NC-17

I had a quite interesting dream this weekend. I don't feel the need to get into deep details about it at the moment, but Wash was there with and for me. I've felt a bit better overall since then, and am getting a little more sleep.

Last week at my Hospice therapy I was asked to try something for a bit; "talking" to Wash. Out loud. Not like he was/is alive or dead, just as if he was next to or near by me.

It's odd.

I do it with GaiusWash, but that is just in my head, and I know it.

What I noticed pretty fast off; I don't speak anymore. Not really. Literally days can go by without me saying physically a word to another person. I sort of wish that disturbed me more than it does.

But, back to the dream. It was filled with old comforts, symbols of happier times. I feel like there is a point to it, a message. Likely coming from inside my own head, but still important.
I cannot really describe (and I've been trying all weekend) how it feels to be dreaming of one's dead beloved spouse, and being physically close with them in a dream one is aware is a dream... and to have said dead spouse miming that it's "ok" to be close to someone else.
I honestly really have. But, there at last my vocabulary fails me utterly. Because I cannot describe the feelings or sensations, though I do recall them. I can only say it felt like having a tiny, but heavy piece of guilt taken from my heart.

It is an odd sensation to having my internal monologue interrupted by my (dead) husband. He agrees. Which, as it is coming from my own head, of course.

I still think this is a weird "coping tool". But, I said I would give my therapy a real honest attempt, so I am.


I wish I had firm big news. But, trying to make contact with a country 9 hours ahead of my time zone is a bit hard logistics wise. So, it will be Tues before I have real word.
I am nervous. There is so much opportunity for me and yet so much to take care of here in AZ in the next 4 weeks if this is to happen. Everything becomes unknown and scary. But the entire future is unknown and also scary.



I spent some time on Saturday re-reading this blog. I read it in reverse timeline; it felt like a love story with a happier ending. I know exactly how much time he had. 2009 me did not. There was more Hope in the unknown then.


I am left to question. I am left to stand alone.


It feels a little like waking up from a long, long, long, long sleep with a terrible horrid and wonderful dream I remember, and as I wake realize the dream was reality. But the exhaustion is still there, the pain, the dust and cobwebs settled down on the bed on top.
But I am slowly waking, and moving, and breathing again. Still have days of tears and sobs, but also days where I have to start thinking of my own place in society. My own personal value. What I am worth, really? What do I give? What do I leave?
I am not Buffy, Kara or Faith. I reject the idea that my gift is Death, that I am the one to lead to the End.
I am real. My life is often a mirror to the sad and horrid scripted things we entertain ourselves with, but my life is only scripted by me.
I suppose I am now realizing that I don't want it written with a short end.


Saturday I was out after end of Sabbath and walking to get some milk and eggs to bake a cake. At the same cross-street where the bicyclist had been fatally hit back in May of 2010, I was witness on Sat to another car on bicycle accident. I literally watched the car plow right into the cyclist. Honestly, with the way she hit him and how he fell, if he had not been wearing a helmet, I have no doubt he would be dead- or on the way to it. I stayed and gave the Police a statement. Then once I knew the kid was going to be ok, I continued on to get my milk and eggs. [The cake turned out wonderfully.]
I was walking and about 50-60' from the intersection corner when it happened- on my side of the street.
I just remember running towards the kid lying in the street.


Seems I can't just "turn it off", that part of me. I see someone in trouble, in need, I am the person who runs TOWARDS.
Not often, but times like Saturday night do make me reflect and wonder if I am really "done" with the medical field. I was never wanting to work on living patients anyway, and it all became too much after Wash passed. But, I can't just turn it off. I don't think I have it in me to stop helping.
Maybe his death has not pushed me quite all the way to "Evil Genius" member of the Evil League of Evil.

I am working on me. Myself. No longer a "We". The single, lonesome "I".



He was worth it. Even in pain, in tears, I never waver or doubt that.
Wash was worth it. So much more than I could give.

I still say "I love you." out loud. That much I never stopped. Not "loved". Current tense. I still tell him that before I go to sleep each night. I may not speak much, but the last words each night after my Shema are "I love you."
Whenever in Time, Wherever in Space, I love you, Wash.

