I'm Forty-five For A Moment

I turned forty-five last week. Forty-five, caught in between forty and fifty. I'm still not sure how that happened. One day I was twenty-five with a newborn son, and now I'm forty-five and he is twenty. In the blink of an eye.

At least I have my midlife crisis all over and done with. Not that I was planning on heading into a midlife crisis at forty-three, mind you. I'm not sure that anyone actually plans on having a midlife crisis, I'm just glad mine's behind me. And for the record, I didn't buy a Porsche, though I did buy a new Highlander last fall (which doesn't count because it took me freaking forever to make up my mind to buy it).

Forty-three was a hard year, in fact it was pretty awful for a few months. But ironically, I came out of it much healthier and stronger than I was when I went into it. Dan's death was a huge wake-up call. In the midst of all the chaos, I started taking care of myself. I ate a lot better, I exercised regularly, I lost a ton of weight. I actually enjoy working out now, and I cope so much better with stress because of it. Skinny jeans don't scare me any more! At forty-five, I'm fitter than I've ever been, physically and mentally. Quite honestly, I never thought I'd be saying that (especially the skinny jeans part).

I have to admit though, I have gotten a few more wrinkles and grey hair since I was forty-three. Well, the greys are hidden, the wrinkles not so much. To be honest, I hadn't really noticed them, mostly because I can't actually see without my glasses on (it makes it much easier to live in denial). But then one day I looked in the mirror when I had my contacts in. Dear Lord! Where the hell did they come from?

And this is how I found myself in the drugstore looking at anti-aging creams. Who knew face cream was so freaking complicated?? I asked the skin care consultant, who was all of twenty-three (if that) which one was the best. I explained to her that I had just turned forty-five and had discovered some wrinkles. Her response was to ask me how bad my face sagging was (seriously are you freaking kidding me? I said forty-five not eighty-five, thank you very much). Fortunately for her, she agreed sagging wasn't a problem yet (thanks for that) and led me to the appropriate line of products. She showed me the best ones, explaining to me the different options (and this was when Katty bailed on me because she was trying quite unsuccessfully not to laugh). "Think of it as taking a road trip, they'll both get you there, one's just going to take you longer. You can take the scenic route, or you can take the highway." I don't need the goddamn highway, I need the freaking autobahn! And obviously the freeway to anti-sagging while I'm at it.

I make jokes about being old all the time, but I really don't think I'm old. Mostly I just use it as an excuse for a bad memory, when really my memory isn't that bad, I'm just disorganized. I chalk that up to being creative. I'm sure there's a study somewhere that proves creative people are more disorganized, if I were more organized I would have saved a link for it. I've decided one of my goals for this year is to TRY to get more organized. Emphasis on try, Rome wasn't built in a year after all.

Last year when we moved into the house, I found a card at the bottom of a box of Tupperware I was unpacking. I'm not sure how it ended up at the bottom of a box of Tupperware (I told you I was disorganized) but there it was. I didn't recognize it at first but when I looked at it, I realized it was the card Dan had given me for my forty-third birthday, just a few months before he died. It was a classic Dan card. He found it highly amusing, me not so much (he would actually still find it highly amusing). I really can't make this stuff up.

Sometimes you find things when you need them the most.

I'd been so sad that week. Moving into the house alone was so much harder than I'd expected. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself because my life was literally and figuratively a mess, and then I found this card. Talk about perspective. He was right (of course he was). I'm still here. I got to be forty-three (as shitty as parts of that year were), and forty-four and forty-five and hopefully many, many more. Life really is a series of moments, some happy, some sad. If we're lucky we get a lot of them. I don't ever want to waste any of my moments. I want to make the most of every year I get.

We all complain about getting older but we shouldn't. Old age is a privilege denied to so many. Being forty-five really is so much better than the alternative.

So hello forty-five, I'm alright with you. Wrinkles and all. But if you could hold off on the sagging for another few years, that'd be great.

"Half time goes by, suddenly you're wise. Another blink of an eye, sixty seven is gone. The sun is getting high, we're moving on.."~John Ondrasik

One Hundred Years

You Only Regret The Chances You Didn't Take

I was out for my walk this morning when one of the old gaffers from the neighbourhood stopped so his dog could meet Ginny. Of course we ended up chatting for a while, well actually more than a while, because you know me, no conversation is ever brief.

