One year, cloudy water and Mother's Day

This was intended to be my final post.  I told myself  "I'll end it at the one year anniversary.  I'll just let it be about the first year of grief."  I tell myself a lot of things that don't happen.  There's a story that is my life and I've chosen to chronicle it here.  It would be unfair to leave it hanging at this point.  I'm wanting to know what happens myself!

Mother's Day morning, the pool water was yellow and cloudy.  Somehow, the cloudy water mirrored my attitude.  Three days prior was the one year mark for Scott's death. It was a day.  Not horrible, not great, just a day.  I called his mom, I called my girls.  I was grateful that the girls did the public, social media "wish you were still here" tribute.  Both were beautiful, and I didn't want to have to do that.

I received one note in the mail before that day.  It was from Maria, my college roommate, who lost her husband the very same way last September.  Maria gets it.  She understands that the date must be acknowledged, but she also knows about Robbie and how I'm feeling hopeful again.  Part of her note said :You can now walk into May 9th and into your next chapter, or rather volume, feeling happy and excited."  I kept that in mind on Friday, May 9th.  I took a breath and carried on, thinking positively.

Friday turned out to be a positive day.  Robbie sent me flowers at work.  That's a big deal.  A beautiful arrangement that was still going strong a week later, and a nice note.  Positive, happy and excited were on the front burner.  Saturday then dawned bright and my mood wasn't even shattered by Gordon getting dirt all over my white linen pants.  Although alone most of the morning, I solved that problem by leisurely shopping and doing errands.  My friend came over in the afternoon, we hit the pool and then saw a movie.  Not too bad.

Mother's Day Sunday, I woke to one nice note, although not from my kids (at that point).  When I looked out the window, I was surprised to see the the pool water had turned a cloudy yellow. I immediately checked chemicals, turned on filters, researched "yellow, cloudy water", scrubbed, emptied, etc. etc.  I then sat back and crossed my fingers. That's what I do with the pool, a lot of the time.  It may have been Mother's Day, but that water was not going to clear itself!  The rest of the day was filled with either visiting or talking with those whom I love.  I was only alone for a portion of the morning.  I did talk to one person that was having their first mother's day without the mom of the family.  As much as I want to reach out, and even though I've experienced almost the very same thing, I don't feel I helped very much.  Some days are just hard.


I don't like not being able to help people and I don't like not being able to help myself.  Thank goodness these "hard days" only last a while.  Time marched on, I've seen Robbie face to face again, and last night my girls came home.....with a Mother's Day present.  The few hours of the cloudy water and being alone have faded away like the cloudy water itself.  All it took to clear the water was two bags of chlorine shock and a little time for filtering.

Most of the past year has been cloudy for me.  I've learned that it is possible for the cloudiness to clear with time.  It took the shock of the fact that life can go on with happiness and the time to filter that fact. It might not be exactly one year, but dismissing the timeline is becoming easier.  Just this past weekend (two weeks after mother's day), the cloudiness started to creep back into the pool. No fair! I thought it was gone! I also thought that grief might disappear with the one year mark. You guessed it. It doesn't. It can be eased, though. Shock and time.  Go away, cloudy days.  I choose the shock of feeling happy and secure once again along with the time that has gone by to banish cloudiness and restore clear vision.

To my girls, on Valentine's Day

To my girls, on Valentine's day:

I know for a fact that you will probably consider the past nine months one of the worst periods of your life - for your entire life.  I can't know how much it hurts to lose your dad.  I still have mine. We share grief for your dad, you and me, but with different dynamics.  I am so proud of the way you have been able to carry on with school, hold jobs, make the more grown-up choice, and just keep on becoming the beautiful, strong, idealistic and witty women your dad would have wanted you to be.

Each Valentine's day, we got very special candy, didn't we?  He absolutely loved checking Consumer Reports for the best-rated chocolates and having them delivered to us, no matter where he was in the world at the time.  I can't be just like him, but I hope you have already gotten your Valentine goodies from me.  I know it's a 'sweetheart' day; but there are forever loves in the world, and you two are my forever loves.  I wanted to tell you and everyone else a few things I'm proud of - it's always a good thing to tell someone when you're proud, and not take it for granted that they know.  You are both amazing, and here are some of the reasons why:

I am proud of your perseverance.  Neither one of you skipped a beat in continuing school.  Some people would probably have taken some time for themselves, or cut back to make life a little easier for a while.  The two of you jumped right back in to classes and keep looking forward. You remind me a little of your dad when he was on a 'frenzy'.  Remember?  Those times he was so focused on a task that we sometimes didn't even get to eat until he got what he needed?  I tried to explain it to you when you were little, and I tried to inject in the explanation that it could be a very good trait.  I believe you picked some of that up along the way.

I am proud of your progress.  Is that the same thing as perseverance?  Not really.  You could have persevered with school and still not have moved forward.  But in your cases, you are making the necessary grades, you have the degree plans in the works, and you have both grown so much emotionally and intellectually that you have narrowed down and decided on a career path. You also both have worked since your dad has been gone - not everyone can do that and do well in school also. That's a huge challenge and I am so proud of the steps that both of you have made to start making all of your dreams come true.

