My England Adventure: Part Two

I’ve just been told that it’s funny that I described “Chinese Water torture” as “setting the tone for the rest of my week.”  Scott said, “You know, you didn’t HAVE to come.”  That’s NOT what I meant.  But I think he knows that.

On Saturday we got up lazily and then started on getting ready for the party that would follow that evening.  Cori and Scott have made amazing friends here in England and they were having them all over for a Thanksgiving feast. 

I was surprised at how chill Cori was, I have a tendency to freak out before a big party, but Cori must do it a lot (or she’s not “type A” like I am) and was just in a great mood about everything all day.

We did haircuts for everyone in the afternoon, and a highlight for Cori.  I had brought *almost* everything that I needed, but in trying to conserve weight had not brought foil.  Doing a highlight with kitchen foil was not something I had tried before, but it worked.  I also had only one brush for color, so I had to use a tiny paintbrush for the other.  This is only going to be hilarious to other hairstylists, but suffice it to say; my skills at improv should be duly noted.  It made me feel like I could be the hairstylist on a survivor type show and no one would have to go with their roots grown out.

The Thanksgiving celebration was a lot of fun.  They have made amazing friends over here.  I really enjoyed all of them.  It’s hard to put into words what a relief it is to me that the Anderbergs are no longer alone here. 

The group clearly enjoys each other and likes to laugh.  A LOT.  I love people that love to laugh.  I find myself, in situations like these, though, where I meet people for the first time, feeling lonesome for my other half, and also regretting so much that they didn’t meet me before.  Being funny is such a high value to me, and I was so much funnier before.  I feel like I need to explain myself:  “You see, I’m kind of a drag now.  But I USED to be really fun.  Promise.”

Saturday night I went to bed and woke up for about 3 hours in the middle of the night.  I’m not sure why I didn’t start writing posts then, but I didn’t. 

When we got up on Sunday morning, we decided to go to the Hundred Acre Wood.  That’s right.  The very same one where Christopher Robin played.  It’s about a 45-minute drive from here.  There’s Pooh’s Bridge, where we played a very rousing round of Pooh Sticks, and I didn’t win once.  Piglet’s house was a very cute and tiny door on a hollowed out tree.   You have to hike in your “Pooh Sticks” because the whole path has been cleared of them for about ¼ mile before the bridge.

Cori, Caid and I playing Pooh Sticks.

Caid and Bridger in front of Piglet's house.

The ride through the countryside on the way there was truly beautiful, and included a great, not quite uncomfortable (and very "try-hard not to guffaw" when you're the aunt) conversation with the eight year old about where babies come from.

That night we got curry take-away (that’s British for carry-out), and opened Christmas presents.  Mine were all on a theme…for keeping me warm.  It included a really cool blanket, gloves, leg warmers, and my so far favorite thing, a hot water bottle.  This should be something that every widow has.  One of the hardest parts about going to bed in the winter months is having cold feet but no husband to put them on (He would always let me).  Having a warm water bottle is no substitute, but it at least solves the cold feet issue, and takes some of the pain away.  I highly recommend them to all widows!

So that’s the end of the weekend, next up…the CITY!

My England Adventure: Part One

So, I’m feeling much better.  I think a change of scenery is just what I needed.  If only Arthur was here, it would be almost perfect.

Here’s a run-down of what I’ve been doing so far.

I arrived on Friday and spent the day trying to stay awake.  This is what the first day of European travel always looks like for me.  I won’t let myself go to bed ‘till 8pm, so the last three hours can feel a little like Chinease water torture, but usually it helps set the tone for the rest of the trip and is totally worth it.

We went on a long “Wellie Walk” in the English Countryside, and I love this because I don’t particularly like to get dirty, so mud-puddles were never really my thing.  But with Wellies on, nothing gets dirty or wet, so the “squinch-squnch” of the mud beneath my feet is a new sensation and extremely enjoyable.  It’s actually very chilly here these days, and the English call it “fresh.”  Such a cheerful way to describe it, rather than the more crass American way, I would say it’s “Butt-Ass cold.”

