Well, last Friday was my birthday, and it also marked the 5 month date of my husband's death. Such a strange combination of emotions I had that day.
My mother told me she heard Wish You Were Here on the radio the other day and started sobbing in the car. She says she will never be able to hear that song again without crying. I know Mi Amor's death impacted her, but I did not know how much until now.
I have been exploring my emotional options as of late. I had a few drinks with a male friend who I had not seen since the beginning of college and it was a good experience. It felt nice to be out, to be social, and to be talking with an attractive man. This was a safe outing, however, and there was no pressure for it to be anything more than just drinks, so I kind of took the easy way out with that one.
I don't know what I am and am not ready for emotionally, however. I have a friend with whom I have a very strong mutual connection and attraction and this friendship has been filling a void as of late. I am so conflicted, though. The part of me that wants so badly to live in the moment says, "just relax and have fun with it!" but there is another part of me that can find a million and a half reasons why I should take about 10 steps back.
I woke up yesterday morning to find that I'd taken off my left-hand ring (it is not my wedding ring... I could not put that on after my husband died... but I wear a ring in place of my wedding ring that my aunts gave me in memory of him). I freaked out a first and started searching the bed, trying to figure out what had happened to it. To my surprise, it was on my right hand. This really bothers me for some reason. A few people have suggested that perhaps it was Mi Amor telling me to let go and move on.
I wonder, though, is there a "proper" time to wait? It has been only 5 months, but it feels much longer since the last time I spent any time with him was at the end of last January. My love for him has not diminished in the least. If anything, it has grown and developed over the months since his death. I have let go of most of the anger and have stopped trying to find answers to questions that will never be answered. I easily and regularly focus on the positive memories we made and can see his actions in such a different light now. I feel secure in saying that I will love that man for as long as I walk this earth and no other man will ever, or should ever try to change that.
Part of me feels ready to, at the very least, open myself up to the possibilities, yet another part of me is absolutely terrified of that prospect.
We shall see.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Four Months
Today it has been 4 months... the longest and shortest 4 months of my life. I have been trying to figure out a way to put our whole story into words, and am finding it very difficult. Sometimes, as useful and magical as words are, they fail to accurately illustrate the subtle complexities of very emotional events. I will think for a while, and then I will write.
Friday, October 2, 2009
I need to hear your stories!
I have started another blog called Faces of Immigration. I know that some of you out there in the blogosphere have had some dealings and difficulties with immigration, and I would love to hear your stories and post them on the new blog. There are so many people with so many stories, but we all have a few things in common: fear, heartbreak, and loss. Too many people look at the immigration issue from afar, without any clear understanding of the personal element behind these laws.
This needs to change.
This needs to change.
The Stages of Grief
As I come upon four months of living without Mi Amor, I find myself increasingly analytical--most particularly with respect to my emotional state. I no longer cry every day, but some days are still very teary. There have been a few days where I realized at the tail end of the day that I had not spoken to anyone about him--not even La Hija. There are moments, fleeting moments, where I forget that I've experienced such a deep and soul rending loss. Seconds where I feel calm and happy without trying.
They say that there are steps that people go through in the grieving process. I identify with some of it and have been conscious of some of these steps over the past few months. Others do not resonate so strongly.
Denial and Isolation.
At first, we tend to deny the loss has taken place, and may withdraw from our usual social contacts. This stage may last a few moments, or longer.
This a strange one for me. I had not seen Mi Amor for four months at the time of his death, although we'd talked almost daily, except for when he was training out at sea. I'd spoken to him around noon on the day he died. My phone rang at around 10:30 pm and I was excited to get to talk with him again, except when I giddily picked up the phone he was not on the line. It was his sister. All she said was he was dead. Oh yes, I protested, but she just kept saying, " I am your sister, he is dead... he is dead. I am your sister, he is dead." I don't know how long we were on the phone, but I do remember repeating "Nononononononono" over and over again. I also do not remember who told me what happened. I do not know if I learned any of the details in Spanish or if I was in the dark until my Tio (who I did not know before this) called and made sure I understood by telling me everything in English. I still did not believe it until I walked into Mi Abuela's house and saw the casket there. No, not until I took a few steps closer to it and saw his face, and even then it was unreal. I had panic attacks every night in El Salvador because the AC kept waking me up with the intense notion that we were back in the old house together and someone was knocking on the door.
