Gosh, I wish he'd left it alone. You know, the kneeling thing. It re-split any semblance of blend and sent the elements running to their corners like a science experiment. It has been implied by some that I should not even speak on the subject because of my pigmentation. I also realize that if I plead for common sense to prevail, others will interpret that as me shutting down their cause with "hate".
I simply try to never hate any other person. My foundation on interacting with people is based on "love one another". There may be other humans that I dislike, but the reason for the dislike is something they have said or done to me personally. It has absolutely nothing to do with their pigmentation. I recognize that there is a wide division in opportunities in today's society. I personally come in contact with little ones each day that are hungry, not clean, and suffer many other challenges - through no fault of their own. What can be done to re-direct that path they're on? I give them chances - teaching them music skills, giving them "parts" in programs, encouraging them about schoolwork, behavior, interpersonal relationships. I also tell them that I love them. Every chance I get. I don't know how much difference those things make, but I know that I am using my position in life to try and make a difference.
I started to write about the "kneel-ers", who have chosen a quiet way to protest the inequalities that end in violence. Their quiet way reverberated like a sonic boom. It took on the look of deriding our country and our freedoms, due to the method they used. Their meaning has been lost to some, which makes them (figuratively) scream louder and louder. I started to write about "why don't they volunteer in our community or schools and try to make a difference?". First though, I googled the number one kneel-er. You know his name. He has some free time on his hands right now. I found that he has pledged to donate one million dollars to organizations that help the downtrodden, the underprivileged; I also found out that he has already made good on $800,000 of that promise. I hadn't heard about any of that in the media. I only heard this progression: guy kneels protesting a problem - other side says he hates our country - news media highlights all who kneel and all who dismiss them as unpatriotic - leader gets involved - volume of arguments and yes, hate crescendos at an alarming level. I think that since the main one knelt, he has put his money where his knees are and is trying to improve things. But everyone else? I don't know. I don't have time to google everyone.
There are opportunities out there. There is a division in our society that might - nobody knows for sure - but just might be changed or re-directed by volunteer work. It doesn't have to cost you a million dollars. Volunteer at a school as a mentor. Get involved with Big Brothers/Big Sisters of America. Work with Habitat for Humanity. Walk away from figurative yelling on social media and do something literal. Do something that helps, stop trying to place blame, don't ascribe hate to anybody based on how they look, get out there and underscore your opinion with action. Wouldn't it be great if we could divert the arguing and make a difference?
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Sunday, September 24, 2017
Sunday, January 5, 2014
What the Unicorn Girl Said - 1/5/14
It's still all around; the Christmas stuff. I've started kind of moving it to one table, so I can eventually put it away so, so neatly. That's how my mind thinks. There's really only three things on that table. I feel that when I pack it all away, he is gone from Christmas forever. Replaced by the one that we did totally by ourselves.
Between that first paragraph and the start of this one, it's all put away. Well, mostly. I always leave out two boxes for a few extra days - one for the towels, pot holders, things that need washing; the other for the 'extra' finds that are inevitably missed in the first clean-up sweep. I feel accomplished. Yet I feel......I feel cheated. I feel cheated because I was reminded, in cleaning up the year, of what was stolen from me. I feel the need to share something that came home with me, and you can take from it what you will. I am mostly sharing this for two types of people; adults with sentimental memories of their own, and young adult girls (women) like my daughters that are in the midst of dating, falling in love, and trying to find that special someone.
I have all sorts of memories of my husband around the house. I will work on organizing, deciding what to save, what to pass on.......one of these days. Right now, I just look at things occasionally, and put them back in their cabinet or drawer or box. I'll get the right feeling when I'm ready. Perhaps moving into the new year will advance that feeling, but then again, maybe not. I'll just have to wait and see.
I visited my mother-in-law for a couple of days over the holidays. At one point, she handed me a manila envelope, taped closed, marked "Scott-memories". I slid it into the front flat zipper pocket on my suitcase and promptly forgot about it. (Conveniently forgetting things is a part of grief, perhaps one of my greatest defenses!) I forgot so hard that I didn't even remember to close the zipper on that pouch when I checked my bag to fly. The envelope was partially sticking out when I claimed the bag. After an "oh crap!" moment, I zipped it closed and forgot about it again.
So, as part of the "put away Christmas", I decided to get those last few things out of the suitcase so it could be put away as well. And there was the envelope. I saved it for bedtime, alone time, no interaction-with-other-humans time.....just in case. I cut open the tape, and pulled out one thing at a time. Drawings, report cards, birthday cards, progress reports, one after another. Then, two envelopes. The first, an inner envelope of a sort, with his parent's names - "Trudy and Jim" in my handwriting. I opened it - she had saved our wedding invitation from 1984. I glanced at it, had a few memories, and put it away. I have one, too, so now each girl can have one if they want it. The second envelope held a card, and was addressed to Scott by me, postmarked July 9, 1981.
Our first date was January 14, 1981, so this was almost six months later. I was eighteen years old, and it was the summer between my freshman and sophomore year. I pulled out the card - it had a big unicorn on the cover. Yes, I was a unicorn girl. I admit it. Some of the vestiges are still around, coffee mugs and figurines. It's really time to clean out! I opened the card and started reading. Mostly descriptions of what I was doing, and had to do in the next few days. Sweet, innocent, young. But right in the middle, there it was. The part that brought me to tears. How could I say this after only six months? I would chastise any young girl that did so today! These words, though, brought home to me what I'd lost, how invested I was, and why it's so easy now to "be strong" and yet so difficult to "move on".
