Just today, I stumbled across the fact that there are actually books out there meant to help people like me. Help-books. Not being much of a non-fiction reader, this fact did not surprise me as much as the number of them available. The funny part is, I've thought and planned to turn these blog posts into a book, in case they could help someone else that is grieving. I just didn't know that lots of people have already done that! I'm not sure whether any of them have the plot twist of meeting someone new so soon, as I have. I'm trying to record and remember all the feelings that go with along with it - don't know if any of those other books do that! I should probably read them all and find out!
Do these books give advice? I think some do. They are meant to be Help-books. I did peruse one at Barnes and Noble one evening. It had chapters on everything from immediately after your spouse's death to a chapter called "Widows and Sex". I did not buy it - I did what anybody would do, looked at the 'good' parts and put it back down. I didn't really learn anything new or groundbreaking, so you will get no details from me!
I feel a little guilty, though, that I've done all this writing and not read what others have said before me. (I generally feel guilty about most everything, no surprise there!) I've read little bits, just not books. A blog post is about the right length for my concentration these days. I started reading a John Grisham book that a friend lent me in January. To me, that's a Fun-book. It's April and I'm on page 72. I'm only able to sit for so long until thoughts and ideas flood my brain and I have to just get up and do something. Sometimes the something is writing down the thoughts. Sometimes it's cleaning out a drawer. You never know.
I jump up, do whatever it is I feel needs "doing", and move on to the next thing. I don't go back to the book. That is not the person I used to be, when a Fun-book could devour my days and nights until I finished it. Readers are a special breed of people. The list of things we can ignore while immersed in a book can include family, friends, pets, hunger, chores....on and on. I am one of those, usually, just not lately.
I did research and read Help-stuff. Not books. Thank goodness there are web pages and support forums out there that I could read in a 'drive-by' style. They did help, a bit. But what helped mostly was sitting here and organizing what I was feeling into sentences, paragraphs and full posts. I've been pretty honest about what I've been feeling for the last eleven months. I want to remain true to form, just because everyone has been so loving, supportive and encouraging. Writing these little posts has been my therapy, my meditation, my crutch, punching bag and wailing wall. I think writing took the place of immersion in Fun-books.
I don't think I'll read the other Help-books. I am moving forward on my own. Well, mostly on my own. My boyfriend has been through the same loss, so I have a new sounding board; one that has been there. Perhaps, though, I'll just keep writing in case this one turns into a Help-book itself. It would be a privilege to help anyone. Anyone at all. It's also non-fiction, so I probably wouldn't read it, but that's all right; I'm living a non-fiction life right now and it's turning into a story that I wouldn't put down!
Showing posts with label widows. Show all posts
Showing posts with label widows. Show all posts
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
A strange path to a very happy place 3/17/14
Very happy? How? I've been on my own for 10 months and had to do more "stuff", and endure more than the normal share of hardships. Hidden away from the world, with only a relative or very good friend on the phone or with me, I've broken down so many times that I started to think I was broken. I started to think that my outward brave face and strong attitude was holding me back because I didn't give myself an appropriate amount of "sulking around in public" time. Well, sorry, people, I'm not going to pout for all of you. I know for a fact that some people thought it was strange how quickly I went back to work last year, and how I've just carried on........as if nothing at all happened. I'd like to see how those people react in the face of a tragedy. (Obviously though, I do not wish tragedy on anyone.) I think many of them would then realize that going back to work and seeing people and sharing stories-sad, funny, or happy-can be healing and comforting.
I did pour feelings out through my writing, though. The first few pieces I wrote after Scott died, I sobbed the whole way through writing. Some later pieces, I pounded the keys of the computer unreasonably hard, because I was very angry about the subject. I also had to let some sit and take their time - as well as completely delete some and not publish others. I became obsessed with tracking my page views. This blog engine has a stats page for me, on which I can see how many views each post has, how many views today, last month, and all time for the blog. I can also see the referring website, the country you are in, and which browsers have been used. Not in a personal way, just numbers accumulation. I quickly became obsessed with my 'numbers'. I've been known to check my page counts at dinner, in the airport, at school and while shopping. In trying to 'boost' my numbers, I shared links to my blog in a lot of places. I just never realized that somebody in one of those places would go back and read every one of them. Not only read every one of them, but then contact me, end up talking with me, and later on want to meet me.
At this point, I have to apologize for my earlier post that ranted against the lady that told me to "meet someone online". Kind of. That was still somewhat insensitive of her. If we still wore black for a "period of mourning", it might not have happened. But never mind the online love lady, I want to talk about this person that found a link to my writing I posted in a grief support forum. This person sent me a private message almost two months ago on the forum, saying they admired the job I was doing as a mom and a teacher after my loss. They had experienced loss, also, and we started messaging back and forth and talking about different things. I suppose you've figured out by now that it's a 'he'. Where did this come from? I didn't ask for this, or go looking for this, or sign up or join or advertise.....it found me. From my writing. Whoa.
We progressed to talking on the phone. I'm two months behind on my recorded TV shows. It's very scary when you don't know someone at all, but then you're talking and sharing experiences, and you feel you start to know them. And then he got the nerve (I know for a fact that it was just as scary for him...) to ask if we could meet. My answer? "Not yet, I'll think about it.". I mean, what is a girl supposed to say? Then I went to Mardi Gras. There will be a chapter in the book that tells what happened at Mardi Gras to make my decision clearer. (I dream about making these writings into a book that may help others who travel this path. Everyone can dream, right?) The week after Mardi Gras, he asked again to meet. I said yes. We worked out a plan for him to come visit me in Texas. It was exciting, but I experienced a nervousness that beat out any performance nerves. I felt I knew him, after two months of talking.....and I was comfortable enough to tell him on the phone: "Well, I know you're not an ax-murderer, so yes, I will invite you!"
Without throwing details to the world in my writing (because there is another person involved in this story....) I would like to say, with all respect to everything that has happened in the past year, that this weekend was like a fairy tale or a Hallmark channel movie. It started with flowers and ended with a good-bye kiss. I didn't even check my blog stats one time. I'm happy at the moment, in spite of the strange path. I hope you can be happy for me, too. I'll be careful, I promise.
I did pour feelings out through my writing, though. The first few pieces I wrote after Scott died, I sobbed the whole way through writing. Some later pieces, I pounded the keys of the computer unreasonably hard, because I was very angry about the subject. I also had to let some sit and take their time - as well as completely delete some and not publish others. I became obsessed with tracking my page views. This blog engine has a stats page for me, on which I can see how many views each post has, how many views today, last month, and all time for the blog. I can also see the referring website, the country you are in, and which browsers have been used. Not in a personal way, just numbers accumulation. I quickly became obsessed with my 'numbers'. I've been known to check my page counts at dinner, in the airport, at school and while shopping. In trying to 'boost' my numbers, I shared links to my blog in a lot of places. I just never realized that somebody in one of those places would go back and read every one of them. Not only read every one of them, but then contact me, end up talking with me, and later on want to meet me.
At this point, I have to apologize for my earlier post that ranted against the lady that told me to "meet someone online". Kind of. That was still somewhat insensitive of her. If we still wore black for a "period of mourning", it might not have happened. But never mind the online love lady, I want to talk about this person that found a link to my writing I posted in a grief support forum. This person sent me a private message almost two months ago on the forum, saying they admired the job I was doing as a mom and a teacher after my loss. They had experienced loss, also, and we started messaging back and forth and talking about different things. I suppose you've figured out by now that it's a 'he'. Where did this come from? I didn't ask for this, or go looking for this, or sign up or join or advertise.....it found me. From my writing. Whoa.
We progressed to talking on the phone. I'm two months behind on my recorded TV shows. It's very scary when you don't know someone at all, but then you're talking and sharing experiences, and you feel you start to know them. And then he got the nerve (I know for a fact that it was just as scary for him...) to ask if we could meet. My answer? "Not yet, I'll think about it.". I mean, what is a girl supposed to say? Then I went to Mardi Gras. There will be a chapter in the book that tells what happened at Mardi Gras to make my decision clearer. (I dream about making these writings into a book that may help others who travel this path. Everyone can dream, right?) The week after Mardi Gras, he asked again to meet. I said yes. We worked out a plan for him to come visit me in Texas. It was exciting, but I experienced a nervousness that beat out any performance nerves. I felt I knew him, after two months of talking.....and I was comfortable enough to tell him on the phone: "Well, I know you're not an ax-murderer, so yes, I will invite you!"
Without throwing details to the world in my writing (because there is another person involved in this story....) I would like to say, with all respect to everything that has happened in the past year, that this weekend was like a fairy tale or a Hallmark channel movie. It started with flowers and ended with a good-bye kiss. I didn't even check my blog stats one time. I'm happy at the moment, in spite of the strange path. I hope you can be happy for me, too. I'll be careful, I promise.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Double Classes and Taking a Breath
Double classes. Sometimes it's terrible. Sometimes it's perfectly fine. Sometimes even - one hour of terrible followed by one hour of wonderful. Double classes for a "large group" teacher does not mean two homerooms. It means three to four homerooms of darling children.
