Where has the time gone! My need to use writing as self expression and healing had come to a halt I suppose. I guess I found new outlets. Maybe I just tired of being sad. Maybe I could no longer bare the sting of the tears as I write. Today we celebrated your birthday…not just ANY birthday. Today you would have been 40! Holy shit…. 40!!! I can admit it was a hard day at work to muster through. I trudged along and smiled and was pleasant, per usual. I had swollen eyes from the night before preparing a Facebook tribute to you. I cane home to a nice tidy house (Jim is a great new partner and I know you’d adore him) We met with your mom and we all toasted your birthday with a Rev, had pizza and cake. Played some songs that bring back memories of your time with us. Today was about you. Remembering the man you were. Saddened that you couldn’t celebrate too. All sorts of Facebook messages and comments from people who loved you, birthday wishes and regrets. It was a rough one but we made ourselves feel better by honouring your milestone. The waves of grief still crash but more often than not now I feel like I can keep my head above them. I’m no longer drowning and can finally tread water. So cheers to you! This is 40 babe!

Every new years eve we spent as a family. A tradition we began our first year together. Steak and escargot on the dinner menu followed by board games and watching the ball drop. Even in the worst of times when Jay was in his active addiction he made sure he was there for these moments. He took pride in the traditions we created as a family, memories for our children to pass down. This year we celebrated without him for the first time since 2007. I wish more than anything he was here. I am finding it difficult to experience all of the “firsts”… I can’t imagine that the “2nd’s” will be much easier. But alas, it’s a new year and we must move forward. We never made resolutions and believed that you don’t need the beginning of a new year to make positive changes in your life. This year I just hope to find some peace and closure. I hope to be able to advocate for people who suffer from addiction and those affected by it.

Happy New Year and may 2019 bring you health and happiness!

Christmas, our favourite time of year. Typically to prepare we’d have been going on shopping excursions to toys r us, I’d marvel at your delight. Truly like a kid in a toy store. You’d have to try each button on all the cool new toys and gizmos. We would spend days hanging decorations and trimming the tree. I’d bake and you’d sample the goods. Christmas was the time we got along the best… Even amidst all the chaos and stress. The love would just radiate. This year I was a lone soldier… Trudging through the stores. No excitement. No fun. No Christmas cards, minimal baking. I flowed through the motions like a zombie. At family functions we’d acknowledge your absence and find ways to honour your memory. I stayed as busy as possible so I could avoid the flood of tears I was finally able to release at your grave after everyone left Christmas night. I am finally coming to realize I will never, ever, ever see you again. It’s a massive devastation. I picture the way you walk, the way your fingertips feel with your nibbled on fingernails, your smell, your voice, your smirky smile… And it’s all gone. I miss having you as backup when the kids are jerks. I can still hear you shout at them to “listen to your mother”… And right now I need that. I need the ride or die partner in crime. How can it be real that you’re dead? Your earthly body ceases to exist… How can it be? I wish and I wish and I wish… For you to walk into the room. With that swagger and that grin. I miss watching you spend hours on Christmas day building lego sets, assembling toys and putting batteries in the ones that require them, Having nerf wars with the boys and stopping for breaks to snuggle. Your loving heart outweighed any flaws you had. That is something I will continue to long for. I hate that you’re now just pictures and memories. A huge chunk of my heart left with you… I am surprised it’s still able to beat.

Every. Single. Thing reminds me of Jay. Almost literally. At a time of year that seems to be the most sentimental to everyone, I’m having a difficult time. I feel his absence in abundance. I can’t shake the feeling of missing him. I mean, I will always miss him but this is like a constant wave of sadness that won’t let me get to the surface for a breath. I function still. I’m not sobbing uncontrollably or anything. I just think of him 24/7. I never thought losing someone would be THIS hard. I’ve always been the “strong” person. Letting myself feel weakened by emotion is something I’m learning to embrace. It means I loved. I’ve learned to talk about my feelings, I’ve learned to reach out and I’ve learned how to encourage others to do the same. We are all in our own phases of grief. We all grieve in different ways. No one’s sadness is any less important than the sadness I feel. I’ve had people apologize to me for them expressing their grief saying ” if I feel like this i can only imagine what you’re going through”. The truth is… We are all entitled to be sad. If you’re having a bad day and I offer some TLC or try to console you, let me. Don’t down play your own emotions because “I should be more sad than you.” The fact that you’re hurting because of the loss of Jay means that he was loved. He IS loved. This is truly all he wanted in his life, love and acceptance. Don’t feel like being sad makes you any less strong than you are. Sadness is not a weakness. Crying doesn’t make you a baby. Grief is one hell of a thing. The fact that we survive it is astounding.

