Patty65

That's awesome Maryann, and feels so true. Thank you for sharing that! Us grubs though can look up at the surface though, and sometimes when the light is just right, we just may be able to recognize them. And if we can recognize them, we could maybe feel the rays of light reflecting off the sparkling wings, or just be happy sliming our way into their cool shadow. Patty

You don't have to, AB3. It is scary to let go too, so sometimes we keep busy with XYZ, whatever life puts, or we put, in front of us to survive. It is hard to let parents worry about us. I remember when I had cancer surgery almost a decade ago, my parents were so worried about me, and what a blessing this new man, Ron, was in my life to be there for me, and do everything for me, help me survive, help me want to survive. Now they worry I'm alone, stressed, and overwhelmed, and I take care too to not let them see the full extent of my suffering, too. I guess the not-so-simple answer is that we do what we must to survive each day. It's ever-changing.

Marg, Your whole post put a giant smile on my face. I'm so, so happy it was a good experience for you!! Patty

Yes, so brave, Marg, please tell us how it goes....

For many of us that is a hard-won, and sometimes yet to be determined battle we wage with ourselves. Asking and receiving help. That challenge started a year ago when Ron got sick, and, the asking, and accepting, of help... has been been hard and against my nature. But I think an important lesson to be learned to live out this life. And we learn it here so much. Patty

((((Gin)))) Forever and yesterday. My truth too. It is hard to conceive. It comes to me, that thought, and my head involuntarily shakes back and forth -- as if to try to shake me out of the surreal nightmare.

"How" is way more productive, Marg, thank you! We sure all know the "whys" are quite unanswerable most of the time, aren't they?

It has been 313 days since Ron died. I count the days with no apologies, maybe it's weird, but I have a Crazy Pass. And now, this is when it all started last year, and suddenly my memory is photographic about it all. My advice to you olemisfit, is to be gentle with yourself. You are in enough pain with the memories to make yourself wrong and bad for it too. And I say that to me as I say it to you, too, for sure. It's a hard thing to let yourself be, to let myself be. I battle it every day. You aren't alone in those thoughts, but as my therapist says often to me -- "challenge that thought..." especially if it only makes you feel worse... PS - Love the photo Take care, Patty

Yes,I LOVE that Marg, and THERE"S true friends in that! Eyore can do without all those other forest friends that scatter away from him!

I am back from my trip, sitting in a ghost town of Maui Pasta alone, I couldn't avoid coming here after dropping my bags off at the house. I want to call someone and ask them to talk me off the cliff, so to speak, but, as another thread touches on, I'm tired of being a burden - 8 days away, and for the first time since Ron died, I slowed down, and I'm afraid I can't get back up. I seem to be saying to myself, well, I kept Maui Pasta going for a year after he could not come here (aka RIGHT now)... and 10 months since he is gone from this planet, to come back to it, and all the very extreme, severe landlord threats, the money problems, being behind on everything... I'm wondering WHY anymore? Just WHY? As I wound down the trip, I spent the last two nights pretty sleepless, with hardly any airplane sleeping, my refuge. My mind racing all night, trying to piece together how I can possibly survive the next months, save Maui Pasta, or reinvent it. All I come up with is WHY bother? I know there are reasons, and after all, here I sit, but damn it seems ultimately impossible, and I've dragged this new business partner into this mess. 8 days ago, I put it all on hold to survive the holidays, to see my very ill mom 5000 miles away, to buck it up for the Holidays With Family. As I was pulling out of the driveway to leave my parents' home, my mom for the first time not able to see me off, I was crying, and my dad's final words to me were, "Stop cryin!" I know what he meant was "I can't stand to see you in pain" and "It will be ok" -- his world so falling apart too, but you know, the voice echoes. Not that I am very successful at obeying his orders at all. All I know for sure is that the sun will go ahead and rise tomorrow morning anyway, and be another echo of last year's frantic start of trying to futilely save Ron's life. I had two really strong instances in Connecticut where Ron made his presence be known. It helped me hold on, I imagine that was the point... and I will share when I can... but since the wheels of the plane touched down on Maui 3 hours ago, my heart has been racing, and the sky is crying in Paradise. Thanks for listening, and I'm so so sorry it's been so hard for so many of us. Hugs to you. Patty