I do not know when it became real to me, but eventually it did. Part of the reason it became real was because I told people, even people I didn't know. Everything reminded me of my loss and I somehow found the fact of my husband's death appropriate, and in fact necessary, to bring up at the most random of moments.
I did not isolate myself, and have made every effort to combat the desire to do so. For this, I know I am much better off.
Anger.
The grieving person may then be furious at the person who inflicted the hurt (even if she's dead), or at the world, for letting it happen. He may be angry with himself for letting the event take place, even if, realistically, nothing could have stopped it.
I was angry, and am still angry at times. Angry at myself, at him, at his attorney, at our governments, at the still unknown killer(s), at the police, at our families, at his fondness for beer, at his fearless determination, at his bosses, at the gangs, at L.A., at Vegas, at the entire state of Michigan, at just about everything that I could somehow link with the path that got us to the point we were at. I've never been one to allow my anger to take over, and seldom think of it as a productive emotion, but I allow(ed) myself to feel it and let it go.
Bargaining.
Now the grieving person may make bargains with God, asking, "If I do this, will you take away the loss?"
Now this I don't get. I understood from the very moment that his death sunk in, there was nothing I could do to change this. There was no reason to bargain. He was dead and La Hija and I were not, and that was the long and the short of it. No more time together, no more calls, no more kisses, no more kids, no more hugs, no more arguments, no more laughter, no more "us." It was done. There are no take-backs in death.
Depression.
The person feels numb, although anger and sadness may remain underneath.
I'd been depressed for a while, since he first left for El Salvador, actually. Quite possibly even since my pregnancy. I do not remember the last time I felt "right." I was briefly back to my old, chipper self during the final weeks of our last time in El Salvador, but our necessary return just sunk me back down. What was so scary to me, is how disturbingly familiar that pit in my stomach felt when I heard of his death. I thought to myself not again! for so many reasons. We'd worked so hard for so long and faced setback after setback. That sense of disappointment and despair came back like an overplayed pop song. You know all the words and tend to get them stuck in your head, but you're miserable for the duration of their mental playback.
I do not know if I was any more depressed than I had been for a while. I was more aware of a sense of resignation--an acknowledgment of the fact that our best would not cut it--that we'd tried hard and fell short.
Acceptance.
This is when the anger, sadness and mourning have tapered off. The person simply accepts the reality of the loss.
I am getting to this point. Slowly. I want to feel "normal" again. I want to be free from having to fight off tears for insane things, like the sound of La Hija's old crib mobile, random songs, and spying older couples holding hands in the street. I want to accept that my life is going on, and that does not negate my love for him. I want to open myself to the possibilities of a happy future, even without him by my side. I want to get to the point where I don't feel like I must be alone if I can't be with him. I want to remember my silly, flirtatious side. The side that enjoyed laughing and joking with people and having a good time. I do not feel completely cut off and sinking in the mire, but I don't feel quite whole yet either.
Perhaps I just need more than five steps. This seven step model is a better fit.
They say that there are steps that people go through in the grieving process. I identify with some of it and have been conscious of some of these steps over the past few months. Others do not resonate so strongly.
Denial and Isolation.
At first, we tend to deny the loss has taken place, and may withdraw from our usual social contacts. This stage may last a few moments, or longer.
This a strange one for me. I had not seen Mi Amor for four months at the time of his death, although we'd talked almost daily, except for when he was training out at sea. I'd spoken to him around noon on the day he died. My phone rang at around 10:30 pm and I was excited to get to talk with him again, except when I giddily picked up the phone he was not on the line. It was his sister. All she said was he was dead. Oh yes, I protested, but she just kept saying, " I am your sister, he is dead... he is dead. I am your sister, he is dead." I don't know how long we were on the phone, but I do remember repeating "Nononononononono" over and over again. I also do not remember who told me what happened. I do not know if I learned any of the details in Spanish or if I was in the dark until my Tio (who I did not know before this) called and made sure I understood by telling me everything in English. I still did not believe it until I walked into Mi Abuela's house and saw the casket there. No, not until I took a few steps closer to it and saw his face, and even then it was unreal. I had panic attacks every night in El Salvador because the AC kept waking me up with the intense notion that we were back in the old house together and someone was knocking on the door.
