So, I've been rolling all kinds of ideas around in my head for quite some time, trying to determine what the point of this is.  Whether she'd have wanted them to or not, my dear friend Sarah's words kept coming back to me about writing.  About just sharing whatever is on my heart.  For a very long time, I've been coming to my sad excuse of a blog for the purpose of letting feelings and thoughts out that were in some way tied to my loss and I kinda hate that I'm so affected by loss, but at least I was only dumping in one yard, right?  But then, where does that go and why was it necessary?  I'm guessing it's passive aggressive behavior.  I'm venting and spewing with no intentions to pointedly share, but it's public.  What a freak... 
All that to say that I'm beginning to think I should let go of the loss theme.  If it comes up, great.  If it's on my heart, wonderful.  But maybe this outlet should be used to just be me.  Sarah seemed to think so.  With that move, all continuity that I had strived to establish and use will go out the window.  In its wake, it is my hope that I will show many other facets of myself, bring some laughs, and find a new peace.  
A woman I greatly respect once shared with me that she so respected how I handled things that I'd walked through.  She identified a "shroud of sadness" that some people seemed to wear after walking through tragedy and said that she was so impressed by the fact that I didn't.  I was so touched by that because I hope it's clear that I don't want tragedy to define who I am or hang over me like it does some people.  I'd be lying if I said that I don't sometimes want the sympathy that comes with the territory, but I don't want to mope around with some false sense of entitlement because, "You don't know what I've been through."  That's trash.  My goodness, how some waste their lives dragging that around.  All that I've shared here is real and raw and gross, but it's not me in public and at least I've sequestered it to this forum, but I've allowed this to become a misrepresentation of who I am.  A piece of me, for sure, but only the dark stuff, I'm afraid.  So, I'm attempting to branch out.  We shall see.  My daughter will be thrilled.  I believe the first installment will be the outrageous parenting advice that my zany brother and I were compiling over Thanksgiving.  We thought it'd be better suited for a YouTube channel, but I'm not that cool. 

Four years.  Four years of hearing you with my heart, but not my ears.  Four years of questioning if I was honoring you properly.  Four years of putting one foot in front of the other and forging a new normal.  Four years of a life I never imagined {not true... definitely been doing that longer}.  Four.  
Approaching today, all I could think about was what all those days and moments felt like that lifetime ago.  How such a small percentage of people my age know what it actually feels like.  You give you heart away.  You plan happy ever after.  You become parents.  If you're lucky, you laugh and look forward to the future.  You enjoy each other.  You get a bit of bliss.  You bicker some, but you have a root of love.  If you're lucky.  You don't foresee the tragedy coming.  It knocks you down quickly, but you find resolution and forge forward.  You get a reprieve.  You find a new normal.  In my case, the roar of the unexpected never fully leaves, but you learn to work around it.  In my case, the writing on the wall eventually became too bold to ignore.  The cold.  The ugly, inescapable cold that settles around what is becoming of your life and plans almost numbs you.  You're left with trying to fight something that just can't be fought.... really, why would you want to anyway?  In my situation, I suddenly felt so psychotically alone.  So completely insulated in alone-ness that I couldn't hear anything properly.  Because of the kiddos, I put one foot in front of the other and made the normal moves.  Gave as much structural normalcy as possible, knowing it's just motions.  I've written about all this before.  The detachment.  What I keep coming back to this week is how very insulated I felt from those around me... things I assume others didn't feel.  When your person, the one that you could talk to with only a look, isn't there to field a darn thing.  When the cold settles in that they aren't going to be.  When you realize that it's you.  I had the idealized vision of growing old together and then had it dashed by the very real alternative-- we're solo beings.  Big tongue out.  That's not really my vision.  I want the partnership.  
Four.  Lots of time to heal.  Lots of realizations to reach.  Lots of ground to cover.  Lots of reality to come to terms with.  And I'm way lucky right now.  I've got an amazing man in my life who takes all the little pieces of me, shows me compassion, reaches out in a nonthreatening way, shows honor to my Aaron, plans with me, laughs with me, holds my hand, gives me the attention and affection that I crave.  So the hopeful message here is that after the amazing may come the cold and the cold might just win... but after the cold comes the spring and, if you're really really lucky, the summer again.  Wow.  Four seasons.  Four phases.  Wow.  <3 