I also got a great chance to visit with the boys on Friday.  We talked about their girlfriends, and I got very little information, not because they weren’t forthcoming, but because they didn’t have the answers.

Noey to Bridger:  “So I hear you have a girlfriend.”  

Bridger:  “Yes.”

N: “What’s her name?”

B: “Nethe.”

N: “That’s an interesting name.  Spell it.”

B:  N-I-E-V-E

Caid:  “I have a girlfriend, too.  Her name’s Charlotte.  C-H-R-L-O-T-E.”

N:  I bet it’s spelled “C-H-A-R-L-O-T-T-E.”

C:  Nope.  There’s no “A” in it.

N:  I bet there is.  You should ask her on Monday.

Later, to Cori, Caid asks, “Mom, is there an “A” in Charlotte?

Cori: “Yes.”

Caid: “No, there’s not.”

Noey: “If you knew the answer, then why did you ask the question?”

Also, they couldn’t tell me what color of eyes they had, or hair.  So, these are interesting girls.  Difficult to spell names, and weird colored eyes and hair.  Or at least un-memorable.  That’s about as far as we got.

I went to bed that night and slept like a champ.  The rest of the week I haven’t fared quite so well, but I woke up feeling refreshed.  I’ll keep you posted about the rest of the week's adventures…

Fresh Holly from our "Wellie Walk"

Thanksgiving

I’m on a crowded flight to London.  I left from Dallas.  It’s amazing how misbehaved children can be, and how this humiliates parents but gets no result.  It’s amazing how cranky I am when I haven’t had a cigarette in 10 hours.

I took the same flight last year, and it was delightful.  I had the two seats next to me open, so I had room to spread out, and I was actually able to sleep.  Still though, in spite of all that, I’m feeling thankful, on this day of Thanksgiving, that I can get there to see my sweet family in just a few short hours.  I can hear Sawan’s voice asking me, “And then did you fly?  Through the AIR?” There was no more complaining after the youtube video that we saw with Rick that day, and it’s made me a better flyer and honestly, a better person ever since.

Somehow, like an idiot. I managed to get on this flight with no Kleenex, and I’ve been a wreck the whole time.  It’s actually one of those really bumpy ones that jiggles and jiggles and makes your tummy hurt weather you have anxiety about flying or not.

I just chose to hop myself up on anti-anxiety meds and red wine.  Maybe I’ll actually be able to sleep after all that, who knows?

I’ve had to stay off of facebook all day. I can’t take the sweet cute things that people say about their family and their husbands.  That was my life, too, once.  I loved Thanksgiving.  It was my favorite.  I loved that it was a holiday just about being together.  It was a holiday about yummy things to eat.  It was a holiday somewhat untouched by the grossness of the consumerism that has permeated other holidays, and just focused on families and togetherness.  Sawan and I were only together about a month when we spent our first Thanksgiving together.  He came to my friend Ingrid’s house (we were doing kid Thanksgivings that year because my folks were in Jamaica celebrating their 30^th wedding anniversary).  It became an important day to us.  He told me he loved me for the first time that day.  The next year he made plans to take me to look for wedding rings the following day. 

So this plan of mine to “skip it” is in play yet again.  It just didn’t work as well this year.  I fly all day on Thursday, then with the miracle of the time change don’t arrive till Friday morning, effectively “skipping” Thanksgiving.  But last year this helped me to not have to think about it much, where as this year I can’t seem to help it.  I’m just so sad.

I’m not quite sure why this year is so much harder, I think it’s maybe that last year I was still so in shock and this year I’m really feeling things.  I’m a total mess.  I’ve never felt this hopeless throughout this whole ordeal, like I’m just not quite sure how to survive it.  In a lot of ways I feel like I must have gone back to the beginning, because my unplanned mantra has become once again, “how did I get here?”

I just miss him.  I missed getting up with him this morning and drinking too much coffee while we watched the parade, then him starting the stuff that he was responsible for dinner and having me taste everything while I continued to be the princess on the couch, drinking coffee and watching the parade.  Then me coming in to the kitchen to do my one responsibility:  Green Been Casserole, and us making jokes about it. 