I am proud of the patience you've had with me, and your protection toward me.  Although we sometimes approach tasks at very different speeds, you have let me do things in my own time and in my own way.  I believe that you have suppressed your own wishes for when certain things would get done, just to protect my emotional health and let me make sure that I am doing everything right for the three of us.  You also give me great advice, the kind of advice we give in our family. (Like.."tell them the car turns into a superhero at night and any marks are battle scars"....) And I'm sure there's been a time or two that you just made excuses for me and told someone to just leave me alone. ("I'm going out for a while, Mom, but if you need me, you call...I'll come right home.")

Most of all, I am proud of your passion for life, no matter what.  Your dad would be proud, too.  Whenever one of you went through a 'quiet phase', it worried him.  He wanted you involved - (even if it meant him sitting through musicals and dance recitals) and he wanted you to set goals and work hard to reach them, just as he did.  He wanted you to think your own thoughts, not be a 'sheep', and he wanted you to be well-versed enough in your beliefs to intelligently challenge those with whom you do not agree. I want that, too, but make sure you do it in a nice way! (Although you should let me know when you reach the McCarty milestone of being banned from a forum for your opinions.  I'll take his place and celebrate with you.) You are still able to laugh and cry, as well as live your life to the fullest, which you know your dad totally believed in.

I hope one day you can love someone as much as a parent loves a child.  There is no end to that love. It exists in the parent for no other reason than the fact that you, the child, exist. But there's an added bonus:  When I look at you, listen to you, and watch you live life, I see your dad.  It reminds me that even though he's gone, so much of him will live on through the two of you. I love you, Mallory and Maddy, with all my being. Forever.

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.

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."

I'm a fake and a phony 1/1/14

I spend a lot of time convincing myself through words that I type that I am trying to be positive.  Convincing others that I have a healthy attitude.  Trying to find little nuggets of truth and inspiration in everyday life and prove that I'm grateful for what I still have.  Then a day or an event happens and I'm a fake.  If I said how I really feel, I'm afraid that everyone around me would quote Sandy from "Grease"; "You're a fake and a phony, and I wish I'd never laid eyes on you!".

I'm not well.  I'm still pouting.  And with all the time that goes by, I find more to pout about.  Every normal obstacle that blocks my path feels like a personal affront to my widow-hood.  The car won't start?  That's because I'm a widow.  The dog got out? That's because my husband died.  It's silly, I know, but when I go to bed alone at night, and wake up alone every morning, the void is an entity that has taken on powers of great proportion.  The void of him seems to cause every little bit of trouble I have.

And so the year ended yesterday.  All day long, I was extremely sad. Tears were close at any given moment.  I tried to explain it - the end of the year he died, entering a new year without him, an overload of people when I've gotten used to quiet, all kinds of "reasons".  The real reason?  I think my life sucks now, and outwardly I put on a brave face and list everything for which I'm grateful.  Most days, I can convince myself.  Most days, gratefulness wins.  But you know what?  It will be a long time before I don't pout anymore.  Expect that from me.  You can ask "what's wrong?".  But you can also correctly say, 90% of the time; "Oh, one of those days, huh?"  I'm going to make it.  I just don't think it's going to be a very scenic route.  My apologies, but I'm pretty sure my excuse is a good one.

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.

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.

Holiday Lessons from the Animal Kingdom - or - Why the Cat Threw Up 11/27/13

The cat threw up already.  It's only Wednesday, day BEFORE Thanksgiving, and there's some purging going on around here. Poor Roxy.  She's not really purging, you all know cats don't do that, right?  But she is suffering a common holiday malady: invasion of space and routine.

I love the holidays.  I love time off work, I love seeing family and friends.  I'm especially grateful to not only have my precious girls home from college, but nephew Zach visiting as well.  We are knitting together a united front against the sadness of missing Scott.  We are staying busy, either running around or binge TV-watching.  And of course, cooking and eating.  So far, so good. And, before you read any further...he is the perfect guest, he's family, I do my thing and don't stress. All reflections in this blog came to me as - yes - Roxy threw up.

Along with the college girls comes Isis, the college kitty.  She's about six months old and cute as can be.  She's gotten much bigger since leaving here in August.  I no longer have to block the spindles on the upstairs overlook for fear that she will wiggle through and fall to the first floor, as she did in July.  She has her own opinion about where she wants to go and which other animals she likes.  Basically, it's nobody.

Now to be fair, the other animals either hate her or want to play too rough.  (55-lb dog vs. six-month-old kitten, you know?)  So everybody is walking around all stressed out.  Except maybe Gordon, the big dog, he only wants to play! I wish it were easier and faster to say to animals: "You're in this together, now let's be nice to each other!"   It occurred to me, just after Roxy lost her breakfast this morning, that the last time she did that was when Isis was here.  My cat gets stressed and throws up!  I know, gross. 

