Just today, I stumbled across the fact that there are actually books out there meant to help people like me. Help-books. Not being much of a non-fiction reader, this fact did not surprise me as much as the number of them available. The funny part is, I've thought and planned to turn these blog posts into a book, in case they could help someone else that is grieving. I just didn't know that lots of people have already done that! I'm not sure whether any of them have the plot twist of meeting someone new so soon, as I have. I'm trying to record and remember all the feelings that go with along with it - don't know if any of those other books do that! I should probably read them all and find out!
Do these books give advice? I think some do. They are meant to be Help-books. I did peruse one at Barnes and Noble one evening. It had chapters on everything from immediately after your spouse's death to a chapter called "Widows and Sex". I did not buy it - I did what anybody would do, looked at the 'good' parts and put it back down. I didn't really learn anything new or groundbreaking, so you will get no details from me!
I feel a little guilty, though, that I've done all this writing and not read what others have said before me. (I generally feel guilty about most everything, no surprise there!) I've read little bits, just not books. A blog post is about the right length for my concentration these days. I started reading a John Grisham book that a friend lent me in January. To me, that's a Fun-book. It's April and I'm on page 72. I'm only able to sit for so long until thoughts and ideas flood my brain and I have to just get up and do something. Sometimes the something is writing down the thoughts. Sometimes it's cleaning out a drawer. You never know.
I jump up, do whatever it is I feel needs "doing", and move on to the next thing. I don't go back to the book. That is not the person I used to be, when a Fun-book could devour my days and nights until I finished it. Readers are a special breed of people. The list of things we can ignore while immersed in a book can include family, friends, pets, hunger, chores....on and on. I am one of those, usually, just not lately.
I did research and read Help-stuff. Not books. Thank goodness there are web pages and support forums out there that I could read in a 'drive-by' style. They did help, a bit. But what helped mostly was sitting here and organizing what I was feeling into sentences, paragraphs and full posts. I've been pretty honest about what I've been feeling for the last eleven months. I want to remain true to form, just because everyone has been so loving, supportive and encouraging. Writing these little posts has been my therapy, my meditation, my crutch, punching bag and wailing wall. I think writing took the place of immersion in Fun-books.
I don't think I'll read the other Help-books. I am moving forward on my own. Well, mostly on my own. My boyfriend has been through the same loss, so I have a new sounding board; one that has been there. Perhaps, though, I'll just keep writing in case this one turns into a Help-book itself. It would be a privilege to help anyone. Anyone at all. It's also non-fiction, so I probably wouldn't read it, but that's all right; I'm living a non-fiction life right now and it's turning into a story that I wouldn't put down!
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Double Classes and Taking a Breath
Double classes. Sometimes it's terrible. Sometimes it's perfectly fine. Sometimes even - one hour of terrible followed by one hour of wonderful. Double classes for a "large group" teacher does not mean two homerooms. It means three to four homerooms of darling children.
It takes a certain amount of disciplinary skill to handle large group. There's the authoritative voice, the appeal to all the years that they have known you (and your expectations), the promise of reward, and the occasional threat (and action) of having to "sit out". It is possible to manage a large (from 60-90) group of students successfully if you have enough tricks in your bag.
Teaching double classes is difficult and sometimes annoying, but I only expound on that to relay the miraculous fact that I, on a day like today, can still be in a "good mood".
Someone like me, on their journey of grief, may smile, laugh or joke on the outside. But for a long period of time, those looks and sounds are surface only. I heard an actual account, just yesterday, of what others say about "how she's doing" (she being me). They say "She's doing great!" and best of all; "Her spirits are good." The person that knows my spirits is someone I only speak to about once a week.
I am not calling those people liars. They are telling the truth as they interpret it. They are seeing my act on the stage that is my world. The costumes, the makeup (Thank God!) the portrayal of expected emotions, and the utterances of the lines that everyone wants to hear. I have fooled them all, haha! Until now. Today, my smile felt real. Today, the feeling down deep inside matched the way my eyes crinkled with laughter. On a double class day, no less!
It's a journey. On a journey, you make progress. Some are quicker, some are slower. There is no minimum or maximum speed. Some progress is internal. Some is very public. And some...well, some has to do with coming to terms with your new self because all of the sudden it's not as new, it's who you are. It was an abrupt realization. In my mind I compared it to someone in the movies or on TV that is knocked out and not breathing.....and then WHAM! - they take that breath and they're still alive. My emotions did that recently. That isn't a complete victory over inner sadness - it's just a break from it. Like anything that starts, though, it can grow.
Today, I was doing great. The life-saving breath experience was still a memory that made me feel happy inside. My spirits were good today. It's about time, they've been bad inside for almost a year - in spite of what some others think. You just couldn't see it. Today, the double class did not incur my wrath. (Wrath for me usually being a lecture, haha.) Instead they incurred my humor and sly jokes that tricked them into behaving for me. I know that actually feeling the happiness I've faked for so long won't be permanent, but I pray it won't be a stranger, either.
It takes a certain amount of disciplinary skill to handle large group. There's the authoritative voice, the appeal to all the years that they have known you (and your expectations), the promise of reward, and the occasional threat (and action) of having to "sit out". It is possible to manage a large (from 60-90) group of students successfully if you have enough tricks in your bag.
Teaching double classes is difficult and sometimes annoying, but I only expound on that to relay the miraculous fact that I, on a day like today, can still be in a "good mood".
Someone like me, on their journey of grief, may smile, laugh or joke on the outside. But for a long period of time, those looks and sounds are surface only. I heard an actual account, just yesterday, of what others say about "how she's doing" (she being me). They say "She's doing great!" and best of all; "Her spirits are good." The person that knows my spirits is someone I only speak to about once a week.
I am not calling those people liars. They are telling the truth as they interpret it. They are seeing my act on the stage that is my world. The costumes, the makeup (Thank God!) the portrayal of expected emotions, and the utterances of the lines that everyone wants to hear. I have fooled them all, haha! Until now. Today, my smile felt real. Today, the feeling down deep inside matched the way my eyes crinkled with laughter. On a double class day, no less!
It's a journey. On a journey, you make progress. Some are quicker, some are slower. There is no minimum or maximum speed. Some progress is internal. Some is very public. And some...well, some has to do with coming to terms with your new self because all of the sudden it's not as new, it's who you are. It was an abrupt realization. In my mind I compared it to someone in the movies or on TV that is knocked out and not breathing.....and then WHAM! - they take that breath and they're still alive. My emotions did that recently. That isn't a complete victory over inner sadness - it's just a break from it. Like anything that starts, though, it can grow.
Today, I was doing great. The life-saving breath experience was still a memory that made me feel happy inside. My spirits were good today. It's about time, they've been bad inside for almost a year - in spite of what some others think. You just couldn't see it. Today, the double class did not incur my wrath. (Wrath for me usually being a lecture, haha.) Instead they incurred my humor and sly jokes that tricked them into behaving for me. I know that actually feeling the happiness I've faked for so long won't be permanent, but I pray it won't be a stranger, either.
Friday, February 14, 2014
To my girls, on Valentine's Day
To my girls, on Valentine's day:
I know for a fact that you will probably consider the past nine months one of the worst periods of your life - for your entire life. I can't know how much it hurts to lose your dad. I still have mine. We share grief for your dad, you and me, but with different dynamics. I am so proud of the way you have been able to carry on with school, hold jobs, make the more grown-up choice, and just keep on becoming the beautiful, strong, idealistic and witty women your dad would have wanted you to be.
Each Valentine's day, we got very special candy, didn't we? He absolutely loved checking Consumer Reports for the best-rated chocolates and having them delivered to us, no matter where he was in the world at the time. I can't be just like him, but I hope you have already gotten your Valentine goodies from me. I know it's a 'sweetheart' day; but there are forever loves in the world, and you two are my forever loves. I wanted to tell you and everyone else a few things I'm proud of - it's always a good thing to tell someone when you're proud, and not take it for granted that they know. You are both amazing, and here are some of the reasons why:
I am proud of your perseverance. Neither one of you skipped a beat in continuing school. Some people would probably have taken some time for themselves, or cut back to make life a little easier for a while. The two of you jumped right back in to classes and keep looking forward. You remind me a little of your dad when he was on a 'frenzy'. Remember? Those times he was so focused on a task that we sometimes didn't even get to eat until he got what he needed? I tried to explain it to you when you were little, and I tried to inject in the explanation that it could be a very good trait. I believe you picked some of that up along the way.
I am proud of your progress. Is that the same thing as perseverance? Not really. You could have persevered with school and still not have moved forward. But in your cases, you are making the necessary grades, you have the degree plans in the works, and you have both grown so much emotionally and intellectually that you have narrowed down and decided on a career path. You also both have worked since your dad has been gone - not everyone can do that and do well in school also. That's a huge challenge and I am so proud of the steps that both of you have made to start making all of your dreams come true.
I am proud of the patience you've had with me, and your protection toward me. Although we sometimes approach tasks at very different speeds, you have let me do things in my own time and in my own way. I believe that you have suppressed your own wishes for when certain things would get done, just to protect my emotional health and let me make sure that I am doing everything right for the three of us. You also give me great advice, the kind of advice we give in our family. (Like.."tell them the car turns into a superhero at night and any marks are battle scars"....) And I'm sure there's been a time or two that you just made excuses for me and told someone to just leave me alone. ("I'm going out for a while, Mom, but if you need me, you call...I'll come right home.")
Most of all, I am proud of your passion for life, no matter what. Your dad would be proud, too. Whenever one of you went through a 'quiet phase', it worried him. He wanted you involved - (even if it meant him sitting through musicals and dance recitals) and he wanted you to set goals and work hard to reach them, just as he did. He wanted you to think your own thoughts, not be a 'sheep', and he wanted you to be well-versed enough in your beliefs to intelligently challenge those with whom you do not agree. I want that, too, but make sure you do it in a nice way! (Although you should let me know when you reach the McCarty milestone of being banned from a forum for your opinions. I'll take his place and celebrate with you.) You are still able to laugh and cry, as well as live your life to the fullest, which you know your dad totally believed in.
I hope one day you can love someone as much as a parent loves a child. There is no end to that love. It exists in the parent for no other reason than the fact that you, the child, exist. But there's an added bonus: When I look at you, listen to you, and watch you live life, I see your dad. It reminds me that even though he's gone, so much of him will live on through the two of you. I love you, Mallory and Maddy, with all my being. Forever.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
Why the Daffodil? 2/1/14
Why the daffodil? You know the daffodil in my profile picture? They are one of my favorite flowers. When we lived in England, we had this sprawling house on an enormous yard with trees, landscaping, grapevines, a full row of apple and pear trees.......and daffodil bulbs hidden all under the grass of the front yard. Every year, when the grey skies would finally lift a bit and spring would give us a warm day or two, my front 'garden' was a sea of yellow daffodils. I had never had them in any of my yards or gardens before that, so I was thrilled at their beauty and the ease with which the re-appeared every year.
Last year, I bought a bag of daffodil bulbs on a whim at Home Depot. I had cleaned some pesky plants from around one of my pine trees in the back yard, leaving a small bed that was begging for some prettiness. The bag sat on the back porch for a few weeks until I finally got up and dug holes to plant them. I surrounded my tree with daffodil bulbs, then had enough left over to line the edge of the flower bed up front. I crossed my fingers for them and forgot about them.
