Love and Support on the Third Anniversary

Today is the third anniversary of Bill’s death.

I haven’t posted much lately, mainly because I’ve just been super busy with a lot of changes. I moved my office in mid-July, where I had been for five years and that was a big job with having to restore the space to how it was before we moved in and remodeled it. That was bittersweet but for the best. We are now only about one minute away from where we were, and now next to the main office, so it’s a good thing.

When I first started this journey, I felt like most everyone feels when it’s new. I could barely imagine anything outside of just trying to keep breathing and putting one foot in front of the other to get through each day. In looking back, I honestly don’t know how I did it. I guess we just have a coping mechanism that kicks in and we do it. There wasn’t any other choice for me.

It’s been incredibly hard. I’m not going to lie. Aside from the personal suffering, I had two agents that worked with me for many years, steal from me and they are continuing to do so. (Update as of 2023: I took legal action and it was finalized this year). So there’s all that goes into that with hiring legal assistance to go after them, the feeling of betrayal from people whose careers were built on not only my blood, sweat, and tears, not to mention money, but Bill’s as well. I ask myself if they’d have the balls to do what they are doing if he was here and I don’t think they would. So that hurts. They were work family and they are thieves. So very disappointing.

On the positive side, the many girlfriends that were there for me, continue to be a huge part of my life. I cannot emphasize enough how important that is. I would have lost my mind without those girls and a few of the guys.

Now for the big news! As I look at the date on the last entry, I realize that that was on April 11th. And on April 19th I got engaged! Michael and I were in San Francisco for the weekend and he popped the question in Union Square.

If you would have asked me a year ago as I was on an airplane to Spain on this day, if I’d imagine that I would have met such a wonderful, loving, handsome man a few weeks after I returned and be engaged to him 6 months later, it would have been hard to picture. But yet, here I am. I’m here to tell you, there is hope.

One of the many things that I love and appreciate about Michael, is that he respects the relationship that I had with Bill. This is the text he sent to me this morning (he’s out of town on business):

Good morning my love. I know today is going to be difficult for you. You are in my thoughts and prayers. Although I never met Bill, everything I heard is that he was an amazing human being. He must have been to win your heart. I will always support keeping his memory alive and supporting you in that way.  Love you and I’m here for you. 😘

He attached a video he took of a rainbow that popped up as he was texting me the message.

Now that’s a great guy!

I’ve said all along that in order to make sense of why something so tragic would happen to such a good person, I had to make sure that I learned lessons from it. Since there really is no answer to why this is about all we can do. All of us who have been down this road know how profoundly we are changed. My goal was and continues to be, to be a better person and to be better at things in my relationship that I could have done better before.

Life is a journey and we have to make the best of it while we can. My life wouldn’t be the same or as rich and meaningful if I hadn’t met and married Bill, and it wouldn’t be as rich and meaningful now if I hadn’t met Michael. I’m grateful to have had one, let alone now two, wonderful men in my life.

Bill, thinking of you today, as everyday…




Post from The Wonder Widow

This is a blog that I get. She did not write it, but like her, I feel that it will resonate with you. A good friend used the ship and wave example when Bill was dying and it’s true.


Shipwrecks

by Wonder Widow

This is not my writing, it was something a widower sent to me to read because it had resonated with him. It resonates with me, and I hope you if you've lost someone, anyone- that you find a bit of truth or understanding it in as well.

"Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not.

I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves.

And lots of shipwrecks."

- Unknown