It takes a certain amount of disciplinary skill to handle large group. There's the authoritative voice, the appeal to all the years that they have known you (and your expectations), the promise of reward, and the occasional threat (and action) of having to "sit out". It is possible to manage a large (from 60-90) group of students successfully if you have enough tricks in your bag.
Teaching double classes is difficult and sometimes annoying, but I only expound on that to relay the miraculous fact that I, on a day like today, can still be in a "good mood".
Someone like me, on their journey of grief, may smile, laugh or joke on the outside. But for a long period of time, those looks and sounds are surface only. I heard an actual account, just yesterday, of what others say about "how she's doing" (she being me). They say "She's doing great!" and best of all; "Her spirits are good." The person that knows my spirits is someone I only speak to about once a week.
I am not calling those people liars. They are telling the truth as they interpret it. They are seeing my act on the stage that is my world. The costumes, the makeup (Thank God!) the portrayal of expected emotions, and the utterances of the lines that everyone wants to hear. I have fooled them all, haha! Until now. Today, my smile felt real. Today, the feeling down deep inside matched the way my eyes crinkled with laughter. On a double class day, no less!
It's a journey. On a journey, you make progress. Some are quicker, some are slower. There is no minimum or maximum speed. Some progress is internal. Some is very public. And some...well, some has to do with coming to terms with your new self because all of the sudden it's not as new, it's who you are. It was an abrupt realization. In my mind I compared it to someone in the movies or on TV that is knocked out and not breathing.....and then WHAM! - they take that breath and they're still alive. My emotions did that recently. That isn't a complete victory over inner sadness - it's just a break from it. Like anything that starts, though, it can grow.
Today, I was doing great. The life-saving breath experience was still a memory that made me feel happy inside. My spirits were good today. It's about time, they've been bad inside for almost a year - in spite of what some others think. You just couldn't see it. Today, the double class did not incur my wrath. (Wrath for me usually being a lecture, haha.) Instead they incurred my humor and sly jokes that tricked them into behaving for me. I know that actually feeling the happiness I've faked for so long won't be permanent, but I pray it won't be a stranger, either.
It takes a certain amount of disciplinary skill to handle large group. There's the authoritative voice, the appeal to all the years that they have known you (and your expectations), the promise of reward, and the occasional threat (and action) of having to "sit out". It is possible to manage a large (from 60-90) group of students successfully if you have enough tricks in your bag.
Teaching double classes is difficult and sometimes annoying, but I only expound on that to relay the miraculous fact that I, on a day like today, can still be in a "good mood".
Someone like me, on their journey of grief, may smile, laugh or joke on the outside. But for a long period of time, those looks and sounds are surface only. I heard an actual account, just yesterday, of what others say about "how she's doing" (she being me). They say "She's doing great!" and best of all; "Her spirits are good." The person that knows my spirits is someone I only speak to about once a week.
I am not calling those people liars. They are telling the truth as they interpret it. They are seeing my act on the stage that is my world. The costumes, the makeup (Thank God!) the portrayal of expected emotions, and the utterances of the lines that everyone wants to hear. I have fooled them all, haha! Until now. Today, my smile felt real. Today, the feeling down deep inside matched the way my eyes crinkled with laughter. On a double class day, no less!
It's a journey. On a journey, you make progress. Some are quicker, some are slower. There is no minimum or maximum speed. Some progress is internal. Some is very public. And some...well, some has to do with coming to terms with your new self because all of the sudden it's not as new, it's who you are. It was an abrupt realization. In my mind I compared it to someone in the movies or on TV that is knocked out and not breathing.....and then WHAM! - they take that breath and they're still alive. My emotions did that recently. That isn't a complete victory over inner sadness - it's just a break from it. Like anything that starts, though, it can grow.
Today, I was doing great. The life-saving breath experience was still a memory that made me feel happy inside. My spirits were good today. It's about time, they've been bad inside for almost a year - in spite of what some others think. You just couldn't see it. Today, the double class did not incur my wrath. (Wrath for me usually being a lecture, haha.) Instead they incurred my humor and sly jokes that tricked them into behaving for me. I know that actually feeling the happiness I've faked for so long won't be permanent, but I pray it won't be a stranger, either.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Gilbert O'Sullivan Said It Best 1/17/14
Gilbert O'Sullivan Said It Best. You know, that horribly sad song about being alone. "Alone Again, Naturally". (Thank you, Mom, for listening to cool music on WLCY when we were little.).That one could make me bawl out loud on a great day, when no heartache had ever touched me. The narrative of the mother losing the father, and she "couldn't understand why the only man she had ever loved had been taken....." Yes, that song says it best. Haven't heard it in a while? Here ya go:
Gilbert O'Sullivan - Alone Again, Naturally
I wanted to write about other songs with phrases that make the tears flow. "Can I handle the seasons of my life?" (Landslide). "Whenever I see your smiling face, I have to smile myself, 'cause I love you..." (James Taylor). But it's been too rough of a week, and I'm facing so many challenges right now - yes, right now, 8 1/2 months later - that I'm really proud if I remember to give the animals their food, because they need that to live. I can't think of those songs.
The problem is: I like to be perfect. He enabled me to be perfect, because he was behind the scenes making everything perfect. I'm trying now, good Lord, I'm trying. It's not happening. Everyone - that smiley me that you see every day? That smart-aleck person that posts silly stuff? That's not me. That's the fake me. The fake me HAS to exist, because I couldn't do life if she didn't. I hope I'm so good at being fake that the little children don't know. If you adults suspect, I'm fine with that. Speak up. Tell me again that I'll make it, I"m strong.....I need your encouragement. That's a really difficult admission for someone that has made a career of looking people (sometimes very young people) in the eye and saying "You can DO it!!" Many, many of them DID do it, in whatever way, and I'm so proud. I think I have a legacy out there.
I'll smile again on Tuesday. And if you smile with me, and tell me it's okay not to be perfect, thank you. I'm alone, but I'm not deserted.
Gilbert O'Sullivan - Alone Again, Naturally
I wanted to write about other songs with phrases that make the tears flow. "Can I handle the seasons of my life?" (Landslide). "Whenever I see your smiling face, I have to smile myself, 'cause I love you..." (James Taylor). But it's been too rough of a week, and I'm facing so many challenges right now - yes, right now, 8 1/2 months later - that I'm really proud if I remember to give the animals their food, because they need that to live. I can't think of those songs.
The problem is: I like to be perfect. He enabled me to be perfect, because he was behind the scenes making everything perfect. I'm trying now, good Lord, I'm trying. It's not happening. Everyone - that smiley me that you see every day? That smart-aleck person that posts silly stuff? That's not me. That's the fake me. The fake me HAS to exist, because I couldn't do life if she didn't. I hope I'm so good at being fake that the little children don't know. If you adults suspect, I'm fine with that. Speak up. Tell me again that I'll make it, I"m strong.....I need your encouragement. That's a really difficult admission for someone that has made a career of looking people (sometimes very young people) in the eye and saying "You can DO it!!" Many, many of them DID do it, in whatever way, and I'm so proud. I think I have a legacy out there.
I'll smile again on Tuesday. And if you smile with me, and tell me it's okay not to be perfect, thank you. I'm alone, but I'm not deserted.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
The Most Special Kiss 1/14/14
Thirty-three years ago tonight, I went on a date with a guy on my boyfriend's hall, because my boyfriend was busy. My boyfriend said, "Whatever you do, just don't kiss him goodnight.". There's nothing like a challenge, is there? There was definitely a goodnight kiss; we owned up to it and I said goodbye to the boyfriend -who was a really great guy in his own right, it just didn't work out that way! The new guy's name was Scott, and we saw each other every night for a month, until Valentine's day. We were pretty head over heels. January 14, 1981. We even scheduled our wedding on July 14, 1984, to reflect that date.
I didn't know he wouldn't live to see only thirty-three years from that kiss. Today, January 14, 2014, I have had a dead car towed from my garage, called two different bank accounts to see what paperwork they actually require to change names/ close accounts, called the college savings plan to find out the same info, tried to call the Norway tax office to get details on paying the Norwegian tax, and printed out a ream of papers to change the IRA to my name. He's been gone eight months and I just got the affidavit from the court to be able to do these things. (Well, the car didn't require court papers, that's just my luck.)
I wish I had clever or cute words to tell you that life sometimes hurts like hell. My heart feels withered even though laughter and smiles still occupy my face. When I do ordinary things, it takes twice the effort, because I really don't care as much anymore. That goodnight kiss thirty-three years ago tonight was wrong, it was cheating; and I hope I apologized and moved on correctly.....but it was also the most special kiss of my life.