Well, I didn't totally forget. I went out back to the tree every few days, looking for signs of life from underground. Sure enough, little green blades eventually forced themselves through the hard-packed dirt, and grew a little taller day by day. Eventually, one of the blades had a lump at the top - a lump destined to be a flower. In the time between planting those bulbs and seeing the possibility of a flower, we had some freezing weather, some very warm weather, stretches of no rain, suddenly too much rain - everything but snow and ice. Not last year. The leaves didn't care. They grew taller and taller, until I predicted: "My daffodils will bloom by Easter, I can tell!" I was very excited. Bloom they did, and I took a little time out for a photo session. The flower in the picture is indeed one of MY daffodils. I only brought a few inside to a vase. I left them to put a smile on the yard. It wasn't a sea, but it was a happy spot. By the time they were gone, so was Scott.
The brown leaves wither away and you forget the bulbs are under the dirt. They've been under there for almost a year, waiting, preparing, letting nature guide them as to when those leaves should start their journey again. They've endured extreme heat, flooding rains, freezing temperatures, sleet, and numerous critters, domesticated and not. They just know they are supposed to stay right there underground until nature says rebirth must happen.
The experience of the daffodil bulb (MY daffodils) is similar to the walk of grief. I have endured paperwork, meetings, making huge decisions, breaking down, working in spite of all, and trying to be wise for a future that could maybe ever be happy again. I'm getting there. It's as natural as the daffodil leaves that I laugh a little more again. That lady carrying five copies of a court document out of Office Depot? That was me. It's moving along as nature intended that probate court is finished and I must fill out more applications, file more paperwork....but it's leading somewhere. About a week ago, I noticed the tips of the leaves peeking out of the ground. The flowers will be back this year. Nature has said "it's time", even though there was a freeze last week and another predicted for next week. They know how to time it. And they are strong. They are hardy. A beautiful flower that spreads joy for a season, then bends its head to go away and prepare to be reborn the next year.......that is "why the daffodil".
Last year, I bought a bag of daffodil bulbs on a whim at Home Depot. I had cleaned some pesky plants from around one of my pine trees in the back yard, leaving a small bed that was begging for some prettiness. The bag sat on the back porch for a few weeks until I finally got up and dug holes to plant them. I surrounded my tree with daffodil bulbs, then had enough left over to line the edge of the flower bed up front. I crossed my fingers for them and forgot about them.
Well, I didn't totally forget. I went out back to the tree every few days, looking for signs of life from underground. Sure enough, little green blades eventually forced themselves through the hard-packed dirt, and grew a little taller day by day. Eventually, one of the blades had a lump at the top - a lump destined to be a flower. In the time between planting those bulbs and seeing the possibility of a flower, we had some freezing weather, some very warm weather, stretches of no rain, suddenly too much rain - everything but snow and ice. Not last year. The leaves didn't care. They grew taller and taller, until I predicted: "My daffodils will bloom by Easter, I can tell!" I was very excited. Bloom they did, and I took a little time out for a photo session. The flower in the picture is indeed one of MY daffodils. I only brought a few inside to a vase. I left them to put a smile on the yard. It wasn't a sea, but it was a happy spot. By the time they were gone, so was Scott.
The brown leaves wither away and you forget the bulbs are under the dirt. They've been under there for almost a year, waiting, preparing, letting nature guide them as to when those leaves should start their journey again. They've endured extreme heat, flooding rains, freezing temperatures, sleet, and numerous critters, domesticated and not. They just know they are supposed to stay right there underground until nature says rebirth must happen.
The experience of the daffodil bulb (MY daffodils) is similar to the walk of grief. I have endured paperwork, meetings, making huge decisions, breaking down, working in spite of all, and trying to be wise for a future that could maybe ever be happy again. I'm getting there. It's as natural as the daffodil leaves that I laugh a little more again. That lady carrying five copies of a court document out of Office Depot? That was me. It's moving along as nature intended that probate court is finished and I must fill out more applications, file more paperwork....but it's leading somewhere. About a week ago, I noticed the tips of the leaves peeking out of the ground. The flowers will be back this year. Nature has said "it's time", even though there was a freeze last week and another predicted for next week. They know how to time it. And they are strong. They are hardy. A beautiful flower that spreads joy for a season, then bends its head to go away and prepare to be reborn the next year.......that is "why the daffodil".
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
The Most Special Kiss 1/14/14
Thirty-three years ago tonight, I went on a date with a guy on my boyfriend's hall, because my boyfriend was busy. My boyfriend said, "Whatever you do, just don't kiss him goodnight.". There's nothing like a challenge, is there? There was definitely a goodnight kiss; we owned up to it and I said goodbye to the boyfriend -who was a really great guy in his own right, it just didn't work out that way! The new guy's name was Scott, and we saw each other every night for a month, until Valentine's day. We were pretty head over heels. January 14, 1981. We even scheduled our wedding on July 14, 1984, to reflect that date.
I didn't know he wouldn't live to see only thirty-three years from that kiss. Today, January 14, 2014, I have had a dead car towed from my garage, called two different bank accounts to see what paperwork they actually require to change names/ close accounts, called the college savings plan to find out the same info, tried to call the Norway tax office to get details on paying the Norwegian tax, and printed out a ream of papers to change the IRA to my name. He's been gone eight months and I just got the affidavit from the court to be able to do these things. (Well, the car didn't require court papers, that's just my luck.)
I wish I had clever or cute words to tell you that life sometimes hurts like hell. My heart feels withered even though laughter and smiles still occupy my face. When I do ordinary things, it takes twice the effort, because I really don't care as much anymore. That goodnight kiss thirty-three years ago tonight was wrong, it was cheating; and I hope I apologized and moved on correctly.....but it was also the most special kiss of my life.
I didn't know he wouldn't live to see only thirty-three years from that kiss. Today, January 14, 2014, I have had a dead car towed from my garage, called two different bank accounts to see what paperwork they actually require to change names/ close accounts, called the college savings plan to find out the same info, tried to call the Norway tax office to get details on paying the Norwegian tax, and printed out a ream of papers to change the IRA to my name. He's been gone eight months and I just got the affidavit from the court to be able to do these things. (Well, the car didn't require court papers, that's just my luck.)
I wish I had clever or cute words to tell you that life sometimes hurts like hell. My heart feels withered even though laughter and smiles still occupy my face. When I do ordinary things, it takes twice the effort, because I really don't care as much anymore. That goodnight kiss thirty-three years ago tonight was wrong, it was cheating; and I hope I apologized and moved on correctly.....but it was also the most special kiss of my life.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
I'm a fake and a phony 1/1/14
I spend a lot of time convincing myself through words that I type that I am trying to be positive. Convincing others that I have a healthy attitude. Trying to find little nuggets of truth and inspiration in everyday life and prove that I'm grateful for what I still have. Then a day or an event happens and I'm a fake. If I said how I really feel, I'm afraid that everyone around me would quote Sandy from "Grease"; "You're a fake and a phony, and I wish I'd never laid eyes on you!".
I'm not well. I'm still pouting. And with all the time that goes by, I find more to pout about. Every normal obstacle that blocks my path feels like a personal affront to my widow-hood. The car won't start? That's because I'm a widow. The dog got out? That's because my husband died. It's silly, I know, but when I go to bed alone at night, and wake up alone every morning, the void is an entity that has taken on powers of great proportion. The void of him seems to cause every little bit of trouble I have.
And so the year ended yesterday. All day long, I was extremely sad. Tears were close at any given moment. I tried to explain it - the end of the year he died, entering a new year without him, an overload of people when I've gotten used to quiet, all kinds of "reasons". The real reason? I think my life sucks now, and outwardly I put on a brave face and list everything for which I'm grateful. Most days, I can convince myself. Most days, gratefulness wins. But you know what? It will be a long time before I don't pout anymore. Expect that from me. You can ask "what's wrong?". But you can also correctly say, 90% of the time; "Oh, one of those days, huh?" I'm going to make it. I just don't think it's going to be a very scenic route. My apologies, but I'm pretty sure my excuse is a good one.
I'm not well. I'm still pouting. And with all the time that goes by, I find more to pout about. Every normal obstacle that blocks my path feels like a personal affront to my widow-hood. The car won't start? That's because I'm a widow. The dog got out? That's because my husband died. It's silly, I know, but when I go to bed alone at night, and wake up alone every morning, the void is an entity that has taken on powers of great proportion. The void of him seems to cause every little bit of trouble I have.
And so the year ended yesterday. All day long, I was extremely sad. Tears were close at any given moment. I tried to explain it - the end of the year he died, entering a new year without him, an overload of people when I've gotten used to quiet, all kinds of "reasons". The real reason? I think my life sucks now, and outwardly I put on a brave face and list everything for which I'm grateful. Most days, I can convince myself. Most days, gratefulness wins. But you know what? It will be a long time before I don't pout anymore. Expect that from me. You can ask "what's wrong?". But you can also correctly say, 90% of the time; "Oh, one of those days, huh?" I'm going to make it. I just don't think it's going to be a very scenic route. My apologies, but I'm pretty sure my excuse is a good one.
Monday, December 30, 2013
I'm cornbread - Who are you? 12/30/13
Have you ever had a piece of really fine, Southern-cooked cornbread? Bacon grease, buttermilk, and an iron skillet are all involved in creating the delectable treat. Its rich, flavorful, crunchy-soft texture makes it perfect as a bread or a "sopper" - a side dish designed to mop up grave or juices so nothing of a delicious meal is wasted.
It's obvious, is it not, that I am a fan of cornbread. But this story has nothing to do with actually eating cornbread. There was no cornbread in either of the Christmas meals in which I participated. Ham was the main dish at both sides of the family's gatherings. The breads of choice were potato rolls and yeast rolls. No, cornbread just popped into my mind one day. The sixth day of our holiday trip, I was sitting in the living room with many beloved family members, and the thought just occurred - "I feel like a piece of cornbread.". I was in the overwhelming emotional state of love, grief, exhaustion, recovery from illness, desire to help, desire to sleep - and I pictured myself as a triangle of cornbread. I don't mean that I had been stirred and baked at a high heat. I mean that the consistency and purposes of the piece of cornbread as it sits on the dinner plate seemed to perfectly portray my perception of how I react to all overtures and approaches to me.
First things first - I feel loved. I feel loved by friends. I feel loved at work. I especially felt loved when visiting the families this past week. It's so good to get to see the family. I love seeing and spending time with everyone. We're all different, yet all a part of the same group. I think of it as a meal on a plate - all your different items, and I'm the piece of cornbread. Nobody would not want the cornbread there - I belong.
I feel covered. I feel as if everyone wants to spread a layer of protection over me like so much butter! Thank you, by the way. I have needed a lot of protection this year. Sometimes, without that layer of people to step up to others and say "Do you know who this is?" or "Let me tell you what you're dealing with here...", I would have dried up and crumbled away. Many family, friends, and even social media acquaintances have spread a layer of protection over me by coming to my defense in some matter or sympathizing with their own experience stories that make me laugh and feel as if I'm not alone.
A good cornbread is a little crumbly. It's a coarse bread, so those pieces sometimes just crumble away. I can identify with the crumbly nature of cornbread. Innocent things - tv commercials, e-mails, greeting cards, comments, questions, advice - all of those can crumble me in a second. Just as the fork doesn't mean to hit the cornbread on its way to the vegetables, the world doesn't mean to stab me. My consistency right now makes it easy for little things to just stick in and knock a piece of me away. If anyone can actually give me a real, factual system for not being too sensitive, I will listen and try it. How do you change the way you are emotionally made? The important part, though, is that even though I may get a bit crumbled, so many others are there for me to hold me together.
To know I'm not alone is such an advantage. There are big chunks of time when I am now physically alone. (There will be another post someday on the advantages of dogs and cats.) But I am not alone in any way other than that. Just as all the servings of food on a plate bump into each other, and the juices roll around to be soaked up by the cornbread, I am surrounded, in spirit, with so many of you that drop everything to be there if I call, text, make a comment, or cry out through a status. You reach out and I soak it up. Thank you. Just as cornbread is made richer by soaking in some juice (I'm thinking good old-fashioned beans and cornbread, a little sausage with it....), I am made richer and stronger by your support. I am trying to take steps on the road to recovery. When I stop still and stare, it may be your simple smile or pat on the arm that gives me strength to pick up my foot and take another step.