Like a rainbow

I am not touching the topic of Mother's day with a 40' pole right now. Moving on.


This week, with a lot of encouragement and support from my friends, local community, and most family, I decided to apply for a summer college programme abroad. I would be gone between 4-6 weeks, depending on how I can set things up before I would leave.
I am hoping to find out soon if I was accepted (it's a very selective Women's College) and if I can qualify for some scholarships to help out. I would still need to raise funds to go, but...

This is the first time since Wash died, and certainly the first time in perhaps the last 4 or so years I have felt like I desire to go back to a college environment and learn. Since Wash was sick with brain cancer, I have felt zero desire or goals to go back working forensics. To go back to bones, and skulls- of which all morph into his- to go back to Death, really.
No. I've spent too much of my life already in and around Death.
This is a chance at something new.
This is a chance for me to do some self-exploration.
To see what knowledge still excites me, what stokes my personal fire.

I can earn credits that can transfer back to the US. I can be in a (temporary) new place. I can clear my head, focus my mind, distract the pain in my heart.

Now, I'd have to be accepted first. I have to make sure my house here is taken care of, either house/cat sitting or subletting. It is one thing to go away for a month, it is a negative thing for me to come back and not have the home I have been living in with my husband since 2008. This much I have already talked to my Hospice doctor about. Now, there is a hope that perhaps when I come back I will be stronger personally to really start to not just sort through, but figure out where Wash's things and stuff will go. I have about a dozen packages I still need to send to his friends of his things. But, I am still letting Future Tashi deal with that, as right now I see a mountain of his clothes that will never be put back on his body. Fabric with a faint scent of him. Fraternity and Drama/Theatre shirts. Dress clothing.

His custom ties. Those I know what he wanted done with, how to get them to his friends, but it does not make it hurt less to do.


I had a moment last week. I was having a conversation (in my head) with someone, and my narrative said- "When I was married..." not "...I am married."
I think this was the first time my brain has phrased it for me. My world stopped last year, but things move. The Earth still spins, I still age, my cells grow and die, plants flower and die, and lives just move.

I had a Phoenix ComicCon brochure come to my house. Addressed to Wash, of course.
It was like a punch to my chest, all air gone out of me in a second.
It really sank in, Wash will never see another 'Con. I will never get to dress up or Cosplay with him again.
I am the one left. I carry the burden. I carry his voice, his desires, but in a way he will never see.
Too much emotion overwhelms my system and I just emotionally shut down. It hurts less that way.


Back to topic. I need to make sure my cats will be loved after while I am away (if I am accepted.). Leto really has not gone more than a day or two without human contact his whole life. He is a Comfort Cat, and he wants to be where he can get pets, attention, and love from other humans. Aelphie I am also worried about. She really only ever bonded with myself, Wash (after some years), and a great friend from college - and his sweet cat. I don't know if leaving her at my house, with me gone, is good for her, or if it would be worse to move her somewhere for a month where she can have more attention and less Leto/kitten escapades.
I worry about the TARDIS urn. I worry about leaving it, I worry about moving it. Anxieties and worry.
The cats are the closest thing to children I will ever have. Leto is the only living connection left to Wash- that is not me. (in my house)

I worry if I can raise the funds to go, to cover airfare and the costs for my home as well. It will be more than 7 more years before I will be able to get a loan, or not need a co-signer for anything. That puts me in an odd place for a 26 year old. Even harder trying to get really any job to get me out of the house, earning, paying bills. Part of me hopes this trip might help with that though, making new contacts and friends, or even just being able to say that I've done something in 4 years besides caregive (unpaid, thanks Arizona!) for my husband.

This is a chance to do something for Tashi. Not 'Wash and Tashi', not in his memory or honour, but for myself. Who I am, without him.


Wash always supported learning. We had a plan. He was willing to work to pay for me to finish my schooling once he was graduated and had done his Taliesin internship. I was willing to work and wait for him to finish. There was a plan, we both supported. We had even planned that if we had a child while I was in Grad School he wanted to be the Work From Home Dad. He wanted me to focus on school, and my desires. This I know. He would have supported me in this. He would be happy I have at the least, applied.



