Smoothing things out

We started going to Ele's Place when we returned from El Salvador and it has been a good experience so far. My situation is very different from a lot of the other spouses, but it is good to have that time set aside to talk. La Hija seems to enjoy it, and that's the most important part.

I am already planning my next trip down south. I miss it there. I miss my family and I miss the gentleman I spoke of in my last post. We have been talking regularly since my departure and our friendship has only grown. La Hija asks for him every day and talks to him regularly as well. Our relationship is a breath of fresh air. We are silly and laugh so much, but we tell each other everything... we are in very different places in our lives, but that seems to be ok at this point.

My late husband's sister is not doing well psychologically. She had been having problems since her brother died and they have not gotten any better. She was put under hospital observation last weekend after having some sort of sevre breakdown. I hope that things begin to smooth out for her. I could certainly tell that something was wrong when I was visiting the family. She secluded herself and her daughter for most of the day and began to think that the family members who were helping her were really out to get her. A few times she sat me down to talk about what I knew about my late husband's death and would not let the subject go until I was sobbing. A few times I tried to talk to her about getting some help (talking to someone or taking to a doctor about depression medications) but she said she was fine, even though I could see it in her eyes that she wasn't. It's sad.

I have been making an effort to start referring to my husband as "my late husband," which is probably pretty obvious by the last paragraph. I was trying to figure out what to call him. I feel like it's unhealthy to keep referring to him as my husband, especially if I am thinking about moving on emotionally. Calling him my husband means that I have *not* and *cannot* move on, at least in my mind. The only other term I'd remembered was "ex" and that doesn't seem to fit either (I realized this during the conversation I had with the immigration officer upon my return lol), so I actually had to look up how people refer to their deceased spouses on the internet! I felt so silly and ridiculous doing it, especially after I saw the term "late" because I coudln't believe I didn't remember that! Anyway, it seems to be working, but I have to remind myself all the time.

Silencio

Somehow I made it through six months and his 31st birthday with my mind intact (or as intact as in ever was)... When we return from El Salvador we are going to start going to these group meetings for families who have lost close loved ones. There are separate group meetings for pre-K kids and adults who have lost spouses/partners, so it will be great that La Hija will be in a position to know that she is not the only one whose daddy is in heaven. I called to get some more info about the organization and the meetings and became very upset at the prospect of actually sitting down with other people who have lost spouses/partners. It dawned on me that I really just haven't been dealing with it. I've thrown myself into work, into school, into keeping my child happy, into enjoying a budding friendship, into any and everything imaginable except dealing with the fact that my husband was murdered. I can talk about it like it has no effect on me, I can push it out of my mind or remove myself from it so much that I don't have to deal with the emotions that go along with it. I know that going down to El Salvador, buying and having his gravestone installed, and spending my first extended visit down there without him will all serve to help me realize (with more clarity) that he is gone, but I think that going to these group meetings (I'm guessing it's akin to group therapy) will help me deal with it even more... my biggest fear is that not dealing with it will eventually build up and cause a true break.

Emotional development

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.

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.

What I remember

The other day, I had a sudden flash of a memory. The small, round scar on his chest, surrounded by otherwise baby-smooth skin. It was not discolored, just raised, and I don't remember the story behind it.

He had many scars, both physical and emotional, and I always tried to be gentle with him. Their stories often horrified me--it was so often unfathomable that such a sweet, kind, and funny man endured so much trauma in his life... traumas so intense that they left their marks all over his body and mind.

I tried my hardest to heal the wounds that festered underneath his hardened skin, and for the last few years of our time together, I think I was at least somewhat successful.

But I remember those scars, and their stories... his smooth caramel skin... the warm, earthy smell of his hair after he'd come home from a long day of work... the strength of his rough, worker hands and how they made me feel so safe when they held mine.

And I also remember the little nagging fear that I'd lose him... that he wouldn't come home one day... that no one would know where he was.