So, here's to the new year. I can make an honest toast that says "May it be better than 2013." Even thinking that hurts, though, because 2013 contained my last months of my "old" life. The life I thought I'd live forever. Thank goodness for the love and ideas and wisdom out there that this little ol' piece of cornbread can soak up. I might sit and stare and act a little bland, but please know I gather in your wishes, hugs and love and convert them to the strength to go on. Happy New Year.
It's obvious, is it not, that I am a fan of cornbread. But this story has nothing to do with actually eating cornbread. There was no cornbread in either of the Christmas meals in which I participated. Ham was the main dish at both sides of the family's gatherings. The breads of choice were potato rolls and yeast rolls. No, cornbread just popped into my mind one day. The sixth day of our holiday trip, I was sitting in the living room with many beloved family members, and the thought just occurred - "I feel like a piece of cornbread.". I was in the overwhelming emotional state of love, grief, exhaustion, recovery from illness, desire to help, desire to sleep - and I pictured myself as a triangle of cornbread. I don't mean that I had been stirred and baked at a high heat. I mean that the consistency and purposes of the piece of cornbread as it sits on the dinner plate seemed to perfectly portray my perception of how I react to all overtures and approaches to me.
First things first - I feel loved. I feel loved by friends. I feel loved at work. I especially felt loved when visiting the families this past week. It's so good to get to see the family. I love seeing and spending time with everyone. We're all different, yet all a part of the same group. I think of it as a meal on a plate - all your different items, and I'm the piece of cornbread. Nobody would not want the cornbread there - I belong.
I feel covered. I feel as if everyone wants to spread a layer of protection over me like so much butter! Thank you, by the way. I have needed a lot of protection this year. Sometimes, without that layer of people to step up to others and say "Do you know who this is?" or "Let me tell you what you're dealing with here...", I would have dried up and crumbled away. Many family, friends, and even social media acquaintances have spread a layer of protection over me by coming to my defense in some matter or sympathizing with their own experience stories that make me laugh and feel as if I'm not alone.
A good cornbread is a little crumbly. It's a coarse bread, so those pieces sometimes just crumble away. I can identify with the crumbly nature of cornbread. Innocent things - tv commercials, e-mails, greeting cards, comments, questions, advice - all of those can crumble me in a second. Just as the fork doesn't mean to hit the cornbread on its way to the vegetables, the world doesn't mean to stab me. My consistency right now makes it easy for little things to just stick in and knock a piece of me away. If anyone can actually give me a real, factual system for not being too sensitive, I will listen and try it. How do you change the way you are emotionally made? The important part, though, is that even though I may get a bit crumbled, so many others are there for me to hold me together.
To know I'm not alone is such an advantage. There are big chunks of time when I am now physically alone. (There will be another post someday on the advantages of dogs and cats.) But I am not alone in any way other than that. Just as all the servings of food on a plate bump into each other, and the juices roll around to be soaked up by the cornbread, I am surrounded, in spirit, with so many of you that drop everything to be there if I call, text, make a comment, or cry out through a status. You reach out and I soak it up. Thank you. Just as cornbread is made richer by soaking in some juice (I'm thinking good old-fashioned beans and cornbread, a little sausage with it....), I am made richer and stronger by your support. I am trying to take steps on the road to recovery. When I stop still and stare, it may be your simple smile or pat on the arm that gives me strength to pick up my foot and take another step.
So, here's to the new year. I can make an honest toast that says "May it be better than 2013." Even thinking that hurts, though, because 2013 contained my last months of my "old" life. The life I thought I'd live forever. Thank goodness for the love and ideas and wisdom out there that this little ol' piece of cornbread can soak up. I might sit and stare and act a little bland, but please know I gather in your wishes, hugs and love and convert them to the strength to go on. Happy New Year.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
A Fingernail Fable 12/8/13
Friday morning hurry-up. All my fault, because I just didn't want to get out of bed. Have you ever been there? Life is happening outside your bedroom, outside your house, people are driving, drinking coffee, already having meetings......and your bed is just so warm and cozy that it's an actual argument with yourself to throw back the covers and stand up. We've all been there, I guess. When I do that, I can adjust the getting ready and still make it to work on time, but I still hurry. So during the hurry-up, I bent a fingernail backward trying to fasten my seat belt. A small reminder to slow down, it's all going to be there, whether I hurry to fasten the belt or do it at normal speed! Smoothing down the fingernail, I drove to work. The school was still there.
I'm not used to having any sort of long fingernails. A combination of weak nails and piano playing has always left me without nails as an accessory. Except for the few years of fake nails, they have always just been short and.... there. In the past eight months, they're stronger. They grow. I have to cut them and file them down. It's very strange to me - did a chemical change happen in my body when I entered grief? Or was it due to happen anyway? I don't know, but I do know that these knives that extend from my fingertips - and the care they require - is a new sensation.
Later Friday evening, the same backward-bent nail caught on something. You know, that sensation when it brushes cloth and you feel that little drag? I took a look. There was a cut in the middle of the tip. Not a big one, but like some tiny scissors just made one cut. I went to the place where I now keep the clippers and newly-acquired file, trimmed it and filed it smooth. It lost a little length, but it's still there. I suppose that was the price of decorating the tree. As Saturday came and went, more nails lost their way to the housework/decoration activities. They were shorter, but they were still there.
Today, Sunday, makes eight months since he's been gone. I don't really put much stock in anniversaries, but having made this portion of the grief journey personally, I see a truth. I slowly file away my old life. It's still there, it's just shorter. I can buy the low-fat eggnog now, there's nobody left to complain about it. When it's just me home, I have music playing. When it was just us, it was always the television. Still the same machine, just different. When a situation changes, I adapt. Humans adapt. The situation is still there, but we carry on and find ways to make it.
Adaptation isn't easy. Sometimes it even hurts! I took all the lights off the fifty-foot long stair garland yesterday. Those lights have been wound around that garland for so many years that they were caught in the little wires in certain places. As I separated the lights from the thin little wire inside the garland, I felt the thin wire slice right under my fingernail. OUCH! Who says decorating for Christmas is fun! After I finished the garland experience, (a new garland is now required....) I checked the fingernail damage. Sure enough, trim it, file it, it's still there. Only I think the cut might leave a little scar. And so it goes - the old life is still there, it's just been adapted, filed away, had its shape changed......with a few scars to show for the hurt along the way.
I'm not used to having any sort of long fingernails. A combination of weak nails and piano playing has always left me without nails as an accessory. Except for the few years of fake nails, they have always just been short and.... there. In the past eight months, they're stronger. They grow. I have to cut them and file them down. It's very strange to me - did a chemical change happen in my body when I entered grief? Or was it due to happen anyway? I don't know, but I do know that these knives that extend from my fingertips - and the care they require - is a new sensation.
Later Friday evening, the same backward-bent nail caught on something. You know, that sensation when it brushes cloth and you feel that little drag? I took a look. There was a cut in the middle of the tip. Not a big one, but like some tiny scissors just made one cut. I went to the place where I now keep the clippers and newly-acquired file, trimmed it and filed it smooth. It lost a little length, but it's still there. I suppose that was the price of decorating the tree. As Saturday came and went, more nails lost their way to the housework/decoration activities. They were shorter, but they were still there.
Today, Sunday, makes eight months since he's been gone. I don't really put much stock in anniversaries, but having made this portion of the grief journey personally, I see a truth. I slowly file away my old life. It's still there, it's just shorter. I can buy the low-fat eggnog now, there's nobody left to complain about it. When it's just me home, I have music playing. When it was just us, it was always the television. Still the same machine, just different. When a situation changes, I adapt. Humans adapt. The situation is still there, but we carry on and find ways to make it.
Adaptation isn't easy. Sometimes it even hurts! I took all the lights off the fifty-foot long stair garland yesterday. Those lights have been wound around that garland for so many years that they were caught in the little wires in certain places. As I separated the lights from the thin little wire inside the garland, I felt the thin wire slice right under my fingernail. OUCH! Who says decorating for Christmas is fun! After I finished the garland experience, (a new garland is now required....) I checked the fingernail damage. Sure enough, trim it, file it, it's still there. Only I think the cut might leave a little scar. And so it goes - the old life is still there, it's just been adapted, filed away, had its shape changed......with a few scars to show for the hurt along the way.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
My (burned out) light bulb moment 12/1/13
I have been shoring up the defenses. "The holidays are hard...". Every friend that has recent experience with loss, everyone with one ounce of common sense even, will share that information with me. Not to be mean, just a way of saying they understand, they commiserate, they're there for me. So I prepared. I have stayed busy. I had company. I had the kids around. I cooked. We shopped. Busy, busy, busy. The holiday, Thanksgiving day itself, was great. We had fun. It wasn't until today, with everybody gone again, that the reality, and the realization of what "The holidays are hard" really means.
Dropping nephew Zach at the airport on Saturday was bittersweet. We love that kid. (Not really a kid, but a kid to me!) We'll see him at Christmas, so we said goodbye, and headed on to more busy-ness. The girls crammed in last minute shopping and nails, then spent the last night with their respective friends. The quiet was relaxing. I watched a little TV with kitten Isis on my lap, then went to sleep knowing it was the last night of a full house. Still, I thought I was prepared. The holiday was past, I made it, no breakdowns. I had answered everyone that checked on me. I held my head up, I held grief at bay.
Unfortunately, all my shields can't stop the slow tide of sadness that creeps around the edges and invades my mind and my heart. I noticed the feeling before the girls even woke up. I did the usual, and hid it away. Even my own mom says "she hides it very well....". I can't help it, it's natural. We got the girls fed, packed and ready. Little Isis got in the car, and they were off down the road. One or two tears rolled, but I found things to do.
After I finished a few regular chores, I decided I could at least put up the Christmas tree. We didn't get to that. No decorating, just put together the three pieces of the pre-lit tree. Easy, and a start. I love this tree. I've only had it two years, it's ten feet tall, pre-lit and beautiful. I brought it in, got started, and when I got to the top, the third piece, one whole section of lights was burned out. I unplugged and re-plugged. I changed the fuse. I changed three bulbs and said forget it - I'm going to get a new string of lights and just put it on top of those.
I threw on a decent shirt, put on my shoes and drove to Walgreen's. Two strings of clear lights were left, and one of them was mine. I paid, got in the car and wham - it hit me. I sobbed so hard on the way home I'm surprised I could drive. I kept thinking "This is what everybody told me - the holidays are hard!" It wasn't putting up the tree, it wasn't even the burned-out lights. He would not have fixed the lights - the tree was my domain. The big sadness was having to face and deal with the problem in silence. I would have been able to complain to him. Those burned-out lights actually gave me a bright "light bulb moment" of my own. A huge part of our married life and any family life is that we can complain to each other. And, being married, or being family, you support that other person. I miss the person I could "bitch to". I miss him making fun of me when I complained about silly things. That's why I think the holidays are hard - there are more very happy and very stressful moments than at other times. And sharing those moments is a habit. I had to have a good cry about missing my sounding board. The expected holiday breakdown had arrived, uninvited and unwelcome. It passed when my super-friend made me get up and walk, as we do most nights.
After the walk, I put the new lights around the dark area of the tree. It looks perfect now. What's dark can be made light again. The burned-out bulbs are still underneath the new ones, though. Hopefully they "hide them very well". Bring on Christmas. I'm carrying my tissues.
