Thanksgiving. Or Giving Thanks.

As I sit at the table in the familiar kitchen of the house where my (large) extended family has spent the past many Thanksgiving holidays celebrating together,  I am struck by how the familiar can exist in the same space as the new.  How the same old jokes and stories can coincide with the obvious hole that now is such a prominent feature in my life.  It's odd really.

Within any family, there are always additions and losses to factor into each passing year.  That's part of life.  I know that.

I just don't necessary like it.

To be honest, completely honest, I don't feel like celebrating or being thankful this year, even though I do know that I have plenty to be thankful for.  Maybe it will just be one year that I feel like this, maybe it will be a few years.  I don't have the answer.  But I do know that no amount of playing with words to create a nicer sounding response or pretending that I'm full of strength and hope or even verbiage that creates the illusion of joy is going to be the answer.  I respect the characteristics of honesty and transparency way too much to do otherwise.

So here, in this space, you will only read words of reality.

So, what the heck am I thankful for this year?

Well, obviously I am most thankful for the years I did have with Bill.  I loved, most of all, creating our family and our world together.  I am thankful for all of those experiences and memories.

I am grateful for my family.  The understanding, the guidance and help, and the acceptance of us has been the hidden blessing of the past year.  There are no words to express my gratitude.  Each one, in their own way, has tried to help me carry this load.  Each one has done so quietly and without need of recognition.

I am thankful for the strangers who have become my friends.  People who have graciously and repeatedly shown my family what love is.  With words, deeds, or sometimes even financially--these people are amazing.  Bill would be so impressed and proud to call you his friends too.

Who else?  Well, certainly my Baker City sisters.  If I ever were to relocate, I think it would be to Baker.  These ladies have generously adopted my family as one of their own and blessed us with a monthly gift of encouragement.  Amazing I tell you.  Just amazing.

I am thankful for our community.  Seriously, never let anyone speak poorly of the Canyon area.  Time and again my family has been shown incredible kindness by members of this community.   Churches, youth sports organizations, school district employees, local business owners, even people I don't even know have all renewed my faith that people are inherently good.

I am thankful for my friends.  Some are old and some are new.  And it doesn't matter which one is which anymore.  There are friends who stayed with me in the hospital and friends who didn't leave my side for months afterwards.  Friends who shared tea and wine with me and friends who just listened.  Friends who walked with me (quite literally) and friends who helped me fix things that were broken.  There were friends who helped with my kids and those who made me laugh.  There were definitely friends who ignored my bouts of insanity and encouraged me to just focus on the next thing.  I have friends who have allowed me to be forgetful and who have not been offended by my behavior.  Friends have shown me forgiveness and understanding time and again.

To me, the definition of a friend is simply a person who is willing to come alongside of you and help to shoulder your burdens.  It is someone who does not require perfection and is willing to overlook your shortcomings.  It is someone who can, at least temporarily, put another person's needs above their own.

The past year I have lived in my worst nightmare.  There is no denying that.   But through the grief and adversity and fear I have learned exactly what is most paramount in life.  It's not stuff or money.  It's not cars and houses and fancy clothes.  It's people.  And the relationships that we create and grow with those people.

For that lesson, I am thankful.

Me and Ozzy Are Together

Riding on that Crazy Train.  Yep, that should definitely be my theme song right now.

Want to hear about my crazy?  Sure you do.

So my neighbor comes into the post office last week.  Nothing unusual about that--the guy has to pick up his mail and everything.  I'm in the back of the office, sorting the mail, when I hear someone say, "Hi, Julie. How are you doing today?"  When I peeked out to see who was talking to me, all I saw is the back of a red and black buffalo checked jacket.  Exactly like Bill's.  My eyes were telling me it was Bill but my mind was strongly disagreeing.  I was confused.  And shocked.  And speechless.  I knew it was my neighbor, I could see him standing right in front of me.  But my (crazy) mind could not make sense of the situation and all I could do was stare.  Oh, and open my mouth repeatedly without finding the ability to actually speak intelligible words.  The poor guy looked so confused and befuddled.  And then I mumbled something to him about crying and ran into the back.  Needless to say he made a hasty exit.

