Not an easy read...

Apparently dealing with loss is different for everyone. there is no rule book, no expectations, no norms, and no preparation. Even if you know someone you love is dying and you have the logical left side brain justifying the situation, you still have no control over your subconscious mind.
You will cry, you will feel intense sadness and it is expected. Depending on the circumstances and how you deal with it, it last a short or long period.

But if it's a complete surprise like Yves death, then you have even less control. You just jump in head first and either sink or swim. I have chosen to swim but some days it's more like flailing in the deep water. Constantly getting pummeled by a big wave swallowing water but managing to stay afloat. Other days I'm a fish swimming smoothly with an occasional run in with a wayward fishing line.

Without any rhyme or reason, 'it' can hit. It happens when you least expect just as much as when you would expect it. Anything can trigger it, and it can materialize in so many ways. From the obvious sadness to feeling indignant. A feeling of uniqueness. sometimes I walk around and know I am different, different that I was and different from everyone else. I look around at people and know they have NO idea that 2 minutes can change your world..I had no idea how tough this was going to be.

On the physical side, out of nowhere this deep almost cramp-like sensation materializes and a fleeting feeling of panic enters the body sort of like the "fight or flight response". Tears will flow and an intense sense of loss fills your abdomen. If I happen to be biking, my breathing becomes shallow like sobs, but I usually can power through it. If I'm, in a public place, I just avert my eyes, head away from people and just let myself have a moment. However, If I happens when I'm with you, please know it is temporary and I really am OK. Nobody can do anything and I have to go through it. It is a painful process that I wish on no one but I know it will get easier. I know I will NEVER be the same as before but the hole will get smaller and the pain will eventually numb itself away. Hopefully then, I have taken this hardship and molded it into something positive that can be shared with you.

1 year ago today....

Like most November days in Belgium, the short daylight hours were filled with gray skies and a bit of rain. Nonetheless, the atmosphere was quite the opposite. We had moved into the house Yves built just 4 days before. We were literally on overdrive. Last minute finishes to make the house livable, last minute suit and ring buying as well as celebrating the 10th birthday of his daughter Jolien. Once again a full agenda and once again we scurried about. To my surprise, Yves bought me a beautiful white rose bouquet just like the kind a bride holds in fairy tales. He always thought of the details and I appreciated his romanticism.

We were to keep the event low key as we hadn't enough time to plan and prepare for a wedding party. The stress of Yves working full time while building the house, as well as all of lives other responsibilities, gave us a full work load. We were on a time schedule to get out of the apartment and into the new place and Yves was the master of "Overdrive".

Once we got things more in order we planed to have a Trouwfeest (wedding party) in the late spring or early summer to celebrate our marriage with our friends..We needed time and not to forget, $$$. By then we would be more settled.

I recall feeling a bit nervous while waiting for our 'Best Men' (witnesses) to arrive to our house. This was it! We were getting married! Just a year and half earlier we had met and were sharing stories in Aprica, Italy and who would have thought?

Soon after, our friends arrived and we partook a cordial drink to soothe the nerves. Then it was off to the Gemeentehuis for the civil ceremony. As we walked in we noticed that above the door to the conference room our names were illuminated on the overhead screen. There it was, we were on the Heusden Zolder official agenda.

As we all sat before the officiator and her translators, the room was silent yet warm. This was our day, November 5, 2010.. The children sat patiently behind us as our witnesses and their partners sat at our sides. One of my dear students, Ria surprised me, as she came impromptu and took many photographs. For that, I am forever thankful. I had no idea it would be less than a year we would share as man and wife.

Hence we took our vows, exchanged our rings and signed all the necessary documents. As a symbolic gesture, the officiator had the children sign as well. Their "first" official signatures were a declaration of their Papa's and mine marriage. I was and always will be honored.

Today I sit alone with these photo memories of what now seems like a dream. A very very nice dream at that. I was lucky to have my Cinderella moment and I will cherish it forever, but today I will admit I wish I could still live that fairytale.

I know tomorrow is a new day, and I will be a bit lighter as the weight of my loss is slowly falling away. Life awaits us all and I learned that a long time ago, it doesn't come to you, you must seek it out. So in time, when I am ready, I will charge ahead with my eyes and heart open. In the meantime I ponder and scribble.

blogging

I blog to share my thoughts, to tell stories, to entertain, to hopefully impart some knowledge, and lastly, to put to rest some of the craziness tumbling trough my brain.
I have always appreciated the power of the pen, and have a great respect for those who can articulate their thoughts through the written word. It becomes tangible, and hopefully if written well conveys a real meaning to words that can be otherwise misconstrued..

yes, it takes time, but what the hell what is more important? At least for me at the moment, not too much.