It turns out he'd been meaning to say hello to me for weeks, in fact he'd even tried to catch up to me a couple of times when we were out walking, but apparently "for a shorty" I walk fast (that's what happens when you are being dragged by an 80 pound black lab). Some of the neighbours had told him who I was (it's like living in PMQs, only with retirees, everybody knows everything). He told me he often sees me out with the dog, and I always seem so happy. Apparently he didn't see me the day Ginny dragged me into the muddy ditch, I wasn't so happy that day.

As we were talking he told me a little bit about himself, and I discovered we have something in common. He's a widower. His wife of 53 years passed away three years ago, so he "can kind of understand what you've been going through. But it warms my heart to see you out there, living life. Life's too short to waste being miserable". Amen to that my new friend.

He moved to the neighbourhood last year too, "all the way from BC." Turns out he moved for "a girl" (he blushed when he told me). She lost her husband around the same time he lost his wife, and they'd all been friends, and "well you know, we decided why the hell not, we like each other, so I packed up and I followed her here, it was the best decision I ever made. You only regret the chances you don't take, you know. But I don't think I need to tell you that, you don't seem like the kind of person who will live life with many regrets. Something tells me you are going to have a wonderfully, happy life."

And there I am, on a Monday morning on Main Street in Wolfville, getting a hug from an old gaffer I've just met, crying because he's just so sweet and I'm once again reminded of how fortunate I really am. I wish all Mondays could start like that.

I've thought about our encounter a lot today. He's right, I really do try to live life without regrets. I make the most of every opportunity I'm given because I know I might never get that chance again. When I look back on my life, I don't want to say, I wish I had, I want to say, I'm glad I did, even if things didn't always work out. And sometimes they won't, and that's okay. At least I'll know I took the chance. Because like my old gaffer said, in the end, you only regret the chances you didn't take.

“IN THE END… We only regret the chances we didn’t take, the relationships we were afraid to have, and the decisions we waited too long to make.”~Lewis Carroll

The Maple Leaf Forever

Today for Flag Day the kids and I decided to visit the cemetery and place flags on all of the veteran's graves. The cemetery was closed but we trudged through the snow anyway. It was a beautiful, albeit cold (well Nova Scotia cold) afternoon, but it was worth it.

As a general rule, we don't like being at the cemetery. Seeing Dan's name in granite is a harsh reminder of all that we have lost. But today was different. It wasn't about us, it was about them.

We placed flags on each of their graves and as we did, we paused and read their names.

Arthur. George. Cecil. John. James. Neil. Ralph. Stanley. Gordon. Vernon. Dan.

Husbands, fathers, sons, brothers, friends.

These men (there are no female veterans buried here) devoted their lives to serving our country and to the flag we honour today. So how could we not honour them in return?

It's our responsibility to make sure none of these brave men are ever forgotten. And, maybe, just maybe, others that visit the cemetery will see the red maple leaves and they too will stop and remember, and say their names out loud.

Today my frozen tears were not of sadness but of gratitude. How lucky are we to live in a country with Arthurs and Roberts and Johns and Dans?

We can never thank them enough for all they have done for us and our country. The least we can do is spend an hour with them on a cold winter's day. We owe them that much.

"Our brave fathers, side by side,

For freedom, homes and loved ones dear,

Firmly stood and nobly died;

And those dear rights which they maintained,

We swear to yield them never!

Our watchward evermore shall be

The Maple Leaf forever!"~Alexander Muir

I Could Never Be As Strong As You

"I could never be as strong as you. I could never do what you've done."

So many people have said that to me over the last almost two years. Often I hear it from people I think can handle anything. They seem so strong; they're so self-assured and confident, and yet they doubt they could make it through what I have.

Every single minute of every day someone is experiencing a tragedy; illness, abuse, rape, death. And every single day people rise in the face of these tragedies and not only survive but flourish. And we look at them in awe and say "Not me, I could never survive that. I could never be that strong." Perhaps it's human nature to underestimate what we are capable of.

I used to do the same thing.

