I've been struggling with something for a while now. Let's see if any of you have a similar problem. Years ago, about 24 years ago to be exact, somebody was very mean to me. Flat-out rude. In front of quite a few people - some of whom took up for me and tried to right the situation. Thank goodness for those people, because I didn't end up thinking that the entire room hated me. Twenty-four years? How would that affect me still? ......you might ask.
Here's the deal. I imagine myself coming in contact with that person in the present. (It could happen, although chances are it won't.) Instead of imagining my gracious self saying "Oh, I remember you, hello!" I scheme and pet my cat, a' la Dr. Evil, and dream up ways to tell the whole imaginary crowd that they were very mean to me in the past and don't deserve my attention now.
My heart knows, however, that such a reaction would be wrong, immature and against everything I teach and try to live. I really don't think I have it in me to confront anyone in that way, no matter how I feel inside. I could probably type it, from the comfort of my own home, constructing all the phrasing to show me in the best light, them in the worst.......oh wait, that sounds so familiar.
Maybe we all have a past incident that we would love to re-visit in today's time, just to show "I was right" or "You were wrong" or "Look where I am now!" I suppose it's human nature. In reality though, we need to remain gracious and kind. I have stalked the mean person from my past and seen them in family pictures, having fun, looking oh so nice. I suppose I could change my heart and be my sweet self if ever a chance meeting happened again. Thinking about payback is amusing, but in real life, I vote for being nice, all the time.
Showing posts with label feelings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label feelings. Show all posts
Saturday, June 2, 2018
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.
Sunday, January 5, 2014
What the Unicorn Girl Said - 1/5/14
It's still all around; the Christmas stuff. I've started kind of moving it to one table, so I can eventually put it away so, so neatly. That's how my mind thinks. There's really only three things on that table. I feel that when I pack it all away, he is gone from Christmas forever. Replaced by the one that we did totally by ourselves.
Between that first paragraph and the start of this one, it's all put away. Well, mostly. I always leave out two boxes for a few extra days - one for the towels, pot holders, things that need washing; the other for the 'extra' finds that are inevitably missed in the first clean-up sweep. I feel accomplished. Yet I feel......I feel cheated. I feel cheated because I was reminded, in cleaning up the year, of what was stolen from me. I feel the need to share something that came home with me, and you can take from it what you will. I am mostly sharing this for two types of people; adults with sentimental memories of their own, and young adult girls (women) like my daughters that are in the midst of dating, falling in love, and trying to find that special someone.
I have all sorts of memories of my husband around the house. I will work on organizing, deciding what to save, what to pass on.......one of these days. Right now, I just look at things occasionally, and put them back in their cabinet or drawer or box. I'll get the right feeling when I'm ready. Perhaps moving into the new year will advance that feeling, but then again, maybe not. I'll just have to wait and see.
I visited my mother-in-law for a couple of days over the holidays. At one point, she handed me a manila envelope, taped closed, marked "Scott-memories". I slid it into the front flat zipper pocket on my suitcase and promptly forgot about it. (Conveniently forgetting things is a part of grief, perhaps one of my greatest defenses!) I forgot so hard that I didn't even remember to close the zipper on that pouch when I checked my bag to fly. The envelope was partially sticking out when I claimed the bag. After an "oh crap!" moment, I zipped it closed and forgot about it again.
So, as part of the "put away Christmas", I decided to get those last few things out of the suitcase so it could be put away as well. And there was the envelope. I saved it for bedtime, alone time, no interaction-with-other-humans time.....just in case. I cut open the tape, and pulled out one thing at a time. Drawings, report cards, birthday cards, progress reports, one after another. Then, two envelopes. The first, an inner envelope of a sort, with his parent's names - "Trudy and Jim" in my handwriting. I opened it - she had saved our wedding invitation from 1984. I glanced at it, had a few memories, and put it away. I have one, too, so now each girl can have one if they want it. The second envelope held a card, and was addressed to Scott by me, postmarked July 9, 1981.
Our first date was January 14, 1981, so this was almost six months later. I was eighteen years old, and it was the summer between my freshman and sophomore year. I pulled out the card - it had a big unicorn on the cover. Yes, I was a unicorn girl. I admit it. Some of the vestiges are still around, coffee mugs and figurines. It's really time to clean out! I opened the card and started reading. Mostly descriptions of what I was doing, and had to do in the next few days. Sweet, innocent, young. But right in the middle, there it was. The part that brought me to tears. How could I say this after only six months? I would chastise any young girl that did so today! These words, though, brought home to me what I'd lost, how invested I was, and why it's so easy now to "be strong" and yet so difficult to "move on".
If you are a young girl looking for the right person today, saying words like this may happen through text or tweet, or snapchat, or whatever ghostly invention comes next. And I feel sad that you won't be able to hold it in your hands thirty-three years later and smile or cry or laugh about it. If you are saying something like this, though, be aware that you could actually be expressing a desire for what will turn out to be your whole life. It could come true, it could be made real. Just be aware of that. It was made real for me, and I was fortunate; it was true and turned out beyond well. Hence my strength. Also my sadness. Here's to memories for us that are older, and to looking for your happily-ever-after for those that are searching.
My words to him, in pretty cursive writing in a unicorn card:
"I can't wait to see you again. I feel like I can face the world if you're there holding my hand. You make me so strong - you know that, don't you? I love you."
Between that first paragraph and the start of this one, it's all put away. Well, mostly. I always leave out two boxes for a few extra days - one for the towels, pot holders, things that need washing; the other for the 'extra' finds that are inevitably missed in the first clean-up sweep. I feel accomplished. Yet I feel......I feel cheated. I feel cheated because I was reminded, in cleaning up the year, of what was stolen from me. I feel the need to share something that came home with me, and you can take from it what you will. I am mostly sharing this for two types of people; adults with sentimental memories of their own, and young adult girls (women) like my daughters that are in the midst of dating, falling in love, and trying to find that special someone.
I have all sorts of memories of my husband around the house. I will work on organizing, deciding what to save, what to pass on.......one of these days. Right now, I just look at things occasionally, and put them back in their cabinet or drawer or box. I'll get the right feeling when I'm ready. Perhaps moving into the new year will advance that feeling, but then again, maybe not. I'll just have to wait and see.
I visited my mother-in-law for a couple of days over the holidays. At one point, she handed me a manila envelope, taped closed, marked "Scott-memories". I slid it into the front flat zipper pocket on my suitcase and promptly forgot about it. (Conveniently forgetting things is a part of grief, perhaps one of my greatest defenses!) I forgot so hard that I didn't even remember to close the zipper on that pouch when I checked my bag to fly. The envelope was partially sticking out when I claimed the bag. After an "oh crap!" moment, I zipped it closed and forgot about it again.