I miss us getting everything done and then going over to my folks to be with everybody, I didn’t know that the last one we were all together was the last one.

So, there it is.  I hate it when people tell me that they read my blogs and just cry, but I’ve also promised myself that I would let everyone in at some point to the darkness that I really feel.  This is a pretty dark place.

I will say this.  I have a lot to be thankful for.  I have an amazing family, and being able to come to England to visit some of them is such a privlege.  I was doing so bad before I left that I almost didn’t come, but I have to admit that part of my motivation for coming to Enlgand was to have something more interesting to say on my blog, so I’m super thankful, also, to you, my “readership of tens of you.”  Thank you for caring about what I have to say and helping me to be motivated toward moving on.  Love!

Ellie

You’re not supposed to have favorites, but Ellie was Sawan’s favorite.  I always thought we had kept this a secret, but it came up when we were all around for the funeral.  Clearly it was obvious to everyone.

Ellie was my roommate when Sawan and I started dating, so she got to be around him the most and probably knew him the best of all of my family members.

In the first couple of weeks that we were together, Sawan and I were just hanging out at my house, and Ellie came in, having a meltdown.  She had had a really bad day, and to top it off, she had just dropped her keys down the elevator shaft.  We made a game of it.  Sawan had duct tape in his truck, and we made some sort of tool out of a broomstick and wire hanger and, ever the fisherman, he was able to “fish” out the keys from the bottom of the elevator shaft.  Later he told her, “I know we don’t know each other very well, but I give really good hugs,” and he held her while she cried and comforted her.   I think it was settled at that point.  He was the hero and she was his favorite.

Ellie moved to Baltimore when she finished nursing school.  She ended up having to ship boxes and move what little she could in her teensy Honda Civic.  Sawan and I were at my parent’s house the night before they left and he loaded the car for them, and got EVERYTHING in.  It was like tetris.  He was amazing at loading a car.

She moved back to Denver last winter, and she and I are roomies again.  I think she’s probably a big reason why I’m still sane.  I really feel sorry for all of my fam, for having to put up with me, but Ellie sees the worst of it.  You just never know what kind of day I’m having, never know what to expect, and Ellie rolls with the punches.  She’s ready to comfort if I need it, or make me laugh (This is what she’s best at.  We laugh A LOT.), and she has risen to the occasion when stuff happens like, oh I don’t know, the dog pukes on the bed in the middle of the night and I’m sobbing.  By the time I’m back upstairs from putting the sheets in the washer there were already clean sheets on my bed.  She’s amazing.

Ellie, thanks so much for being the roommate extraordinaire.  Thanks for putting up with me.  Thanks for making me laugh.  I love you.  Oh, and you’re my new best friend.  Call me every five minutes.

At Ellie's graduation, Spring, 2008.
 (Not quite sure what Sawan's doing in this photo...but it was the best one I could find...he must be saying "ta DA!")

Gabe

Gabe is my “little” brother.  He’s 3 ½ years younger than me.  He outgrew me when I was in high school, though, and he picks on me like he’s the big brother.  I tell him all the time that if I knew that he was going to be this mean to me now that he’s bigger, life would have been miserable for him when he was smaller than me.

Gabe and Sawan never lived in the same town together, so they didn’t get as much of a chance to get to know each other as Sawan and I would have liked.  The summer that Sawan died, we went on a 3-5 mile walk nearly every night.  We got so much talking done during those walks.  On one of the last ones, the week before he died, we were talking about Gabe and Mary, and how much he wished we just lived closer, and how much he just missed them.  The “Mini Hoggatts” as we call them, were coming for a visit a week after Sawan died.  So we were talking about how excited we were to get to be with them.

I love being around Gabe and Mary as a couple.  They are so in love with each other.  Gabe is so affectionate.  When Sawan and I would be around them, Sawan would initiate affection with me so much more readily.  He took his cues from Gabe.  I loved that.  We would be in the car, and the boys would be in the front and the girls in the back, and Sawan would reach from the front seat to hold my hand.  Sigh.