Today, Dec. 26th, was our Christmas day -- having closed the shop at 3pm on Christmas eve, and travelling for 18 hours as our tradition dictates, back to my family home. It was a rough journey, my first without Ron. I have for the first time come back here. I am sitting by the fire that we loved so much, craved all year to sit back and experience. I arrived to see my parents, the first time since he was gone, my mom so much weaker and frailer and trying to hold on with her limited heart function. It was a quiet greeting with long, strong hugs, but no mention of Ron - it was understood, I know. So I frantically got busy immediately, handing out Maui Pasta treats to the family and wrapping presents for today's gift-giving. Eventually I had to stop, and sleep for the first time in front of the family room fire without him. The room where Christmas has been experienced since I was three years old. It was the thing we looked forward to together the most. I had to keep the fire going all night, just like he would, just for him, just for us, just because he loves it so. Loved. Loves. I'm tired of trying to catch myself not using the correct tense. Our house. My house. It will always be present plural tense to me. When I unwrapped my sister's present to me, our scrapbook wedding album she has been working on for over a decade, I did not make it past page one -- well even the cover really -- before the tears flowed and flowed. "Hey, Pat, You're leaking" my dad said. His way of acknowledging my tears. I put it down, went to the bathroom and cried until I could compose myself. There, I felt Ron telling me... a bit desperately almost... "I'm here, I'm here, I promise, I'm here" I need him here. I need to let myself feel him. But it so hard in the pain of every moment of specific traditions without him - and our journey here is all about those specific traditions. Each a gut punch, and the ultimate challenge to feel him here. To let it, to believe it. My family respects my pain, but they hold their breath when it shows, as I was always the happy, positive, look-on-the-bright-side child. It is ok, it is familiar, and I tread through each day, each moment knowing I am surrounded by their love in the only way they know how to give it. The pain is so deep, but there is a peace floating around that I believe is Ron. He wants me to see and feel my family now as he did --the family he loved, the family he never had. And after all, at least I have escaped the frantic, relentless, stress-filled survival-mode of Maui Pasta for a week. And I guess, that can be Enough, as Marty's beautiful story says, for this excruciating holiday. A year ago tomorrow, we woke up to Ron's tumors emerged on his face, and each day from last year is so crystal clear in its details of his decline. It feels like that is the day that our paths started a slight divergence. He Knew, and I had hope of turning it all around, I believed I could save him. That divergence, of not following his knowing, of not being there to process his fears of dying with him - it haunts me. I was relentless in my hope, and ignored reality. I came to that realization a few weeks ago, and it was and is a devastating and guilt-ridden depression, and now I am living the divergence again. But the night a few weeks ago that I realized he had Known and I had not, I felt him tell me "it's OK". Over and over. But the reliving. How can my heart break more than it has for the past 10 months? Yet it continues. My heart breaks for all of us this holiday. And I am so, so, so grateful for our community. Last I share the happiest of memories, Christmas 06, a decade ago, just married, and sharing our first Christmas together as a family with a day in the Big Apple -- going to the Natural History Museum, having an amazing Italian dinner years before the concept of Maui Pasta existed, and skating in the rain in Rockefeller center for the first and only time in our lives, such such such Joy as we paid the photographer in front of the Rockefeller Christmas tree to snap the moment. The photo lives at my parent's home, but I will be taking it back with me and cherishing it forever. Thank you for the space and safety to share.

ohhh alright I don't like it (yet). The moon looks like swiss cheese!

Hurts and hurts and hurts and hurts and HURTS and H-U-R-T-S. Christmas eve day at the shop and tears are flowing and flowing. But this song, out of 290 songs on my playlist, has played 3x in the last 3 hours. My Sweet Lady Lyrics by John Denver Lady, are you crying, do the tears belong to me Did you think our time together was all gone Lady, you've been dreaming, I'm as close as I can be And I swear to you our time has just begun Close your eyes and rest your weary mind I promise I will stay right here beside you Today our lives were joined, became entwined I wish that you could know how much I love you Lady, are you happy, do you feel the way I do Are there meanings that you've never seen before Lady, my sweet lady, I just can't believe it's true And it's like I've never, ever loved before Close your eyes and rest your weary mind I promise I will stay right here beside you Today our lives were joined, became entwined I wish that you could know how much I love you Lady, are you crying, do the tears belong to me Did you think our time together was all gone Lady, my sweet lady, I'm as close as I can be And I swear to you our time has just begun

Yuck Gwen... Until I got that letter and that scarf, I guess I thought there was no way for the community at large, from friends to strangers, to have a reaction that wasn't at best awkward. But the truth is 99% of it is. It just goes on and on, doesn't it, and the holidays just escalate it so deeply. I got a "year in review" Christmas card/letter from Ron's aunt. Guess what her "news" was to me and the rest of her relatives? Her nephew, Ron died. Just why send that to me? And yet she is a sweet woman who means well. Sigh.