But here's my favorite freak out of the week:

I am a regular church-goer.  Have been for years.  Or at least I was until a few months ago.  One Sunday, out of left field,  I was just smothered by this horrible feeling of sadness whilst sitting through a service.  There was nothing unusually upsetting about the sermon or the music or the people around me.  I was just overcome by sadness.  Grief is stealthy like that.  I was missing Bill something terrible and I was feeling conspicuous over a comment someone had made to me about sitting my hypocritical hind end in a pew (Really, aren't we all guilty of that?!  Isn't that a reason why we go to church?!). So I decided to take a break from it all for a bit.  Just until it felt okay again.  You must understand that my intuition serves me better than my brain these days.

Well, something shifted this weekend and encouraged me to finally go back.  It just felt right.

Pffft.

I got there okay.  Settled the kids in just fine too.  Felt comfortable and pretty chill.  And then I freaked out.  Big time.

I felt all fuzzy-headed and warm.  My heart started pounding and racing.  Then it was like the walls were closing in on me.  I know that sounds so cliche but it is the best description I can come up with.  I ran to the bathroom, threw up, hyperventilated, and then couldn't leave the bathroom.  Honest to goodness, I just stared at the door handle and despite my mind telling my hand to grab the darn thing and turn it, I just couldn't do it.  It took me about 15 minutes before I could escape.  It was a frightening and strange experience.

I know it was a panic attack or some other manifestation of anxiety.  Duh.  I also know that I don't need any help dealing with it.  And I don't need a pill to hide my reality.  Time.  I just need time.

Someday I won't feel the acuteness of loneliness and isolation and grief.  Someday I hope to remember Bill's voice singing the songs and feel the sweetness of happy memories.  Today I just felt the emptiness of nothingness.

Hey, but I put on a good show.

Beige.

That's how I feel.  Just beige.

I've had a few people ask why I haven't been writing as of late.  The answer is easy:  I'm a downer.  Even I grow weary of my downerness (pretty sure I just made that word up).

But I just can't shake that feeling.

I guess I'm pretty lonely too.  Even when I stand amongst a crowd of people, I still feel isolated and alone.  Quite honestly, I hardly feel like leaving the house anymore because of it.  At home there is no one to cluck their tongue at me in disdain or pity.

Am I depressed?  Probably.  But don't you think I deserve that excuse for at least a while?  I think so.

I worry that I'm too short-tempered and impatient for my kids.  That I let them watch too much television and spend too much time on the computer.  I know they've had way too much soda lately and not enough vegetables.  Bad attitudes, disobedience, and disrespect seem to be too commonplace in my home now.

But I have no answers to improve the situation.  I'm too tired to make anymore decisions by myself.

By myself.  When I wake up in the middle of the night and can't stop the memories from "that" weekend in January, there is no one to talk with me about it.  No one who understands.  There is no one to tell me what to do with naughty boys and broken cars and full septic tanks.

Maybe beige is the color of loneliness.  With nary a sparkle to be found.

A Good Day and a Bad Day All Wrapped Up Into One Day.

How's that for a title?!

Today is my birthday.  My 44th birthday to be exact.  I am not one of those women who won't admit their true age.  On the contrary, I'm quite proud to admit how many times I've circled the sun.  With each orbit I like to think that I've learned some new lessons about life and that I've also contributed something back to the world.

If you ask me, this year's lessons have pretty much sucked.

Actually that's not true.  Even though I've had my heart broken in the worst possible way this year, I have also experienced the beauty of love and understanding and empathy.  Often from the most unlikely sources too!  I feel like I have had to reconsider my previous definitions of life, family, friends, love, stability, courage, fear, and peace.  Slowly I am realizing these new truths and reorganizing their places in my life.  Some I can embrace with hope and some I slowly wrap in memories and reluctantly shut away.  Maybe not forever.  But I can't see far enough to know.