This feeling? It is not Depression. It is not Grief. It is like a horrid hybrid monster of the worst of both of them. It sneaks up in the quiet and calm before sleep. It strikes at a song, a moment, a memory.
It fills the nose with smells that trigger memories of happy or sad moments. There is no control. There is no bargaining to stop. It does not listen to pleas or rationality. It rears up, an angry wild stallion. It runs deep inside, pounding hoof beats to match broken heart-beats. It is tears at a kitchen sink that do not come from onions. It is a weight so heavy the body literally drops. It forms a Compassion, a desire to not wish it on any other human; though most every single human will experience it. It is the pain and darkness of a mile underwater, a place sunlight does not- cannot penetrate. It is the creeping darkness that whispers over and over and over- the worst broken record- "Is there really any Hope left?"

This is the feeling I have and fight every second, hour, day. I do not think English has a word comparable.
I wonder who else is aware of this? Who else knows this feeling? Who else knows this is what I am living with?

There is a lot for me to ponder lately. I have been trying to focus on the positive ponderings, less on the negative ones. It is a battle. Every day. For me, time does not ease up. Time allows no real respite inside my head.

That is where I have been, Dear Readers. That is where I am.

Entering Widowhood: The In-Betweens

This post originally written and posted at Persephonemagazine

It’s been a couple months since my last post here on my new status as a “widow.” The horrid “W” word that no one in love or marriage actually wants to think about.

In that time I’ve made a few personal steps forward, a few back, one even sideways I would say. I have had friends and mentors die in the last few weeks, friends get married, friends getting pregnant, friends having their children, and friends getting ready to graduate from college and “move on” to the next phase of their own lives.

Through it all, my constant is still defined by my husband’s death. I can see how easy it is when one is steps away from the actual death, is not closely bereaved. Life continues for most. They still have school, or a job. They have children who need them, and a living reason to get up in the morning, to eat, to take care of their own selves. That becomes harder for me.

I am a person of habit. I have lost them all. The schedule I had before my husband became sick is something I will never get back to. The schedule I had with him, is also something I am trying to accept that I will never have back.

I’ve had a good bereavement counselor from Hospice see me, and that, to a degree, has been helping my mental state. It is always nice to hear that the feeling I have, the thoughts, most of the emotions are all in the “normal” range for grief. What we’ve spoken about more of is the really arbitrary number system that American society has on “moving on.” It seems to be around six months if you are a younger widow(er) and/ r have no children and around 12 months for those who were married, say, more than five years and/or had children. While some mourners certainly can fit those numbers, I feel rather constrained to have a faceless nobody tell me to “get over it, already.” (“It” being the death of my husband.)

As a note, for me personally, and I have heard from other widow(ers) that hearing the phrase “moving on” can be disgusting and heart-wrenching for the bereaved. “Moving On” has a lot of implications, and though, for the most part, the people who say that come from a place of good or kind intentions, what is most often heard is “Well, we’ve been able to not think about/speak about [dead person] we have decided it is time for you to stop as well.”

Being a young widow, I often hear that phrase. I have tried nicely to have my family and friends stop using it, but after a few weeks of being nice, I just tell them that I can’t talk to them if they must use that phrase. Being a young widow what I’m hearing more of as time passes on is something akin to, “Well, you’re young. Well, you still have time. Well, there are still options. Well, being young, you still have your whole life ahead of you!”

These phrases are also terribly not helpful.

Being “young” is not a hard and fast rule. By pure age or cycles around the sun, yes, I am in my mid-twenties.

By life experience, I am willing to wager I am far more mature than most people in their early- to mid-twenties.

I have “time.” Time for what, exactly? My husband thought he had time, too. His brain cancer began to grow when he was 24. He was dead one month after his 28th birthday.