Couldn't resist putting in this photo.  Doesn't he look like a movie star?

Gabe is in the army.  He’s a tough guy.  We don’t talk about it, but I’m sure he’s seen a lot of really, really bad stuff.  This is why, when they started throwing around the term “PTSD” with me, I really balked.  I have a brother who is a soldier.  You don’t just say that.  But Gabe and I had a really great conversation about it, where he gently and sweetly made me feel that what I’ve been through is significant, and reminded me that we don’t have to keep score.

Thank you, Bubba, for your perfectly timed phone calls, and for making me feel cared for from afar.  Oh, and thanks for defending my freedom.  I love you.

Me and two of my favorite men in San Francisco, January, 2007

Memory Quilt Update:

Denise, the friend who is making my memory quilt, sent me this photo of one of the squares and I had to pass it along.  In the center:  the beige is from a fishing shirt (they make special shirts for fly-fishing), the weirdo blue is from this short sleeved shirt that he must have loved but I hated so he quit wearing it but still had it.  The green and white plaid is from one of his very favorites that had pearl snaps on it.  The Blue and white striped is the one he wore for our engagement photos.  The aloha flowers were from one of his date-night staples.  The purple plaid was his favorite work shirt at Ocean, he wore it with a purple tie and called it his Rockies suit.  It looks much more beautiful than I was even imagining.  I’m so excited.

Things I'm thankful for about: Cori

She was there for me.

It’s amazing that all of my siblings were there to support me within 24 hours of everything happening.  Cori had to come the farthest.  She and her family live in London, England.

She’s really good at math.

For lots of reasons, it’s difficult to get as much time talking to Cori as I want.  The biggest thing in our way is the time difference.  Not only is it seven hours later there, so there are only a few hours of the day that we’re both up, but doing the math for that can be difficult.  Plus there’s boys yelling in the background and babies to change and dinner to be made.  She has a lot going on.  But she makes time for me and it’s great.

She’ll talk about sex.

This is something that I struggle with as a widow.  It seems that sex is an off-limits subject.  Like we’re supposed to skip that part of our grieving, or not tell people about it or something.  It’s weird, though, because one day I was having sex all the time, and now I’m not getting any.  Cori will let me talk about sex all I want.

She made me buy matching panties for my new bra.

This is probably way too much information.  I needed new bras.  I was buying some and she was with me.  Matching panties came up and I said, “No, no one sees me in them anyway.”  (This is another part of the grieving thing.)  And she said, “YOU see you in them.”

She called Sawan “her brother.”

When she tells stories about him, he is not referred to as “the brother in law,” but the “brother.”  This communicates to me how much she loved him, and the degree that she feels his loss, and it means a lot to me.

She is very sensitive about my feelings.

Babies are the hardest thing for me.  I wanted one so badly.  She was pregnant when Sawan died.  Asher is now almost seven months, and I think it must be difficult to have a newborn.  She rarely complains about it, at least not to me, because I have mentioned lots of times that it drives me crazy when people complain about nursing/being up in the middle of the night/date night changes when you have a newborn/I’m sick of changing diapers.  I wanna say, “Oh yeah, boohoo, you have the life I was dreaming of.”  So she mostly says stuff about how thankful she is for her little guy, and I think people must think that she’s Pollyanna, but I can hear in her words that she’s thinking about me. 

Sawan loved Cori, too.

She reminded him of his mom.  She was a midwife, Cori is a doula, and they’re similar.  Plus they both sortof had that hippy thing going on.  Cori and Sawan immediately bonded over cooking.  They both loved to cook and it was the two of them that shared meal planning when it came to holidays and family get-togethers.

I love you Cori.  Thank you for being the best big sister in the world.  Thank you for being there for me.  You’re pretty amazing.

Couldn't find a photo of Cori and Sawan, so I chose one of Cori, myself and Ellie in our matching Rockies hats, taken by Sawan, June 2009.