It's still all around; the Christmas stuff. I've started kind of moving it to one table, so I can eventually put it away so, so neatly. That's how my mind thinks. There's really only three things on that table. I feel that when I pack it all away, he is gone from Christmas forever. Replaced by the one that we did totally by ourselves.
Between that first paragraph and the start of this one, it's all put away. Well, mostly. I always leave out two boxes for a few extra days - one for the towels, pot holders, things that need washing; the other for the 'extra' finds that are inevitably missed in the first clean-up sweep. I feel accomplished. Yet I feel......I feel cheated. I feel cheated because I was reminded, in cleaning up the year, of what was stolen from me. I feel the need to share something that came home with me, and you can take from it what you will. I am mostly sharing this for two types of people; adults with sentimental memories of their own, and young adult girls (women) like my daughters that are in the midst of dating, falling in love, and trying to find that special someone.
I have all sorts of memories of my husband around the house. I will work on organizing, deciding what to save, what to pass on.......one of these days. Right now, I just look at things occasionally, and put them back in their cabinet or drawer or box. I'll get the right feeling when I'm ready. Perhaps moving into the new year will advance that feeling, but then again, maybe not. I'll just have to wait and see.
I visited my mother-in-law for a couple of days over the holidays. At one point, she handed me a manila envelope, taped closed, marked "Scott-memories". I slid it into the front flat zipper pocket on my suitcase and promptly forgot about it. (Conveniently forgetting things is a part of grief, perhaps one of my greatest defenses!) I forgot so hard that I didn't even remember to close the zipper on that pouch when I checked my bag to fly. The envelope was partially sticking out when I claimed the bag. After an "oh crap!" moment, I zipped it closed and forgot about it again.
So, as part of the "put away Christmas", I decided to get those last few things out of the suitcase so it could be put away as well. And there was the envelope. I saved it for bedtime, alone time, no interaction-with-other-humans time.....just in case. I cut open the tape, and pulled out one thing at a time. Drawings, report cards, birthday cards, progress reports, one after another. Then, two envelopes. The first, an inner envelope of a sort, with his parent's names - "Trudy and Jim" in my handwriting. I opened it - she had saved our wedding invitation from 1984. I glanced at it, had a few memories, and put it away. I have one, too, so now each girl can have one if they want it. The second envelope held a card, and was addressed to Scott by me, postmarked July 9, 1981.
Our first date was January 14, 1981, so this was almost six months later. I was eighteen years old, and it was the summer between my freshman and sophomore year. I pulled out the card - it had a big unicorn on the cover. Yes, I was a unicorn girl. I admit it. Some of the vestiges are still around, coffee mugs and figurines. It's really time to clean out! I opened the card and started reading. Mostly descriptions of what I was doing, and had to do in the next few days. Sweet, innocent, young. But right in the middle, there it was. The part that brought me to tears. How could I say this after only six months? I would chastise any young girl that did so today! These words, though, brought home to me what I'd lost, how invested I was, and why it's so easy now to "be strong" and yet so difficult to "move on".
If you are a young girl looking for the right person today, saying words like this may happen through text or tweet, or snapchat, or whatever ghostly invention comes next. And I feel sad that you won't be able to hold it in your hands thirty-three years later and smile or cry or laugh about it. If you are saying something like this, though, be aware that you could actually be expressing a desire for what will turn out to be your whole life. It could come true, it could be made real. Just be aware of that. It was made real for me, and I was fortunate; it was true and turned out beyond well. Hence my strength. Also my sadness. Here's to memories for us that are older, and to looking for your happily-ever-after for those that are searching.
My words to him, in pretty cursive writing in a unicorn card:
"I can't wait to see you again. I feel like I can face the world if you're there holding my hand. You make me so strong - you know that, don't you? I love you."
Showing posts with label loss of a family member. Show all posts
Showing posts with label loss of a family member. Show all posts
Sunday, January 5, 2014
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.
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.
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.
Monday, August 19, 2013
The First Day Blues 8/19/13
First day blues.....I got 'em. I prepared myself to go back to work, I did. I wrote another piece to tell people how I feel, but please treat me normally - and they did! I love them! I went in with dear friends last week who helped do some of the not-fun work in the classroom! I'm ahead of my usual game! (So I thought....) Then, it happened.