So, as part of the "put away Christmas", I decided to get those last few things out of the suitcase so it could be put away as well. And there was the envelope. I saved it for bedtime, alone time, no interaction-with-other-humans time.....just in case. I cut open the tape, and pulled out one thing at a time. Drawings, report cards, birthday cards, progress reports, one after another. Then, two envelopes. The first, an inner envelope of a sort, with his parent's names - "Trudy and Jim" in my handwriting. I opened it - she had saved our wedding invitation from 1984. I glanced at it, had a few memories, and put it away. I have one, too, so now each girl can have one if they want it. The second envelope held a card, and was addressed to Scott by me, postmarked July 9, 1981.
Our first date was January 14, 1981, so this was almost six months later. I was eighteen years old, and it was the summer between my freshman and sophomore year. I pulled out the card - it had a big unicorn on the cover. Yes, I was a unicorn girl. I admit it. Some of the vestiges are still around, coffee mugs and figurines. It's really time to clean out! I opened the card and started reading. Mostly descriptions of what I was doing, and had to do in the next few days. Sweet, innocent, young. But right in the middle, there it was. The part that brought me to tears. How could I say this after only six months? I would chastise any young girl that did so today! These words, though, brought home to me what I'd lost, how invested I was, and why it's so easy now to "be strong" and yet so difficult to "move on".
If you are a young girl looking for the right person today, saying words like this may happen through text or tweet, or snapchat, or whatever ghostly invention comes next. And I feel sad that you won't be able to hold it in your hands thirty-three years later and smile or cry or laugh about it. If you are saying something like this, though, be aware that you could actually be expressing a desire for what will turn out to be your whole life. It could come true, it could be made real. Just be aware of that. It was made real for me, and I was fortunate; it was true and turned out beyond well. Hence my strength. Also my sadness. Here's to memories for us that are older, and to looking for your happily-ever-after for those that are searching.
My words to him, in pretty cursive writing in a unicorn card:
"I can't wait to see you again. I feel like I can face the world if you're there holding my hand. You make me so strong - you know that, don't you? I love you."
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Practicing What I Preach or How to Act Like a Grown-Up 11/10/13
"He hit me!" "I did not!" "Yes, you did, your elbow hit me when you sat down!" Mrs. McCarty then intervenes: "If I accidentally stepped on your hand, would I say 'sorry' so, so quickly?" Elbow child; "Yes...." "Then say 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that' to her." Elbow child, mumbling, head down; "I'm sorry." Mrs. McCarty; "You didn't mean to do that, you're just saying you're sorry that it happened! That's how we are nice to each other!" Elbow child; nothing.
This happens at least once a week. In elementary school, little accidental bumps and jostles can be interpreted by the 'victim' as a crime against themselves and all of humanity. I always use myself as the example 'bad guy', because they know what my reaction would be. I'm so, so sweet and nice, and I would feel terrible if I stepped on their little hand (which does happen but only a couple times a year, so I have a great safety average! And no serious injuries ever, thank goodness.) By telling them to apologize for the fact that the mistake happened, I hope I'm teaching manners, maturity, responsibility, you name it. The thing is.....can I practice what I preach with adults?
In the process of walking through my grief, I present what I consider a very 'normal' outside. I work, laugh, joke, complain, suggest....all different from how I feel on the inside. I hide the sadness by instinct. It's not because of you that I hide it - it's because of me. Sometimes I go a little further than I want in the 'normal'. Evidently, one day, a while ago, I made a comment at lunch (based on a happening conversation, mind you...) that 'maybe there's someone out there for me'. I didn't mean now. I might not mean ever. It was an offhand comment, in context of the conversation. There was someone there, though, that took my words to heart.
This particular someone is on a totally different path, having been divorced for a long while, and recently seeing someone. A couple of weeks after my comment, this person seriously encouraged me to 'Go online, honey. Match.com, it worked for me.' I kind of said "Oh really!" and turned the conversation back to my people at my table. Later, I complained to friends. That bothered me. I was approaching only six months without him, how dare this person suggest such a thing right now? After I complained, and got the sufficient amount of pity from my net (what's a net? read this and find out: http://momastery.com/blog/2013/11/07/idea-title-im-even-sure-read-nets-well-call-nets/
I'm not on drugs, or bulimic, or getting arrested....and I have a net. I am more fortunate than young Glennon. I am also thankful that she has found her way in life and for her ability to inspire others. So...I complained to my net about that 'insensitive remark', got my assurances that I was right, that person was wrong, and was done with it. I mean, we love to complain to our friends and be assured that our view is the correct one, right? It's a national sport!
Well, it happened a second time. The person had reached a milestone in their new relationship, and was obviously (and rightly) elated. And once again, they took the chance to look at me and say 'Match.com, I'm tellin' ya, Ms. McCarty'. OH!!! I packed up what was left of my chips and yogurt and walked out. I found some net people. I told them, incensed. I got pity and confirmation (Thank you net!) And then, I realized.....for some reason, that person thinks that's OK, and this is going to keep happening unless I say something. Boy, did that let the air out of my balloon. I was going to have to address it, instead of complaining about it! I knew that as soon as I asked the person to stop, they would totally apologize, maybe even feel badly about having done it, but I DIDN'T WANT to talk to the person. I had turned into elbow kid!
It took two days. I knew I had to, and I knew I wanted to do it privately. I am the grown-up. When by chance I finally said...."You know, I'm just not ready to hear that, the match.com thing. Congratulations, so happy for you, but not me, not yet." The person apologized, said 'of course'.....and brought up the time I said 'maybe there's someone out there for me'. The person had taken me at my word. My 'trying to be normal' conversation turned on me, said 'Oh, this is what you want, eh?' and then I had to be a grown-up and say "Sorry, but please don't..." because of my mistake of being fake. I did it. I was the grown-up. My net applauded me. I, on the other hand, did not applaud myself, because I realized that my offhand comment had fed the whole situation.
Where do I go from here? If I am the grown-up I think I am, I guess I need to mix a little of my inner sadness in with my outer 'normal'. The icy covering needs to break and mix with the deep dark cold water of sorrow, and form a slush that can create a completely different attitude from either 'fake' or 'hidden'. I'm going to work on that. It's the grown-up thing to do.
