5..4..3..2..1..nothin.

I'm not in to new years resolutions. If you need a new year as an excuse to make changes, there are other issues you may need to be addressing. If a new year is your source of motivation, maybe you need to reevaluate who you are, what your goals are, and who you want to be. This is what I preach in my group sessions. Do it now, because you probably should have done it yesterday. Easier said than done, and I will never claim that I live up to this on a daily basis.

My one and only hope for 2014 is that life works the way its supposed to. I continue make good decisions, I remain a good person, and this will be rewarded. It didn't work out like that in 2013, but I'm not about to give up.

Where are you Christmas?

If I hear one more person complain about the 'stress' or 'inconvenience' that Christmas is causing them, I'm going to put a candy cane in their butt, lock them in a room, and blare Christmas music in their ears until they throw up. Much like Thanksgiving, I'm very agrivated about the fake-ness and lack of sincerity. On top of that, Christmas has brought on a new topic to bitch about. Too much traffic, gas prices are up, stores are too crowded, 45 minutes in the check out line, not knowing what to buy for family, not enough time to cook, not enough money, not enough time off work, too much Christmas music, people are grouchy, etc. I've heard just about everything in the last month. I've even considered that maybe these feelings I have are because I'm jealous. Jealous that these people have so little to complain about, or jealous that there are people out there who are tickled and thrilled about Christmas. I really don't think that's the case. I can walk around Walmart for 30 minutes and feel bad for people because they are so unhappy to be Christmas shopping or just shopping in general. I'm thankful that these factors may be the worst they have to complain about, but it frustrates me that they don't realize that like I do. Day before Christmas Eve, and I'm trying very hard to feel the Christmas. There isn't Christmas at my house. Sure, there's presents and a tree. But there's no Christmas. There's no teasing him to guess what I bought him, and there's no sneaking presents in to the house to hide them. I won't even be there for Christmas. If you're reading this and thinking 'but you only spent one Christmas there, so it can't be that big of a change' (and yes, I've had these remarks), then you clearly haven't been paying attention. I might throw you in the category of 'ignorant' as well.

To those of you full of Christmas spirit, I applaud you. Holding on to that strength, hope, and joy in a world full of Scrooges is not easy, but its right. From you, I find great strength. It fills part of that big hole I feel in my soul. Christmas, like happiness, no longer comes naturally for me. It takes great effort and energy. Being in a happy environment encourages these feelings to come back, and I don't have to try so hard.

Crash This Train.

I've had this song stuck in my head for weeks since I heard it in a SOA episode. I am not suicidal. I do not wish to die. However, this is such an accurate depiction of the pure, hateful anger and hopeless feelings facilitated by grief. This is it. Right here.

Shitter's Full!

I got engaged 3 years ago today. To celebrate, I spiced up the festively decorated dry erase board at work. It said, "Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!" I added "Shitter's full!!" Today, my grief is taking the face of "ornery" and "giggly". Deal with it!

Just a little bit dangerous

My tree is up. This Christmas has been a very slow process. I've been preparing myself for another holiday but a different preparation than years past. Thanksgiving was rough. I'm taking what I experienced there and keeping those thoughts handy for Christmas. My life is now in trial and error mode. Its hard. I won't pretend its not. The hard part, aside from being alone, is that I dig Christmas. I'm giddy and excited and I love shopping and wrapping and baking. Part of grief is feeling not at all motivated. I'm not motivated to do any of those things, and that's frustrating. It comes in spurts few and far between, though. When it does come, I'm all about it.

Another weird thing I've been feeling is this complete sense of independence. No one is capable of doing this for me. Its all me. I've written about this before, but this is a whole new level. Its just me. There's no holding my hand or telling me it will be ok. If I can't believe that for myself, telling me will do no good. All of these things that are changing are because I made it that way. I choose when/who/what will make me happy. I say when its ok. I pick what I want in my life and what I want to get rid of. I say who. I say when. I say how much (ok, I watched too much Pretty Woman this weekend...).

"Master of my fate, Captain of my soul."

Home

This week has been by far one of the most difficult. I'm still very bitter when I see happy people. I'm still angry when I hear people complain about things that have no real life significance. I'm still broken hearted every time I wake up alone in my bed. I'm still so frustrated that I have no one to share my life with. In this most thankful of weeks, I'm supposed to be focusing on gratitude (see previous post). The thought I find most fulfilling is that I have someone on constant watch over my life. He's always around, and I can feel him. On more than one occasion, I've felt a touch on my shoulder, seen a shadow in my house, and more often than not footsteps either in the house or outside in the yard. He's there but certainly not in the way I want him to be. I'm angry a lot. I want to feel like home again. I feel single by no choice of my own. I'm angry that on Thursday we aren't going to leave early to hit up Kenters for a couple drinks before going to grandma's. I'm angry that we can't make up an excuse to leave early so we can go home and cuddle/nap between family dinners. I'm angry that there isn't a we. I'm angry that I'm going to have to choose between Xanax and alcohol on Thursday. I'm angry that these things are even an issue. I shouldn't have to be worrying about these things. I'm angry that I have to wait until I die before I can see Steven again. I'm angry that I have to do my Christmas shopping without him. I'm angry that I couldn't buy him a smoker for Christmas (yes, I knew about 6 months ago what I was going to buy him). None of this feels right. No amount of alcohol or prescription drugs can distract my mind. I want what I worked so hard for. I want what made me happy no matter the circumstances. I want to feel like home again.

Fuck this.

The feeling of absolute, utter loneliness has been overwhelming since about Thursday. That's where I'm at.

I don't wanna go sober

I'm having an angry day. On the way to work, I heard "Sweet Annie" by ZBB, "Your side of the bed" by LBT, and I was followed all the way to work by a big silver ford F350. While at work, I've heard sirens all day (a big trigger for my anxiety). My plan? Get through the work day, go home, and pour a little drink while I watch last nights episode of SOA (side note: Tara is on my shit list. Who could possibly dream of doing Jax wrong. I sure wouldn't.). If I have time, I may pop in Country Strong. Beau is dreamy as hell.

Chances are

This time of year for the last several years starts a trend on facebook where people post one thing they are thankful for each day. Here's an example: "Day #1- I'm sooo thankful for my family! I wouldn't be where I am without their love! Day #2- I'm soooo thankful for my husband! He's my best friend. Day #3: I'm sooo thankful for my kids! They keep me going every day. etc..." Why now? I understand the tie in with thanksgiving and all, but I find it really sad that people need a 'game' or excuse to announce to the world who/what they are most thankful for. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not a big fan of facebook posting (aside from humorous anecdotes). This trend is such a reminder of that. Its so generic!

You know what I'm thankful for today? The fact that I couldn't sleep last night. I walked in to my living room at 1:30am wide awake and it was snowing.There were no cars, no phones ringing, and no dog barking (God love her). It was beautiful. It was quiet. I wouldn't have seen that had my life experiences not lead me to that moment, chances are. Chances are.

Chillin' with the possum

I cried. George Strait and Alan Jackson did a tribute to George Jones last night on the CMA's. Who else can say they have a husband who's kickin' it with the legendary late George Jones?!

For some other fool to find.

"Hide Me Babe"

After all these years runnin' round
Flyin high and fallin down
Well the time has come at last
To rest my heart and erase my past
I'm gonna leave these blues behind
For some other fool to find
He won't care and I don't mind
Hide me babe, Hide me babe

Darlin don't you cry tonight
The moon is full and the world is right
I've loved more than my share
Took the pain and called it fair
So I'm gonna lay down all my fears
My highway blues and my ramblin tears
They can shout it down the line
I can't take what was not mine

I'll raise my glass and I'll make a toast
Better than some harder than most
Left our mark on every town
Chased our dreams and we stood our ground
But I can't do those things no more
Hide the way I've done before
The same wings that brought me through
Blow that fate and flame out too

After all these years runnin' round
Flyin high and fallin down
Well the time has come at last
To rest my heart and ease my past
I'm gonna leave these blues behind
For some other fool to find
He won't care and I don't mind
Hide me babe, Hide me babe

My give-a-damn's busted.

I'm finding it hard to care about anyone but myself. Keep in mind, though, that my professional and personal lives are very separate. I have no problem doing my job and doing it well. In my personally life, however, I find myself whispering in my head several times per day "I don't care...". I don't care about Obamacare. I am not wasting my time and precious energy on thinking about how much its going to screw me in the long run. I don't care about what's going on in the world. I barely have the energy or motivation to deal with my own screwed up world. I'm not about to dedicate my time to trying to pretend I have the answers to all of the world's problems. I don't care that my favorite scratch off lottery ticket is $5 and I play it like twice a week. I don't care how bad you think your life is. Right now, I'm the wrong person to pick if you want to bitch and moan about your life. Had a bad day at work? Me too. Had a crappy supper? Me too. Husband being an asshole and won't clean up after himself? Me t....oh wait. You don't know this level of lonely, nor would I wish it upon anyone. This isn't a divorce. This isn't an affair. I had no control or input in this decision. I didn't have a say-so in what happened. This isn't a consequence of poor decision making. This isn't a 'lesson learned' moment. I didn't do anything. I don't care that I'm angry, and I especially don't care that you are uncomfortable with it. I'm going to be angry as long as I want to be. That might mean 3 days, 3 weeks, or 3 minutes. Suck it up.