Today, one of my employees asked me if I am getting excited about my trip. Saturday night I'm going back to see my family, my very ill mom, and I will be in the place where all our Christmas magic used to happen, and where lumps popped up on Ron's face last year on the day after Christmas, which was the beginning of the end. Excited? No. Crash? Probably. My mother has 20% heart function, and I'm afraid my grief will kill her, and the thought of it drives me to tears - everything. I confessed that to my therapist last night, and she told me that my mother has her own contract with her life. It was another perspective to hold onto as best I can. So, I just told this employee, well - not exactly excited. I need to go, I have to go, I must go, I want to see my mom, and I want to see my parents, sister, nephew and uncle. I have not seen them since Ron has been gone. At least I will be travelling there with my daughter. (AND I'm getting my first (and ONLY!) tattoo tonight! My daughter wanted us to get matching tattoos, so we are getting a small icon of a sun, moon and a star - about 1 or two inches in diameter!! Yikes!) I added the star to her design, and she said that would be Ron, that I would be the moon, and she would be the sun... after all, as the child, the world does revolve around her I don't know how to survive, especially without work as my buffer/escape, but I guess somehow I will. It's scary.

Hi Maryann, I have felt very, very called to see that movie. I have not been to a movie since, and it feels scary and sad to try -- so I asked my therapist if for one of our sessions we could go see that movie, because it felt like something I NEEDED to see. But I chickened out, and honestly didn't feel able to give up my face to face time for a movie with all the harshness of the season. The other mistake I made was reading the bad reviews, and then I got afraid it was just a tear-jerker holiday movie. I'm still contemplating it -- thanks so much for sharing your thoughts on it. Patty

Totally, totally. Thanks for sharing that Gwen. I totally feel sometimes when the grief hits really hard that I am just shooting off painful love energy that is exactly that - nowhere to go -- or it goes somewhere out into the ethers but the pain of it is that I have difficulty feeling anything of that love coming back at me, which is so devastatingly lonely because I always, always that had when he was here with me. When I do see or feel something back, the grief "has a reward" (???) of some sort of spiritual or mind-produced connection. Whatever it is, it helps. The problem for me personally is that I am so - (you name it) - sad, depressed, exhausted, miserable many times and that lack of "energy" keeps me from making any connection and then it is just -- "alone forever" "nothing good left" "my fault" -- all the negative side that I know is not exactly as real as it feels in the moment. Its all so damn exhausting though. Could be my life in general though

By means of an explanation ... That image was from a vision I had when I was deep in grief, sobbing one night of many. The background stars is literally a photograph of the night sky here taken with an app called "Night Cap". It took many versions of digital sketches to get even slightly close to the vision. The actual vision was much brighter and much more glowing and all of the - for lack of a better word - spirits were swirling away from the source of light -- and the circular source of light has darker areas within it which at the time seemed to have the spirits coming out of it before they flew away. As if the darker spots represented tunnel-like passages to other realms. There was a figure standing in the center. What is not in this image is a light being sort of spirit that came closer to me. And while it will sound crazy, it was a non-physical creature that had win,gs - almost butterfly-like, with a long neck -- it was floating softly by in profile. I call the images, along with the close-up of Ron's eyes that I see often, all with different emotional expressions - sometimes love, sometimes compassion, sometimes "smiling eyes", sometimes looking directly at me, sometimes in profile as if he is looking at something else. I have not spoken much about these "awake dream" images when the grief is the strongest because it sounds so crazy. But crazy or not, they are beautiful, they take a lot of energy to hold onto, but they in the end stay with me and make me feel better. So, whatever it is... it is. Crazy Patty

A very special Happy Birthday to Steve! For all your heart that you share with all of us, may your day bring you the knowing that we all care and are thinking of you today. Our forum is a better place with you in it Patty

In the middle of so many troubles with Maui Pasta... deep, hard troubles on the days leading to going to my parent's where Ron first got sick and where we shared so many of our most special memories... with my mom still in heart failure but at least out of the hospital and I'm praying stabilized, not knowing how to get through one more day... A customer walked in, asking for me. A deep sigh as I left my office to go out front at the shop to see who wanted to see me, my heart still racing from the recent bad-news lawyer call... BUT... This is what I got. It was very special. And I am grateful for that genuine moment of comfort.