I didn't know he wouldn't live to see only thirty-three years from that kiss. Today, January 14, 2014, I have had a dead car towed from my garage, called two different bank accounts to see what paperwork they actually require to change names/ close accounts, called the college savings plan to find out the same info, tried to call the Norway tax office to get details on paying the Norwegian tax, and printed out a ream of papers to change the IRA to my name. He's been gone eight months and I just got the affidavit from the court to be able to do these things. (Well, the car didn't require court papers, that's just my luck.)
I wish I had clever or cute words to tell you that life sometimes hurts like hell. My heart feels withered even though laughter and smiles still occupy my face. When I do ordinary things, it takes twice the effort, because I really don't care as much anymore. That goodnight kiss thirty-three years ago tonight was wrong, it was cheating; and I hope I apologized and moved on correctly.....but it was also the most special kiss of my life.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
A Fingernail Fable 12/8/13
Friday morning hurry-up. All my fault, because I just didn't want to get out of bed. Have you ever been there? Life is happening outside your bedroom, outside your house, people are driving, drinking coffee, already having meetings......and your bed is just so warm and cozy that it's an actual argument with yourself to throw back the covers and stand up. We've all been there, I guess. When I do that, I can adjust the getting ready and still make it to work on time, but I still hurry. So during the hurry-up, I bent a fingernail backward trying to fasten my seat belt. A small reminder to slow down, it's all going to be there, whether I hurry to fasten the belt or do it at normal speed! Smoothing down the fingernail, I drove to work. The school was still there.
I'm not used to having any sort of long fingernails. A combination of weak nails and piano playing has always left me without nails as an accessory. Except for the few years of fake nails, they have always just been short and.... there. In the past eight months, they're stronger. They grow. I have to cut them and file them down. It's very strange to me - did a chemical change happen in my body when I entered grief? Or was it due to happen anyway? I don't know, but I do know that these knives that extend from my fingertips - and the care they require - is a new sensation.
Later Friday evening, the same backward-bent nail caught on something. You know, that sensation when it brushes cloth and you feel that little drag? I took a look. There was a cut in the middle of the tip. Not a big one, but like some tiny scissors just made one cut. I went to the place where I now keep the clippers and newly-acquired file, trimmed it and filed it smooth. It lost a little length, but it's still there. I suppose that was the price of decorating the tree. As Saturday came and went, more nails lost their way to the housework/decoration activities. They were shorter, but they were still there.
Today, Sunday, makes eight months since he's been gone. I don't really put much stock in anniversaries, but having made this portion of the grief journey personally, I see a truth. I slowly file away my old life. It's still there, it's just shorter. I can buy the low-fat eggnog now, there's nobody left to complain about it. When it's just me home, I have music playing. When it was just us, it was always the television. Still the same machine, just different. When a situation changes, I adapt. Humans adapt. The situation is still there, but we carry on and find ways to make it.
Adaptation isn't easy. Sometimes it even hurts! I took all the lights off the fifty-foot long stair garland yesterday. Those lights have been wound around that garland for so many years that they were caught in the little wires in certain places. As I separated the lights from the thin little wire inside the garland, I felt the thin wire slice right under my fingernail. OUCH! Who says decorating for Christmas is fun! After I finished the garland experience, (a new garland is now required....) I checked the fingernail damage. Sure enough, trim it, file it, it's still there. Only I think the cut might leave a little scar. And so it goes - the old life is still there, it's just been adapted, filed away, had its shape changed......with a few scars to show for the hurt along the way.
I'm not used to having any sort of long fingernails. A combination of weak nails and piano playing has always left me without nails as an accessory. Except for the few years of fake nails, they have always just been short and.... there. In the past eight months, they're stronger. They grow. I have to cut them and file them down. It's very strange to me - did a chemical change happen in my body when I entered grief? Or was it due to happen anyway? I don't know, but I do know that these knives that extend from my fingertips - and the care they require - is a new sensation.
Later Friday evening, the same backward-bent nail caught on something. You know, that sensation when it brushes cloth and you feel that little drag? I took a look. There was a cut in the middle of the tip. Not a big one, but like some tiny scissors just made one cut. I went to the place where I now keep the clippers and newly-acquired file, trimmed it and filed it smooth. It lost a little length, but it's still there. I suppose that was the price of decorating the tree. As Saturday came and went, more nails lost their way to the housework/decoration activities. They were shorter, but they were still there.
Today, Sunday, makes eight months since he's been gone. I don't really put much stock in anniversaries, but having made this portion of the grief journey personally, I see a truth. I slowly file away my old life. It's still there, it's just shorter. I can buy the low-fat eggnog now, there's nobody left to complain about it. When it's just me home, I have music playing. When it was just us, it was always the television. Still the same machine, just different. When a situation changes, I adapt. Humans adapt. The situation is still there, but we carry on and find ways to make it.
Adaptation isn't easy. Sometimes it even hurts! I took all the lights off the fifty-foot long stair garland yesterday. Those lights have been wound around that garland for so many years that they were caught in the little wires in certain places. As I separated the lights from the thin little wire inside the garland, I felt the thin wire slice right under my fingernail. OUCH! Who says decorating for Christmas is fun! After I finished the garland experience, (a new garland is now required....) I checked the fingernail damage. Sure enough, trim it, file it, it's still there. Only I think the cut might leave a little scar. And so it goes - the old life is still there, it's just been adapted, filed away, had its shape changed......with a few scars to show for the hurt along the way.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Practicing What I Preach or How to Act Like a Grown-Up 11/10/13
"He hit me!" "I did not!" "Yes, you did, your elbow hit me when you sat down!" Mrs. McCarty then intervenes: "If I accidentally stepped on your hand, would I say 'sorry' so, so quickly?" Elbow child; "Yes...." "Then say 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that' to her." Elbow child, mumbling, head down; "I'm sorry." Mrs. McCarty; "You didn't mean to do that, you're just saying you're sorry that it happened! That's how we are nice to each other!" Elbow child; nothing.
This happens at least once a week. In elementary school, little accidental bumps and jostles can be interpreted by the 'victim' as a crime against themselves and all of humanity. I always use myself as the example 'bad guy', because they know what my reaction would be. I'm so, so sweet and nice, and I would feel terrible if I stepped on their little hand (which does happen but only a couple times a year, so I have a great safety average! And no serious injuries ever, thank goodness.) By telling them to apologize for the fact that the mistake happened, I hope I'm teaching manners, maturity, responsibility, you name it. The thing is.....can I practice what I preach with adults?
In the process of walking through my grief, I present what I consider a very 'normal' outside. I work, laugh, joke, complain, suggest....all different from how I feel on the inside. I hide the sadness by instinct. It's not because of you that I hide it - it's because of me. Sometimes I go a little further than I want in the 'normal'. Evidently, one day, a while ago, I made a comment at lunch (based on a happening conversation, mind you...) that 'maybe there's someone out there for me'. I didn't mean now. I might not mean ever. It was an offhand comment, in context of the conversation. There was someone there, though, that took my words to heart.
This particular someone is on a totally different path, having been divorced for a long while, and recently seeing someone. A couple of weeks after my comment, this person seriously encouraged me to 'Go online, honey. Match.com, it worked for me.' I kind of said "Oh really!" and turned the conversation back to my people at my table. Later, I complained to friends. That bothered me. I was approaching only six months without him, how dare this person suggest such a thing right now? After I complained, and got the sufficient amount of pity from my net (what's a net? read this and find out: http://momastery.com/blog/2013/11/07/idea-title-im-even-sure-read-nets-well-call-nets/
I'm not on drugs, or bulimic, or getting arrested....and I have a net. I am more fortunate than young Glennon. I am also thankful that she has found her way in life and for her ability to inspire others. So...I complained to my net about that 'insensitive remark', got my assurances that I was right, that person was wrong, and was done with it. I mean, we love to complain to our friends and be assured that our view is the correct one, right? It's a national sport!
Well, it happened a second time. The person had reached a milestone in their new relationship, and was obviously (and rightly) elated. And once again, they took the chance to look at me and say 'Match.com, I'm tellin' ya, Ms. McCarty'. OH!!! I packed up what was left of my chips and yogurt and walked out. I found some net people. I told them, incensed. I got pity and confirmation (Thank you net!) And then, I realized.....for some reason, that person thinks that's OK, and this is going to keep happening unless I say something. Boy, did that let the air out of my balloon. I was going to have to address it, instead of complaining about it! I knew that as soon as I asked the person to stop, they would totally apologize, maybe even feel badly about having done it, but I DIDN'T WANT to talk to the person. I had turned into elbow kid!
