Empty Closet.

Cleaning out Ken’s closet presented a significant challenge. It's amazing how much clothes he accumulated over the years.

It became obvious to me that before I met him he liked seeing an overstuffed closet because it mean he can put off doing laundry one more day. Actually, Ken rarely shops, but when he does, he always end up buying more clothes than he can wear.

As I was taking each item out, I cried and was blind sighted by grief. It is because I find mementos of things we did together in the pockets of his shirt and jackets - ticket stubs, handwritten notes, receipts and toothpicks. Yes, lots of toothpicks. As I went through each item, certain memories came to mind. I savored these memories and allowed myself to drown in whatever feeling it manifests.

My tears turned into sobs and smiles into laughter. And it felt perfectly okay.

I knew I have to give away his clothes, shoes, and other personal item because seeing them in his closet was more than I could bear. They gave the impression that he would be back. But of course, he won't.

By the way, when I say “cleaning out the closet,” it is not just the bedroom. It included his work office, the garage, the basement, the shop and the pile of papers that have accumulated since he died.

I started boxing up his belongings. Every shirts, and pants, and vests and jackets. I packed every bit of his that remained.

Or so I thought.

When I looked at the basement closet I saw an organized chaos that comprise the packed spaced room. More work clothes, boots, more jackets. It was evident that he had not accessed the basement closet in years. And yet Ken had held on to these things because he was trying to hold on to pieces of his past, much like I was attempting to hold on to pieces of his.

I did not start small. I hauled everything all at once because this is something that must not be repeated. It is an action of permanence. Once these items are removed, they are removed completely. Whether I decide to have a garage sale, donate them to charity, or give them to a friend, they will immediately be put to use by those who need them.

But there were things I couldn't, and wouldn't, part with. The no-brainers were the books from his childhood with inscriptions from his parents. Personal correspondence stayed, and so did name badges for events he attended and old greeting cards. The army jacket, now hangs in my closet next to my own clothes. Very occasionally, I bury my nose in it.

I did not realize that sorting through tangible memories can be more difficult than grappling with the intangible ones. They can shape and reshape memories in my head.

I guess objects, in their very concreteness, tell a more relentlessly truthful story.

Almost "There".

Those of you who had been following my blog would have noticed that I began to write a little bit every week after Ken died. That's because I want to record my current state of emotions. I am not embarrassed to openly express my feelings because they are real and writing about them is something that provided me with an excellent emotional outlet. I wrote some, cried some, reread and cried some more each time I returned to write another post.

You may ask if that's how I am healing my grief. Well, I would be quick to point out that I am doing much more than write. I am taking long walks, driving around the countryside, taking care of things at home and surrounding myself with loving friends and family. You name it, I used every tool available. I also kept on reviewing pictures, slide shows, mementos, letters and cards that will elicit pain because having these feelings helped draw out the anguish in my heart which will ultimately contribute to healing my grief. I do not strive to "get over it" or " move on" from Ken's death. Instead, I woke up each morning confident that Kenny is walking with me into each new adventure I face.

It took some time for me to get here, but I have learned how to walk with my grief. Perhaps because I felt the love and support of many as I moved forward into new days and weeks.

I would like to mention those who have helped me a great deal through this process.

First and foremost are Mick and Patrick. Their support has always been so quiet, unassuming and steady, and I know they would hate me to shout from the rooftop about it. But I have always felt their encouragement, their unconditional acceptance of my choices and the comfort of their presence. While they are sharing the same grief, they continually offer their love and understanding which has meant more to me than I can express.

To Tom, Mike, Randy, Greg and Lisa: While I don’t see you as often as I would like, I want you to know that I thank all of you for embracing me into the family. Please let me know if there is any way I can bring kindness and light into your own life the way you did for me.

I thank those who reached out, who periodically checked on me, dropped by, or sent me wonderful messages. Special shout-out to my family who were with me every step of the way - and still are. I pray for the blessings for what all of you have done and continue to do.

And last but not the least, to Jim. You are a miracle. I don't know any other way to explain how much help you have been lately. You probably helped more than you think you did.

Sleepless in Wells.

I have trouble sleeping last night, as most other nights, in the past three months. So I figured I might as well put my insomnia to good use by blogging about it.

For most people, sleep is not an issue. You turn off the lights, you go to sleep, what’s the big deal?

Then picture this:

It’s almost midnight. I have watched all the shows I have recorded in my DVR, and I’ve finally gotten all settled into bed. My body felt tired but my brain is still thinking leftover thoughts from the day I’ve just had.

Hours go by.

The clock ticked, and I am no closer to falling asleep at 3 a.m. than I was at 10 p.m. Morning comes early and I find myself groggy, grumpy, and more depressed than I was the day before. It's good that I don't have a work to go to or I would not be able to concentrate on my task.

I have had more nights like this than I would like to admit.

Most times I told myself that this is just a result of being knocked off the loop. I still felt the piercing, painful sense of loss and longing. I thought that feeling this way for a few weeks, a few months, or even longer is normal since I am still able to carry out most activities and obligations of daily living. I am sure I am not a typical depressed person who’s thoughts are uniformly gloomy. I do experienced sadness in waves, often a response to some reminder of Ken but they are also interspersed with positive thoughts and memories. I am certain that my life will get back to normal and that I will once again feel like my old self.

But it is still a pain in the butt to have routinely restless nights, to find it hard to fall asleep or stay asleep, to toss and turn and watch the clock, to feel too tired to get up but not tired enough to fall asleep.