Dropping nephew Zach at the airport on Saturday was bittersweet. We love that kid. (Not really a kid, but a kid to me!) We'll see him at Christmas, so we said goodbye, and headed on to more busy-ness. The girls crammed in last minute shopping and nails, then spent the last night with their respective friends. The quiet was relaxing. I watched a little TV with kitten Isis on my lap, then went to sleep knowing it was the last night of a full house. Still, I thought I was prepared. The holiday was past, I made it, no breakdowns. I had answered everyone that checked on me. I held my head up, I held grief at bay.
Unfortunately, all my shields can't stop the slow tide of sadness that creeps around the edges and invades my mind and my heart. I noticed the feeling before the girls even woke up. I did the usual, and hid it away. Even my own mom says "she hides it very well....". I can't help it, it's natural. We got the girls fed, packed and ready. Little Isis got in the car, and they were off down the road. One or two tears rolled, but I found things to do.
After I finished a few regular chores, I decided I could at least put up the Christmas tree. We didn't get to that. No decorating, just put together the three pieces of the pre-lit tree. Easy, and a start. I love this tree. I've only had it two years, it's ten feet tall, pre-lit and beautiful. I brought it in, got started, and when I got to the top, the third piece, one whole section of lights was burned out. I unplugged and re-plugged. I changed the fuse. I changed three bulbs and said forget it - I'm going to get a new string of lights and just put it on top of those.
I threw on a decent shirt, put on my shoes and drove to Walgreen's. Two strings of clear lights were left, and one of them was mine. I paid, got in the car and wham - it hit me. I sobbed so hard on the way home I'm surprised I could drive. I kept thinking "This is what everybody told me - the holidays are hard!" It wasn't putting up the tree, it wasn't even the burned-out lights. He would not have fixed the lights - the tree was my domain. The big sadness was having to face and deal with the problem in silence. I would have been able to complain to him. Those burned-out lights actually gave me a bright "light bulb moment" of my own. A huge part of our married life and any family life is that we can complain to each other. And, being married, or being family, you support that other person. I miss the person I could "bitch to". I miss him making fun of me when I complained about silly things. That's why I think the holidays are hard - there are more very happy and very stressful moments than at other times. And sharing those moments is a habit. I had to have a good cry about missing my sounding board. The expected holiday breakdown had arrived, uninvited and unwelcome. It passed when my super-friend made me get up and walk, as we do most nights.
After the walk, I put the new lights around the dark area of the tree. It looks perfect now. What's dark can be made light again. The burned-out bulbs are still underneath the new ones, though. Hopefully they "hide them very well". Bring on Christmas. I'm carrying my tissues.
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, November 5, 2013
I've Had Enough. (The one you have to look to find because I tell the truth) 11/5/13
I've had enough of some people. Stop. Just stop. Don't tell me how to find a man. It will be six months in a couple of days, and my heart still thinks he'll walk through the door. There are so many things for him to do. How am I supposed to know how to contact his Norwegian accountant, much less pay Norwegian taxes? I can see it now - little Norway police arriving at my school, asking for me and arresting me, even though I don't have a dragon tattoo! How much is 629 in Norwegian, anyway?
Work gets in the way. Yes, I've said in other posts that it's my salvation, but sometimes, it feels as it I'm back in the music building. You know, posing as a music major. I always felt that way, because I didn't have that "Ahhhhh!" attitude about all the classical music stuff. I would rather be out eating pizza or kissing on my boyfriend than practicing until 1 a.m. For that I was weird? These days, there are the 1 a.m. people in elementary school. Okay, maybe 7 p.m. But I don't share that desire. That building gets me - all of me - wholeheartedly - (well, I fake that occasionally) - from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. After that, I'm not the music teacher anymore. I'm back to being me. The widow. The single mom. The caretaker of the house/pets/accounts/vehicles/pool/you-name-it-I'm-in-charge-of-it. When I need to locate four particular papers for the accountant, two more for the lawyer, and do a couple of hours of homework for the financial planner, I really feel as if work needs to go away. Is there such thing as widow's leave? There needs to be, and it needs to be the type of leave that can be spread out for when you need it most.
I rant here, and I want attention here. I write because I want people to read this and understand (which you do) and give me an encouraging comment (which you do). I am an attention hog with a blog. Please don't hate me. Let me down gently. At six months of grief, that will be the only gentle thing that happens. Life moves on, and I'm expected to move with it. And I have. At a limp. If you know me, you see it. If you don't know me, I look "so strong". Hell, what else am I supposed to do, stay under the covers for days on end? I wish. I wish my personality allowed me to be a bit more of a delicate flower. Unfortunately, I am not. I would control everything if I could. Only if I physically can't or get absolutely shut down do I not exercise control over a situation. Man, oh man, did death laugh at me. I shouted at it, cried to it, and have sulked behind it for all these months. I don't like you, death.
I don't like a lot of things right now, and one of those things is people that "do it wrong". Thank goodness, there are only a few of those around me, probably because I keep my shield up almost all the time. There I go again, being positive behind a negative, because I can't group punish! Not everybody is bad! I just want to say, bad ones: just shut up. I'm done with you. I will leave the room or I will say "Not talking about that right now, thanks". Or just: (my favorite from England) "Can't". It must be said with a British accent, though. And if I do that, some American might not even know what I'm saying, or might think it's naughty.
If you found this post, know that I'm done. This is hard. I've had to learn a new way of defending myself. Until the insensitive idiots out there can stop, maybe learn, maybe change their demeanor; or at least until they shut up......my armor is on, but I'm now armed, and I might stick it to you a time or two. Someone should.
Work gets in the way. Yes, I've said in other posts that it's my salvation, but sometimes, it feels as it I'm back in the music building. You know, posing as a music major. I always felt that way, because I didn't have that "Ahhhhh!" attitude about all the classical music stuff. I would rather be out eating pizza or kissing on my boyfriend than practicing until 1 a.m. For that I was weird? These days, there are the 1 a.m. people in elementary school. Okay, maybe 7 p.m. But I don't share that desire. That building gets me - all of me - wholeheartedly - (well, I fake that occasionally) - from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. After that, I'm not the music teacher anymore. I'm back to being me. The widow. The single mom. The caretaker of the house/pets/accounts/vehicles/pool/you-name-it-I'm-in-charge-of-it. When I need to locate four particular papers for the accountant, two more for the lawyer, and do a couple of hours of homework for the financial planner, I really feel as if work needs to go away. Is there such thing as widow's leave? There needs to be, and it needs to be the type of leave that can be spread out for when you need it most.
I rant here, and I want attention here. I write because I want people to read this and understand (which you do) and give me an encouraging comment (which you do). I am an attention hog with a blog. Please don't hate me. Let me down gently. At six months of grief, that will be the only gentle thing that happens. Life moves on, and I'm expected to move with it. And I have. At a limp. If you know me, you see it. If you don't know me, I look "so strong". Hell, what else am I supposed to do, stay under the covers for days on end? I wish. I wish my personality allowed me to be a bit more of a delicate flower. Unfortunately, I am not. I would control everything if I could. Only if I physically can't or get absolutely shut down do I not exercise control over a situation. Man, oh man, did death laugh at me. I shouted at it, cried to it, and have sulked behind it for all these months. I don't like you, death.
I don't like a lot of things right now, and one of those things is people that "do it wrong". Thank goodness, there are only a few of those around me, probably because I keep my shield up almost all the time. There I go again, being positive behind a negative, because I can't group punish! Not everybody is bad! I just want to say, bad ones: just shut up. I'm done with you. I will leave the room or I will say "Not talking about that right now, thanks". Or just: (my favorite from England) "Can't". It must be said with a British accent, though. And if I do that, some American might not even know what I'm saying, or might think it's naughty.
If you found this post, know that I'm done. This is hard. I've had to learn a new way of defending myself. Until the insensitive idiots out there can stop, maybe learn, maybe change their demeanor; or at least until they shut up......my armor is on, but I'm now armed, and I might stick it to you a time or two. Someone should.
Friday, October 18, 2013
I Just Need Bigger Hair, That's All 10/18/13
I read a lot. Books, magazines, articles, blogs, bumper stickers, notes I confiscate from students.....you get the idea. It's one of the greatest pleasures in life; being wrapped up in a great story, and only stopping to read out of pure necessity, then realizing it's ninety minutes later than it was a minute ago!
Lately I've been reading about grief. Some of the reading is helpful, some depressing, all at least a little sad. I thought I was helping myself. In the past few weeks, things have been a little harder. The dear friends that I've shared this with understand and tell me their experiences. "The holidays are always difficult no matter how much time passes. It's been six months and you're just realizing how permanent this is. You have had to be so strong without a break, you must be mentally exhausted." So I'm here to say - you're right. The holidays are going to be way difficult, always and forever. I am just starting to feel the constancy of being alone. And I am exhausted. I am such a controller, though, that I control who gets to see and hear my breakdowns. (It's mostly those friends mentioned above that understand those things.....they've been there in one way or another, so I don't think they'll find me mentally unstable.)
I thought I would help myself. I googled 'grief harder at six months'. I can do this! I can READ myself whole again, right? Lo and behold, the first result was a blog call 'Handling with Grace'. What a coincidence! I am "Grace Under Pressure", and this is so similar to mine! I had to read. I just knew it would help. I started reading. It's a heartbreaking post from a young woman, dated 1/31/12, six months since she lost her mother to brain cancer. Beautifully written, I will share the link below so you can check it out if you are interested. But I got distracted while reading. What beautiful pictures! What a neat font! How do you get your archived blogs to show on the sidebar? Do mine show? I don't know! You have ads! Holy cow, this blog is like the perfect cheerleader/princess of blogs. I feel like the Cinderella (before fairy godmother) of blogs! I am sorry that my confession of attention disorder is not giving the respect to this lady's blog that it deserves. That's why I will share it below, it really is thoughtful and beautiful. I started blogging for myself, therefore I chose a layout, font, color, title, etc. that pleased me. I never thought I would have the nerve to share what I wrote. As it turns out, I've become quite the sharer.....and I never really looked back to see if things were ok. That's kind of like not looking in the mirror, right? (And this is not begging for compliments.....I liked what I saw when I looked again, I was just surprised that I didn't look at what was out there before I put mine together.)
But that other blog was such a beauty. I went running to the mirror to see if I could even compete. My blog looked like a middle-schooler, the other was like a homecoming queen. It felt like eighth grade all over again. I always needed more, so I thought. More eye shadow, more lip gloss, more and bigger hair....the only things I needed less of were braces and pimples. I am still trying to achieve that perfection in life. I am also more aware now than ever that I just am who I am. You see, six months alone can make you take a good hard look at yourself, even if there is no intention of trying to make anyone else look. You know what? The braces are gone. Yep, just teeth now. Everything else still feels like I need more. I just need bigger hair, and I'll feel better about myself. Right? Who am I trying to kid?
I figured it out. Reading can fix a little bit. I just read what I'd written above, and it helped me determine something: Blogging helps, but it doesn't cure anything. There's just something missing. That voice that used to tell me I was pretty. Or laugh at me. Or laugh with me. That voice would have either not cared about how the blog looked, or researched five million ways to make it really cool. No amount of big hair or an archived sidebar can bring that back. And that is the real reason that grief is harder at six months.
http://www.handlingwithgrace.com/2012/01/grief-at-6-months.html
Lately I've been reading about grief. Some of the reading is helpful, some depressing, all at least a little sad. I thought I was helping myself. In the past few weeks, things have been a little harder. The dear friends that I've shared this with understand and tell me their experiences. "The holidays are always difficult no matter how much time passes. It's been six months and you're just realizing how permanent this is. You have had to be so strong without a break, you must be mentally exhausted." So I'm here to say - you're right. The holidays are going to be way difficult, always and forever. I am just starting to feel the constancy of being alone. And I am exhausted. I am such a controller, though, that I control who gets to see and hear my breakdowns. (It's mostly those friends mentioned above that understand those things.....they've been there in one way or another, so I don't think they'll find me mentally unstable.)