Before I was widowed, I only knew one widow my own age. I met her several years ago when she just happened to move in beside us in military housing. In those days, a long time before the war in Afghanistan, there were mercifully few Canadian military casualties. My friend's husband was one of the exceptions. When I met her a few years after her husband's death, she was married to another soldier and moving forward with her life. We didn't talk about the loss of her first husband or her life as a widow. I didn't ask her any questions about it, partially because I didn't want to be intrusive, but also I suppose because I didn't really want to know, ignorance is bliss as they say and by discussing her husband's death, I'd have to acknowledge the possibility that it could happen to mine.

And I was young and naive. Of course, it wasn't going to happen to my husband, the mission he was on in Bosnia was SAFE. I marveled at her strength. She'd not only survived her husband's death but had married another soldier. There was no way I could do that.

I'd never be able to survive if anything happened to Dan, and I certainly would never be able to marry again, let alone to another soldier. I could never, ever be as strong as her.

And then one day my doorbell rang, and I was forced to learn just how strong I can be.

You never know how strong you can be until you have to be that strong.

As I stood at my front window that fateful afternoon, mentally preparing for what I was going to tell our children, I knew that this was NOT the end of my life. Our kids needed their mom, I couldn't let Dan's death take me away from them as well. And as I watched them walking into our driveway, knowing that I was about to break their hearts, I also knew it was up to me to help them put those hearts back together.

My path forward began that afternoon with the acknowledgement that my life was still worth living, even without Dan, as painful as that would be. I was so much more than just his wife and I AM so much more than just his widow. I wanted our children to know that life still had meaning, even without their father.

I knew that my actions would very much influence them. If I was negative, angry and bitter, they would be the same. And that's the last thing that I wanted for them.

I have tried to be a positive example to them since that day. Though there were plenty of times in the first weeks that I had to be stoic, I never wanted them to think being strong meant they always had to be tough and have a stiff upper lip. And for as many times as they saw me being stoic, there were many more times they saw me let the tears flow freely. I have never hidden my tears from them (Seriously what is it about commercials? They get me every time).

But strength isn't just about letting yourself express emotions. Strength is so much more than that.

Being strong means knowing when to ask for help, when to lean on others and also when to stand on your own.

It's not about having all of the answers (God knows I don't have them all, I'm good but I'm not that good).

It's about doing the best you possibly can, and knowing that sometimes you will make mistakes along the way.

Strength is knowing there will be times you fall and that's okay because it isn't really about the fall anyway, it's how you rise afterwards that's important.

And strength is knowing that happiness (or unhappiness) is a choice, no one can make us happy but ourselves.

Strength is owning your happiness.

I recently received a message from a young, newly married military wife. She wanted to let me know how much she admired my strength and courage. And in an echo of a young wife I knew so many years ago, she told me she didn't think that she could be as strong as me. She could never survive if she ever lost her husband, and she definitely didn't think she could get married again, especially not to another soldier.

When I read her message, I realized I had come full circle. And so I told her what I'm sure my friend would have told me all those years ago if I'd had the courage to voice my own fears to her, I told her the truth.

 I survived my husband's death because I made the choice to survive.

I made the choice to accept the unacceptable. I made the choice to move forward with my life. I made the choice to be happy.

And though I may have somehow made it appear easy (I've heard that one a couple of times lately) it's not easy. Life rarely is. Sometimes it's difficult, and stressful, and complicated. But it's also wonderful, amazing and incredibly rewarding.

I hope my young friend never has to learn just how strong she can be, but if she does, I hope she too can make the choice to survive, to accept the unacceptable and to move forward with her life.

I hope that she remembers, even as happiness may seem to forget her for a bit, that happiness is a choice.

Life should be lived, not endured.

Ultimately we are the ones who are responsible for how we respond in the face of tragedy. We can rise up and do our very best, or we can admit defeat.

If we admit defeat, tragedy wins. I refused to let tragedy win.

Something awful happened to my life but my life is far from awful.

Strength is letting go of the life you had planned and embracing the life you do have. And I have done just that.

I may not know how the rest of my life will go, but I do know this. I'm strong enough to live it.

"Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will."~Mahatma Gandhi

You Don't Look Like a Widow

"You don't look like a widow." You'd be surprised at how often I hear that one. I'm never quite sure if I'm supposed to be flattered or offended by that statement. And what exactly does a widow look like? The answer of course is invariably the same: old. The stereotype of the lonely, little old grey haired widow. I'm so glad I got my hair done this week. While it's true the majority of widows in Canada are over the age of 65 (which really isn't old), there are in fact far more widows under the age of 65 then you may realize. And no, you'd never know to look at any of us that we are widows, it's not as if we have a capital W branded on our foreheads after all.

Cancer, war, suicide, accidents. Every single day wives become widows. We come in all ages, ethnicities and religions. Some mothers, some not. Some working, some not. Despite these differences, we are all supposed to fit in the same neat little box called widowhood. But here's the rub: widowhood is not the same for each of us. Being widowed at 43, with three teenage children is not the same as being widowed while pregnant at 24, nor is it the same as being widowed at 83. Having your husband die as a result of cancer is not the same as having your husband die suddenly in an accident. All equally tragic, all equally sad and devastating, and all different. Each widow's story is uniquely hers, and  how we grieve is also unique to each of us. And yet we are still lumped together in one widowhood box, with the same expectations of how we should grieve and when we should move on with our lives.

This may shock you (but I doubt it): I don't much like the widowhood box. I don't like being told how I'm supposed to feel and when I'm supposed to move forward (because you don't move on, you move forward) with my life. The last time I checked, I was an adult who is perfectly capable of making her own decisions. But people still do it, all of the time. At eleven months I was told it was far to early for me to start dating. Too early for whom? Not for me, and shouldn't I be the one making that decision? Ironically, I wasn't even planning a date at that point in time. But you know, just in case.

I actually knew a bit about grieving before Dan died. I'd previously lost both of my grandmothers, whom I loved dearly but their loss was not the same as the loss of my husband and the father of my children. I'd also studied grief in university (studying it and living it are two vastly different things, of course), so I was well aware of the stages of grief. Fortunately for me, I also knew the five stages of grief are bullshit. (You can read why here: No Stages of Grief.) Over the last 40 years, what was meant to be a guideline became an almost absolute. The author Elisabeth Kübler-Ross "constantly stated that the stages didn't all happen and not necessarily in order, if at all." And yet the myth of the stages of grief still persists, a myth that has caused me and many others a helluva lot of grief, for want of a better word.

Thankfully, the majority of the people in my life don't believe in the myth. They were the ones that just let me feel what I felt, they never told me how I should feel. They were the ones assuring me that life would be good again, they were always supportive, always encouraging.

But there are some who are still influenced by the myth of grief. When I made the choice to be happy, I was in denial or I was rushing my grief. When I said I wasn't angry, they assured me I would be. When I said I didn't feel guilty, they told me I would eventually. They seemed to have all of the answers and yet how could they? They're not me. I'm not sure if they are even aware of how much of an extra burden they placed on me. I certainly never told them. I should have. I went to a counselor because I began to believe there was something wrong with me: because I wasn't angry, because I didn't feel guilty, because I wanted to be happy. Think about that. Just stop for a minute and take that in. I thought there was something wrong with me because I wanted to be happy:

When you told me my life was going to be awful, you took away my hope for the future.
When you told me I must feel guilty for being happy, you implied that it was wrong for me to be happy.
When you told me what I should feel, you invalidated everything that I was feeling.

 I'm not sure who my counselor was expecting the day I sashayed into her office, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't me. She listened to my diatribe for about ten minutes before she raised her hand to stop me (I seriously thought she was going to yell UNCLE). "Monica there is nothing wrong with you, you are perfectly healthy." Silence. "Really? Are you sure? Because I think I might be crazy."  "You are NOT crazy" (don't worry, I was shocked too). When they talk about watershed moments, that was mine. I'm sitting there looking around her office; she has all of the right certificates on the walls, and this wasn't her first trip to the rodeo, so she clearly knows what she's talking about. There is nothing wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with me. I'm going to be just fine. I have never felt so liberated in my life. It was as if a 40 pound rucksack had been lifted from my shoulders.

