Widow doesn't (w)rite

I'm thinking of changing the name of the blog, since it appears I don't write any more . . . that couldn't be further (farther? I think my first guess was right . . . MFA much, Jen?) from the truth, but y'all wouldn't know that, by the lack of entries lately (and by "y'all," I mean the three of you who are still following my diarrhea of the keyboard—Mom, Jill, and . . . who's that third one again . . .)? Believe it or not, school is kicking my butt—it's only one class, I'm not working (well, I do watch my awesome nephew, Otto, two full days a week, but can I call something that brings me pure joy work?!)—you'd think I'd still have monumental amounts of time on my hands to ramble along here, even with schoolwork. I do, but I don't. . .this whole grief thing is a pretty big deal, intensely personal, insanely life-altering, a full-time job, it feels like some days, a sacred journey, on others; as such, the intricacies of it difficult to share, especially when I am not even close to understanding the the whole big mess myself. It's been almost a year since my best friend was taken from me, but I still have much work to do. I am hopeful to one day be at a place where I'm not "living and reliving the past" but instead, "living with my past, moving forward;" I see little glimmers of this happening now and then, but it requires so much work, work that is all consuming and so often feels like it just doesn't fit into the context of the world as I once knew it. Just where I am on the F'N Journey as I so affectionately call this (F'NJ, for short . . .). As much as I long for the CliffNotes to grieving, there's no shortcut. I'm still not okay with any of this "reinventing." Not one bit. Right now, I'm still in the mindset of "I'm doing all this shit because I have to, not because I want to." But I'm also trying to be okay with that, too, respecting it as part of the F'NJ. I like to fool myself into thinking that by getting crazy out of the way in the beginning here, I'll spare myself from being taken out by it sometime down the road, unexpectedly . . . work with me here—just smile and nod, okay? Thanks.

In my writing class, I'm actually required to write things other than a blog—real stuff, that requires heavy editing, purposeful stuff, stuff with a point, with structure, meaning, use of real literary elements and all—a beginning, middle and end, even). Not only that, I am also required to read things other than grief self-help books. Holy hell, that's asking a lot of me, especially without that prescription for Ritalin. . . but I am excited to announce I got an A on my first big writing assignment, an assignment that threw me into such a tailspin, I nearly gave myself a heart attack over the whole ordeal, almost dropped the class entirely, I was so worked up over the thing. Overreacting, perhaps to some, but not in this world. Overreacting is still part of the full meal deal (which makes it easier to avoid most human contact, at this point . . .)

See, we have to read our pieces in class, after which we get to endure "constructive criticism" heaped upon us by the other class members. Can we say Firing Squad?! I ended up being 20 minutes late the night our first big assignment was due to hand it (which is highly unusual, since I've earned the reputation of uber-geek in class, arriving 20 minutes early, sit right in front, next to my professor). Turns out, we ran out of time, and I didn't have to read my piece that night; in fact, have yet to read my piece—I will finally get my turn this coming Monday. The big trigger is that I had this lofty aspiration of starting the "first chapter" of Bob's story in this class (which was my big ol' goal when I applied to Hamline—to eventually tell Bob's story—at least that's what I wrote on my application materials). What a great opportunity to start, here in this first class, I thought! Well, "thinking" and "doing" are two hugely different activities . . . I encounter that damn lesson every day, you'd think it would start to sink in by now. I'm a slow learner. . . halfway through, I panicked and decided I just can't share his story in public yet, to a room of young—20-something—strangers who are going to tear it apart. I'm already torn wide open . . . so, what do I do? I change my mind in the middle of the whole deal, and instead, start a whole new story—abou Gaia dying. And can we guess what happened? Ultimately ended up being a story about Bob, anyhow . . . which just goes to show me that still, everything in life, and I mean everything, is so tightly wrapped up with Bob, that I cannot extricate them, yet . . . I don't expect anyone to understand this, just sharing, for what it's worth. But, I got that "A," and even though my paper was so marked up by editorial comments by my prof, he ended it with the underlined words, "Powerful piece. You have talent." Thank God I waited till I was in my car before reading his comments because I started sobbing immediately . . .