Time is not something I take as a given anymore. Time is not my friend, nor my enemy. Time is not to be taken for granted by myself though. Or, perhaps by “time” it is meant that I have “time” to find (another?) love? That is quite a presumptuous thought on my own feelings of love, intimacy, and personal wishes.

I have “options.” Please, dear friend, expound on that. What options specifically? As it is my life, I believe the choices are mine to make. Options for living? Options for moving? Options for a job, a career, another lover? Generic statements that do not really support anything.

“…still have your whole life ahead of you.”

That phrase, however, might be the worst of them all. That is the exact problem. I do have the rest of my life, every second I breathe or have my blood beating, to go. I am all too aware of this. I am aware with every bit of my body that can feel, and every bit of my soul that can feel, time is taking me away from the person I had wanted, expected, and pledged my life to.

I am all too aware of the days, months, years, decades even that lie ahead of me, without the person who swore the deepest oath to be there with me through it.

I have my whole life to live, missing the part of life I wanted to live for. Missing the half of me that wanted to share in living.
That kind of grief and mourning cannot be rushed.

I am thankful for the Hospice services. My local Hospice that served Wash during his illness is a non-profit and I can feel the people who work there really do care, and have a lot of experience in addressing the mourning issues. I can only imagine how much more depressed I would be without them.

For me right now I am trying to work on stopping the comparisons of my life to the friends and social circles around me, and I have to stop comparing how my life is now to what I had in mind it would be.

I had prepared as best as I could, as my husband’s death was inevitable. His was not a cancer that can be “cured.” What is almost harder is knowing I could not prepare for the actual feelings I have had since he has died. Grieving who he was, our love, who he and we were going to be. Grieving the two pregnancies that almost were, and were lost. Grieving the anniversaries that now come, but are not cause for celebration.

Towards February and March I had played around a little with taking my wedding band and engagement ring off. Sometimes just for an hour at home. Sometimes for a whole night while I slept. Once or twice I even went outside on a walk without them. Then came the first wedding I went to since my Wash had passed. It was lovely, and my happiness for the couple is genuine. However, this was a wedding that Wash knew was coming. These were his friends, his brothers. This was a uniting of love that he should have been alive for. He should have been there to make a toast, to wish them well.

I stopped taking off my rings after that. I’m not ready to stop wearing the reminder of his promise to me. I’m not ready to take off my engagement ring that was the other half to his matching engagement ring. I have decided to forego any wedding invitations for the next while. Perhaps through this year, perhaps through next spring. I don’t want to limit myself to a specific number.

It’s not just the odd isolation that comes with being a young widow. I am stuck in many “in-betweens.” I am not in school finishing any degree. I love school, and I do have a desire to return someday. The timing is not right now. I do not yet have a job that provides me income, let alone a career. I’m not yet homeless, but I have no real way of moving anywhere new, despite my desire to leave this home I once shared with my love at some point likely this year. I have days now where I rarely cry, where I am starting to have longer hours together functioning. I am thrust as well into the space behind that where I still have moments breaking down and sobbing for hours until my eyes swell shut.
I am trying to stay friendly and in contact with the many many many more female friends I have who are pregnant or had/have kids.

It is hard for me to see something I wanted, something I had (if only for a few weeks), something I lost, something I will never have again. It is hard to have and own my own emotions and history and still be happy for those I love and care about. To visit and meet the child of a close friend who was born right before my Wash passed; I’m still working on how to cope with my own pain and express joy for the happiness in the lives of the people around me I love and care for. To hold hope for the friends and family I love that they will never have to face the pain I am living.

I will direct you up a few paragraphs and please ask you don’t placate me by saying I’m still young enough to have children, or to get married again, or to adopt (as a single??) or that “things will happen in their own time.”

So, how is this 26 year old widow doing?

There is no simple answer.

There is no set time on grief, or progress, or regression.

I simply am, now in place of “we simply are.”

For now, I am in-between. I still wear my rings, but I said my “goodbye” and listed my status on Facebook as “Widowed” instead of married. I have begun to really sort through his belongings, but have not yet fully parted with everything. Though I physically feel split in twain without him, I’m able to now stand on my one leg, even if I cannot move in any direction yet.

