When Memories Fail Me

I remember crying silent but painful tears in the back seat of someones car... we were running an errand for the memorial service and barely above a whisper, I asked, "What if I forget..." they too began to weep with me. Finally, they cleared their throat to answer, "You'll always have your memories."

I find that statement less than accurate. Because, for me, it sort of feels like the past 20 months have been a downhill battle for my memory. I fight. I fight hard to remember... to recall things we did, things he said, how it felt... But no matter how hard I try, I feel as thought I'm losing just a little as each month passes. There's so much I can no longer recall... and even more that I don't even know that I've forgotten until the need to remember hits me like bricks.

September marks the final days I was able to spend with David before he deployed yet again. Last September I went crazy trying to remember what we did the day before I dropped him off... I went into panic mode. I looked through journals- nothing. I looked at old calenders- nothing. And I looked through bank statements. I tried so desperately to piece together our final hours. I couldn't believe I had let myself forget. I still can't completely recall how we spent that day... but I can clearly replay how we spent that night... in each other's arms.

This September... the desperation isn't there... today, my nails aren't scratching at the door of memories. I think this time around, my hope isn't in the memories itself but in the "knowing" that there are memories. I know we were together. I know he remembers :). This morning, I woke up replaying our last vacation with my family in my head... there was a gap in the memory... but instead of beating myself with a memory stick I decided that when my memory fails me I'll just bask in what I could remember.



"The existence of forgetting has never been proved: We only know that some things don't come to mind when we want them." ~Friedrich Nietzsche

Our Mountain

I remember when I was able to trust with everything in me. Trust God. Have faith. I knew I was blessed... Our lives were difficult, yes, but it was good. When the rug was pulled from under me I wasn't sure if I was going to ever reach that place again. The place where faith was second nature and trusting was never a question.

David and I used to describe that kind of trust like jumping off our mountain. We took in the scenery at the top of it and were always ready to give it all we got to jump off. We jumped when we joined the Army. We jumped when he deployed. And we jumped when he was stop-lossed. But I took the elevator straight down and off of that mountain when he was killed. I felt like a joke had been played on me my whole life. Or maybe I had no idea what trust and faith really was...

This month I've found myself back on our mountain... and I was asked to jump. I realize more and more that Love is the product of faith and trust... and trusting didn't mean I couldn't be scared out of my mind. I know what the bottom of my mountain looks like... so this month I've been appreciating being at the top of it again... looking out... preparing to jump... Loving the trust and trusting in love.

A Road Less Traveled

I had no clue what to blog about today. I've been processing many things the past few weeks... but no idea how to begin expressing any of it in words. This quote was read to me this morning... (thanks, WSM!) and I believe it helped me sum up my findings:

“All of life is a journey. Which paths we take, what we look back on, and what we look forward to is up to us. We determine our destination, what kind of road we will take to get there, and how happy we are when we get there.” -Unknown Author

When I married David I knew I had started the journey of my life. A journey in which each step taken would only deepen our love for each other and the life we had in front of us. But I was not prepared for the roads our journey included. It took people all of one day after I received the news about my husband to ask, "What are you gonna do now?? What's next?" Next?! I wanted to rip their eyes! ...But I asked myself the same question... and I remember the exact moment I answered it.

I was siting on the floor beside my bed... frozen. Someone had asked for a pair of socks, which were under the bed... I went to grab one when I froze in a train of thought and lost all awareness of my surroundings. I was completely engulfed. And all I could think of was what I was about to do.

Live.

In that very moment I knew I'd survive. I had to. For David. Not an ounce in me wanted to, but I knew I would. In that moment I chose my path. The words "the road less traveled" kept popping in my head. I didn't know how to do it, or if it had been done before, or what it would even look like... I knew I was going to sound crazy BUT I just had to do it... I would continue this journey, right beside David.

Looking back... I realize I didn't understand the magnitude of all that I was asking of myself. It was all so fresh and raw. But I wasn't blind for long. Now having a better understanding of the burdens my path can acquire, my choice hasn't changed. Still, I have the same tug in my heart. The pull towards life and hope... the pull towards David and a pull for exploring the unfamiliar path of a journey continued with someone who's left this world. Our journey. At first, I thought of this new life as a curse. Strength- as a curse. Survival- a cruel joke. But when I set my mind to see the beauty in our journey, I'm always in....... AWE. In awe of what is behind us and especially in awe of what's in front of us!

Sometimes... Dare I say, on a really good day, I'm excited for what's next! At some point, and I don't remember when exactly... I stopped loathing the future and can even make a plan for a few months in advance! Don't get me wrong- the thought of 10 years still has the ability to make my stomach turn but it doesn't make me angry anymore... I think it's because I can better grasp that all these paths will end at David. He is my inevitable. My goal. My eternity.

Like the quote, He is my destination.

I just have to keep looking at the beauty along the road. The road less traveled.

:)

Wanting

David is my best friend. And I say is because he's still the one person that knows every thing about me- good and bad. He's still the one person I want to call when things go wrong, the one person I want to get advice from when I have decisions to make, and the one person I want a hug from when my heart is heavy.