A little addendum:
What if I had gone to the person accusingly? What if I had done it publicly? Too many people these days don't understand the good manners of taking turns to talk things over, and listening to the other side. Prime example: any 'political' news show where both parties or pundits that side with both parties are represented. They all end up yelling and interrupting, guests and hosts alike. I shudder to think that America bases its actions on what we see on the television. One of my main problem with politics in any forum is the lack of manners. How many families have talks about issues? How many do it the grown-up way? Do you listen and consider before you yell your defense? I have news for everyone - you're not always right. You're also sometimes only partially right. If you don't listen to what the other side says, you're compounding, not solving the problem.
This happens at least once a week. In elementary school, little accidental bumps and jostles can be interpreted by the 'victim' as a crime against themselves and all of humanity. I always use myself as the example 'bad guy', because they know what my reaction would be. I'm so, so sweet and nice, and I would feel terrible if I stepped on their little hand (which does happen but only a couple times a year, so I have a great safety average! And no serious injuries ever, thank goodness.) By telling them to apologize for the fact that the mistake happened, I hope I'm teaching manners, maturity, responsibility, you name it. The thing is.....can I practice what I preach with adults?
In the process of walking through my grief, I present what I consider a very 'normal' outside. I work, laugh, joke, complain, suggest....all different from how I feel on the inside. I hide the sadness by instinct. It's not because of you that I hide it - it's because of me. Sometimes I go a little further than I want in the 'normal'. Evidently, one day, a while ago, I made a comment at lunch (based on a happening conversation, mind you...) that 'maybe there's someone out there for me'. I didn't mean now. I might not mean ever. It was an offhand comment, in context of the conversation. There was someone there, though, that took my words to heart.
This particular someone is on a totally different path, having been divorced for a long while, and recently seeing someone. A couple of weeks after my comment, this person seriously encouraged me to 'Go online, honey. Match.com, it worked for me.' I kind of said "Oh really!" and turned the conversation back to my people at my table. Later, I complained to friends. That bothered me. I was approaching only six months without him, how dare this person suggest such a thing right now? After I complained, and got the sufficient amount of pity from my net (what's a net? read this and find out: http://momastery.com/blog/2013/11/07/idea-title-im-even-sure-read-nets-well-call-nets/
I'm not on drugs, or bulimic, or getting arrested....and I have a net. I am more fortunate than young Glennon. I am also thankful that she has found her way in life and for her ability to inspire others. So...I complained to my net about that 'insensitive remark', got my assurances that I was right, that person was wrong, and was done with it. I mean, we love to complain to our friends and be assured that our view is the correct one, right? It's a national sport!
Well, it happened a second time. The person had reached a milestone in their new relationship, and was obviously (and rightly) elated. And once again, they took the chance to look at me and say 'Match.com, I'm tellin' ya, Ms. McCarty'. OH!!! I packed up what was left of my chips and yogurt and walked out. I found some net people. I told them, incensed. I got pity and confirmation (Thank you net!) And then, I realized.....for some reason, that person thinks that's OK, and this is going to keep happening unless I say something. Boy, did that let the air out of my balloon. I was going to have to address it, instead of complaining about it! I knew that as soon as I asked the person to stop, they would totally apologize, maybe even feel badly about having done it, but I DIDN'T WANT to talk to the person. I had turned into elbow kid!
It took two days. I knew I had to, and I knew I wanted to do it privately. I am the grown-up. When by chance I finally said...."You know, I'm just not ready to hear that, the match.com thing. Congratulations, so happy for you, but not me, not yet." The person apologized, said 'of course'.....and brought up the time I said 'maybe there's someone out there for me'. The person had taken me at my word. My 'trying to be normal' conversation turned on me, said 'Oh, this is what you want, eh?' and then I had to be a grown-up and say "Sorry, but please don't..." because of my mistake of being fake. I did it. I was the grown-up. My net applauded me. I, on the other hand, did not applaud myself, because I realized that my offhand comment had fed the whole situation.
Where do I go from here? If I am the grown-up I think I am, I guess I need to mix a little of my inner sadness in with my outer 'normal'. The icy covering needs to break and mix with the deep dark cold water of sorrow, and form a slush that can create a completely different attitude from either 'fake' or 'hidden'. I'm going to work on that. It's the grown-up thing to do.
A little addendum:
What if I had gone to the person accusingly? What if I had done it publicly? Too many people these days don't understand the good manners of taking turns to talk things over, and listening to the other side. Prime example: any 'political' news show where both parties or pundits that side with both parties are represented. They all end up yelling and interrupting, guests and hosts alike. I shudder to think that America bases its actions on what we see on the television. One of my main problem with politics in any forum is the lack of manners. How many families have talks about issues? How many do it the grown-up way? Do you listen and consider before you yell your defense? I have news for everyone - you're not always right. You're also sometimes only partially right. If you don't listen to what the other side says, you're compounding, not solving the problem.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Way To Go, Audience Guy. 10/29/13
I had a wonderful birthday and a great weekend of fun to celebrate. It is humbling how many people took time to look out for me and make sure that it was a special day. I said on the social media page that the love and care created a bubble that insulated me from too much sorrow. It was true, what I said. Until the weekend, and the one thing I saw.
We attended the Texas Renaissance Festival, sort of a tradition for the past five years or so, and had several adults and two little ones. Wearing costumes and makeup has always been an escape of mine. I can paint and dress how I want to feel and usually, the feeling follows. If I share a song or two in the meantime, don't be surprised. I can always conjure up an imaginary audience to applaud my effort. Kind of spooky, right? Like I'm a modern-day Norma Desmond! Anyway, it was fun to dress up and go be amongst others that enjoy the same sort of thing. With that many adults, a few of us were able to sneak away and see the "not for kids" show. Entitled "Sound and Fury", they use Shakespeare as a framework for double entendre and some downright naughty comedy. The show was enjoyable, albeit a little lengthy. But it was what happened as it started that threw my day of make-believe for a loop.
The actors started out by explaining that they perform some improv with audience members. They then searched for a guy and a girl to go on stage. One of the actors would start some dialogue, stop abruptly in the middle and touch the guy or girl's shoulder to finish the phrase. I am doing my best to recall the sentiment from this past weekend, if not the precise words: Actor "I have found that I cannot live without....." (touches guy's shoulder) Audience guy turns to audience girl and says "You". Entire audience "awwwwwww". Actor "And so, this being the situation, I have found that I need to say......."(touches guy's shoulder). Audience guy turns to audience girl, kneels, opens a ring box and says "I can't live without you, I love you very much, will you marry me?" Audience is on feet, cheering.
I cheered - for a moment until the brick hit me. Love is out there, all around. But mine is gone. I managed to hold back actual sobbing and just leak a few tears, raise my glass and whisper "I wish you more years than we had." I do not wish to deny anybody of their joy and happiness. Joy and happiness are the balancing weight to sorrow and despair. Although I am sad and feel often alone, I wish the very best for those that are at the opposite end of the road. Well done, audience guy. I hope the two of you have many years, much love and don't have to say goodbye too soon.
