Getting it Out

I've got some thoughts rolling around in my head, and I need to get them out. Maybe this will become an actual blog post, maybe it won't. It's a quiet Saturday afternoon, and while I have a few semi-quiet moments to think, I need to sort through some things.

As I said in my last post, Brooklyn has been a bit preoccupied with the concept of 'Daddy' lately. She has asked for Daddy a few times when she's been frustrated, and has begun pointing at random men and asking "Daddy?"

"No, not Daddy." I always assure her.

Brooklyn knows Ammon through pictures. She really has no concept of what a Daddy does, what it means, or what he could provide for her. I think she's starting to realize that this concept of 'Daddy' as a male figure is something that other kids have and she doesn't. I don't think that i bothers her, really, other than she is starting to become aware of the difference. This has been a milestone that I have known was coming, but I didn't expect it so soon.

When Ammon died, the boys had a solid concept of who he was, what having him in our family meant, and most of all-what they had lost. From there it was left up to me to explain the concept of death to a 3 year old and a 5 year old. It was difficult, but at least I had a baseline to work with-they knew who daddy was. He was here, now he's not. He was nice, he was fun, he loved me-we miss him.

Brooklyn has no baseline. She has no idea of who daddy is or what it means to have one. How do I even explain this to her? How do I make her understand something that she has never had, when she is still struggling to understand the idea of toilet training? Her speech and comprehension are blossoming, but these are two concepts that she's not ready to understand. In some ways-and I know many people probably won't understand this-I don't want to explain to her who daddy is. See, if she has a full idea of what it means to have a man who loves her, plays with her, and shares our lives, then she'll know what she's missing. If I gloss over the daddy idea, but don't go into details, she doesn't hurt. No daddy is her normal-I don't want to shatter that. I don't want to make him real for her, show her how much he loved her, make her understand how our lives would be different if he had lived-and then rip it all away by having to explain death to her. She's too little. I'm not equipped to deal with this. I knew grief would be delayed for her. I knew she would experience all the stages as she got older and comprehension dawned, but I thought I had more time.

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Dating. Dating has been on my mind a lot lately. I posted here some months ago about being 'ready' to date-whatever that means. I've dated some since then, but not a lot-and nothing really successful. I've tried to force myself out into the Mormon single adult scene-and the scenery leaves much to be desired. I've ventured into the online dating world, and 'met' some very nice individuals, but nobody that sparks my interest or makes me want to go any further than an occasional email. In all of this, I've done a lot of thinking. What is wrong with being single? Other than the occasional fiercely painful bouts of loneliness, I have pretty much accepted my lot in life. I'm lonely-of course I am. I wish Ammon were here, but he's not. I wish I had somebody to share my life with, but I don't. And here's the thing-I have worked so hard at being self-sufficient, at creating a life for me and the kids, at healing, at grieving, at learning to live again-and I'm very, very good at it. I HAVE grieved, and I AM healing. But because I've been so efficient at it, I'm starting to wonder if I've left room in my life for anybody else to be a part of it.

Being in a relationship or a marriage takes a lot of compromise. It takes time, energy, effort, and thought. It's not easy to constantly take the feelings and preferences of another human being into account at all times. I was one type of woman when I was married to Ammon, and now I'm not that woman anymore-I've become a different Victoria entirely, and I'm not even sure at this point how Ammon would fit back into my life. Oh sure, I'd make room for him. I'd alter, he'd change, and we'd choose to mesh again. Somebody else? I don't know. I've built a life for our family-a full, happy, productive, and bursting-at-the-seams-with-activity kind of life. I honestly don't know if I'm ready to give up any part of that to settle down with somebody else.

As difficult as they've been to find-and I've spent a long time searching-there are perks to being single. I get to do whatever I want with my time. My weekends are my own, my money is mine to spend, vacations are up to me entirely. Dinner is my choice every single night. Don't feel like cooking? Pizza it is. Don't feel like doing this dishes? They can sit in the sink. Want to stay up until 2 am chatting on Facebook? No problem. And there are bigger things-things that I couldn't even explain to somebody who hasn't walked this path before. I'm lonely now-but the opportunity for somebody else to hurt me, to leave me-it's not here. I wonder if it's my defense mechanism. If I never let anybody else in, if I never fall in love again, then nobody else can die and break my heart again. If I keep my soul intact and hold it close to myself, it can't be ripped apart again.

Don't get me wrong-I know firsthand how good it feels to let that compromise in, to let my heart open, and to share my soul. I get it. I did all of that with Ammon, and they were the happiest and most fulfilling years of my life to date. This life, however, is fulfilling in a different way. I like to think that I'm not emotionally closed off. I still love my kids fiercely, and I'm a pretty open book when it comes to my friends-especially those that I have come to share this widowed path with. I also like to think that for all my blustering about the perks of being single, I'm open to the idea of changing it. After Ammon died I thought I had a good idea of what kind of man I was intent on finding. Now those boundaries are pretty fuzzy. There are still character points that are indisputable, but for the most part the rest of him is a fuzzy image I can't quiet wrap my eyes around. I don't know if he's a figment of my imagination or a premise of things to come, but I'm trying to accept things either way.

I've been told I'm too young to accept being single for the rest of my life, and maybe I am. I don't look too far in the future these days-the next couple of years is plenty to keep me occupied. I have a 3 year plan-I know that I want to graduate in 2013, and I know where ideally I would like to transplant my family when my degree is complete. It's a loosely formed structure, but it works for now. It gives me direction, it gives me a starting point, and I guess I'll figure out the rest as I go along. I don't see myself growing old alone, but maybe this season is one I will spend in a solitary fashion. Going to school, raising my family-maybe I wasn't meant to share those things with somebody else. Maybe once all those things are passed and I have a more flexible life somebody else will fit in easier. Maybe not.

I'm not going to lie-it's scary, it's lonely, and it's frustrating. I started to type that I'd give every bit of this new life up to have Ammon back-but halfway through the sentence I realized that's a lie. That realization, in this moment, takes my breath away. What wouldn't I give up? My strength. My self-reliance. My education. My new friends. In losing Ammon, I have gained these things. I'm sitting here, staring at the computer screen asking myself: if I had the chance to get Ammon back, but I had to go back to being that girl, would I? Would I choose to keep this life, and live it without him-willingly?

Wow. I don't know.

What a realization a few minutes of typing will find for you.

Maybe it's the fact that I know-with every fiber of my being-that he is waiting for me. Choosing to live this mortal life without him only delays our union in the hereafter. If I can learn such amazing things in this life-but can do so only without him by my side....is it worth it? I'm so grateful that I had the chance to know him. To love him. To be his wife, and the mother to his children. He formed the woman that I am today in every way. He formed me by loving me, and then by leaving me. His presence or lack thereof has formed and shaped every facet of who I am, and who I will remain for the rest of my life. No, Ammon is not gone. I am not without him-we are woven too tightly together to ever be separated. Maybe it is for that reason that at least in this moment, I think I might have the strength to accept the trade off and choose mortality without him. Maybe this is a glimpse of the moment when we made the agreement to come to this earth and accept our fate. I've believed for a long time, sometimes begrudgingly, that Ammon and I sat down together in the life we had before we came to earth. We reviewed the options, and we considered seriously what we were being asked to do. I believe we knew-our heavenly, eternal selves-that we would be separated in this life prematurely. I think we knew the pros and cons, and weighed them carefully before agreeing to come here and go through with the plan.

I think we knew how much it would cost. It would hurt. We would suffer.

I think we also knew what we stood to gain. To learn. To endure.

I think we chose this.

Wow. Maybe that realization is why I needed to sit and sort today.