I was up until midnight, having caught a flight back to Houston from instilling dear daughters in their college apartment. I told them goodbye, hugged them, told them I loved them and walked away. It took until after I got through security for it to hit me - I'm alone. I can do what I want right now, as long as I make my plane. And that won't change. After I get home tonight, I can do what I want, and nobody will even have a clue. Whether I watch TV, eat a snack, play the piano, read a book, do some sewing, clean house, play computer games, blog.......it's my time and nobody is there to interrupt it. The very thought that used to sound idyllic is now nothing but sad.
In truth, the reality was a couple of games of that candy game, then sleep. Alarm ringing far too early, and going about the morning routine that I've followed for years. Monday morning kicking me..."keep moving!" it says. Realizing as I leave the house that I can turn off the coffee and all the lights, nobody else is there to wake up later. Getting to work and seeing my good friends, and all the other precious people. They have chik-fil-a breakfast biscuits!! Woo-hoo! All good, healthy intentions go out the window as I get a biscuit to go with my coffee. I sit in my assigned place, take two bites of breakfast deliciousness (in-between talking) and then the announcement begins. "Time for our ice-breaker!" With all the veracity in the world, and no sarcasm (although I know that my faithful readers always imagine my sarcasm, because they know me), it was not a bad ice-breaker. Clever idea. Comment or contact me somehow if you weren't there and want to know the details. But was my mind on the game? NO! There was a chicken biscuit sitting there getting cold, doesn't anyone see how dire the situation is? Alas, it was not warm at all by the time the ice-breaker was over. That was a real shame, as for the next twenty-three minutes, I had to watch an inspirational speaker on video. Great ideas, of course. They wouldn't pay for/use these things if they weren't good. But did they know my biscuit was cold and the cafeteria seat was only three-quarters the size of my personal seating area?
The meetings weren't too bad. It's as if someone even heard some of my suggestions. Yes, there was some reading of papers (not even a powerpoint - just a paper under an Elmo document viewer, as if anyone in the room could read it.) , but there were also a lot of portions where just the new and important information was given. Not great, but not bad.
The hard part was a simple thing. Every year we fill out an emergency contact sheet. You know, who to contact in case of emergency. I saw everyone around me putting their husband's/wife's name on the first line, and the "I'm so weird!" brick hit me again. The tears were just behind my eyes the rest of the day. Almost. Lunch with my team was good and fun. But being in the classroom just feels different now. All afternoon to work in the classroom, too! But the core of me knows I'm alone, even if I'm surrounded by friends. Oh, I also found out that another car needs a $400 repair and the dogs escaped today. They were back home by the time I saw the text, I'm thankful for that and for dear friend that hunts down my dogs.
The point is....there's no point. I am alone. But not totally. Pouring these words onto the computer helps. I actually think the day might've felt different, though, if I would have gotten to finish that biscuit before it got cold. Maybe tomorrow.
I was up until midnight, having caught a flight back to Houston from instilling dear daughters in their college apartment. I told them goodbye, hugged them, told them I loved them and walked away. It took until after I got through security for it to hit me - I'm alone. I can do what I want right now, as long as I make my plane. And that won't change. After I get home tonight, I can do what I want, and nobody will even have a clue. Whether I watch TV, eat a snack, play the piano, read a book, do some sewing, clean house, play computer games, blog.......it's my time and nobody is there to interrupt it. The very thought that used to sound idyllic is now nothing but sad.
In truth, the reality was a couple of games of that candy game, then sleep. Alarm ringing far too early, and going about the morning routine that I've followed for years. Monday morning kicking me..."keep moving!" it says. Realizing as I leave the house that I can turn off the coffee and all the lights, nobody else is there to wake up later. Getting to work and seeing my good friends, and all the other precious people. They have chik-fil-a breakfast biscuits!! Woo-hoo! All good, healthy intentions go out the window as I get a biscuit to go with my coffee. I sit in my assigned place, take two bites of breakfast deliciousness (in-between talking) and then the announcement begins. "Time for our ice-breaker!" With all the veracity in the world, and no sarcasm (although I know that my faithful readers always imagine my sarcasm, because they know me), it was not a bad ice-breaker. Clever idea. Comment or contact me somehow if you weren't there and want to know the details. But was my mind on the game? NO! There was a chicken biscuit sitting there getting cold, doesn't anyone see how dire the situation is? Alas, it was not warm at all by the time the ice-breaker was over. That was a real shame, as for the next twenty-three minutes, I had to watch an inspirational speaker on video. Great ideas, of course. They wouldn't pay for/use these things if they weren't good. But did they know my biscuit was cold and the cafeteria seat was only three-quarters the size of my personal seating area?