It took two days. I knew I had to, and I knew I wanted to do it privately. I am the grown-up. When by chance I finally said...."You know, I'm just not ready to hear that, the match.com thing. Congratulations, so happy for you, but not me, not yet." The person apologized, said 'of course'.....and brought up the time I said 'maybe there's someone out there for me'. The person had taken me at my word. My 'trying to be normal' conversation turned on me, said 'Oh, this is what you want, eh?' and then I had to be a grown-up and say "Sorry, but please don't..." because of my mistake of being fake. I did it. I was the grown-up. My net applauded me. I, on the other hand, did not applaud myself, because I realized that my offhand comment had fed the whole situation.
Where do I go from here? If I am the grown-up I think I am, I guess I need to mix a little of my inner sadness in with my outer 'normal'. The icy covering needs to break and mix with the deep dark cold water of sorrow, and form a slush that can create a completely different attitude from either 'fake' or 'hidden'. I'm going to work on that. It's the grown-up thing to do.
A little addendum:
What if I had gone to the person accusingly? What if I had done it publicly? Too many people these days don't understand the good manners of taking turns to talk things over, and listening to the other side. Prime example: any 'political' news show where both parties or pundits that side with both parties are represented. They all end up yelling and interrupting, guests and hosts alike. I shudder to think that America bases its actions on what we see on the television. One of my main problem with politics in any forum is the lack of manners. How many families have talks about issues? How many do it the grown-up way? Do you listen and consider before you yell your defense? I have news for everyone - you're not always right. You're also sometimes only partially right. If you don't listen to what the other side says, you're compounding, not solving the problem.
This happens at least once a week. In elementary school, little accidental bumps and jostles can be interpreted by the 'victim' as a crime against themselves and all of humanity. I always use myself as the example 'bad guy', because they know what my reaction would be. I'm so, so sweet and nice, and I would feel terrible if I stepped on their little hand (which does happen but only a couple times a year, so I have a great safety average! And no serious injuries ever, thank goodness.) By telling them to apologize for the fact that the mistake happened, I hope I'm teaching manners, maturity, responsibility, you name it. The thing is.....can I practice what I preach with adults?
In the process of walking through my grief, I present what I consider a very 'normal' outside. I work, laugh, joke, complain, suggest....all different from how I feel on the inside. I hide the sadness by instinct. It's not because of you that I hide it - it's because of me. Sometimes I go a little further than I want in the 'normal'. Evidently, one day, a while ago, I made a comment at lunch (based on a happening conversation, mind you...) that 'maybe there's someone out there for me'. I didn't mean now. I might not mean ever. It was an offhand comment, in context of the conversation. There was someone there, though, that took my words to heart.
This particular someone is on a totally different path, having been divorced for a long while, and recently seeing someone. A couple of weeks after my comment, this person seriously encouraged me to 'Go online, honey. Match.com, it worked for me.' I kind of said "Oh really!" and turned the conversation back to my people at my table. Later, I complained to friends. That bothered me. I was approaching only six months without him, how dare this person suggest such a thing right now? After I complained, and got the sufficient amount of pity from my net (what's a net? read this and find out: http://momastery.com/blog/2013/11/07/idea-title-im-even-sure-read-nets-well-call-nets/
I'm not on drugs, or bulimic, or getting arrested....and I have a net. I am more fortunate than young Glennon. I am also thankful that she has found her way in life and for her ability to inspire others. So...I complained to my net about that 'insensitive remark', got my assurances that I was right, that person was wrong, and was done with it. I mean, we love to complain to our friends and be assured that our view is the correct one, right? It's a national sport!
Well, it happened a second time. The person had reached a milestone in their new relationship, and was obviously (and rightly) elated. And once again, they took the chance to look at me and say 'Match.com, I'm tellin' ya, Ms. McCarty'. OH!!! I packed up what was left of my chips and yogurt and walked out. I found some net people. I told them, incensed. I got pity and confirmation (Thank you net!) And then, I realized.....for some reason, that person thinks that's OK, and this is going to keep happening unless I say something. Boy, did that let the air out of my balloon. I was going to have to address it, instead of complaining about it! I knew that as soon as I asked the person to stop, they would totally apologize, maybe even feel badly about having done it, but I DIDN'T WANT to talk to the person. I had turned into elbow kid!
It took two days. I knew I had to, and I knew I wanted to do it privately. I am the grown-up. When by chance I finally said...."You know, I'm just not ready to hear that, the match.com thing. Congratulations, so happy for you, but not me, not yet." The person apologized, said 'of course'.....and brought up the time I said 'maybe there's someone out there for me'. The person had taken me at my word. My 'trying to be normal' conversation turned on me, said 'Oh, this is what you want, eh?' and then I had to be a grown-up and say "Sorry, but please don't..." because of my mistake of being fake. I did it. I was the grown-up. My net applauded me. I, on the other hand, did not applaud myself, because I realized that my offhand comment had fed the whole situation.
Where do I go from here? If I am the grown-up I think I am, I guess I need to mix a little of my inner sadness in with my outer 'normal'. The icy covering needs to break and mix with the deep dark cold water of sorrow, and form a slush that can create a completely different attitude from either 'fake' or 'hidden'. I'm going to work on that. It's the grown-up thing to do.
A little addendum:
What if I had gone to the person accusingly? What if I had done it publicly? Too many people these days don't understand the good manners of taking turns to talk things over, and listening to the other side. Prime example: any 'political' news show where both parties or pundits that side with both parties are represented. They all end up yelling and interrupting, guests and hosts alike. I shudder to think that America bases its actions on what we see on the television. One of my main problem with politics in any forum is the lack of manners. How many families have talks about issues? How many do it the grown-up way? Do you listen and consider before you yell your defense? I have news for everyone - you're not always right. You're also sometimes only partially right. If you don't listen to what the other side says, you're compounding, not solving the problem.
Friday, October 18, 2013
I Just Need Bigger Hair, That's All 10/18/13
I read a lot. Books, magazines, articles, blogs, bumper stickers, notes I confiscate from students.....you get the idea. It's one of the greatest pleasures in life; being wrapped up in a great story, and only stopping to read out of pure necessity, then realizing it's ninety minutes later than it was a minute ago!
Lately I've been reading about grief. Some of the reading is helpful, some depressing, all at least a little sad. I thought I was helping myself. In the past few weeks, things have been a little harder. The dear friends that I've shared this with understand and tell me their experiences. "The holidays are always difficult no matter how much time passes. It's been six months and you're just realizing how permanent this is. You have had to be so strong without a break, you must be mentally exhausted." So I'm here to say - you're right. The holidays are going to be way difficult, always and forever. I am just starting to feel the constancy of being alone. And I am exhausted. I am such a controller, though, that I control who gets to see and hear my breakdowns. (It's mostly those friends mentioned above that understand those things.....they've been there in one way or another, so I don't think they'll find me mentally unstable.)
I thought I would help myself. I googled 'grief harder at six months'. I can do this! I can READ myself whole again, right? Lo and behold, the first result was a blog call 'Handling with Grace'. What a coincidence! I am "Grace Under Pressure", and this is so similar to mine! I had to read. I just knew it would help. I started reading. It's a heartbreaking post from a young woman, dated 1/31/12, six months since she lost her mother to brain cancer. Beautifully written, I will share the link below so you can check it out if you are interested. But I got distracted while reading. What beautiful pictures! What a neat font! How do you get your archived blogs to show on the sidebar? Do mine show? I don't know! You have ads! Holy cow, this blog is like the perfect cheerleader/princess of blogs. I feel like the Cinderella (before fairy godmother) of blogs! I am sorry that my confession of attention disorder is not giving the respect to this lady's blog that it deserves. That's why I will share it below, it really is thoughtful and beautiful. I started blogging for myself, therefore I chose a layout, font, color, title, etc. that pleased me. I never thought I would have the nerve to share what I wrote. As it turns out, I've become quite the sharer.....and I never really looked back to see if things were ok. That's kind of like not looking in the mirror, right? (And this is not begging for compliments.....I liked what I saw when I looked again, I was just surprised that I didn't look at what was out there before I put mine together.)
But that other blog was such a beauty. I went running to the mirror to see if I could even compete. My blog looked like a middle-schooler, the other was like a homecoming queen. It felt like eighth grade all over again. I always needed more, so I thought. More eye shadow, more lip gloss, more and bigger hair....the only things I needed less of were braces and pimples. I am still trying to achieve that perfection in life. I am also more aware now than ever that I just am who I am. You see, six months alone can make you take a good hard look at yourself, even if there is no intention of trying to make anyone else look. You know what? The braces are gone. Yep, just teeth now. Everything else still feels like I need more. I just need bigger hair, and I'll feel better about myself. Right? Who am I trying to kid?
