Good bye, Sofa King. . . xxoo

I have carried this blog on for far longer than is likely healthy. For me, for you for all of us . . . it served its purpose far beyond what I set out to do, which was to keep friends and family connected to Bob when he was so violently ripped from the world for too long. . . . I was and continue to be astounded at how far-reaching this blog has been, and for that, I am eternally grateful. And I know Bob was, too. I rarely posted an entry without reading it to him first, to get his approval (unless it was during a very critical situation, where he was incapacitated . . . which, now that I think about it, was a helluva lot of his ordeal . . .) anyhow, I always asked him if he was okay with the entries, and if there were any that he wanted me to remove/edit. I never, ever wanted to speak for him, to say anything that would insult or offend embarrass him, never, ever wished it to be too "out there" for his comfort. . . I am so honored that he approved every entry, and often thanked me for keeping him connected to the friends, family and colleagues he loved so dearly but couldn't personally communicate with . . .

But, to continue writing here, now, feels like I'm living with one foot in a past that will never become present. No matter how much I cry, how I barter, beg, pray or toss fistfuls of pixie dust, scream, threaten or whimper, Bob is physically gone from this earth, as we knew him. As much as I hate to acknowledge this, I am slowly coming to accept this truth, in my head and in my heart. I can't say I have fully embraced this truth, can't say I'm "a-okay" with his dying, can't say that there aren't days that I'm hit with sucker punches that literally, physically drop me . . . I still am so lost without my very best friend, trying so hard to come to grips with his horrific ordeal, but slowly, ever so slowly, I feel I have at least a few glimmers of hope, of understanding . . .

Because of these glimmers of hope, I have decided this format, this Sofa King blog, no longer serves Bob and no longer serves me. Bob is now in the most beautiful place that we could never begin to imagine; that place that one day, we all will be. I am blessed with continuing signs that Bob is alive and well in a place we call Heaven. Nirvana. Happy Hunting Grounds. Paradise. The Great Beyond. The Other World. Pure Love. Call it what you want, semantics no longer matter where Bob now is. Words are those horribly inept things that we earthly creatures have created to feebly try to define, to cling to, corral, control the things over which we really have no control. . . where Bob is, words are no longer necessary.

At some point, I know I will find complete peace knowing that Bob is free, but it's gonna take a little more time and a helluva lotta work on my behalf to reach that place. The cliches don't fit, don't work for me, a blind acceptance of "what is" doesn't help me, but I am finding other ways to help me make sense of the horrors of the 19 months of Bob's ordeal . . . working toward the true comfort of knowing that he is beautiful, healthy, whole, and in a place where we all will be one day, surrounded with pure love, emanating pure love. . . the bitch is, this stuff just doesn't happen overnight, much to my impatient dismay. (I know, I know . . . for all the ethereal talk, I still have the mouth of a trucker . . .small comfort, knowing some things never change, huh?)

Bob is with us, this I know is true, and he continues to guide us from a place of pure love. Life doesn't end with death; rather, it is a new beginning. This, right now, is my job: learning to let go. To so many things that I once thought were true. To things that are keeping me in a place of pain and stagnancy. To open myself to new possibilities. Let go. Surrender. . . It's a new way of life for me, this letting go shit, being in "fight mode" for the past two years. . . my first big step in letting go is letting go of this blog.

I have decided to start another blog, called Widow (w)rites . . . and I invite you to follow me on this next journey in life, if you wish. Right now, I'm not really sure what it will be, other than a new "home" in which to write about life without the best person I have ever had the honor to know . . . I might write frequently, I might never write. Every day is an adventure in Widowland . . . I do know that death and dying are not a "normal" topic of conversation in our everyday life, but the reality is, we will all die one day. We work so hard to try to avoid this fact of life, and the tragic, unfortunate side effect of this affliction is that we are so often denied a truly respectable, dignified death, and it is a subject that so many avoid, literally run from, and when it's too late, the wrong people end up making the decisions. . . Bob was denied this right, this option—a dignified, respectable choice in how he would die—by the very people we put so much trust and power in, to care for him. . . maybe that is what my new blog will address—that's a loaded issue with endless layers, and it's far too early to know . . .maybe it'll be just a bunch of inane drivel, which we all know I'm really good at . . . whatever the direction I take, if you chose not to continue this journey with me, I'm super-okay with that. Huge part of me doesn't blame you one bit, for not wanting to buy a ticket on this Krazy Train . . .

Endless love to all of you, who loved my beloved Bob so very dearly, who love me immensely, who held us so close to your hearts, who cried with us, fought with us, prayed for us, did so much for us, who continue to do all of that, and more, holding me up, as I walk alone. . .

xxoo Jen

Losing my mind so I can find it again . . .

Continuing this blog is so very hard, for endless reasons and I often wonder why I do it, plod on, without the main reason I started it in the first place, the main reason everyone checked in—my beloved, our beloved, Bob . . . more often, seems rather pointless, for endless reasons. But I will, till something/someone tells me to shut my f'n piehole and get a real job . . .

Seven months . . . it still seems like Bob just died. In my world. Have I said this before . . .every day, still, I miss everything about him. I miss his smile. I miss his wicked sense of humor. I miss his silky black hair. I miss his cute little butt (which was waaaaay smaller than mine—seriously something wrong with that picture???), I miss arguing with him—I always told he should have been an attorney because even when he was wrong, he could convince anyone he was right. . . I miss kissing him, period. I miss that cute little cowlick in the middle of his hairline that drove him nuts, but drove me wild—made his hair kind of swirl up and over to the left, kind of like Elvis, if his hair got too long, and he didn't "tame" it before it dried . . . I miss cooking with him, miss coming home from work and having dinner ready for me . . .

I miss his beautiful, expressive hands—he had the most beautiful hands, strong and perfect, cradled a camera so gently . . .I miss giving him foot rubs and his cute "pillow toes" (his big toes were so cute and "puffy," looked like his toenails were pressed into marshmallows . . . I miss his back rubs—he would set a timer, but always gave me bonus minutes for good behavior . . .I miss his take-charge attitude . . . I miss simply sitting in the living room with him, as we both "did work" on our laptops, or watched a bit of TV . . . I miss snow-shoing at William O'Brien and stopping at the little tavern in Marine on St. Croix for a beer and onion rings . . . I miss our road trips, and I'd buy Cosmo and the Enquirer, and read all the trashy tidbits to Bob on the way to our destination . . . I miss grocery shopping with him. I miss cooking dinner with him. I miss crawling into bed and curling up next to his warm body. I miss doing his laundry. . .I miss getting mad at him when he'd try to be a "helper" and do my laundry with his, and turn all my bras pink, and shrink my jeans in the dryer . . . I miss him washing my car, getting the oil changed as a "surprise" forme . . .I miss roadtrips to the north shore, I miss camping with him, I miss sharing a bottle of wine as we sat around a campfire . . . II miss being his "Vanna White" at wine tastings . . . how do I end this list . . .

There is nothing that makes sense along the grief journey, yet at the same time, I do know, in my heart and my head, I am heading toward a better place. Because of my time on earth with Bob. I still can't quite describe or define it . . . it's still more of a feeling than a true knowing, and the unfortunate thing is, it ain't happening as fast as I want it, and I won't know if or when I'll arrive . . . When I do, I'll let you know . . . in the meantime, I'll continue to ramble on . . .