But how different is that from any of us that are hosting or visiting over the holiday, and have our routine interrupted?  Do we embrace it or does it just make us a little sick or even ruin our day?  I personally embrace change of routine on my terms.  For example - yes, I will have kolaches for breakfast one morning, but it's back to the cereal for me after that! I love people being around, having fun, especially if they are the kind of people that I can say "Do your thing, I'm going in here for a while!" 

I hope that all my friends and any other readers and find a way to enjoy and celebrate the disruption of routine that comes with holidays on their own terms.  My animal friends can't talk with each other and discover that they really don't have to stress.  Roxy is growling at Isis as I type this!  We can, however, be truthful about our feelings in a considerate way, and make non-routine days work nicely! Whoever you spend your holiday with, you and those people are a united front against the sadness, heartbreak and grief in the world.  Laugh together, cry together, gorge on that meal together......Together.  And no throwing up.  (at least, not from stress!)  Happy Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for all of you.

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

Questions abound 9/27/13

I have a lot of questions.  Some of them deal with life and death.  Some of them deal with family and friends.  Some of them deal with work.  None of them are truly answer-able.  They are mostly just ponder-able.  Is it worth the time to ponder them?  I don't know.  That's one of the questions.

1. Why us?
 Why my precious girls?  Not so much me, but us.  All four of us were awesome. The three of us are still awesome, but way too aware that one-fourth of us is missing.  That flavors and colors everything we think and do, forever. And then I must ask:  Why my friend Maria and her two precious girls?  Is this a new sociological trend?  If so, may I be allowed to say: it sucks.  (Sorry, Mom.)  So, if there ever could be a reason (remember, simply a ponder question...), what would it be?

2. Why can't I get credit for all the years I've taught, even though they were elsewhere?
Don't laugh, this bothers me just about every day. The school district I work for honors everybody for the number of years they're taught in the district. So this year, when everybody is getting their award pins, I'll be sitting there, in my twenty-fifth year of teaching, watching everyone else get awards because they never moved around.  I've only taught in the district  for seven years now.  When I do get my "ten-year" award, it will actually be my twenty-eighth year teaching.  Thank goodness all those years in all those other places count on my pay scale.  I think I'll miss that day this year.

3. Why do some people get all the bad luck? or "Whydobadthingshappentogoodpeople?"
I'm really not referring to myself here, although I feel as if I have joined that crowd lately.  Why do some people not only end up with a bad situation, but no support?  Why do cars break down on top of an air-conditioning repair?  Why can lies be believed?  Why does sadness exist? 

4. Why do those inner bags of cereal sometimes rip instead of opening neatly?
I have a LOT of experience opening those bags.  I know that I do not like them to rip. I am not a fan of wasting single grain (or krispie!) of cereal.  A rip in the bag means that some of the cereal will pour down into the box.  Just this week, I was very carefully opening the new box of Grape-Nuts (another question altogether....) when RIP!!!  It just makes me angry.  I will say that I have better luck with Kellogg's bags than Post's.  I will also ask:  why, oh why, aren't those inner bags re-sealable? You know, a zip-lock top or something?  Too much to ask?

5.  Why am I plagued with the idea that anything I do is not good enough?
We've all been there, right? I just have to look around to know that I did some things great.  But just knowing that my husband is gone makes me feel like I goofed up big time, somewhere, somehow.  I now have to make all the big decisions myself, and instead of being confident because of past experience, I feel as if I will make a really big mistake.  Nobody questions my decisions, everyone tells me I'm smart, I'm strong....and that only gives me more doubt. I'm kind of afraid I'll get "too big for my britches" and do something that's waaay weird and uncalled for.  Ok, maybe not, because when you describe me in one word (you know that game?) the one word is CAUTIOUS.  And the worst insult I could give would be to say that a decision or action was FOOLISH.  Heaven forbid. 

6. Why is nothing ever good enough at work anymore?
This is an offshoot of #5, except that I am kind of making a statement that the district seems to be trying to prove itself by saying that they are constantly changing and upgrading all teaching methods.  In the process of doing so, a lot of teachers are being told that what they are doing isn't good enough, doesn't follow this list or that guideline or new specification #5,038.  Yes, I personally have experienced a bit of this.....and when I am told that something isn't good enough, I am not happy.  However, it's been only a couple of actual times for me.  I'm pretty sure that's very lucky, actually.  It's tricky ground, being in my emotional state, and coming up against the grips of the district.

7. Why does some music give me mixed messages? 
"Carry on, my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done." Oh good, I need to hop out of bed and get this day started!!  "Lay your weary head to rest, don'tcha cry no more..."  Nevermind.  "Don't worry, be happy."  My friend wants to punch Mr. McFerrin in the face for ever recording such nonsense.  I agree.  Mr. McFerrin is immensely talented (check out his version of The Beatles' "Blackbird") but that song has probably done more psychological damage than the movie "Psycho".  And Peter Frampton has been asking me to show him the way for thirty years now, but he won't show up. I know the way, Peter!!!  It's not good enough, but it'll get you there!