I need a massage.

Pinterest Find!

Still grieving...

I've slacked on blogging lately, but I don't feel bad about it. There's not a lot to say. I can update the same boring post about being frustrated or reiterate that many of the cliches associated with grief are inaccurate. I could, but I chose not to. Instead, I've been focusing on getting back in to the swing of things. I feel that I've established I pretty decent routine. Things are more quiet in my life now. The chaos has settled, and the whispers of horrible rumors have faded (but are still there...). I'm learning more about myself, and I'm using lessons I learned with Steven to carry on my life. I'm not 'moving on', but there is a sense of normalcy about me now. As reality sets in, I accept it little bits at a time. Something I've struggled with is the idea of happiness. I felt a lot of guilt when I tried to be happy. That indicates to me that I wasn't as far along with grief as I had hoped. I'm starting to feel ok with being happy. I'm starting to feel more comfortable with my life and all the horrible pieces in it. I guarantee I will still have 'lost' days where I will revert right back to the negative feelings, but I see that those days are fewer now. I don't feel so much like a tornado. Its more like a bad storm that isn't causing any significant damage. Storms are fascinating. So much potential for destruction, but who can ignore the beauty of the lightning and the calming sounds of the rain? That's why grief is like a storm.

Widow

Today I feel like a widow. Usually, when asked to identify myself, I respond with my name or perhaps my job title. Not today. I'm a widow. Maybe is the Monday morning slump. Maybe its the fact that I'm starting a fresh new week without my husband here. Another cliche I get tired of hearing is, "Don't let this define you." How does that make sense? There has been a huge change in my life, and no one asked me if it was ok first. How does this not define me? Losing Steven has changed so much about who I am. Trust me, I really wish this was not what was defining me. Its not like I tried and failed at something. I didn't go out of my way to make a significant change only to find that it didn't turn out well. I had no control over this. To say, "Don't let this define you," is very inaccurate. It implies that I should ignore or fix what ever went wrong so I can move on. There is no moving on (another cliche that frustrates me). Moving on implies that this event should stay in the past as I move forward. If I move forward without this, who am I? This is such a part of me now that it is impossible to make even a little decision or have a small thought without it being there. It stays with me and makes decisions with me. Its here in everything that I do. Its stuck here. No one asked me if Steven could leave. No one asked me if this is what I wanted to handle the rest of my life. No one asked me if I thought I was strong enough to take on this tragedy. With so many people who are screwed up in the world, why Steven? I had no say in what happened to me, but here I am picking up all these pieces that don't even make sense. I feel like I'm living someone else's life and trying to fix someone else's problems. This is so unfamiliar to me that it doesn't even feel like me anymore. I make good decisions. Good things happen to people who make good decisions. With a life that was so happy, fulfilling, and loving, why on earth would I think that this would come of it? What is the point in making good decisions when shit like this comes out of it? Steven and I made a life that seemed fool proof. We had our shit together and never wanted for a single thing. And this is what happens? What is the point in trying so hard in life? I wish I knew.

Mmmm...Fall!

As I sit in the coffee shop eating my lunch, I'm remembering Steven's first coffee shop experience. It was a very crisp fall evening, and I was just getting over a nasty cold. Instead of going out for a night on the town, I wanted to go get some hot chocolate. He looked at me a little puzzled, but I assured him that this coffee shop was really laid back and not weird. We went in. He looked at me like I had brought him to a gay bar. I ordered a hot chocolate, and the barista asked what he would like to drink. He replied, "Uh...coffee?" She asked what blend he would like. He said, "Uh...Folgers?" A legitimate question for a redneck in a coffee house.

I'm frustrated today. I'm sick of waiting around for my life to get 'back to normal'. I have all these dreams about me doing normal things that I enjoyed. In these dreams, I have my old feelings back, I have a different happiness, and I have no worries or frustrations or anger. I feel as if I'm being held back from having these things in my awake life. I don't know why or what purpose this serves to make me a better person. I don't feel better or relieved of any woes when I have these dreams. I have dreams that Steven is coming back. Its nice to think about him in my dreams, but I often wake disappointed unless I actually get to see him in that dream. Usually, he feels very removed but there is a hope and ofen an effort on my part to get him to come back (I text him, call him, or drive to where ever he is in that dream). I try with every minute of every day to do things that make me happy and that restore a sense of normalcy back in my life. I don't feel like I've been able to achieve that yet. Clearly, I'm impatient. I know that these things don't happen quickly or in 'my time.' I can't be convinced that I'm supposed to be suffering, and I still can't figure out why this is the way my life is supposed to be when I worked so hard to make things happy and balanced.

Aaaaand I'm back

One of my issues is that people simply don't understand. I hear a lot of "Just take it one day at a time." That's inaccurate. My life isn't something that comes naturally anymore. Before, I could go through my day being happy without much effort. I could go home and take care of my house, go grocery shopping, tend to my precious dog, and run errands without a second thought. I was in a routine that flowed very well in my life. My happiness was nearly effortless, because Steven made it that way. That doesn't happen anymore. I don't grocery shop hardly at all. I buy maybe a carton of milk and make sure I've got a few snacks and stuff for sandwiches. I have to depend on other people to help me take care of my dog to make sure she isn't lonely all day. Nothing in my life is effortless anymore. Every thought is carefully constructed, and every action is thoroughly planned. That is exhausting. I spend a great deal of time and energy deciding what the next right thing is, and then I put the same time and energy in to making it happen. One benefit of this process is that I'm slowly learning to trust myself. I no longer depend on others to make decisions for me. Therefore, I am less concerned with pleasing others and more concerned with pleasing myself.

Trust is an odd concept to process. The person I trusted for over 5 years is gone. Its just me. Here I am making decisions about my house, my life, and myself without his input. That's scary! Steven was smart, hardworking, and dedicated. I knew I didn't have to worry about bad decisions, because I trusted him. With his trust came a reassurance that life would be fulfilling, happy, and exciting together. Without his trust, I'm left wondering doubtfully about how fulfilling, happy, and exciting my life will really be. I still pray with nearly every thought I have that my life will be happy again. People tell me that the pain will eventually fade, or that there will eventually be an end in sight. I'm starting to realize that this doesn't stop. This tragedy will always be there. It doesn't go away with time, and I won't eventually stop asking questions. This is part of who I am, and it has made such a mark on my soul like a bad scar that will never go away. Listen. This doesn't go away. The grief may take a different face, and my outward appearance may lighten. This experience is such a part of me and the rest of my life that I find it near impossible to believe that there will be an end.

Faith and trust, in my experience, are not the same. Faith is an idea. Trust is a motion. For example, I have faith that my employer will not manipulate my bank account. I show that I trust them by providing them with my account information for the purposes of a direct deposit, and we sign a document indicating our mutual trust. Follow? I have faith that God and Steven have the answers. They know what's right for me, and God has a plan for me that has been carefully crafted to accentuate the best characteristics I have to offer the world. Where humans fail is in their interpretation of faith. Understand, I'm guilty as well. Our idea of God is so small and does him no justice. We are not capable of comprehending the beauty of God, heaven, and what our afterlife entails. We are also unable to understand that what God has planned is perfect (his definition of perfect, not ours). This is the area in which I especially fail. I can have all the faith in the world that God has a specific plan for me, but I am not at a point where I can trust him to execute this plan. There are no spoken words of reassurance, and there is nothing worldly that convinces me that I don't need that control. That's tough. God doesn't communicate on our level. There's no written plan we can look to to make our next decision. There's no phone call or email pointing the direction. He doesn't text, tweet, or update a facebook status. I see nothing and I hear nothing. My only solution is to speak when I can't hear and open my eyes when I can't see.

Where the sidewalk ends, you left a lot.