My journey continues.

Afterwards

There is always love in the world.
Even if it does not know you by name.
Even if it does not come with your image.
Even if it travels from around the globe, or across the city.
Love comes from family. Friends. Partners. Soulmates.
Children can love with freedom and enthusiasm that sometimes fades as we age.
There is love for the newly born, and those departed.
There is love for the past, and for the future.

There is love in the smallest of kind acts, and love spread across millions or billions.
There is love from religion, and love from science, and atheism.

It can be hard to see the love around, sometimes. Often when we cannot hear it given directly to us.
But it exists. As surely as there is human capacity to think, reason; there is also the deepest capacity to love.

Cannot erase our love

Small Photo break today.

I see these Post-It notes he left every day. I see them, read them, and remind myself of his words often.

I have been feeling hurt, angry, and rage filled lately at the opinion of some who by all seeming means, are literally trying to erase me from my husband's life.
Erase what we had.
What he did for me, what I did for him.
Erase the last years of his life.
Erase his happy smiles.

I am angry, because to me, Wash's love for me was just so obvious. Hopefully as my love was to him.
Clear and ever present.
He was the best thing to happen to me, and often said I was the same to him.
That cannot be taken away.


Love find ways to stay, even if the person who loved is no longer around.
His words are. His message. His intent.
His love.

***********************************************************************************

"Future me:
Be excellent to Tashi Today!
Past me"

"Is it possible for me to love my wife... more than I do?
I do hope so."

"Tashi, you deserve far more than what I have to offer. But I'll give you what I can for as long as I can.
Because I love you.
Wash"

Untitled

In some moments it hits me like a car going 35 MPH.

I just had a conversation out loud.
With myself.
Because I live alone now.
My husband died. I can talk, but he's not going to answer anymore.

I'm so used to telling him everything.
Now, I'm talking to myself/the cats.

Part of my new "normal".

Security

Some good news;

AHCCCS and SNAP benefits will continue! Apparently we ARE still broke, sick, and dying! It feels so odd to celebrate retaining our health insurance.

I also got my new glasses today. They are my first proper prescription in about 4 years (Thank you for the donations to help me SEE) and fitted for me and my eyes.

I can bloody well see. I can see details, I can see things without glare, without light halos.

Also, my house has SO MUCH DIRT and clutter. Before, it was all just kind of a group of gray lumps.... ugh. It's going to be hard not to clean too much and confuse Wash.

He's having a better day. Still a lot of memory loss, but it seems to me like he's forgotten his bad days from earlier this week and his severe depression seems to have eased. Though, it is still daytime and some days he is fine until sundown/sunset. At least in summer now he will get a little more light/sun. I managed to get him out for a walk at night when it was cooler a few days ago- he's gone from a walk every other day or so to around once a week now.

His muscles are going to atrophy soon. I try to convince him to move, but some days he doesn't have it in him.

If he doesn't remember I am not going to bring up his bad days from this week. Better he doesn't remember the pain or sadness. I can hope he can just move on past it.

I have had a nice few moments with my husband, a few chances for some (perhaps, last) memories. Emotionally, it's like taking a bowling ball to the stomach, but I have to focus on the good few minutes that happen, those quiet times where I can remember the man I fell in love with, or even remember more about myself, who I was.

I have to try every day to make it all count.

Growing up

I have a few moments between emails today while Wash is getting his massage/pain therapy downstairs.

He's doing better. Mentally at least. I managed to get him outside of the house yesterday for dinner at my mums and a walk. Small steps, but it is something. He's coming away from his scary weekend, and is acting more like the "Wash" I recall, his personality is coming in a bit more. His meds were adjusted, so I am hoping that was the right change he needed.

Thank you to all the friends and Dear Readers who have left nice comments for Wash (us). I do read them to him and he soaks up every single kind word right now.

I've been working a lot more in the garden. More solar lights, more plants, more herbs, and my folks even gave me an old trellis they had but were not going to us! The garden is a way for me to be around living things and keep sane, and it's a nice space for Wash that reminds him of happier times and our potential as a couple and family.