When I ride my bike, I often have a million thoughts shoot in and out my brain. Good, bad, absurd, brilliant, you name it. Over the years I've learn to respect all of them. I've made plenty of decisions, created new plans and foresaw my future all while pedaling circles..I suppose the trace-like rhythm of heart rate, breathing and increase of blood flow just brings out the creative juices and inklings of the subconscious. Or whatever it really is, I am thankful for the outlet as it cleanses both my body and soul.
Then there is the other kind of bike ride. That's the kind that does not allow the mind to wander. You are hanging on to dear life just to keep speed. Every thought is economized so you not fall off the back, pushing out the voice telling you about the pain etc. Obviously all thoughts are about survival. I often count rhythms of 3 or 5 in my head to keep that hypnotic state.. and that, my friends, is an entire other blog post.

Nonetheless, when I started this blog "To Belgium with Love", my aim was to share my observations of this now "middle aged" expat starting a new life over in Belgium. At that point, I had no idea how my life was to turn. That was the idea. That was the choice. That was the point. We NEVER know, do we? and dammit no matter how prepared you might think you are, you can never be EMOTIONALLY prepared. You just walk the path and sometimes the road has a few unforeseen detours.

A few blog posts ago I recall likening my life to one of a cat with 9 lives... well, I guess I'm on # 10.


Those of you who have been following my recent scribblings, know the unfortunate story of my recent loss. ~Gulp~ 11 weeks ago today, my life changed once again. This time as a complete surprise, not a made choice, but one thrown in by some never to be known reason...

Death apparently is the ultimate lesson in acceptance of change. You have NO choice. However there is one thing you can change. And that is your attitude towards it. Yet, that is more easily said than done. The process takes quite some time. I have no idea how long as it is different for everyone and you can not make it happen. Feelings seem to come out of nowhere and even ones you thought you dealt with can reappear. Wow, WTF? Again?

Another transition is not only the actual "loss" of your loved one and all the sadness of missing them but the "new" role you become. You are no longer a pair, a family etc. For a while, it is awkward. You are the "widow". You are strong but fragile, and You have to tell your story. Or maybe people have told it. You are looked at a bit differently. People aren't sure what to say. I'm not sure what to say. when I tell the story, the reaction is always hard to take. It is not an easy thing telling a sad story. Someday's I am fine and appear to be a pillar of strength and others, a complete mess! There are times I look at everyone and their mundane problems and feel angry and envious. What I would give for that! I have no patience for this grieving thing...

Then there is the reality check of starting over again... what number am I on? Oh yes, I think it is life #10.. ok, in this one I'm single again. Just as I was embracing married life and children, BOOM that was put to wicked halt. Ok, move along. take some time to observe, ponder and bike. Thoughts in, thoughts out.
One day I'll look back at all this and just sigh.. and I cannot wait..I know I'll make it fine, but I do think, I will never be the same. And yes you guessed right, tomorrow I'm getting on my bike!

Moving forward

Grieving is a strange animal and apparently it is different for all of us. I am told by folks daily it is not linear and this seems to be true. Taking one step forward often leads to 2 steps backward. Some days it's all smiles while the next can be filled with tears. The chart looks more like an echogram than anything else. Plenty of spikes followed by dips and overtime the ranges become less extreme.

Living in a society that likes to label and compartmentalize everything, I have read there are even typical designated stages etc.. and to that, I answer with only this: "WHATEVER!"..True it seems these stages are universal and necessary to proceed with the process and I do not discount them however the process is certainly individual. No rules can really apply.

I am no expert in the field, but in the past 3 years I have experienced the deaths of first, my father, then my mother and now, 2 months ago, my new husband and all three have been different experiences. Of course none were easy, all final, but most importantly a symbol of change to another level. Whether I was ready or not. You have no choice on that one. The only choice you have is to let yourself feel, not suppress it so you CAN MOVE on.

I was lucky, both of my parents lived into their 80's. It was only a matter of time when the body, mind and spirit were done. Nonetheless the process is heartbreaking. Seeing, your parents digress, having to make life decisions for them and mostly without their consent is wrenching. Knowing that they can no longer take care of themselves and reversing roles as parents to children is eye opening. There is no choice, you look at the person who brought you into this world, nurtured you, gave you the best that they were ABLE to provide emotionally, physically and monetarily and realize it is now YOUR TURN. If you were one of the lucky ones, they provided you that safety, unconditional parental love that you knew was there if you needed it. So returning that is a "no brainer". You just suck it up and do the right thing..