 I own my happiness. Me. It's my responsibility. Nobody else can ever make me happy, only I can do that. This may not be the life I planned, but it's my life, and it's up to me to make it a good one. I had to accept Dan was gone and never coming back. I had to let go of what should have been, and accept what is. And (this is the one I struggled with the most) it means that I have to accept there will always be those who will never truly understand my choices, and that's okay, they don't have to, it's not their life. I believe acceptance is the most important thing. When you find acceptance you will find peace. As a wise padre once told me, acceptance catapults us forward. Each of us finds that acceptance in our own time, and in our own way. Grief is as individual as a fingerprint. No two people will ever experience loss in the same way. We can never truly understand someone's loss unless we suffer a similar loss, and even then our grief will be different. We can walk the proverbial mile in some one else's shoes, but our miles will never ever be identical.

I hope you never have to walk that mile, but if you do, I'll be there offering you the hope that someday life will be good again, not perfect, but good (and it will be). And then I'll say something ridiculous to make you laugh. I can't walk that mile for you, but I'll come along if you'd like company. If you don't have the energy to put on your shoes, don't worry, you can lean on me while I help you put them on. If it's winter, I'll probably suggest you wear boots though, oddly enough snow is pretty cold on the toes. But hey, if you really want to wear sandals, I'm good with that too. After all, they're your feet. And it's your mile. It's up to you how you walk it.

Even if happiness forgets you a little bit, never completely forget about it. ~Jacques Prévert

The Year Is Yours

It's hard to believe another year is almost over. It seems like only yesterday it was New Year's Day and here we are on New Year's Eve. In a blink of an eye, one year done, another set to begin. I tend to be sappy and sentimental anyway but I find I'm even more so at this time of the year. 2015 is a year that I will definitely look back on more fondly than it's predecessor, there were far more good days then bad though it did have it's moment's.

 When I moved into the house in March I was completely overcome by the finality and sadness of it all. I remember standing here, staring at the big empty living room and thinking, "I'm going to spend the next 40 years alone in this giant ass house." And then, as the tears were flowing (I think they were probably gushing like an overflowing creek at this point) my cell phone rang. A friend, who knew before I did how hard that day would be for me, called to remind me that I was never alone and that it was okay to move forward with my life and to be happy. And he was right of course (he often is, but please don't tell him that, I don't want his head to swell too much).

 For months, before I made a decision about anything I would purposely stop and think about what Dan would want me to do. Then one day in April, I found myself standing atop a rocky hill in Scotland. As I stood there I realized that Dan would never want me to spend the rest of my life worrying about pleasing him, he would want me to be happy and live my life. Ultimately, he would want me to follow my heart, trust my instincts and believe in myself the way he always did. And as it turns out, he would approve of all of the decisions I've made since he's been gone anyway (go figure). And so without guilt and without regret, I have moved forward with my life. Some days I take two steps forward and five steps back. Some days I am completely overwhelmed with the responsibility of full time single parenting. On others I think my life will always be a goat rodeo. And sometimes I actually feel like I'm living one of those cheesy made for television movies (with better quality acting, of course). But every day I laugh, even if it's through tears and every day I am incredibly grateful to have the amazing circle of friends I have.

I know I've said this before, but I'm reasonably certain I have more friends than any one person should be allowed to have. And you know what? I'm okay with that. I don't plan on giving any of them up anytime soon. My friends disprove the adage "out of sight out of mind" (as if I'd ever let that happen anyway) and even when they are far away, they are always there for me. I have become quite greedy of my time with them. I am acutely aware that we may never get the chance to meet again and so I grab any chance I can to be with them. A hastily shared coffee in passing, an evening or a day, every moment together a gift that I will never take for granted. This year I was able to spend a lot of time with many of my closest friends, I even got to take some of them to Canning, how lucky were they. As another year comes to a close, I thank it for all it has taught me, the time it has given me with those I love and for all of the memories we have made together. When I look back on this year, I will remember both my saddest day and my happiest day with equal fondness because one would not have existed without the other.

 Tomorrow we will welcome a new year, and all of the promise it brings. My New Year's wish for you dear friends is time well spent, that you don't get so busy that you forget to make time for those you love and for yourself, that you take time to just stop and be. Don't wait until tomorrow, tomorrow is never guaranteed. Time is a precious commodity you will never get back, please don't ever take it for granted. The year is yours my friends, I hope you use it well.