We attended the Texas Renaissance Festival, sort of a tradition for the past five years or so, and had several adults and two little ones. Wearing costumes and makeup has always been an escape of mine. I can paint and dress how I want to feel and usually, the feeling follows. If I share a song or two in the meantime, don't be surprised. I can always conjure up an imaginary audience to applaud my effort. Kind of spooky, right? Like I'm a modern-day Norma Desmond! Anyway, it was fun to dress up and go be amongst others that enjoy the same sort of thing. With that many adults, a few of us were able to sneak away and see the "not for kids" show. Entitled "Sound and Fury", they use Shakespeare as a framework for double entendre and some downright naughty comedy. The show was enjoyable, albeit a little lengthy. But it was what happened as it started that threw my day of make-believe for a loop.
The actors started out by explaining that they perform some improv with audience members. They then searched for a guy and a girl to go on stage. One of the actors would start some dialogue, stop abruptly in the middle and touch the guy or girl's shoulder to finish the phrase. I am doing my best to recall the sentiment from this past weekend, if not the precise words: Actor "I have found that I cannot live without....." (touches guy's shoulder) Audience guy turns to audience girl and says "You". Entire audience "awwwwwww". Actor "And so, this being the situation, I have found that I need to say......."(touches guy's shoulder). Audience guy turns to audience girl, kneels, opens a ring box and says "I can't live without you, I love you very much, will you marry me?" Audience is on feet, cheering.
I cheered - for a moment until the brick hit me. Love is out there, all around. But mine is gone. I managed to hold back actual sobbing and just leak a few tears, raise my glass and whisper "I wish you more years than we had." I do not wish to deny anybody of their joy and happiness. Joy and happiness are the balancing weight to sorrow and despair. Although I am sad and feel often alone, I wish the very best for those that are at the opposite end of the road. Well done, audience guy. I hope the two of you have many years, much love and don't have to say goodbye too soon.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
From MTAI to PDAS: M&Ms, Zombies and Mice
The year, I believe, was 1987. All teachers in Mississippi now had to be evaluated according to state standards. "MTAI" was the acronym of the year, Mississippi Teacher Appraisal Instrument. All teachers now had to be officially assessed, according to guidelines set out by the state. These guidelines included several different areas, or "domains" in which a score was given. We were carefully trained (made to sit through hours of meetings....), so there would be no way we could score badly. We chose a class period, turned in a lesson plan - in the hand-written lesson plan book with the carbon copy pages - had a meeting to discuss the plan, and then the day came. The principal had to stay thirty minutes. They watched and checked everything. I remember leaving the lesson plan on my desk with a pack of M&Ms, as if chocolate could make anything I did wrong disappear! I was, and still am, quite good at putting on a show, so it went very well, high scores all around. But in between the observation and the actual knowledge of the scores, my brain told me everything I did was wrong. "Uh-oh, you accidentally started the wrong song on the record the first time." "You shouldn't have given that Mean Look, maybe that brought the score down." "WHY OH WHY did that kid have to do a total snot-sneeze in the middle of the lesson?" I am my own worst critic, and almost every teacher I know is the same way.
Evaluations have evolved, and still exist in every state. They are a federal requirement. Remember "No Child Left Behind"? It required every state to evaluate their teachers yearly. Everybody likes to think that a "bad" teacher would get a poor evaluation, and poof! - disappear. It doesn't happen that way, though. The evaluations sound harsh, but if you don' score well, you're given many opportunities to fix it.
Flash forward 26 years to this past Friday. I was not 'officially' evaluated. First of all, after so many years in Texas, you move to an advanced level that just requires three "drop-ins" a year. Each drop-in is about ten minutes. Secondly, drop-ins haven't started yet this year. However, the district has added something called "mega-monitoring". We've been told what they look for when they mega us, but we've not seen any feedback, or been told how the statistics will be used. All I know is that they enter the classroom when a lesson is in full bloom, stand there and look around while playing on their phones. Ok, that's exaggeration - because we are aware that they are checking a checklist of the required items on their phones. (I wonder if the district pays for the administration's Iphones???) About three to five minutes, and whoever mega'd you is gone. This past Friday, I had the illustrious experience of being mega-monitored twice in thirty minutes. The first time, it was the main boss. In she comes, while we're singing "Zombie Style" (a lovely parody of "Gangnam Style). I was scared to death. Schools are not very open about celebrating Halloween these days. I personally choose the attitude that I don't do anything scary, only fun. "Zombie Style" is fun! Quickly, when the song ended, I called the class' attention to the vocabulary word 'parody', already written on the board. Quick thinking. In a flash, she was gone. The class sang a few more songs that they got to choose. I call it "Fun Song Friday", and it's one of my ways to foster a singing student body. They can choose ANY song! So when the assistant main boss walked in, the kids were singing "Mousie In the Snow". It's definitely a Christmas song. And it's early October. Every child singing, smiling, doing motions.....did that count? I went with my mental defenses and told myself not to worry.
I didn't worry - until the students were gone and it was my lunch. Then I started thinking. (Oh no, not again.....) Why did I tell that child that I didn't have to give him a reason for changing some one's seat? Why were we singing a Christmas song? Why did I have magazines in a Guinness Stout box sitting on the table? Why do I teach? Why don't I answer phones and create spreadsheets somewhere?
After lunch, there was a nice note in my teacher mailbox from the assistant main boss, telling me how much she had enjoyed her visit and seeing all the smiles on the students' faces. If she had told me in person, I probably would have said "That's because I gave them the Guinness, haha" very nervously.
It's a good thing that the feedback from the official evaluations is on paper. I should have three drop-ins this year. For the past two years, my evaluator(s) did not finish my three by the deadline. Once again, I took it personally. I felt that nobody wanted to come see me teach, because they would have to be writing down so many things that go wrong! Once again, I did well. I don't know what I worry about, except that I truly care about being a good music teacher. I made my peace about eight years ago with the fact that I am "just a music teacher". I decided to be the best one I could be. I certainly hope, though, that this year's person is able evaluate in a timely manner. Evidently I'm quite awesome, zombies, mice and all.
"Zombie Style" and "Mousie In the Snow" published by Music K-8 Magazine
Plank Road Publishing, Inc.
*I learned that the district does not supply the Iphones for the mega's. They use their own phones, but the app is free. Cheapskates.