To sum up my ponderings:

1. Why us (and them)?
2. Why is the district unfair and nothing can be done about it?
3.  Why is life life?
4.  Why don't cereal companies care to improve?  Have we been married too long?
5.  If I am so confident (I am...) then why am I not confident? 
6.  Why do certain entities try to fix what's not broken?
7.  Why do I still feel emotionally attached to song lyrics even though I'm not a teenager?
8.  Why are my dogs and cats so cute?  ( I know, I didn't write about that, but they are napping beside me right now....)

Ponder away, friends, ponder away. 

Scary Movies Aren't As Scary As Life 9/15/13

I just saw "Insidious, Chapter 2".  If you know me, this is not surprising, you know that I love scary movies.  When I saw the original "Insidious", I proclaimed it one of the best scary movies I'd seen in a long time.  I even bought the DVD, which is not a habit of mine, as it is with some people.  Today, I enjoyed the sequel, but not as much as the first.  Is this because it's not quite as good, or because of my reality? 

Scary movies want to make us afraid of ghosts, 'spirits', beings that are stuck in the afterlife because of some evil reason or another.  I happen to know that there is no such thing, and what is left behind is much more difficult to manage simply because we are left alone to handle things.

I sit writing this with a box fan blowing into my 'office', because the air conditioner needs repair.  It's leaking Freon in the attic portion, so they have to replace all those workings.  I have reserved the pretty penny that it will cost, scheduled the work and requested my day off.  These are all the responsibilities of the sole adult that owns the house.  In one scene of the movie today, the ghost punched the woman in the face.  I might have preferred that horror to the stress and cost of getting the a/c repaired.

This past Friday, I sold the dirt bike that he had left sitting in the garage.  I knew what he had paid for it, and ended up taking a bit less, just to get rid of it.  I didn't envision him sitting on it, or trying to start it - like the movie with its visions of a person long gone sitting on the bed.  I just saw the bike, the space it's been taking up in the garage, the hope I had that it would start for the potential buyers after four months, and the dust and cobwebs that clung to it.  Start it finally did, and after the exchange of cash, the bike was theirs.  Of course, I typed out a receipt, one for them, one for me, because I could hear him saying "Make sure you give a receipt, I've see too many 'People's Court' episodes where stupid people didn't get anything in writing....." All right, I didn't envision anything, but boy, could I hear his words in my brain.  That's not scary, though. That is comforting.

I am one person at home now - with three cars to choose from.  I do intend to sell them and upgrade to something newer, and therefore (in theory) more dependable. One needs a new water pump, knock sensor, and catalytic converter.  One just got a new water pump, but has a funny clank that I can't get it to make for the mechanic.  The third is in decent shape, it's just ten years old! Now, I'll admit, we've been very spoiled as far a vehicles go - Scott could fix almost anything, therefore we got older, but more top-of the-line when we purchased.  Having to sell and buy cars by myself is more of a nightmare than seeing a shadow face in the window.  That's scary, but only for a minute.  My fears these days are eroding me like water did the Grand Canyon.

Sometimes, there's just sadness.  In the movie today, there was someone that was extremely mean and evil toward a child.  Sadness.  My heart breaks and prays for mistreated children on a daily basis.  In my house today, I called little Marylebone, the Scottie, up to sit with me for a bit.  I scratched him, then stopped.......he nosed my hand up for more.  After a good five-minute scratching session, I realized that his dad is gone, his girls are gone, and I'm the only one left to pet a scratch him on a daily basis.  I will say every now and then, I get help with this from my favorite fifth-grader Riley.  Still, the thought that anyone, even the creatures, would not get enough attention from me because of all the responsibilities I now have is just plain sad.

Then again, there is the example of Riley.  We took her to the scary movie today.  Her mom carefully scanned the reviews and deemed it appropriate.  We promised her she could sit between us.  As it came time to go in, her nerves almost seemed to get the better of her - slowing her step and clutching her tummy.  We encouraged and joked and promised that it wouldn't be that bad.  She got settled, legs tucked up so she could turn and hide her face in her mom's arm, and the movie started.  After a few 'jumps' and 'scares', her reaction turned from hiding her face to laughing nervously.  It was very cute, her mom and I are famous for laughing in scary or serious movies, we find it takes away the intensity.  Ok, maybe we annoy some people around us, but it can't be helped!  Riley's laughter under stress was a reminder to me. The things I have going on at present may be scary, sad, stressful....but there's usually a little laughter in each day.  And after a good laugh, you take a deep breath....and just keep going. Remember how I said Riley was nervous going in to the movie?  On the way out, she was practically bouncing as she walked, and said "I'm so glad I went to see that!"  I hope I can take things in stride like that and keep going.  What an example.  Take that, scary stuff.

