Yahoo Personals...

Bet that got your attention.

This is one of those posts that might be better housed at the "other blog", but I'm going to be bold and post it here. Frankly, the whole experience of being single again is interesting in a "watching someone eat pureed grasshoppers" kind of way. Unfortunately, I am the one eating the pureed grasshoppers. Hmmm. Not sure what I think of that analogy, but moving on...

So, I've been asked out on a couple of dates; I've even been sober for a few of the conversations. I've also been asked if I want to "come back to my place and hang out." Uh, yeah. Thankfully, even though I haven't necessarily been sober for those invitations, I still managed to coherently utter the words, "maybe some other time." What I've learned in all of this is that if I was looking for a one-night stand, I'd have no problem finding it.

Unfortunately, I don't think I'm looking for a one night stand - at least not on this blog I'm not. And the best advice anyone can give me is online dating. I've got one girlfriend who recently got engaged and another who is on the verge, and they both met online. Hence, my evening entertainment of persusing the personals.

BEST FUN EVER! if it weren't so damned depressing.

Seriously, I am not an overly critical person. I can get along with just about anyone who isn't downright mean, but come on...

A few headlines for you..
Tough outside, soft inside (Could you be more specific?)
Honest man looking for honest woman (Well, that narrows it down)
Hi Ladies (Funny in the right context. Not the right context)
Celtic prince seeks goddess to worship (Comment unecessary)
I'm a lover not a fighter (Or a writer)
My ideal match would be a moderately attractive woman? (What exactly does that say about you)
Nice guy seeking real woman (not a transvestite?)

To make matters worse, from what I could tell, these were just normal guys stumped by the online format. After all, this is new for most of us.

Even worse than reading the guy's profiles is having to compose my own, a task which remains undone for fear of writing something that will end up posted on someone elses blog. And the profile composer isn't much help. It's kind of like madlibs for grown ups.

My friends say I am _________ (adjective).
Something I've always wanted to do is ___________(verb)
Someday I want to visit (place)

You get the point.

But sometime soon, I am going to complete the profile. And, I will probably say yes to one of the dates. And Dalton will/would/whatever understand. He never really liked being alone either.

Lori

Shit!!!

I hate cancer.

If you get a minute, swing by Lori's site and pray for her. She's this incredibly awesome amazing young woman who after blogging and sharing her whole experience with the world and inspiring so many others to have hope and humor and life with cancer, just got the news that...

Uggh. I can't even write it.

Anyway. The site is http://toosexyformyhair.com/.

Typical Me

WooHoo. It's 8pm, and these days, I can count that as a late night. Seriously, I have gone from nosleeptricia to sleepallthetimetricia. If I didn't know better, I'd guess I was pregnant. And yes, i know better.

Whereas my prior stages of grief have resulted in almost compulsive non-stop activity, my current state has me entirely apathetic. And because I am so good at irony, I have more to do now than I have in eight months...yes, it's rapidly approaching nine. UNFREAKINBELIEVABLE!

Somehow, I am still managing to get to work, take care of Iain, , and occasionally do the dishes. But what about packing up my whole house? And doing schoolwork? And paying bills? Yuck. I think I'll just go to sleep. I wake up with the best of intentions, but by the time 7 o'clock rolls around, all I want to do is crawl into bed. My house is in a constant borderline state. One more 1/2 empty juice cup and it would go from mess to filth. So not me.

I know it's bad because I don't even feel like going out or seeing friends. Troublesome? A bit. But normal, I think. Call it the depression stage, and call me typical. Fortunately, I'm still able to muster up the energy to force the issue. And when i do, I always have a good time.

Now, if you are a friend of mine, don't fret. The lovely part about being me is that a few days feel like a lifetime. So really, this bedtime at seven routine is just a few days old. I'm sure by Friday I'll be back to not being able to sleep and having bathroom floors you could eat off of.

Here's hoping for more productive grief.

Empathy

I got word last Sunday that she had died. Leukemia. Her husband was my friend, a coworker from years ago. They have a 14-month-old little girl.

Today is the funeral, and I'm having a hard time getting out of the house. Had a hard time getting to sleep last night as well. Empathy, like none other I've experienced. The pain in my chest is so severe and the tears just keep welling up. I hurt for what I know these next few months will bring for them. And I wonder why some of us experience this kind of loss at a time when everything else in our lives and our marriage and our family held such promise.

That Pensive Smirk

I caught a glimpse of him in the backseat
staring out the window
chin tilted upward
blue eyes shining
hands patting the edges of his seat
He looked just like his father
sitting there with that pensive smirk
and for the first time
since his father died
I cried
with gratitute
for my son.

Grace or Betrayal

I lie awake at night taking an inventory of uniquely him. The freckles on the top of his feet. The softness of his hair and the way it would start to curl up if he went too long between haircuts. The strength of his grip. The red in his beard. The little scar on his leg where he didn't like to be touched. The feel of his breath against my neck while we slept.

But my memory struggles with the passing of each night. And I realize that I don't sleep because I fear sleep. It comes like a gracious thief and steals away the sound of his laughter, the scent of his skin, the shape of his mouth. And I wonder how long it will be before I can no longer feel his fingers slip ito mine.

Is it a gift or a slow betrayal? The passing of time. Or is it simply is. For sleep eventually comes and steals from my inventory of uniquely him.

The Other Blog

Blogging has been difficult for me lately. Writing is easy, but blogging is difficult.

Most of you are just too close.

When I began writing last October, it was to keep everyone up-to-date on all things cancer. Church friends, insurance co-workers, high school friends, ministry teams, old acquaintances, and long-time family friends could all connect through the blog. It was easy to write for everyone because everyone was interested in Dalton's health.

Then when Dalton died, it was easy to write for everyone because everyone was interested in my loss and grief and plans for the future.

Now that I'm grappling as much with my loss as with my identity, things have gotten a bit stickier.

The truth is that some of you would be horrified by the humerous insights I gain after an evening out in Hollywood. Others of you would roll your eyes at my reflections on Scripture. Some of you feel like its dishonorable for me to stop wearing my wedding ring, and others wonder why I still have pictures up in the house. This would all be fine if I were anonymous. I would just write it like it is and disable the comments button. But I'm not anonymous, and I can't very well tell those who care about me to disable their comment button.

I guess what I am trying to say and miserably failing at saying is that I feel stuck. I want to keep writing here to keep people in touch with what and how Iain and I are doing, but I think it might also be time to start a new blog where I can write anonymously for other young widows who might actually be comforted by some candid discussion of this mess.

Actually, if it weren't for the other widows who already read this blog, I wouldn't have written this post at all, because I really don't want to offend the people I love the most.

Oh for goodness sake, I should have just posted the following "I'm starting a new blog written for young widows rather than friends and family. If you read this blog because you are a young widow or just find young widowhood intriguing, please email me at triciaharding@gmail.com and I'll give you the new address. Otherwise, if you are a friend or family member who wants to stay current on what Iain and I are doing, this is the place to be.

See what i mean, this post is a disaster because I want to make everyone happy. And it is really hard for honesty and codependency to coexist.