I still have good and bad days. More good than bad I think. What is really odd is what constitutes a good vs. bad day for me. A good day is when things feel real. I feel that I have control of the fact that Steven is not coming home. I am proactive, and my life feels organized. I am in control of my life and I feel confident about my ability to handle these challenges. I feel strong, and I feel confident in my ability to be independent and have control over my life and the decisions I make. On a bad day, nothing feels real. I find myself saying, "I can't believe this is my life," and "this feels like a complete nightmare." I also find myself not fully aware of reality. This is when I have urges to text or call Steven about odd things. For example, I recently had an urge to call him because I was feeling sad about him not being here with me. I think what frustrates me most is that these thoughts and urges are irrational. I understand why they happen, but it still frustrates me that I let those things happen. I'm not an irrational or illogical person, but this trick of the brain makes me feel like I'm losing my mind. Another negative emotion associated with a bad day is fear. My biggest fear as of late involves my future. I desperately want to feel and touch Steven again. The comfort of a shoulder to lie on and a little kiss while I make supper just isn't there. My fear is that I will become so desperate to feel that again that I'll just jump on any opportunity to make that happen. Terrified is actually a better word to describe that feeling. I've always been afraid of making mistakes, but this one is much bigger. I pray several times each day that God and Steven take care of this for me and help me to make good decisions, but I'm not able to let go of this completely. I guess the root of this is an underlying fear of ruining my life. I don't want to be the one that lost her husband and turned crazy (like in that song 'Cheyenne' by Garth Brooks). I would never intentionally ruin my life, but I fear that my clouded judgement won't allow me to make a good decision. Or, I fear that my clouded judgement will make a bad decision seem like a really good idea. This problem stems from the fact that things aren't happening fast enough for my brain. As I've stated before, my brain is absolutely dying to get back to its 'normal' routine of being a wife. Humans hate change. My brain hates that I'm not doing what I was good at. And I don't know how to cope with it, let alone fix it.

Baby Steps

For some reason, I was SO proud of myself for taking my own trash down the lane last night. It was no huge feat. Just two cans that I dragged down the lane after I got off work. I guess it made me feel very independent considering this was Steven's only household chore. Then I question why I'm so tickled to feel independent. I've always been that way since I was little. But for the last five years, I've never had to be independent. I was in many ways. However, Steven never put me in a position where I was forced to be so independent. That sparked the internal conversation about how different I am now. Really, I'm not all that different, but there are several things that have changed a little. I made a list (in no particular order of significance).

-I'm totally responsible for all decisions regarding my house and what I want to put in it. If I don't want 6 duck prints hanging in the living room, I can take them down! (They'll stay up for a little bit longer.)

-I have a whole bed to myself. That was an odd thing to adjust to this week. I deeply miss having an arm to hold on to and the elbow jabbing my ribs when I snore. Now, I have a huge pile of pillows and blankets to snuggle up with.

-I am responsible for my dog. I no longer have the safety net of Steven stopping by home between jobs to let her out and play with her. Luckily, I have plenty of people willing to give that cutie tons of attention!

-I haven't cooked a meal since 8/6/13. Again, I'm lucky to have my parents and my in-laws who are more than happy to feed me.

-Things are all around more quiet. I don't have the gun shop to fulfill my need for social interaction anymore. Steven isn't sitting in his recliner laughing his ass off at Duck Dynasty (although I can still hear it in my mind). His phone isn't ringing every 3 minutes during dinner. He isn't bolting out the door in a hurry to get something else done. When I'm in the car, he isn't singing (I miss that). I don't call him when I'm on my way home from work to see what he wants for supper.

-On a slightly positive note, I'm no longer worried about what vehicle may suddenly appear in the garage/driveway after an auction.

-I am responsible for making myself happy. I don't have a husband I can rely on to make me laugh when I've had a bad day. That's all on me, and I have to find a new way to make that happen.

Point: there is a whole piece of my life that just isn't there. I struggle with that, because I have no control over it. This isn't how I wanted my life to be, and this isn't what I had planned. I still can't figure out why this is how my life is supposed to be. Hi, my name is Kerrie, and I have no control over the hand that was dealt to me. What I can control (somewhat) is who I'm going to be. I found a quote on pinterest that says "She believed she could so she did." This is a rundown of who I wish to be.

-I will be independent. I will control the things I can and let go of the things I cannot.
-I will be happy. I will fill my life with people, places, and things that make me smile and make my heart feel full. I will accept these as positive things in my life without questioning them.
-I will ask for help. I will not let myself become unnecessarily stressed, and I will graciously accept help from those offering it out of genuine concern and support.
-I will accept the positive things in life without questioning their origin or doubting their alternative motives.
-I will set goals, and I will be wise enough to allow other people to help me achieve them.
-I will be a good person. I will let people in my life that help bring out that characteristic in me.
-I will love, because I know there is someone out there who deserves to have that part of me.
-I will be strong first and foremost for myself. I will also be strong for others by letting my life experiences be a pillar for those who feel the same/similar hurt as they struggle to figure out which way is up in their own life.
-I will not be the person that uses my experience as a crutch or an excuse for mistakes or poor decisions. I will not feel sorry for myself or accept special treatment. I am not fragile, I am strong. I will use it as an opportunity to grow as a person.
-I will make good decisions. I will learn from mistakes and use those mistakes as opportunities to make myself a better person.

Inked!

I got a tattoo last Thursday. It reads "Spirit of a Storm." How appropriate. You have two choices about how to respond to my tattoo: 1. Ignore it. 2. Comment on how good it looks and how I made a good decision. This goes along the lines of 'if I want to hear your opinion, I'll tell you what it is.' This is a list of inappropriate responses:

-Staring at it without making a comment. Take a picture, it will last longer.
-Asking me if tattoos are acceptable in my line of work. (I'm not dumb enough to risk my career for a tattoo...)
-Asking me if I was really ready to get a tattoo. Oh well, too late.
-Telling me what I should have gotten instead. Bad for your health.

My attitude lately has been a little weird, and I'm not sure I can describe it accurately. I'll certainly try. Grief is such a funky thing to feel! It is not a step by step process, rather a float-between mix of several emotions at one time. Thus far, I've been at one time angry-sad-depressed, angry-guilty-bargaining, and angry-happy-productive. There is no one feeling that occurs in a single moment. Its all mixed. In the last few days, I've felt a shift. There are still feelings of anger, guilt, sadness, and depression (minimal). However, I've adopted a new perspective. What I've been through at 23 years old must be God and Steven's way of letting me shine for the world. I'm special. Not many get to see this extent of love and support from family, and not a lot of people can say that they are thriving on their own at this age. I'm doing this (for the most part) by myself. That isn't to discount the tremendous help I've had to clean my house, feed me, and simply be with me for the support I so desperately needed. Look at me. I'm 23 years old, I own a wonderful house, I have a beautiful puppy, I have a great support system, I have a career, I have a new Jeep, and I've spent the last five years completely head over heels in love with someone who wanted nothing more out of life than to love me back and make me happy. Minus having children, I have lived what I consider a full life in 23 years. I had more in 23 years than some people have in 73 years. Now, I get to start it all over. I get to live a whole new life again. I get to do it all again! How special. I know I can't have the other life back (that's part of the accepting phase that I'm starting to very slowly feel). I'm letting go of things I can't control. What I can control is how I make this reality in to my own new feeling of happiness. I'm not 'moving on' or 'getting over it'. I'm 'going with it'. I'm continuing to move in ways that 1 month ago I never thought possible. I'm progressing and controlling the things that I can. I have a new appreciation for how unique people are. I may never understand why this is my reality or why this happened to me, but I can't control that. What I can control is how I respond to it, and how I respond to it is going to make me a better person.

Quote of today: "Its easy to say 'God needed another angel' when he didn't ask for yours back." It's so easy to scream back "No, he didn't. He was perfectly fine here with me where we had an amazing life together. What good is he in heaven when I need him so badly here." Stating that God has another angel or he's with God now does little to console grief. Its not good enough. My human mind is not capable of understanding Godly matters (hence, the concept of faith). I haven't made it to the part of healing where I can accept that he's happy elsewhere. It's like a slap in the face to me. Trying to convince me that someone is better off with God than here with me does nothing to console me.

Its weird to watch grief from the outside when experiencing it inside. As I watch a community grieve over a devastating murder of a young child, I can't help but get frustrated every time I open my facebook. First, a public media site is the last place to discuss your version of your neighbor's version of their friend's version of the story. I believe everyone has a right to their own opinion, but their choice of expression is doing far more harm than good. I'm also impressed with how much of the county has suddenly, overnight acquired a degree in law or 20 years experience in law enforcement. Its also fascinating how many people tell the story as if they were a fly on the wall of the victim's home. When I look out in to the social media world, I see a misled population that thinks they know the first thing about death, grief, investigations, and mourning. That's frustrating for me. I agree that this story deserves attention, but plastering theories and strange news articles is not appropriate. If you knew anything about how horrible rumors feel, you may think twice about what you entertain. If you knew anything about how awful it is to be in public and have people stare at you as if to say 'that's the girl that lost her husband', maybe you'd think twice. If you had any idea what it felt like to suddenly be 'that person' that no one knew a week earlier, you'd think twice. I'm beyond frustrated with the ignorance.

Psalm 23:4

"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil."

