79. Never

"A dream is a wish your heart makes
When you're fast asleep..."
~Cinderella

A few days ago, it occurred to me that I hadn't cried in a while.  It surprised me.  It's usually more a question of how many times I've cried in one day, rather than a question of how many days it's been since I last broke down and cried.  I guess it was a mistake to start thinking about it.

A night later, I dreamed about my husband.  And then I dreamed about him again.  And then again.  I often pray for him to visit me in my dreams and, as in life, he never lets me down.  In these dreams, I'm overcome with disbelief and elation at his presence - I work myself into a frenzied panic, wondering if it's real and begging him not to leave me again.  I touch his skin, his face, and his body, and every piece of him feels so tangible and concrete.  When I wake up the next morning I can't function for a few hours as I numbly come to the realization for the millionth time that he's not there.  To convey to others who have never lost someone how it feels to know you will never see that person again in this world is like trying to describe how it feels to try and breathe without air.  Never:  it's such a tiny little word, and yet it carries with it the weight of a sadness beyond measure.

As I was out walking Nicki last night, I thought for a moment that maybe Jon would be at my house to surprise me when I got home.  Seconds later, I chastised myself for being so foolish - come on, Jenna, you know better than that at this point.  And yet, I continue to do these things to myself.  No matter how much time goes by, I never seem to stop reaching for the phone to tell Jon my latest news.  I turn toward where he should be sitting at the dinner table to share a funny story...but he's never there - he can't be.  That these things simply cannot happen doesn't seem to fully register in my mind...or maybe the problem is really in my heart.  I'm not a doctor, but, either way, I'm guessing there's no easy fix for this kind of elusive affliction.

So, despite wondering if my tears were on a temporary hiatus, I guess I've answered my own question.  Over the past few days, photos of my husband's smiling face have brought tears to my eyes at the most awkward and inconvenient of times.  Life is like that.  There's never a "good time" for heartbreak, and there's no sweet, melodious soundtrack to take the edge off our emotional woes.

A few weeks after his death on April 7th, 2007, I saw Jon again in my dreams.  He had somehow come back to this world so I could tell him what happened.  As I choked out the words and explained the events of that day, his eyes filled with tears - something I'd never seen before.  His first question was not "what happened to me?" but, rather, "was anyone else hurt?"  I told him yes, that three other men from his truck had died alongside him.  That was what upset him the most - not the fact that he hadn't made it, and not the fact that he would miss out on all life had to offer, but, rather, the fact that three other good Soldiers lost their lives too.  In a way, it really doesn't surprise me.  Selfless is the epitome of what he was, and it's why I continue to love and miss him so much.  The kind of selflessness he embodied is rare, and yet I was fortunate enough to know a man with this quality.  Bittersweet though it is, I hope he continues to visit me in my dreams.  The next time I see him, I want to tell him thank you - thank you for being what I aspire to be and more.  Thank you for loving me.  Thank you...for everything.

78. Pain

"Sometimes the strongest people are the ones who love beyond all faults, cry behind closed doors, and fight battles that nobody knows about." 

~Author unknown

Pain is one of those phenomenons we can explain in the most intricate and technical of terms, and yet there are certain types that have no scientific explanation whatsoever.  Like phantom limb pain - how can a limb that's no longer there continue to ache?  Or the feeling I get when the sadness of Jon's death hits me out of nowhere.  It feels as though someone grabs hold of my heart and pulls down - hard.  The sensation simultaneously reopens all the old wounds and leaves new ones in its wake.  It's like being suffocated by a debilitating emotional weight that makes it impossible to get enough air.  Scientists might refer to this effect as "agonal respiration" - labored, gasping breathing patterns that often accompany organ failure.  I learned that from the reports that describe Jon's struggle to live after his truck was hit by the massive IED.  Ironically, it's like love.  What scientific explanation can there be for the fact that one person has the ability to make your heart soar, your hands shake, and your body tingle with excitement while another person has absolutely no effect?  Ultimately, when the feeling hits me, I just have to wait for it to pass.  Love, on the other hand, doesn't pass.  Where it's real, it's there to stay.

Since Jon's death, I've dreaded Valentine's Day with a passion.  Part of the reason is that the last card I ever received from him was for Valentine's Day 2007.  He sent it from Iraq about two weeks early with specific instructions to me to wait until Valentine's Day to open it.  But, of course, I was too excited and opened it early anyway - he pretended to be mad, but he wasn't very convincing.  On Valentine's Day, a bouquet of beautiful pink roses arrived with another card that expressed his love for me and how happy he was to celebrate our first Valentine's Day as a married couple.  I mailed him a double-layered heart-shaped chocolate cake with pink frosting that spelled out "I love Jon."  When I spoke to him on the phone and asked whether he liked it, he sheepishly admitted that he might have already eaten all of it...in one sitting.  That was my baby - no amount of sugar could satiate his appetite for desserts. Luckily, I was exactly the same way.  That was one of many reasons we made such a great team.  It might have been a deal-breaker for our relationship if either one of us had had a strong aversion to sugar!

The last card Jon sent to me from Iraq for Valentine's Day 2007.  Words cannot
describe the happiness his words bring to my heart.