The other day, the landlord came to "talk" (aka attack, yell-at) me. Commercial landlord at the shop. At one point in his very hostile confrontation, he said "you always pay your rent late!" I said, "We have never been more than 30 days late (mostly 15 days late), and you KNOW what I've been through this year!" He said, "YES I KNOW, BUT THIS IS BUSINESS, AND FRANKLY I DON'T CARE!" He hasn't been out a penny, and he is (literally) a billionaire. (and yes, i had to get a lawyer, and I'll never let him talk to me again). Wow. Just Wow. I guess I, or we maybe, have to give up any hope that anyone other than those who have gone through it can have any reasonable semblance of understanding. If we give up that expectation or hope, yet another something to give up, then I don't know - maybe it won't hurt as much? Maybe that's a fantasy too. I'm so sorry that happened that way with so little understanding of what you are going through, Cookie. Patty

Hi Marie, My mother was taken to the ER the other day with shortness of breath. Since then, *I* have had shortness of breath, racing heart, the shakes -- the difference is I know mine is anxiety and nerves... along with a million other business pressures (understatement, we could be evicted from our commercial property, longstanding landlord dispute that got really nasty)... yes, it is so physical sometimes. You are not alone in that. I know the season is not helping either. Weeks after Ron had passed, I wrote a very long poem... it ends like this... another reference to the "physicalness" of all of this horror. And now it is only me In a home that is infinite comfort and pain With only two states: Haunted by the trauma of this journey past And terrified by the pain – the literal pain from the base of my throat, a crescendo in my chest, and aching reverberations in my stomach and loin – It is the ache of memories and what-will-never-be’s

Hi Caitlynn, I'm glad you found us here, especially this time of year when we are all hit pretty hard. I'm so sorry for your loss, with so much ahead of you -- what a shock it must have been. You've found a safe, understanding place here to share what you are going through. Take care, Patty

I will try to watch that, Maryann... What a beautiful expression of your Love. I loved when you wrote that Mark KNEW you loved him. Sometimes when I said "I love you" Ron would say, "I know." before saying he loved me too. It wasn't smug of course, the way he said it, it was an affirmation that he saw it, felt it, and I was manifesting it to him. I could count on, with confidence, that he knew that everything I did and said -- it was all done within the warm glowing womb of love. And that gave me the confidence to be fully and honestly myself in everything I did and said. Patty

Yeah, tomorrow is the day that I start driving his 4x4 full cab Silverado. I started it up the other night, after over a month, and vrooom... of course it did. He took pristine care of it. A hint of hesitating starting up last year about this time, and he was off to get a new top-line battery. That's a really good idea, Steve. Meditation in his Truck. Try to connect. Try to find his energy there. Having a weirdly grief stricken day, weird because my daughter Catherine comes home tonight from college -- she'll be driving the red pasta-mobile while she is here... which is why I'll drive the truck. I haven't seen her since her trip here for the service. I should be (and am?) excited to be with her, but I'm fighting back tears with every step today. The knot in my throat. All the signs of the holidays, and for some unknown reason, all I am doing is projecting what he was thinking and feeling a year ago. It was when he started retreating... and I'm imagining that he Knew, and feared leaving me alone with the business, and the house and just everything, with no life insurance to help. He was helpless. And I was worried but clueless. Or Polyanna. I'm trying not to be hard on myself, with little success. I know logically, rationally, there was nothing I could have done. Except help him through the reality more. I think we both didn't want reality. I think we both subconsciously couldn't stand the pain of this separation, and held it tightly in us until the collapse, the last three weeks. I want to be strong for Catherine. I want her to believe her mom is OK. All these months later. I just don't know if I'll be able to pull it off. Thanks for listening... Patty