Nonetheless when the elderly parent dies, it is still tough. Losing your creators finalizes their role. You no longer have that unconditional love. You must relinquish it and move ahead. This takes time, this takes mourning, this takes processing all your experiences good and bad, crying, laughing, sharing and realizing you are the way you are mostly because of them! and if you are really on it, you realize the only way you can still be with them is to honor them by carrying on whatever good they have instilled in you. Move ahead taking a bit of them with you.....

Then there is another kind of mourning..What happens when you unexpectedly lose the love of your life? The consequence of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? He didn't deserve that! We were just beginning! 2 years and less than a year married.... Hence, it is not exactly the same process of an "expected" death.

First you go on overdrive. You can't even grieve because you have to deal with all the decisions. Traditions, funerals, paperwork, police reports, insurance companies, banks etc....In my case throw in Ex family members as well as other people who materialized from the "woodwork". Their needs out-shadow everything. Suddenly you find yourself placating everyone, try to appease them, as well as being strong to take care of all the necessary business... It's Go go go..

Then the reality sets in. Yes everyone else is mourning too but they have families to go back too, loved ones all around... YOU deal with the loss of the love of your life ALONE. Your partner that you vowed "til death do we part" but you don't expect it to happen so soon, Is DEAD.

He doesn't come home anymore, your bed is empty, his clothes stay put, his things don't move, you no longer discuss the things you have to do that week or that month, The good and the bad. You no longer make plans for the future together, no longer share decision making, you no longer have the shoulder to cry on, he no longer shares HIS world with you, you lost your best friend, the one who you made you laugh and smile and the one who gave it back...it's Gone and it's not coming back.. So You keep busy, you look ahead, you do what you can to keep your self occupied. You remember what made you happy before he was in your life, you still have that! You focus on that, you focus on change, you focus on doing the right thing.


He may not be here, but he is with me, in my heart, in my brain. when I uncontrollably burst into tears which can happen at anytime throughout the day, is he near? I have no religious dogma so I have no real beliefs of what happens to the dead. Hollywood likes us to think the deceased is watching us and I like that idea. But really, when the big light turns off, no one knows.. However, we do know we are primarily carbon and that we are just a mass of atoms circulating. It only seems logical that all this atomic energy is bouncing around the universe. Is it possible that when I die our atoms will once again dance together? Are his atoms blasting by me any time I have one of these intense seemingly random moments of loss. Is he on my shoulder whispering to me? I'll never know but I do know he does not want me to suffer. He does not want me to live the rest of my life in pain. That I know. So it is that that I remember everyday when I wake up alone in the house that he built, bike the roads he trained and raced on, mow the lawn he planted from seed ,and when I'm allowed, play and give his children my love and hopefully pass on his legacy to them. I remind myself daily of what he would say to me when I felt sad and shed a tear. "Don't cry Nance". " but I have to" I'd say and so it goes. I will shed the tears until they no longer fall and I will continue to smile as I think of him and the love and stability he gave to me even for such a short time. I was a lucky woman... no no no, I AM a lucky woman.

life as I know it

When I was a little girl, Snow White, Cinderella, Thumbelina and many more fairy tales were the stories that formulated my childhood and were the keys to open up my imagination as well formulate dreams. I saw Good vs bad, beauty vs jealousy, loyalty vs unfaithfulness, friendship vs selfishness, and it always ending happily ever after...

When I was older I was introduced to Greek mythology, tragedy and other classic historical stories, beautiful tales but not always with the happy endings...

In the meantime, you grow up, live your life and experience the world with it's rough edges, deciphering the good from the bad, deal with the ups and downs and choose to be happy or not.

I was one who somehow ALWAYS chose to be happy. Sure I had my share of knock downs: I am a product of divorce, lost many friends to drugs, cancer and other illnesses, My own failed marriage and divorce, bad relationships, my father's death, My mother's health decline and her eventual death, blah blah blah.... but SOMEHOW always made it through, always looked ahead, always new there will be better times.

