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.
Showing posts with label death of a spouse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death of a spouse. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Sometimes I Can't Say It, But Disney Can 4/29/14
I can't say certain things. I have a code that I employ. Those close to me usually know what I mean, but I avoid the most direct words. I don't know why, I should be able to speak clearly about anything. I enjoy employing the right words to get a message across. So why am I shut down when it comes to talking about Scott's death and all the things that happen afterward? I didn't even want to type those words in that last sentence.
Many of you have heard me speak directly, contradicting what I just said. It does happen. I try hard. I act. I pretend that I can say that and move on with the story or conversation at hand. I fool myself and it works for a while. Other times, I just can't. My voice can't speak "when Scott died", so I say "...with what happened...", usually with a wave of my hand and a sad look on my face. People understand. They don't push. I'm pretty sure people would understand anything, though, so I don't know why I hide.
I hide what I'm doing. If I say I need to "get some things done", I am probably finally cleaning his clothes out of the chest of drawers and taking them to Goodwill. If I have a "meeting", I am probably finding out how to transfer assets or close an account (or even a business) by seeing a professional in person or talking on the phone.
I'm trying now, though. Since I'm starting to be open about the fact that I'm seeing someone (dating, have a boyfriend, in a relationship.....what's it called when you're in your 50s??), I'm really attempting to state the facts. Today, though, Disney made it clear. You see, there are some Disney movies that, when they are showing, I can play every word of dialogue and every song lyric in my head. I can do a complete talk and sing-along with these certain few movies. Today, it was "The Lion King".
It's "Field Day" at school for the the next three days. During Field Day, a grade level goes outside for their fun races/relays for half of the school day. Six grade levels, one half day each = three entire days. Since the coaches run field day, the 'large group' time happens with me and the art teacher. All the kids in the grade level, sitting in the gym, watching a movie. Sounds easy, right? It is, about eighty percent of the time. The other twenty percent is filled with the challenge of pre-teens that have attitudes, eight-year-olds that hit each other, or little ones that throw up or bite someone. Today I play imperial ruler and choose which movie will entertain a grade level the best. I decided that third grade would get "The Lion King". They needed a powerful movie because they came in all dressed in their colored t-shirts, ready to go for their afternoon of field day. I was blindly singing along when I sang these words:
I'm trying now, though. Since I'm starting to be open about the fact that I'm seeing someone (dating, have a boyfriend, in a relationship.....what's it called when you're in your 50s??), I'm really attempting to state the facts. Today, though, Disney made it clear. You see, there are some Disney movies that, when they are showing, I can play every word of dialogue and every song lyric in my head. I can do a complete talk and sing-along with these certain few movies. Today, it was "The Lion King".
It's "Field Day" at school for the the next three days. During Field Day, a grade level goes outside for their fun races/relays for half of the school day. Six grade levels, one half day each = three entire days. Since the coaches run field day, the 'large group' time happens with me and the art teacher. All the kids in the grade level, sitting in the gym, watching a movie. Sounds easy, right? It is, about eighty percent of the time. The other twenty percent is filled with the challenge of pre-teens that have attitudes, eight-year-olds that hit each other, or little ones that throw up or bite someone. Today I play imperial ruler and choose which movie will entertain a grade level the best. I decided that third grade would get "The Lion King". They needed a powerful movie because they came in all dressed in their colored t-shirts, ready to go for their afternoon of field day. I was blindly singing along when I sang these words:
"From the day we arrive on the planet
And blinking, step into the sun.
There's more to see than can ever be seen,
more to do than can ever be done.
There's far too much to take in here,
More to find than can ever be found.
But the sun rolling high
Through the sapphire sky
Keeps great and small on the endless round
It's the Circle of Life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
It's the Circle,
The Circle of Life"
I'd heard it at least five hundred times before. I've sung along, taught the notes, conducted it in performance. I've even heard it several times since Scott died. (See what I did there? I'm trying!) But I heard it differently today because of the progression of events in my life. Who knew that a cartoon about lions could validate what I was discovering; that life can move on - from despair to hope? Quite often though, I find that songs or writings can give me inspiration, validation and a sense of confirmation for what I am feeling. I think we all do, and that's part of the reason the arts exist.