This is exactly how I am trying to feel about today. I had an unfortunate encounter with a suit-and-tie-asshole today who had no reservations about flexing his government muscles in my face regarding, of all things, substance abuse client files. However insignificant his professional and opinionated 'findings', he was sure to inform me that I have much to learn, and that although my mistakes may be innocent, they are still incorrect practice. Thanks for the trigger, asshole.

But then that asshole got me thinking. He doesn't know me. He doesn't know that I'm determined and I love my job. I'm a number to him. He shows up in his see-through dress shirt, cheesy tie, and earring as if to say "I have a doctorate and get paid to be an asshole. Step aside, and let me show you how its done!" Just doing his job, right? The memorial mass for those recently departed was tonight at the hospital chapel. I want to share the first reading.

The souls of the just are in the hand of God, and no torment shall touch them.
They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead; and their passing away was thought an affliction and their going forth from us, utter destruction.
But they are in peace.
For if before men, indeed, they be punished, yet is their hope full of immortality;
Chastised a little, they shall be greatly blessed, because God tried them and found the worthy of himself.
As gold in the furnace, he proved them, and as sacrificial offerings he took them to himself.
In the time of their visitation they shall shine, and shall dart about as sparks through stubble;
They shall judge nations and rule over peoples, and the Lord shall be their King forever.
Those who trust in him shall understand truth, and the faithful shall abide with him in love:
Because grace and mercy are with his holy ones, and his care is with his elect.

Steven was tested. He was tried in the face of hell as he stared directly in to the eyes of a human demon, and God found him worthy. Steven 'did his time', if you will. That leaves me here still walking through the fire every day. I won't say I'm never afraid. In fact, I'm scared every day. But that doesn't mean I don't try.

A spoonful of sugar...

So I thought I needed medication. This is only because I was having such a difficult time regulating my emotions. I understand that this is normal for the circumstances, but it was driving me batty. One hour I'd be on top of the world and ready to take on anything life threw my way. The next hour, it would be a challenge to get up out of a chair. I just wanted to zone out and watch the world fly by without a single care. I was tired of going up and down and up and down all the time. And I wanted off of the Xanax. I tried Prozac this week. The lowest dose possible. I quit taking that today. Tired doesn't really describe the feeling, and neither does depressed. I was just blank since about Wednesday. I didn't feel like going to my house or talking to anyone or blogging or working. I was sitting in sessions with clients and had to make a huge effort to appear to be listening to them. Bad news.

Today I'm feeling much much better. I was productive at my house today. I sorted through all of the mail I had sitting in my kitchen, watered my flowers, cleaned up clutter (loose screws, misc ammo, pocket knives, pens, etc.), and decorated. I went to Menards and bought a few fall decorations to put on my front door and in my flower garden. I don't even care if Steven doesn't like them or thinks they are stupid. I also bought shutters for the house. My volunteer pumpkin is HUGE. Dad counted about 10 tiny little pumpkins growing on it. I'm so glad Steven didn't dig it up and kill it like he said he was going to do. Dad cleaned up some of my garage and put together my little porch table. I spray painted it hunter green to match the house. He also put up my smoke detectors that I bought Steven for his birthday back in January. Mitch and Shawn came over with their women. They put themselves to work cleaning out the cabin. No joke, they used a broom and everything!

I got in my Jeep to leave, and "When Will I Be Loved" came on the radio. I can't get that thought out of my mind. I can't be alone forever. I have no desire to love anyone else. I have no desire to date anyone else. However, I can't shake the feeling/desire to feel that love again. I almost feel guilty for feeling that way, but I know I shouldn't. I just don't understand how this is going to work. It scares me. Honestly, I don't think I'm scared of anything else really. I'm only scared by the fact that I now have no idea what the rest of my life is going to be like. I understand that a lot of people feel this way every day, but I did have it figured out. At least the important things. I knew who I'd be with, I knew where I was living, I knew our careers, and a rough plan to have children a few years down the road (again, I'm not pregnant like the rumors are still suggesting...). Now, I have no idea. This doesn't sit well with a control freak like me. This scares the shit out of me.

I had a dream the other night that Steven was in the Effingham Co Jail instead of being dead. When I learned this, I headed straight for the jail and ran in to an acquaintance. I asked if I could see Steven. He said, "Oh, he's not here. He's doing work release. He drives to Memphis everyday to look for work." (Work release, in real life, doesn't work like that...but hey, its a dream). I asked when he would be back, and this person indicated that Steven didn't really want to be found. Almost like he just wanted to fly under the radar and disappear instead of being with me.

In my group at work last Thursday, we processed a moral dilemma exercise involving a man who couldn't get enough money for the live saving remedy his wife so desperately needed. We discussed stealing the remedy, stealing money, whether he loved his wife or not (and if that mattered...), what kind of consequence he would suffer should he be caught stealing, and whether he would be responsible for his wife's death should he decide not to obtain the remedy illegally. This is an interesting dilemma to process while grieving. I was shocked to hear that many people in this group were not willing to spend more than about 3 weeks in jail if it meant their loved one would survive. Granted, this is a hypothetical situation, but it just got me thinking of all the things I would do or not do to have Steven here even for just a few more minutes. I'd do some crazy shit, but I know he's happy. He finds a way to tell me that every day.

Out Of The Darkness- AFSP Fundraiser Walk

On Saturday September 28th, Heartland Human Services (where I work) will be holding their annual community walk to raise awareness for suicide prevention. We are fundraising for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP). This organization promotes research in drug and alcohol use related to suicide risk, youth prevention campaigns, research in genetic, biological and behavior factors that may contribute to suicide risk, and (my favorite) resources and support for suicide survivors (healing conferences, books, webinars, etc.).

In the beginning of my journey, I was overwhelmed with the volume of people wanting to help. Here's your chance. Please show up to the Effingham Community Park on 9/28 at 9am with a donation to register to walk. This is not a big 5K or a race. It is simply a community gathering to walk in memory of those lost and to walk in support of those left behind.

Another way to show your support is to purchase a memorial sign. These signs will be displayed along the park's path. Signs are $15. You can request any message be written on the sign ("In memory of...", "Donated by....", etc). After the walk, you are free to take your sign with you. If you wish to purchase a sign, get in touch with me. All proceeds from the sale of these signs goes toward meeting our AFSP fundraising goal. If interested, I have a breakdown of how the AFSP uses these funds to support their mission.

This walk is important to me. I volunteered to be on this committee before I knew how much I would be impacted. Please come show your support for this community so deeply impacted by those lost to suicide. You don't even have to walk if you're feeling lazy. A donation will suffice :) I will be there walking, and I hope to see my support system there with me!

If you need more information about the walk, donating, or purchasing a sign, you can call me at 217-821-8398 or Heartland Human Services at 217-347-7179. Thanks!!

Red Rock and Lane Frost were two of a kind.

This song is called "Red Rock" by Smokin' Armadillos. I know I've made a lot of references to the movie 8 Seconds and Lane Frost, but I can't help but see so many similarities between Steven's battle and Lane's battle with Red Rock. Call it cheesy or cliche', but I think this is Steven's way of helping me understand right here and right now. Soon enough, it will be my turn to go up against Red Rock.

A few years back in an unknown place.

A little bull was born with a dark red face.

In a pen he was gentle,

But in the chute...a buckin' machine.

Mind over matter keeps you on for eight,

But it doesn't matter when they open that gate.

For this living explosion with the dark red shell,

He'll give you a ride...through hell!

Now every few years a man comes along,

He knows what he's doing and won't do it wrong.

He'll conquer the odds, he'll pass the test,

Above and beyond...higher than the rest.

So what do ya do, when you've done it all.

You've climbed every mountain and jumped every wall.

Well the chance comes along like a great big feast.

The chance for the hero...to ride the red beast.

(chorus)

They said he can be beat, he's just one of the rest,

But he couldn't be tamed, cause he gave 'em his best.

He's ready to go so don't be a fool,

He jumps like a rabbit and kicks like a mule.

He's quicker than a quarter horse, aggressive as a hawk,

This mountain of muscle...Red Rock.

There were seven tough battles between the two gods,

And everyone thought the bull had the odds,

But the man had heart, and red finally lost,

Four, eight second rides to the mighty Lane Frost.

Now both of them retired in their own special way,

But they'll both be remembered every single day.

They had desire to win and the hearts to try,

Red Rock and Lane Frost...were two of a kind.

I'm grieving as fast as I can!

Ok, I stole the title of this post from a book I saw online while googling grief support. It's not my original idea, but I feel like its something I would have come up with. And how true it is. In my brain's never-ending struggle to get through this 'as fast as I can', I get frustrated. Lately, its been magnified by the fact that I'm sick and droopy. I haven't felt well enough to hop in my Jeep and change scenery when I feel restless. I haven't felt well enough to go chill at my house, water my flowers, or visit with a few friends. I've been stuck even more so with this stupid head cold.

