Pink Giraffe Musing

In widow circles, there is much discussion of the second and subsequent years after the loss of a spouse in terms of difficulty, stress, and emotion.  Thoughts and opinions vary widely, as grief and our reaction to it is unpredictable and highly personal.  We are all just taking it as it comes.  These are my thoughts on the topic. In some ways the second year is easier.  The firsts are over.  Everyone has had their birthday, and we have lived through each holiday without him here.  The new normal starts to feel actually normal.  There are still days I get angry that the new normal even exists, but, I have come to a place of acceptance.  And most days, I don't try to fight reality anymore.  It is what it is.  I may not have picked this life but it's not like I can quit now because "life is for the living", as Michael's friend so wisely told me.  The children have shifted into their new roles of greater independence and self-suffici...

When I was a kid in school, I was a walker.  Out of my K-12 career, I walked all but two years.  As a child I didn't always love it.  But as an adult, I look back on it with great fondness.  I remember anticipating that 3:30 bell and practically flying from the school when it sounded.  I would run up the gravelly hill, with my gold and blue Hilton Wildcat tote bag, catching up with friends along the way.  It is such a feeling of freedom....joy...... pure bliss.  I remember it vividly.  I can picture the cracks in the side walk and the acorns we had smashed along the way the previous day.  Frequently, I took off my shoes and walked home barefoot, much to my mother's chagrin. As with most things, the rules have changed, and the walkers at my school are not given the same freedom, or opportunity for youthful zeal at the end of a school day as I had "back in the day".  For this reason, it came to be that I wal...

  "It has been said, 'time heals all wounds'.  I do not agree.  The wounds remain.  In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens.  But it is never gone." -Rose Kennedy    I am a visual learner.  I am a visual thinker.  Sometimes I think this is what makes me a good teacher.  I can take something abstract or inconceivable and turn it into a picture to help people understand it better. So when my children and I first began our journey through grief, I tried to put it into a picture for them.  I felt like they didn't understand the road ahead.  I thought they believed the terrible heaviness of the initial tragedy was how they would feel forever, and I wanted to give them hope.  I told them our grief was like a big wound.  That is was similar to a cut or scrape like you get from a bad bike accident.  It hurts.  It hurts terribly. ...

I have been given all sorts of advice over the last 8 months.  It has all been well intentioned.  Some of it has really resonated with me.  Some of it, not so much.  One of my greatest sources of advice has been my husband's dearest friend.  Not only did he love Michael like a brother, he lost his father as a boy.  He is one of the few people who can come close to understanding the loss I feel, and also understands firsthand what my children are going through.  In the months since Michael's death his friend has become my friend too.  He texts me, calls me, messages me to check in.  He has been working on my deck to finish a project that Michael started.  He tells me sweet things that Michael said to him about me.  We share in each other sadness, and he gives me a picture into what my  kids are experiencing.  And he said to me one day......Beth, life is for the living.  And I have embraced that....

This post is really for me.  It is probably more of a journal entry than a blog post.  I am writing it because I really believe in the power of positive thinking.  But, like many of us, I find myself dwelling on the negative from time to time.  Sometimes, it is in the form of problem solving, and that to me is okay short term, but sometimes I let it drag me down, and I have enough stuff in my life to drag me down these days.  So, in an effort to count my blessings I decided to write this. Last time I taught, I felt like I became jaded by the paperwork, meetings, parents in denial, but mostly all the time spent doing everything but teaching and planning (like making floats for the Christmas parade, lettering 500 certificates and meeting after meeting).  I found it frustrating enough that when my daughter was born I quit my job to be a mom, and never really looked back.  I taught part time in private settings, which was truly the perfect situation ...

Looking back at the moments following Michael's death, I think I felt like I was in some surreal bad dream that was an episode of ER or Grey's Anatomy starring me.  I was overwhelmed by pretty much everything besides breathing. And, as I was dialing the phone to call my parents, I kept thinking, I wish this would just be over.  It was just too much to take it.  Too hard.  Insurmountable.  As the phone began to ring the realization hit me...., "Oh Beth, this is only just beginning". He is gone.  Sometimes it still takes me by surprise.  How, after all these months, I am not sure.  But there are times when I am running or driving, or I look at a photo and I think, "he is not coming back",  and it just seems crazy.  I mean really crazy.  This is my life, are you sure?   Really, just gone, just like that?  How can it be?  There are arguments as to whether it is easier to lose someone s...

Photo of a Poster in the hallway at my school August 13, 2012 Well, to say that I am in a "season of change" in my life would be what seems like a major understatement.  In a life that seems to be on a long and winding path to who knows where, I started yet another chapter today.  After 10 year break, I stepped back into the front of  a classroom today.  I have to say, that even after all these years, it felt somewhat routine.  And for that I am thankful.  There are some things about this job I want to write about.  Coincidences some may call them.  Luck.  I don't know.  Karma.  Maybe I'd call it grace, or a blessing.  To me, I see a hand in it that isn't mine.  Here is why...... Three years ago, the school where I am working lost everything in a flood.   The building was under 10 feet of water, the children evacuated to safely as water lapped at their feet.  Oddly enough, I remember be...