If you are a young girl looking for the right person today, saying words like this may happen through text or tweet, or snapchat, or whatever ghostly invention comes next. And I feel sad that you won't be able to hold it in your hands thirty-three years later and smile or cry or laugh about it. If you are saying something like this, though, be aware that you could actually be expressing a desire for what will turn out to be your whole life. It could come true, it could be made real. Just be aware of that. It was made real for me, and I was fortunate; it was true and turned out beyond well. Hence my strength. Also my sadness. Here's to memories for us that are older, and to looking for your happily-ever-after for those that are searching.
My words to him, in pretty cursive writing in a unicorn card:
"I can't wait to see you again. I feel like I can face the world if you're there holding my hand. You make me so strong - you know that, don't you? I love you."
Between that first paragraph and the start of this one, it's all put away. Well, mostly. I always leave out two boxes for a few extra days - one for the towels, pot holders, things that need washing; the other for the 'extra' finds that are inevitably missed in the first clean-up sweep. I feel accomplished. Yet I feel......I feel cheated. I feel cheated because I was reminded, in cleaning up the year, of what was stolen from me. I feel the need to share something that came home with me, and you can take from it what you will. I am mostly sharing this for two types of people; adults with sentimental memories of their own, and young adult girls (women) like my daughters that are in the midst of dating, falling in love, and trying to find that special someone.
I have all sorts of memories of my husband around the house. I will work on organizing, deciding what to save, what to pass on.......one of these days. Right now, I just look at things occasionally, and put them back in their cabinet or drawer or box. I'll get the right feeling when I'm ready. Perhaps moving into the new year will advance that feeling, but then again, maybe not. I'll just have to wait and see.
I visited my mother-in-law for a couple of days over the holidays. At one point, she handed me a manila envelope, taped closed, marked "Scott-memories". I slid it into the front flat zipper pocket on my suitcase and promptly forgot about it. (Conveniently forgetting things is a part of grief, perhaps one of my greatest defenses!) I forgot so hard that I didn't even remember to close the zipper on that pouch when I checked my bag to fly. The envelope was partially sticking out when I claimed the bag. After an "oh crap!" moment, I zipped it closed and forgot about it again.
So, as part of the "put away Christmas", I decided to get those last few things out of the suitcase so it could be put away as well. And there was the envelope. I saved it for bedtime, alone time, no interaction-with-other-humans time.....just in case. I cut open the tape, and pulled out one thing at a time. Drawings, report cards, birthday cards, progress reports, one after another. Then, two envelopes. The first, an inner envelope of a sort, with his parent's names - "Trudy and Jim" in my handwriting. I opened it - she had saved our wedding invitation from 1984. I glanced at it, had a few memories, and put it away. I have one, too, so now each girl can have one if they want it. The second envelope held a card, and was addressed to Scott by me, postmarked July 9, 1981.
Our first date was January 14, 1981, so this was almost six months later. I was eighteen years old, and it was the summer between my freshman and sophomore year. I pulled out the card - it had a big unicorn on the cover. Yes, I was a unicorn girl. I admit it. Some of the vestiges are still around, coffee mugs and figurines. It's really time to clean out! I opened the card and started reading. Mostly descriptions of what I was doing, and had to do in the next few days. Sweet, innocent, young. But right in the middle, there it was. The part that brought me to tears. How could I say this after only six months? I would chastise any young girl that did so today! These words, though, brought home to me what I'd lost, how invested I was, and why it's so easy now to "be strong" and yet so difficult to "move on".
If you are a young girl looking for the right person today, saying words like this may happen through text or tweet, or snapchat, or whatever ghostly invention comes next. And I feel sad that you won't be able to hold it in your hands thirty-three years later and smile or cry or laugh about it. If you are saying something like this, though, be aware that you could actually be expressing a desire for what will turn out to be your whole life. It could come true, it could be made real. Just be aware of that. It was made real for me, and I was fortunate; it was true and turned out beyond well. Hence my strength. Also my sadness. Here's to memories for us that are older, and to looking for your happily-ever-after for those that are searching.
My words to him, in pretty cursive writing in a unicorn card:
"I can't wait to see you again. I feel like I can face the world if you're there holding my hand. You make me so strong - you know that, don't you? I love you."
Sunday, December 1, 2013
My (burned out) light bulb moment 12/1/13
I have been shoring up the defenses. "The holidays are hard...". Every friend that has recent experience with loss, everyone with one ounce of common sense even, will share that information with me. Not to be mean, just a way of saying they understand, they commiserate, they're there for me. So I prepared. I have stayed busy. I had company. I had the kids around. I cooked. We shopped. Busy, busy, busy. The holiday, Thanksgiving day itself, was great. We had fun. It wasn't until today, with everybody gone again, that the reality, and the realization of what "The holidays are hard" really means.
Dropping nephew Zach at the airport on Saturday was bittersweet. We love that kid. (Not really a kid, but a kid to me!) We'll see him at Christmas, so we said goodbye, and headed on to more busy-ness. The girls crammed in last minute shopping and nails, then spent the last night with their respective friends. The quiet was relaxing. I watched a little TV with kitten Isis on my lap, then went to sleep knowing it was the last night of a full house. Still, I thought I was prepared. The holiday was past, I made it, no breakdowns. I had answered everyone that checked on me. I held my head up, I held grief at bay.