I've posted a lot about the brain, but this is how I understand things. My brain is uncomfortable, to put it lightly. It hates all of these negative stimuli, so its trying to rid of them. And its pissing me off. My brain says, "You don't have a husband now. That doesn't feel right at all! Find another one." My heart says, "What the f*** is your problem? Sure I want my husband back, but not just any husband. That's not the way the world works, brain. You're wrong." The brain fights back, "But this is what you know how to do. You know how to be a wife, and you're damn good at it. Find that husband!" My heart yells back, "I'M GRIEVING AS FAST AS I CAN!" My brain is in true survival mode as it tries to get me back to the awesome cooking, cleaning, and loving wife I once was. Thanks brain, but you're not helping.

My heart knows how big my love is for Steven. I struggle daily with the fact that there will eventually be someone else to fill that role. They will not be a replacement for the love I have for Steven, but there will be someone who fills the role of husband in my life. Its certainly not going to be soon, but I just feel that this is the truth. Steven would want that for me. He so enjoyed taking care of me and providing for me. I have faith that he will send me someone to fill that role again. However, my heart is conflicted with this one (shocker...). He set the bar really high. He knew that too. I told him several times that I'd rather fight with him than flirt with anyone else. So many things I love about Steven were so unique to his character that I find it hard to believe that I could see that again in someone else. Only Steven knows my taste (although he always claimed I had poor taste marrying him). So, I've been praying that at the right time in my life he will send me someone who can fill that role for me and pick up where he left off. Someone with which I can share the greatest parts about me. That's not right now, but its going to happen at some point. I also know that when it does happen, it will be too soon for some people and not soon enough for others. To those people, I say 'screw you'.

I've been staying at my parents' house. This has been a huge blessing, and it really works out well. Someone is always here, and Cheyenne doesn't have to stay by herself all day. Lord knows she loves that attention. The only thing wrong with this is the fact that I'm not home. I want so badly to be back home, but I think this is one of my brain's tricks. My brain wants me to be back home, because that's where I was the best version of myself. There, I was that wife who cooked, cleaned, and did laundry. I'm being very cautious about moving back home, because I know that this is just a brain trick to get me to be back in that wife role I was so good at. Again, nice try brain but I'm not falling for that just yet.

Yuck

I'm sick. It never fails. Anytime I get a severe allergy attack, it turns in to a head cold. Added to that, the last four weeks have been taxing on me both physically and emotionally. I'm drained. But that isn't stopping anything. Like I've discussed before, the world is still going on. There's no stopping just because I'm grieving or because my head feels like a hot air balloon. Nope, no one is waiting on me. Damn it.

It's labor day. A day to celebrate and thank the hard workers out there who spend their days making a living for those they love. I assure you that Steven would have been working today. He worked the day after our wedding while I was still in bed sleeping off the hangover. He tried selling guns on our honeymoon to a couple from St. Louis. He worked on Christmas Eve (don't get me started). That was his life. He worked ALL THE TIME. I feel that right now he's probably making some improvements to the pearly gates, or talking God in to building on to heaven. Maybe he's selling guns to old war veterans. Maybe he's living in a hut on a beach with a tiny shitty boat with long hair and a long beard chilling to Kenny Chesney music and making tiki jewelry. What ever he's doing, I'm sure he's busy, and I'm sure he's the best at it.

A puss in love.

Steven was way hotter than Lane and Tough, and he could do this dance like it was his job. This video makes me want to bawl my eyes out. I wanted to watch this movie the night before Steven died, but he said no (this is one of his absolute favorite movies). I think its because Lane dies.

"OMG I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN FOREVER!"

I've written a lot about how amazing my husband was. What I have neglected to mention is that I'm pretty amazing myself. This is why we made a dynamic couple. I've worked full time since I was 16. Ok, no big deal. I continued to work all the way through college, saved my money, spent wisely, and made good decisions. I graduated college without debt. Steven drove me to my graduation at EIU. I remember going up in his silver truck and changing my clothes in the parking lot. I also remember him texting me from the bleachers as we sat and listened to those boring speakers talk about how to be successful (we already knew how, so we didn't really care what they had to say).

My 5 year class reunion is tonight. I have a hard time summarizing my last five years. I graduated college without debt, I landed my dream job within 3 months of graduating, and I got married. I watched a business grow from the ground up, I learned how to be an adult, and we built a house. I remember talking to Steven about going to the class reunion, a subject I approached carefully. I had to make it sound like his idea and convince him that he would get something out of it. His only response was, "I'm not payin no fucking $13 a plate for Niemergs. We'll go out to eat before we go." Then, he thought for a good hour about ways to make me look good at the reunion. What vehicle should we arrive in? Maybe we could borrow an escalade from Northside! I suggested taking the big green jeep (if you haven't seen it, it looks pretty badass). He was also sold on the fact that its a BYOB event. Then he had to decide which bottle of liquor to take. It couldn't just be any old bottle of whiskey or any old brand of beer. No, it had to be something high dollar and classy! I tried to ground him in reality, but he insisted that his goal was to impress everybody and make me look like the best, most successful person at the reunion. Steven took an otherwise annoying event and turned it in to an opportunity to show off how proud he was of me.

Now, I'm going to this reunion as a widow. But I'm still not payin no $13 for a plate of Niemergs.

They say she just went crazy screamin' out his name.

With all the insane rumors floating around, I can't help but get angry. I'm not going in to detail about them, because I feel that would only promote the idea. All I can say is that if you didn't hear it from me, its probably not true. My husband is dead. My husband was a hard-working, honest, and wonderful person. If what you heard doesn't fit what I just said, then it isn't true.

My most immediate fear is facing the stigma of a suicide survivor. What do people think of those left behind? Granted, most of my fears are irrational but that is the brain's way of protecting us and preparing us to handle a reality. Here's my list of fears along with how I am rationalizing them.

1. People think I missed something or didn't do enough.

I've already covered it, but it will do myself good to cover it again since I'm still being asked the same question. There was nothing odd or off about Steven that morning. I saw no red flags. Nothing about that morning said to me "I'm going to commit suicide today." Period. What do people expect me to say?? "Ya, I totally saw this coming but I decided to just sweep it under the rug and ignore it." You're dumb. The night before, I picked up a pizza for supper, I made him a bowl of ice cream, I cuddled with him in bed, and I told him I was so glad to have him home. What more was I supposed to do?

2. People think I wasn't worth it for him to stay here.

False. Actually, this is the complete opposite of the truth. He did this to protect me and his family. I don't know from what or why, but he did this so I wouldn't have to suffer what he was already suffering. He did this so I wouldn't worry. Flawed, yes. But so much of this scenario is wrong and confusing that its hard to separate what was logical and what was 'messed up' in his head.

3. People are walking on egg shells around me.

Stop. I can't go in public without at least one person giving me a quick glance that says 'there's that girl' or 'that's the one we were talking about'. Naturally people are concerned, but this goes beyond concerned. This is almost a behind-the-back maneuver. I walked in to Walmart to pick up some hair mousse, and I couldn't walk out without someone staring at me. I can't do anything 'normal'.

4. People think I'm suicidal.

False. However, I need people to understand the difference between wanting to die and wanting to be with Steven. I don't want to die. I'm afraid of death. If I die, then I have no control over what is happening. That's an issue for me. But I do long to be with Steven, to hear Steven, and to feel Steven. That is no longer possible. In this same category, people assume that I'm depressed/crying/upset at all times. It makes me sad that some people can't accept my genuine laughter or smile without questioning whether I'm just putting up a front. Trust me. I'm an open book. I couldn't fake it if I tried.

5. People think I have all the answers.

This kind of goes with #1. I should have known my husband better. I should have been able to read him. I should have been able to tell he as struggling or upset. As I've stated in a previous post, Steven bullshit for a living. He made money by manipulating people in to believing something he told them was true. He was an expert at what he did. Trust me, if I would have known any of this was happening, I would have given an arm to keep him here and not left him alone that day. But we all know he would have convinced me somehow to leave the house. His mind was set. If I lived my days in the 'coulda woulda shoulda' state of mind, I wouldn't have started this blog. I wouldn't be figuring out a new way to live my life. I would be stuck in one spot still trying to blame myself and feeling guilty. That's where things get dangerous.

Miss Cheyenne

On a random Saturday afternoon while getting a pedicure with friends, Steven texted me to say he had found an ad in the paper for puppies. He called them and told them we would be over that evening to look. The man said, "Well, the puppies in the ad are all gone. ...But we do have one left. We aren't sure we want to sell her, because her markings are like none we've ever seen, and we might want to breed her." Steven, true to character, pitched them an idea: "Well, can we come by and see her? Then when we get there, we can decide if you really want to get rid of her or not." And we were off.