Moving on doesn't mean we leave our past behind. (Or "your behind in your past" , as Pumbaa says!) Simba didn't want to talk about Mufasa's death, either. But his friends encouraged him to try to keep enjoying life. "Moving on" is not about forgetting the past; for me it means finding my place on "the path unwinding". I have my own personal "Timons and Pumbaas". Thank you for all your kind words and encouragement to find my place.
Last, but not least, a round of applause for Tim Rice, lyricist, and Disney - well said, my friends.
Moving on doesn't mean we leave our past behind. (Or "your behind in your past" , as Pumbaa says!) Simba didn't want to talk about Mufasa's death, either. But his friends encouraged him to try to keep enjoying life. "Moving on" is not about forgetting the past; for me it means finding my place on "the path unwinding". I have my own personal "Timons and Pumbaas". Thank you for all your kind words and encouragement to find my place.
Last, but not least, a round of applause for Tim Rice, lyricist, and Disney - well said, my friends.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Double Classes and Holding My Breath 4/17/14
Surprise! The art teacher is sick today and there's no substitute! "Of course, I'll take those classes. No problem." I mean, what choice is there, really? Somebody has to take the extra group; I have one and PE already has two. Simple math, the music teacher takes the extra group.
So today, instead of having my usual thirty darlings, I get to control anywhere from fifty to seventy. Alone. I've kind of gotten used to alone. Actually, though, that may be changing.
The last time I had to endure double classes, I wrote about taking a breath. Taking a breath emotionally and letting the realization of "who I am now" find the cracks in the wall that let happiness shine through like bright summer sun. I am a little further along that path now. A journey continues on a daily basis, does it not? My itinerary has been busy lately.
I have seen the sunshine of happiness and I am now traveling a road of healing. the care, attention and understanding given to me by Robbie have helped me wake up and realize that joy can be re-discovered in the aftermath of sorrow. Robbie is traveling the same road, so when we need to take a break and sit on a bench for a while....we do.
Today, although I'm having to monitor double classes, I'm holding my breath - in anticipation. Robbie, who has kindly traveled the miles to visit me twice already, is visiting again this weekend. Although we talk very often, it's so much nicer in person. I'm anticipating laughter, serious talk, fun, a little sadness, but mostly a wonderful time.
Even though I had twice the students I usually do today...on the day before a holiday...I can smile on the inside and know that there's someone to listen to me talk about it when I get home. I may be alone in the classroom, but no longer in my spirit. What a difference. Robbie and I acknowledge our respective tragic pasts and are seeking a happier future. The sad chapters in our story have come to a close, and some happy chapters are being written. So talk on, big groups of kids. I'll hold my breath until 4:00 and enjoy the weekend.
So today, instead of having my usual thirty darlings, I get to control anywhere from fifty to seventy. Alone. I've kind of gotten used to alone. Actually, though, that may be changing.
The last time I had to endure double classes, I wrote about taking a breath. Taking a breath emotionally and letting the realization of "who I am now" find the cracks in the wall that let happiness shine through like bright summer sun. I am a little further along that path now. A journey continues on a daily basis, does it not? My itinerary has been busy lately.
I have seen the sunshine of happiness and I am now traveling a road of healing. the care, attention and understanding given to me by Robbie have helped me wake up and realize that joy can be re-discovered in the aftermath of sorrow. Robbie is traveling the same road, so when we need to take a break and sit on a bench for a while....we do.
Today, although I'm having to monitor double classes, I'm holding my breath - in anticipation. Robbie, who has kindly traveled the miles to visit me twice already, is visiting again this weekend. Although we talk very often, it's so much nicer in person. I'm anticipating laughter, serious talk, fun, a little sadness, but mostly a wonderful time.
Even though I had twice the students I usually do today...on the day before a holiday...I can smile on the inside and know that there's someone to listen to me talk about it when I get home. I may be alone in the classroom, but no longer in my spirit. What a difference. Robbie and I acknowledge our respective tragic pasts and are seeking a happier future. The sad chapters in our story have come to a close, and some happy chapters are being written. So talk on, big groups of kids. I'll hold my breath until 4:00 and enjoy the weekend.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Help-books and Fun-books....
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!
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!
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Are you entertaining? 4/1/14 (not an April fool!)