Unfortunately, all my shields can't stop the slow tide of sadness that creeps around the edges and invades my mind and my heart. I noticed the feeling before the girls even woke up. I did the usual, and hid it away. Even my own mom says "she hides it very well....". I can't help it, it's natural. We got the girls fed, packed and ready. Little Isis got in the car, and they were off down the road. One or two tears rolled, but I found things to do.
After I finished a few regular chores, I decided I could at least put up the Christmas tree. We didn't get to that. No decorating, just put together the three pieces of the pre-lit tree. Easy, and a start. I love this tree. I've only had it two years, it's ten feet tall, pre-lit and beautiful. I brought it in, got started, and when I got to the top, the third piece, one whole section of lights was burned out. I unplugged and re-plugged. I changed the fuse. I changed three bulbs and said forget it - I'm going to get a new string of lights and just put it on top of those.
I threw on a decent shirt, put on my shoes and drove to Walgreen's. Two strings of clear lights were left, and one of them was mine. I paid, got in the car and wham - it hit me. I sobbed so hard on the way home I'm surprised I could drive. I kept thinking "This is what everybody told me - the holidays are hard!" It wasn't putting up the tree, it wasn't even the burned-out lights. He would not have fixed the lights - the tree was my domain. The big sadness was having to face and deal with the problem in silence. I would have been able to complain to him. Those burned-out lights actually gave me a bright "light bulb moment" of my own. A huge part of our married life and any family life is that we can complain to each other. And, being married, or being family, you support that other person. I miss the person I could "bitch to". I miss him making fun of me when I complained about silly things. That's why I think the holidays are hard - there are more very happy and very stressful moments than at other times. And sharing those moments is a habit. I had to have a good cry about missing my sounding board. The expected holiday breakdown had arrived, uninvited and unwelcome. It passed when my super-friend made me get up and walk, as we do most nights.
After the walk, I put the new lights around the dark area of the tree. It looks perfect now. What's dark can be made light again. The burned-out bulbs are still underneath the new ones, though. Hopefully they "hide them very well". Bring on Christmas. I'm carrying my tissues.
Dropping nephew Zach at the airport on Saturday was bittersweet. We love that kid. (Not really a kid, but a kid to me!) We'll see him at Christmas, so we said goodbye, and headed on to more busy-ness. The girls crammed in last minute shopping and nails, then spent the last night with their respective friends. The quiet was relaxing. I watched a little TV with kitten Isis on my lap, then went to sleep knowing it was the last night of a full house. Still, I thought I was prepared. The holiday was past, I made it, no breakdowns. I had answered everyone that checked on me. I held my head up, I held grief at bay.
Unfortunately, all my shields can't stop the slow tide of sadness that creeps around the edges and invades my mind and my heart. I noticed the feeling before the girls even woke up. I did the usual, and hid it away. Even my own mom says "she hides it very well....". I can't help it, it's natural. We got the girls fed, packed and ready. Little Isis got in the car, and they were off down the road. One or two tears rolled, but I found things to do.
After I finished a few regular chores, I decided I could at least put up the Christmas tree. We didn't get to that. No decorating, just put together the three pieces of the pre-lit tree. Easy, and a start. I love this tree. I've only had it two years, it's ten feet tall, pre-lit and beautiful. I brought it in, got started, and when I got to the top, the third piece, one whole section of lights was burned out. I unplugged and re-plugged. I changed the fuse. I changed three bulbs and said forget it - I'm going to get a new string of lights and just put it on top of those.
I threw on a decent shirt, put on my shoes and drove to Walgreen's. Two strings of clear lights were left, and one of them was mine. I paid, got in the car and wham - it hit me. I sobbed so hard on the way home I'm surprised I could drive. I kept thinking "This is what everybody told me - the holidays are hard!" It wasn't putting up the tree, it wasn't even the burned-out lights. He would not have fixed the lights - the tree was my domain. The big sadness was having to face and deal with the problem in silence. I would have been able to complain to him. Those burned-out lights actually gave me a bright "light bulb moment" of my own. A huge part of our married life and any family life is that we can complain to each other. And, being married, or being family, you support that other person. I miss the person I could "bitch to". I miss him making fun of me when I complained about silly things. That's why I think the holidays are hard - there are more very happy and very stressful moments than at other times. And sharing those moments is a habit. I had to have a good cry about missing my sounding board. The expected holiday breakdown had arrived, uninvited and unwelcome. It passed when my super-friend made me get up and walk, as we do most nights.
After the walk, I put the new lights around the dark area of the tree. It looks perfect now. What's dark can be made light again. The burned-out bulbs are still underneath the new ones, though. Hopefully they "hide them very well". Bring on Christmas. I'm carrying my tissues.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Way To Go, Audience Guy. 10/29/13
I had a wonderful birthday and a great weekend of fun to celebrate. It is humbling how many people took time to look out for me and make sure that it was a special day. I said on the social media page that the love and care created a bubble that insulated me from too much sorrow. It was true, what I said. Until the weekend, and the one thing I saw.
We attended the Texas Renaissance Festival, sort of a tradition for the past five years or so, and had several adults and two little ones. Wearing costumes and makeup has always been an escape of mine. I can paint and dress how I want to feel and usually, the feeling follows. If I share a song or two in the meantime, don't be surprised. I can always conjure up an imaginary audience to applaud my effort. Kind of spooky, right? Like I'm a modern-day Norma Desmond! Anyway, it was fun to dress up and go be amongst others that enjoy the same sort of thing. With that many adults, a few of us were able to sneak away and see the "not for kids" show. Entitled "Sound and Fury", they use Shakespeare as a framework for double entendre and some downright naughty comedy. The show was enjoyable, albeit a little lengthy. But it was what happened as it started that threw my day of make-believe for a loop.
