54. Winning a Battle, Losing the War

"Grief is not an illness.  I will not 'get over it.'  I will learn to live with the pain.  Don't change the subject when I talk about my loved one.  If you don't know what to say, just hug me and shed a tear, for the ones that cry with me I will hold close to my heart forever."
~Anonymous

If we knew exactly when our lives would end, would it change the way we live from day to day?  Like, if you knew you only had three months left to live, would you quit your entire daily routine, sell all your possessions, and embark on a whirlwind world tour?  What would Jon have done if he'd known he only had twenty-six years to make a difference?

I'm not an angry person.  I don't think anyone has ever heard me yell and scream or raise hell over this whole crappy widow thing.  And I really haven't.  Well, not in front of anyone at least.  But dragging my heavy heart around is...well, if you'll forgive the pun, getting to be a bit of a drag.  I really feel like yelling right now.  Maybe if I go beat up a punch bag at the gym, the desire to throw a temper tantrum will burn a little less?  Or perhaps if I take out my frustration on a target at the pistol range I'll finally gain some peace of mind?  To say that these times hit me like a ton of bricks doesn't quite do justice to the extent of it.  I literally dreamed about Jon last night, woke myself up to make a mental note of what happened in the dream, remembered the details, and then fell back asleep and forgot them all.  I keep a private journal of every dream I have about him - both good and bad - because my dreams are the only place where I know I can see him again...and touch him.  Recently, I've been going to bed almost every night at 9pm (if not earlier) because I'm tired of being awake and killing time until I have to wake up and do it all over again the next day.  I didn't know it was possible to sleep so much and still be so exhausted.  Sometimes I might as well be living a double life with the effort it takes to keep it together on the outside.  Every day I make it through is a battle won...and yet, it also feels as if I've taken a few steps back in the overall scheme of things.  I guess you could say it's like winning a battle while losing the war.


One of the worst aspects of all this is that I usually think of myself as a pretty self-sufficient and independent person - after these last several years on my own, I've had to learn how to take care of myself and do the things Jon used to do for me.  I've had a lot of help from family and friends along the way, of course.  But lately I've felt very needy and more dependent than ever on others to keep me company and fill the silence.  In fact, as soon as I'm alone again, I can tell that there's a noticeable shift in my mood.  I go from distracting myself with work or socializing with friends to walking around with a scowl on my face, and not because I'm mad at anyone; it's just become my natural tendency to frown more than I smile as I get lost in my thoughts of Jon and how I still can't believe that he's really gone.  I swear, I've been telling myself every day for the past five plus years that dead means dead, but my idiotic brain still keeps trying to figure out a way around the bottom line.  Is that pathetic or is it just another a sign of how much I miss him?  I know everyone feels broken sometimes, but I worry that my brokenness is becoming more like a personal epidemic.

Sorry, I know this is all rather depressing.  Please forgive me if it sounds like I'm spending my time complaining instead of dealing with the problem.  I'll be the first to admit to that this won't be among my most enlightening or popular of entries.  I guess that's just it, though - this is my way of trying to deal with it.  It's taken me years to realize that this process is not a nice linear progression from bad to better where each day is a little easier than the last.  I think people want to believe that - both for my sake and for their own - but the truth is it's just not that simple.  No one likes to come out and say it, but that's the reality, depressing or not.  I just hope it's okay that I'm not the epitome of strength and optimism at the moment.  As anyone who's lost someone who meant everything knows, it's hard to be strong and pretend it's okay when deep down, it really isn't okay at all. 


In a few days, it will have been six years since I told Jon goodbye in a parking lot on Fort Bragg before he deployed to Iraq.  We couldn't possibly have known then that he would never return to Fort Bragg alive, but hindsight is always 20-20, right?  I often wish he hadn't been so brave and determined when it came to doing what's right, but I guess if he hadn't been that way, he wouldn't have been the Jon I knew.  To quote one of the best war movies ever made (and one which Jon held near and dear to his heart), no one asks to be a hero - it just sometimes works out that way (SSG Eversmann, Black Hawk Down).  I love you, my husband and my hero.  In that parking lot six years ago, you told me that I gave you so much to live for and to look forward to when you got home; well, the same goes for me, babe.  Only this time, it's you who's already home and me who has to wait.  Each day is one day closer.  I just have to wait...

July 31st, 2006 - Many tears were shed the day I said goodbye to my sweetheart at Ft. Bragg, NC