Don't Look Down

Better not look down

If you want to keep on flying,

Put the hammer down,

Keep it full speed ahead.

You’d better not look back,

Or you might just wind up crying,

You can keep it moving

If you don’t look down.

--Written by Will Jennings and Joe Sample

Performed by B.B. King

If it is true what the Bible says, and two become one flesh, then losing your partner in life is an amputation. It is brutal and scarring but doesn’t leave a mark. There should be a mark. A permanent mark.  As permanent as your love for him.

Don’t look down. Flying solo is scary.

Don’t look down. Keep your chin up.

Don’t look down. Keep your eye on the prize.

Don’t look down. On anyone, including yourself.

Don’t look down. Step forward into a new life, without him. What choice do you have?

Don’t look down. Stand on your own two feet.

Don’t look down. Repeat the mantra: Left foot, right foot, breathe.

Don’t look down.

Poor Widow Me*

*First off, it's only fair to state that I did not think up that clever title for this post, but oh how I wish I did.  See poorwidowme.blogspot.com .

I guess I was rather less than gracious with that last post.  I have since learned that I can sit and pout or I can take the initative and walk up to people I know and start talking to them.  Without fail, they talk right back and we both get over the awkwardness of the whole "dead husband" thing.

It's been 4 months since Mark died.  It seems like he's been gone forever, and like it just happened yesterday.  Raw grief has given way to resigned depression and too much eating of ice cream.  I'm still struggling with single motherhood--so many things to do and so little me to do them!  I miss him all the time, and not just because of the things he did around the house, although I miss that too.  Life is harder in every respect without him. 

I'm pretty sure I am officially crazy.  I think crazy thoughts all the time.  Such as feelings of jealousy toward my dead mother-in-law and sister-in-law because I half-way believe that Mark wanted to be with them more than he wanted to be with us.  I want to do things I never thought I would do--get a tattoo, dye my hair pink.  I am no longer at home in my own skin.  Everything I thought about the world was wrong.  I thought I was safe.  I thought I had all the time in the world.  I was wrong.

I'm better able to focus than I was four months ago, but it is still a struggle to stick with things from beginning to end, without wandering off to stare out a window and wonder where he is, and if he's ok.  I try to read, and art journal, but my focus just isn't there.  Thank God for the mindless meditation of crochet. 

Shortly after Mark's death, a woodpecker started tap tap tapping on our maple tree in our side yard.  I've never seen or heard a woodpecker near our house before.  After three days, the woodpecker disappeared.  I half-way believe it was Mark, or a messenger from Mark, letting us know he is ok.

I've gone through drawers and gotten rid of socks and undies.  I've donated shoes to charity.  I'm thinking of moving on to shirts and suits.  I've gone through bookcases of books.  But I can't stand to go through the stack on his nightstand.  He would have eight to ten books going at a time.  He would read a chapter in the book on the top of the stack, then move it to the bottom of the stack.  I can't stand to think that he is not coming back, that he will never finish those books. 

In his Rolodex, I found a card with my name on it.  It has the date of my birthday and the date we first met.  It has the date of our first date, and the name of the restaurant where we ate, and the name of the play we saw.  It says, "Likes white roses".  It has dates and notes of other memorable dates.  It has the date of our wedding.  I so wished I had more love letters from him, more evidence of his love.  I will settle for this.

My beloved mother has done an incredible amount of work in getting Mark's office cleaned up and cleared out.  My daughter and I are going to turn it into a craft/computer room.  We plan to paint the walls a fun color and decorate it in wild and funky ways.  A few of Mark's most prized awards wll remain on the walls in honor and memory of him.  We are trying to find ways to go on without him.

The Scarlet W

Photo by Leo Reynolds

These days, I feel like I am wearing a Scarlet W on my chest.  I have seen acquaintances who used to speak to me look the other way as if they didn't see me.  Or worse, I have overheard them whispering to others, pointing me out, "That's her, the one whose husband died."  It shocks me quite a lot, and hurts me a little.  Do people think that widowhood is contagious?

But I get it, I do.  Acquaintances don't know me well enough to know what to say or how to comfort me.  And it's hard to see someone in pain...it's personal and private and uncomfortable and let's face it, not pretty.  So I shouldn't be surprised that acquaintances run the other way.  I've been guilty of it myself, in the past.

But I'm here to tell you, those people who don't know me well but say something anyway...I love them for it.  I love it when an acquaintance shares a memory of Mark.  I love it when acquaintances tell me Grace and I are in their thoughts and prayers.  And I think the best approach of all may be one shared by two male work colleagues--one a gruff retired military man, the other a young guy just a few years out of college.  I mean no disrespect to either, but neither would win awards for being especially sensitive.  But both of them, on separate occasions, saw me walking toward them in the hallway at work, pulled me into a big bear hug, then patted my shoulder and went on without a word.  It was the perfect way to show that they care, because truly, there are no words.