This week I really needed my best friend. I had things to do, decisions to make, flights to book, bills to pay, cars to fix... you know the drill. But all I reaaaaallly wanted was my other half; to hear David say that it all didn't matter. I wanted him to say he'll be home with a movie and a quart of ice cream and I wanted to see him smile. Sometimes I get so consumed by wanting that I can't feel his love.

Today, in the midst of all my wanting I forced myself to see all that I have of David and what I could look forward to. I have memories. I have letters. I have his love. I have God. David always said, "Its simple. Faith, Hope and Love." So today... I want hope. To get through... I have faith in the hope his love will bring.

3 Amigos

After David died the quantity of my friends were seriously reduced. Most feared approaching me, most didn't know what to say when they did... Some pretended like his death never happened. It was a filtering process. At first, the filtering process surprised me. I didn't want to lose friends... especially those who knew David... but it was inevitable.

What I didn't know was that I would gain many more.

For the past week I've been with 2 special friends. We've gone shopping, went out to dinner, stayed up till all hours of the night and watched reality shows... We're all very different in many ways and alike in some. One likes the outdoors and country things... the other likes antiques and plaid... and I like the city and contemporary. All three of us come from very different back grounds... military, college, and missions. We all married the loves of our lives... all military wives. And all military widows. We met through the American Widow Project. We call ourselves... The 3 Amigos!

I never pictured myself in Florida with 2 other military widows but I'm so glad that I am. These women have given me so much... courage, support, and inspiration. I think we all know how important another widow is to our growth as a widow but I just had to say it one more time... I'm so grateful for the widows in my life.

Thank you, Amigos, I had an awesome week.

110 Carriage Pl.

There's something daunting about entering the place where your life last thrived. I know for a while now that I had to make a trip to Clarksville, TN, where David and I were stationed,but I chose not to dwell on the idea. To be honest, we'd be happy in a cardboard box so long as both of us fit in it, but Clarksville was never our favorite place to be. Yet, it was our home, we built a life and had a routine... we were happy here. At one point, I vowed never to come back. But as fate has it, our tenants moved out and our house needed some fixing. So! Off to Clarksville...

I was doing good! ...Until I drove past Exit 4 on the highway... the beginning of Clarksville. The beginning of all the memories to come. My heart started raising and I had to catch my breath. Did I really want to do this?! ...Too late now, I guess. As the military base entered my view on the right a particular panic began in me and I knew if I didn't call someone I might just lose what strength I have left. I called my WSM. I needed another voice... someone to tell me I was crazy or I could do this. While on the phone I drove around aimlessly for a bit, collecting my mind and taking in all that was familiar. ...The walmart we always went to, his favorite taco stand, the post office, the park... I asked WSM to stay on the phone with me while I made my next stop... 110 Carriage Place... our home.

I sucked in a deep breath as I turned the corner past the street sign... our home in full view. "Memories are too painful for me," a woman once told me... I thought about this as I drove up to the house. I held the house key in my hand for a while... determined to go in... determined to make it through the next few minutes. I stood at the red door with the phone to my ear and the key in the door.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't open it.

I let the key go for a bit, then went to turn it... then let it go... I did this a few times. What if the place wasn't what I remembered? The tears began. The panic found me. I could do this...

I couldn't understand what WSM was saying but I did hear her say something about "good memories..." Yes. Good memories... I have good memories here. With that I opened the door. It was bright inside, open and airy just like I remember. The sunlight came flooding in from the all the windows in the same way it did the first time David and I saw the house. It's was made us fall in love with the place... it reminded us of California. It was perfect.

I walked straight to the spot I've daydreamed about most the past 18 months... an area on the floor not far from the door. I've longed to return to this simple spot on the carpet... the spot where we laid next to each other before I dropped him off the night he left to Iraq. The house was empty, all our furniture was in storage. We had no were to sit so we just sat by the door. It was in this spot where we spent our last moments in our home, in this spot I tried so hard to keep my brave face... in this spot where I cried... in this spot he kissed my tears. It was in this spot that he last held me... he held me the way I will never forget and always crave. One hand under the small of my back, the other under my head. Without thinking, I collapsed my body on the very spot and closed my eyes. I realized how much I love this place and just how good our memories are.

For the past three days I've been at 110 Carriage Place... a tiny house on a cul-de-sac, jam packed with good memories. Happy memories. Every wall, every room, ever cabinet- a memory. There is so much I didn't remember!! But I'm so glad I gave myself the chance to do just that... remember our best moments at 110 Carriage Place, because the woman was wrong.... because for me forgetting is way more painful then the quick sting of a memory.

A Thin Thread

I've always felt like I related to this art piece made by my sister-in-law. It reminds me of pain. Of strength. Of holding on. Of hope. Do you ever feel like you're hanging on by the thinnest thread? I had been running on empty for a while now... feeling dry and indifferent... Feeling like I had given everything that I had to give, leaving nothing left for me. The past few weeks, like usual, have been a whirlwind. But this whirlwind has been an extremely personal one- intimate even. This whirlwind... took my soul for a ride and dropped it off in a dark alley. In the alley...my tear's flood gates busted open, my heart screamed of pain and my body lay limp, in shock of so much emotion. I've noticed that there's usually a point for me in the midst of this kind of pain when I choose to hold on to that thin thread or let go. If I consider letting go, even for a split second, letting go will be the direction I take. And so, in the dark alley where I thought no one would be looking, my thin thread held strong but I stopped fighting...I let it go.