Also because my eyes look tired all the time. Oh well...

Thank you, Kenny.

There is discipline in A Soldier you can see it when he walks,
There is honor in A Soldier you hear it when he talks.
There is courage in A Soldier you can see it in his eyes,
There is loyalty in A Soldier that he will not compromise.
There is something in A Soldier that makes him stand apart,
There is strength in A Soldier that beats from his heart.

A Soldier isn't a title any man can be hired to do,
A Soldier is the soul of that man buried deep inside of you.
A Soldier's job isn't finished after an 8 hour day or a 40 hour week,
A Soldier is always A Soldier even while he sleeps.
A Soldier serves his country first and his life is left behind,
A Soldier has to sacrifice what comes first in a civilian's mind.

If you are civilian - I am saying this to you.....
next time you see A Soldier remember what they do.
A Soldier is the reason our land is 'Home of the free',
A Soldier is the one that is brave protecting you and me.
If you are A Soldier - I am saying this to you.....
Thank God for EVERY SOLDIER Thank God for what YOU do!

~ by Angela Goodwin ~

One Down, More To Go.

Ken has lived in this same house for over thirty years - this house where so many memories linger.

It is so hard to be in the same house without him. This is his house, and it felt like he should be here, just around the corner in the kitchen or in the TV room. Every space is filled with his life – his medicines and classic car magazines, his tools and his cards.

His belonging surrounds me.

From his shaving kit in the bathroom, his hearing aids on the night stand, to his keys by the door. Everywhere I turn there is a reminder of Ken.

Although some of these items can be comforting, many, are just small and painful reminders of his absence in the house. There is a part of me, which want to leave the house the way it is, a perfect time capsule.

How could I possibly change this house where Ken has lived half of his life? I want so much to hold on to everything forever.

But I know I can’t. There it is. It sucks. So what do I do?

Sadly, the reality is that there are some items that need to get taken care of sooner rather than later and sometimes big decisions need to be made. Add to that, there is no getting around it. Logic tells me that I need to sell some of his belongings and I know I can part with them without feeling guilty.

The other day, I sold his truck.

The trip from the house to the buyer was incredibly difficult, because let’s face it - I am letting go of something that Ken is so proud to have. Driving behind the truck on our way to the buyer was quite emotional because it triggered memories of our many trips around the countryside. But as tears started to well up my eyes, I realized that I may have given up the truck but I am keeping the most precious item – the wonderful memories of our life together that I can revisit over and over again.

With that in my mind, I felt better and was able to go through the sell without breaking down.

Next stop, the daunting task of clearing his shop, his closet and selling more motor vehicles.

God help me.

Grief 101.

If death is inevitable, irreversible and universal, then why was I not equipped with the first-hand knowledge of how to deal with it?

I was not taught in school the subject titled GRIEF. I did not have the subject of grief sandwiched between Math and English. When death invaded my family circle, no one sat down with me to explain how the family dynamics would change. None. It is simply amazing that something as much a part of life as birth we avoid discussing at all cost. No wonder I am so unprepared for the emotions and changes grief brought into my life.

Allow me to walk you through my grief.

When I am paralyzed with grief, it affected me emotionally. I became numb and everything seemed to move in slow motion. I am not sure of what is going on around me as my emotions are unpredictable. I am confused, irritable, depressed, have bouts of weeping, afraid and angry. I felt helpless, lonely, sad, guilty and I could not concentrate as I am preoccupied with thoughts of Ken.

Then the physical. Grief throws a punch in my gut. It seemed like chemical changes were taking place in my body while I am under duress. I have stomach aches, headaches, tight neck and shoulder muscle, difficulty sleeping, racing heartbeat, lack of appetite, nervousness, difficulty breathing, chest pains, and fatigue.

I also struggle spiritually with grief. As a logical creature that love control, I am always trying to connect the dot to make sense of something. But when I am being forced to accept the death of my husband, there really is no connecting of the dots. I have to accept that I can not be God and that I too will die some day. But even that in mind, I still become irritable, withdrawn, felt abandoned, distant and isolated.

Death affected me emotionally, physically and spiritually. It is monumental. Grief feels like an emotional bottomless pit.

I need rest.

Some people say that keeping one self busy may help. But I don't feel like going back to work right now as I feel emotionally and physically exhausted. I need more time to calm my mind. It is simply too difficult for me to think about the next hour much less the next day or month.

Hey, don't worry. Things will get better. I will survive.

Still in the dark.

I woke up today in my new normal – scared and lonely.

The frenzy over memorial preparations had died down. Most family members and friends had drifted back to their normal routines, while here I am, left alone to ponder the questions, “What do I do now? How do I begin to take the first step on the road back to happiness? Will I ever be happy again?

My happiness is gone along with the death of my husband.

When Ken and I first found each other, we experienced a joy unlike any we had known before. Many were the times when we just stood in awe looking at each other, wondering how the miracle had ever happened.

Now, all I have left is intense grief. It seems like grief has no time limit or boundaries and this one will certainly last a lifetime as I will always mourn the love I have lost and the happy times we would have spent together.

Ken will continue to be a part of the fabric of my life whether I can see him physically or not. Every day I feel like there is a large hollow spot in my heart.

It is not necessarily painful or even lonely. It is difficult to describe in words other than a hollow place, that nothing or no one could possibly fill.