A Twist of the Knife 9/8/13

I feel numb.  Maria, the girl I lived with in the dorm for four years - lost HER husband last night.  Her text to me started with "I've joined your club."  Ouch. This is not a sought-out membership.  I don't even know yet what happened.  Everyone is curious.  When someone dies, and they're in their fifties, and haven't been sick, everyone wants to know what happened.  I do too, I just have other feelings that are right up there with the curiosity.  I feel the same numbness, the same feeling of the world stopping, the same lost feeling that followed me home from the hospital on that night four months ago.  When death happens, those of us that always have an answer, that always figure out a way to fix things, that always try to make things work better; we are struck dumb.  There is no way to make it better.  There is no magic word, pill, book, way of talking, exercise, food.....nothing can change death.

Maria is a smart woman.  She is the kind of person I like to associate myself with; sensible, knowledgeable about tools, engines, minor repairs, fun, kind, with a strong devotion to family and friends.  She's not a weak person.  I like to think that the above description fits me, also.  (Maybe I'm just flattering myself, too.)  But this is why I hate to see her "join the club".  It doesn't really fit that well on us, 'widowhood'.  We were little girls that dreamed of wedding dresses, teenage girls that saw our parents stick with it, college girls with a plan to find a man.  We envisioned marriage with houses, pets, children....and we both got it. When we met, I was seventeen, she was already eighteen.  We were kids just thrown together by some random roommate fairy.  It worked.  We got along.  When we graduated, she was twenty-two and headed back to Atlanta for a job, I was twenty-one and headed to the altar with Scott. 

Maria wore the lovely shiny lavender bridesmaid's dress in my wedding.  I wore the absolutely beautiful black bridesmaid's dress at her wedding.  (To this day, the prettiest wedding photos I have ever seen.)  She came to visit after Mallory was born, to see our first baby girl.  Not long after, she had baby girls of her own. Even when we lived in England, Maria would come see us when we visited Scott's parents. The kids were growing fast, and all of us worked and were busy with life.  It didn't matter how much time passed, though; Maria is a forever friend. Whenever we did get the chance to talk, we didn't hold back.  And, being a forever friend, she was there this past June when we said goodbye to Scott with a service in Florida.  Maria and Tamre'  - the other best college friend - drove in the night before the service and had dinner with the family.  Then we went back to Tamre's room.  Within minutes, it was just as if we were in the dorm room together.  Only the discussions were about husbands, the loss of mine, nearly-grown children, aging parents, taking care of ourselves and the need for reading glasses.  I appreciate them being there for me so much.  Maria was there at the start of my journey with Scott and she was there to mourn/celebrate the end.

Then, that text.  Almost four months to the day of not being able to wake my husband from his nap due to a heart attack, Maria's husband falls over while mowing the grass, due to a heart attack.  My Scott was fifty-two.  Doug was fifty-three.  Maria and I are both moms left with two girls.  What a club.  I told her that if she wanted me at his services, just say the word.  She said let's get together later, she knows I've traveled too much lately.  I can't wait to plan a weekend outside Atlanta.  Let's call it a club meeting.  I don't want to invite anybody else.  Here's hoping that the rest of you little girls that dreamed happily-ever-after are continuing to live it.  When part of it is gone, the bad part is that it's still ever-after, just not so happily.

There's Me, then there's (me) - a Squirrel-Fur Story 8/31/13

The first week of school is over.  The routine has set in.  The big kids have already learned some stuff (ha ha, gotcha!), and more and more of the babies are opening their mouths and singing with me every day.  Here we go.  That's Me.  I will forever, though, equate this first week with the things I've had to do concerning probate, real estate, life insurance, and being the single parent.  That is (me).  There are barriers there.  I'm not going to share that information with everybody out there.  Yes, it may seem that I tell you a detail or two, but none of it chips the surface of the reality I'm living.

There is squirrel fur on the bedroom floor right now.  Just a couple clumps, but that's enough to make me think that some squirrel left it behind on someone's paw as it ran and HID in my bedroom somewhere. I found a dead squirrel out back on Thursday morning - very possible that one animal or another brought the dead one's brother in the house!  This is the kind of thing I do share.  Amusing anecdotes.  Enjoyable escapades. Hilarious happenings.  (Alliteration kick courtesy of my favorite fifth grader, Riley!)  I shall probably search for above-mentioned squirrel before I finish writing this today.  That's my 'story of the day'.  Unfortunately, there's a LOT more that goes untold. 

Almost every day this week, there was an untold story, deed, issue.  I can share a few of them here, but some I just only tell certain people. Me is an open house, but (me) is a locked closet.  I know, everyone is that way, it just seems magnified to me now that I'm dealing with the aftermath of death.

College girl's laptop broke right before she headed off to school.  Less than a year old, I knew it was still under warranty.  I had to deal with having tech support help me on the phone, then reporting to them that it still didn't work, getting an RMA number, shipping it off, etc.  Not that difficult, but computers were his department.  I think every married couple, especially parents, have certain "departments".  Laundry, paying bills, house décor, children and animal health - those were some of my departments.  Computers, TVs, pool chemicals, cars, yard, insurance - those were some of his.  Having to step in and run the other department is sometimes difficult because it is new territory, but always difficult because I'm only doing this because he's gone.  I'm proud to say the freshly-repaired-under-warranty laptop arrived yesterday.  Success in one new territory.