The meetings weren't too bad. It's as if someone even heard some of my suggestions. Yes, there was some reading of papers (not even a powerpoint - just a paper under an Elmo document viewer, as if anyone in the room could read it.) , but there were also a lot of portions where just the new and important information was given. Not great, but not bad.
The hard part was a simple thing. Every year we fill out an emergency contact sheet. You know, who to contact in case of emergency. I saw everyone around me putting their husband's/wife's name on the first line, and the "I'm so weird!" brick hit me again. The tears were just behind my eyes the rest of the day. Almost. Lunch with my team was good and fun. But being in the classroom just feels different now. All afternoon to work in the classroom, too! But the core of me knows I'm alone, even if I'm surrounded by friends. Oh, I also found out that another car needs a $400 repair and the dogs escaped today. They were back home by the time I saw the text, I'm thankful for that and for dear friend that hunts down my dogs.
The point is....there's no point. I am alone. But not totally. Pouring these words onto the computer helps. I actually think the day might've felt different, though, if I would have gotten to finish that biscuit before it got cold. Maybe tomorrow.
Monday, August 12, 2013
Only One First 8/12/13
We drove about 800 miles this summer with a kitten in the car. My sister found her abandoned in Florida while we were visiting. My girls had planned on adopting a kitten for their college apartment. It was a match made in heaven. "Isis", of the long tail. pointy ears, and pointy nose, has been walking, running, leaping joy in our house this summer. Joy helps put a little ointment on grief occasionally, so I think it was meant to be. Isis was a tiny baby kitten during this car trip, six weeks old at the most. We all cooed and baby-talked to her. Near the end of the trip, Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio. I said "Awwww, it's Isis' first Bohemian Rhapsody.". We laughed - every tiny thing that happened to that new little creature could be a "first".
I, on the other hand, am not young, cute, new, or full of joy. Yet my new situation, I learned this weekend, will hold a lot of 'firsts'. And nobody will say "Awwwww!" These firsts for me are difficult, as they are the first time I will handle a situation without the amazing wisdom and insight of the man I trusted with my life. I am brave, and I like to think that a little of his wisdom and insight rubbed off on me during our years together. I research and calculate and figure and plan. The only problem is......there's no ratings, research, or math that can measure emotional cost.
My first this past weekend was buying a car for my daughter. We need to upgrade all of our older vehicles, as the person that could repair them and keep them running for us is gone. With my girls driving to college five hundred miles away, I need them in dependable cars. We had sacrificed a lot of dependability with no qualms about doing so, as Scott enjoyed keeping the cars running and could perform 95% of all repairs. Since that resource is no longer available, I have to step up and make sure all three of us are in good shape in the automotive department. With four cars to sell to upgrade three people, I saw it as an easy task.
It is easy to find ratings and rankings on vehicle dependability. It is easy to find the "right" price that you should pay. It is easy for my youngest daughter to be very specific about what she does - and doesn't- want in a vehicle. Then, to make it easier, I do have a very dear friend in the car business. They still made a profit on me, but I felt comfortable with the margin. I did have to make a trip to the location where my friend worked, but it was a bonus to spend a weekend with another very dear friend.
I was prepared. Money, insurance, proof of id, extra driver, (lots of dear friends helped with this enterprise!), a pen to sign my name over and over, and my phone fully charged to check Facebook and crush some candies. Dear friends dropped me at the dealership, where I got to work. It should be a breeze, right? I had already done all the research! First things first, I had to inspect it (having chosen it online), and then drive it. The sensibility of doing these things before signing and paying made total sense. I approved the car, gave the green light, and was seated at a desk.
Thank goodness for the phone! It evidently takes a long time to get all the paperwork together. I had to fill out one short form, and then just sit. I did enjoy the family with two little boys at the next desk. They were so young, so cute, and didn't care a hoot about the car Mom and Dad were buying! After so many Facebook checks, and so many tries at a certain level of Candy Crush, I was ushered into a business office. Then, the next question threw me.
Did I want to add a complete warranty? (OF COURSE!! THIS IS FOR MY CHILD!!) It would only cost x amount of dollars to do so, and it's a great idea! Whoa.........that's x more than the number in my well-planned, well-rehearsed script! Oh no! Who can I ask? I sent mind-messages to the person that would have advised me on this, hoping for some kind of vibe, positive feeling, big red stop sign, anything.....all the while, smiling, frowning and tearing up. When will I learn to carry tissues? Thank goodness, dear friend came in (maybe that was the positive sign?) and talked me through the decision, reassured me which choice was best, and I committed. All by myself.