The actors started out by explaining that they perform some improv with audience members. They then searched for a guy and a girl to go on stage. One of the actors would start some dialogue, stop abruptly in the middle and touch the guy or girl's shoulder to finish the phrase. I am doing my best to recall the sentiment from this past weekend, if not the precise words: Actor "I have found that I cannot live without....." (touches guy's shoulder) Audience guy turns to audience girl and says "You". Entire audience "awwwwwww". Actor "And so, this being the situation, I have found that I need to say......."(touches guy's shoulder). Audience guy turns to audience girl, kneels, opens a ring box and says "I can't live without you, I love you very much, will you marry me?" Audience is on feet, cheering.
I cheered - for a moment until the brick hit me. Love is out there, all around. But mine is gone. I managed to hold back actual sobbing and just leak a few tears, raise my glass and whisper "I wish you more years than we had." I do not wish to deny anybody of their joy and happiness. Joy and happiness are the balancing weight to sorrow and despair. Although I am sad and feel often alone, I wish the very best for those that are at the opposite end of the road. Well done, audience guy. I hope the two of you have many years, much love and don't have to say goodbye too soon.
We attended the Texas Renaissance Festival, sort of a tradition for the past five years or so, and had several adults and two little ones. Wearing costumes and makeup has always been an escape of mine. I can paint and dress how I want to feel and usually, the feeling follows. If I share a song or two in the meantime, don't be surprised. I can always conjure up an imaginary audience to applaud my effort. Kind of spooky, right? Like I'm a modern-day Norma Desmond! Anyway, it was fun to dress up and go be amongst others that enjoy the same sort of thing. With that many adults, a few of us were able to sneak away and see the "not for kids" show. Entitled "Sound and Fury", they use Shakespeare as a framework for double entendre and some downright naughty comedy. The show was enjoyable, albeit a little lengthy. But it was what happened as it started that threw my day of make-believe for a loop.
The actors started out by explaining that they perform some improv with audience members. They then searched for a guy and a girl to go on stage. One of the actors would start some dialogue, stop abruptly in the middle and touch the guy or girl's shoulder to finish the phrase. I am doing my best to recall the sentiment from this past weekend, if not the precise words: Actor "I have found that I cannot live without....." (touches guy's shoulder) Audience guy turns to audience girl and says "You". Entire audience "awwwwwww". Actor "And so, this being the situation, I have found that I need to say......."(touches guy's shoulder). Audience guy turns to audience girl, kneels, opens a ring box and says "I can't live without you, I love you very much, will you marry me?" Audience is on feet, cheering.
I cheered - for a moment until the brick hit me. Love is out there, all around. But mine is gone. I managed to hold back actual sobbing and just leak a few tears, raise my glass and whisper "I wish you more years than we had." I do not wish to deny anybody of their joy and happiness. Joy and happiness are the balancing weight to sorrow and despair. Although I am sad and feel often alone, I wish the very best for those that are at the opposite end of the road. Well done, audience guy. I hope the two of you have many years, much love and don't have to say goodbye too soon.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
The Restoration of Joy as a Whack-a-Mole 6/30/13
I started to wonder today if I will ever feel pure joy again. The true, pure, bubbling-from-inside joy that we feel when something is incorrupt, happy , adorable, innocent, comical, surprising......you get it, right?
It's as if my joy has become a whack-a-mole. I hear something funny. I laugh. I think: "oh wait until I tell Scott.." whack. I see a commercial for a cool new show. "Cool! I'll have to tell Scott!" whack.
The kitten (is anything a more pure joy than a kitten?) is jumping great distances, playing with a new toy, just being so joyfully CUTE - and I think "I can't wait until Scott sees her...." WHACK!!!
If I'm with someone - maybe one of you that actually reads this - and I laugh......it's not fake! I do still find things funny, amusing, frustrating, you name it! It's just that when I feel those emotions, I had thirty years of being able to share them with him. Funny was funny twice. Frustration got shared and ridiculed. (Sometimes the ridicule was pointed at me for getting frustrated!!) Cute animal stuff was a staple of our lives. If one of the dogs was asleep, dreaming and yelping, sitting an adorable way - we had a code - "Look at big white dog!" - because we knew saying their name would distract them and change the moment.
I know that joy is promised from God. I can still hear that lady singing "Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation...."in church when I was young. That particular quote came from David - yes, the Old Testament King David. But David needed his joy restored because he had sinned big time (adultery, murder....big time). What did I do to deserve this? Was this a plan for him and me from the beginning? I don't think I would have agreed to it. Why us? Why me? One of the many questions I have for that big Q&A session in the sky.
I will try, you know. I don't intend to become a depressed, sad, mean person. But don't forget that underneath the trying, I'm not whole. He was indeed my other half, so I'm not complete any more. But will I ever feel joy without getting whacked? I'm not sure. I think all happy occasions that may occur for me for the rest of my life will be tinged with sadness. I can't imagine it happening any other way. So please understand if something really happy or funny is going on - and I just close my eyes and get quiet for a minute. It's to absorb the whack.
It's as if my joy has become a whack-a-mole. I hear something funny. I laugh. I think: "oh wait until I tell Scott.." whack. I see a commercial for a cool new show. "Cool! I'll have to tell Scott!" whack.