Evaluations have evolved, and still exist in every state. They are a federal requirement. Remember "No Child Left Behind"? It required every state to evaluate their teachers yearly. Everybody likes to think that a "bad" teacher would get a poor evaluation, and poof! - disappear. It doesn't happen that way, though. The evaluations sound harsh, but if you don' score well, you're given many opportunities to fix it.
Flash forward 26 years to this past Friday. I was not 'officially' evaluated. First of all, after so many years in Texas, you move to an advanced level that just requires three "drop-ins" a year. Each drop-in is about ten minutes. Secondly, drop-ins haven't started yet this year. However, the district has added something called "mega-monitoring". We've been told what they look for when they mega us, but we've not seen any feedback, or been told how the statistics will be used. All I know is that they enter the classroom when a lesson is in full bloom, stand there and look around while playing on their phones. Ok, that's exaggeration - because we are aware that they are checking a checklist of the required items on their phones. (I wonder if the district pays for the administration's Iphones???) About three to five minutes, and whoever mega'd you is gone. This past Friday, I had the illustrious experience of being mega-monitored twice in thirty minutes. The first time, it was the main boss. In she comes, while we're singing "Zombie Style" (a lovely parody of "Gangnam Style). I was scared to death. Schools are not very open about celebrating Halloween these days. I personally choose the attitude that I don't do anything scary, only fun. "Zombie Style" is fun! Quickly, when the song ended, I called the class' attention to the vocabulary word 'parody', already written on the board. Quick thinking. In a flash, she was gone. The class sang a few more songs that they got to choose. I call it "Fun Song Friday", and it's one of my ways to foster a singing student body. They can choose ANY song! So when the assistant main boss walked in, the kids were singing "Mousie In the Snow". It's definitely a Christmas song. And it's early October. Every child singing, smiling, doing motions.....did that count? I went with my mental defenses and told myself not to worry.
I didn't worry - until the students were gone and it was my lunch. Then I started thinking. (Oh no, not again.....) Why did I tell that child that I didn't have to give him a reason for changing some one's seat? Why were we singing a Christmas song? Why did I have magazines in a Guinness Stout box sitting on the table? Why do I teach? Why don't I answer phones and create spreadsheets somewhere?
After lunch, there was a nice note in my teacher mailbox from the assistant main boss, telling me how much she had enjoyed her visit and seeing all the smiles on the students' faces. If she had told me in person, I probably would have said "That's because I gave them the Guinness, haha" very nervously.
It's a good thing that the feedback from the official evaluations is on paper. I should have three drop-ins this year. For the past two years, my evaluator(s) did not finish my three by the deadline. Once again, I took it personally. I felt that nobody wanted to come see me teach, because they would have to be writing down so many things that go wrong! Once again, I did well. I don't know what I worry about, except that I truly care about being a good music teacher. I made my peace about eight years ago with the fact that I am "just a music teacher". I decided to be the best one I could be. I certainly hope, though, that this year's person is able evaluate in a timely manner. Evidently I'm quite awesome, zombies, mice and all.
"Zombie Style" and "Mousie In the Snow" published by Music K-8 Magazine
Plank Road Publishing, Inc.
*I learned that the district does not supply the Iphones for the mega's. They use their own phones, but the app is free. Cheapskates.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Along The Rocky Road 10/12/13
There are things I'll never say
and feelings I'll never express.
You have to know it's just my way,
I don't mean what I do say any less.
If I smile, I mean it somewhere,
even though my eyes fill with tears.
The duality of grief and living
is complex and full of fears.
I enjoy any conversation,
it's nice to hear a voice.
Emptiness gets really loud
and it's not like I had a choice.
I was blissfully unaware
of living with such daily pain.
I regret now not taking the care
with other friends that beat me there.
Striving to appear normal, like "each day is new"
I'm programmed that way, society to blame,
Stopping to cry isn't how we play the game.
But grief is churning inside of me like a bubbling witch's brew.
Writing this to thank all those that guide me along,
message me on the computer, a squeeze on the arm.
Letters, notes, comments, songs,
A hug, a smile that says "I know where you are."
I may not let on, but I need you desperately.
Being alone is not as easy as I thought it would be.
Were all of your encouragement in the shape of letters written,
you would find them faded and worn so thin from reading again and again.
I will survive, you and I both know that.
I just have to work through the new way of life
at the same time I'm wrapping up with everything past.
One step at a time on a rocky road -
Thank you to those that share the load.
and feelings I'll never express.
You have to know it's just my way,
I don't mean what I do say any less.
If I smile, I mean it somewhere,
even though my eyes fill with tears.
The duality of grief and living
is complex and full of fears.
I enjoy any conversation,
it's nice to hear a voice.
Emptiness gets really loud
and it's not like I had a choice.
I was blissfully unaware
of living with such daily pain.
I regret now not taking the care
with other friends that beat me there.
Striving to appear normal, like "each day is new"
I'm programmed that way, society to blame,
Stopping to cry isn't how we play the game.
But grief is churning inside of me like a bubbling witch's brew.
Writing this to thank all those that guide me along,
message me on the computer, a squeeze on the arm.
Letters, notes, comments, songs,
A hug, a smile that says "I know where you are."
I may not let on, but I need you desperately.
Being alone is not as easy as I thought it would be.
Were all of your encouragement in the shape of letters written,
you would find them faded and worn so thin from reading again and again.
I will survive, you and I both know that.
I just have to work through the new way of life
at the same time I'm wrapping up with everything past.
One step at a time on a rocky road -
Thank you to those that share the load.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
A Conversation 9/4/13
A Conversation Between My Feelings (F) and My Brain(B):
F: I'm old.
B: Just because you're a certain number doesn't mean you're ready for the home. You're as young as the ideas you have, the people you can keep up with, and the active things you can do. There are other people out there that seem older even though they're not!
F: Ok, fine. But why do I even bother to talk and tell people things? Nobody listens.
B: You just feel that way at certain times. It's not true. Students listen and you can see the "light bulb" moment when it happens. Your children listen, it just shows up later. Other people listen, some even follow your advice. The workplace......well, you can keep working on that one. Saying the same thing for seven years has to have some effect!
F: I can't deal with things right now.
B: Even by saying that, you are 'dealing'. It just may be a different reaction than you would have had before. You're doing the best you can, and you are living up to the bare minimum expectations. It's not necessary to be the valedictorian of life when you've been through this.
F: I want to cry a lot.
B: So cry!
F: But I'm always trying to hide it.
B: That is a built-in reaction, isn't it. Judge your surroundings and audience and proceed as necessary. If it attacks beyond reason, just excuse yourself.
F: So many friends and people are so nice to me. I don't know if I can be that nice back - or if I seem thankful enough. I feel like an empty locust shell sometimes.