If only every little task that dealt with the aftermath felt like success.  Who is really worried whether or not I remember to take the right paperwork to school with me so that I can stop by the lawyer's office after a long day and let them make copies of the appropriate papers for probate court?  Who really cares that I answer the personal e-mails that still arrive in his inbox, giving them the sad news and telling them I will tie up all the loose ends and keep in touch?  With each thing I do, however, I share my accomplishment with one of the people that get to know (me).  My family, my best friends, sometimes a special friend at work.....but not everyone.  Even the examples in this writing are not the ones that I consider the "big issues", - the ones that send me to my car or my chair at home sobbing.

So it's not for everyone to know every piece of business.  I'd rather talk to you about how good the kids are this week (general consensus - they're tired!), or what was for dinner last night, or how cold it is in my classroom, and why can't I remember to bring my sweater to school?.....all of that is Me.  What you might not realize is that (me) is sitting there eating lunch, and because of the cold room and the soap from just washing my hands, I was able to slip off the wedding band for the first time in many years.  My finger was a size 6 in 1984.  It's not anymore.  Nevertheless, I worked it off. I didn't tell anyone, just put it on my pinky.  It's not that I'm ready to be without it - I still have the diamonds on.  I'm just scared if I put it back on, it would have to be cut off one of these days.  Or maybe I am trying to give myself reminders that all departments belong to me now, and I can do it!  I'm not ready to look unmarried, I'm just trying to do a good job at being the only one that takes care of everything. Talk about a sad story, a forlorn fable, a depressing drama.  That's why I only let most people see Me, not (me). I can do this with help - special friends that give me pens, dinner, chocolate cake, anonymous cards - these gestures let me know there are others that understand (me), and even have a (me) themselves.

Me can finish out this part of the story for you:  I called my friend to come over and help hunt the squirrel.  My friend took one look at the fur and said "That looks like your hair, are you sure none of the pets got hold of a hairbrush or something?"  I said no, and kept looking. After about five minutes of looking and talking, the answer dawned on me.  "There is no squirrel!"  I exclaimed.  I knew the answer.  I took a phone pic of silly Roxy-cat sitting on top of the wardrobe.  The vacuum was in the corner in the pic.  I moved the vacuum and took another pic, then put it back.  (Lord knows we can't have a vacuum in our picture, it just wouldn't look proper, would it?)  The last time I vacuumed, it was when my girls and I got our hair cut at the house.  Sure enough, that multi-colored clump of hair that I thought was straight from a squirrel's tail was actually a mix of our reddish-brown, brown and caramel highlights hair scraps, freeing themselves from the evil beater brush of the Shark.  I'm not hiding anything about the squirrel-fur story. That made me laugh today.  I will choose to focus on those types of things. Here's hoping the laughter will at least help (me) keep my balance.  Love, Me.

The First Day Blues 8/19/13

First day blues.....I got 'em.  I prepared myself to go back to work, I did.  I wrote another piece to tell people how I feel, but please treat me normally - and they did!  I love them!  I went in with dear friends last week who helped do some of the not-fun work in the classroom!  I'm ahead of my usual game! (So I thought....)  Then, it happened.

I was up until midnight, having caught a flight back to Houston from instilling dear daughters in their college apartment.  I told them goodbye, hugged them, told them I loved them and walked away.  It took until after I got through security for it to hit me - I'm alone.  I can do what I want right now, as long as I make my plane.  And that won't change.  After I get home tonight, I can do what I want, and nobody will even have a clue.  Whether I watch TV, eat a snack, play the piano, read a book, do some sewing, clean house, play computer games, blog.......it's my time and nobody is there to interrupt it.  The very thought that used to sound idyllic is now nothing but sad. 

In truth, the reality was a couple of games of that candy game, then sleep.  Alarm ringing far too early, and going about the morning routine that I've followed for years.  Monday morning kicking me..."keep moving!"  it says.  Realizing as I leave the house that I can turn off the coffee and all the lights, nobody else is there to wake up later.  Getting to work and seeing my good friends, and all the other precious people.  They have chik-fil-a breakfast biscuits!!  Woo-hoo!  All good, healthy intentions go out the window as I get a biscuit to go with my coffee.  I sit in my assigned place, take two bites of breakfast deliciousness (in-between talking) and then the announcement begins.  "Time for our ice-breaker!"  With all the veracity in the world, and no sarcasm (although I know that my faithful readers always imagine my sarcasm, because they know me), it was not a bad ice-breaker. Clever idea.  Comment or contact me somehow if you weren't there and want to know the details.  But was my mind on the game?  NO!  There was a chicken biscuit sitting there getting cold, doesn't anyone see how dire the situation is?  Alas, it was not warm at all by the time the ice-breaker was over.  That was a real shame, as for the next twenty-three minutes, I had to watch an inspirational speaker on video.  Great ideas, of course.  They wouldn't pay for/use these things if they weren't good.  But did they know my biscuit was cold and the cafeteria seat was only three-quarters the size of my personal seating area?