I remember waking up nights when he had not yet come home, frantic with worry, unable to go back to sleep, just waiting and waiting for the sound of our truck... the sound of the door... anything to tell me that he was okay.

I remember the combination of relief and anger I'd feel upon his return, the desire to scream at him and hug him all at once... and how exhausted we both were those days: he from work and I from tossing, turning, crying, and praying all night.

There are so many things I remember, yet there are still so many things I do not know. The last month or so of his life, even though we spoke daily, feels like such a mystery to me--and one that will likely remain so. I only hope that while I reinforce the memories, the mystery fades.

Through all of the chaos

Somehow I am finding some sort of comfort these days. The tears are less frequent and, while I still have no clue where we are headed, I know that we will be okay.

Three of us in the family have been having dreams about Mi Amor, and strangely enough, he seems to be wearing the same sort of clothes in everyone's dreams. Last week at some point I had a dream about him (he was wearing a black and white striped shirt)... in my dream he came back and said he was still alive, that it was all a big misunderstanding and that everything was fine and I didn't have to worry. The next day I got an email from Mi Prima saying that her husband woke up the night before and thought he saw Mi Amor, in a black and white striped shirt, walking around by the window outside the house. That same night, Mi Primo had a dream of Mi Amor, wearing the same thing, where he was trying to explain about and describe the people who killed him. I have not had any of those eerily vivid dreams since, and I'm not complaining about that. I woke up so confused that for a second I wanted to try to call him.

I have been regularly talking with a good friend of Mi Amor and Mi Primo. He is such a comfort to me and he makes me laugh. There are so few connections to Mi Amor here, other than our daughter of course, so it is nice to speak with someone (an adult) who knows how I feel and what a good man he was. Plus, I get to practice my Spanish, which is a great thing.

Earlier this week I sent out a couple of packages to Mi Familia. I'd put together some photo albums, mostly of Mi Amor and La Hija, threw in a few framed recent photos of La Hija, and my mom and I embroidered some cloth napkins for them to hang or put on tables or whatever. It feels good to have finally gotten them out.

Two weeks ago I got a new job teaching Lit at a voc. ed. school. It has been a lot of fun so far and it's nice to get back to work. I hope that I will be able to pick up some more classes next quarter and eek out a living between that and subbing. I'm staying with my aunt most of the time and have decided to put La Hija in preschool/day care out here. I've been looking for places so we could live on our own, but it would be a huge struggle to make ends meet, so my aunt has said we can stay as long as we need and want to. Thank God for my supportive family.

There is more I want to talk about, but I need to sort it all out in my head before I write it down here.

The long road...

I am still struggling with this. I want to be able to say that it's gotten a bit easier, but I can't. My aunt (or technically, my second cousin) passed away last week and the funeral was on Sunday.

I was a ball of anxiety, jumping the whole drive there every time someone's breaks went on. A bundle of nerves.

At the interment, La Hija (who came along) was talking with her Nuh-Nuh about what was happening and I heard my mom say, "She is in heaven now, with your daddy," and it took all my strength not to lose it.

The things that struck me most, at least the detached and objective part of me that takes over when it's too much for me to handle, is how drastically different funerals are in El Salvador. Beyond the two day, pre-burial, almost shiva-like, in-home viewing and visiting period, the funerals there are just so much more... real. There is no attempt at hiding or prettying up the grave-site. No tarp over the dirt, no trying to hide the hole, no fancy contraption to lower the casket. There was a hole, a mound of dirt, some slabs of cement, some rope, and four men. I watched as they lowered his casket into the ground, praying no one would let the rope slip. Mi Compadre was watching them like a hawk, making sure everything was done properly. The last thing I saw was them lay the cement slabs down on top of the casket. Then, a family friend (very close to a Tio to me) and one of Mi Amor's closest friends (who sang "Wish You Were Here" at the grave site per my request... talk about a meltdown for me--it was one of our favorite songs during the time we spent apart) took me aside and told me I should leave because I needed to let it go and there was nothing else to see.