Over the next few hours I saw nothing but the pain the past 18 months have brought me... I saw only the unfair, unjust, and ugly. My mouth opened to speak but sound failed to escape. I told my body to move but it denied me. I held onto nothing and let myself fall dangerously further into my loss, jealousy, and anger. I tried to recall everything that would wound me further. I didn't care. I didn't crave relief. I didn't want comfort. Finally, air escaped my lungs and as if a switch had been flipped, my eyes dried up. I looked around and realized... somehow I had made it from my bed (my dark alley) to the floor of my shower. Despite my efforts to hide, comfort found me.

Life. I kept thinking. Life.

Life, can be my curse if I let it. Life... I can hate. Or in life... I can hope. I thought again about the past 18 months. This time, allowing myself to remember the places in which I have found strength... in a good listener, in memories, in the bond of another widow, in grace, in David... most recently, I found hope in the birth of new life- David's niece. Even though these things at some point brought me strength to put one foot in front of the other, I attempt to recognize where these things have all derived...

God. I thought out loud.

With that realization, I took a deep breath and replaced my thin thread... with something new... Hope.

Thus Begun Our Dance

It was a clear, sunny morning on July 2nd, 2005, not an ugly cloud in the sky. I got ready in a room with the women most pronounced in my life at that time. I was escorted by the 8 beautiful women of my bridal party through the hotel and across the country club in California. I stopped briefly at the white fence behind the gorgeous gazebo before taking my place at my father's side. I wanted to take a peek at what awaited under the arched flowers... the sight made my heart race! ....There he waited... for me. At 11am I stood before my best friend, the man I went to for advice, comfort and love. I couldn't tell you what our Pastor spoke of that morning. I can only remember David's hand embracing mine and his eyes- the most pure shade of blue seemed to burn straight into my soul. I remember thinking "Finally... Finally..." It was on that day David took my hand, placed a ring on my finger, and made me his bride. Thus begun our dance.

Today is our 4 year wedding anniversary.

July 2nd represents the most important union in my life. It represents a covenant. A promise. When I was told that David was killed, I remember thinking, "I will not let this end." I was thinking about my marriage. As time has passed, I've been able to continually iron out my thoughts and confirm the ideals I choose to live by. After January 8th, I made a promise (a re-commitment of my vows) to find a way to continue my marriage with David. At the time, I didn't know what exactly I was promising myself. I didn't know what it was like to live day in and day out without the sound of his voice or the warmth of his body. Of course... At age 22, I had never heard of a widow pursuing the growth of her relationship with her deceased husband! But I knew I had to try. Regarding my decision, I've been told that death ended our union, I'm denying myself joy, I've forgotten how to love, and what I seek can not be found... and I've told them all, "Watch me."

And so, my "dance" with David continues. Our relationship is different is every way. This dance... is hard. Painful. It has it's frustrations and anguish. But how can anyone judge my path if it is I who is willing to bear the obvious burdens? To so many degrees I feel like David unknowingly prepared me for this phase in our journey together. He taught me that we don't live for this world, love is the point of all sacrifice and that love, the context of all missions, is stronger than death. I choose to believe and hold onto his words. I can't help but open my heart more and more deeply... to allow him to love me, even now... even after death... on the day that marks the commitment to our soul's union.


To My Husband,
We are separated by form, but 'I am here.'One day I will be brought to my hearts true home. Until then, we dance. My heart burns for you.
Happy Anniversary, My Love.





"Where there is love, there is increase." ~Cynthia Bourgeault

Celebrating the Journey at Hole 8

This week is a big week for the widows in my life- the military widows of The American Widow Project. Wednesday, we had our first annual charity golf tournament for the organization. Each golf hole was dedicated to the soul mate of an AWP member.

I spent the entire day on a golf course in North Carolina with about 120 supporters and 15 military widows. It was most definitely one of those days when you have to take a step back and shake your head in disbelief. So many supporter. So many survivors. And I am both.

I watched these 15 widows play golf, interact with strangers, hand out prizes, and laugh out loud. They were living life. Something I, at one point, thought I'd never be able to do again. Time and time again "life" surprises me. Shocks me, even. And pushes me. All 15 of us have very different stories in comparison. We're at different points in our journeys. But there we were in one place celebrating one thing... Life. The lives of our soul mates and our lives as survivors.

At hole 8 I found myself smiling from ear to ear... because if I must walk this journey... that was exactly where I wanted to be on that day at that moment with those women. I was celebrating this journey... as were they.

Next Box

I've moved twice since David passed. Both moves necessary, emotional, and exhausting. I moved into this house 3 months ago. I had unopened boxes from both moves and at some point I just stopped unpacking. Those that remained were shoved into the guest bedroom with the door shut. From time to time I would consider opening the door and organizing the crap I piled on the bed and in the closet... Until this week, it was only a thought. I had completely forgotten what was even in the boxes I kept hidden away.

As I opened the boxes of items that sparked memories of what now seems like my "previous life," a nauseous feeling swept over me. I took deep breaths and forged on. One box contained books... financial books I was reading and saving for David to read when he got home from Iraq, and a journal. My teenage journal. My journal of "I got to see David today," "I think I love David," and "I told my mom I'm going to marry David" days. Seems like such a long time ago. Again, the nauseous feeling came... more deep breaths. I read the journal from start to finish before I continued through the room.

