Back from the dead…almost literally.

Eight weeks ago I lost someone, who at the time was my world. He was my best friend and partner of 10 years. We were never married. We never had children together. He was the only consistent father figure my son knew for most of his 11 years. I woke up one morning and he was just gone.

I’m 31 years old and I’m a widow.

I’m ready to talk about it. I need to talk about it. My life turned upside-down on March 31, 2009. The difficult thing to say right now is that as challenging and scary and unexpected as it all is right now – it’s also really good.

OMG…How can you say that?! Right?

That’s why I want to start blogging again. When all of this happened I found myself feeling completely alone. In a time of crisis or change my instinct is to research – I look for books, for guidance, for things to help me affirm that what I’m going through is normal and ok. So that’s what I tried to do, and I wound up having a meltdown in the middle of a suburban Borders as a result.

“Where are all the normal books for normal people dealing with heavy shit?!” I said. I can find a book on how to stimulate your baby’s sense of hearing in 101 different ways, but not a single one on what to do when your kid’s dad dies that doesn’t involve angels or Dr. Phil. I need something that’s going to give it to me straight. The world is not all butterflies and rainbows!

I wasn’t always thinking thoughts that I thought were appropriate for someone experiencing this type of loss. I looked at other women who had gone through the same thing who were offering me support and I was in a COMPLETELY different place. I didn’t know what to think about it and, even worse, was concerned about what everyone ELSE thought about it.

I mourned in a way that was right for me. I’m moving forward with my life. I have a great sense of closure. I’m as at peace with what happened as I can be. Now I want other people out there who may be going through the same thing to be able to stumble upon someone who’s talking about it without any apologies. The things I post may be frank and A LOT of people may pass judgment on me as a result. It doesn’t matter in the end – I’m the one who’s still alive and who has to live with THIS. Not you. Not him.

It’s so cliché to say that we were all reminded of how quickly life goes by and how it can be taken away without warning. But it’s so true! We can’t live our lives to other’s standards of what we should do. That’s how Mark and I tried to live most of the time and I’m not about to stop doing that now.


About Mama's a Mess

Who am I and what am I doing here? Well, at the end of the day I'm a mother and a wife, a lover of classic monster movies and comic books, of music, TV and movies. I'm a sucker for pop culture. I'm a fangirl. I'm an artist. As my husband always puts it, "Baby, you're a mess!" I have a penchant for creating and collecting. I feed my brain with a mix of anything from hot rods and pin-ups to handmade and natural. I like to dig in the dirt and grow things but sometimes picture myself doing it like Donna Reed. I will always, always choose to wear a dress first. I am head over heels in love with my husband and have a fantastically crazy life with him. Follow all our adventures and musings on our blog at Twitter: @mamasamess Pinterest & Polyvore: mamasamess
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3 Responses to Back from the dead…almost literally.

  1. I’m sorry to hear about your loss.

    But good for you, regaining footing and doing what needed to be done. I only wish that when it all comes down to it, I can be strong as well.

    I look forward to your frankness in the future. Sometimes, it’s best form of therapy.

  2. Negr0Blanc0 says:

    oh wow. I’m really sorry 😦

  3. Rachel says:

    So sorry for your loss. I admire your candor. People who judge do so because our culture has a very narrow definition of what is an ‘acceptable’ attitude toward death and loss. Which is ridiculous, given the variance among individual personalities, the intricacies of human nature, and the enormity of profound loss. There can’t be only one right way to grieve and keep on living. It’s great that you’re doing it your way.

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