June 2009, my life was rocked. I had a new outlook on life, I made a mental note to myself to weed out the bad, surround myself with the good love of my bike friends, other friends, students, family and whomever came into my world that was on the same page.. Have gratitude for what I had and try to enjoy the ride. As a goal setter, I decided to combine a holiday with bike event so with the insistence of my Italian friend Davide, I committed to competing in the Marco Pantani granfondo...The course was intimidating. I was scared by the Mortirolo! That fear took me on all the steepest climbs I could find in San Francisco and parts of California. I enjoyed the training. Weekends were spent with other like minded pals riding "meat grinders" and afterward laughing and eating. fun stuff. Although I thoughtfully trained, I did not put pressure in myself to have to do it super fast. I just wanted to participate and do the best I could with what I have...No more racing mentality..

I planned to go up to the mountains 5 days beforehand to get de-jetlagged as well as do some recon on the climbs. Good plan. after the event, I was to train to Florence and meet some dear friends for the remainder of my holiday visiting and doing the cultural thing. I was a happy camper.

Little did I know that the beginning of my fairy tale would materialize in the Italian Alps. Being a somewhat "social" type, I usually have no problem striking up conversations with strangers etc. I enjoy talking with people, learning new things, and sharing information. This little mountain town of Aprica was a virtual ghost town when I arrived. I saw few cyclists and absolutely NO women cyclists. Every day I was watched curiously by the women of my pensione as I had breakfast alone, then donned my cycling gear and left for a day of training on the various climbs. They always asked where I was going that day and when I told them they looked at me with a combination of awe and craziness.. hahaha, "those crazy American girls."

After my rides I found the local library with free internet where I would write to my pals and share my excitement for the mountains and the upcoming event. The town was still so sleepy. The only person who would talk to me was the librarian. He had come 5 years beforehand from Milano and told me he still wasn't accepted by the locals! Wow, small town life.

Two days before the race, the town started getting activity. Cyclists starting arriving, the event sponsors began setting up stalls to sell their wares. Registration was open to collect our numbers, timing chips and other vital information that I didn't bother to read. Now it was getting exciting!! People watching at it's finest as droves of beautiful cycling legs were filling the town. I had new entertainment. I'm not much of a shopper but when it comes to bike stuff, well that's another story. I was in heaven, clothing, helmets, bike gear...TIME TO SHOP!

So "window" shopping I go,perusing all the stalls. Looking through baskets of stuff for souvenirs, gifts etc. Oh what fun. I find myself looking through a basket of Retro bike clothing and I pull out a wool Molteni jersey. As I am holding it up, a man rides up and says "do you know who wore that?"...I glance over to him and say "of course, Eddy Merckx"...Apparently it was love at first sight. I had no clue. We started talking and the conversation flowed smoothly. He and his friend were from Belgium and came to race the Marco Pantani as well. when I told him I came from America to do it, he seemed amazed. Hahaha,here is that crazy American girl. I thought nothing much more of the interaction except that I enjoyed the conversation and was elated to meet such nice men. Little did I know, I had found my fairy tale.

2 days later, the race began. Everyone was at the start line in pre organized groups according to race results, gender and other registration information. The women were staged right after the elite group and there were not very many of us. I remember looking at the women and spotting some rainbow stripes..Ouch probably won't see her again..

Then came the "official" gunshot and off we went. the mass of cyclists started. It was an absolute bottleneck of cyclists crammed on this mountain rode. Thankfully I knew the road well with its curves and just prayed that no "wobbly" wheel would crash me out. I maneuvered my way down the hill and as we started to climb a bit toward the Gavia Pass, the crowd thinned. All I could see was a steady stream of cycling jerseys, colorful bikes and beautiful legs riding in succession..As I was riding I recall the Belgians passing me and one of them shouted out "hello". I waved and said Enjoy and then settled into what was going to be a long day in the saddle. The ride was everything I expected it to be. The Gavia was beautiful, the descent to Bormio was fast, and then found a group to ride with in the valley to Mazzo. Here it came, the Mortirolo. I had done it in recon so I knew I could do it it was just a matter of dealing with some suffering. I passed many a man who cramped, walking with their bikes to the side. I just kept going up. Finally the top!! A bit of refueling and then a long descent toward the start line before you bypass to the final climb. It was hot, the sun was bright. the crowds had dwindled . I found myself riding alone. Thoughts crossed my mind that I was the LAST person, the "lantern rouge"...oh my "How am I going to explain this to my friends" I thought as I trudged up the last long climb. Occasionally I would see another rider as we played the Cat and Mouse chase game up the hill. I knew I was almost there..

then the final desent into Aprica! I was cautious. My tire had developed a bulge (it was a defect) and I had to be careful not to blow it out. I focused on the road and carefully made it to the finish line. I was elated! I did it! Just at that moment, I heard my name being called.."who knows me here?" I'm thinking..why there is that nice Belgian man. Sure enough, standing on the side of the road by the finish line all cleaned up is Yves. We immediately began to talk. In my post race euphoria, I ask him about his race etc. After about 15 minutes or so I need to get out of my bike clothes and shower. He asks me if I am going to the post race dinner. I totally forgot there was one, so I gladly agree to meet them there. Once again the conversations flowed freely, the energy was good and we are all happy to have finished the race.