The meetings weren't too bad.  It's as if someone even heard some of my suggestions.  Yes, there was some reading of papers (not even a powerpoint - just a paper under an Elmo document viewer, as if anyone in the room could read it.) , but there were also a lot of portions where just the new and important information was given.  Not great, but not bad. 

The hard part was a simple thing.  Every year we fill out an emergency contact sheet.  You know, who to contact in case of emergency.  I saw everyone around me putting their husband's/wife's name on the first line, and the "I'm so weird!" brick hit me again.  The tears were just behind my eyes the rest of the day. Almost.  Lunch with my team was good and fun.  But being in the classroom just feels different now.  All afternoon to work in the classroom, too!  But the core of me knows I'm alone, even if I'm surrounded by friends.  Oh, I also found out that another car needs a $400 repair and the dogs escaped today.  They were back home by the time I saw the text, I'm thankful for that and for dear friend that hunts down my dogs.

The point is....there's no point.  I am alone.  But not totally.  Pouring these words onto the computer helps.  I actually think the day might've felt different, though, if I would have gotten to finish that biscuit before it got cold.  Maybe tomorrow.

Only One First 8/12/13

We drove about 800 miles this summer with a kitten in the car.  My sister found her abandoned in Florida while we were visiting.  My girls had planned on adopting a kitten for their college apartment.  It was a match made in heaven.  "Isis", of the long tail. pointy ears, and pointy nose, has been walking, running, leaping joy in our house this summer.  Joy helps put a little ointment on grief occasionally, so I think it was meant to be.   Isis was a tiny baby kitten during this car trip, six weeks old at the most.  We all cooed and baby-talked to her.  Near the end of the trip, Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio.  I said "Awwww, it's Isis' first Bohemian Rhapsody.".  We laughed - every tiny thing that happened to that new little creature could be a "first". 

I, on the other hand, am not young, cute, new, or full of joy.  Yet my new situation, I learned this weekend, will hold a lot of  'firsts'.  And nobody will say "Awwwww!"  These firsts for me are difficult, as they are the first time I will handle a situation without the amazing wisdom and insight of the man I trusted with my life.  I am brave, and I like to think that a little of his wisdom and insight rubbed off on me during our years together.  I research and calculate and figure and plan.  The only problem is......there's no ratings, research, or math that can measure emotional cost. 

My first this past weekend was buying a car for my daughter.  We need to upgrade all of our older vehicles, as the person that could repair them and keep them running for us is gone.  With my girls driving to college five hundred miles away, I need them in dependable cars.  We had sacrificed a lot of dependability with no qualms about doing so, as Scott enjoyed keeping the cars running and could perform 95% of all repairs.  Since that resource is no longer available, I have to step up and make sure all three of us are in good shape in the automotive department.  With four cars to sell to upgrade three people, I saw it as an easy task.

It is easy to find ratings and rankings on vehicle dependability.  It is easy to find the "right" price that you should pay.  It is easy for my youngest daughter to be very specific about what she does - and doesn't- want in a vehicle. Then, to make it easier, I do have a very dear friend in the car business.  They still made a profit on me, but I felt comfortable with the margin. I did have to make a trip to the location where my friend worked, but it was a bonus to spend a weekend with another very dear friend. 

I was prepared. Money, insurance, proof of id, extra driver, (lots of dear friends helped with this enterprise!), a pen to sign my name over and over, and my phone fully charged to check Facebook and crush some candies. Dear friends dropped me at the dealership, where I got to work.  It should be a breeze, right?  I had already done all the research!  First things first, I had to inspect it (having chosen it online), and then drive it.  The sensibility of doing these things before signing and paying made total sense.  I approved the car, gave the green light, and was seated at a desk. 

Thank goodness for the phone!  It evidently takes a long time to get all the paperwork together.  I had to fill out one short form, and then just sit.  I did enjoy the family with two little boys at the next desk.  They were so young, so cute, and didn't care a hoot about the car Mom and Dad were buying!  After so many Facebook checks, and so many tries at a certain level of Candy Crush, I was ushered into a business office.  Then, the next question threw me.

Did I want to add a complete warranty?  (OF COURSE!! THIS IS FOR MY CHILD!!)  It would only cost x amount of dollars to do so, and it's a great idea!  Whoa.........that's x more than the number in my well-planned, well-rehearsed script!  Oh no!  Who can I ask?  I sent mind-messages to the person that would have advised me on this, hoping for some kind of vibe, positive feeling, big red stop sign, anything.....all the while, smiling, frowning and tearing up.  When will I learn to carry tissues?  Thank goodness, dear friend came in (maybe that was the positive sign?) and talked me through the decision, reassured me which choice was best, and I committed.  All by myself. 