The kitten (is anything a more pure joy than a kitten?) is jumping great distances, playing with a new toy, just being so joyfully CUTE - and I think "I can't wait until Scott sees her...." WHACK!!!
If I'm with someone - maybe one of you that actually reads this - and I laugh......it's not fake! I do still find things funny, amusing, frustrating, you name it! It's just that when I feel those emotions, I had thirty years of being able to share them with him. Funny was funny twice. Frustration got shared and ridiculed. (Sometimes the ridicule was pointed at me for getting frustrated!!) Cute animal stuff was a staple of our lives. If one of the dogs was asleep, dreaming and yelping, sitting an adorable way - we had a code - "Look at big white dog!" - because we knew saying their name would distract them and change the moment.
I know that joy is promised from God. I can still hear that lady singing "Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation...."in church when I was young. That particular quote came from David - yes, the Old Testament King David. But David needed his joy restored because he had sinned big time (adultery, murder....big time). What did I do to deserve this? Was this a plan for him and me from the beginning? I don't think I would have agreed to it. Why us? Why me? One of the many questions I have for that big Q&A session in the sky.
I will try, you know. I don't intend to become a depressed, sad, mean person. But don't forget that underneath the trying, I'm not whole. He was indeed my other half, so I'm not complete any more. But will I ever feel joy without getting whacked? I'm not sure. I think all happy occasions that may occur for me for the rest of my life will be tinged with sadness. I can't imagine it happening any other way. So please understand if something really happy or funny is going on - and I just close my eyes and get quiet for a minute. It's to absorb the whack.
Monday, June 24, 2013
"It'll be hard", they said. 6/24/13
"It'll be hard", they said. "You have to make sure you take care of yourself", they said. "All the feelings will come back again", they said. And they were right.
People tell you how you will feel for certain events. Movies and TV tell us to cry at weddings, cry when we leave our first-born at kindergarten, bean with pride at graduation, etc. Everyone is full of advice for those that are grieving a loved ones' loss, too. Mostly, they are right on track. Mostly.
You see, "they" can say all they want to you - but nothing prepares you for the waves of grief. You can be going through all the motions of life, talking, laughing, helping prepare dinner, cleaning up - and CRASH! Tears, sobbing, struck silent because speaking would turn into crazy shrieking......it all hits you like a huge salt-water wave from behind. Then life goes on pause while you cry it out, talk it through, do whatever it takes to re-surface from the drowning that is grief.
So I'll agree - it was hard. Being together with the entire family but feeling his absence like a knife in my stomach was hard. Making sure all the details for the service were in place, yet knowing all along why we were doing those things was hard. The finality of people arriving at the chapel, the service actually happening, seeing and welcoming old friends for a terrible, terrible reason was hard. It was also beautiful, comforting, and a blessing. Because those friends weren't just there for him. They were there for us. That part of celebrating and remembering someone's life is amazing. You see each other and although years have taken their toll on the physical appearance, the jokes, personalities, and love you've had for these friends immediately resurfaces. Then you promise to get together again soon and not let so much time pass.
All of that was hard. But you know what's even harder? After. The service ends, the friends go to their homes, the visiting with family ends, we head home, and......nothing. Nothing to look forward to. Waking up and thinking "why?" The hammer of ALONE FOREVER hitting me in the head again and again. Convincing myself to do chores and catch up on TV and try to enjoy the pool when I'd rather sit in my bathrobe and stare.
It's a kaleidoscope of feelings - twisting toward resigned, happy memories, sadness, anger, despair, etc. etc. And there are no "stages" (sorry, Ms. Ross). There is more a gumbo of different feelings that swim around and attack you when you suspect it least.
So - go ahead, tell me how I will feel. At least I'll know that someone else has been there and knows how hard it is, and that it hits without warning. If I'm crying, talk to me anyway, that's better than being alone forever. And if it happens to you, or to someone close to you - remember: It'll be hard.
Truer words were never spoken.
People tell you how you will feel for certain events. Movies and TV tell us to cry at weddings, cry when we leave our first-born at kindergarten, bean with pride at graduation, etc. Everyone is full of advice for those that are grieving a loved ones' loss, too. Mostly, they are right on track. Mostly.
You see, "they" can say all they want to you - but nothing prepares you for the waves of grief. You can be going through all the motions of life, talking, laughing, helping prepare dinner, cleaning up - and CRASH! Tears, sobbing, struck silent because speaking would turn into crazy shrieking......it all hits you like a huge salt-water wave from behind. Then life goes on pause while you cry it out, talk it through, do whatever it takes to re-surface from the drowning that is grief.
So I'll agree - it was hard. Being together with the entire family but feeling his absence like a knife in my stomach was hard. Making sure all the details for the service were in place, yet knowing all along why we were doing those things was hard. The finality of people arriving at the chapel, the service actually happening, seeing and welcoming old friends for a terrible, terrible reason was hard. It was also beautiful, comforting, and a blessing. Because those friends weren't just there for him. They were there for us. That part of celebrating and remembering someone's life is amazing. You see each other and although years have taken their toll on the physical appearance, the jokes, personalities, and love you've had for these friends immediately resurfaces. Then you promise to get together again soon and not let so much time pass.
All of that was hard. But you know what's even harder? After. The service ends, the friends go to their homes, the visiting with family ends, we head home, and......nothing. Nothing to look forward to. Waking up and thinking "why?" The hammer of ALONE FOREVER hitting me in the head again and again. Convincing myself to do chores and catch up on TV and try to enjoy the pool when I'd rather sit in my bathrobe and stare.