I thought I would help myself. I googled 'grief harder at six months'. I can do this! I can READ myself whole again, right? Lo and behold, the first result was a blog call 'Handling with Grace'. What a coincidence! I am "Grace Under Pressure", and this is so similar to mine! I had to read. I just knew it would help. I started reading. It's a heartbreaking post from a young woman, dated 1/31/12, six months since she lost her mother to brain cancer. Beautifully written, I will share the link below so you can check it out if you are interested. But I got distracted while reading. What beautiful pictures! What a neat font! How do you get your archived blogs to show on the sidebar? Do mine show? I don't know! You have ads! Holy cow, this blog is like the perfect cheerleader/princess of blogs. I feel like the Cinderella (before fairy godmother) of blogs! I am sorry that my confession of attention disorder is not giving the respect to this lady's blog that it deserves. That's why I will share it below, it really is thoughtful and beautiful. I started blogging for myself, therefore I chose a layout, font, color, title, etc. that pleased me. I never thought I would have the nerve to share what I wrote. As it turns out, I've become quite the sharer.....and I never really looked back to see if things were ok. That's kind of like not looking in the mirror, right? (And this is not begging for compliments.....I liked what I saw when I looked again, I was just surprised that I didn't look at what was out there before I put mine together.)
But that other blog was such a beauty. I went running to the mirror to see if I could even compete. My blog looked like a middle-schooler, the other was like a homecoming queen. It felt like eighth grade all over again. I always needed more, so I thought. More eye shadow, more lip gloss, more and bigger hair....the only things I needed less of were braces and pimples. I am still trying to achieve that perfection in life. I am also more aware now than ever that I just am who I am. You see, six months alone can make you take a good hard look at yourself, even if there is no intention of trying to make anyone else look. You know what? The braces are gone. Yep, just teeth now. Everything else still feels like I need more. I just need bigger hair, and I'll feel better about myself. Right? Who am I trying to kid?
I figured it out. Reading can fix a little bit. I just read what I'd written above, and it helped me determine something: Blogging helps, but it doesn't cure anything. There's just something missing. That voice that used to tell me I was pretty. Or laugh at me. Or laugh with me. That voice would have either not cared about how the blog looked, or researched five million ways to make it really cool. No amount of big hair or an archived sidebar can bring that back. And that is the real reason that grief is harder at six months.
http://www.handlingwithgrace.com/2012/01/grief-at-6-months.html
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Along The Rocky Road 10/12/13
There are things I'll never say
and feelings I'll never express.
You have to know it's just my way,
I don't mean what I do say any less.
If I smile, I mean it somewhere,
even though my eyes fill with tears.
The duality of grief and living
is complex and full of fears.
I enjoy any conversation,
it's nice to hear a voice.
Emptiness gets really loud
and it's not like I had a choice.
I was blissfully unaware
of living with such daily pain.
I regret now not taking the care
with other friends that beat me there.
Striving to appear normal, like "each day is new"
I'm programmed that way, society to blame,
Stopping to cry isn't how we play the game.
But grief is churning inside of me like a bubbling witch's brew.
Writing this to thank all those that guide me along,
message me on the computer, a squeeze on the arm.
Letters, notes, comments, songs,
A hug, a smile that says "I know where you are."
I may not let on, but I need you desperately.
Being alone is not as easy as I thought it would be.
Were all of your encouragement in the shape of letters written,
you would find them faded and worn so thin from reading again and again.
I will survive, you and I both know that.
I just have to work through the new way of life
at the same time I'm wrapping up with everything past.
One step at a time on a rocky road -
Thank you to those that share the load.
and feelings I'll never express.
You have to know it's just my way,
I don't mean what I do say any less.
If I smile, I mean it somewhere,
even though my eyes fill with tears.
The duality of grief and living
is complex and full of fears.
I enjoy any conversation,
it's nice to hear a voice.
Emptiness gets really loud
and it's not like I had a choice.
I was blissfully unaware
of living with such daily pain.
I regret now not taking the care
with other friends that beat me there.
Striving to appear normal, like "each day is new"
I'm programmed that way, society to blame,
Stopping to cry isn't how we play the game.
But grief is churning inside of me like a bubbling witch's brew.
Writing this to thank all those that guide me along,
message me on the computer, a squeeze on the arm.
Letters, notes, comments, songs,
A hug, a smile that says "I know where you are."
I may not let on, but I need you desperately.
Being alone is not as easy as I thought it would be.
Were all of your encouragement in the shape of letters written,
you would find them faded and worn so thin from reading again and again.
I will survive, you and I both know that.
I just have to work through the new way of life
at the same time I'm wrapping up with everything past.
One step at a time on a rocky road -
Thank you to those that share the load.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Accepting Change and Trying Not to Break Things 10/8/13
Roxy-cat fell asleep on my computer keyboard yesterday. She pretty much owns the house, so that isn't a surprise. This is a cat that will smack a 55-lb. dog in the face if he tries to take her place on the couch. She regularly 'yells' at me if I stay gone too long - very loud, prolonged meowing. I've read that she is supposedly vocalizing her love, but it sounds like yelling to me! I think she feels better after she yells at me, like she's had her say, and it helped! She wasn't yelling yesterday, though, she was fast asleep on the keyboard.
The thing is, I wanted to use my computer at that time. She was in my way. So, I did what any good cat lady would do, I picked her up and put her down on the floor beside me! Only.....Roxy didn't want to get up. Is the keyboard of the computer nice and warm? Does it massage? Is she just obstinate? Who knows, the mind of Roxy is mysterious. Because she didn't want to get up, she held on to the keyboard with her claws. The inevitable result? She pulled a key right off. Of course, anyone might say that I pulled the key off by so cruelly lifting the darling from her nap. I noticed that the claw was caught, but the key popped off before I could let her go for relief. I wasn't too worried, I've put keys back on before. They kind of snap back on, easy, right?
I put the key on. I pushed. No snap. I looked at it - Oh! It's not the 9, it's the 6, turn it the other way! No snap. Little white plastic pieces underneath keep slightly moving and not snapping. It's broken. The cat broke the computer key. All because I insisted on pulling her off her spot, and she tried to hang on. Hmmmmm......
I can identify with Roxy. I get really comfortable with certain places, things, people. I'm pretty sure that I'm the kid that cried when I was seven and my mom get a new car. I don't know how I ever left for college....I think just to prove I could do it. I still have favorite t-shirts, blankets, jewelry, mixing bowls.....get the idea? I am huge on tradition and comfort. I pride myself when I can change, move, toss out, rearrange - because I know that doing so is a total challenge to my personality. I really prefer to hang on, just like Roxy.
Who handles change better? The adventurous personality? The rebel? The military kid? That would be a great study. I have learned to handle it because there were other entities forcing the change. I have never really wanted to leave any of my jobs. It just happened. I never really wanted to live so far away from family, it just happened. And I certainly never wanted to end up on my own at this age and stage, it just happened. I'm hanging on with my claws like a stubborn cat right now. I'm not cleaning out rooms in the house, because I want don't want to sell the house. I do know that I have to, and I will....I just don't want to!! (Funny note - we were going to sell it this spring anyway...) So let's just hope I can turn and face change with a winning attitude and pull my claws back in and not break anything. Maybe if I have a place where I can go and yell for a little while, I'll feel better.
The thing is, I wanted to use my computer at that time. She was in my way. So, I did what any good cat lady would do, I picked her up and put her down on the floor beside me! Only.....Roxy didn't want to get up. Is the keyboard of the computer nice and warm? Does it massage? Is she just obstinate? Who knows, the mind of Roxy is mysterious. Because she didn't want to get up, she held on to the keyboard with her claws. The inevitable result? She pulled a key right off. Of course, anyone might say that I pulled the key off by so cruelly lifting the darling from her nap. I noticed that the claw was caught, but the key popped off before I could let her go for relief. I wasn't too worried, I've put keys back on before. They kind of snap back on, easy, right?
I put the key on. I pushed. No snap. I looked at it - Oh! It's not the 9, it's the 6, turn it the other way! No snap. Little white plastic pieces underneath keep slightly moving and not snapping. It's broken. The cat broke the computer key. All because I insisted on pulling her off her spot, and she tried to hang on. Hmmmmm......
I can identify with Roxy. I get really comfortable with certain places, things, people. I'm pretty sure that I'm the kid that cried when I was seven and my mom get a new car. I don't know how I ever left for college....I think just to prove I could do it. I still have favorite t-shirts, blankets, jewelry, mixing bowls.....get the idea? I am huge on tradition and comfort. I pride myself when I can change, move, toss out, rearrange - because I know that doing so is a total challenge to my personality. I really prefer to hang on, just like Roxy.
Who handles change better? The adventurous personality? The rebel? The military kid? That would be a great study. I have learned to handle it because there were other entities forcing the change. I have never really wanted to leave any of my jobs. It just happened. I never really wanted to live so far away from family, it just happened. And I certainly never wanted to end up on my own at this age and stage, it just happened. I'm hanging on with my claws like a stubborn cat right now. I'm not cleaning out rooms in the house, because I want don't want to sell the house. I do know that I have to, and I will....I just don't want to!! (Funny note - we were going to sell it this spring anyway...) So let's just hope I can turn and face change with a winning attitude and pull my claws back in and not break anything. Maybe if I have a place where I can go and yell for a little while, I'll feel better.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
The Next Section of Road 9/29/13
The weather is changing. October will be here in a couple of days. The kids at school will get to sing "October, Rocktober"! The choir will scurry to learn all the holiday songs that they must know for concerts at the beginning of November. Another group of second graders will do the cutie-pie Turkey Follies show. The fourth graders will start work on their Holiday show. I'll be busy. But I'm scared that busy won't be enough.
I used to be so excited when October first arrived. It meant my birthday was only twenty-three days away, then Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas!! Zoom, the holiday season started rolling on October first and never stopped. That's why I'm scared. The beginning of Autumn through the chill of Christmas and the New Year is one long holiday. Yes, certain dates are on the calendar for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's day....but all of us, commercial entities and families, take this season to celebrate. Non-stop. Food. Decorations. Parties. Cards. Gifts. Travel. Family. Costumes. Even pet costumes, if you are in my family. I'm scared that every single day between October first and the back-to-school time in January is going to be a very difficult section of the journey.
The few cooler days that suggest Autumn in the deep South are invigorating. "The high today is only going to be eighty-eight!!" You hear it all around. Everyone switches from cool clothes in summer colors to cool clothes in Fall colors. Any Autumn weekend where people wake up to cooler temps for a few hours of the day finds them running off to the farmer's market or an Oktoberfest in some community. We grab at any hint of a break from the heat and call it Autumn. Never mind how much you're going to sweat at that festival or game. Fall has arrived! I always felt the excitement just like everyone else. But I'm starting to understand why holidays are huge mountains to be scaled on the road of grief.
I'm trying to prepare my mind and emotions. That's what I do, that's how I've been handling things. I remind myself that certain days/occasions/tasks are going to be more difficult. I then carry on through those things by allowing the memories and thoughts, giving them a minute and trying to move on. I carry tissues in case I don't move on too quickly. I surround myself with people. I go different places. I have started to do different things when home alone. He used to have the television on during every waking hour. I choose music. I'm kind of tweaking life to sidestep sadness. I don't think it's a cop out, because the sadness still gets in there a lot of the time.