Next box.

Office supplies, photos, Cd's, and a really old computer. I had several flat rate envelopes in the box and I couldn't remember why I had kept them... I was about to throw them away when I realized an envelope had papers in it. I held the envelope upside down and out came the pre-addressed labels and customs forms... To David... From Me. I sent David a package and an envelope filled with letters every week while he was deployed. He looked forward to them every week. How could I forget what the envelopes had been for? I froze for what felt like minutes but had probably only been a few moments. Again, I took a deep breath and just starred at David's name printed on 20 pieces of paper. In that moment I felt like I shrunk a whole foot because the sadness was just... so heavy. I stuffed the papers back into the envelope and put the envelope aside.

Next Box.

In the midst of binders and papers to reorganize and file, I came across a thin red folder. I didn't recognize the red folder and without hesitation I opened it, quickly thumbing through what looked like school notes. How old are these? The date on the last page: January 8, 2008... my handwriting. I went to take in a deep breath...and... nothing... my lungs forgot how to work. My eyes we blinking back tears and my mind fought, fought hard to hold on to something... anything. It was only minutes after writing those notes I got the phone call that changed my life... the day David died... the day I never went back.

These boxes revealed traces of my previous life... a life I loved. A life filled with joy and promise. It was like searching through the clues of a cold case file... evidence after evidence... all leading to nothing. A dead end. To January 8Th. Everything I was familiar with stopped that day. Every plan for our future... gone. Cruel evidence.

Our life together now isn't what we ever imagined it would be. But I'm trying my best to make it one that I'd be proud to one day recount. I had put these items into boxes knowing that one day I'd open them... So again, I did the same. I put the items that drew so much emotion out of me into new boxes... Maybe one day I'll feel differently about them. Maybe one day they wont hurt me so much.

A Journal Entry

I've been glancing at David's journal for the past week. It sits on a special bookshelf in our living room. I used to read it every night before my pathetic attempt at sleep but it's been a while since I've opened the pages. This small, brown, soft leather journal is emenently special to me. His hands have touched every page of the tattered book, on a good day or bad day this journal was his connection to me. His outlet when I couldn't be. Finally, today, I opened it... for the hundredth time.

David's front journal entry, November 24, 2005:

"Baby, not everything in this book is going to be easy to read. These are my thoughts and feelings. My fears and Love notes. I am going to spill my guts, try to write songs and pour out my heart. When I'm done... this is for you.

I love you with all my heart, Nicole.

David Hart."


Lately, I've felt like life has been asking more of me. Not in an overwhelming way... but that soft, almost silent knock on at my conscience. I've been surpressing that gentle push, thinking what more can I possible do?! What more can life want... expect... of me? Somehow, I can get myself to sleep every night knowing very well that I'll wake up in the morning. And then somehow... I get myself up everyday. I've become comfortable with my routine... Warmed the seat I'm sitting on. But even though my seat is warm... it's become quit lumpy.

Raw. Honest. Real. Were emotions that jumped out to me from this entry. That was David. That was us. His opening page was all I had to read to set my perspective straight. His words, "when I'm done... this is for you," sparked a thought: Am I living a life worthy of such devotion? Am I being honest with myself? Do I recognize who I've become? If I was being as honest with myself as David always was with himself... I'd say, No. I'd say, life as been asking more of me, and I've chosen to ignore it. This request... may only be an inch... but an inch in which direction?? At the moment, I can't be sure. But I can no longer ignore it. David wouldn't want me to. He'd be the first to enourage me to find myself... to listen to the silent knock... to take the inch and find out where it leads me. But even though the journey might only be a simple inch farther... from experience, it might not be scenic getting there. Maybe that's where my hesitation stems from. The expecting of the ugly. The bad to get to the good. Either way, I have to try.

"Baby, this journey I take may not always be easy for you to watch... because pain will get the better of me at times. I will always still be learning, but I promise to be as honest with myself as you would be with me. You already know my thoughts, feelings, fears and love notes. I will try to dance for you, My Love, and enjoy this life. When I'm done... You'll know... that it was all for you.

I love you with all my heart, David.
Nicole Hart."

To Survive...

It feels as though it doesn't take much to get me tired these days. I could be doing the same tasks I did before, only now, it takes everything out me. I'm exhausted to the core. Emotionally, I'm fine. Physically, I'm spent. I wonder if it'll always be like this... If it'll always take quadruple the strength to get through a day and all that it entails. When I woke up this morning, I thought "I survived." Survived yesterday.

What does it really mean, anyway, to survive? Surviving could seem more like a curse than an attribute at times. When the words "You are strong" were said to me, I'd almost gag. I was disgusted. Strong? Did I ever really choose to be strong? Merely existing was a betrayal in itself. So, to tell me that on top of existing I was "strong" and a "survivor" ...I was appalled.

But... I guess I am a survivor. Out of all things to survive from, I survive through this?! Did I know that I was capable of surviving such a reality? Hell no. But what shocks me, even now as I lay in my bed with a bleary view of my day, is that I am more... more than a survivor. I'm exhausted because I am living... breathing... prevailing. In those first few months, existing was more than I thought possible... More than what should have been asked of me. Still, there are days, sometimes weeks, when existing and "being" is all I can muster. Then there are mornings like now, when I can recognize the weeks that have past me by so quickly and why...