I do not know when it became real to me, but eventually it did. Part of the reason it became real was because I told people, even people I didn't know. Everything reminded me of my loss and I somehow found the fact of my husband's death appropriate, and in fact necessary, to bring up at the most random of moments.
I did not isolate myself, and have made every effort to combat the desire to do so. For this, I know I am much better off.
Anger.
The grieving person may then be furious at the person who inflicted the hurt (even if she's dead), or at the world, for letting it happen. He may be angry with himself for letting the event take place, even if, realistically, nothing could have stopped it.
I was angry, and am still angry at times. Angry at myself, at him, at his attorney, at our governments, at the still unknown killer(s), at the police, at our families, at his fondness for beer, at his fearless determination, at his bosses, at the gangs, at L.A., at Vegas, at the entire state of Michigan, at just about everything that I could somehow link with the path that got us to the point we were at. I've never been one to allow my anger to take over, and seldom think of it as a productive emotion, but I allow(ed) myself to feel it and let it go.
Bargaining.
Now the grieving person may make bargains with God, asking, "If I do this, will you take away the loss?"
Now this I don't get. I understood from the very moment that his death sunk in, there was nothing I could do to change this. There was no reason to bargain. He was dead and La Hija and I were not, and that was the long and the short of it. No more time together, no more calls, no more kisses, no more kids, no more hugs, no more arguments, no more laughter, no more "us." It was done. There are no take-backs in death.
Depression.
The person feels numb, although anger and sadness may remain underneath.
I'd been depressed for a while, since he first left for El Salvador, actually. Quite possibly even since my pregnancy. I do not remember the last time I felt "right." I was briefly back to my old, chipper self during the final weeks of our last time in El Salvador, but our necessary return just sunk me back down. What was so scary to me, is how disturbingly familiar that pit in my stomach felt when I heard of his death. I thought to myself not again! for so many reasons. We'd worked so hard for so long and faced setback after setback. That sense of disappointment and despair came back like an overplayed pop song. You know all the words and tend to get them stuck in your head, but you're miserable for the duration of their mental playback.
I do not know if I was any more depressed than I had been for a while. I was more aware of a sense of resignation--an acknowledgment of the fact that our best would not cut it--that we'd tried hard and fell short.
Acceptance.
This is when the anger, sadness and mourning have tapered off. The person simply accepts the reality of the loss.
I am getting to this point. Slowly. I want to feel "normal" again. I want to be free from having to fight off tears for insane things, like the sound of La Hija's old crib mobile, random songs, and spying older couples holding hands in the street. I want to accept that my life is going on, and that does not negate my love for him. I want to open myself to the possibilities of a happy future, even without him by my side. I want to get to the point where I don't feel like I must be alone if I can't be with him. I want to remember my silly, flirtatious side. The side that enjoyed laughing and joking with people and having a good time. I do not feel completely cut off and sinking in the mire, but I don't feel quite whole yet either.
Perhaps I just need more than five steps. This seven step model is a better fit.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Es Oficial!!
Tickets have been purchased and La Hija and I are headed down to El Salvador again for Nuevo Año! Originally, I'd thought I needed to return by January 5 for school, but it turns out we aren't back in session until the 19th! That brought down ticket prices about $350 each, so I bought our tickets last night after speaking with Mi Prima.
I had not heard Mi Prima's voice since we left El Salvador after the funeral, so we were both so excited. A bunch of hysterically happy women screeching in Spanglish. It was hilarious! So, La Hija and I will be there for a full 17 days, and I couldn't be happier. I'd asked if that was too long and Mi Tia said we could live there forever--I told her to be careful what she wishes for :)
This is a huge bright spot for me. I know it will be difficult, but the holidays will be difficult in general. I am just so thankful that I will continue to spend holiday time with Mi Familia--both American and Salvadoran.