Enough of that kind of thinking for tonight.

The little kids and I participated in a local fun run/walk this morning.  It was really a fitting way to start the day as well as the new year of my life.  Lovely weather, fresh air, and good company makes me happy.  I had the opportunity to spend the afternoon with some dear girlfriends exploring a few area antique shops, laughing, and talking.  Coffee, thrifting, antiques, and wonderful friends also make me happy.   I ended the day with a tiny celebration at home, surrounded by my favorite people.  Pizza, cake, scotch, and family makes me happier still.

So you see, it really was a good day and a bad day all wrapped up into one day.  New and old.  Happy and sad.  Different and the same.  Topsy turvy.  Full and empty.  That is my life now.  Painful but familiar.

Bill liked to make big plans for my birthday but they seldom worked out exactly how he imagined. Isn't that the way life goes?   He would end up disappointed and frustrated at his imperfect attempt to make my day special.  He would apologize and run to the store to buy me a Skor bar to make up for the disasters of the day.  (And there were always disasters on my birthday.  Ask me about the time he made me drive to this obscure town in North Carolina to pick up a part and Jack threw up in the car and there was no place to eat lunch except Denny's and we were gone until 9:00 at night.  That was a birthday I will never forget!) I would laugh at him and eat the chocolate and be so grateful for the simplicity of our life.  I never really wanted anything for my birthday except to spend the day together.

A Post About Friends.

For the past several years, we have always hosted a little NOT back to school party on Labor Day because, really, we don't go back to school.  Around here we always have school.  To me, I can't see the point of taking the entire summer off and then spending weeks just trying to remember where we'd left off back in June.  Also, wouldn't you rather take a bit of time off in the Fall when the weather is still nice and the apples need to be picked?  Or at Christmas time when there are so many great traditions and memories to be experienced.  Or maybe a week off in the spring when the daffodils start blooming and you really need to get your hands in the dirt again.  We like to spread our breaks out over the course of the entire year.

But I digress.  Our school schedule is not what this post is about.  This post is about friends.

Friend:  a person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection.  Dwell on the definition for a moment.

So getting back to the subject of our party....
There almost wasn't a party this year.  I wasn't really up for it, both emotionally and practically.  I didn't have anything to contribute to a meal and I certainly didn't want to make a trip to the grocery store on Labor Day.  But the kids were relentless, as kids can be, and sent out a few last-minute texts and created an impromptu end-of-the-summer party.  The guest list was very limited.

Later on as I sat around my decrepit old picnic table, the cool breeze of a late summer evening rustling the leaves above me and the slightly chaotic rumble of many voices caught up in many conversations surrounding me, I was overcome by the comfortable feeling of contentment.  Simple, easy, living-in-the-moment contentment.  And what made it all so perfectly lovely was the company.  A company of friends.

Friends can be people you've known only a short amount of time or people you've known practically your entire life.  Friends can be members of your family or someone who is unrelated.  Friends can be both old and young, male or female.  Wealth, or lack thereof, does not determine friendship.  Friends do not have to share the same ideas and life goals.  Friends can have vastly different lives even.

As I looked around, it occurred to me that each person sitting at my table was my friend in the truest definition of the word.  Not only did we share that bond of mutual affection, we also were willing to help shoulder each other's burdens.  And in that moment, just for that one moment, I felt safe and understood and valued.

When I reflect on the past many months I am reminded, over and over again, of the people who have shown my family true friendship.  People who have stopped by unannounced.  Those who have sent letters.  People who have offered support and people who have stepped in and helped guide my kids. There are so many other examples of similar kindness, but all of these things share one major theme.  And that theme is friendship.

For that I am most thankful.

Bill's Birthday

One of Bill's favorite places.  He hadn't been in years.  I wish we would have just gone ahead and hiked in last fall.

Today, September 2, is Bill's birthday.  This would have been his 42nd.