Not to change subjects on you so quickly, but we're all used to this by now, right? I had a couple of deeply touching e-mail exchanges recently, first one from an old grade school teacher of Bob's (and by old, I don't mean OLD—this man is still teaching; I simply mean, from Bob's past!); this teacher wrote to tell me a story about a bench . . . a little over a year ago, at the benefit for Bob, there was a cute little wooden bench on the silent auction, made by Bob's dad. This teacher (I'm refraining from names, to protect the guilty!) was very interested in the bench, but because of his (and I quote), "dumb ass second guessing bidding techniques," he lost out on the bench. In his e-mail, he told me that he hadn't forgotten about the bench, or about Bob and me, and the closer we get to the anniversary of Bob's death, this teacher said he wanted to do something more than just think about it. So he asked Jim to make another bench for him. And this teacher had his 4th grade class finish the bench—sanded, stained, signed all their names on it, couple coats of protective finish—as they did, this teacher talked about Bob a little bit, to the kids, what he was like at their age as a student, said the stories probably meant more to him than they did to the kids, but who knows . . . he also added Bob's name, along with the other kids' names, on the bench, and the year 2011 . . . then, they offered the bench as a silent auction donation, a fundraiser for the school, ended up snagging something like $165 or so for the school . . . (The sign on the bench reads: Presented by Grade 4 with the generous talents of Jim Andrzejek.)

I told Penny and Jim about what this teacher and his class did with the bench, so they went to the auction to see it "in person," and were so touched by the act (Bob's name is in the upper left corner, next to the "Grade 4"). They've been in Montana for the past week, visiting Nancy, Brian, Claire and Grace, and Penny got the great idea to make another bench while they were out there, as a family project. Penny's initial idea was to paint it, then decorate it—maybe with everyone's handprints, maybe some flowers, or owls, along with the words "Uncle Bob's Bench". . . I got a text from her a few days ago, that they were heading out to get the supplies for the bench, and another just today, saying it's painted, but not yet decorated. I don't know how the finished project will turn out, but I'm looking forward to see what they come up with . . . which has me thinking, they could be onto something here, a line of memorial benches in Bob's honor, or for others' loved ones . . . but, I shouldn't prostitute Jim's time and talents, without running it by him first, so please don't bombard him with orders, just yet!

Second exchange was from a cousin of Bob's in Texas, Anne, who shares a deep connection with Bob, through her love of nature, wildflowers and photography, among other ways . . . I've never met Anne (but I hope to, some day!) and it's probably been decades since she and Bob spent time together, but she has been one of our most "vocal," (via e-mails and blog comments) and endearing supporters, and continues to be . . . she e-mailed me not long ago, asking for a digital photograph of Bob, because she's partaking in her local Relay for Life again; this year, they're doing a memory garden and she wants to honor Bob by including his picture in the garden. She's also photographing the event, because, in her words, "it is how I want to honor Bob, by using my talents with my camera." I first "met" Anne when I started the Sofa King blog over two years ago; she always has such wonderful, positive things to share; she sent Bob a beautiful self-published book of her wildflower photographs when he was in hospice; she often shares stories of her love of nature, about how Bob has been such an inspiration for her getting into photography, though "getting into" doesn't do her justice. She is and continues to grow as a gifted artist, and I have to share her website, www.anneelliottphotography, because I'm so blown away by her stunning work, and know Bob would be, too . . .

It moves me beyond words, to know that people carry Bob so close as these two do, two people who are virtual strangers to me. . . I know life moves on, people move on, it's how life works, but to get tangible little tidbits like this now and then is such a gift, it helps to underscore the impact my beautiful husband had on others, how his presence continues to reverberate within others . . . this is how he lives on . . .