That's it! Write it up! Pay the total! Accept the keys and drive my baby's car back to dear friend's house. That sounds easy. Only I know that I alternately talked to the sky and sobbed all the way back. I did manage to have some fun on the weekend trip, but I also took some naps and nursed a headache. I realized after I performed this great feat that I had done a "first". It was not fun, and none of the firsts that are yet to come will be either. The only way to get them to not be a "first" is to do them once. They may sound the same after that, but at least I will know the huge part of the lesson that I learned this past weekend: In all the research and preparation, don't forget to count the emotional cost, and prepare for it as well. It's a bold print-type cost and you can't hide from it.
Maybe there will be a post on buying the next upgraded vehicle - after I sell a couple to finance that endeavor. I hope that it will sound and feel pretty much the same, and I'll know what to expect. You can ask little Isis the kitten if that's true. You see, on the way home from getting her kitten shots at the vet about a week ago, "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio again. I was just able to turn to that baby kitty and say "'Member this?" There's only one first, after that I should know all the costs involved, literal or emotional.
I, on the other hand, am not young, cute, new, or full of joy. Yet my new situation, I learned this weekend, will hold a lot of 'firsts'. And nobody will say "Awwwww!" These firsts for me are difficult, as they are the first time I will handle a situation without the amazing wisdom and insight of the man I trusted with my life. I am brave, and I like to think that a little of his wisdom and insight rubbed off on me during our years together. I research and calculate and figure and plan. The only problem is......there's no ratings, research, or math that can measure emotional cost.
My first this past weekend was buying a car for my daughter. We need to upgrade all of our older vehicles, as the person that could repair them and keep them running for us is gone. With my girls driving to college five hundred miles away, I need them in dependable cars. We had sacrificed a lot of dependability with no qualms about doing so, as Scott enjoyed keeping the cars running and could perform 95% of all repairs. Since that resource is no longer available, I have to step up and make sure all three of us are in good shape in the automotive department. With four cars to sell to upgrade three people, I saw it as an easy task.
It is easy to find ratings and rankings on vehicle dependability. It is easy to find the "right" price that you should pay. It is easy for my youngest daughter to be very specific about what she does - and doesn't- want in a vehicle. Then, to make it easier, I do have a very dear friend in the car business. They still made a profit on me, but I felt comfortable with the margin. I did have to make a trip to the location where my friend worked, but it was a bonus to spend a weekend with another very dear friend.
I was prepared. Money, insurance, proof of id, extra driver, (lots of dear friends helped with this enterprise!), a pen to sign my name over and over, and my phone fully charged to check Facebook and crush some candies. Dear friends dropped me at the dealership, where I got to work. It should be a breeze, right? I had already done all the research! First things first, I had to inspect it (having chosen it online), and then drive it. The sensibility of doing these things before signing and paying made total sense. I approved the car, gave the green light, and was seated at a desk.
Thank goodness for the phone! It evidently takes a long time to get all the paperwork together. I had to fill out one short form, and then just sit. I did enjoy the family with two little boys at the next desk. They were so young, so cute, and didn't care a hoot about the car Mom and Dad were buying! After so many Facebook checks, and so many tries at a certain level of Candy Crush, I was ushered into a business office. Then, the next question threw me.
Did I want to add a complete warranty? (OF COURSE!! THIS IS FOR MY CHILD!!) It would only cost x amount of dollars to do so, and it's a great idea! Whoa.........that's x more than the number in my well-planned, well-rehearsed script! Oh no! Who can I ask? I sent mind-messages to the person that would have advised me on this, hoping for some kind of vibe, positive feeling, big red stop sign, anything.....all the while, smiling, frowning and tearing up. When will I learn to carry tissues? Thank goodness, dear friend came in (maybe that was the positive sign?) and talked me through the decision, reassured me which choice was best, and I committed. All by myself.
That's it! Write it up! Pay the total! Accept the keys and drive my baby's car back to dear friend's house. That sounds easy. Only I know that I alternately talked to the sky and sobbed all the way back. I did manage to have some fun on the weekend trip, but I also took some naps and nursed a headache. I realized after I performed this great feat that I had done a "first". It was not fun, and none of the firsts that are yet to come will be either. The only way to get them to not be a "first" is to do them once. They may sound the same after that, but at least I will know the huge part of the lesson that I learned this past weekend: In all the research and preparation, don't forget to count the emotional cost, and prepare for it as well. It's a bold print-type cost and you can't hide from it.