To-Do List for the Newly Widowed

Cry.

Cry.

Cry.

Conduct the business

of carrying on without him.

Wear black

Deny.

Deny.

Deny.

Scream.

Vomit.

Listen to well-meaning strangers

say inane things like,

"Happy New Year!"

and

"Have a nice day!"

Try with all your might

not to punch them.

Sigh.

Sigh.

Sigh.

Cry.

Cry.

Cry.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Breathe.

Heart Broken

Mark Bledsoe

1958-2011

William Mark Bledsoe died December 22, 2011 after a sudden and devastating illness. He died the same way he lived, surrounded by family and friends, love and laughter.

Mark was born July 9, 1958 to Bill and Memory Bledsoe in Tulsa. He was a graduate of Big Cabin High School, Rogers State University, and Oklahoma State University.

He was Executive Director and Lobbyist for the United Suburban Schools Association, and also an adjunct professor at OSU-OKC. Previously he worked for the Oklahoma Public Employees Association, which awarded him a Lifetime Achievement Award in 2005.

Mark was a member of the Putnam City School Board, the American and Oklahoma Societies of Association Executives, and Mayflower Congregational Church.

He was devoted to his family and friends and to pursuing his many passions: books, beer, baseball, church, history, politics, public education, Scouting, and following his beloved Cardinals and Cowboys.

Mark was preceded in death by his beloved sainted mother and sister, both of whom were named Memory Bledsoe. He is survived by his wife, Kimberlee Williams; his cherished daughter Grace Bledsoe; his father, Bill Bledsoe; his baby sister, Kathy Kostelnick; his favorite nephew and niece, Derek and Karissa Kostelnick; and a whole horde of aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends.

A celebration of his life will be held Wednesday, December 28, 2011, at 1 p.m. at Mayflower Congregational Church, 3901 NW 63rd St., Oklahoma City. The family has requested that “real fans wear orange.”

In lieu of flowers, please express your love to your spouse; if you are a Democrat, hug a Republican and vice versa; donate blood; support your local public schools and libraries; spend time with your kid; volunteer for a worthy cause; share a laugh with a friend. Memorial contributions may be made to: Deaconess Adoption and Pregnancy Services, 7101 NW Expressway, Ste. 325, Oklahoma City, OK 73132; or to the Putnam City Schools Foundation, 5401 NW 40th, Oklahoma City, OK 73122. Go Pokes!



Dry Spell

This blog has been haunting me for a long time now..."Update me! Mwahahaha!". But I just have not had the energy or the inspiration. I started this blog to share some information about adoption, but with Lil Sweetie now 9 years old, it's just not foremost in our minds anymore.

And then I thought I would post about my creative endeavors, but my free time is such that I feel like it is often a choice of either being creative, or documenting my creative pursuits...there's just not time for both.

So I've been in a bit of a slump lately. A dry spell. Crunchy and brown like the expensive shrub pictured above, which perished in our heat spell hell of a summer.

Then I discovered the imake podcast, which led me to ravelry.com, which introduced me to attic24, which gave me the pattern and inspiration for this:




And just like that, I found my mojo.

-Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Remember This?

Remember this?  Remember snow and howling winds and bitter, bitter cold?  Most people don't understand this about me, some even claim I'm crazy, but I long for Fall and Winter all year long.

My pasty, white skin was not meant for the harsh, bright sun of summer--I only burn, never tan.  Sweating makes me itch.  Mosquitos love me, and their bites swell up on me the size of quarters.  I don't like to swim.  Summer just has nothing to offer me that I'm interested in. 

And this year has been especially brutal.  A record-setting heat wave coupled with drought has made this summer unbearable to me.  Walking outside is like walking into an oven.  The air conditioning cannot keep up when it is over 100 degrees day after day after day.  No matter what you do, count on sweating while doing it.  I would like to kiss the person who invented ceiling fans.  The nearby lake looks so desolate, what with its fishing dock sitting on dry land.  The lovely (and expensive) bushes I planted so hopefully and lovingly this Spring are as dry and crispy as corn flakes, even though we watered them faithfully as often as the water rationing would allow

My creativity is dry and crispy too.  Art and Craft have lifted me out of many a funk, if only temporarily, but this time I got nuttin'.  I cannot find the energy to do much at all.  I suspect I may be a wee bit depressed.  The summer doldrums?  Can I call in sick to work with that?

My husband's answer to everything is, "This too shall pass."  Sometimes annoying, but always, ALWAYS true.  And so I comfort myself by dreaming of nippy days and chilly nights, piling another blanket on the bed, digging out my fluffiest, warmest socks, and celebrating those wonderful gray days of Fall and Winter.