I also have a lot of help in handling things. My beloved girls will be home for the holidays, and they are the best medicine for anything, as well as the ones that share my feelings. Besides being a good friend, Meiling is the one that checks on me daily and watches for any sign that I need time, an ear, a shoulder, or Mexican food. Thank you my friend for being such a good "keeper" to me and my zoo, that's why my mom won't let you move away. Other friends, at work and far away, call and message all the time. That is still important. I love it. Family is forever there. Mom is always there. Thank you. And how precious is it that nephew Zach is flying in for Thanksgiving week? Just the right tweak can make anticipation not completely sad.
In spite of all the help, I still must travel the holiday season part of the road. I have read suggestions "just skip Christmas", "celebrate at a hotel", "light a candle for memory".....many ways that people in the same situation have chosen to travel their difficult stretch of the road. But will any of that change my feelings and memories? How will I not think, on my birthday, of him giving me the beautiful diamond band last year, and saying "Well, you are fifty, after all."? How will I not think of him not being here most Thanksgivings, but always getting the turkey leg when he was? How will I not remember how proud he was of the custom-sized nylon straps he made at the office and brought home to hold the Christmas tree box closed? We had a life together for twenty-eight years. It's impossible not to think!
I will allow the memories. I will try to move on. If I can't, I will cry for a while, then move on. I will appreciate all the family and friends that are there for me. After the holidays are over, I'll probably go on that site and write my own suggestions for 'surviving the first holiday season without a loved one'. But I will know that every road has different obstacles. I'm just preparing for mine. Since October arrives in two days, I have to put on my helmet and hold on to the rails. Walk with me, cheer me on, give me a cup of water.....the trek has begun.
I used to be so excited when October first arrived. It meant my birthday was only twenty-three days away, then Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas!! Zoom, the holiday season started rolling on October first and never stopped. That's why I'm scared. The beginning of Autumn through the chill of Christmas and the New Year is one long holiday. Yes, certain dates are on the calendar for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's day....but all of us, commercial entities and families, take this season to celebrate. Non-stop. Food. Decorations. Parties. Cards. Gifts. Travel. Family. Costumes. Even pet costumes, if you are in my family. I'm scared that every single day between October first and the back-to-school time in January is going to be a very difficult section of the journey.
The few cooler days that suggest Autumn in the deep South are invigorating. "The high today is only going to be eighty-eight!!" You hear it all around. Everyone switches from cool clothes in summer colors to cool clothes in Fall colors. Any Autumn weekend where people wake up to cooler temps for a few hours of the day finds them running off to the farmer's market or an Oktoberfest in some community. We grab at any hint of a break from the heat and call it Autumn. Never mind how much you're going to sweat at that festival or game. Fall has arrived! I always felt the excitement just like everyone else. But I'm starting to understand why holidays are huge mountains to be scaled on the road of grief.
I'm trying to prepare my mind and emotions. That's what I do, that's how I've been handling things. I remind myself that certain days/occasions/tasks are going to be more difficult. I then carry on through those things by allowing the memories and thoughts, giving them a minute and trying to move on. I carry tissues in case I don't move on too quickly. I surround myself with people. I go different places. I have started to do different things when home alone. He used to have the television on during every waking hour. I choose music. I'm kind of tweaking life to sidestep sadness. I don't think it's a cop out, because the sadness still gets in there a lot of the time.
I also have a lot of help in handling things. My beloved girls will be home for the holidays, and they are the best medicine for anything, as well as the ones that share my feelings. Besides being a good friend, Meiling is the one that checks on me daily and watches for any sign that I need time, an ear, a shoulder, or Mexican food. Thank you my friend for being such a good "keeper" to me and my zoo, that's why my mom won't let you move away. Other friends, at work and far away, call and message all the time. That is still important. I love it. Family is forever there. Mom is always there. Thank you. And how precious is it that nephew Zach is flying in for Thanksgiving week? Just the right tweak can make anticipation not completely sad.
In spite of all the help, I still must travel the holiday season part of the road. I have read suggestions "just skip Christmas", "celebrate at a hotel", "light a candle for memory".....many ways that people in the same situation have chosen to travel their difficult stretch of the road. But will any of that change my feelings and memories? How will I not think, on my birthday, of him giving me the beautiful diamond band last year, and saying "Well, you are fifty, after all."? How will I not think of him not being here most Thanksgivings, but always getting the turkey leg when he was? How will I not remember how proud he was of the custom-sized nylon straps he made at the office and brought home to hold the Christmas tree box closed? We had a life together for twenty-eight years. It's impossible not to think!
I will allow the memories. I will try to move on. If I can't, I will cry for a while, then move on. I will appreciate all the family and friends that are there for me. After the holidays are over, I'll probably go on that site and write my own suggestions for 'surviving the first holiday season without a loved one'. But I will know that every road has different obstacles. I'm just preparing for mine. Since October arrives in two days, I have to put on my helmet and hold on to the rails. Walk with me, cheer me on, give me a cup of water.....the trek has begun.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Adam Levine is pretty - but just let me look at the sky occasionally 9/21/13
*to Ramona, Christina, Tricia, Meiling and mostly Cathi - thanks for the fun!!
It was a beautiful Thursday night for an outdoor concert. The rain had cleared and brought the temperature down! The crowd was immense. I think every woman and half the men in Houston came out to breathe the same air as Adam Levine. Maroon 5 is a good band. But their front man - he sells more than music. Those magazine covers, shirtless. The always-stylish hair, tattoos, tight clothes. He plays the part of "rock god" to the hilt. Oh yeah, and he can sing.
I got invited by a very sweet friend to go along with a few other ladies. I love concerts, and just by inviting me, she gave me a "thing" to look forward to that could take the place of the other wanderings my mind does these days. Kelly Clarkson and Maroon 5! Big talent! Fun friends! Laughing! Oh yeah - I laugh a lot. Sad people can laugh, too. Things don't stop being funny just because you're sad about something. Sometimes I lead with laughter. Other times, I simply smile because no laughter is inside me. I try to do what looks "normal", even though I'm not normal....yet.
Kelly Clarkson sings a lot of songs about losing boyfriends. I never realized how songs about losing a boyfriend could have so many lyrics that closely mirrored losing a spouse. Never mind "What Doesn't Kill You".... I was still getting my dinner (nachos, yum.....we bluffed our way into the VIP line so we didn't have to wait as long), so that one didn't really reach me. But then there was "Because of You", and "My Life Would Suck Without You". (Of course, my mind changed the second title to "My Life Does Suck Without You.") I sat, listened, and just looked up at the sky when the waves of sadness came. The clouds were beautiful. The moon was to our left. Only two or three stars were visible, sometimes even those ducking behind the clouds. I looked for a bit, then it would pass. Silly songs, silly lyrics, silly middle-aged lady taking them to heart.
After Kelly, the headliners were on stage. I had personally forgotten how many hits they've had over the years - songs that passed through my eardrums into my brain during the time that daughters ruled the car radio. (In my humble opinion, there is still good music being written and recorded today. You just need to look a little harder for it. The fun part about a blog is that it can be my soapbox if I want, it's my blog!) So, back to Adam Levine. I got the general impression that about 80% of the women in the audience would have left the place with him - as well as about 10% of the men. Even all the happily married women would have at least wanted to.....introduce the husband? Have coffee? Show him pics of the kids? He's very magnetic, and a huge cross-section of America wants to adopt him, for one reason or another. The other percentage of the audience were huge fans of the music - like the short, chubby dancing man in front of us. I appreciate and understand the craze about Mr. Levine.....but I felt as if everyone was in a museum with me, going crazy over the impressionists. While I thought they were pretty, I wanted to wander down the hall and look at the Old Masters. I texted my girls at college: "Good concert. Adam Levine is pretty". (Adam, if you read this, Maddy says she's single.)
I am actually writing about this to work through why I feel that I would rather meet Jagger than "Moves Like Jagger". Is it my age? I'm sure that's a big part. But most of all, I just know that I'm still having to look at the sky way too often. I probably don't want to meet Jagger, either. I try to hide it still. On any day, if I seem together and happy and secure - I've probably gotten more bad news. Anymore when bad news comes my way, I seem to deflect it as if I'm wearing some sort of armor.
Is the fact that I don't react immediately, sadly, uncontrollably, falling-apart-to-broken due to strength? No. I've heard that one a lot - "You are so strong." Meant as a compliment, I hope, to tell me that you admire the fact that I'm not in a fetal position on the floor, screaming. But it's not strength that keeps me going. There's nothing strong about sighing while I get ready for work, because the house is so empty. There's nothing strong about hiding behind my smart board to wipe away tears because my choir just broke into "Keep Your Head Up". There's nothing strong about going to an awesome concert with friends and laughing a lot about family, work and life. That's just living. Others may or may not notice when I look at the sky - I don't do it to be noticed, so it's ok if you don't. I just know that it's a measure of how often I have to re-gather myself to continue being normal. So I listen to Kelly Clarkson's amazing voice, appreciate her songs and the honest, funny way she talks to the audience, and I just stop and look at the sky when I have to. And I watch and listen to Adam Levine and Maroon 5, and look at the sky when I have to. After a few thoughts, a few breaths, I look back at the stage, or if I really need to cheer up, the short chubby dancing man. It was a good night, friends. Thank you.
It was a beautiful Thursday night for an outdoor concert. The rain had cleared and brought the temperature down! The crowd was immense. I think every woman and half the men in Houston came out to breathe the same air as Adam Levine. Maroon 5 is a good band. But their front man - he sells more than music. Those magazine covers, shirtless. The always-stylish hair, tattoos, tight clothes. He plays the part of "rock god" to the hilt. Oh yeah, and he can sing.
I got invited by a very sweet friend to go along with a few other ladies. I love concerts, and just by inviting me, she gave me a "thing" to look forward to that could take the place of the other wanderings my mind does these days. Kelly Clarkson and Maroon 5! Big talent! Fun friends! Laughing! Oh yeah - I laugh a lot. Sad people can laugh, too. Things don't stop being funny just because you're sad about something. Sometimes I lead with laughter. Other times, I simply smile because no laughter is inside me. I try to do what looks "normal", even though I'm not normal....yet.
Kelly Clarkson sings a lot of songs about losing boyfriends. I never realized how songs about losing a boyfriend could have so many lyrics that closely mirrored losing a spouse. Never mind "What Doesn't Kill You".... I was still getting my dinner (nachos, yum.....we bluffed our way into the VIP line so we didn't have to wait as long), so that one didn't really reach me. But then there was "Because of You", and "My Life Would Suck Without You". (Of course, my mind changed the second title to "My Life Does Suck Without You.") I sat, listened, and just looked up at the sky when the waves of sadness came. The clouds were beautiful. The moon was to our left. Only two or three stars were visible, sometimes even those ducking behind the clouds. I looked for a bit, then it would pass. Silly songs, silly lyrics, silly middle-aged lady taking them to heart.
After Kelly, the headliners were on stage. I had personally forgotten how many hits they've had over the years - songs that passed through my eardrums into my brain during the time that daughters ruled the car radio. (In my humble opinion, there is still good music being written and recorded today. You just need to look a little harder for it. The fun part about a blog is that it can be my soapbox if I want, it's my blog!) So, back to Adam Levine. I got the general impression that about 80% of the women in the audience would have left the place with him - as well as about 10% of the men. Even all the happily married women would have at least wanted to.....introduce the husband? Have coffee? Show him pics of the kids? He's very magnetic, and a huge cross-section of America wants to adopt him, for one reason or another. The other percentage of the audience were huge fans of the music - like the short, chubby dancing man in front of us. I appreciate and understand the craze about Mr. Levine.....but I felt as if everyone was in a museum with me, going crazy over the impressionists. While I thought they were pretty, I wanted to wander down the hall and look at the Old Masters. I texted my girls at college: "Good concert. Adam Levine is pretty". (Adam, if you read this, Maddy says she's single.)