"Why do we treat the fleeting day with so much needless fear and sorrow. It's in it's nature not to stay: Today is always gone tomorrow."~ Wislawa Szymborska

Happy Life

As most of you know, I'm a pretty positive person. I always have been. Usually my gin bottles are half full. But sometimes even I have my moments, shocking I know but very true. I have really high expectations of myself, and am my own worst critic.

Fortunately for me I have some very close friends who kick me in the ass when I need it the most, they are my go to gals when I've lost my perspective and need a healthy does of objectivity. I can always count on them to tell me straight up when I'm being too hard on myself or being a jackass. All it takes is one "Seriously Monica" or "Fuck off Bobbitt" and  I know it's time for me to put my big girl panties on and deal with whatever issue is stressing me. And by the way, I'm not kidding, she literally does say that (I love that woman). How lucky am I to have friends who tell me what I need to hear instead of what I want to hear. In fact, I can actually hear them both right now saying, "luck has nothing to do with it" (I may have had this conversation with them both before). We all need to have someone who we can count on to be totally honest with us, no matter how brutally painful that truth might be.

And then there are the others: people who hardly know me or don't know me at all that feel because I am a widow I need them to tell me what I should or shouldn't do or how I should be feeling. It is one of my biggest pet peeves. I have had people say some ridiculous things to me in the last fourteen months (I can't make this shit up). One of my personal favourites was when one of the kids' former teachers told me that she was glad I had sold my house and was moving to Nova Scotia, "You won't marry another military man there because obviously you know the odds with military men aren't good." Obviously. I guess that means I shouldn't marry a man who owns a car either because I think the odds are probably higher he'd die in a car crash then a LAV rollover, just sayin. Oh and by the way, we do have navy and air force bases in Nova Scotia but maybe they don't count?

 I have to say the latest one left me speechless, hard to believe I know but it does happen occasionally. A few weeks ago I was sick with a nasty throat virus and stopped at the drug store to restock on pain meds when I ran into an old acquaintance from university. She asked me how my summer was going and I told her the girls and I were having a great summer and we'd just had an awesome visit with our Norwegian friends. Her response to this was what left me speechless. "You must feel so guilty for being so happy with Dan being dead and all." (I'm so glad she clarified that last bit for me, you know just in case I'd forgotten).

 I'm standing in the middle of Shoppers Drug Mart (ironically on a day when I'm actually not even feeling particularly happy): my throat feels like I've swallowed a thousand shards of glass, I've haven't had solid food in almost a week and even worse have only managed to swallow two and a half cups of coffee in the same time frame, and this chick, whom I barely know is telling me I MUST feel guilty for having a good life. Seriously, are you freaking kidding me?

 Speechless and trying desperately not to cry, I did manage to answer. "Actually no, I don't feel guilty at all. In fact, I haven't felt guilty once all year." Usually I just let this shit roll off, like water off a duck's back, but not this time. I'm totally blaming it on caffeine withdrawal and hunger. I'm annoyed with myself (of course) for letting it bother me but you know what, it did bother me.

 I've thought about it a lot. In hindsight I really wish I'd told her not to be a jackass (because everyone needs someone to tell them when they are being a jackass) and to not assume she knows how someone feels unless she's walked in their shoes. What got me was the assumption that I had to feel guilty for being happy. Because I'm a widow and widowhood is obviously a life sentence to guilt and unhappiness. Evidently I missed the memo on that one.

 I've decided it's a good thing I wasn't widowed 100 years ago. If people think I'm outrageous now just imagine what they would have thought of me back then. They'd have had me locked up in an institution somewhere... Mrs. Hennessy's Home for Happy Widows. She's happy, how scandalous. Lock her up here, quickly. Dear Lord.

 Just because I'm happy doesn't mean I'm not sad. Happiness and sadness are in fact not mutually exclusive, you can be both at the same time. I know because I feel them both all of the time. I will always be sad Dan is gone but it doesn't mean I can't have a good, and yes, very happy life. Seriously he really would be the first one to kick my ass up one side of the street and down the other if I were any other way. If you knew him, you know this to be true. So thanks gals (and the jackass at Shoppers Drug Mart) for reminding me of that.

 Every day might not be good (especially when you can't swallow your coffee) but there is always something good in every day. My gin cupboard is, in fact, never empty. Amen to that.


Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be. ~Abraham Lincoln