I figured it out. Reading can fix a little bit. I just read what I'd written above, and it helped me determine something: Blogging helps, but it doesn't cure anything. There's just something missing. That voice that used to tell me I was pretty. Or laugh at me. Or laugh with me. That voice would have either not cared about how the blog looked, or researched five million ways to make it really cool. No amount of big hair or an archived sidebar can bring that back. And that is the real reason that grief is harder at six months.
http://www.handlingwithgrace.com/2012/01/grief-at-6-months.html
Lately I've been reading about grief. Some of the reading is helpful, some depressing, all at least a little sad. I thought I was helping myself. In the past few weeks, things have been a little harder. The dear friends that I've shared this with understand and tell me their experiences. "The holidays are always difficult no matter how much time passes. It's been six months and you're just realizing how permanent this is. You have had to be so strong without a break, you must be mentally exhausted." So I'm here to say - you're right. The holidays are going to be way difficult, always and forever. I am just starting to feel the constancy of being alone. And I am exhausted. I am such a controller, though, that I control who gets to see and hear my breakdowns. (It's mostly those friends mentioned above that understand those things.....they've been there in one way or another, so I don't think they'll find me mentally unstable.)
I thought I would help myself. I googled 'grief harder at six months'. I can do this! I can READ myself whole again, right? Lo and behold, the first result was a blog call 'Handling with Grace'. What a coincidence! I am "Grace Under Pressure", and this is so similar to mine! I had to read. I just knew it would help. I started reading. It's a heartbreaking post from a young woman, dated 1/31/12, six months since she lost her mother to brain cancer. Beautifully written, I will share the link below so you can check it out if you are interested. But I got distracted while reading. What beautiful pictures! What a neat font! How do you get your archived blogs to show on the sidebar? Do mine show? I don't know! You have ads! Holy cow, this blog is like the perfect cheerleader/princess of blogs. I feel like the Cinderella (before fairy godmother) of blogs! I am sorry that my confession of attention disorder is not giving the respect to this lady's blog that it deserves. That's why I will share it below, it really is thoughtful and beautiful. I started blogging for myself, therefore I chose a layout, font, color, title, etc. that pleased me. I never thought I would have the nerve to share what I wrote. As it turns out, I've become quite the sharer.....and I never really looked back to see if things were ok. That's kind of like not looking in the mirror, right? (And this is not begging for compliments.....I liked what I saw when I looked again, I was just surprised that I didn't look at what was out there before I put mine together.)
But that other blog was such a beauty. I went running to the mirror to see if I could even compete. My blog looked like a middle-schooler, the other was like a homecoming queen. It felt like eighth grade all over again. I always needed more, so I thought. More eye shadow, more lip gloss, more and bigger hair....the only things I needed less of were braces and pimples. I am still trying to achieve that perfection in life. I am also more aware now than ever that I just am who I am. You see, six months alone can make you take a good hard look at yourself, even if there is no intention of trying to make anyone else look. You know what? The braces are gone. Yep, just teeth now. Everything else still feels like I need more. I just need bigger hair, and I'll feel better about myself. Right? Who am I trying to kid?
I figured it out. Reading can fix a little bit. I just read what I'd written above, and it helped me determine something: Blogging helps, but it doesn't cure anything. There's just something missing. That voice that used to tell me I was pretty. Or laugh at me. Or laugh with me. That voice would have either not cared about how the blog looked, or researched five million ways to make it really cool. No amount of big hair or an archived sidebar can bring that back. And that is the real reason that grief is harder at six months.
http://www.handlingwithgrace.com/2012/01/grief-at-6-months.html
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Along The Rocky Road 10/12/13
There are things I'll never say
and feelings I'll never express.
You have to know it's just my way,
I don't mean what I do say any less.
If I smile, I mean it somewhere,
even though my eyes fill with tears.
The duality of grief and living
is complex and full of fears.
I enjoy any conversation,
it's nice to hear a voice.
Emptiness gets really loud
and it's not like I had a choice.
I was blissfully unaware
of living with such daily pain.
I regret now not taking the care
with other friends that beat me there.
Striving to appear normal, like "each day is new"
I'm programmed that way, society to blame,
Stopping to cry isn't how we play the game.
But grief is churning inside of me like a bubbling witch's brew.
Writing this to thank all those that guide me along,
message me on the computer, a squeeze on the arm.
Letters, notes, comments, songs,
A hug, a smile that says "I know where you are."
I may not let on, but I need you desperately.
Being alone is not as easy as I thought it would be.
Were all of your encouragement in the shape of letters written,
you would find them faded and worn so thin from reading again and again.
I will survive, you and I both know that.
I just have to work through the new way of life
at the same time I'm wrapping up with everything past.
One step at a time on a rocky road -
Thank you to those that share the load.
and feelings I'll never express.
You have to know it's just my way,
I don't mean what I do say any less.
If I smile, I mean it somewhere,
even though my eyes fill with tears.
The duality of grief and living
is complex and full of fears.
I enjoy any conversation,
it's nice to hear a voice.
Emptiness gets really loud
and it's not like I had a choice.
I was blissfully unaware
of living with such daily pain.
I regret now not taking the care
with other friends that beat me there.
Striving to appear normal, like "each day is new"
I'm programmed that way, society to blame,
Stopping to cry isn't how we play the game.
But grief is churning inside of me like a bubbling witch's brew.
Writing this to thank all those that guide me along,
message me on the computer, a squeeze on the arm.
Letters, notes, comments, songs,
A hug, a smile that says "I know where you are."
I may not let on, but I need you desperately.
Being alone is not as easy as I thought it would be.
Were all of your encouragement in the shape of letters written,
you would find them faded and worn so thin from reading again and again.
I will survive, you and I both know that.
I just have to work through the new way of life
at the same time I'm wrapping up with everything past.
One step at a time on a rocky road -
Thank you to those that share the load.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Accepting Change and Trying Not to Break Things 10/8/13
Roxy-cat fell asleep on my computer keyboard yesterday. She pretty much owns the house, so that isn't a surprise. This is a cat that will smack a 55-lb. dog in the face if he tries to take her place on the couch. She regularly 'yells' at me if I stay gone too long - very loud, prolonged meowing. I've read that she is supposedly vocalizing her love, but it sounds like yelling to me! I think she feels better after she yells at me, like she's had her say, and it helped! She wasn't yelling yesterday, though, she was fast asleep on the keyboard.
The thing is, I wanted to use my computer at that time. She was in my way. So, I did what any good cat lady would do, I picked her up and put her down on the floor beside me! Only.....Roxy didn't want to get up. Is the keyboard of the computer nice and warm? Does it massage? Is she just obstinate? Who knows, the mind of Roxy is mysterious. Because she didn't want to get up, she held on to the keyboard with her claws. The inevitable result? She pulled a key right off. Of course, anyone might say that I pulled the key off by so cruelly lifting the darling from her nap. I noticed that the claw was caught, but the key popped off before I could let her go for relief. I wasn't too worried, I've put keys back on before. They kind of snap back on, easy, right?
I put the key on. I pushed. No snap. I looked at it - Oh! It's not the 9, it's the 6, turn it the other way! No snap. Little white plastic pieces underneath keep slightly moving and not snapping. It's broken. The cat broke the computer key. All because I insisted on pulling her off her spot, and she tried to hang on. Hmmmmm......
I can identify with Roxy. I get really comfortable with certain places, things, people. I'm pretty sure that I'm the kid that cried when I was seven and my mom get a new car. I don't know how I ever left for college....I think just to prove I could do it. I still have favorite t-shirts, blankets, jewelry, mixing bowls.....get the idea? I am huge on tradition and comfort. I pride myself when I can change, move, toss out, rearrange - because I know that doing so is a total challenge to my personality. I really prefer to hang on, just like Roxy.
Who handles change better? The adventurous personality? The rebel? The military kid? That would be a great study. I have learned to handle it because there were other entities forcing the change. I have never really wanted to leave any of my jobs. It just happened. I never really wanted to live so far away from family, it just happened. And I certainly never wanted to end up on my own at this age and stage, it just happened. I'm hanging on with my claws like a stubborn cat right now. I'm not cleaning out rooms in the house, because I want don't want to sell the house. I do know that I have to, and I will....I just don't want to!! (Funny note - we were going to sell it this spring anyway...) So let's just hope I can turn and face change with a winning attitude and pull my claws back in and not break anything. Maybe if I have a place where I can go and yell for a little while, I'll feel better.
The thing is, I wanted to use my computer at that time. She was in my way. So, I did what any good cat lady would do, I picked her up and put her down on the floor beside me! Only.....Roxy didn't want to get up. Is the keyboard of the computer nice and warm? Does it massage? Is she just obstinate? Who knows, the mind of Roxy is mysterious. Because she didn't want to get up, she held on to the keyboard with her claws. The inevitable result? She pulled a key right off. Of course, anyone might say that I pulled the key off by so cruelly lifting the darling from her nap. I noticed that the claw was caught, but the key popped off before I could let her go for relief. I wasn't too worried, I've put keys back on before. They kind of snap back on, easy, right?