Bill loved to act like he didn't want a fuss made for him but really, he did.  He was a presents guy all the way.  Any sort of gift was acceptable as long as it was wrapped up.  The wrapping didn't even have to be nice either.  In that way he was pretty easy to make happy on his birthday.  I've been known to wrap up a candy bar or pack of gum.  A bottle of beer even.  Besides his presents, he was all about the cake.  Occasionally he chose pie for his birthday dessert but usually it was chocolate cake with chocolate filling and chocolate frosting.  He ate his piece in a bowl full of milk.  I tried a bite once but it just tasted soggy and gross.  That's how he ate cake though.  Always.

How do we celebrate his birthday now?

Nothing I think of trying feels quite right.  I mean, I'll still bake a cake.  That's something the kids wanted to do.  But there won't be presents.  No birthday morning donuts or birthday surprise lattes in the afternoon.  (Bill was totally a girly coffee drinker.  Sure, he liked a black coffee, but he loved a latte.  A caramel latte, eggnog latte, or salted caramel mocha?  He was such a closet coffee sissy.)  No dinner out followed by a trip to Target to spend his birthday money on non essentials.

Maybe I'll plant another apple tree.  Or make a donation to his favorite charity.  But most likely I'll just be reminded that he's not here and try to figure out how to celebrate in a new way.  A new way that would make him laugh and know he is loved.  Still.

I'd better go frost that cake.

A Lesson For All Men. And Boys.

 Blackberries.  Cobbler, sauce over ice cream, by the handful.

 Pullet eggs.  And big girl eggs.

A project.  The ending was rather unexpected.  But a happy surprise.

Something feels amiss.

Duh.

Obviously many things feel amiss around these parts but there is this niggling feeling I have that I've been unable to pinpoint.  A feeling of fear almost.  Unsettled and mildly phobic.  A feeling of vulnerability to the most extreme level.

Once again, duh.

I think I figured it out though.  It's because of Bill.  Or rather, the lack of Bill now.  Had he not been the always-present, always-supportive, always-encouraging guy that he was, I suppose I wouldn't feel so bereft right now.  For the majority of my life (see http://juliekp71.blogspot.com/) I've had Bill's support and confidence as my foundation.  He never discouraged my ideas (except about redecorating or furniture rearranging).  He always offered authentic praise and encouragement.  I never, ever doubted his complete acceptance of me.  I knew he loved me unconditionally and would do anything to protect me.  He never missed an opportunity to tell me I was beautiful or a great mom or the best wife.  He put me first.  Always.

So fellas, here's my advice:  Be like Bill.  Treat your wives or girlfriends just like Bill treated me.  Trust me on this.  Girls dig guys who are devoted and full of adoration for them.  If you can't invoke these feelings willingly and with ease, then maybe you've got yourself the wrong partner!

So anyway,  it's no wonder I'm feeling bereft.  The only place I can feel comfortable now is in my home.  With my kids.  It's a bit compelling that I feel this way.  I used to like entertaining and socializing and being around people.  Bill always said that I would talk to anyone.  Not so much anymore.  It's not that I'm lacking confidence in myself, though it was much easier to feel confident when Bill was around to boost me up.  I just feel vulnerable and pretty defenseless.  Always on edge and waiting for people to critique me.  Am I grieving correctly?  Am I parenting correctly?  Am I living correctly?  Am I widowing correctly?  I suppose with time I'll move past those feelings and maybe not even care what other people think.  But for now, I feel too exposed and raw when I'm out of my element.

My single priority (and it really is the only one) is raising these kids and doing it the way Bill and I intended to from the beginning.  I've said it before and I'll declare it many more times I'm sure, but my world is very small.  Very, very small these days.  But I am comfortable here in my little world.  I can supervise and manage, nurture and teach, and encourage and love in this small space, bolstered by Bill's example.  There's not much elbowroom or space for guests to spread out in this realm but it's quiet and allows me to just breathe.

But it is alone.  And that's a word I don't think I'll ever get used to.