Maybe there will be a post on buying the next upgraded vehicle - after I sell a couple to finance that endeavor. I hope that it will sound and feel pretty much the same, and I'll know what to expect. You can ask little Isis the kitten if that's true. You see, on the way home from getting her kitten shots at the vet about a week ago, "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio again. I was just able to turn to that baby kitty and say "'Member this?" There's only one first, after that I should know all the costs involved, literal or emotional.
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Coming Up Next!
I watch a little too much reality TV. I have all kinds of excuses, too. "But it's about cooking!" "I just can't wait to see what they do next!" "They remind me of my family!" I have also justified watching certain shows by saying that I would never watch another type. I personally have never watched any type of "Survivor" (that's why hotels were invented), "Bachelor" (I went through everyone's drama when I was that age) or "Big Brother". Well, not exactly true on Big Brother. It's just that that the only one I ever watched was a British celebrity version in 2001. Comedian Jack Dee brought his packed suitcase to the elimination meeting every week. He ended up winning. No other version could ever beat that, in my mind.
One staple of the reality show is the send-off to commercial. "Coming up next on _____ ______!" Then they show you thirty seconds to one minute of what you'll see in the next half hour. After doing that, when the show returns from commercial (fast-forward time, in today's TIVO/DVR world), they show you the last minute that you saw before "Coming up next". You hear and see the exact same thirty seconds that you saw right before "Coming Up" and commercials. Finally, it steps into new footage. Some night when I'm really bored, I think I'll get the stopwatch and time exactly how much new material I get to watch during an hour show of that type. My theory: Since everyone records their shows and forwards through the commercials, we get less show. It's a trade-off for luxury. Or, somebody really important in TV-land thought that the old education adage "I'm going to tell you what I'm going to teach you, I'm going to teach it to you, then I'm going to tell you what I taught you" needed to be plucked from teaching (where they still encourage that mind-set, another subject) and made into editing policy for television shows.
I wondered, while watching Hell's Kitchen, one of the most notorious for repeat-editing, (but it's about cooking!) what would it be like if we had "Coming up next" in life? What if we could know what's just around the corner? Not many years down the line, but the next week, or month at the most? If that did happen, would the "editors" have any rules? We won't show you death, but we will a flat tire. You can't know when your baby will arrive, but you can see that you're sneezing and have a cold. Those are just silly thoughts, of course. I do believe that my mind thinks in that way right now because my reality in losing my husband is this: there was absolutely no way to predict it, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change it. "Coming Up Next" for me, life without him. How to handle that?
I don't lie to any of you when you ask how I am. I only say "ok", or explain that it's one day at a time, or good days and bad days. But I've discovered that I hold my true feelings in a fortress. I can cry a bit with family or very good friends. I can exhibit being 'down' or listless to anyone. But I prefer to cry, weep, sob, whatever you call it, by myself. Sometimes my girls will catch me. But I don't want anyone to catch me. I also spend time alone looking at pictures and remembering. I guess I'm just reviewing life so far before I take a breath and start living it again. I really don't know why, so this is not an explanation. It's just a statement of fact. Learning that life is short, unpredictable, and un-changeable just makes you break down, over and over. Also, there is no time limitation on when you break down. I'm hurting more at almost three months gone than I did the first week.
None of us have "Coming Up Next" in life. We have to live in two mind-sets: one to take care of the moment at hand, and the other to take care of eternity. So, maybe the TV shows have it right. You live, love, work, play, - all the things that make you "you" - and you also prepare for the future, as well as reviewing the past. You can glean your own practical explanations from those very general words, because everyone is beautifully different in this world. Life is not reality TV - but we play out our own unconscious version of "Coming Up Next". Excuse me if I take a few minutes to review what has happened before I breathe deeply and jump into the new footage.
One staple of the reality show is the send-off to commercial. "Coming up next on _____ ______!" Then they show you thirty seconds to one minute of what you'll see in the next half hour. After doing that, when the show returns from commercial (fast-forward time, in today's TIVO/DVR world), they show you the last minute that you saw before "Coming up next". You hear and see the exact same thirty seconds that you saw right before "Coming Up" and commercials. Finally, it steps into new footage. Some night when I'm really bored, I think I'll get the stopwatch and time exactly how much new material I get to watch during an hour show of that type. My theory: Since everyone records their shows and forwards through the commercials, we get less show. It's a trade-off for luxury. Or, somebody really important in TV-land thought that the old education adage "I'm going to tell you what I'm going to teach you, I'm going to teach it to you, then I'm going to tell you what I taught you" needed to be plucked from teaching (where they still encourage that mind-set, another subject) and made into editing policy for television shows.