I'm grateful this morning. Grateful, for the chance to meet so many vigorous women who, in the face of their worst reality, do more than survive... unknowingly, they've inspired me to do the same.

A Life Altered

Still, I am taken back when someone in David's life has just learned of his death. How could they not have known??! Shouldn't anyone who had ever come in contact with him during his life have felt the earth pause the moment he passed away? As if the earth should have been altered if he no longer walked upon it. Dramatic, I know. It's the best way I can describe the disgust I feel when I'm told that someone is yet to hear of his passing. My world will never look the same again. Why should theirs?

I have lived through more than I've ever considered possible. Surprising no one more than myself. Life moves on... but it should be different. Changed. Shouldn't it? I have come to grips with that fact that I will never again be satisfied with the pace of life. It will now always be either too fast or too slow... One day closer to David, yet another day farther from when I had him.

The earth does not skip a beat when extraordinary men, like David, exit from it's pull. It does not alter. It does not cease... It pushes forward. But forever I am changed. Today, I recommit to embracing that change! I can bathe in gratefulness for the moments I did have. Smiling, because as I type I can almost remember the true sound of his voice... Music to my ears!!

It's hard for some people (non-widows) to believe that I truly consider myself to be lucky. Blessed. Yes, I am living through my nightmare. Yes, I wake up everyday to a new realization that David isn't coming back and the world keeps going. But, this morining, the clouds have parted and I can see that a life with David is more than I could have thought to ask for. No, it's not the typical lifetime we thought we'd experience together but it's a lifetime nonetheless.

Memorial Day

Today is Memorial Day. I remember last Memorial Day. I was alone on my couch with the computer on my lap... searching for another widow. Searching for someone who understood my pain. I was also searching for Memorial Day ideas. Of course, Memorial Day had a new and profound meaning to me. It was no longer a day David and I got off work... It was a day that defined David's death. Putting a flag on my door was no longer enough. But then again... what gesture is good enough to say thank you for FREEDOM?

The quality of a true warrior is that he is in service, selfless service, to a purpose greater than himself; a transcendent cause. Albert Einstein once said, “Only a life lived for others is worth living.” Selfless service is such an astounding concept, one that is either barely grasped or the source of the nature of your soul. Memorial Day is a day we come together not to remember victims but warriors; idealists, who risked their lives, their futures, in the pursuit of something bigger than themselves.

But what actually brings a person to give so much of themselves to the service of others?

After David gave four years to his country and was stoplossed. When I asked him to runaway with me he looked straight into my eyes and said, “I’m here to give all that I have to offer, to serve whoever I can… To serve my leaders, my men, and you. I can’t leave them. Some won’t come back if I don’t go.”

His mission was to serve. I knew asking David to stay behind was asking him to be less then who he was. I never asked him again. He's a warrior, like so many, who believe in a cause greater than self preservation, a cause they're devoted to even unto death… because it is written into the very fabric of their being.

Today marks the 2nd Anniversary of Cpl Michael Davis' ultimate mission in action. 2 years ago today, Michael walked his last day on earth. I never got the pleasure of shaking his hand and thanking him for my freedom... but his widow is my best friend. My WSM. For the Davis' I will always be thankful.

Indeed, Memorial Day has a new meaning...

Because David and Michael's ultimate mission of service was in the forefront of their mind at all times, they lived passionately, loved with all their heart, and left a legacy not soon forgotten.

Thank you, to all the men and women who have given me the gift of freedom... freedom to enjoy life. I will never be able to express my gratitude and pride for my husband and those who represent the country I walk upon.

Thank You, Cpl. Michael Davis. I will never forget.



Proverbs 20:5 “The heart of a man is like deep water..."

I can't stop thinking about David. Not that I actually try. But today it's more like he is ALL I'm thinking about. Even when his beauty fills my mind I can't help but feel partial. Like someone tore off my legs and somehow…I’m still living.

I've wondered from day one (of widowhood) how long I’d survive this life. “Time” I no longer understand nor try to comprehend. I can only hope I don't live long enough to forget. If I think for too long about how much I already fail to remember, I panic. Fearing that one day there will be nothing authentic left of David in my consciousness but only a notion of who he once was.

At times, I feel as though all I have are memories. But I cannot allow his passing to be just a memory. JUST A MEMORY... is NOT enough. David is more. I want more for us. I know God didn't bring us together for only memories. How pointless... where would “hope” be in that? No. We were brought together for more... Like David, I too believe there is something bigger to this life than we can see or grasp.

Still... my legs are lost. A man's lost legs are not recaptured... He'd never forget what it was once like to have his legs. A physical part of him that is not longer visible. Forever they would be his legs. David is my pair of legs. He is not a memory... I will not let him be... David is forever a physical part of me... I will never forget what it was like to have my legs. To run with David through life. To jump off clips with faith in hand. To proudly stand next him.

Today, I must remind myself that forgetting David is beyond the bounds of possibility. I can hold on. I still have both arms.

Indifferent.

Indifferent: Lack of feeling. Being neither too much nor too little. Neither good nor bad. Neither right nor wrong.