This year, despite dreading it, Valentine's Day itself was actually tolerable.  In fact, I might even go so far as to say I enjoyed it for the first time in years.  After spending the day at work doing a job I love, I ate a delicious home-made dinner with my two best girlfriends. We then sat next to Ohio State President E. Gordon Gee at the OSU-Northwestern men's basketball game where I spoke to him at length about the veteran's project I founded in Jon's memory.  Appropriately, the Valentine's Day cookies he handed out to us were frosted...and heart-shaped.  After watching OSU beat Northwestern within the last few minutes of the game, we finished out the night drinking delicious martinis at a local gay bar with well-dressed men.  When I finally made it back to my house, there was a box of delicious chocolate-covered caramels from my in-laws on my front step.  The proverbial frosting on the cake came the next morning when I got an email from Dr. Gee welcoming me and my friends into his official "posse."  Although I'm not too sure what that means, it made me laugh.  More importantly, his support for the veterans project helps to confirm that what I'm doing with the insurance money is exactly what Jon would have wanted.  Last but not least, tonight I'll host an "anti-Valentine's Day" dinner party for a group of my close friends.  There will be plenty of food, wine, and laughter...and hopefully we'll make some great new memories.  For the first time in a long time, I can say, without hesitation, that life is pretty good.

Even in the midst of all these positive developments, however, the pain still has a way of creeping up on me when I least expect it.  I tossed and turned a lot last night, and when I finally woke up this morning, I felt that familiar pressure tugging on my heart.  After a moment or two, I realized why - I'd dreamed of Jon.  At the end of the dream, something happened.  He started to suffocate, and I couldn't save him.  I screamed and cried, but there was too much blood and he couldn't breathe.  I had to remind myself that it was just a dream - at least in the figurative sense.  The nightmare is still real, but his pain has long passed and he is now at peace.   Crushing though it was, the pain in my chest eventually passed too.  I consciously focused on the simple act of air intake - air in, air out.  Breathe.  Repeat.  My heartbeat slowed, and another day began without Jon.

Pain - it comes suddenly and without warning, reminds us we're alive, and eventually fades.  There's no explanation for it, much like love.  Love, however, is a little different.  It's pure and joyous and true.  It's constant, unyielding, and its power far surpasses that of an overly commercialized holiday.  I know my pain will come and go, and eventually it will always pass.  My love for Jon, however, is here to stay.

77. A Feeling

"You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.  In a heartbeat.  Or the absence of one." 

~The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Dideon

I had a feeling.  As soon as I coaxed myself out of bed yesterday morning, I knew it would be a rough day.  Maybe it was just that I didn't start the day with a good cup of coffee.  Maybe it was just because it was a Tuesday and I'd been up too late the night before.  Maybe it was just one of those days.  I became fixated on the events of April 7, 2007.  I turned them over and over in my mind.  I looked back over the official AR 15-6 investigation of Jon's death.  Was I trying to find an answer that I already knew wasn't there?  Was I just torturing myself by reliving the details of my husband's last hours?  The report said his body was thrown 10 - 15 meters from the burning vehicle.  How many feet is that?  I looked it up.  10 meters equals 30 feet.  Of course it does, I already knew that.  Why did I bother to look that up?  Why focus on the fact that Jon was living and breathing one moment...and then the next moment, he was not?

I'm not sure if there are any answers to these questions.  At least, none that make sense.  In class later the same day I was asked if I was married.  Oh, God.  At this point, I've filled out how many forms and documents that demand I categorize myself as "single" or "married" ("widowed" is often not even                                      an option)?  And yet, being asked to do it in an open forum in front of my peers was surprisingly painful, and I wasn't ready for how hard it hit me.  I avoided looking around the class to see how many happily married people raised their hands.  Instead, I averted my eyes, embarrassed by the immediacy of my tears.  As I  stared down at my hands and fidgeted with my pen, Jon's wedding ring seemed to taunt me:  "You were once one of those nice, normal married people...you couldn't stop smiling at him the day you slid on that ring...and then one year later, the coroner was removing it from his lifeless finger."  I left the class, sat down on the cold bathroom floor, and cried for my poor beloved Jon.  Then I pulled myself back together.  You can do this, I told myself.  "Married" and "single" are just the words we use to explain what transcends explanation.  When love is there to stay, a title is no more than just that:  it's just a title.

As I listened to my classmates talk about their thoughts on the institution of marriage, I chose not to chime in.  Jon is so much a part of who I was...and who I am now.  He does define me.  My marriage was a momentous, life-changing event.  And I'm proud of that.  Describing myself as "his wife" may not be the definition others would choose for themselves, but that's okay.  I don't expect everyone to understand the array of conflicted feelings I experience whenever I'm asked to categorize myself by marital status, and that's okay too.  I imagine Jon's parents must often feel the same way when people ask them if they have children.  Why yes, yes we do.  Both are in the Army.  My oldest son is a surgeon and lives out on the west coast.  My youngest son...well, he lives in Arlington.  Headstone number 8617.

When we have these feelings, there's a reason for them.  They're not necessarily "bad."  They just mean  our loved ones are still looking out for us in ways we may not understand at the time.  So it's probably best that we listen to these feelings when they make themselves known.  They're there to protect us and to warn us about impending - or inevitable - emotional breakdown.  But they're also there to provide comfort in the moments we feel most alone.

I had a feeling.  And when I walked into the grocery store last night and saw some of Jon's favorite Valentine's Day candy on display, my heart skipped a beat.  I had a feeling.  I should have listened.  That feeling means he's still there, that he's still looking out for me when I need him most.  I don't doubt there will be many more days when I need his love the way I did yesterday.  I have a feeling he knows it too.