Today marks the day you left us two months ago. It doesn’t sound like a long time but it feels like it has been. I feel your absence so much, especially that it’s getting to be the Christmas season. Yesterday we took the kids to the Fergus Santa Claus parade. We got out Tim Hortons and stood on the curb of st David st. Markus didn’t want to come but did anyways. Zack was being an ass waiting with no electronics to occupy him. Evan was riding on a float with his classmates And Your mom reminisced about taking you to that same parade when you were just 2 1/2 years old… The first Santa Claus parade you’d ever been to. “Mom, dook at the dights! ” you’d tell her. Once the parade began we all took it in. Another family tradition kept…. Despite kids getting older and “cooler”. We missed you but this wasn’t our first time going without you so we coped with it.

Today was a bit of a different story. Today was the day that we decorated the tree. This was one of your favourite holiday traditions. Ever since we celebrated our first Christmas together in 2007 you were the one to put the lights on the tree. That was solely your job. The pride and care you took to get it lit-just right. I could feel a sharp knife in my heart as I carefully wrapped the tree in lights today. I held back my tears and did my best. I didn’t get it as good as you would have but it was a task I didn’t want to do. I let the kids put the decorations on (with enough fighting I wanted to burn the tree down) while I made dinner. Then I remembered the star. You always hoisted up one of the boys to help you top the tree. I tired to let Evan do it on his own but he just couldn’t get it. He was not happy that I took over. But… The tree is done, the parade has been gone to. Two of the parts of Christmas that I was anxious about. We survived (even if I have tears streaming my cheeks while I write this). Too much, it all feels like way too much. I miss you. God do I miss you. I can’t even accurately describe the immense amount in which I am missing you. Two months have passed and it feels like an eternity. I miss your laugh, I miss your silliness, I miss your affection, I miss you having my back when the kids aren’t listening to me, I miss the way you smell and how your body temperature would warm up our bed like the little furnace you were. Your love of the Christmas season will help me get through it. I know these days will be hard but we will keep you in mind and honour all our little traditions. On the two month anniversary of your death we chose to light up our home with Christmas spirit.

There are brief moments where I think I’ve got this grief thing under control. I can speak your name now without a trickle of tears. I can look at your picture and be in that moment, still makes me sad and long to go back to then but the memory makes me happy. I can finally sleep at night (kind of), I can listen to all your favourite songs. I don’t ugly cry in the bathtub as often. I wear your unwashed hoodie and imagine your smell and it now just feels like a hug. BUT SOMETIMES… I see the bags marked “evidence” that I received from the police containing your personal property. It makes me angry. My laptop won’t turn on and I don’t know how to fix it. The muffler fell off my car and I don’t know how to weld. The odd jobs that you procrastinated on are now left for me. I now have to do all the “boy jobs”. I mean, I am quite capable and independent. But what girl doesn’t want their man around to take out the garbage, to clean out the shed, shovel the driveway, mow the lawn, repair and maintain the vehicle. As often as you were absent over the years you generally were around to see that these jobs were done. You were a man’s man type of guy. You taught me how to change my tires and my brake pads but only for an emergency. You never thought I should have to do it on my own. I’m so angry that you’re not here to do these jobs. When I’m stressing about finances, you’re not here to help me figure it out. Some days I curse you (I am sure you hear me, you asshole). These are the moments when I realize that I really am not in control of my grief. I want to hate you for leaving us. To be honest I can’t. I can’t hate you. I can’t blame you. I easily turn my anger into acceptance. I don’t know how it happens. One minute I’m swearing at you and the next I’m telling you I will be ok and that I love you, more than anything. Sometimes I feel like I’m bat-shit crazy. Then I have days where I don’t cry (much) and I feel guilty. I still can’t sleep on your side of the bed but I’ve put my pillows there and sleep diagonally. Taking your space there also has me feeling guilty. I emptied your clothes from the closet and dresser. Some I gave to Markus, your most frequently worn are folded neatly in a pile on a shelf and the rest is packed in a suitcase. Doing this ripped a hole in my heart. I felt selfish. Taking your space to better organize my own. I am so pissed off that I have to feel this way. Some days I want to hate you for all this but I can’t. I feel like I still love you more with each passing day. I hope to God I told you that I love you the last time I saw you. For the life of me I can’t remember. I hate that I have to question myself about it. I hate that when we speak about you it’s in past tense. And we quickly correct ourselves if we say Jay is, instead of Jay was. I want to hate you for all the shit. For all the struggle we are experiencing with our loss of you. Some days I wanna hate you… But I can’t.