It was a good day indeed. We spent most of that evening talking, and eventually shared emails/contact information. I thought nothing strange as I have met so many great people traveling and who knows, I might someday go to Belgium! why not?

Little did I know, Mr Knuts had gone to the race registration shortly after out first meeting to find out my race number and any other information they would give him. He went to the finish line and waited PURPOSELY for me (2 hours after he finished the race). I had NO CLUE. He confessed this all to me much later....

Long story short, we began communicating via phone and email for the remainder of time I stayed in Italy. I was clueless that he was romantically interested in me until he told me he could drive to Frankfort from Belgium to meet me for coffee before my flight back to America..the light bulb went off in my head. "how long is that drive?" I asked.."3 hours" he said...I just about dropped the phone. No man in San Francisco will drive 30 minutes for a mere coffee date! I was honored. Unfortunately it didn't materialize due to a late plane and his work schedule, but what it did do was strengthen our interest for each other. We started Skyping daily. there was something about it that was really old fashioned. We got to really know each other in our everyday lives. There was never any of the "dating games". We soon knew we wanted to be together. We shared the same beliefs, desires, passions and were ready to try. 2 Belgian visits and 2 America visits later, we decided that I should move to Belgium and start a new life together with him and his 3 children. It all seemed so right. I made all the preparations of closing down my old life: work, home family etc. It was not easy. I had been overseeing my Mother's health and had to make sure she would be well taken care of. When I moved to Belgium, I called her everyday and made sure she was OK.

Meanwhile, Yves was working full time as he was also self building a new house for the children, he and I. It was crazy busy. We had a lot on our plates. All the while dealing with the government paperwork for my legalization was another story. I moved to Belgium June 14, 2010. A new life had begun.. We spent 2 weeks cycling in the French alpes in late July for his summer holiday. Life was grand!

Then it was overdrive to get the house finished. We moved into the house November 1, 2010, we married in the courthouse November 5, 2010. then there were childrens birthdays, my mother's death, Christmas, team training in Spain, Easter, and planning for our Trouwfeest (wedding party) and his youngest son's first communion. It was a busy busy time. Somehow we got it all done. Next on the agenda was the summer holiday which we planned as a "honeymoon" as well.We spent 10 days in Livigno Italy and revisited Aprica by bike, rode some of the famous passes of the Pantani granfndo and reminisced of our chance meeting. Life was good. I had everything I had always dreamed of. The built in family. Yves was an incredibly good man who put his children first. A man who worked hard at everything he did and always made people laugh. He was so conscientious and super responsible. I shorty learned if he promised you something, he always followed through. He was the love of my life, He was my "it". I finally felt safe. I knew he would always be here for me... Life was so good..I was living those fairy tales. It really was true. we expected to live a long life together. we planned our future. We were going to retire to Provence. We had it all mapped out or so we thought..

Turns out it was not a fairy tale but more of a Greek tragedy..yep, just like the stories, I got THAT phone call. Oh you know the one, the one you dread about. The one that instantly makes a knot in your stomach. The ONE that tells you little but your guts tell you more. You get in your car, you drive to that hospital and you are greeted and taken to a room. Yes, that room has NO hospital bed, but a conference table and two serious looking police men. Your heart sinks. You begin to feel numb, but you stand there and listen. You try to keep composed as they are trying to comfort you, advise you and tell you what to do next. Before you know it you are being driven to a funeral home and you are staring at the love of your life dead in a casket and thinking this is all so surreal. Can I just wake up now?

And so it goes, I am 7 weeks a widow, less than a year married. In the past two years My life has changed in oh-so may ways. I learned a great deal, I am still learning. I often wonder why some of us are chosen to deal with such great losses and others get of live it all so smoothly. I will never know that answer but instead, just pick myself back up and let myself process all of this and know that time will lesson the pain.

Perhaps I should start reading fairly tales again.