It was the cutest question ever. I'm a sucker for the old-fashioned phrases anyway, but this one just made me giggle, blush and think "Oh, how cute!" at the same time. There is this adorable, very stylish, Southern LADY (capitals on purpose!) at my workplace. She is a source of inspiration to me because her charm and happy attitude never falter. She also went through losing her husband suddenly - but is now happily re-married.
I asked her, shortly after I started talking to someone, how soon after her husband died she started dating, or met her second husband. I was trying to sort through my own feelings of stepping into any kind of involvement, especially when a year had not passed. (Her answer was more proper than my situation, so I just tucked that knowledge away and carried on!) I just get the feeling that if I do something too quickly or without seeming to show proper respect, that everyone will pass judgement. Maybe I've watched too much "Gone With the Wind", but this is what my mind sees when people ask a question and I answer honestly:
So instead, I drop hints or keep quiet. If you read this, then you know - but there are very few of you, to tell the truth. I'm not sure some of my relatives even read it! It's a fact I can share now, though; I'm dating. He lost his special someone, too, so we have that in common. I didn't search for him, he searched for me. I feel like a character from a book because things have been so coincidental and magical. It's early days right now, but it's very nice.
I thought I was keeping things to myself and a few close friends, until the cute question today. Precious Southern lady came into the workroom for lunch, and started looking around while her food was heating in the microwave. "I just love to look at what everybody brings for lunch!" she drawled. Focusing on my little dish: "Oooh, you made a pot roast? For just you?" I blushed, and just shook my head 'no'. She then whisper-exclaimed (oh, so properly...) "Oh my goodness, are you entertaining?" I nodded, laughing, while she gave me a big hug. "I'm so glad to hear that, good for you!" I could only agree. Please don't faint like Aunt Pittypat.....please just accept the notion that I might be "entertaining" and it might be making me happier than I have been in a long time!
I asked her, shortly after I started talking to someone, how soon after her husband died she started dating, or met her second husband. I was trying to sort through my own feelings of stepping into any kind of involvement, especially when a year had not passed. (Her answer was more proper than my situation, so I just tucked that knowledge away and carried on!) I just get the feeling that if I do something too quickly or without seeming to show proper respect, that everyone will pass judgement. Maybe I've watched too much "Gone With the Wind", but this is what my mind sees when people ask a question and I answer honestly:
So instead, I drop hints or keep quiet. If you read this, then you know - but there are very few of you, to tell the truth. I'm not sure some of my relatives even read it! It's a fact I can share now, though; I'm dating. He lost his special someone, too, so we have that in common. I didn't search for him, he searched for me. I feel like a character from a book because things have been so coincidental and magical. It's early days right now, but it's very nice.
I thought I was keeping things to myself and a few close friends, until the cute question today. Precious Southern lady came into the workroom for lunch, and started looking around while her food was heating in the microwave. "I just love to look at what everybody brings for lunch!" she drawled. Focusing on my little dish: "Oooh, you made a pot roast? For just you?" I blushed, and just shook my head 'no'. She then whisper-exclaimed (oh, so properly...) "Oh my goodness, are you entertaining?" I nodded, laughing, while she gave me a big hug. "I'm so glad to hear that, good for you!" I could only agree. Please don't faint like Aunt Pittypat.....please just accept the notion that I might be "entertaining" and it might be making me happier than I have been in a long time!
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.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Still no right or wrong? (With apologies to the Yankees...)
I don't know anymore. What's right, that is....or what's wrong. And this sentiment has nothing to do with people that have questioned me or told me "You better watch out...." I am a very fortunate woman; everyone supports me, cheers me on, tells me how smart I am, etc. I am obviously smart enough to surround myself with the right people, wink wink. Here's what I don't know - when do I throw out that "no right, no wrong" philosophy because it has become a crutch that allows me to be a spoiled brat that says "I want this...." and gets it, with no regard for anyone involved in whatever "it" is?
This is a subject that needs a lot of "thought". I wish it could be all light and fun. But it's not, and I do mean to approach it still. I want to ensure that I take the right path. I've seen and known people that use their circumstance as an excuse to be selfish. A "dowager countess", or "poor widow" attitude - where everyone in society still today makes excuses for their behavior.
I know that I am not a selfish bitch. Please don't look at this and think that you have to say "Oh, no, you're not, blah blah blah.....". I know that. I am talking more about an inner attitude than outward actions. I can behave myself with the best of them. It's what I think when something is happening that has changed. You would never know. If you know me at all, you know that it's very difficult to tell how I really, truly feel, much less what I think; unless I let you. I have a privacy fence around my true feelings that has very few gates.