Journal entry this week: I wish I was upset, but I'm not. I wish I felt sad, but I don't. Depressed?...don't think so. I want to cry, but I can't. Scream... but I won't. I feel so out of place. Maybe this is it. I've finally snapped. I lost it to the point where I feel nothing. No ache. No agony. No burn. No malaise. Might this be the calm before the ruthless storm blindsides me once more? Or the end to my most vivid nightmare? The silence is eerie... unsettling... yet, not out of place. Still, this is wrong... I feel neither torture nor exuberance. Where's my drive? Motivation? Passion? Is there any of that left within me?

Purgatory. Emotional purgatory... that's what this is. As much as I want to feel something... I'm can't. No pain, no energy... no David.

"Indifferent," WSM said. She was right. What I felt... what I feel now is indifferent. But how is that possible? How can one ever feel indifferent after spreading the ashes of their soul mate over the ocean, writing their eulogy, or planning their memorial? Indifferent? Seriously?

I've become what I swore I couldn't. Accustomed. I'm used to not waking up to David sliding my body across the bed and closer to him, used to not hearing his voice call my name, used to not seeing him walk through the door and take off his sunglasses... I am used to waking up, taking out the trash, cooking, and watching a movie... without him. I'm even used to seeing his name on websites, engraved on stone, and on a memorial. I can bare it all... and even that doesn't hurt to say out loud anymore.

What has become of me? Who I was, I vaguely remember. Who I am, I'm figuring out. This sense of indifference might be a coping strategy of mine... my body's safety switch. I don't know. But what I do know is this "absence of feeling," like most of my mental journeys, won't last forever. For now, it's possibly what I needed. This chapter is only temporary, maybe even brief... but a juncture for what's to come nonetheless. And so I wait and hope that what's to come will be better than indifference.

Take My Hand

I had sand all over my feet and the wind in my face. My eyes were closed as I stretched my arms out wide as I could and I balanced against the railing of the life guard tower. I held my palms up as if waiting... expecting David to take them, I almost felt as though he did. I took deep, careful breathes... I wanted David. I caught myself whispering, "Come get me... please... come get me." I meant those words with every cell in my body. Come get me. Rescue me. David. I let my mind dance around whatever memories volunteered themselves.

Once again, I remembered the night David and I watched a movie called, "The Village." In the movie, Ivy (a blind women), in time of distress, holds her hand out in front of her knowing that her love, Lucious, would come to take it. He'd rescue her. She knew he'd come and he knew she'd be waiting. Watching this, David turned to me and said, "I want to be that for you." I knew exactly what he meant. As I stood on the that tower and remembered his words, I couldn't help but smile. I felt warm and safe.

As I opened my eyes I was determined, once more, to continue this journey. There is an intense spiritual yearning between me and David that is strong enough to withstand the loneliness and ache of this world. Each morning as I wake up I hold out my hand for David to take it... for yet another day. Each day I survive I am more convinced then the previous that this life is still to be shared with David. I am more convinced of Love's strength and determination. David is holding my hand and running me through to the end. With nothing to hold him back...not this world, not his body nor time itself restrains David. So David's love, the life of his soul, is free to pour out. I believe David is active in my life... I believe his love pours out on me everyday... My love, my husband, will always be there to grab my hand with his.

Bdays

(Picture taken at Six Flags California, April 2006, our 21st Birthdays.)


It is birthday weekend. David and I were born only two days apart, out of all the years I've known him we've only been able to spend 3 birthdays together... Our 16th, our 21st, and our 22nd birthdays...

Previously, I looked forward to new years to come, new challenges... another birthday... life. Right now, just thinking of turning another year older without him leaves me with a knot in my stomach. How is this possible? How is it that time can fearlessly move forward without the love of life and without my consent?

It's all too easy for me to obsess over "time." Is it my gift? Or curse? Must I embrace it? I wish I can run from it. I wish hiding under my comforter actually made time cease. I remember thinking, in my early days of widowhood, that I wouldn't make it to 23- widowed at 22. Here I am, at the mercy of time, turning 24 just as David should be. Somehow in the midst of all my denial and obsessing over the impossibility of time's persistence, another year went by. A whole year.

I can no longer say with confidence that I won't be here next year. Time does not "heal all my wounds" as ignorance describes, but time does begin to dull the intensity of the pain. Time allows for my thoughts to clear, for love to grow, and for strength to persevere. Time... I hate it... but it's proven what's most important to me- LOVE prevails. It's shown me what David saw all along... my strength.

I'll probably be here for our 25th birthdays... so...(DEEP BREATH) here's to another year... With LOVE, I know I can make it!

Happy Birthday, My love.

My Valley

It's Thursday. As I lay in my bed pondering all the emotions I've traveled through this week... I can't help but smile and shake my head... Wow. Where the heck did I go this week?? And how did I get back?!

Have you ever traveled through the depths of the "valley" of grief and lost recognition of who you are? I think and say things that surprise even myself while I'm making my way through the dark. I speak of doubt and my thoughts are easily consumed by hopelessness. I become lazy as the remote control becomes my best ally, my social skills go down the tubes, and I see no end.