I am actually writing about this to work through why I feel that I would rather meet Jagger than "Moves Like Jagger". Is it my age? I'm sure that's a big part. But most of all, I just know that I'm still having to look at the sky way too often. I probably don't want to meet Jagger, either. I try to hide it still. On any day, if I seem together and happy and secure - I've probably gotten more bad news. Anymore when bad news comes my way, I seem to deflect it as if I'm wearing some sort of armor.
Is the fact that I don't react immediately, sadly, uncontrollably, falling-apart-to-broken due to strength? No. I've heard that one a lot - "You are so strong." Meant as a compliment, I hope, to tell me that you admire the fact that I'm not in a fetal position on the floor, screaming. But it's not strength that keeps me going. There's nothing strong about sighing while I get ready for work, because the house is so empty. There's nothing strong about hiding behind my smart board to wipe away tears because my choir just broke into "Keep Your Head Up". There's nothing strong about going to an awesome concert with friends and laughing a lot about family, work and life. That's just living. Others may or may not notice when I look at the sky - I don't do it to be noticed, so it's ok if you don't. I just know that it's a measure of how often I have to re-gather myself to continue being normal. So I listen to Kelly Clarkson's amazing voice, appreciate her songs and the honest, funny way she talks to the audience, and I just stop and look at the sky when I have to. And I watch and listen to Adam Levine and Maroon 5, and look at the sky when I have to. After a few thoughts, a few breaths, I look back at the stage, or if I really need to cheer up, the short chubby dancing man. It was a good night, friends. Thank you.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Scary Movies Aren't As Scary As Life 9/15/13
I just saw "Insidious, Chapter 2". If you know me, this is not surprising, you know that I love scary movies. When I saw the original "Insidious", I proclaimed it one of the best scary movies I'd seen in a long time. I even bought the DVD, which is not a habit of mine, as it is with some people. Today, I enjoyed the sequel, but not as much as the first. Is this because it's not quite as good, or because of my reality?
Scary movies want to make us afraid of ghosts, 'spirits', beings that are stuck in the afterlife because of some evil reason or another. I happen to know that there is no such thing, and what is left behind is much more difficult to manage simply because we are left alone to handle things.
I sit writing this with a box fan blowing into my 'office', because the air conditioner needs repair. It's leaking Freon in the attic portion, so they have to replace all those workings. I have reserved the pretty penny that it will cost, scheduled the work and requested my day off. These are all the responsibilities of the sole adult that owns the house. In one scene of the movie today, the ghost punched the woman in the face. I might have preferred that horror to the stress and cost of getting the a/c repaired.
This past Friday, I sold the dirt bike that he had left sitting in the garage. I knew what he had paid for it, and ended up taking a bit less, just to get rid of it. I didn't envision him sitting on it, or trying to start it - like the movie with its visions of a person long gone sitting on the bed. I just saw the bike, the space it's been taking up in the garage, the hope I had that it would start for the potential buyers after four months, and the dust and cobwebs that clung to it. Start it finally did, and after the exchange of cash, the bike was theirs. Of course, I typed out a receipt, one for them, one for me, because I could hear him saying "Make sure you give a receipt, I've see too many 'People's Court' episodes where stupid people didn't get anything in writing....." All right, I didn't envision anything, but boy, could I hear his words in my brain. That's not scary, though. That is comforting.
I am one person at home now - with three cars to choose from. I do intend to sell them and upgrade to something newer, and therefore (in theory) more dependable. One needs a new water pump, knock sensor, and catalytic converter. One just got a new water pump, but has a funny clank that I can't get it to make for the mechanic. The third is in decent shape, it's just ten years old! Now, I'll admit, we've been very spoiled as far a vehicles go - Scott could fix almost anything, therefore we got older, but more top-of the-line when we purchased. Having to sell and buy cars by myself is more of a nightmare than seeing a shadow face in the window. That's scary, but only for a minute. My fears these days are eroding me like water did the Grand Canyon.
Sometimes, there's just sadness. In the movie today, there was someone that was extremely mean and evil toward a child. Sadness. My heart breaks and prays for mistreated children on a daily basis. In my house today, I called little Marylebone, the Scottie, up to sit with me for a bit. I scratched him, then stopped.......he nosed my hand up for more. After a good five-minute scratching session, I realized that his dad is gone, his girls are gone, and I'm the only one left to pet a scratch him on a daily basis. I will say every now and then, I get help with this from my favorite fifth-grader Riley. Still, the thought that anyone, even the creatures, would not get enough attention from me because of all the responsibilities I now have is just plain sad.
Then again, there is the example of Riley. We took her to the scary movie today. Her mom carefully scanned the reviews and deemed it appropriate. We promised her she could sit between us. As it came time to go in, her nerves almost seemed to get the better of her - slowing her step and clutching her tummy. We encouraged and joked and promised that it wouldn't be that bad. She got settled, legs tucked up so she could turn and hide her face in her mom's arm, and the movie started. After a few 'jumps' and 'scares', her reaction turned from hiding her face to laughing nervously. It was very cute, her mom and I are famous for laughing in scary or serious movies, we find it takes away the intensity. Ok, maybe we annoy some people around us, but it can't be helped! Riley's laughter under stress was a reminder to me. The things I have going on at present may be scary, sad, stressful....but there's usually a little laughter in each day. And after a good laugh, you take a deep breath....and just keep going. Remember how I said Riley was nervous going in to the movie? On the way out, she was practically bouncing as she walked, and said "I'm so glad I went to see that!" I hope I can take things in stride like that and keep going. What an example. Take that, scary stuff.
Scary movies want to make us afraid of ghosts, 'spirits', beings that are stuck in the afterlife because of some evil reason or another. I happen to know that there is no such thing, and what is left behind is much more difficult to manage simply because we are left alone to handle things.
I sit writing this with a box fan blowing into my 'office', because the air conditioner needs repair. It's leaking Freon in the attic portion, so they have to replace all those workings. I have reserved the pretty penny that it will cost, scheduled the work and requested my day off. These are all the responsibilities of the sole adult that owns the house. In one scene of the movie today, the ghost punched the woman in the face. I might have preferred that horror to the stress and cost of getting the a/c repaired.
This past Friday, I sold the dirt bike that he had left sitting in the garage. I knew what he had paid for it, and ended up taking a bit less, just to get rid of it. I didn't envision him sitting on it, or trying to start it - like the movie with its visions of a person long gone sitting on the bed. I just saw the bike, the space it's been taking up in the garage, the hope I had that it would start for the potential buyers after four months, and the dust and cobwebs that clung to it. Start it finally did, and after the exchange of cash, the bike was theirs. Of course, I typed out a receipt, one for them, one for me, because I could hear him saying "Make sure you give a receipt, I've see too many 'People's Court' episodes where stupid people didn't get anything in writing....." All right, I didn't envision anything, but boy, could I hear his words in my brain. That's not scary, though. That is comforting.
I am one person at home now - with three cars to choose from. I do intend to sell them and upgrade to something newer, and therefore (in theory) more dependable. One needs a new water pump, knock sensor, and catalytic converter. One just got a new water pump, but has a funny clank that I can't get it to make for the mechanic. The third is in decent shape, it's just ten years old! Now, I'll admit, we've been very spoiled as far a vehicles go - Scott could fix almost anything, therefore we got older, but more top-of the-line when we purchased. Having to sell and buy cars by myself is more of a nightmare than seeing a shadow face in the window. That's scary, but only for a minute. My fears these days are eroding me like water did the Grand Canyon.
Sometimes, there's just sadness. In the movie today, there was someone that was extremely mean and evil toward a child. Sadness. My heart breaks and prays for mistreated children on a daily basis. In my house today, I called little Marylebone, the Scottie, up to sit with me for a bit. I scratched him, then stopped.......he nosed my hand up for more. After a good five-minute scratching session, I realized that his dad is gone, his girls are gone, and I'm the only one left to pet a scratch him on a daily basis. I will say every now and then, I get help with this from my favorite fifth-grader Riley. Still, the thought that anyone, even the creatures, would not get enough attention from me because of all the responsibilities I now have is just plain sad.
Then again, there is the example of Riley. We took her to the scary movie today. Her mom carefully scanned the reviews and deemed it appropriate. We promised her she could sit between us. As it came time to go in, her nerves almost seemed to get the better of her - slowing her step and clutching her tummy. We encouraged and joked and promised that it wouldn't be that bad. She got settled, legs tucked up so she could turn and hide her face in her mom's arm, and the movie started. After a few 'jumps' and 'scares', her reaction turned from hiding her face to laughing nervously. It was very cute, her mom and I are famous for laughing in scary or serious movies, we find it takes away the intensity. Ok, maybe we annoy some people around us, but it can't be helped! Riley's laughter under stress was a reminder to me. The things I have going on at present may be scary, sad, stressful....but there's usually a little laughter in each day. And after a good laugh, you take a deep breath....and just keep going. Remember how I said Riley was nervous going in to the movie? On the way out, she was practically bouncing as she walked, and said "I'm so glad I went to see that!" I hope I can take things in stride like that and keep going. What an example. Take that, scary stuff.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
A Twist of the Knife 9/8/13
I feel numb. Maria, the girl I lived with in the dorm for four years - lost HER husband last night. Her text to me started with "I've joined your club." Ouch. This is not a sought-out membership. I don't even know yet what happened. Everyone is curious. When someone dies, and they're in their fifties, and haven't been sick, everyone wants to know what happened. I do too, I just have other feelings that are right up there with the curiosity. I feel the same numbness, the same feeling of the world stopping, the same lost feeling that followed me home from the hospital on that night four months ago. When death happens, those of us that always have an answer, that always figure out a way to fix things, that always try to make things work better; we are struck dumb. There is no way to make it better. There is no magic word, pill, book, way of talking, exercise, food.....nothing can change death.
Maria is a smart woman. She is the kind of person I like to associate myself with; sensible, knowledgeable about tools, engines, minor repairs, fun, kind, with a strong devotion to family and friends. She's not a weak person. I like to think that the above description fits me, also. (Maybe I'm just flattering myself, too.) But this is why I hate to see her "join the club". It doesn't really fit that well on us, 'widowhood'. We were little girls that dreamed of wedding dresses, teenage girls that saw our parents stick with it, college girls with a plan to find a man. We envisioned marriage with houses, pets, children....and we both got it. When we met, I was seventeen, she was already eighteen. We were kids just thrown together by some random roommate fairy. It worked. We got along. When we graduated, she was twenty-two and headed back to Atlanta for a job, I was twenty-one and headed to the altar with Scott.
Maria wore the lovely shiny lavender bridesmaid's dress in my wedding. I wore the absolutely beautiful black bridesmaid's dress at her wedding. (To this day, the prettiest wedding photos I have ever seen.) She came to visit after Mallory was born, to see our first baby girl. Not long after, she had baby girls of her own. Even when we lived in England, Maria would come see us when we visited Scott's parents. The kids were growing fast, and all of us worked and were busy with life. It didn't matter how much time passed, though; Maria is a forever friend. Whenever we did get the chance to talk, we didn't hold back. And, being a forever friend, she was there this past June when we said goodbye to Scott with a service in Florida. Maria and Tamre' - the other best college friend - drove in the night before the service and had dinner with the family. Then we went back to Tamre's room. Within minutes, it was just as if we were in the dorm room together. Only the discussions were about husbands, the loss of mine, nearly-grown children, aging parents, taking care of ourselves and the need for reading glasses. I appreciate them being there for me so much. Maria was there at the start of my journey with Scott and she was there to mourn/celebrate the end.