I'm stepping into uncharted territory. I'm doing my best to finish: probate, transfers of property, vehicle sales and purchases, taxes, completing a year alone, making every decision, and always being the one to pet every animal. I've done it. I haven't been perfect, but I don't allow myself to be far off perfect. However, I am also now a single person. That's frightening. I mean.......I realized I was 'single' the night my husband died. I just didn't put all the accessories with it, because the all-engulfing sadness of losing your spouse doesn't let you do that. As I have traveled the road of time, I am able to put the feelings in their place. The sadness is there. So is laughter, pride, aggravation and loneliness. But it also has me realizing that a part of my life is wearing off. It's becoming a memory instead of a reality.
I suppose some people choose to put all their feelings under glass and live out the rest of their life in a sort of acid-free, preserved way. And others choose to shift the feelings as they change; to sort them and file them in the right place. Personally, I'm at a crossroads right now. I know that it's my prerogative to sort the feelings as I choose. I know that what's right for me is really what's right. But when the attitude and feelings of others could possibly be affected by my sorting....I have to start caring again. I have to start thinking along the lines of right and wrong. If you know me, you know that I can't be the snooty widow that does what she wants just because life slapped me in the face one time. There are things to consider.
I'm still wearing the ring, and probably always will. It's a thing; a beautiful thing. But its scratches don't actually cause it any pain. My attitude has to be different toward life and real feelings that actually affect real people. If I could, I would hide everyone's feelings to protect them, just as the silver was hidden from the Yankees. As it is, I will remember that right and wrong have re-surfaced for me and I will travel the road carefully, with the rules in mind. After all......tomorrow is another day!
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Briefcases and Tiffany hearts 2/8/14
There were these guys when I was in fifth or sixth grade. They were smart. They played kickball, did a little music, but mostly they were the smart guys. Then all of the sudden, they all started carrying briefcases to school. A briefcase - like a Wall Street broker or something. The rest of us just giggled a bit and went back to band, swim team, staking out our favorite equipment on the playground (do the words 'witch's hat' spark a memory, anyone?) and yes - we all played massive kickball tournaments, even briefcase guys. When the briefcases started their run, I was carrying a clarinet, some played sports, some loved makeup, clothes and shoes, others were under the hood of a car before they could drive. It's as if, somewhere around ten or eleven years old, a great imaginary dividing ceremony takes place and sends us to our group.
If you're a reader, you are also recognizing this idea from some great fiction out there. "Divergent", the "Harry Potter" series, many others play on this theme, that you all of the sudden 'grow up' and 'find your group' at that age. The thing is, it's an eternal theme because it rings true in real life. I watch it happen with the darlings I teach, year after year. In fourth grade, they start 'hanging around' the kids that are most like them, instead of just anyone. Girls who take dance outside of school stick together, etc. And if you think I'm giving an idyllic, fairy-tale view of this natural separation, I will throw this out there: I referee more mean comments, hurt feelings and actual tears simply because very young friends are growing apart and they don't have the emotional maturity to realize it's okay, you can miss that friend, you can make an effort to still be friends, or you can remain acquaintances. They don't know. It's their first bump in the road of all their friendships and relationships to come. By fifth grade, the groups set themselves. I give them a talk each year about moving on to middle school and finding their 'group'. I love when they come back to me and visit, and band (or choir, or orchestra, or theater...or even football or art) is their whole life, all their friends are from that group and their grades are fantastic and they are headed for college.
I've been living the very adult version of 'finding my group' for the past nine months. Before nine months ago today, I didn't belong to any group that had experienced tragic loss. Loss of grandparents, older aunts and uncles, yes. But I had lost no parents, siblings, or children. I didn't have that frame of reference before May 8th. I started thinking this way because I saw an image that made me reflect on the changes that take place long after you find your first 'group'.
Tiffany hearts? Yes, they made me think. I wore these earrings on Thursday and Friday. Invariably, every time I looked in the mirror, one heart was upside down. I fixed it, tightened the back, but to no avail. Of course, the earrings being hearts, it made me think - my heart has felt upside-down lately. It just jumped out at me that we always need to find our group. Life changes, and life changes us. I'm still the person I was before, but with a new addition to my personality. And it makes me gravitate toward certain people. I have been able to have better heart-to-heart conversations with friends that have experienced loss than with others lately. I'm not saying "I'm not your friend anymore" to anyone. I'm simply feeling more of a kinship with those that always have their 'event' in the front of their minds, just as I do.
The upside-down heart brought that home to me. A right-side-up heart looks settled, closed, happy, and states 'don't change me'! An upside-down heart is one that has been turned over and is now looking to find its way back. Nothing is settled anymore. That is how my earrings taught me a little something about myself this week. Most of me is settled. But there's a part that's been moving toward a bit of a different group. And that's okay. I think every heart should have an upside-down section. It keeps us from turning inward and never experiencing new things.
The briefcase guys didn't keep carrying briefcases into high school. The band kids learned to make friends with the athletes. Finding your group is an ongoing process, because life is an ongoing journey. When you look in the mirror and find out that part of your heart is upside-down at the moment, be happy that in spite of all, you're not too set in your ways to change just a bit. Because the road twists and turns and you'll be left behind if you don't.
If you're a reader, you are also recognizing this idea from some great fiction out there. "Divergent", the "Harry Potter" series, many others play on this theme, that you all of the sudden 'grow up' and 'find your group' at that age. The thing is, it's an eternal theme because it rings true in real life. I watch it happen with the darlings I teach, year after year. In fourth grade, they start 'hanging around' the kids that are most like them, instead of just anyone. Girls who take dance outside of school stick together, etc. And if you think I'm giving an idyllic, fairy-tale view of this natural separation, I will throw this out there: I referee more mean comments, hurt feelings and actual tears simply because very young friends are growing apart and they don't have the emotional maturity to realize it's okay, you can miss that friend, you can make an effort to still be friends, or you can remain acquaintances. They don't know. It's their first bump in the road of all their friendships and relationships to come. By fifth grade, the groups set themselves. I give them a talk each year about moving on to middle school and finding their 'group'. I love when they come back to me and visit, and band (or choir, or orchestra, or theater...or even football or art) is their whole life, all their friends are from that group and their grades are fantastic and they are headed for college.
I've been living the very adult version of 'finding my group' for the past nine months. Before nine months ago today, I didn't belong to any group that had experienced tragic loss. Loss of grandparents, older aunts and uncles, yes. But I had lost no parents, siblings, or children. I didn't have that frame of reference before May 8th. I started thinking this way because I saw an image that made me reflect on the changes that take place long after you find your first 'group'.
The upside-down heart brought that home to me. A right-side-up heart looks settled, closed, happy, and states 'don't change me'! An upside-down heart is one that has been turned over and is now looking to find its way back. Nothing is settled anymore. That is how my earrings taught me a little something about myself this week. Most of me is settled. But there's a part that's been moving toward a bit of a different group. And that's okay. I think every heart should have an upside-down section. It keeps us from turning inward and never experiencing new things.
The briefcase guys didn't keep carrying briefcases into high school. The band kids learned to make friends with the athletes. Finding your group is an ongoing process, because life is an ongoing journey. When you look in the mirror and find out that part of your heart is upside-down at the moment, be happy that in spite of all, you're not too set in your ways to change just a bit. Because the road twists and turns and you'll be left behind if you don't.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
Why the Daffodil? 2/1/14
Why the daffodil? You know the daffodil in my profile picture? They are one of my favorite flowers. When we lived in England, we had this sprawling house on an enormous yard with trees, landscaping, grapevines, a full row of apple and pear trees.......and daffodil bulbs hidden all under the grass of the front yard. Every year, when the grey skies would finally lift a bit and spring would give us a warm day or two, my front 'garden' was a sea of yellow daffodils. I had never had them in any of my yards or gardens before that, so I was thrilled at their beauty and the ease with which the re-appeared every year.
Last year, I bought a bag of daffodil bulbs on a whim at Home Depot. I had cleaned some pesky plants from around one of my pine trees in the back yard, leaving a small bed that was begging for some prettiness. The bag sat on the back porch for a few weeks until I finally got up and dug holes to plant them. I surrounded my tree with daffodil bulbs, then had enough left over to line the edge of the flower bed up front. I crossed my fingers for them and forgot about them.