Convinced that the past 8 years have been nothing more then my imagination, I doubted David. I doubted his very existence. I doubted his love. I doubted us. Sinking deeper into my couch cushions, I began to ask myself: Did you ever really know him? Did he really love you? The possibility that I exaggerated the strength of our love... the connection of our souls... My valley got darker before I saw even a flicker of light. I can't even count how many times I've thrown in the towel while curled in my ball of pain. Still, I survive. Still... I'm here. Why??

I called David's mother... to make sure he was real- that I didn't make him up. And I began to sift through the emails... emails he wrote to me. I laughed out loud, smiled childishly, and cried my eyes out. This time, my tears were not tears of hopelessness, rather tears of comfort and hope. He is real. I remember now... He is real.
"...We were meant from the very beginning of time to love each other."
-David, from an email in August 2003-
I held on tight to his words...HIS words and began making my way out of my valley.

I decided that I have a mission- a purpose. I have NO idea what, but I'm trusting that the moment my "mission" is complete that I too will return to eternity... return to "the very beginning of time," where our souls were destined to be united. This is what pulled me from my darkness this week... This is my hope.

The Truth?

Have you ever had to lie to protect yourself? To protect what's left of you?

I thought I was ready to go back to work 3 months after David was killed. I have no particular logic as to why I thought it was time to mingle with the "others" but I assumed if I just refused eye contact I'd be OK.

In my line of work, you see the same people maybe once a month or once every few months, so there's plenty of small talk... "How's the family" "What are you up to" .... When I got to work, I realized no one knew. No one knew what I had just gone through only 3 short months ago, what I still go through every day. They had no idea nor did I think they cared that my soul mate was killed in Iraq.

I kept to myself. Sticking to the plan: NO EYE CONTACT. I had my cell phone in my hand at all times and the moment I felt a conversation heading my direction I used it. But, of course, this plan didn't work all day. An elderly gentleman began a polite conversation with me... He noticed my wedding ring and began the routine:

"Wow. You look so young... Are you really married?" (Blah Blah Blah)
"Yes, I am"

I knew it was coming... the dreaded questions... about David.

"What does you husband do?"
"He's in the military. Army."
"Oh! Where is stationed?"

...... I took a huge deep breath... this was it...

"He was killed in Iraq 3 months ago."

It surprised me how flat the words came out of my mouth. I said them fast, as if ripping a band aid off. But it didn't help, right at that moment I wanted to run away. Run home. Allow my bed to swallow me whole!

He began, "Well, your heart should be healed by now... You're so young... When do you think you'll start dating again?"

Oh, this poor unsuspecting man never saw me coming. I finished this conversation and I finished it well... giving him no chance to interrupt me, I told him exactly what I was thinking. When I walked away from the man (now 5 inches shorter) I felt like collapsing. I was exhausted! It took so much out of me, more than I thought remained, to fight... to defend my love. I realised I couldn't do this all day long.

So when the next innocent person began the routine conversation... "Are you married? What does your husband do? Where is he?".... I'd answer,

"He's in Iraq."

This seemed to go over better then telling the truth. So this is what I did instead. I lied. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't in denial about David... I knew very well that he was gone... not in Iraq. But I couldn't stand the comments, the casualness... the dismissal. I had to protect myself. There were those rare people I entrusted with the truth but I always chose who to tell my story to, our story, very carefully.

This week I found myself in a position to continue my lie or tell them the truth. I hadn't seen this group of people in about a year and last thing I told them was David "was in Iraq." I decided, whoever asked would get an honest answer. They asked. I casually briefed them on the past 15 months of my life. They nodded. Giving a "wow" every now and then. And it was over. Nothing special. No tears, no hugs, no "you poor thing..." I didn't feel particularly ecstatic about their emotionless reaction but... now they knew.

I began this journey scrambling for "support." I was unable to speak the truth, because at the end of the day I was left alone with my thoughts... with their piercing words... with my pain. Now... I can look to the east and west and see... another widow's journey... I could look in front of me and see those ahead in their walk... I could look in back of me, to see those entering the doors I've opened. This among other things gives me strength to tell undeserving ears the truth. Our story is mine to tell, and I reserve the right to withhold it if needed... but I'm less scared at this point to share it with those who can not relate.

The truth is: My gorgeous husband sacrificed his life to protect me and his men... He served this country. Our story? Ask me. I'm proud to share it.

I am not alone

Confession: I am not fun when hungry. When my hunger sets in I get a headache, become weak, and I'm grumpy! I can't hide my hunger well, and David knew this better than anyone. The moment I became difficult he'd ask, "Have you eaten today?" "No." His action? Drop everything and get my wife some food! David always prevented my "hunger monster" from showing it's face. Thinking of this makes me smile, because I know no one takes better care of me than he does.

This week, I found myself... you guessed it... hungry! I had an hour before my appointment, I had just spent the last 20 minutes searching for parking and my headache started to kick in. My choices? Get food and take it back to my car (I've done this many times) or eat in the restaurant... alone. It was almost 15 months ago when the first thought of being the "lonely-looking lady, eating alone" entered my mind. I refused the thought then, but now? I was actually considering it! I've conquered grocery store shopping and cooking a meal for one... but eating out? Ugh. I could feel the lump in my throat swell, my headache grow, and my energy lessen. I have to eat. "Today's the day," I challenged myself.