I had not heard Mi Prima's voice since we left El Salvador after the funeral, so we were both so excited. A bunch of hysterically happy women screeching in Spanglish. It was hilarious! So, La Hija and I will be there for a full 17 days, and I couldn't be happier. I'd asked if that was too long and Mi Tia said we could live there forever--I told her to be careful what she wishes for :)
This is a huge bright spot for me. I know it will be difficult, but the holidays will be difficult in general. I am just so thankful that I will continue to spend holiday time with Mi Familia--both American and Salvadoran.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Over a year?
It's amazing to think that I've had this blog for over one year now. Amazing how drastically life can change in that short a period of time. Mi familia invited me to continue the yearly trip to El Salvador for Nuevo Año. Tickets are very expensive at this point, so I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to swing it, but feels good that there is the possibility for the tradition to continue.
This weekend I arranged for two coins that Mi Amor had given me to be made into pendants for me and Mi Hermana. I thought that would be a good gift for Navidad. I have very few material possessions left from Mi Amor because most of our stuff was stolen in the day between Mi Amor's death and our visit to la casa. This is difficult for me because I know the strength of my emotional attachments to my father's belongings (He died when I was two. It is my hope that La Hija will have actual memories of her father, where I have none), and I have so few items to pass on to our daughter. I have maintained that the material items are not important, because ultimately they are not. This realization does not take away the feeling of violation, nor does it make it any easier to not have any more than a few shirts to pass on.
I hope everyone is having a wonderful long weekend.
This weekend I arranged for two coins that Mi Amor had given me to be made into pendants for me and Mi Hermana. I thought that would be a good gift for Navidad. I have very few material possessions left from Mi Amor because most of our stuff was stolen in the day between Mi Amor's death and our visit to la casa. This is difficult for me because I know the strength of my emotional attachments to my father's belongings (He died when I was two. It is my hope that La Hija will have actual memories of her father, where I have none), and I have so few items to pass on to our daughter. I have maintained that the material items are not important, because ultimately they are not. This realization does not take away the feeling of violation, nor does it make it any easier to not have any more than a few shirts to pass on.
I hope everyone is having a wonderful long weekend.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
An unsent letter to Mi Amor's immigration attorney
I thought I should tell you that my husband was killed at the beginning of June. He was shot seven times and left lying in the street. Luckily we were all informed quickly and I was able to fly down for the funeral. He looked peaceful and, although he was shot once in the head, his face was not harmed.
I also thought I should tell you that I am angry. I am angry that no one took him seriously when he said he was afraid for his safety if he returned to El Salvador. His age and appearance made him a target. I am angry that there was "nothing that could be done" to keep him here. I am angry that I am a 32 year old widow and that our daughter will have so few memories of the father who gave everything for the chance to be with his family again. I am angry that we had to be pecked at by a heartless vulture of a lying landlord who stole most of our possessions. Mostly, I am angry that we struggled for so long and came so close to being together again only to have some idiot thugs snatch away our dreams.
My only hope is that our loss can be an eye-opener to the realities of your clients' situations. When someone professes a fear of returning home, claims they are afraid of the gangs and their penchant for random murders, I hope that you will listen.
(maybe someday I will send it)
I also thought I should tell you that I am angry. I am angry that no one took him seriously when he said he was afraid for his safety if he returned to El Salvador. His age and appearance made him a target. I am angry that there was "nothing that could be done" to keep him here. I am angry that I am a 32 year old widow and that our daughter will have so few memories of the father who gave everything for the chance to be with his family again. I am angry that we had to be pecked at by a heartless vulture of a lying landlord who stole most of our possessions. Mostly, I am angry that we struggled for so long and came so close to being together again only to have some idiot thugs snatch away our dreams.
My only hope is that our loss can be an eye-opener to the realities of your clients' situations. When someone professes a fear of returning home, claims they are afraid of the gangs and their penchant for random murders, I hope that you will listen.
(maybe someday I will send it)
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