I put the key on. I pushed. No snap. I looked at it - Oh! It's not the 9, it's the 6, turn it the other way! No snap. Little white plastic pieces underneath keep slightly moving and not snapping. It's broken. The cat broke the computer key. All because I insisted on pulling her off her spot, and she tried to hang on. Hmmmmm......
I can identify with Roxy. I get really comfortable with certain places, things, people. I'm pretty sure that I'm the kid that cried when I was seven and my mom get a new car. I don't know how I ever left for college....I think just to prove I could do it. I still have favorite t-shirts, blankets, jewelry, mixing bowls.....get the idea? I am huge on tradition and comfort. I pride myself when I can change, move, toss out, rearrange - because I know that doing so is a total challenge to my personality. I really prefer to hang on, just like Roxy.
Who handles change better? The adventurous personality? The rebel? The military kid? That would be a great study. I have learned to handle it because there were other entities forcing the change. I have never really wanted to leave any of my jobs. It just happened. I never really wanted to live so far away from family, it just happened. And I certainly never wanted to end up on my own at this age and stage, it just happened. I'm hanging on with my claws like a stubborn cat right now. I'm not cleaning out rooms in the house, because I want don't want to sell the house. I do know that I have to, and I will....I just don't want to!! (Funny note - we were going to sell it this spring anyway...) So let's just hope I can turn and face change with a winning attitude and pull my claws back in and not break anything. Maybe if I have a place where I can go and yell for a little while, I'll feel better.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
The Next Section of Road 9/29/13
The weather is changing. October will be here in a couple of days. The kids at school will get to sing "October, Rocktober"! The choir will scurry to learn all the holiday songs that they must know for concerts at the beginning of November. Another group of second graders will do the cutie-pie Turkey Follies show. The fourth graders will start work on their Holiday show. I'll be busy. But I'm scared that busy won't be enough.
I used to be so excited when October first arrived. It meant my birthday was only twenty-three days away, then Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas!! Zoom, the holiday season started rolling on October first and never stopped. That's why I'm scared. The beginning of Autumn through the chill of Christmas and the New Year is one long holiday. Yes, certain dates are on the calendar for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's day....but all of us, commercial entities and families, take this season to celebrate. Non-stop. Food. Decorations. Parties. Cards. Gifts. Travel. Family. Costumes. Even pet costumes, if you are in my family. I'm scared that every single day between October first and the back-to-school time in January is going to be a very difficult section of the journey.
The few cooler days that suggest Autumn in the deep South are invigorating. "The high today is only going to be eighty-eight!!" You hear it all around. Everyone switches from cool clothes in summer colors to cool clothes in Fall colors. Any Autumn weekend where people wake up to cooler temps for a few hours of the day finds them running off to the farmer's market or an Oktoberfest in some community. We grab at any hint of a break from the heat and call it Autumn. Never mind how much you're going to sweat at that festival or game. Fall has arrived! I always felt the excitement just like everyone else. But I'm starting to understand why holidays are huge mountains to be scaled on the road of grief.
I'm trying to prepare my mind and emotions. That's what I do, that's how I've been handling things. I remind myself that certain days/occasions/tasks are going to be more difficult. I then carry on through those things by allowing the memories and thoughts, giving them a minute and trying to move on. I carry tissues in case I don't move on too quickly. I surround myself with people. I go different places. I have started to do different things when home alone. He used to have the television on during every waking hour. I choose music. I'm kind of tweaking life to sidestep sadness. I don't think it's a cop out, because the sadness still gets in there a lot of the time.
I also have a lot of help in handling things. My beloved girls will be home for the holidays, and they are the best medicine for anything, as well as the ones that share my feelings. Besides being a good friend, Meiling is the one that checks on me daily and watches for any sign that I need time, an ear, a shoulder, or Mexican food. Thank you my friend for being such a good "keeper" to me and my zoo, that's why my mom won't let you move away. Other friends, at work and far away, call and message all the time. That is still important. I love it. Family is forever there. Mom is always there. Thank you. And how precious is it that nephew Zach is flying in for Thanksgiving week? Just the right tweak can make anticipation not completely sad.
In spite of all the help, I still must travel the holiday season part of the road. I have read suggestions "just skip Christmas", "celebrate at a hotel", "light a candle for memory".....many ways that people in the same situation have chosen to travel their difficult stretch of the road. But will any of that change my feelings and memories? How will I not think, on my birthday, of him giving me the beautiful diamond band last year, and saying "Well, you are fifty, after all."? How will I not think of him not being here most Thanksgivings, but always getting the turkey leg when he was? How will I not remember how proud he was of the custom-sized nylon straps he made at the office and brought home to hold the Christmas tree box closed? We had a life together for twenty-eight years. It's impossible not to think!
I will allow the memories. I will try to move on. If I can't, I will cry for a while, then move on. I will appreciate all the family and friends that are there for me. After the holidays are over, I'll probably go on that site and write my own suggestions for 'surviving the first holiday season without a loved one'. But I will know that every road has different obstacles. I'm just preparing for mine. Since October arrives in two days, I have to put on my helmet and hold on to the rails. Walk with me, cheer me on, give me a cup of water.....the trek has begun.
I used to be so excited when October first arrived. It meant my birthday was only twenty-three days away, then Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas!! Zoom, the holiday season started rolling on October first and never stopped. That's why I'm scared. The beginning of Autumn through the chill of Christmas and the New Year is one long holiday. Yes, certain dates are on the calendar for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's day....but all of us, commercial entities and families, take this season to celebrate. Non-stop. Food. Decorations. Parties. Cards. Gifts. Travel. Family. Costumes. Even pet costumes, if you are in my family. I'm scared that every single day between October first and the back-to-school time in January is going to be a very difficult section of the journey.
The few cooler days that suggest Autumn in the deep South are invigorating. "The high today is only going to be eighty-eight!!" You hear it all around. Everyone switches from cool clothes in summer colors to cool clothes in Fall colors. Any Autumn weekend where people wake up to cooler temps for a few hours of the day finds them running off to the farmer's market or an Oktoberfest in some community. We grab at any hint of a break from the heat and call it Autumn. Never mind how much you're going to sweat at that festival or game. Fall has arrived! I always felt the excitement just like everyone else. But I'm starting to understand why holidays are huge mountains to be scaled on the road of grief.
I'm trying to prepare my mind and emotions. That's what I do, that's how I've been handling things. I remind myself that certain days/occasions/tasks are going to be more difficult. I then carry on through those things by allowing the memories and thoughts, giving them a minute and trying to move on. I carry tissues in case I don't move on too quickly. I surround myself with people. I go different places. I have started to do different things when home alone. He used to have the television on during every waking hour. I choose music. I'm kind of tweaking life to sidestep sadness. I don't think it's a cop out, because the sadness still gets in there a lot of the time.
I also have a lot of help in handling things. My beloved girls will be home for the holidays, and they are the best medicine for anything, as well as the ones that share my feelings. Besides being a good friend, Meiling is the one that checks on me daily and watches for any sign that I need time, an ear, a shoulder, or Mexican food. Thank you my friend for being such a good "keeper" to me and my zoo, that's why my mom won't let you move away. Other friends, at work and far away, call and message all the time. That is still important. I love it. Family is forever there. Mom is always there. Thank you. And how precious is it that nephew Zach is flying in for Thanksgiving week? Just the right tweak can make anticipation not completely sad.
In spite of all the help, I still must travel the holiday season part of the road. I have read suggestions "just skip Christmas", "celebrate at a hotel", "light a candle for memory".....many ways that people in the same situation have chosen to travel their difficult stretch of the road. But will any of that change my feelings and memories? How will I not think, on my birthday, of him giving me the beautiful diamond band last year, and saying "Well, you are fifty, after all."? How will I not think of him not being here most Thanksgivings, but always getting the turkey leg when he was? How will I not remember how proud he was of the custom-sized nylon straps he made at the office and brought home to hold the Christmas tree box closed? We had a life together for twenty-eight years. It's impossible not to think!
I will allow the memories. I will try to move on. If I can't, I will cry for a while, then move on. I will appreciate all the family and friends that are there for me. After the holidays are over, I'll probably go on that site and write my own suggestions for 'surviving the first holiday season without a loved one'. But I will know that every road has different obstacles. I'm just preparing for mine. Since October arrives in two days, I have to put on my helmet and hold on to the rails. Walk with me, cheer me on, give me a cup of water.....the trek has begun.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Being small is important, too! 8/25/13
A kindergartner once gave me a picture he had drawn. (Once? A million times, probably, but I'm thinking of one in particular.) In this picture, I am very, very tall and the child is very small. It surprised me a little, because I forget just how tall I must seem to those little darlings. Honestly, they might even think I'm a giant! I try to be very nice to them, so at least they think I'm a nice giant! As the new year begins tomorrow morning, I will be making sure that I kneel to their level so they aren't scared of me, and see me as kind, caring and someone they can trust. I will have a "BIG" day tomorrow. I've found, though, that it is important to have "SMALL" days, also.