Well, I didn't totally forget. I went out back to the tree every few days, looking for signs of life from underground. Sure enough, little green blades eventually forced themselves through the hard-packed dirt, and grew a little taller day by day. Eventually, one of the blades had a lump at the top - a lump destined to be a flower. In the time between planting those bulbs and seeing the possibility of a flower, we had some freezing weather, some very warm weather, stretches of no rain, suddenly too much rain - everything but snow and ice. Not last year. The leaves didn't care. They grew taller and taller, until I predicted: "My daffodils will bloom by Easter, I can tell!" I was very excited. Bloom they did, and I took a little time out for a photo session. The flower in the picture is indeed one of MY daffodils. I only brought a few inside to a vase. I left them to put a smile on the yard. It wasn't a sea, but it was a happy spot. By the time they were gone, so was Scott.
The brown leaves wither away and you forget the bulbs are under the dirt. They've been under there for almost a year, waiting, preparing, letting nature guide them as to when those leaves should start their journey again. They've endured extreme heat, flooding rains, freezing temperatures, sleet, and numerous critters, domesticated and not. They just know they are supposed to stay right there underground until nature says rebirth must happen.
The experience of the daffodil bulb (MY daffodils) is similar to the walk of grief. I have endured paperwork, meetings, making huge decisions, breaking down, working in spite of all, and trying to be wise for a future that could maybe ever be happy again. I'm getting there. It's as natural as the daffodil leaves that I laugh a little more again. That lady carrying five copies of a court document out of Office Depot? That was me. It's moving along as nature intended that probate court is finished and I must fill out more applications, file more paperwork....but it's leading somewhere. About a week ago, I noticed the tips of the leaves peeking out of the ground. The flowers will be back this year. Nature has said "it's time", even though there was a freeze last week and another predicted for next week. They know how to time it. And they are strong. They are hardy. A beautiful flower that spreads joy for a season, then bends its head to go away and prepare to be reborn the next year.......that is "why the daffodil".
Last year, I bought a bag of daffodil bulbs on a whim at Home Depot. I had cleaned some pesky plants from around one of my pine trees in the back yard, leaving a small bed that was begging for some prettiness. The bag sat on the back porch for a few weeks until I finally got up and dug holes to plant them. I surrounded my tree with daffodil bulbs, then had enough left over to line the edge of the flower bed up front. I crossed my fingers for them and forgot about them.
Well, I didn't totally forget. I went out back to the tree every few days, looking for signs of life from underground. Sure enough, little green blades eventually forced themselves through the hard-packed dirt, and grew a little taller day by day. Eventually, one of the blades had a lump at the top - a lump destined to be a flower. In the time between planting those bulbs and seeing the possibility of a flower, we had some freezing weather, some very warm weather, stretches of no rain, suddenly too much rain - everything but snow and ice. Not last year. The leaves didn't care. They grew taller and taller, until I predicted: "My daffodils will bloom by Easter, I can tell!" I was very excited. Bloom they did, and I took a little time out for a photo session. The flower in the picture is indeed one of MY daffodils. I only brought a few inside to a vase. I left them to put a smile on the yard. It wasn't a sea, but it was a happy spot. By the time they were gone, so was Scott.
The brown leaves wither away and you forget the bulbs are under the dirt. They've been under there for almost a year, waiting, preparing, letting nature guide them as to when those leaves should start their journey again. They've endured extreme heat, flooding rains, freezing temperatures, sleet, and numerous critters, domesticated and not. They just know they are supposed to stay right there underground until nature says rebirth must happen.
The experience of the daffodil bulb (MY daffodils) is similar to the walk of grief. I have endured paperwork, meetings, making huge decisions, breaking down, working in spite of all, and trying to be wise for a future that could maybe ever be happy again. I'm getting there. It's as natural as the daffodil leaves that I laugh a little more again. That lady carrying five copies of a court document out of Office Depot? That was me. It's moving along as nature intended that probate court is finished and I must fill out more applications, file more paperwork....but it's leading somewhere. About a week ago, I noticed the tips of the leaves peeking out of the ground. The flowers will be back this year. Nature has said "it's time", even though there was a freeze last week and another predicted for next week. They know how to time it. And they are strong. They are hardy. A beautiful flower that spreads joy for a season, then bends its head to go away and prepare to be reborn the next year.......that is "why the daffodil".
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.
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