It's a kaleidoscope of feelings - twisting toward resigned, happy memories, sadness, anger, despair, etc. etc. And there are no "stages" (sorry, Ms. Ross). There is more a gumbo of different feelings that swim around and attack you when you suspect it least.
So - go ahead, tell me how I will feel. At least I'll know that someone else has been there and knows how hard it is, and that it hits without warning. If I'm crying, talk to me anyway, that's better than being alone forever. And if it happens to you, or to someone close to you - remember: It'll be hard.
Truer words were never spoken.
Monday, June 10, 2013
No right or wrong......right? 6/10/13
Please just keep telling me there is no right or wrong way to handle this. If I laugh at something, I feel guilty. If I eat, I feel guilty. If I haven't teared up or cried in a while, I feel guilty. I am not the picture of a woman whose husband has just died suddenly and young.
Well, maybe not. If you count the obsessiveness over the event and surroundings, then maybe I am. If you count the blank staring time, yeah, maybe. If you count the very act of sitting and typing these words to try to make myself feel better - I am a picture, just not a typical one. But what is typical?
Everyone says "Do what you feel". "Go back to work when you feel ready". On and on, emphasizing that our personalities are all different and what is right for one person may not be right for another. At least society has come that far. I want to get back to normal, I just don't want to stumble along the way. But I probably will.
I just want to be me. I like attention, but not this kind. I am held together and propelled onward, however, by the fact that people have reached out to me with cards, food, gift cards, flowers, and facebook messages. Now that they are slowing down, I keep looking for more. Is that wrong? Oh yeah, no right, no wrong - right?
There's too much when this happens. Too much to do, too much that I think is expected, too much to share, too much to keep in. Too much exhaustion and too much of being wired with no sleep. Too much food. Too many fears. I just don't know what to do with all the too.
I worry for my kids. Not about them, they are strong and wonderful. But for them. Does that make sense?
This morning, someone posted a Sondheim song on facebook - "Losing My Mind". I guess the song is about a wanna-be affair, but what a message! I wake up, I think of you. I eat breakfast, I think of you......sometimes I just stand still, not moving......and I think of you. Truth.
I consider a night of sleep without taking a pill a victory.
Crying in the grocery store is ok, right?
Three weeks yesterday. Time just goes on, and time has no idea that my husband is gone.
A little something is wrong with one of the cars - I feel his absence as if someone has ripped out my insides.
I'm starting to feel tired. I've been standing, walking, working, talking, decision-making, questioning, researching, communicating......living but without the joy.......and it's become exhausting. I think people are worried about me if I'm alone, but I need to be alone a little bit. I feel all the work weighing down on me, like the world on Atlas. I need peaceful rest. It will be four weeks in a couple days, and I feel as if every muscle has been clenched since it happened.
The sadness is a stealthy attacker. I tried to go see a movie. One of the previews was something we would have wanted to see together - and I realized I would never see a movie with him again. Crying during previews - not usually done. Not wrong, because nothing is wrong......right?
I've realized a lot of things will never happen again. I've realized that now - when shock and grief is as fresh as the dawn - you accomplish all the things that need to get done with the help of loving family and friends. I've realized that songs are going to make me cry. Seeing certain items in the grocery store is going to make me cry. Typing about crying will make me cry. But the main thing I've realized is that when you love someone as much as I loved him, you miss them every day, hour, and second of your life when they are gone. I don't think this will change once a year has gone by, instead of just a month. Sorry. If I'm driving, laughing, doing laundry, teaching, talking on the phone, shopping........anything.......I miss him. I'll love him for all of my life. Good thing that can't be wrong.
Well, maybe not. If you count the obsessiveness over the event and surroundings, then maybe I am. If you count the blank staring time, yeah, maybe. If you count the very act of sitting and typing these words to try to make myself feel better - I am a picture, just not a typical one. But what is typical?
Everyone says "Do what you feel". "Go back to work when you feel ready". On and on, emphasizing that our personalities are all different and what is right for one person may not be right for another. At least society has come that far. I want to get back to normal, I just don't want to stumble along the way. But I probably will.
I just want to be me. I like attention, but not this kind. I am held together and propelled onward, however, by the fact that people have reached out to me with cards, food, gift cards, flowers, and facebook messages. Now that they are slowing down, I keep looking for more. Is that wrong? Oh yeah, no right, no wrong - right?
There's too much when this happens. Too much to do, too much that I think is expected, too much to share, too much to keep in. Too much exhaustion and too much of being wired with no sleep. Too much food. Too many fears. I just don't know what to do with all the too.
I worry for my kids. Not about them, they are strong and wonderful. But for them. Does that make sense?
This morning, someone posted a Sondheim song on facebook - "Losing My Mind". I guess the song is about a wanna-be affair, but what a message! I wake up, I think of you. I eat breakfast, I think of you......sometimes I just stand still, not moving......and I think of you. Truth.
I consider a night of sleep without taking a pill a victory.
Crying in the grocery store is ok, right?
Three weeks yesterday. Time just goes on, and time has no idea that my husband is gone.
A little something is wrong with one of the cars - I feel his absence as if someone has ripped out my insides.
I'm starting to feel tired. I've been standing, walking, working, talking, decision-making, questioning, researching, communicating......living but without the joy.......and it's become exhausting. I think people are worried about me if I'm alone, but I need to be alone a little bit. I feel all the work weighing down on me, like the world on Atlas. I need peaceful rest. It will be four weeks in a couple days, and I feel as if every muscle has been clenched since it happened.