I'm an immature hussy.  I wholeheartedly believe that I'm one giant contradiction after another.  I'm a giant hussy one day, digging my heels in and getting hung up on this principle or that and I'm a giving, wonderful, thoughtful, mature adult the next.  My poor children {I think with a wicked giggle because, no, they aren't poor; I'm truthfully displaying the whole range of being a human for them single-handedly!}.  Kids are back in school and I've got all these opportunities again to catch up with people, get some things done during the day, be more productive, blah, blah, blah.  I'm fielding so many "how are YOU?" questions from well-meaning adults in my life.  It's sweet.  I answer them in the worst way possible.  Like this one.  I get an call on my cell from my high school best friend {or so my caller ID says}.  That inquiry on me is the opening line.  I respond, "Do you want the real answer or the 'pretty' one?," to which she says, "This isn't Leann; this is her mom."  Oops!  Okay, pretty answer it is. Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to.  My thermometer is fairly easy to read.  Am I behaving erratically?  Am I shopping like a crazy person?  Am I running around the country at every opportunity?  Yes, yes, and yes.  I'm likely working through some stuff.  
One thing I'm picking up on these weeks though is some ridiculous clarity about who I am and giving myself acceptance.  We've all seen those quotes about people coming into their own in their 30s.  I didn't really doubt it, but it's wild to experience and recognize.  Wild.  All of a sudden I feel this grace to just be who I am and feel what I feel and do what I want.  To admit the childish wants and go ahead and act on them.  It's fairly fabulous. That's not to say that I don't still want to make my parents proud or do the "right" thing or set the example because I do, but I suddenly feel such personal grace to simply be and not make excuses for it.  Sigh. It's lovely.  I'm not sure I can even do it justice in the explanation.  The complete clarity and peace that comes with recognizing what I want combined with the knowledge of how it affects others/what they might think then the very clean shifting back to me again without the turmoil of making someone else happy.  
And then the blasted widow chime in, my cousin's wife and I became widows within months of each other. Both Christy and I had this ridiculous moment where we realized we suddenly had a free pass of sorts to say/feel/think/do just about whatever we wanted for the moment {we don't know how long that lasts}. And then a friend and mother of my daughter's classmate followed suit within a couple years and she was sharing with me her thoughts on doing the "right" thing to which I told her about the free pass.  I'd forgotten about it, but she reminded me recently and I just felt a rush of "YES!"  Those things you say to people in passing, you don't know what's going to stick, what's going to resonate.  You don't know exactly what gift you're giving to someone.  It would seem as though I gave her the gift of grace that she so deserved in that moment.  And it would seem now that what Christy and I were thrust into gave us the gift of self-grace that we might've come into naturally in a matter of years anyway.  SELF-Grace.   You are where you are.  There are no accidents.  There are certainly decisions and cause and effect, but work with what you have.  Feel what you feel.  Find you and cling to it.  Don't be a self-centered ***, but stay true to you.  Give what you can.  Help when you can.  Work in your gifting.  Stretch yourself.  Allow yourself to slip a bit.  Stretch, pull, work, share, open up, feel it all, feel it all {yes, that deserves two}, take actions that you'll be happy with a year or more down the line.  Don't operate from a self-center, but make sure that your actions align and resonate with who you were created to be.  And, every now and then, do something a little stupid. 

So, tonight I made admissions and cried {in a very classy manner} to my dear friend.  I admitted to her the things that I hated to even say out loud, though I know they are true.  This is one of those confessions that I'd likely deny if questioned about it.  The one I'd like to be untrue with every fiber of my being.  Here goes. The minute I became a widow... take that back, the minute I thought about even being a widow was the minute I became less capable as a person.  See, even that's a lie.  I'm trying to make it sound better than it is, though that sentence is true too.  The word I really had to say was parent.  It shames me.
I sat on my lovely friend's couch and admitted that participating in any "family" themed event became sickening to me the minute I didn't have my husband with me.  That doesn't mean I don't still do it.  It doesn't mean I don't put on a brave face and get it done.  It doesn't even mean that my children {or the outside world} know... It simply means that I know.  I know who I was pre-tragedy and I know who I am now.  And it breaks my heart.  I also know that simply having another adult alongside me, partner style, has made me more capable.  It brings some joy back.  It makes me not dread the "family" events.  I want that, but I also hate that I'm not so complete in myself that I kinda need it.  That's a head-shaker too.  What's wrong with that calling?  I'm no feminist.  My original plan for my life included a husband and children and a house and life.  A piece got swiped from that equation and now I feel a little busted up.  It's not like I haven't made the best of things.  I'm still giving my children an amazing childhood.  I'm still smothering them with love and hugs.  I'm still fairly awesome.  I guess I just know what I could be and that hurts.  
My prayer tonight was for God to be enough for me and for me to let Him do that.  For me to seek Him and lean on Him in such a way that He had the opportunity to work in my life and bring fulfillment.  And, though I have peace with what things look like now, I have to admit that I am still so very upset that my first plan got botched.  I'm thankful for where I'm at, but {in my honest moments} I have to admit that I'm upset that there is even a void.  I want family and I want stability.  I don't want to be in a figuring-it-out phase.  I want chosen.  I want my children to have a father.  I want that come home from work hug.  I want the figuring it out and the "hey, your mom invited us for dinner"s, and the sharing coffee, and the evening couch sitting.  I just want all that again.  And maybe I'm wrong; maybe that wouldn't bring back all my capabilities.  Maybe I've concocted sugar-coated dreams.  But maybe I'm right.  