Long story short, they put the dog in my lap, she licked my face, and she fell asleep. We had to pay extra for her, but I didn't care. Neither did Steven. He was always happy to give me anything I wanted (not that I ever asked for much...). Steven pretended to not like Cheyenne. He called her 'lucifer' or 'lucy' for short. However, there were several times I'd call his phone needing help removing her ticks and he would make a special trip home. He took her on her first trip to the vet, and she rode on his shoulder the whole way to town. When he made steaks on the grill, he'd make sure Cheyenne got to be outside with him sniffing around the grill. She got to ride in the big green jeep before I did. She loved riding on the lawn mower with him sitting under his legs. Every night, she sat on the back of the couch waiting to hear his truck pull down the lane. When she saw/heard him coming, she'd jump off and put her nose to the garage door waiting for him to walk in.

At some point during my 5hr driving escapade on 8/9, I stopped by my house to see if there was anything missing (a change of clothes, passports, etc.). The only thing changed from when I left that morning was a few half-eaten dog treats on the floor. After I left that morning, and before he left, he took time to play with Cheyenne. I don't know how long he played with her, but various toys on the floor suggest it was more than a few tosses of her ball. I don't know why that means so much to me, but it crosses my mind a lot.

The first time I took Cheyenne back to my house, she rushed in the door with her nose to the floor. She sniffed all the way through the living room, on to his recliner, in to 'her' bathroom, in to my bedroom, in to his shower (her favorite place to visit in the morning), and on to the bed. There, she sniffed until she found his pillows and blanket and laid down. I couldn't get her to move for several minutes. Finally, we shifted to the living room. I took the recliner, and she took her usual post atop the couch gazing out the window. I was heartbroken. She perked up at the sound of any vehicle driving down the road (although she could always tell if it was Steven's truck coming down the lane by the sound). When it wasn't his truck or bike, she'd plop her head down again.

We entered her picture in to the photo contest at the fair. She won one of the first place ribbons.  He was so freakin proud of that. He told everybody. Steven always won or was the best at what ever he did. It only made sense that he also had the perfect dog (even when he called her Lucifer). She's always been very protective of me. Any time Steven came to give me a hug or leaned down to kiss me, she'd bolt between us trying to figure out what was going on. I don't know if its because she wanted attention or because she didn't want to share me. Right now, she's sleeping between/on my feet. Look at how BEAUTIFUL this dog is.

Sorry, wrong widow.

It has always boggled my mind how much people bitch about what they have. I'm complete guilty of bitching, but I've never been ungrateful. I'll bitch about being on crisis call, or having to buy a new mirror for my vehicle, or when my dog shreds a box of kleenexs on my carpet. Never have I ever bitched about my life. Even now, after all of this nonsense and nightmare, I'm still tickled that I've had this life with him for 5 years. I was thinking about guilt and regret today. There's a lot of cliches floating among the grieving community: "I wish I would have said 'I Love You' more often." "I wish I could have told them how I felt." "I wish I could go back and change xyz about our relationship." "I wish I would have showed him more love." Nope. Not this kid.

I'm not guilty of any of those. I told him every day that I loved him. Always in the morning, sometimes at 2:37pm just because. Always during Monday morning staff meeting at work. Sometimes in a facebook message. Sometimes I wrote it on the refrigerator. I always told him that I was happy and that it was because of him. I always told him that I couldn't wait to come home that evening so I could cook supper. I always told him that I couldn't wait for him to come home just so I could see him. Hell, I spent my evenings in a gun shop being ignored by 90% of the customers just so I could have that time with him. I made sure that he knew his efforts to please me didn't go unnoticed. He was so proud to make me happy, and I was glad to let him because I knew that is what made him tick. Every night when he came home, he greeted me with, "How was my beautiful wife's day?" or "What did my beautiful wife cook me for supper?" Knowing that I was so happy all of the time (no joke, we were always happy together) is what made him proud to be Steven Habing. We dressed up like pirates to go to Buffett Bash together, and I covered this guy in temp tattoos and made him wear a fake earring and an eye patch. Why? Because it made me "happy happy happy!!"

Several different realities.

I'm a logical person. In every situation I encounter, I perceive the problem as a puzzle. I gather the pieces I need to put together in order to make a whole picture that makes sense. Its my 8-5 job. Unfortunately, this is something my brain is having a hard time handling as well. My brain already has pieces about me  from my past. They included Steven, our marriage, our plans for the future, and our life together. That puzzle was already growing pre-8/9/13. My brain had a good grasp on what pieces it needed in order to complete or grow the puzzle. Reality is throwing new puzzle pieces at my brain, and none of them fit the puzzle its already started. So, in order to make sense of this, its starting a separate puzzle.

This may not seem like such a big deal. Consider this. If my life is supposed to be one big flowing, growing puzzle, then why are there two puzzles going? My brain can't handle these and doesn't know how to put these two puzzles together. In a sense, I'm shifting constantly between two different schools of thought. I can't exist in both of these 'worlds' at the same time. I long to stay with the past where my puzzle was growing (you know, the brain doesn't like change. we are creatures of habit). However, my reality is making decisions about my future. The brain wants to complete the other puzzle before starting a new one, and that just isn't possible.

I think eventually the puzzles in my mind will settle their differences and merge for the good of all involved. Compare this to the twix commercial where they try to initiate a merger between the left twix and the right twix. Clearly, both sides are better off together. Neither is willing to settle, so they are stuck in two separate factories. Its a constant battle in my mind as my thoughts try to filter in to the right categories. Eventually, the puzzles will have to merge for me to move forward with my life. That isn't today, and it probably won't be tomorrow.

Signs

On my way back to work on my lunch hour, I was having a hard time communicating. It bothers me that I can't shoot Steven a text over lunch to see how his work is going. I thought 'This is driving me crazy that I can't talk to you like I used to. I wish you could talk to me.' At the end of my thought, the song changed on the radio. Cue Conway.

Nerd alert.

The brain is a fantastic mechanism that works to protect us. For example, in a car accident that results in traumatic brain injury, the brain will block out the memory of the accident and often hours before. This allows our body to focus on the biological need to heal instead of the emotional questions of "what if". I don't remember the last thing I said to Steven. I just remember leaving the house. The only specific words I remember from that morning were in bed. We took time to lie in bed awake instead of rushing the morning. He asked me how I slept, and I said, "Good. I'm just really happy you're here with me," and he said, "I'm really happy too." I think that's all I'm supposed to remember. It helps keep the feelings of guilt and regret at bay. Because I don't remember what was said, its hard for me to question whether I could have picked up on a little signal or phrase. I'm also comforted by the fact that that morning seemed so insignificant to me that my brain didn't find it important to remember. Again, no guilt or regrets because my brain would have remembered something so significant (its trained to do that).

A problem I'm having with the brain is that it tries to sort and make sense of the stimuli it receives. It puts information in to categories (schema) based upon previous experiences (example: when I smell chocolate chip cookies, I think of my mom baking in her kitchen). This is necessary for survival. Without the defense mechanism, we would spend our days relearning how to take a shower, brush teeth, and get dressed. The problem I have is that my brain has no place to put all of this experience because its so new and unique. My brain is trying to filter this experience and put this information in to categories, but there is no category. I have no schema built for "widow". My brain is having to create a whole new schema while simultaneously trying to process and sort the information that doesn't have anywhere to go. Confusing? Yup.

Are you lonely like I'm lonely?

Good thing I packed my angry eyes. I'm just pissed today. I woke up (WIDE AWAKE) in an allergy sneezing fit at 2am, so I got up to take something for it. Then, at 4am I woke up again with a massive charlie horse in my calf. It lasted for a good 20 minutes off and on. I cried and cried. On top of that, it was a reminder that I no longer have that security of someone lying next to me to help me stretch out a charlie horse or to get me some allergy pills when I can't stop sneezing or to look out the window and see what the bump outside was. That pisses me off. I almost feel as if I have the right to have someone there with me. I was dedicated to being a wife. Why should I be suffering? I didn't do anything wrong. Neither did he.

I don't have hobbies or many friends that I go out with. I'm not a loner, but the last 5 years have been pretty unique. 2008-2012 I was in college and working full time so I could graduate college without a student loan (Steven told me very early on that he would never marry someone with a ton of school debt). When I wasn't working or studying, I was with Steven. My 21st birthday was no big feat. Steven took me to a few bars. That was it. He was so proud of me when I graduated. After that, we were in the middle of planning a wedding.  That became my hobby. Then the wedding. Then the wedding aftermath (cards, decorations, sorting, etc). Then it was just us. I never wanted for anything, and I never had to worry about anything. He took care of me, and I made sure he was happy doing it. That was our life. I had no need for a hobby or a 'getaway' from him for a weekend. I suppose my hobby was tagging along to Menards at 8pm, cooking, cleaning, and just being a wife. Now I'm stuck. I don't have that hobby of being a wife anymore. I work, this is true. Now I feel like I don't have my escape from work life. I feel completely robbed of my life. Not only is Steven not here, but I feel like a completely different person without him. Its a horrible feeling. I feel like I have nothing to talk about anymore. It was always a funny story about the weekend, or a comment he had made about my cooking, or some grand plan he had to make more money. I don't have him to do those things anymore. I feel blank and boring.