The sadness is a stealthy attacker. I tried to go see a movie. One of the previews was something we would have wanted to see together - and I realized I would never see a movie with him again. Crying during previews - not usually done. Not wrong, because nothing is wrong......right?
I've realized a lot of things will never happen again. I've realized that now - when shock and grief is as fresh as the dawn - you accomplish all the things that need to get done with the help of loving family and friends. I've realized that songs are going to make me cry. Seeing certain items in the grocery store is going to make me cry. Typing about crying will make me cry. But the main thing I've realized is that when you love someone as much as I loved him, you miss them every day, hour, and second of your life when they are gone. I don't think this will change once a year has gone by, instead of just a month. Sorry. If I'm driving, laughing, doing laundry, teaching, talking on the phone, shopping........anything.......I miss him. I'll love him for all of my life. Good thing that can't be wrong.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Piece by piece...... 5/5/13
I bought a raffle ticket for a beautiful quilt back in February. Either I didn't win, or they haven't had the drawing yet, I don't even remember. I just know that it was a good cause and it was pretty. Even though there are no quilts actually covering any of the beds in my house, I really love them. The designs, the fine stitching, the stories of how quilting served a social and practical purpose in history; all of that is fascinating to me.
I personally have only ever made one quilt square. The ladies of the church each constructed a square. The squares were then sewn together and quilted with batting and backing as a gift for the departing preacher's wife. I don't know if my square held up or not, but the final product was very nice - especially when I compared it in my mind to my one raw-edged square.
Since I have lived in a few different places, I think and reminisce about friends all over the world quite often. Certain people are just strongholds to me. Others are acquaintances with whom it is fun to laugh and joke. Many of my friends were my students at one time. I still feel that I have the role of encourager to them - even though they are well-grown with families of their own. The way that everyone you know is connected to you is unique - like a quilt.
Imagine a weekend morning where you stayed in bed a little longer, all cozy. You know the comforting weight of the covers that keep your body warm? That is your daily network - everyone that is a part of your routine. Co-workers, teachers, students, the same worker where you buy your coffee every day.....they hold us in place and keep us steady.
The beautiful, spread-out, cool section of the quilt - you know, you kick out and run your foot under it every now and then - is the part of our network that remains with us even though we have moved on. The cousins, friends from school, the ones from our first job, the former students, the other parents from when your own children were young; they remain a part of our covering even years later.
What about the corners of the quilt? You know that there are the people that you knew, spent time with and laughed with, yet you are only in contact with them if you there is a tragedy or a need. They are beautiful, helpful members of your quilt - they just don't receive as much wear from you.
Finally - that part of the covers that you pull up next to your face to snuggle? That is the part of your quilt that you need daily - your family, your best friends, the ones that help you with problems ranging from running out of eggs to serious illness or job struggles. All of us need those who are the always-there, constant people in our lives, and we feel cold and uncomfortable without them.
My quilt is beautiful. It's also unique. Everyone's is unique! I am thankful for all the friends and influences I have had in my life - and I am going to keep trying to smooth and take care of the snugly part of my quilt - as well as to straighten and appreciate the corners and everyone in-between.
I personally have only ever made one quilt square. The ladies of the church each constructed a square. The squares were then sewn together and quilted with batting and backing as a gift for the departing preacher's wife. I don't know if my square held up or not, but the final product was very nice - especially when I compared it in my mind to my one raw-edged square.
Since I have lived in a few different places, I think and reminisce about friends all over the world quite often. Certain people are just strongholds to me. Others are acquaintances with whom it is fun to laugh and joke. Many of my friends were my students at one time. I still feel that I have the role of encourager to them - even though they are well-grown with families of their own. The way that everyone you know is connected to you is unique - like a quilt.
Imagine a weekend morning where you stayed in bed a little longer, all cozy. You know the comforting weight of the covers that keep your body warm? That is your daily network - everyone that is a part of your routine. Co-workers, teachers, students, the same worker where you buy your coffee every day.....they hold us in place and keep us steady.
The beautiful, spread-out, cool section of the quilt - you know, you kick out and run your foot under it every now and then - is the part of our network that remains with us even though we have moved on. The cousins, friends from school, the ones from our first job, the former students, the other parents from when your own children were young; they remain a part of our covering even years later.
What about the corners of the quilt? You know that there are the people that you knew, spent time with and laughed with, yet you are only in contact with them if you there is a tragedy or a need. They are beautiful, helpful members of your quilt - they just don't receive as much wear from you.
Finally - that part of the covers that you pull up next to your face to snuggle? That is the part of your quilt that you need daily - your family, your best friends, the ones that help you with problems ranging from running out of eggs to serious illness or job struggles. All of us need those who are the always-there, constant people in our lives, and we feel cold and uncomfortable without them.
My quilt is beautiful. It's also unique. Everyone's is unique! I am thankful for all the friends and influences I have had in my life - and I am going to keep trying to smooth and take care of the snugly part of my quilt - as well as to straighten and appreciate the corners and everyone in-between.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
I'm not who I used to be - but why? 4/3/13
I'M NOT WHO I USED TO BE!!!
I may see you after 20 to 30 years, at a reunion, or while visiting my family. I look older, not skinny anymore, and the face - still smiley. The makeup still done. The rings, bracelets, earrings - still the same style. But you don't know me. I am not who I used to be.