In the classroom, I am a force. I am in charge. I am the one that answers the questions. Right teachers? Teachers are the ones that establish the procedures and make sure that they occur each day. Teachers are the voice of authority. Teachers loom in stature over students - figuratively and sometimes (as in my case) literally. We are in charge. Sometimes I'm in charge of so many things that my favorite moment of the day happens when I can say "I don't know, I'm not in charge of that!"
Within a family setting, the adults are BIG, too. Whether you are a parent or not, you run a household of some sort; making financial decisions, taking care of day-to-day chores, planning vacations, deciding which social events to attend. We are all BIG within our own house. It should be that way - our house is where we are loved and valued. When conflict happens within a household, it hurts more, because everybody is BIG, so hurts are big, too. If you look at the other side of the coin, though, happiness is magnified many times over in a loving house where everyone is BIG.
But what happens when we need to feel SMALL? When I taught high school, I was BIG within the classroom. Sometimes, during my planning, I walked one block east, then one block south so I could stand there and look out at the Gulf. It's vast, and the waves never stop. Just doing that for a few minutes gave me a peace that I could carry back into the classroom, where I was BIG again.
I went for a hike in the woods today, with some friends. As we walked, we talked about problems, victories, plans, hopes, dreams - all those things that you decide at home, where you are BIG. But every now and then, I looked up from the path. Enormous mature trees surrounded us. The path under our feet was uneven, with huge roots crisscrossing under our feet. Insects whizzed by us - it's their world, and we were interrupting! I felt small. Really small. It's a relief to be small for a while. Our hike stopped for a while at an old cemetery. We've visited before, it's small, well-kept, peaceful and beautiful in its own way. I started looking at headstones that were shared by husbands and wives. In that tiny cemetery, I saw so many wives that outlived their husbands by ten, twenty, even forty years. Some of the births date back to the 1860s, while the deaths begin around 1880. The thought occurred to me, while standing in that cemetery, that I am not the first widow in the history of the world, nor will I be the last. The thing that has become my main identifying factor right now is actually smaller than I thought it was. That doesn't make it any less sad, or difficult. Me saying that it is small is not saying that it doesn't devastate me I never know when it is going to strike me like a lightening bolt. No, what I discovered in the cemetery today is that I will go on living. That discovery lets me know that I will face BIG type choices about my own self, and will have be able to decide things and keep on living.
Tomorrow is the first day of school for students. As teachers, we actually have to be enormous tomorrow. We have to establish procedure, start building relationships, be kind, caring and loving at the same time we are laying behavioral groundwork, going over the rules and nipping potential foolish students in the bud. It's huge.
I hope that all my teacher friends have found some time to be SMALL this weekend. It can be nature that gives you that feeling. It can be a crowd - I'll bet my friends that were at the Texans game today felt SMALL. Sunday worship reminds us how SMALL, yet valuable we are. There are plenty of ways to feel SMALL, so that you can go back to being BIG - successfully. Nothing is worse than a mean giant. I wish all of you equal amounts of BIG and SMALL
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In the classroom, I am a force. I am in charge. I am the one that answers the questions. Right teachers? Teachers are the ones that establish the procedures and make sure that they occur each day. Teachers are the voice of authority. Teachers loom in stature over students - figuratively and sometimes (as in my case) literally. We are in charge. Sometimes I'm in charge of so many things that my favorite moment of the day happens when I can say "I don't know, I'm not in charge of that!"
Within a family setting, the adults are BIG, too. Whether you are a parent or not, you run a household of some sort; making financial decisions, taking care of day-to-day chores, planning vacations, deciding which social events to attend. We are all BIG within our own house. It should be that way - our house is where we are loved and valued. When conflict happens within a household, it hurts more, because everybody is BIG, so hurts are big, too. If you look at the other side of the coin, though, happiness is magnified many times over in a loving house where everyone is BIG.
But what happens when we need to feel SMALL? When I taught high school, I was BIG within the classroom. Sometimes, during my planning, I walked one block east, then one block south so I could stand there and look out at the Gulf. It's vast, and the waves never stop. Just doing that for a few minutes gave me a peace that I could carry back into the classroom, where I was BIG again.
I went for a hike in the woods today, with some friends. As we walked, we talked about problems, victories, plans, hopes, dreams - all those things that you decide at home, where you are BIG. But every now and then, I looked up from the path. Enormous mature trees surrounded us. The path under our feet was uneven, with huge roots crisscrossing under our feet. Insects whizzed by us - it's their world, and we were interrupting! I felt small. Really small. It's a relief to be small for a while. Our hike stopped for a while at an old cemetery. We've visited before, it's small, well-kept, peaceful and beautiful in its own way. I started looking at headstones that were shared by husbands and wives. In that tiny cemetery, I saw so many wives that outlived their husbands by ten, twenty, even forty years. Some of the births date back to the 1860s, while the deaths begin around 1880. The thought occurred to me, while standing in that cemetery, that I am not the first widow in the history of the world, nor will I be the last. The thing that has become my main identifying factor right now is actually smaller than I thought it was. That doesn't make it any less sad, or difficult. Me saying that it is small is not saying that it doesn't devastate me I never know when it is going to strike me like a lightening bolt. No, what I discovered in the cemetery today is that I will go on living. That discovery lets me know that I will face BIG type choices about my own self, and will have be able to decide things and keep on living.
Tomorrow is the first day of school for students. As teachers, we actually have to be enormous tomorrow. We have to establish procedure, start building relationships, be kind, caring and loving at the same time we are laying behavioral groundwork, going over the rules and nipping potential foolish students in the bud. It's huge.
I hope that all my teacher friends have found some time to be SMALL this weekend. It can be nature that gives you that feeling. It can be a crowd - I'll bet my friends that were at the Texans game today felt SMALL. Sunday worship reminds us how SMALL, yet valuable we are. There are plenty of ways to feel SMALL, so that you can go back to being BIG - successfully. Nothing is worse than a mean giant. I wish all of you equal amounts of BIG and SMALL
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Sunday, July 28, 2013
Coming Up Next!
I watch a little too much reality TV. I have all kinds of excuses, too. "But it's about cooking!" "I just can't wait to see what they do next!" "They remind me of my family!" I have also justified watching certain shows by saying that I would never watch another type. I personally have never watched any type of "Survivor" (that's why hotels were invented), "Bachelor" (I went through everyone's drama when I was that age) or "Big Brother". Well, not exactly true on Big Brother. It's just that that the only one I ever watched was a British celebrity version in 2001. Comedian Jack Dee brought his packed suitcase to the elimination meeting every week. He ended up winning. No other version could ever beat that, in my mind.
One staple of the reality show is the send-off to commercial. "Coming up next on _____ ______!" Then they show you thirty seconds to one minute of what you'll see in the next half hour. After doing that, when the show returns from commercial (fast-forward time, in today's TIVO/DVR world), they show you the last minute that you saw before "Coming up next". You hear and see the exact same thirty seconds that you saw right before "Coming Up" and commercials. Finally, it steps into new footage. Some night when I'm really bored, I think I'll get the stopwatch and time exactly how much new material I get to watch during an hour show of that type. My theory: Since everyone records their shows and forwards through the commercials, we get less show. It's a trade-off for luxury. Or, somebody really important in TV-land thought that the old education adage "I'm going to tell you what I'm going to teach you, I'm going to teach it to you, then I'm going to tell you what I taught you" needed to be plucked from teaching (where they still encourage that mind-set, another subject) and made into editing policy for television shows.
I wondered, while watching Hell's Kitchen, one of the most notorious for repeat-editing, (but it's about cooking!) what would it be like if we had "Coming up next" in life? What if we could know what's just around the corner? Not many years down the line, but the next week, or month at the most? If that did happen, would the "editors" have any rules? We won't show you death, but we will a flat tire. You can't know when your baby will arrive, but you can see that you're sneezing and have a cold. Those are just silly thoughts, of course. I do believe that my mind thinks in that way right now because my reality in losing my husband is this: there was absolutely no way to predict it, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change it. "Coming Up Next" for me, life without him. How to handle that?
I don't lie to any of you when you ask how I am. I only say "ok", or explain that it's one day at a time, or good days and bad days. But I've discovered that I hold my true feelings in a fortress. I can cry a bit with family or very good friends. I can exhibit being 'down' or listless to anyone. But I prefer to cry, weep, sob, whatever you call it, by myself. Sometimes my girls will catch me. But I don't want anyone to catch me. I also spend time alone looking at pictures and remembering. I guess I'm just reviewing life so far before I take a breath and start living it again. I really don't know why, so this is not an explanation. It's just a statement of fact. Learning that life is short, unpredictable, and un-changeable just makes you break down, over and over. Also, there is no time limitation on when you break down. I'm hurting more at almost three months gone than I did the first week.
