredible healing, that I am no longer frantically pained by his passing, that I have come far.

Then this morning I reade that Julie died.  The last J in the Quad J Cancer Squad.  Jennifer died in 2009, Jerry died in 2010, and Jason and Julie passed this year.  And well, the fact that all 4 died in that group that I had prayed for, kept tabs on, well that just sucks.

So it starting spiraling me into all the negative thoughts I tell myself when I hear of more cancer and death – that somehow my involvement in their lives is like a poison.  And I know this isn’t true.  As my friend Megan reminds me, I need to put up a big stop sign whenever those thoughts enter in.  I will not allow them.

I’m sad, mostly because I was shocked that I didn’t know Julie had passed, but also because of the timing.  I hate bad timing, but my life is full of it.  Further reminder that I am not in control of my life and I cannot impose timelines on anything.

October, despite this sad news, is more reflective than sad for me in this 4th year since Kevin’s passing.  I miss him, his presence in this world, in my life, but I reflect on the journey we had, the loss, the numbness, the pain, the rebuilding, the flipping to the next chapter.

I honor that time in my life, I honor the journey.

I am strong and they are strong, in spite of our sadness and pains in life, I know that there is a higher calling to this emotion than I can see.  I believe the purpose will make this worthwhile even if I never get to experience a smidgeon of the greater good.