A couple days after Jay’s passing, amidst all the funeral planning and craziness, I finally fell into a deep sleep. I had been talking to him aloud for the last few days. I’d been cursing him and professing my love to him. I was terrified of where his soul was or if he’d even been let out of the place he died. (who knows what happens to us really when our physical bodies are no longer living). I needed desperately to know he was at peace.

So, the dream…

The kids and I were on vacation somewhere. We were checking into an adorable motel. I think the outside was painted yellow brick and the window boxes were brimming with an array of colourful flowers. The air was light and smelled sweet, the temperature was perfect and there was natural light streaming in from everywhere. As we were unpacking Jay walked through the door with someone I am following on social media. (never figured out why they were in the dream but dreams can be odd). He kicked off his shoes and laid on the bed. His feet crossed with one arm bent under his head. I was shocked to see him. I dropped to my knees beside him and put my head on his stomach. I sobbed and pleaded with him “why did you leave me?” He looked at me, so calm. In a cool and even tone his response was “I’m good, it’s all good and everything will be good.” In that moment I felt relieved. I felt he was at complete and absolute peace.

After that dream I never had any doubt that he is watching us. Maybe even guiding me through this grief. Nothing, it seems, will make my heart stop hurting but just maybe these small gestures or signs can make it easier to cope.

This is Jason, doesn’t he look happy! This picture was taken on August 23, 2018- His 38th Birthday. This was taken at the treatment program he was attending, a week away from completing a 7-week addiction medicine program.  We brought him a Costco sized cake and had the whole dining room sing the Happy Birthday song. He was absolutely and utterly embarrassed and he was loving every.single.second.

The thing that photos don’t show are the demons people wrestle on a daily basis. You most likely wouldn’t guess that Jay had struggled with addiction since he was 15 years old. You wouldn’t be able to tell that 6 weeks before this picture was taken he had an accidental overdose on fentanyl. You probably wouldn’t imagine that this was his 3rd attempt at a treatment program and he had actually overdosed several times. You also wouldn’t be able to see that he was the absolute love of my life, the father of 4 sons, more intelligent and inventive than any one person I have ever met. That he was kind and sincere and most of all that he was envious of “Normal” people. He really only wanted to be shown love and support.

Oct 1st I came home from a night shift around 0700. He was sound asleep in our bed. I pounced beside him and bounced on the bed chanting “good morning, good morning”. He slowly opened one eye and looked at me. “what the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked (a common question between us). I threw my arms around him and silly-ly planted little-wet kisses all over his face. That is it…he was awake, mission accomplished.  I was eager to share with him a picture of the strangest insect I had ever seen, while I was at work that night. I laid down beside him, snuggled under the blanket and pulled out my phone. He agreed that the dust-covered bug was very strange. He asked what I did with it (knowing that creepy crawlies give me the heebie-jeebies) I told him I squashed it with a mop. We HAD to google it. He found a matching picture and started laughing hysterically. Turns out I had assassinated an assassin bug. He got up, still giggling and went to get the kids off to school so I could go to sleep. Around 1:30 that afternoon he woke me up in the same fashion I had disrupted his sweet dreams that morning. (30 minutes before my alarm clock was set to go off). I begrudgingly got out of bed, made my way to the kitchen, fired up the Keurig and made us something to eat. He had informed me that he was going out with a friend and they’d be here to pick him up in an hour. This friend was someone he was in treatment with. Someone who was just moving here from the east coast and someone who was complete chaos…the chaos he was missing in his recovery. I was annoyed. I tried convincing him to stay home to no avail. The friend came and confessed about their relapse on the journey to Ontario. I was even MORE apprehensive of him going. He told me not to worry, he is strong and he kissed me and walked out the door.

I waited most of the day for him to contact me with no word. It was getting close to the time where I’d have to leave for work and still no answer when I called. I was freaking out inside but in an effort to have some faith I brushed it off as a busy day of moving and he maybe would just stay in town for the night. I checked my phone frequently through my shift and tried calling him every chance I got. At some point I knew- He had relapsed. He was feeling the usual gut-wrenching guilt and shame that he was so used to.  He wouldn’t answer the phone so I would have to wait for him to come home with his tail between his legs.