B: Do the best you can. Reserve a day to try hard and catch up. If it doesn't work that day, try again another day. Tell people you appreciate them. Hug them. Send them thank-yous. Put stuff on social media. Try not to be a grouch.
F: But I feel grouchy a lot of the time.
B: Haven't I taught you that how you feel isn't always the real you? In 50 years, including the crying-in-the-room teenage years, you haven't figured that out? So you feel grouchy. It'll pass. A friend will make you laugh. Kids at school will make you laugh. Grouchy is not a forever state.
F: Ok, I feel better. But I still kinda want to be the valedictorian of life.
B: You never were one to give up.
Amen
F: I'm old.
B: Just because you're a certain number doesn't mean you're ready for the home. You're as young as the ideas you have, the people you can keep up with, and the active things you can do. There are other people out there that seem older even though they're not!
F: Ok, fine. But why do I even bother to talk and tell people things? Nobody listens.
B: You just feel that way at certain times. It's not true. Students listen and you can see the "light bulb" moment when it happens. Your children listen, it just shows up later. Other people listen, some even follow your advice. The workplace......well, you can keep working on that one. Saying the same thing for seven years has to have some effect!
F: I can't deal with things right now.
B: Even by saying that, you are 'dealing'. It just may be a different reaction than you would have had before. You're doing the best you can, and you are living up to the bare minimum expectations. It's not necessary to be the valedictorian of life when you've been through this.
F: I want to cry a lot.
B: So cry!
F: But I'm always trying to hide it.
B: That is a built-in reaction, isn't it. Judge your surroundings and audience and proceed as necessary. If it attacks beyond reason, just excuse yourself.
F: So many friends and people are so nice to me. I don't know if I can be that nice back - or if I seem thankful enough. I feel like an empty locust shell sometimes.
B: Do the best you can. Reserve a day to try hard and catch up. If it doesn't work that day, try again another day. Tell people you appreciate them. Hug them. Send them thank-yous. Put stuff on social media. Try not to be a grouch.
F: But I feel grouchy a lot of the time.
B: Haven't I taught you that how you feel isn't always the real you? In 50 years, including the crying-in-the-room teenage years, you haven't figured that out? So you feel grouchy. It'll pass. A friend will make you laugh. Kids at school will make you laugh. Grouchy is not a forever state.
F: Ok, I feel better. But I still kinda want to be the valedictorian of life.
B: You never were one to give up.
Amen
Monday, August 19, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Just Ok 8/14/13
*The opinions and scenarios below are not intended to cause guilt, blame or any such feeling from anyone. If anything, I feel guilty for being the one with baggage, the one you must be "careful" around.
"How was your summer?" The opening line of anyone going back to school - students and teachers. Contrary to what you may think, not all teachers hang out together all summer long. We intend to "get together", and then the next thing you know, it's time to go back to those glorious meetings.
My school family knows me, they know my situation, and they know that my answer - "just ok" - is justified. It's not a bad attitude, it's not a diagnosed condition, it's just that truthfully - trying to make it through the last three months since my husband has been gone has only been "just ok". Matter of fact, sometimes, it's been horrible. Sometimes it's been numbing. Sometimes it's been manic - when I feel a little happiness, I go a little nuts because I'm not sure I'll feel happy again for a while.
I am blessed to have a work family that knows and understands. I want them to know - I don't care what you say to me. "How was your summer?" is normal. "How've you been?" is normal. I want to be normal. But I also have been changed in such a way that my answer to you might be "Just ok." or "Not so good.". Please don't let my honesty make you uncomfortable, just go with the flow. Tell me "I guess not." or "I understand." or "You're allowed.". Then we'll keep talking. If I turn insular for a moment, talking on and on about myself, wait until I take a breath and tell me where you went on your vacation. Every time I talk with someone or some group in a regular way, I am walking that path back to being normal.
I am just ok, by the way. I am a bundle of fears, plans, wishes, pain, hopes, loneliness, perseverance, wanting to give up, positive one day/negative the next....and did I say fears? I might talk your ear off about having to sell my house because it's too ridiculously big for us, or I might keep it from you that I have to go to court for probate one day. In trying to be normal, I hope you, all my friends, will let me choose what to share and what to keep. You are all so kind and understanding, I know you will.
"How was your summer?" "It was just ok, how about you?" The ball's in your court. Help me back to normal. I love you, my friends.
"How was your summer?" The opening line of anyone going back to school - students and teachers. Contrary to what you may think, not all teachers hang out together all summer long. We intend to "get together", and then the next thing you know, it's time to go back to those glorious meetings.
My school family knows me, they know my situation, and they know that my answer - "just ok" - is justified. It's not a bad attitude, it's not a diagnosed condition, it's just that truthfully - trying to make it through the last three months since my husband has been gone has only been "just ok". Matter of fact, sometimes, it's been horrible. Sometimes it's been numbing. Sometimes it's been manic - when I feel a little happiness, I go a little nuts because I'm not sure I'll feel happy again for a while.
I am blessed to have a work family that knows and understands. I want them to know - I don't care what you say to me. "How was your summer?" is normal. "How've you been?" is normal. I want to be normal. But I also have been changed in such a way that my answer to you might be "Just ok." or "Not so good.". Please don't let my honesty make you uncomfortable, just go with the flow. Tell me "I guess not." or "I understand." or "You're allowed.". Then we'll keep talking. If I turn insular for a moment, talking on and on about myself, wait until I take a breath and tell me where you went on your vacation. Every time I talk with someone or some group in a regular way, I am walking that path back to being normal.
I am just ok, by the way. I am a bundle of fears, plans, wishes, pain, hopes, loneliness, perseverance, wanting to give up, positive one day/negative the next....and did I say fears? I might talk your ear off about having to sell my house because it's too ridiculously big for us, or I might keep it from you that I have to go to court for probate one day. In trying to be normal, I hope you, all my friends, will let me choose what to share and what to keep. You are all so kind and understanding, I know you will.
"How was your summer?" "It was just ok, how about you?" The ball's in your court. Help me back to normal. I love you, my friends.
Friday, August 2, 2013
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.
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.
Friday, July 12, 2013
I Know Why 7/12/13
Three times now, I've tried to write a bit. Three times now, the page crashed and the bits were lost. They weren't enough to make me famous or anything, they just had real sentiments that I'm not sure I can ever express the same way. Paper and pen, you just scored a point.
This title....I Know Why. Maybe I should explain a little more. I don't know WHY. Who does, really? I'm closer to knowing stuff, because of my experience, but nobody really ever knows WHY. I should have stretched the title to say "I know why widows wear black". (wore? Right now I have on a blue t-shirt and white capris, so those days are kind of over.) I went out with some friends a few nights ago and it helped me to realize that an outward symbol of grief might not be creepy, and might actually be very helpful!
My main historical knowledge of "mourning" clothes comes from "Gone With the Wind" - when Scarlett most assuredly did NOT want to wear widow-black......and more recently, "Downton Abbey" - when Mary Crawley most assuredly did NOT want to wear black for mourning. I guess it wasn't the most popular thing to be seen in, at any point in history, therefore the demise of the custom.
You see, I think it helped everyone. I feel as if I'm walking around with a mark on my forehead. I feel this, but other people don't see it. If you know me, sure...you know what happened, and you understand if I hang my head for a minute. If you are a stranger, you can't tell that I've been through a great tragedy, an immense loss, and am right now suffering from deep, dark, sadness. You can't tell, because it doesn't often show. The outward appearance, the routine of life, the talking with people and friends that even involves laughter - who could tell? Matter of fact, I sometimes look around at strangers and wonder what deep, dark feeling they are carrying.
It's not deep and dark because anyone purposely hides it. My sadness is deep and dark because of the immensity of what happened. Losing my husband, my partner in all aspects of life, the person that loved me more than himself, has left such a deep hurt that I will never be the same. I don't try to hide that, but I also don't tell every stranger I see. It's a part of me, and if you know me now, or get to know me in the future, it just is, it just exists, it can't be changed.
Back when widows wore black, I think it demanded that others, even strangers, treat them a little more gently. This is all conjecture on my part, but I just imagine an old-fashioned grocery store; a widow dressed in black checking out, and everyone just speaking a little more softly, kindly......yeah, my imagination. I imagine that a teacher wearing black for mourning was respected, and all the children behaved beautifully, because they understood that sadness was somewhere in there. Crazy thoughts, huh?
So, if I don't know the WHY of life, I'm sorry. But trust me, I ask about it probably more than you do. But as far as the why of openly signifying mourning? I truly believe that must have been (most of the time) a gentle, soothing way of easing back into life while doing so with your new deep dark sadness; and it gave those around you the opportunity to show extra kindness and understanding, especially when you stumbled along the way.
The moral here is that we could be nicer. It's blithely said every day, especially now on social media, but it's true: "You never know what someone is going through". Be nice, everyone. Nice and kind beats all. That's all.
This title....I Know Why. Maybe I should explain a little more. I don't know WHY. Who does, really? I'm closer to knowing stuff, because of my experience, but nobody really ever knows WHY. I should have stretched the title to say "I know why widows wear black". (wore? Right now I have on a blue t-shirt and white capris, so those days are kind of over.) I went out with some friends a few nights ago and it helped me to realize that an outward symbol of grief might not be creepy, and might actually be very helpful!
My main historical knowledge of "mourning" clothes comes from "Gone With the Wind" - when Scarlett most assuredly did NOT want to wear widow-black......and more recently, "Downton Abbey" - when Mary Crawley most assuredly did NOT want to wear black for mourning. I guess it wasn't the most popular thing to be seen in, at any point in history, therefore the demise of the custom.
You see, I think it helped everyone. I feel as if I'm walking around with a mark on my forehead. I feel this, but other people don't see it. If you know me, sure...you know what happened, and you understand if I hang my head for a minute. If you are a stranger, you can't tell that I've been through a great tragedy, an immense loss, and am right now suffering from deep, dark, sadness. You can't tell, because it doesn't often show. The outward appearance, the routine of life, the talking with people and friends that even involves laughter - who could tell? Matter of fact, I sometimes look around at strangers and wonder what deep, dark feeling they are carrying.
It's not deep and dark because anyone purposely hides it. My sadness is deep and dark because of the immensity of what happened. Losing my husband, my partner in all aspects of life, the person that loved me more than himself, has left such a deep hurt that I will never be the same. I don't try to hide that, but I also don't tell every stranger I see. It's a part of me, and if you know me now, or get to know me in the future, it just is, it just exists, it can't be changed.
Back when widows wore black, I think it demanded that others, even strangers, treat them a little more gently. This is all conjecture on my part, but I just imagine an old-fashioned grocery store; a widow dressed in black checking out, and everyone just speaking a little more softly, kindly......yeah, my imagination. I imagine that a teacher wearing black for mourning was respected, and all the children behaved beautifully, because they understood that sadness was somewhere in there. Crazy thoughts, huh?
So, if I don't know the WHY of life, I'm sorry. But trust me, I ask about it probably more than you do. But as far as the why of openly signifying mourning? I truly believe that must have been (most of the time) a gentle, soothing way of easing back into life while doing so with your new deep dark sadness; and it gave those around you the opportunity to show extra kindness and understanding, especially when you stumbled along the way.
The moral here is that we could be nicer. It's blithely said every day, especially now on social media, but it's true: "You never know what someone is going through". Be nice, everyone. Nice and kind beats all. That's all.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
The Restoration of Joy as a Whack-a-Mole 6/30/13
I started to wonder today if I will ever feel pure joy again. The true, pure, bubbling-from-inside joy that we feel when something is incorrupt, happy , adorable, innocent, comical, surprising......you get it, right?
It's as if my joy has become a whack-a-mole. I hear something funny. I laugh. I think: "oh wait until I tell Scott.." whack. I see a commercial for a cool new show. "Cool! I'll have to tell Scott!" whack.
The kitten (is anything a more pure joy than a kitten?) is jumping great distances, playing with a new toy, just being so joyfully CUTE - and I think "I can't wait until Scott sees her...." WHACK!!!
If I'm with someone - maybe one of you that actually reads this - and I laugh......it's not fake! I do still find things funny, amusing, frustrating, you name it! It's just that when I feel those emotions, I had thirty years of being able to share them with him. Funny was funny twice. Frustration got shared and ridiculed. (Sometimes the ridicule was pointed at me for getting frustrated!!) Cute animal stuff was a staple of our lives. If one of the dogs was asleep, dreaming and yelping, sitting an adorable way - we had a code - "Look at big white dog!" - because we knew saying their name would distract them and change the moment.
I know that joy is promised from God. I can still hear that lady singing "Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation...."in church when I was young. That particular quote came from David - yes, the Old Testament King David. But David needed his joy restored because he had sinned big time (adultery, murder....big time). What did I do to deserve this? Was this a plan for him and me from the beginning? I don't think I would have agreed to it. Why us? Why me? One of the many questions I have for that big Q&A session in the sky.
I will try, you know. I don't intend to become a depressed, sad, mean person. But don't forget that underneath the trying, I'm not whole. He was indeed my other half, so I'm not complete any more. But will I ever feel joy without getting whacked? I'm not sure. I think all happy occasions that may occur for me for the rest of my life will be tinged with sadness. I can't imagine it happening any other way. So please understand if something really happy or funny is going on - and I just close my eyes and get quiet for a minute. It's to absorb the whack.
It's as if my joy has become a whack-a-mole. I hear something funny. I laugh. I think: "oh wait until I tell Scott.." whack. I see a commercial for a cool new show. "Cool! I'll have to tell Scott!" whack.
The kitten (is anything a more pure joy than a kitten?) is jumping great distances, playing with a new toy, just being so joyfully CUTE - and I think "I can't wait until Scott sees her...." WHACK!!!
If I'm with someone - maybe one of you that actually reads this - and I laugh......it's not fake! I do still find things funny, amusing, frustrating, you name it! It's just that when I feel those emotions, I had thirty years of being able to share them with him. Funny was funny twice. Frustration got shared and ridiculed. (Sometimes the ridicule was pointed at me for getting frustrated!!) Cute animal stuff was a staple of our lives. If one of the dogs was asleep, dreaming and yelping, sitting an adorable way - we had a code - "Look at big white dog!" - because we knew saying their name would distract them and change the moment.
I know that joy is promised from God. I can still hear that lady singing "Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation...."in church when I was young. That particular quote came from David - yes, the Old Testament King David. But David needed his joy restored because he had sinned big time (adultery, murder....big time). What did I do to deserve this? Was this a plan for him and me from the beginning? I don't think I would have agreed to it. Why us? Why me? One of the many questions I have for that big Q&A session in the sky.
I will try, you know. I don't intend to become a depressed, sad, mean person. But don't forget that underneath the trying, I'm not whole. He was indeed my other half, so I'm not complete any more. But will I ever feel joy without getting whacked? I'm not sure. I think all happy occasions that may occur for me for the rest of my life will be tinged with sadness. I can't imagine it happening any other way. So please understand if something really happy or funny is going on - and I just close my eyes and get quiet for a minute. It's to absorb the whack.
Monday, June 24, 2013
"It'll be hard", they said. 6/24/13
"It'll be hard", they said. "You have to make sure you take care of yourself", they said. "All the feelings will come back again", they said. And they were right.
People tell you how you will feel for certain events. Movies and TV tell us to cry at weddings, cry when we leave our first-born at kindergarten, bean with pride at graduation, etc. Everyone is full of advice for those that are grieving a loved ones' loss, too. Mostly, they are right on track. Mostly.
You see, "they" can say all they want to you - but nothing prepares you for the waves of grief. You can be going through all the motions of life, talking, laughing, helping prepare dinner, cleaning up - and CRASH! Tears, sobbing, struck silent because speaking would turn into crazy shrieking......it all hits you like a huge salt-water wave from behind. Then life goes on pause while you cry it out, talk it through, do whatever it takes to re-surface from the drowning that is grief.
So I'll agree - it was hard. Being together with the entire family but feeling his absence like a knife in my stomach was hard. Making sure all the details for the service were in place, yet knowing all along why we were doing those things was hard. The finality of people arriving at the chapel, the service actually happening, seeing and welcoming old friends for a terrible, terrible reason was hard. It was also beautiful, comforting, and a blessing. Because those friends weren't just there for him. They were there for us. That part of celebrating and remembering someone's life is amazing. You see each other and although years have taken their toll on the physical appearance, the jokes, personalities, and love you've had for these friends immediately resurfaces. Then you promise to get together again soon and not let so much time pass.
All of that was hard. But you know what's even harder? After. The service ends, the friends go to their homes, the visiting with family ends, we head home, and......nothing. Nothing to look forward to. Waking up and thinking "why?" The hammer of ALONE FOREVER hitting me in the head again and again. Convincing myself to do chores and catch up on TV and try to enjoy the pool when I'd rather sit in my bathrobe and stare.
It's a kaleidoscope of feelings - twisting toward resigned, happy memories, sadness, anger, despair, etc. etc. And there are no "stages" (sorry, Ms. Ross). There is more a gumbo of different feelings that swim around and attack you when you suspect it least.
So - go ahead, tell me how I will feel. At least I'll know that someone else has been there and knows how hard it is, and that it hits without warning. If I'm crying, talk to me anyway, that's better than being alone forever. And if it happens to you, or to someone close to you - remember: It'll be hard.
Truer words were never spoken.
People tell you how you will feel for certain events. Movies and TV tell us to cry at weddings, cry when we leave our first-born at kindergarten, bean with pride at graduation, etc. Everyone is full of advice for those that are grieving a loved ones' loss, too. Mostly, they are right on track. Mostly.
You see, "they" can say all they want to you - but nothing prepares you for the waves of grief. You can be going through all the motions of life, talking, laughing, helping prepare dinner, cleaning up - and CRASH! Tears, sobbing, struck silent because speaking would turn into crazy shrieking......it all hits you like a huge salt-water wave from behind. Then life goes on pause while you cry it out, talk it through, do whatever it takes to re-surface from the drowning that is grief.
So I'll agree - it was hard. Being together with the entire family but feeling his absence like a knife in my stomach was hard. Making sure all the details for the service were in place, yet knowing all along why we were doing those things was hard. The finality of people arriving at the chapel, the service actually happening, seeing and welcoming old friends for a terrible, terrible reason was hard. It was also beautiful, comforting, and a blessing. Because those friends weren't just there for him. They were there for us. That part of celebrating and remembering someone's life is amazing. You see each other and although years have taken their toll on the physical appearance, the jokes, personalities, and love you've had for these friends immediately resurfaces. Then you promise to get together again soon and not let so much time pass.
All of that was hard. But you know what's even harder? After. The service ends, the friends go to their homes, the visiting with family ends, we head home, and......nothing. Nothing to look forward to. Waking up and thinking "why?" The hammer of ALONE FOREVER hitting me in the head again and again. Convincing myself to do chores and catch up on TV and try to enjoy the pool when I'd rather sit in my bathrobe and stare.
It's a kaleidoscope of feelings - twisting toward resigned, happy memories, sadness, anger, despair, etc. etc. And there are no "stages" (sorry, Ms. Ross). There is more a gumbo of different feelings that swim around and attack you when you suspect it least.
So - go ahead, tell me how I will feel. At least I'll know that someone else has been there and knows how hard it is, and that it hits without warning. If I'm crying, talk to me anyway, that's better than being alone forever. And if it happens to you, or to someone close to you - remember: It'll be hard.
Truer words were never spoken.
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