While placing my order I began to create my plan of action- sit outside in the patio because there are less tables. Less tables meant less people. Less people meant less eyes which, of course, meant less staring. Finally, my food came and it was official... I began my first meal alone in public. All of a sudden, all eyes were on me! The spotlight was focused on me! And everyone waited for my next move ...or so I assumed.

What's better? To act as if you eat out alone all the time and it's no big thing ooor act as if at any moment your company is about to join you? I don't know. I'm pretty sure I did both. I pulled myself together and looked around. No one was watching. No one cared. I was sitting at a table for two and they didn't even blink an eye. Calmly, I began to eat my meal. "Why did you leave me here," I said to David. I tried to take each bite with purpose, hoping I would appear less insecure. I picked up my phone... checked my email... looked at my twitter account. Before I knew it... it was like my dad had let go of the bike before I had the chance to realized I was riding it on my own. I was doing it! Eating. Alone. I took a deep breath, "You're almost done."

(My phone rang) My eyes got big with excitement, "Woo-who! I'm being rescued!!...No. Nicole, don't answer. No cheating. You must do this alone."
(Voicemail) "Listening to the voicemail isn't cheating..." I convinced myself as I brought the phone to my ear.

"Nooo!" It was a new widow... one I had been worried about. Never having heard the voice of another widow before, I knew calling me was a challenge for her in itself. And I just let it ring! Before her voicemail could finish playing my phone died. "Crap!" I stuffed what I could in my mouth, left the rest behind and began a quick pace back to the car. I had to plug in my phone and at least tell her I'm out of battery before my appointment begins in 9 minutes!

As I hustled my way to the car, it hit me... As I faced my apprehension, a widow clear across the country was also overcoming hers. She made her first call to another widow. And I knew in that moment what David would say as he'd give me his patient smile, "Oh, My Love... but you are not alone." I closed my eyes briefly as if to inhale it all in... I am not alone.

Stronger than Death

I woke up the morning of January 8th, 2008 elated to be alive! I guess you can say David and I grew up together. We met when we were 12 years old. My soulmate. I've held only his strong hands, kissed only his beautiful lips, and sleep next to only his gorgeous body. My husband always said I was a "happy" morning person and that morning was no different. Still dark outside when my alarm went off,I gave my body a nice long stretch and as I released my breath the words, "I love you" effortlessly made their way off my lips. I was giddy! I couldn't wait to talk to him again! I checked my phone... No missed call... Ringer volume... on high. I turned my computer on, signed into my instant messenger and turned its volume also on high.

Throughout the day I'd casually checked my phone... no missed call. I wasn't worried. I never had to convince myself he was busy because I knew he was and he'd call as soon as he could... he always did. My phone rang!! ...My mother... I ignored it only to have to ignore it two more times. Finally, I called her back... on the other side of the phone was a quivering voice. I could tell she was trying to stay calm but something was wrong. She convinced me she "wasn't feeling good."

"My heart hurts. Please come home."
"You want me to tell them I'm not coming into work today?"
"Yes, please. Nicole, be careful driving. Drive slow."
"O-k..."

I began my drive to my parent's home, my mother's words replaying again and again in my head. Her "heart hurts"?! Confused, I rushed home. Got out of the car. Walk into the house. Dropped my bags. "What's going on guys? Is something wrong with Dad?" My brother was on the couch making no eye contact and my mother was shaking when she began to say, "Nicole, it could be nothing, but the Army is here." And they were. I turned around to find two uniformed soldiers walking up to the front door.


“…On behalf of the Secretary of Defense… On January 8th of 2008... SGT David Joseph Hart... died... in Balad, Iraq from wounds sustained while on a combat mission.” I couldn't believe those words just came out of a soldier’s mouth. I couldn’t believe they knew my husband’s name! Twenty minutes and a couple signatures later, they were gone. My husband, my best friend, and love of my life, died the morning of the 8th. He was killed while I was sleeping and I had no idea.


Papers! Papers! Papers! No one bothered me with the details of the paperwork, which I appreciated, they just told me to “sign here.” The following morning, I was sitting at the kitchen table when more papers were brought to me, I was signing where told... when I saw "it"... A box to be checked next to the word “WIDOW.” I lost it! Literally, I began to scream. My husband had only been dead for a day and at 22 years old I was having to check a “widow” box?!

I've come a long way since my first encounter with the word "widow." It no longer makes my skin crawl or my heart drop. Instead, I can say it as proudly and as easily and I can say, "I am David's wife." There are days when I'm left shaking my head in complete disbelief... Days when I slip into my "dark place." But I am not alone. It's been over a year for me and I know my journey through widowhood has only just begun but -hands down- my greatest gift given to me while on this new journey with David has been having another widow by my side.

David always believed in something bigger/greater then himself. Having the honor of serving the American Widow Project as made that real to me. Love. Love is the life of my soul... Love is unstoppable. Love is bigger then me. I know with out a doubt my journey with David does not end with death. I am proud to be his wife and widow... to represent him, to hold his legacy and keep it alive. I would live this life the same again and again because I know he's mine for eternity. My love for him increases often! My husband, my soulmate, my warrior liked to say, "Our love is stronger than death..."

So much reminds me of David and of Hope... all things strong, beautiful, young, and pure. Today... my heart is confident. I am loved.