You know what feels really good?  The in-your-face reminder that you aren't crazy.  That what you feel may be completely normal for you and your situation.  I'm having a day.  A day full of feels and questions and wants.  A day where I'm trying to taper myself down and breathe.  I've had them before.  I know that the buzz of unrest will subside.  That frantic wanting will wane.  The almost audible dropping of sand will dull out.  Then another widow walks in the door at work.  She just needs a sounding board and she knows I'll understand.  Despite our thirty year age difference, somehow I've become someone she looks to and asks what she's supposed to do.  How paralyzing.  I feel as though I have nothing helpful to offer her.  My tips included find a club, join a group, catfish someone, take up naughty knitting.  I could offer nothing with a straight face.  The only thing I felt I could do was tell her was what I deal with and how I handle it.  That was the share she could nod along to.  I feel frantic sometimes.  I freak out often.  I get scared.  I, too, have irrational thoughts of what I could do that would get me committed.  My root today might be the impending anniversaries.  Baby Caleb's birthday & wedding anniversary, all in a matter of days.  I don't want a crutch, but maybe I should acknowledge that they exist and that they affect me.  I really don't want a crutch...

Safety.  Progress.  Capitalizing.  I'm a week out from having my little people back in my house, out of school for the summer again.  Making that summer list.  Thinking of the tasks we might want to accomplish.  Wanting to make this summer count... again.  We all approach these moments differently and my style is not necessarily "right", but it's all I've got.  Once again, I'm going to have to jump in feet first. 
It reminds me of my lifeguarding days.  For safety, you'd enter water feet first and feel it out.  We're going to add a jump though too.  I tend to want to look around, test the circumstances, find the peace in the matter, then decide and jump in.  I sense a change might be necessary.  My mom commented a couple weeks ago that she could see the flight in my eyes again.  That's undeniable.  I live under self-imposed, bound wings.  I feel a great sense of duty to keep things as stable as possible for my littles and have suppressed my want to bolt as best I can.  I can feel the pull though and sense that I won't be comfortable with business as usual for much longer.  That's not to say that I won't be able to taper that down and refocus, but it's a struggle today as my feet want to fly.  Add to that the desire to find me again and we've got a serious case of ChainShannonDownIsm.  True story.  I'm feeling a little like the caged bird.  I hadn't read that poem until today and it brought on the insta-tears.  The "Yes, I get that."  I'm not clipped, I'm not free.  I've chosen these pieces that I feel a little caged by currently and I believe they are the best things for my little people.  I may be turning a corner though and need to start thinking on what's going to be best for me.  Let's face it, a happy momma is a better momma.  I feel a chiseling coming.  I wonder if it will be followed by a jump. 

How is it possible to feel complete clarity and mass confusion all at the same time?  I have been mentally penning my thoughts for several weeks.  My insides are in knots, tears are flowing freely in a way they hadn't for years... feelings I hoped never to feel again.  I have identified a new part of myself post-loss and been able to verbalize it and disclose it with a touch of shame.  I can't stand change.  It paralyzes me.  A rush of anxiety and fear hits me with such force that my gut want to hide, run, shut-down is all but impossible to ignore.  The number of times I've thought in the last couple weeks that I'm probably a candidate for anti-depressants is shocking to me.  Even in all the sadness, I hadn't turned to those... hand me some real life again though and I'm ready for the pill.  A little corner of my brain shouts therein lies my answer.  
I turned a corner.  I want family again.  I'm so so tired of feeling lonely.  I don't want to carry it all.  I want to feel like someone is on my team, taking care of me, watching out for me.  Another annoying corner of my brain shouts, "Patience!"  And the knowing that no partner is going to be Aaron.  Making comparisons hasn't been a challenge for me until I felt uncertain, then they are something to suppress.  
I'm not sure that all I'm going through right now applies to the masses post loss.  The overwhelming desire to have back what I've lost.  The absolute need to feel cocooned (also incredibly scary because those cocooning you can leave).  This irrational, crippling, franticness that settles in the soul when you feel the sand shifting underfoot.  The desire to hide yourself away to keep yourself from anymore pain.  Those moments where you wonder if it's all in your head... 
I've been encouraging someone I love dearly to identify what you want.  It seems to annoy the individual.  Seriously though.  We all only have so much time here.  What do you want?  How do your priorities rank?  Do your actions support your priorities and move you toward your end goals?  There is this clarity that I have, I may have always had it.  Getting to the root want; keeping advice simple; pinpointing a path... none of these items have ever been challenging for me.  I refuse to tell people what they want though.  I can't assume to know what that is.  Our secret wants, what's important to us... you don't have to observe people for long to see what that is.  The irritation is in watching people choose wrong.  I'm certain I've written on this before.  Choose life.  I want to scream it, it bothers me so.  It's a childish response in some ways.  We have needs to fill that often get in the way.  It hurts me though to watch it over and over.  
And then me.  I don't want this to be some vent station of my personal problems so I'll keep it simple.  I'm 3 years and 5 months post loss.  I'm 4 years post "it's hopeless" (their words, not mine).  I'm 5 years post realizing I'd have to be father and mother, basically partnerless.  I'm so tired.  I want chosen.  I want cocooned.  I want family back.  I want some level of safety and my old normal.  I want love to surround me.  I want chosen.  

The things people say to me.  
"My husband just went back on the road and now he's only home one day a month and it's all up to me!  It's just so hard!!"  
"Oh, it's harvest now so I'll be a widow until all the crops are out."  
Sigh.  They mean nothing by such things; I know that.  I still can't be held responsible for the myriad of looks that probably pass over my face.  Fielding these comments is cake.  They happen, I feel the stab of "you have no idea what you're saying", and then they are over.  The snark in me wants them to reflect on the ignorance of their comment later... I know they probably won't.  I said something really horrible to Aaron one night.  He was going through treatments and working... I was giving baths to cranky kids... he wasn't helping... I yelled something to the tune of, "It sure sucks feeling like a single parent!"
Wow.  How ugly.  If I had known then.  
That may be the thing.  People say these things and they don't realize that it could be reality.  I certainly didn't.  
The worst thing I field?  The questions from my son.  My daughter talks about the gross next to never.  My son is a different story.  Tonight, the subject of a person's last days came up in the car ride home.  His innocent, fact-seeking questions bring memories back in a swift stab.  His way of speaking about it all is so matter of fact.  It's just information to him.  Not to Aubrey or me.  That's my person you're talking about.  Those are the worst hours of my life you want the details on.  But I owe you the answers.  
Today was full of emotion anyway.  The son is displaying his strong-willed nature at school and it's being driven home how it's on me.  How do I want to handle it?  What do I want to do next?  It's all on me.  There is no deferring.  There is no magic discussion to have.  It's me.  I should ask the woman whose husband is driving thirty days a month.  Maybe she has some ideas.  