I may have the same smile, the same laugh, and the same old eyes. But I'm not that person anymore. I keep that sweet, innocent, faith-that-could-change-the-world girl in a special place in my heart. Every now and then, she has to surface. It may be to comfort someone, it may be to fake it through a conversation, or it may be to defuse a situation with her peaceful, positive attitude. But she stays put away unless needed. She is not who I am anymore.
What changed? Whose fault is it? I have tried to analyze it so many times. Was it moving a lot? Was it having children? Was it family? Friends? Church people? Disappointments? The answer is yes. As I have traveled the road from youth through middle age, everything has affected my beliefs and my core values. Some things that I would have condemned when I was young are now things that I can not only accept, but stand for.
What I wonder is - does this happen in every generation? Could a 16-year-old that was raised with slavery turn into a 50-year-old that ran an equal opportunity business? Did a 20-year-old that campaigned for prohibition later become a middle-aged social drinker? I'm sure it did happen. And so...I am one of the ones that has changed. But what about those that don't? Really- what's it like to be one of those people?
I have many friends on a certain social network that are from my high school days. I sometimes take a "stalker-ish" look at their particular page to see if they've changed like I have. Sometimes I don't need to look. Some of them are still saying, endorsing, and espousing the same ideas and doctrines that we were fed in high school. Some of them still have that change-the-world faith. I'm a bit jealous of them in particular. Others drop hints that they too, have changed. Others declare it openly. I just wonder how I "landed" in the changed group.
"Jaded" - an older word, meaning hardened, cynical, negative. Am I jaded? I hope not. My career allows me to be a positive influence on little children all day long. I couldn't manage that successfully if I were jaded. But then something happens. A little five-year-old girl tells me that mom and dad were fighting all night and dad threw mom down to the ground. A nine-year-old boy tells me that his new step dad doesn't like him and makes him do chores from the time he gets home from school until bedtime. The special beast that is the preteen almost-middle-schooler learns to get attention by putting down others hurtfully and publicly. I always jump in and help, bridge, strive to foster healing. It's my instinct. But every instance over the years has taken away my innocence and belief that I can change the world. Therein lies the problem. As individuals, we cannot change the world.
I think part of my answer (to the "how did I end up this way? question) has come to me while sharing these thoughts. The blind faith gains sight - or insight - into particular situations when they cross my path. And I - I do the grown-up thing and allow these situations to change me in the way I think honors and protects the precious souls and feelings of the individuals in this world that receive hurt after hurt. Whether those individuals are children or adults, I think I owe them fairness. And kindness. And a listening ear and understanding heart. I owe them love. And if love has been what changed me, so be it.
I may see you after 20 to 30 years, at a reunion, or while visiting my family. I look older, not skinny anymore, and the face - still smiley. The makeup still done. The rings, bracelets, earrings - still the same style. But you don't know me. I am not who I used to be.
I may have the same smile, the same laugh, and the same old eyes. But I'm not that person anymore. I keep that sweet, innocent, faith-that-could-change-the-world girl in a special place in my heart. Every now and then, she has to surface. It may be to comfort someone, it may be to fake it through a conversation, or it may be to defuse a situation with her peaceful, positive attitude. But she stays put away unless needed. She is not who I am anymore.
What changed? Whose fault is it? I have tried to analyze it so many times. Was it moving a lot? Was it having children? Was it family? Friends? Church people? Disappointments? The answer is yes. As I have traveled the road from youth through middle age, everything has affected my beliefs and my core values. Some things that I would have condemned when I was young are now things that I can not only accept, but stand for.
What I wonder is - does this happen in every generation? Could a 16-year-old that was raised with slavery turn into a 50-year-old that ran an equal opportunity business? Did a 20-year-old that campaigned for prohibition later become a middle-aged social drinker? I'm sure it did happen. And so...I am one of the ones that has changed. But what about those that don't? Really- what's it like to be one of those people?
I have many friends on a certain social network that are from my high school days. I sometimes take a "stalker-ish" look at their particular page to see if they've changed like I have. Sometimes I don't need to look. Some of them are still saying, endorsing, and espousing the same ideas and doctrines that we were fed in high school. Some of them still have that change-the-world faith. I'm a bit jealous of them in particular. Others drop hints that they too, have changed. Others declare it openly. I just wonder how I "landed" in the changed group.
"Jaded" - an older word, meaning hardened, cynical, negative. Am I jaded? I hope not. My career allows me to be a positive influence on little children all day long. I couldn't manage that successfully if I were jaded. But then something happens. A little five-year-old girl tells me that mom and dad were fighting all night and dad threw mom down to the ground. A nine-year-old boy tells me that his new step dad doesn't like him and makes him do chores from the time he gets home from school until bedtime. The special beast that is the preteen almost-middle-schooler learns to get attention by putting down others hurtfully and publicly. I always jump in and help, bridge, strive to foster healing. It's my instinct. But every instance over the years has taken away my innocence and belief that I can change the world. Therein lies the problem. As individuals, we cannot change the world.
I think part of my answer (to the "how did I end up this way? question) has come to me while sharing these thoughts. The blind faith gains sight - or insight - into particular situations when they cross my path. And I - I do the grown-up thing and allow these situations to change me in the way I think honors and protects the precious souls and feelings of the individuals in this world that receive hurt after hurt. Whether those individuals are children or adults, I think I owe them fairness. And kindness. And a listening ear and understanding heart. I owe them love. And if love has been what changed me, so be it.
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