Then, that text. Almost four months to the day of not being able to wake my husband from his nap due to a heart attack, Maria's husband falls over while mowing the grass, due to a heart attack. My Scott was fifty-two. Doug was fifty-three. Maria and I are both moms left with two girls. What a club. I told her that if she wanted me at his services, just say the word. She said let's get together later, she knows I've traveled too much lately. I can't wait to plan a weekend outside Atlanta. Let's call it a club meeting. I don't want to invite anybody else. Here's hoping that the rest of you little girls that dreamed happily-ever-after are continuing to live it. When part of it is gone, the bad part is that it's still ever-after, just not so happily.
Maria is a smart woman. She is the kind of person I like to associate myself with; sensible, knowledgeable about tools, engines, minor repairs, fun, kind, with a strong devotion to family and friends. She's not a weak person. I like to think that the above description fits me, also. (Maybe I'm just flattering myself, too.) But this is why I hate to see her "join the club". It doesn't really fit that well on us, 'widowhood'. We were little girls that dreamed of wedding dresses, teenage girls that saw our parents stick with it, college girls with a plan to find a man. We envisioned marriage with houses, pets, children....and we both got it. When we met, I was seventeen, she was already eighteen. We were kids just thrown together by some random roommate fairy. It worked. We got along. When we graduated, she was twenty-two and headed back to Atlanta for a job, I was twenty-one and headed to the altar with Scott.
Maria wore the lovely shiny lavender bridesmaid's dress in my wedding. I wore the absolutely beautiful black bridesmaid's dress at her wedding. (To this day, the prettiest wedding photos I have ever seen.) She came to visit after Mallory was born, to see our first baby girl. Not long after, she had baby girls of her own. Even when we lived in England, Maria would come see us when we visited Scott's parents. The kids were growing fast, and all of us worked and were busy with life. It didn't matter how much time passed, though; Maria is a forever friend. Whenever we did get the chance to talk, we didn't hold back. And, being a forever friend, she was there this past June when we said goodbye to Scott with a service in Florida. Maria and Tamre' - the other best college friend - drove in the night before the service and had dinner with the family. Then we went back to Tamre's room. Within minutes, it was just as if we were in the dorm room together. Only the discussions were about husbands, the loss of mine, nearly-grown children, aging parents, taking care of ourselves and the need for reading glasses. I appreciate them being there for me so much. Maria was there at the start of my journey with Scott and she was there to mourn/celebrate the end.
Then, that text. Almost four months to the day of not being able to wake my husband from his nap due to a heart attack, Maria's husband falls over while mowing the grass, due to a heart attack. My Scott was fifty-two. Doug was fifty-three. Maria and I are both moms left with two girls. What a club. I told her that if she wanted me at his services, just say the word. She said let's get together later, she knows I've traveled too much lately. I can't wait to plan a weekend outside Atlanta. Let's call it a club meeting. I don't want to invite anybody else. Here's hoping that the rest of you little girls that dreamed happily-ever-after are continuing to live it. When part of it is gone, the bad part is that it's still ever-after, just not so happily.
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
Saturday, August 31, 2013
There's Me, then there's (me) - a Squirrel-Fur Story 8/31/13
The first week of school is over. The routine has set in. The big kids have already learned some stuff (ha ha, gotcha!), and more and more of the babies are opening their mouths and singing with me every day. Here we go. That's Me. I will forever, though, equate this first week with the things I've had to do concerning probate, real estate, life insurance, and being the single parent. That is (me). There are barriers there. I'm not going to share that information with everybody out there. Yes, it may seem that I tell you a detail or two, but none of it chips the surface of the reality I'm living.
There is squirrel fur on the bedroom floor right now. Just a couple clumps, but that's enough to make me think that some squirrel left it behind on someone's paw as it ran and HID in my bedroom somewhere. I found a dead squirrel out back on Thursday morning - very possible that one animal or another brought the dead one's brother in the house! This is the kind of thing I do share. Amusing anecdotes. Enjoyable escapades. Hilarious happenings. (Alliteration kick courtesy of my favorite fifth grader, Riley!) I shall probably search for above-mentioned squirrel before I finish writing this today. That's my 'story of the day'. Unfortunately, there's a LOT more that goes untold.
Almost every day this week, there was an untold story, deed, issue. I can share a few of them here, but some I just only tell certain people. Me is an open house, but (me) is a locked closet. I know, everyone is that way, it just seems magnified to me now that I'm dealing with the aftermath of death.
College girl's laptop broke right before she headed off to school. Less than a year old, I knew it was still under warranty. I had to deal with having tech support help me on the phone, then reporting to them that it still didn't work, getting an RMA number, shipping it off, etc. Not that difficult, but computers were his department. I think every married couple, especially parents, have certain "departments". Laundry, paying bills, house décor, children and animal health - those were some of my departments. Computers, TVs, pool chemicals, cars, yard, insurance - those were some of his. Having to step in and run the other department is sometimes difficult because it is new territory, but always difficult because I'm only doing this because he's gone. I'm proud to say the freshly-repaired-under-warranty laptop arrived yesterday. Success in one new territory.
If only every little task that dealt with the aftermath felt like success. Who is really worried whether or not I remember to take the right paperwork to school with me so that I can stop by the lawyer's office after a long day and let them make copies of the appropriate papers for probate court? Who really cares that I answer the personal e-mails that still arrive in his inbox, giving them the sad news and telling them I will tie up all the loose ends and keep in touch? With each thing I do, however, I share my accomplishment with one of the people that get to know (me). My family, my best friends, sometimes a special friend at work.....but not everyone. Even the examples in this writing are not the ones that I consider the "big issues", - the ones that send me to my car or my chair at home sobbing.
So it's not for everyone to know every piece of business. I'd rather talk to you about how good the kids are this week (general consensus - they're tired!), or what was for dinner last night, or how cold it is in my classroom, and why can't I remember to bring my sweater to school?.....all of that is Me. What you might not realize is that (me) is sitting there eating lunch, and because of the cold room and the soap from just washing my hands, I was able to slip off the wedding band for the first time in many years. My finger was a size 6 in 1984. It's not anymore. Nevertheless, I worked it off. I didn't tell anyone, just put it on my pinky. It's not that I'm ready to be without it - I still have the diamonds on. I'm just scared if I put it back on, it would have to be cut off one of these days. Or maybe I am trying to give myself reminders that all departments belong to me now, and I can do it! I'm not ready to look unmarried, I'm just trying to do a good job at being the only one that takes care of everything. Talk about a sad story, a forlorn fable, a depressing drama. That's why I only let most people see Me, not (me). I can do this with help - special friends that give me pens, dinner, chocolate cake, anonymous cards - these gestures let me know there are others that understand (me), and even have a (me) themselves.
Me can finish out this part of the story for you: I called my friend to come over and help hunt the squirrel. My friend took one look at the fur and said "That looks like your hair, are you sure none of the pets got hold of a hairbrush or something?" I said no, and kept looking. After about five minutes of looking and talking, the answer dawned on me. "There is no squirrel!" I exclaimed. I knew the answer. I took a phone pic of silly Roxy-cat sitting on top of the wardrobe. The vacuum was in the corner in the pic. I moved the vacuum and took another pic, then put it back. (Lord knows we can't have a vacuum in our picture, it just wouldn't look proper, would it?) The last time I vacuumed, it was when my girls and I got our hair cut at the house. Sure enough, that multi-colored clump of hair that I thought was straight from a squirrel's tail was actually a mix of our reddish-brown, brown and caramel highlights hair scraps, freeing themselves from the evil beater brush of the Shark. I'm not hiding anything about the squirrel-fur story. That made me laugh today. I will choose to focus on those types of things. Here's hoping the laughter will at least help (me) keep my balance. Love, Me.
There is squirrel fur on the bedroom floor right now. Just a couple clumps, but that's enough to make me think that some squirrel left it behind on someone's paw as it ran and HID in my bedroom somewhere. I found a dead squirrel out back on Thursday morning - very possible that one animal or another brought the dead one's brother in the house! This is the kind of thing I do share. Amusing anecdotes. Enjoyable escapades. Hilarious happenings. (Alliteration kick courtesy of my favorite fifth grader, Riley!) I shall probably search for above-mentioned squirrel before I finish writing this today. That's my 'story of the day'. Unfortunately, there's a LOT more that goes untold.
Almost every day this week, there was an untold story, deed, issue. I can share a few of them here, but some I just only tell certain people. Me is an open house, but (me) is a locked closet. I know, everyone is that way, it just seems magnified to me now that I'm dealing with the aftermath of death.
College girl's laptop broke right before she headed off to school. Less than a year old, I knew it was still under warranty. I had to deal with having tech support help me on the phone, then reporting to them that it still didn't work, getting an RMA number, shipping it off, etc. Not that difficult, but computers were his department. I think every married couple, especially parents, have certain "departments". Laundry, paying bills, house décor, children and animal health - those were some of my departments. Computers, TVs, pool chemicals, cars, yard, insurance - those were some of his. Having to step in and run the other department is sometimes difficult because it is new territory, but always difficult because I'm only doing this because he's gone. I'm proud to say the freshly-repaired-under-warranty laptop arrived yesterday. Success in one new territory.
If only every little task that dealt with the aftermath felt like success. Who is really worried whether or not I remember to take the right paperwork to school with me so that I can stop by the lawyer's office after a long day and let them make copies of the appropriate papers for probate court? Who really cares that I answer the personal e-mails that still arrive in his inbox, giving them the sad news and telling them I will tie up all the loose ends and keep in touch? With each thing I do, however, I share my accomplishment with one of the people that get to know (me). My family, my best friends, sometimes a special friend at work.....but not everyone. Even the examples in this writing are not the ones that I consider the "big issues", - the ones that send me to my car or my chair at home sobbing.
So it's not for everyone to know every piece of business. I'd rather talk to you about how good the kids are this week (general consensus - they're tired!), or what was for dinner last night, or how cold it is in my classroom, and why can't I remember to bring my sweater to school?.....all of that is Me. What you might not realize is that (me) is sitting there eating lunch, and because of the cold room and the soap from just washing my hands, I was able to slip off the wedding band for the first time in many years. My finger was a size 6 in 1984. It's not anymore. Nevertheless, I worked it off. I didn't tell anyone, just put it on my pinky. It's not that I'm ready to be without it - I still have the diamonds on. I'm just scared if I put it back on, it would have to be cut off one of these days. Or maybe I am trying to give myself reminders that all departments belong to me now, and I can do it! I'm not ready to look unmarried, I'm just trying to do a good job at being the only one that takes care of everything. Talk about a sad story, a forlorn fable, a depressing drama. That's why I only let most people see Me, not (me). I can do this with help - special friends that give me pens, dinner, chocolate cake, anonymous cards - these gestures let me know there are others that understand (me), and even have a (me) themselves.
Me can finish out this part of the story for you: I called my friend to come over and help hunt the squirrel. My friend took one look at the fur and said "That looks like your hair, are you sure none of the pets got hold of a hairbrush or something?" I said no, and kept looking. After about five minutes of looking and talking, the answer dawned on me. "There is no squirrel!" I exclaimed. I knew the answer. I took a phone pic of silly Roxy-cat sitting on top of the wardrobe. The vacuum was in the corner in the pic. I moved the vacuum and took another pic, then put it back. (Lord knows we can't have a vacuum in our picture, it just wouldn't look proper, would it?) The last time I vacuumed, it was when my girls and I got our hair cut at the house. Sure enough, that multi-colored clump of hair that I thought was straight from a squirrel's tail was actually a mix of our reddish-brown, brown and caramel highlights hair scraps, freeing themselves from the evil beater brush of the Shark. I'm not hiding anything about the squirrel-fur story. That made me laugh today. I will choose to focus on those types of things. Here's hoping the laughter will at least help (me) keep my balance. Love, Me.
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