The kitties have been more social, even though it is getting warmer. I am shocked. Aelphie comes downstairs some days when Hospice folks are over, and Leto of course greets everyone and even now has a few people he knows will let him climb in their laps.

We had a small sad moment yesterday though, Leto has officially outgrown his (Adult Cat sized) harness! I was watching him the other night and he was walking around like a kid on all fours wearing a sweater WAYYYYYY too small. Kind of cute, but that must have been tiring for him! It's not the girth, that was fine, but the length- he's getting even longer and lankier. So, I guess I need to take a trip to the petstore to get him a dog sized harness. Leto has been CRAZY this morning, running back and forth to all the doors, sitting in front, waiting and willing us to take him out, but he knows he doesn't go out without a harness and leash (his collar is always on) so he just cries. Poor guy. I guess he really enjoys going out with us. He truly is a sympathy and therapy cat.

After his nap I'm going to have Wash take a look at some Urn-makers and try to catch up on the wonderful offers that have come in from the CF4L crowd. I wish I had more energy to answer everything in the proper timely fashion. I do what I can, and Wash gets first.

My own heath problems are not really resolving yet. My meds will take about 2 weeks to really start to work and maybe repair some damage. I'm not certain if I'd be better off now if I still had my gallbladder, or if it just would have melted in me regardless. I'm in a lot of pain daily, but I'm trying to listen to my doctor about foods /diet and give the meds the time to work.

Laundry today. At some point. I've also averaged less than 4 hours of sleep for the last three nights and no nap longer than 20 mins uninterrupted. I'd like a nap, but I can't sleep unless Wash is, or someone else is around to watch him. I will be happy come April when he can be approved for some home aides to help give me some respite.

Cat cuddles, a good movie or two, and some chocolate with mint tea made from my garden are on my list today.

As befits a TimeLord

I suppose I should be more shocked at the response we've gotten in the last few days. Geeks and lovers of specific shows bond hard it seems.

I'll get to some questions in a moment.

Wash has been holding steady the past few days. Physically he has been a bit more run down for some reason, we were not even going out on a walk to the mailbox together, he's just been physically tired lately. I did get him and Leto outside to watch me garden the other day, but he was too tired to even read out loud then, just watch and look at the green oasis I have made in the back.

I did later last night get him out for a small walk around the block. His first real physical activity in about 3 days. He crashed out before midnight and is still in bed now, trying to disappear under the covers.

Mentally he has been fairly present and even this week, though again, I've noticed him not reading words as much- he's switched over from some short novels to a comic series now. I notice these things, but I'm not really sure how aware he is of them. This is the unpredictable portion of the predictable cycle of brain cancer.

And speaking of, to every single one of you who has read our story, shared our story, or donated in some way; thank you. I literally could not give him the highest quality of life *I* can without all of you.

As to the TARDIS; we actually DO have a TARDIS cookie jar! I got one for Wash for giftmas back in Dec of 2010. We tend to keep Jammie Dodgers in it and it frequently is moved about downstairs. Wash does not want the plastic, or the memories we have of the cookie jar fucking me up after he's gone.

We have received about a dozen offers so far from folks willing to do a ceramic urn for Wash; he is trying to look through portfolios and decide which idea he likes the best. It is his decision, and I will do my best to thank every offer we have received personally- a small thank you for all the wonderful woodworkers who have reached out as well.

We are in touch with April from Regretsy to choose the final urn, and Wash again thanks every single artist who has offered to help give him his wish of a resting place.

It can be overwhelming sometimes to be this young and thrown into a situation like this, and I would not have made it this far and long were it not for the oftentimes unconventional support.

Wash and I are Browncoats too, and I think he has really seen just how many people he has around to carry him when he can't even crawl.

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Wash also says if anyone wants to or can get in touch with The Grand Moff [Stephen Moffat] or Nathan Fillion he would be happy to get some kind of dying-geek shout-out from his idols.

[Thank you to R. for the most excellent photoshop on the pic. I frakkin' LOVE it. Someone tell Wil Wheaton we're saving Wash now, not Ferris]