Reaching for Eudaimonia

These last four years have been just awful for my personal life. I have felt loss after loss, picking myself up slowly just to be hit again. I've felt each sharp stab and ache from the tearing and healing of my heart. With every new betrayal or loss I've felt like I've been auctioning off my parts.  "You want my heart?"  Take it, it's a wreck anyway.  "Do I hear an offer for my lungs?" That's fine, you can have them. I already feel like I'm drowning by making you comfortable with your ideas about love.  "Any bidders for my arms and legs?"  Take them if you must. I've grown used to comforting myself in silence and remaining in one place.  *** The year after Howard died we saw who our true friends were. Some people felt very uncomfortable around us. We could feel it even though they never said a word. It's almost incredible how dull you feel after loss but how sometimes you have this hei...

I have to be honest about this process. I write these passages often times with tears rushing down my face, gasping for air by the end and praying that I could find some peace. Sometimes the salt from my tears irritates my skin and dries it out. It stings. I have to tell you what my mother told me a couple of days ago. First, I want to mention that my mom reads this blog. She knows that some of the most personal ways that she coped is on here for everyone to see. She doesn’t say anything about being uncomfortable about it. I asked her how she felt. I asked her if there was anything that she didn’t want me to share. She told me that helping others understand is more important than any other insecurity she might have about it. She also told me that she could tell that I was holding back. I know what she means. I know I have to say it eventually. I know the day is coming when everyone who reads this will want to know how he died, if that isn’t already the case. As she...

When I ask people what I was like 3 years ago when Howard’s death was still fresh, the most common description I am told is that I was ‘alive', but I was 'not living.’ I remember looming from place to place, having conversations that I don't remember, holding everything close to prevent more uncertainty.  I suppose I was trying to keep everything else in my life the same.  I didn't want anything else to change.  I was mad at change.  I know now that change is something that is inevitable, but I remember thinking that. I remember feeling like I was dropped into some parallel universe that fed on chaos and sorrow.  Was Howard’s death some form of punishment?  I was constantly asking myself rhetorical questions like “What did you do to make this happen?” or “Did you do everything that you possibly could have that day?” These were questions that ate me alive for years. When I dared myself to think of the day he died, I would ask myself impossi...

The first week after Howard died I lost around 10 pounds. My grandmother had moved in and was cooking for mom and me for almost every meal. If we ate it was only a couple of bites.  My aunt and uncle from Texas came up to help, and our friends and neighbors were constantly bringing in these wooden care baskets full of food that seemed endless. Mom couldn't sleep by herself. I couldn't sleep by myself. Mom cried everyday. I held her everyday. I didn't cry about it.  A few weeks later I had a dream about Howard. In the dream I woke up and it felt like the untouched quiet that usually swept over the house on an early Saturday morning. I could smell some food cooking in the kitchen. When I rounded the corner of the hallway I saw Howard standing over the gas-stove making breakfast. I ran towards him and I hugged him as tightly as I could. "Howard, I had the most awful dream in the world," I said to him. He turned to me looking confused and asked, ...