It was all so raw, but in some ways I think it was better. We pretty up death to make it less scary for us, but I'm not scared of dying, death, or the afterlife. My problem is missing people once they're gone.

One month...

It was one month ago today... four weeks as of Saturday--but who's counting?

I am.

Te amo siempre, Mi Amor. Te amo mas de la que tu sabes.

Contemplations on healing

As I approach the one month marker of being without Mi Amor, I find myself growing more emotional, more nostalgic, and more determined to make sure that El Salvador and our family there stay an important and regular part of our lives. Mi Amor has a son, almost four years older than La Hija, whom I have never had the pleasure of meeting in person. I have asked Mi Hermana if she would help facilitate a meeting between us during out next visit so that Mi Amor's children can forge a relationship. I have also decided to keep up the tradition of sending him birthday and Christmas gifts, in memory of his father. I do not know how I feel about the possibility of meeting his mother, as she was the source of so much pain for Mi Amor, but I am civil and kind enough to put that aside in order to have a relationship with Mi Hijastro.

I am saving up to buy a headstone for Mi Amor's grave. Mi Tia paid for the funeral, the casket, and the burial--I wish I could find a way to show her how much I appreciate her kindness in taking care of him... of us in that manner. Part of me would like to offer to repay her once I have the money, but she told me Mi Amor asked her a long time ago to buy him his caja, and so there was a sense of keeping a promise in her acts. One day, something will come to me and I will know what to do.

I still speak of him in the present tense and I can't imagine how I can speak of him otherwise. One thing I know for certain is that I am a lucky woman. I met, loved, and was loved by my soul mate. Few people in the world can say that.

What happened...

This is not an attempt to scare anyone away from El Salvador. I love that country and the people in it. This is something that could have happened in any major city in any country in the world.

I have taken most of the following from a journal post. This is what happened:

On June 6, 2009, as he was working at his taquirea, my husband was killed. Someone came up behind him as he was preparing food for some customers and shot him seven times. Seven. Once behind the ear, two in the arm, and four in the torso. Seven.

Crime of opportunity, the police assume. His watch was gone, there was no money on him. They made sure to leave his ID, though. Thank God for that. My worst fear was that something would happen to him and no one would ever know.

He was an amazing man. Hard working and loving beyond words. Everything he did, he did for us so we could make our dreams a reality. He knew it was dangerous where he was, but went there anyway because he made good money there and he just needed to make it through until September when the next boat left.

La Hija and I were to head down in August so we could finally have our civil ceremony down there and have both of our governments recognize our marriage... so we could start working on getting him back into the states.

I spoke with him the day he died... I told him I love him, and I am so thankful for that.

Now, I am numb. I try to keep it together for La Hija, but that isn't always possible. Every once in a while, when I realize I will never hear is voice again, never feel his touch, see his smile... when I realize that the one person I could tell anything, the one person I went to when I needed to breathe is no longer there, I feel lost and scared. And then I look at our daughter and see him and realize I need to get it together and take care of her.

I just miss him. I really miss him.

This event in my life, as horrible as it is, will in no way keep me from going back. In fact, I think it may just make me fight that much harder to get there, since it will have to be on my own. I will return to spend time with my family. Perhaps someday I will return and work at one of the private schools. I will return though. That much, I know for a fact.

The Fright of an Open Future

The thing that keeps me up nights, the thing that I am having such a hard time with at this point, is the uncertainty. We had all of these plans. I knew where we were headed. A civil wedding in August to "legalize" our marriage. Finishing school. Teaching in El Salvador. Another baby in two years. A house, a garden, a business. Returning to the US when we had the money for an attorney.

It's all just... gone. I'm staying in school, and teaching in El Salvador is still one of the ideas I'm tossing around, but everything else... all those other plans... all those fantasy images have to fade because they can't happen.

At night, though, they come back to me and make me smile because they images were so lovely... and then I remember we buried him and I've spent as much time with him as I was allowed. There is no future with Mi Amor and that I'll have to make my own way.

This is what keeps me up.