Who picks out their own cemetery plot at 23 years old? This gal. Within 24 hours of learning that I'm a widow, I was already having to make decisions about my future. How messed up is that? Not only had I hardly accepted the fact that my husband was dead, I now had be realistic about the fact that I may remarry. Where would I be buried? Next to Steven? Between Steven and a potential future spouse? What if I have kids? What if I don't remarry but don't buy a plot for myself? Which cemetery should I pick? Is that where I would want to be? What if a future spouse has family plots? Do I even get to choose where I am laid to rest?

In this moment, I am angry with Steven for not letting me be his wife and help him with what ever he felt he couldn't handle. I am angry with Steven for believing that leaving me and his family was the answer. I am angry that Steven's thinking was so flawed and tainted that he believed this to be the only way to protect me and his family. I'm angry. What you gonna do about it?

These are my angry eyes!

Remember the movie Toy Story? There's a scene when Mrs. Potato Head is packing up body parts for Mr. Potato Head to take on a trip. She says something to the affect of "...and I'm packing your angry eyes just in case." That is how my brain is sorting out the plethora of emotions I experience in any given minute. Sometimes I have a lot of control over what emotion I want to 'put on' and other times the angry eyes just come out on their own. I don't mean to sound like I'm hiding or being insincere about the emotions, or that I'm hiding behind a fake smile. I just have that control over which ones I'm comfortable experiencing in that minute. The song I posted is my angry song lately. Its for when I'm angry at Steven for making the flawed decision to leave me.

Steven never lets me stay angry for long. Even when he was alive, I would get so mad at him because he wouldn't just let me be angry. He's still doing it now. Something always happens. For example, I had a very deep and detailed conversation with a friend. I was feeling uncomfortable, angry, and unsure. I got in my Jeep to drive away, and immediately when I started the car the song "The Ride" by David Allan Coe came on (Steven's favorite song). It was almost in sync with me starting my vehicle. In the last weeks, I don't think I've ever heard this song so many times on the radio. I heard it again tonight while talking to him. I was getting angry and frustrated. Seconds later, The Ride came on. I smiled ear to ear and "cranked that shit up". It was embarrassing how loud I was singing. Listen!

Part of my anger comes from the fact that I was deceived. If you know me at all, you know that this pisses me off in any situation. I don't like to be mislead or made to look stupid. That's the feeling I get when people ask me, "Did you notice anything different?" or "Did he give you any kind of sign that he was upset?" The answer is simply no. I had no indication, forewarning, or even and inkling. He hid these things from me so I wouldn't worry. HELLO?! The man bullshits for a living. He made an art out of it, and good money (see previous post). I can see him at the pearly gates giving St. Peter his sales pitch about why he should let him in.

I've been warning people about the 'anger'. Maybe I'm trying to say 'heads up. I'm going to be a bitch here directly.' Maybe I'm trying to warn them about their own emotions. My anger isn't always directed toward Steven or this unique situation. Sometimes, its directed toward the world. For 2.5 weeks, my world was at a standstill. I had no concept of time or day, only medication (sleeping) and no medication (awake). When I returned to work, it was almost shocking to see that those around me were in their normal routine. I think I was jealous. Why was everyone happy? I couldn't figure it out. Added to that, my 'normal old routine' of getting up and getting ready for work was already different that morning. That made me angry. Then I realized that not only was everyone 'normal' that day, they had been 'normal' for the last 2.5 weeks. I was angry. How could they? Why am I struggling still while everyone else goes about their day? Why can't I just have my normal work day back?

I suppose its time to settle some rumors. Listen carefully, and spread the word (Lord knows people are good at that). I am not repeating myself. I'm not pregnant nor was I ever pregnant. Pretty simple right? I thought so, until I started hearing this whisper of a rumor. Funny how no one but my dad thought to ask me personally. Added to that, I've got special words for the next person who thinks a negative thought or speaks a negative word about my husband. If you don't know what the hell you are talking about, keep your trap shut.

To medicate, or not to medicate. That is my question.

I have a serious issue with the idea of using medication as a crutch. Those that know me best know that I don't even keep tylenol in my purse for emergencies. I will literally wait until a headache turns to a migraine before thinking 'hmm maybe I should do something about this?' Its one of my faults. So on the evening of 8/9/13, the sheriff whispered to my dad (but not soft enough), "You should consider calling the doctor to get her something. She will need something to help her sleep." I don't know if it was because of the denial or just my stubbornness, but I remember looking at him through swollen bloodshot eyes thinking how crazy he was for suggesting that I medicate myself in order to cope with this. There were a few reasons. 1. I counsel people who use this excuse on a daily basis. For example, "I saw a balloon today. Can I see the psychiatrist? I think I need medication." 2. I'm proud (another fault). I'm strong enough to handle this without my judgement being clouded by some weird medication. 3. How does he know what I need? I have every right to be up crying for days if I choose to do so. That brings me to my first lesson I wish to add to my personal grief how-to manual. Let people give. It is not weak. It is not shameful. It is not humiliating.

When talking to my boss (who has experience coping with his own version of tragedy), the first thing he told me is to let people help. I remember thinking, 'I don't want people trying to clean my house,' 'I don't want people trying to take care of me,' 'I don't want people trying to help me 'move forward'. Again with the pride and stubbornness. Now I understand his advice in a different way: let people give. I was being selfish about my grieving (but I don't feel bad about it). Other people are grieving, and those people care about me. In our German-American culture here in the Effingham area, that means a lot of food. A lot of food here means a lot of love (look at the Lohman Christmas...). When I stopped to think about why people were coming out of the woodwork with flowers, food, gifts, money, cards, etc., I realized that this is their healing. I'm admitting that for a time, I became frustrated. Not with a single person but with people in general. I was frustrated that not only is my husband dead, but now I have a house full of shit that I can't take care of, a fridge full of food that is going to go bad, and a phone that won't stop ringing. I was frustrated that people were telling me every cliche' in the book. Using my logical thinking, I stepped back to look at the true meaning behind these actions. Food says: "Please take care of yourself. Let us help you take care of yourself." Flowers/plants say: "Please don't feel lonely. Look at this beauty that I'm trying to restore to your life." Cards say: "I don't know the right words or the right time, but I want to support you." Text/phone call says: "I'm struggling. Please let me know how you are so my own mind can have some peace." A cliche' says: "I have no idea what else to say, but I wanted to be here with something to say. Saying nothing was uncomfortable." Grief has many faces. If I don't let people give, their own grief journey won't be right.

Another interesting point shared by my supervisor, is that there is no how-to manual for how I'm supposed to react at any given moment. Sometimes I'm crying because I'm by myself. Sometimes I'm crying because I'm around people. Sometimes I'm pissed because I don't want to make any more decisions. Sometimes I'm pissed because I've run out of decisions to make. This confused me until he pointed out that no one is telling me that there's something wrong with how I'm reacting, but they have a difficult time matching my actions with my emotions. People get concerned that I'm not crying at any given moment, but then they are concerned when I start crying. Note to self: I can't please anybody, so I'm doing what I want, when I want it, and how I want to.

Even within the first 24 hours, I was frustrated because things weren't happening fast enough. I didn't have any answers, there were no plans made, and I was downright confused. No one, despite honorable efforts, was changing that about me. The first decision I remember making was to insist that John Monnet did the funeral. Steven would not be comfortable with a Catholic ceremony, and he was not involved with his family's church. John could tell the story. I prayed a lot. I knew there was no one else on the planet that could have satisfied. We met up just before the visitation to discuss a few details. He told me that he had been listening to a Kenny Chesney CD for the last several days and wanted to OK a song with me. He planned to use it as the theme for his sermon. I posted the link with this entry. Give it a listen. If I didn't let John give, I would not have this song practically memorized and playing over and over again in my mind when I have a difficult moment. I think I'm deeming this my theme song. I even named this blog after it! It carries so many meanings that are applicable to what I have already battled, what I am currently battling, and what my life will be when I continue to live with this battle. I am a storm when I'm upset. I'm a storm when I'm confused. I'm a storm when I'm feeling alone. But...I'm also a storm when I'm fighting, when I'm winning, and when I'm living.

Steven in a small, complicated nutshell.

