My “group” and I have been trying to organize a night out together. We thought it would be nice to get together on our own terms. We could talk about our losses, or NOT. I wouldn’t matter. The point was that we would just be able to enjoy and build upon the friendships that we have developed over the past months together. I am not sure which one of us first coined the phrase “Widowed Moms’ Night Out” (WMNO), but it was ever so fitting for the task at hand.

It seems like we’ve been trying to plan our evening out for an endless period of time. Tonight, we were finally able to enjoy our get together. The six of us, along with our thirteen children, made an intimidating group of nineteen. Fortunately for us, our waiter was a well organized and easy-going guy. Fortunately for him, we were just as easy going, and well-behaved, I might add. This is how the table looked after our “group” had enjoyed our dinner. Take it from me; this was one meal that we were all happy to have a break from clean up duty.

Eventually, we *will* succeed in getting out on our own, however tonight we were satisfied to all have kids in tow. That in and of itself was a grand accomplishment – at least it was for me.

Being able to have a social even with my group of friends was a pretty big deal for me. It seems that it is ever more difficult to get out for events such as these. Something always seems to get in the way. Today was no different from the rest. It was one of those days when time just kept slipping away. Computer issues sucked up my morning and left me stressed about leaving early for my “group” meeting. I was determined that I would not miss out on our special plans for the night. As long as I made it out the door on time, I would tolerate my lunch of instant oatmeal and strawberries. At the end of the day, I was printing and faxing like a banshee. I am glad that I was able to make it happen.

Today is “tax day.” Although I am due a refund, I still had issues with getting my documents in to the post office. The printer being out of white paper, and not having stamps were just a few of the little issues that popped up for me. I knew that these were not show stoppers by any means. It hit the line up of cars at the post office yesterday afternoon. With the crowds present, I thought that there should have been red, white, and blue balloons up to glorify the occaision. Maybe they were saving those for today.

As I find my spot in line, I find it difficult not to think back to my husband’s little tax filing-related issues that came up over the past many years. These problems were never show stoppers either. In fact, generally, the only problem was that he had not made the time to comb the house one last time for missing receipts to add a deduction or two. I always had the return done in plenty of time for his review, but it seemed that we could never get the return done for the April 15th deadline. When the October deadline rolled around, he was no more ready to sign on the line than before. In fact, I would guess that 90% of the time, the tax return hadn’t changed since its pre-April 15th state.

This year marks the second return that I have filed without my dear husband’s signature. It is the second year that the return has hit the post office by the April deadline. That, in and of itself, brings on a level of sadness that is “taxing.” I guess I miss fighting about not being on time.

I got back into the van, after filling up my gas tank – thus draining my bank account of all of my hard-earned money. YaYa was in the back with my iPod.

As I began to drive, I could hear Tom’s voice saying, “Come on Julie, you’re almost there…” Startling thought it was, it didn’t take long for me to realize the source of the voice. The blend of voices and music that followed was familiar to me. DD had recorded Tom and kids’ voices and mixed it to a lively beat for encouragement on my long runs and races. I never dreamed that it would one day serve as the only way my son would be able to hear his own Dad’s voice again.

The song finished, and immediately it began again, and again. At the stoplight, I looked back at YaYa to check his face for tears. “Are you okay?” I asked. His answer was quiet, but the response was “yes.” I turned back towards the front of my car, just as a tear rolled down my cheek. The light turned green and, just like that, we were wiping away our tears and moving forward once again.

No longer is it strange to find that the process of filling up is completely draining. That’s just how it is these days.

Then you move onward.

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Art therapy 

Draw a picture of a bridge and be sure to include yourself in the drawing.

Driving to work each morning, I consider my mood.  More recently it has been mostly "good."  My good may not be the same as it was before, but it is a good in comparison to how I have been feeling in the past year.  The realization that you are at a new spot on the grief journey is startling and hard to comprehend (even for me).  Today however, as I began my art therapy assignment, it all became a little clearer.

I used the Bixby Bridge as my inspiration for my drawing.  As you can clearly see, I have nearly reached the other side of the bridge.  The big hill, better known as Hurricane Point, is behind me.   It is sunny all around, and there is nothing but lovely sights to enjoy.  Even the bull, who is surrounded by a bed of colorful wildflowers, is happy.

Those who are familiar with the Big Sur International Marathon (BSIM) course, may understand this drawing will a bit more clarity.  Allow me to illustrate further. 

You may have read all about Hurricane Point on the marathon website.  If you’ve run this race, perhaps you tailored your training specifically for the purpose of conquering that hill.  When I ran this race, I did just that.  I went into the race confident that I could climb the hill successfully.

I did just that.  The Taiko drummers’ percussive beat helped me right up that hill.  The problem was, the race was not over yet.  There were MANY more ups and downs to go, and if you didn’t read about the race carefully you may have missed the key words that would indicate this. 

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