We've all seen the graphic about what you'll look back on in your last days and the clarity you'll find about what was important.  It's not the job, it's not the house, it's not the vacations, it's the relationships.  My absolute biggest fear is regret, lost opportunity, not living with an open heart, letting things pass me by.  I remember the day that my shift happened.  I was standing in our tiny hallway between the bedroom and the dining room and suddenly nothing mattered except people.  Not the house, not the pay day, not what was for dinner, not who I was upset with... nothing.  My mind could hold onto nothing except for people.  Being present.  Time.  Everything instantly became more precious.  I became a bit desperate to document  moments.  To cherish the little stuff.  To make everyday into more of an event.  Suddenly I had zero tolerance for things getting in the way of what (to me) was really important.  Reasons became excuses in many cases.  My perspective completely shifted.  I'd like to think that people have always been my center.  Finding time to visit my grandparents was a priority.  Who I was with always trumped what I was doing.  I think that has been magnified.  I'm well aware that this isn't the norm, but that doesn't keep me from assuming people will come around to my way of thinking.  I'm getting better and better at letting go of the frustrations I feel when I (in my infinite wisdom-- insert eyeroll here) witness someone making what, to me, is the wrong choice.  Letting an opportunity pass them by.  I'm such a hypocrite.  I want to say that it doesn't matter to me what people choose, do what makes you happy, but that's not what my heart believes until several hours later.  Often times, I'll come around and let go of the frustration I feel at watching someone else pass something up, but I really need to not even worry about it at all.  I'm coming to accept what my predecessor would say all the time, "different strokes for different folks."  I need to accept that.  I need to adapt her catch and release mentality of letting people make their own decisions and not getting caught up in it myself.  I'm still such a hussy though-- thinking I know what's best for others all the time.  At least I can acknowledge that and laugh at myself.  I'm positive I do things that others think is ridiculous.  Here's my aimed-for center though: people first.  Will this matter in five years?  Will I be happy with this decision in five years?  Does this have eternal vision?  Does this benefit me and those I love?  Does this hurt anyone?  Does this line up with the Word?  
Gosh, I mess up all the time.  I'm positive, even typing this, that I screw this very goal up on a regular basis.  Even today, I'm passing up some people because I have deemed for me that the activity is "too hard" for me to put myself through and I need to protect myself from the emotions.  Grace.  Thank God for grace.  It's kinda wild when you suddenly see all the judgement you've passed on others and realize you deserve it too.  

Pace yourself.  That seems to be the mantra.  It's a new year.  Fresh days, fresh calendar, new goals, a clean outlook.  If I've observed anything about myself clearly post-loss, it's that my emotions and thoughts seem much more turbulent than they did before.  I'm female, so they've never been completely concrete, but now they are downright drifty.  Today's subconscious thoughts have been very sporadically looking forward, which I'm not a huge fan of.  I'd rather breathe deeply, look around, smell the roses, focus on the tasks at hand... today, my brain isn't allowing it.  It's almost like a mental race to see the five year plan.  I have to just shake my head at myself because this line of thinking hasn't been attempted in a long stinkin' time.  When you've had the rug pulled out from under you, I think some things become instinctual.
1. You to try to nail things down and eliminate variables.  Give me yes or no.
2. You close off items from your life that might cause you stress; you don't need more of that.
3. You stop looking too far down the road.  If today might be hard, how can you possibly think about next year?
There are certainly other traits that I know came to me with loss, but these instincts distinctly belong to loss.  I'm looking at my kids this week though and it's clicking that I've been present for most every day of the last three years and I may have been going through the motions more than I'd realized.  I knew I was checked out in some regards--  not unpacking my house, not completing basic tasks, adding in naps, no accountability.  I thought I was super-present for my kids though.  Clean clothes, meals, time with them, taking them to and from...  If I had to bet on myself, I think I carried it off.  I don't believe they noticed.  I'm only starting to.  That's definitely been an eye-opener.  They say that time raising your kids goes fast.  Yes, it sure does.  Especially when you suddenly realize you don't clearly remember most of it.  All I can do it move forward.  
After Caleb, we took our kids to Disney World.  Aaron really thought they needed that happy to drown out the bad.  We went to the Finding Nemo exhibit (now might be a good time to mention that I hate that movie).  That blasted thing had me in tears in no time, sobbing along as Dori sings "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming!"  It's become a theme of sorts in my life, popping into my head unbidden at random times.  No matter how much I feel I may have missed out on due to just existing, what has to matter is that I didn't completely check out.  I got stuff done. I took care of those babies.  I have been mother and father to them.  They haven't stood in a place of want.  I still have today and tomorrow and the next day to be checked in and to start fresh.  It's a new year.  The beauty of having new opportunities and chances doesn't diminish as long as there is hope.  In the present though, I need to keep chanting to breathe.  Take it one day at a time.  Don't get ahead of yourself.  This current state of my mind to fast-forward won't last long, of that I'm fairly confident.  What positive I do see in it though is that it's almost like a return to the living.  Making plans and thinking about the future are things I've avoided.  Even building the house... that was a decision made long ago that I just had to walk out (and it came with it's own set of breakdowns).  Otherwise, no big plans have been mapped out since 2010.  Wow.  That's kinda sobering.  Pace yourself.  This isn't a sprint.