Understanding where I am means understanding how I got here. I've never had to be an adult without Steven. We met when I was 18. This doesn't mean to say that I was not mature; I've always been mature for my age. Ask my mother. In all technical aspects, my adult life has developed with Steven. As I've stated, he accomplished everything he set out to do. Starting his own business, being the best in his business, being well-known and respected in the community, and making me happy. He never failed. To describe the extent of his success, let me state that we couldn't go anywhere in town without running in to at least three people he knew or did business with. Everyone knew my husband, and everyone respected my husband. The 600+ people that attended the visitation is a great testament to that fact. He was strong-willed. If his mind was made up, there was little anyone could say or do to change it. In the end, I feel this was his biggest 'fault'. I remember driving him home Thursday morning, and almost out of nowhere he said, "There's only two things you can call me that would piss me off beyond belief. Lazy and worthless."

Another thing I always found fascinating about Steven is that he was never afraid of death. From the beginning (within weeks of meeting), Steven would tell me that there is no use getting too involved. He noted several reasons: 1. He was not the type to get married. It just wasn't his thing, and it was not meant as an insult to me. 2. He was too stubborn. He didn't like people telling him what to do. 3. He wasn't going to live long anyways or He was going to die young. Throughout our five year relationship, he repeated #3 often. I would get irritated at the mere thought that he could have this idea. I would think, "why would he entertain such a morbid idea?", "why would he think that we aren't going to grow old together?", or "how can he say that out loud?" It was never a serious conversation about death, dying, or leaving me. Rather, he would spout it off in the middle of a goofy, ridiculous conversation about buying a new bike, jeep, truck, mower, watch, etc. Not on every occasion, but I would ask him why he kept telling me that. I remember his words vividly: "I gotta leave a good lookin' corpse!" In fact, the first time I was able to see him that Friday night, this was one of my first thoughts. That night, I thanked him for having enough sense during that messed up time to at least think of what he was leaving behind (after all, he knew his way around a gun). He certainly held up to his promise. A clean shaven, attractive, and lifeless shell that was not otherwise tainted but for one small bullet hole hidden by two bandages. It was up to me what he would wear for the services. Being as vain as he was, I knew he had to look sharp. Suits weren't his thing, so I did my best to dress him in wranglers (the only pair I could find that weren't caked in drywall mud, paint, grass stains, or concrete), my favorite dress shirt (dark blue with white stripes), a high dollar watch (you're welcome, Steven), a shell necklace, black boots, and his favorite expensive hat. I was also unaware that the deceased were required to be buried in socks and underwear. Luckily, he had just bought a whole package of new socks. There aren't a lot of things that top a pair of new stocks. He certainly went out in style, just like he would have wanted.

I remember when his grandpa Norman died. He texted me the news. I went to the shop, and there was Steven doing business as usual. Later after closing, I asked if he had planned to take time off and if he needed to talk/vent about anything. He seemed almost nonchalant about the whole ordeal. I was confused, so he explained that he wasn't bothered much by death and to keep his world at a standstill for any amount of time would be illogical. When I go about my days now, I try to keep this in mind. Not only would he want me working and doing my best at my job, he would want me being happy and keeping with my life that he started for me. He gave me one hell of a jump start in life, and now its my job to finish it.

I've prayed the last two and a half weeks that Steven's soul is in heaven. This was another interesting conversation we always had. I was a church-goer, he was a worker. It was very clear that Steven was never going to be the church-goer type. I knew this from the beginning. He didn't mind that I went to church and even asked about my experience on occasion. I would tell him often that he should have gone with me so he could see for himself (half way joking). Steven was convinced that between myself, my mom, and my grandma, he would go to heaven. In a sense, I took care of him spiritually while he provided for my worldly needs.

Steven was gone a lot. He often left around 7am to start/continue/finish the project of the week. Then, he wouldn't be home til around 9 that night (sometimes 10, sometimes 11, depending on how full the coolers were). If I was in the shop, I'd get irritated as I sat and watched 7 drunk rednecks walk in the door at 7:45pm with a cooler, bring Steven a beer, and settle in for the evening. I'd like to apologize now for the dirty looks and stares dealt to these guys on those late weekday nights. I'm glad you now have those memories to cherish. You knew the door was always open, but you also knew it came with a risk. Raise your hand if you ever walked in to Habing Guns while out road tripping and walked out having signed paperwork for a gun you didn't know you needed. Keep 'em raised if you were ever told "Need has nothing to do with it" or "Its easier to get forgiveness than permission." Don't feel bad. He used these on me too, mostly to convince me that covering the living room walls in duck prints was exactly what I wanted. That was Steven. Here, I'll quote Mitch Myers. "Steve, you could sell a dead cat and make it sound like a good idea!" to which he replied, "Well, it doesn't eat, it doesn't shed, and you don't have to shoot it."

Beginning from an End

8 months. This picture was taken on the happiest and most anticipated day of my life. December 7, 2012. Never have I ever done something that made me feel so whole and so right with the world. In the months to follow, I felt I had found my place in the universe, being Steven Habing's wife. Our life was amazing. I never wanted for anything, and I had the world by the tail. He had spoiled me since the day we met, July of 2008. I was a teenager just out of high school, and he was a hard working party animal just out of college. We were inseparable since. Everything he set out to do, he accomplished. He opened up a gun shop that fall, and it flourished. Most of my nights were spent behind the desk in awe as I watched him work his magic with customers. He was happy, and we were in love bad. While in college in the winter of 2010, we got engaged. We planned the wedding for 12/7/12, enough time for me to graduate and find a job (which I did). We honeymooned, we started a new chapter, we adjusted, and we loved every day.


8/9/13. This day, that life ended. I left the house that morning, and I did not hear from him for quite some time. I became concerned, and so were his parents. I drove for five hours looking for him, calling his phone, and looking in local bars to see if he was trying to unwind. He was discovered by a farmer in his truck with a single self-inflicted gunshot wound to his right temple. He died instantly and without pain. He was parked at an abandoned house out by interstate 70 west of Effingham. He had a beer in the cup holder, his wallet on the console with his driver's license visible to whomever stumbled upon him, and a note written to me on a notepad on the dashboard. The farmer notified the authorities around 4:30pm. He was pronounced dead at 5:40pm at the scene. I was notified that evening, but I don't recall the time. Before I left home to stay with my parents (I was getting upset and worried about not being able to find him), I had left a note on the front door explaining where I was going and how to find me. I left phone numbers for him to call upon his return. When my parents' door bell rang, my heart jumped thinking he had decided to come out of hiding. I was wrong. It was Sheriff John Monnet and my in-laws.

In one single moment, I have never felt so emotionally sick, betrayed, alone, deceived, hurt, lost, confused, angry, and ugly. I couldn't grasp the idea that he would leave me to handle all of these emotions on my own. He was my husband. The one that made me feel beautiful, confident, successful, and wonderful. Why was I now feeling the opposite? I considered our marriage vows: "For better or for worse." I felt betrayed that he was not holding up his part of that commitment. On top of all of these thoughts, I struggled with the fact that I am an Addictions Counselor and work on a crisis team. My job is to prevent suicide and to help those who are struggling with such thoughts. Why couldn't I do that for my own husband? Not just as a wife, but as a professional.

Rewind. 7/1/13. My husband arrives to his gun shop to find that it is on fire. Investigator reports state that lightning was the cause. Although it was not a total loss, this was certainly a devastating blow to our business. This sparked several investigations. Throughout that month, Steven began rebuilding/remodeling the business while periodically meeting with various people and organizations regarding this unfortunate situation. He had good and bad days as he continued to make decisions and get his business back in order. The week of his death, Steven told me that he would have things back up and running within the next week or so. I was under the impression that things were being smoothed out, and we would have our life back in order very soon. Little did I know, he was fighting his own battle with this stress alone. He hid these details from me so I wouldn't worry about him or our future (he knew me well).

We didn't have kids. That isn't what the blog is about. In search of support online, I struggled to find the support I was looking for. A 'young widow', according to various blog categories on the internet, refers to a woman aged 32-49 who is without husband and struggling to cope with single-motherhood on top of the grief of losing her husband. I don't fit there. I looked for survivors of suicide groups. These blogs discussed life-long struggles with mental illness, a failing relationship, divorce, affairs, and chronic-hidden depression. I didn't fit there either. Neither did Steven. I looked for support through spiritual books. They stressed the importance of moving on and following God's path he made for me. Although I believe that to be a spiritual truth, it did nothing for my 'here and now' attitude. I wasn't ready to move forward. I want to be stuck right here. I feel I have no other choice but to stay here in this moment until I can find peace to move forward. SO, I didn't fit in those books either. Maybe its my stubbornness, but I couldn't find a place to fit among blogs, support groups, and books. True to character, I'm doing it on my own and my way. Don't confuse this with isolation. I do this for a living; I know what isolation is and how detrimental it is to any recovery. I'm not isolating. I'm making my own way to grieve.