That morning when I arrived home on Oct 2nd, I got the kid’s lunches made and shooed them onto the school bus. I tried a few more times to call and text him and his friend with still no answer. If I had of known the address I would have went and kicked the door in. I had a restless sleep on the couch, still in my scrubs. I was woken up by the booming male voice that had just shouted my name from my open front door. I got up and saw an OPP officer standing in my doorway with a female partner and several other Cop cars lining my street. Was I being raided for some reason? I was half asleep and confused, The officer asked me, “Are you Tiina” Yes I answered. “The spouse of Jason?” He asked Yes, I replied, what has he done now? “He’s dead” the officer finally ripped off the band-aid. I felt the blood drain out of my body, from my head to my feet. I saw my 2 younger boys getting off the bus and running towards the house. They looked strangely at the officer standing in the doorway blocking their entrance. They wiggled their way into the house and I fell apart. I was in a daze. I didn’t know how to respond or react. I wanted to die at that moment. How do I tell my kids, what do I do now, when can I see him….this can’t really be happening, I need to see him. I need to make sure they haven’t made a big mistake. The officers were kind, they came and sat with us while I broke the news to our kids. They went out and got them some hot chocolate from Tim Hortons and called victim services to come and sit with me. I had to call my mother in law. How the hell was I supposed to tell her that her only child was gone? I called, I told her the news and all she could do was scream into the phone. I didn’t know what to do and I almost hung up on her. I didn’t know how to process all this. All I could feel was the shock. All I could see was a blur. The volunteers here from victim services weren’t comforting and I found them an annoyance. I wanted them to leave. I wanted to shut down. I wanted to be alone. I didn’t want to tell anyone else but I also wanted to tell everyone. I had so many questions. HOW? The police had already told me that it was evident that it was drug-related. They found him next to a syringe.  I was contacted by the coroner the next day. Still no factual evidence of the exact reason for death, but it was estimated that it was either an overdose or because of his slightly enlarged heart a possible drug-induced heart failure. Either way, his demons took him. It could be up to 6 months before we get the results, but it doesn’t matter much one way or another to me. My best friend and soulmate is gone forever. My kids’ dad is gone, my mother in laws only son is gone. A wonderful friend to so many is gone. He is fucking gone. How the hell am I supposed to keep going?

I need answers and no one is giving them to me. I still don’t have a time of death, the friend he was with and died in their home,” Doesn’t remember anything” Just that they started the evening with a few drinks and did a little cocaine. After some of my own investigating I found that he had been to a friends house looking to buy heroin (not his drug of choice, by any means, but was the friends favourite). He bought the drugs from someone he had trust in…mostly, from a friends house who would have contacted me if he showed up there while she was awake. He knew this, She would have told him to smarten the fuck and go home, and then she would have called me to tell me where he is. Why would he go there, while he was in recovery, knowing he’d get in shit? My gut tells me that he knew he was making a big mistake. He wanted someone to save him without having to ask, Instead, he took that fatal hit of heroin and never woke up again. He felt he couldn’t reach out. He was so ashamed of the mistake he made he felt like he couldn’t call home. He also knew that he could call me ANYTIME and I’d have been there. He couldn’t face the music. He couldn’t admit that he wasn’t strong enough to say no upon temptation. He didn’t have a Naloxone kit readily available as he typically would have. He didn’t have life-saving strategies in order. He used alone (as the friend was allegedly asleep). He likely used a dose that he could no longer tolerate. And Most important of all he didn’t use any of his recovery support.

I wish he called me that night. I would rather be a little disappointed in him for a little while than miss him for the rest of my life. My heart is broken. The man I loved for 12 years and had children with, the person who knew me better than I even knew myself had made me a widow at 36 years old.

I am not going to claim to be a writer, by any means. My punctuation and grammar aren’t perfect and the structure of my writing would probably make an English major cringe.  Let me introduce myself… Ahem…My name is Tiina. I am 36 years old, I have 3 sons, an amazing step-son and I’ve been a widow for almost 2 months. Crazy, right!

I’ve been wanting to share our story…for a long time. I won’t lie and say I won’t gain anything from spilling my guts.  This is a way for me to do some healing. I don’t write necessarily even for anyone to read my words BUT if I can open some minds through my experiences then that is more than I can ask for, I find healing through humour (often inappropriate) and I do have the vocabulary of a sailor. So brace yourself for my extensive use of the F bomb.

I won’t do much sugar coating but I will respect the anonymity of anyone I mention and will often use a fictional name. (you’ll know if I say, for instance, “Sarah” in quotations). Some of this will be really nitty-gritty. I’ve always thought that our life could have easily been a multimillion-dollar empire if we were on reality TV. Most will not be in any sort of chronological order of events. I will just write about what’s on my mind at that particular moment. I hope someone reads these stories who is struggling, I hope this can give someone else some bravery that I couldn’t find and most of all I hope I can open some minds. Because after all, Open Minds Save Lives.

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton