A Wife's Wrist Band...

I realized today I still had my wrist band on. The paper kind with the sticky end you get at concerts. Only the black skeleton silhouettes dancing across this one was evidence of the corn maze I had been to with the ward's young women a few nights before. As I went about needing to find scissors to cut it off a reminder of another wrist band came flooding back without warning.

Another wrist band. Same style, only hot pink. Without Halloween clip art. Simply, my husband's name, DOB, and hospital room number jazzed it up. When I returned back to Primary Children's Hospital after Jared had been admitted, I had to get a security band so I could just walk back to his room without checking in each time. As I talked at the security desk, I had to explain I was the patient's wife, not mother. Especially with the silly faces he was making all the while. 

"In 25+ years, I've never given one of these to a patient's wife," he said. And I would suppose not. It was a children's hospital after all. That was evident by the coloring book, crayons, and animal themed menu in my husband's room. In fact, there wasn't even an option for "wife" at the security check-in. I joked then that I sometimes felt more like a mother, since Jared was always a kid at heart. Despite not having wife as an option, hot pinkness still came to symbolize my "wife's" band. When I pulled into the parking lot after going back and forth between the hospital and my parents that first day, the guard asked who I was there for. I held up my wrist, flashing my pink band, and he waved me on. "Ah, you have a kiddo in there," he said and smiled. I smiled back. Yes, I had a big kiddo in there.

Even after we soon transferred hospitals and the band was no longer required, I kept it on. I liked seeing my husband's name around my wrist. It signified I was there for him.

After Jared's passing and the band was no longer required, I kept it on. I liked seeing my husband's name around my wrist. It signified we were still connected.

And even after we laid my husband to rest, all through the viewing and the funeral and the band was no longer required, I kept it on. It signified that I was still his wife.

I debated taking it off when I went to the temple the morning of Jared's viewing, but I just couldn't. The neon peaked out from under the sleeve of my dress; the same dress I wore when we were married. In fact, I wore that hot pink wrist band through that month, and the next, and then a little longer. To me cutting it off signified he wasn't there, and I couldn't bear the thought despite it running through my mind over and over. I wore it in the shower, to sleep, watching it get folded over and somewhat tattered. Then I noticed Jared's name began to slowly but surely fade. Eventually worries I would wear it out to the point of not being able to see my husband's name there, I took a pair of scissors and somewhat ceremoniously snipped my wrist free of the hot pink. I've put it in a safe place, along with other momentos of my husband. Forever reminding me that I was there for him, we are connected, that I am his wife. 

As I stare at the red and black band on my hand now, I can envision see the hot pink "wife band" that signified I was at the hospital for Jared, and tears well up. I would proudly wear anything that shows I am his wife.

A Merry Heart Doeth Good Like A Medicine...

A

 day, a week, a month. Why do we keep track of time when it really all just rolls up on top of itself and folds back over into one giant experience? Does it help or hinder us to mark stretches of time? As the first day of a new month rolls around yet again, I feel the pit of anxiousness swell up inside me. With the beginning of a new month and season, it's a reminder of the ending of the life I once had and loved. The 1st marks 8 months since Jared’s spirit was finally able to leap up and run. And oh, how I miss him! 

Sometimes I still count back to add up the number of days since his passing, although it always just makes me feel sad. Some hours it feels as if just yesterday we were talking and holding hands, living our beautiful life. Other times it seems light years away. Time is so warped to me now and seems to stretch on and on, and on and on. Yet, while each day is one more added to our length of separation, it also means one day closer to our reunion. 

When I first started this blog with Jared's encouragement, and then didn't really start it, my intention was to keep everyone updated on my husband's health, and how he was doing so great. And mainly, how his merry heart was what I felt was keeping him so healthy and happy. 

I anticipated creating a blog full of heart healthy recipes I had tried for Jared, ways I would make our home cute and crafty to reflect our family's love, and all about how Jared was defying the doctors' predictions. We both knew his merry heart was doing more than medical treatments could ever do. But now, none of that is valid and I have anything but a merry heart of my own. 

I feel I am being held together by sloppy yet faithful stitches, yet they can't seem to hold closed the tender wound in my own aching heart. I'm sure if doctors were to open my chest, they'd find an actual gaping hole where all my emotions, abilities, and confidence are pouring out. 

A few days ago I found myself gripping my steering wheel while I cried the kind of crying that makes your body ache and your head numb. Maybe it was the gloomy clouds or the rain pouring down that day, the same as on the morning we laid my husband to rest. Or maybe it was how the clouds lingered lower over the foothills above where I live; where we lived. But the tears began to fall as I drove back from a simple run to the post office. Sometimes the emotions fill up inside and have no where to go but overflow. They tumble out of my eyes and down my face. 

As I parked along the curb in front of my parents' house, I stared out the window. Everything was blurry; the neighbor's leafy trees, the black pavement, the late summer flowers. Even if I wasn't crying, the rain streaking across the window pane blurred all the greens of summer together into a sort of new gray hue. There have been times like this that I cry so hard I can't catch my breath. I continued to grip the steering wheel, seeing my knuckles turn white and almost shake. The emotional pain becomes physical and I have no particular thoughts, just everything rolling together through my mind. And then almost as sudden as it began, the tears stopped. I took out the keys, and I went inside. 

Moments of anguish come and then they go. Life goes on. The mail gets delivered each day, the phone rings with sales pitches, breaking news still gets reported by 5 o'clock each evening. Even though my own world has come to a screeching halt, a continuous halt that has lasted 8 months now, the rest of the world carries on. 

I know I need to get back to that place, to have a merry heart. This blog is my journey back to that now. The truth is that my grief, while more than skin deep, isn't all-encompassing. There is happiness. At first those moments of gladness seemed fleeting and spread far apart. Or was it just me keeping them from coming and not opening my eyes to know happiness is truly there constantly just waiting for me to grab on and hold tight? Within my soul past that wounded heart of mine, my spirit is happy and has reason to rejoice! 

I've heard others ask to those who have been traveling this journey of grief how long until the hurt goes away. Some same "In time," some say "Never." The truth is, I don't want it to go away. At least not completely. I feel my grief is only as equal as my love for Jared, and I fear if I feel less sad it would mean I feel less love for him. And that will never happen. I love Jared with all my heart, broken or not. While part of me has gone with him, I think I can still have a merry heart and happiness. There is happiness for the life we shared, the life I have and will still need to live for our daughter Liberty and her eyes full of light. There is happiness for that eternal bond I share with Jared, one that began eons ago and continues even now. Most importantly, there is happiness in the Atonement of the Son of God that enables me to have hope for a merry heart once again.