None of us have "Coming Up Next" in life. We have to live in two mind-sets: one to take care of the moment at hand, and the other to take care of eternity. So, maybe the TV shows have it right. You live, love, work, play, - all the things that make you "you" - and you also prepare for the future, as well as reviewing the past. You can glean your own practical explanations from those very general words, because everyone is beautifully different in this world. Life is not reality TV - but we play out our own unconscious version of "Coming Up Next". Excuse me if I take a few minutes to review what has happened before I breathe deeply and jump into the new footage.
One staple of the reality show is the send-off to commercial. "Coming up next on _____ ______!" Then they show you thirty seconds to one minute of what you'll see in the next half hour. After doing that, when the show returns from commercial (fast-forward time, in today's TIVO/DVR world), they show you the last minute that you saw before "Coming up next". You hear and see the exact same thirty seconds that you saw right before "Coming Up" and commercials. Finally, it steps into new footage. Some night when I'm really bored, I think I'll get the stopwatch and time exactly how much new material I get to watch during an hour show of that type. My theory: Since everyone records their shows and forwards through the commercials, we get less show. It's a trade-off for luxury. Or, somebody really important in TV-land thought that the old education adage "I'm going to tell you what I'm going to teach you, I'm going to teach it to you, then I'm going to tell you what I taught you" needed to be plucked from teaching (where they still encourage that mind-set, another subject) and made into editing policy for television shows.
I wondered, while watching Hell's Kitchen, one of the most notorious for repeat-editing, (but it's about cooking!) what would it be like if we had "Coming up next" in life? What if we could know what's just around the corner? Not many years down the line, but the next week, or month at the most? If that did happen, would the "editors" have any rules? We won't show you death, but we will a flat tire. You can't know when your baby will arrive, but you can see that you're sneezing and have a cold. Those are just silly thoughts, of course. I do believe that my mind thinks in that way right now because my reality in losing my husband is this: there was absolutely no way to predict it, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change it. "Coming Up Next" for me, life without him. How to handle that?
I don't lie to any of you when you ask how I am. I only say "ok", or explain that it's one day at a time, or good days and bad days. But I've discovered that I hold my true feelings in a fortress. I can cry a bit with family or very good friends. I can exhibit being 'down' or listless to anyone. But I prefer to cry, weep, sob, whatever you call it, by myself. Sometimes my girls will catch me. But I don't want anyone to catch me. I also spend time alone looking at pictures and remembering. I guess I'm just reviewing life so far before I take a breath and start living it again. I really don't know why, so this is not an explanation. It's just a statement of fact. Learning that life is short, unpredictable, and un-changeable just makes you break down, over and over. Also, there is no time limitation on when you break down. I'm hurting more at almost three months gone than I did the first week.
None of us have "Coming Up Next" in life. We have to live in two mind-sets: one to take care of the moment at hand, and the other to take care of eternity. So, maybe the TV shows have it right. You live, love, work, play, - all the things that make you "you" - and you also prepare for the future, as well as reviewing the past. You can glean your own practical explanations from those very general words, because everyone is beautifully different in this world. Life is not reality TV - but we play out our own unconscious version of "Coming Up Next". Excuse me if I take a few minutes to review what has happened before I breathe deeply and jump into the new footage.
Friday, July 12, 2013
I Know Why 7/12/13
Three times now, I've tried to write a bit. Three times now, the page crashed and the bits were lost. They weren't enough to make me famous or anything, they just had real sentiments that I'm not sure I can ever express the same way. Paper and pen, you just scored a point.
This title....I Know Why. Maybe I should explain a little more. I don't know WHY. Who does, really? I'm closer to knowing stuff, because of my experience, but nobody really ever knows WHY. I should have stretched the title to say "I know why widows wear black". (wore? Right now I have on a blue t-shirt and white capris, so those days are kind of over.) I went out with some friends a few nights ago and it helped me to realize that an outward symbol of grief might not be creepy, and might actually be very helpful!
My main historical knowledge of "mourning" clothes comes from "Gone With the Wind" - when Scarlett most assuredly did NOT want to wear widow-black......and more recently, "Downton Abbey" - when Mary Crawley most assuredly did NOT want to wear black for mourning. I guess it wasn't the most popular thing to be seen in, at any point in history, therefore the demise of the custom.
You see, I think it helped everyone. I feel as if I'm walking around with a mark on my forehead. I feel this, but other people don't see it. If you know me, sure...you know what happened, and you understand if I hang my head for a minute. If you are a stranger, you can't tell that I've been through a great tragedy, an immense loss, and am right now suffering from deep, dark, sadness. You can't tell, because it doesn't often show. The outward appearance, the routine of life, the talking with people and friends that even involves laughter - who could tell? Matter of fact, I sometimes look around at strangers and wonder what deep, dark feeling they are carrying.
It's not deep and dark because anyone purposely hides it. My sadness is deep and dark because of the immensity of what happened. Losing my husband, my partner in all aspects of life, the person that loved me more than himself, has left such a deep hurt that I will never be the same. I don't try to hide that, but I also don't tell every stranger I see. It's a part of me, and if you know me now, or get to know me in the future, it just is, it just exists, it can't be changed.
Back when widows wore black, I think it demanded that others, even strangers, treat them a little more gently. This is all conjecture on my part, but I just imagine an old-fashioned grocery store; a widow dressed in black checking out, and everyone just speaking a little more softly, kindly......yeah, my imagination. I imagine that a teacher wearing black for mourning was respected, and all the children behaved beautifully, because they understood that sadness was somewhere in there. Crazy thoughts, huh?
So, if I don't know the WHY of life, I'm sorry. But trust me, I ask about it probably more than you do. But as far as the why of openly signifying mourning? I truly believe that must have been (most of the time) a gentle, soothing way of easing back into life while doing so with your new deep dark sadness; and it gave those around you the opportunity to show extra kindness and understanding, especially when you stumbled along the way.
The moral here is that we could be nicer. It's blithely said every day, especially now on social media, but it's true: "You never know what someone is going through". Be nice, everyone. Nice and kind beats all. That's all.
This title....I Know Why. Maybe I should explain a little more. I don't know WHY. Who does, really? I'm closer to knowing stuff, because of my experience, but nobody really ever knows WHY. I should have stretched the title to say "I know why widows wear black". (wore? Right now I have on a blue t-shirt and white capris, so those days are kind of over.) I went out with some friends a few nights ago and it helped me to realize that an outward symbol of grief might not be creepy, and might actually be very helpful!
My main historical knowledge of "mourning" clothes comes from "Gone With the Wind" - when Scarlett most assuredly did NOT want to wear widow-black......and more recently, "Downton Abbey" - when Mary Crawley most assuredly did NOT want to wear black for mourning. I guess it wasn't the most popular thing to be seen in, at any point in history, therefore the demise of the custom.
You see, I think it helped everyone. I feel as if I'm walking around with a mark on my forehead. I feel this, but other people don't see it. If you know me, sure...you know what happened, and you understand if I hang my head for a minute. If you are a stranger, you can't tell that I've been through a great tragedy, an immense loss, and am right now suffering from deep, dark, sadness. You can't tell, because it doesn't often show. The outward appearance, the routine of life, the talking with people and friends that even involves laughter - who could tell? Matter of fact, I sometimes look around at strangers and wonder what deep, dark feeling they are carrying.
It's not deep and dark because anyone purposely hides it. My sadness is deep and dark because of the immensity of what happened. Losing my husband, my partner in all aspects of life, the person that loved me more than himself, has left such a deep hurt that I will never be the same. I don't try to hide that, but I also don't tell every stranger I see. It's a part of me, and if you know me now, or get to know me in the future, it just is, it just exists, it can't be changed.
Back when widows wore black, I think it demanded that others, even strangers, treat them a little more gently. This is all conjecture on my part, but I just imagine an old-fashioned grocery store; a widow dressed in black checking out, and everyone just speaking a little more softly, kindly......yeah, my imagination. I imagine that a teacher wearing black for mourning was respected, and all the children behaved beautifully, because they understood that sadness was somewhere in there. Crazy thoughts, huh?
So, if I don't know the WHY of life, I'm sorry. But trust me, I ask about it probably more than you do. But as far as the why of openly signifying mourning? I truly believe that must have been (most of the time) a gentle, soothing way of easing back into life while doing so with your new deep dark sadness; and it gave those around you the opportunity to show extra kindness and understanding, especially when you stumbled along the way.
The moral here is that we could be nicer. It's blithely said every day, especially now on social media, but it's true: "You never know what someone is going through". Be nice, everyone. Nice and kind beats all. That's all.
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