That's it!  Write it up!  Pay the total!  Accept the keys and drive my baby's car back to dear friend's house.  That sounds easy.  Only I know that I alternately talked to the sky and sobbed all the way back.  I did manage to have some fun on the weekend trip, but I also took some naps and nursed a headache.  I realized after I performed this great feat that I had done a "first".  It was not fun, and none of the firsts that are yet to come will be either.  The only way to get them to not be a "first" is to do them once.  They may sound the same after that, but at least I will know the huge part of the lesson that I learned this past weekend:  In all the research and preparation, don't forget to count the emotional cost, and prepare for it as well.  It's a bold print-type cost and you can't hide from it. 

Maybe there will be a post on buying the next upgraded vehicle - after I sell a couple to finance that endeavor.  I hope that it will sound and feel pretty much the same, and I'll know what to expect.  You can ask little Isis the kitten if that's true.  You see, on the way home from getting her kitten shots at the vet about a week ago, "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio again. I was just able to turn to that baby kitty and say "'Member this?"  There's only one first, after that I should know all the costs involved, literal or emotional.

If I Could Return This, Please - Another View of Grief 8/2/13

I'd like to return this item, please.  A couple of months ago, I was given this device.  It works by randomly shaking up my emotions and super-intensifying the one it lands on.  I have always been fairly happy and even-tempered with the occasional flare-up of anger or sadness.  It's a smooth path in life, and quite enjoyable.  I did not give it up willingly.  This device, this "grief magnometer", has taken over my thoughts, feelings, opinions, and actions.  It's a dictator with one agenda; to keep me feeling the opposite of how I used to.

Let's talk about sadness.  I have always cried at commercials, animal stories, my own and my family's hurt feelings, and especially when tragedy happened in other families.  It rarely cut me inside with knives like the sadness from the grief magnometer.  This device knows how to read when I am performing a simple task, like putting on makeup, washing dishes, starting the car....and then it attacks.  It uses triggers that I didn't even know existed to bring on the memories, followed by the trembling lip and tears rolling from the eyes.  If I could change the setting, I would have it schedule an appropriate time for sadness and a good cry, then I could carry on with the day.  (Holly Hunter did that brilliantly in a scene from "Broadcast News", by the way.  Check it out.)

The magnometer also knows how to scare me.  I am sensible and smart.  I have made plans to live without my husband's salary.  He loved us so much, and left us in good shape for the future.  But this crazy grief-device unleashes feelings of being afraid if we happen to spend thirty-five dollars on something, or if one of the cars makes a funny noise, or I see a bit of peeling paint out on the porch.  I usually take charge and fix things - fix them myself if I can.  But this new feelings device forces me to sit, stare, shake, cry a bit, (whine a bit) and even talk of giving up.  Thank goodness for family and friends that talk me through these situations and encourage me to be my old self and handle them.  This device is just plain old mean!

Speaking of mean.....that is one word that has never really described me.  I'm sure I had my moments as a young person, but as an adult, I think that I've only been considered to be a 'nice' person.  I like to joke when a new student comes in at the middle of the school year by introducing myself and saying loudly  "......and I'm the meanest teacher here!"  Of course, all the other little ones start saying "No, you're the nicest!"  "You're not mean!"  (If you're insecure, or an attention-hog, I highly recommend being a good elementary music teacher.)  I try to ALWAYS be nice to people.  So, mean feelings surprise me.  Feeling mean is different from feeling angry.  Feeling mean is strange.  The grief magnometer sometimes likes to shake things up and make me feel mean when people are trying to help me.  Not good friends, but people that I might have to call, or have an appointment with - people that have my best interests in mind!  I sit on the phone with them, or drive to my appointment, thinking mean thoughts about them, and concocting mean things I can do to them.  Feeling this way is so unlike me.  This is the main emotion shake-up that makes me so angry.

Oh, anger!!  When I was in college, my roommate took a class called "Death and Dying".  She would share portions of what they learned - it was such a foreign concept to college kids!  They memorized the stages of grief as set forth by Elizabeth Kubler Ross.  I remember Maria telling me the stages, they were novel and interesting at the time.  I understood all of them except anger.  I mean, yes, "you can be angry that someone is gone, but aren't you more sad?" I thought.  My twenty-year-old self thought that.  My present self knows that the anger is the quickest emotion to flare in my state of grief.  Everything triggers anger, because it doesn't matter if the feeling is good or bad to start with, the anger comes around in the form of "Why aren't you here to share this beautiful thing/help me with this difficult thing?" I'm angry at fate, I'm angry at him, I'm angry at the life insurance company, I'm angry at my financial advisor, I'm angry at anyone that expresses a different opinion, I'm angry at the companies that keep sending bills, I'm angry at my fingernails for continuing to grow, I'm angry at the grocery store for not hiding that chili and those hot wings from my eyes, I'm..........angry. Very recently, I went into a yelling, screaming, cursing rage fit.  Ninety minutes later, I was so embarrassed by my own self, I was in tears.  Thank goodness family understands.  I am controlled by this grief device.  I just never know which button it's going to push on which day.

It's too bad that this grief magnometer is a final sale item.  I cannot return it.  The thing it came in to replace is permanently gone, and it is permanently here.  I think I can change some habits and surroundings and learn to live with it, but I wouldn't if I didn't have to. 

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.

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.

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.