I wondered, while watching Hell's Kitchen, one of the most notorious for repeat-editing, (but it's about cooking!) what would it be like if we had "Coming up next" in life? What if we could know what's just around the corner? Not many years down the line, but the next week, or month at the most? If that did happen, would the "editors" have any rules? We won't show you death, but we will a flat tire. You can't know when your baby will arrive, but you can see that you're sneezing and have a cold. Those are just silly thoughts, of course. I do believe that my mind thinks in that way right now because my reality in losing my husband is this: there was absolutely no way to predict it, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change it. "Coming Up Next" for me, life without him. How to handle that?
I don't lie to any of you when you ask how I am. I only say "ok", or explain that it's one day at a time, or good days and bad days. But I've discovered that I hold my true feelings in a fortress. I can cry a bit with family or very good friends. I can exhibit being 'down' or listless to anyone. But I prefer to cry, weep, sob, whatever you call it, by myself. Sometimes my girls will catch me. But I don't want anyone to catch me. I also spend time alone looking at pictures and remembering. I guess I'm just reviewing life so far before I take a breath and start living it again. I really don't know why, so this is not an explanation. It's just a statement of fact. Learning that life is short, unpredictable, and un-changeable just makes you break down, over and over. Also, there is no time limitation on when you break down. I'm hurting more at almost three months gone than I did the first week.
None of us have "Coming Up Next" in life. We have to live in two mind-sets: one to take care of the moment at hand, and the other to take care of eternity. So, maybe the TV shows have it right. You live, love, work, play, - all the things that make you "you" - and you also prepare for the future, as well as reviewing the past. You can glean your own practical explanations from those very general words, because everyone is beautifully different in this world. Life is not reality TV - but we play out our own unconscious version of "Coming Up Next". Excuse me if I take a few minutes to review what has happened before I breathe deeply and jump into the new footage.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
The Turning Point, or Rebounding from "Burnout" 7/21/13
When the last day of the school year arrives, I do not cry. Yes, I'll miss the ones that are moving on. No doubt. One in particular this past year - more than any one in a LOT of years. (Godspeed, Chelsea!) But by the time the beginning of June rolls around, there are no tears left. There is just tiredness, backed up by being fed up with excuses, whining, arguing, meanness crying, roughhousing gone too far....in other words, burned out.
"Burned out" is one of the awful insider insults in the teaching field. We see another teacher lose their patience, not turn things in, arrive late, depart early......and we whisper "burned out" among ourselves. I personally am always showing signs of "burnout" by the time summer is here. When I am finally home day after day, it takes a while to re-charge. For the remainder of June, I don't want to be around children, hear child's voice, talk cute to a child.....thank goodness, mine are grown and there are only college-age semi-adults around. But sometime in July, it always happens; I miss the kids.
I start looking at kids again. I start smiling at the things I hear them say. (Let's face it, children are, quite often, hilarious!) I watch them goof off in the grocery store, or at a restaurant. I'm ready to interact with small humans again. It takes about six weeks, but the turning point always arrives. After that, I'm anxious to prepare the classroom and get ready for that first day of school. Welcoming my little darlings is so much fun. I know that if they are greeting me with a smile, a big hug, and "I missed you so much!" that I'm doing something right in their little lives. I must not be completely "burned out".
I think the turning point has come for me is the past couple of days. I wondered if events at home would delay the turning point and extend the summer "burnout". That remains to be seen, because imagination and the actual classroom with the actual little darlings are two different things. I have been lonely for a few days now, and I think (hope, wish, pray!) that my job is the perfect counterbalance to loneliness. Children are always needy, or excited, or wondering, or hurt....you get it. I see one hundred fifty different little ones each day! There's no way I can be lonely if I truly connect and teach them. I may be sad underneath, but I won't be lonely!
I do worry some about the coming school year. I worry that my underneath sadness may surface and cause me to cry, or speak sharply to a child that just needs a gentle correction. I worry that older little ones, now that they have probably heard why I missed a week last year, will ask me about it, and crack my happy shell and the sadness will pour out. Hopefully, the very fact that I am worried about them - and how my actions will affect them - will keep me in check. I like to think I have a protective instinct around the little ones.
Let's say for now that the turning point seems to be happening, right on schedule. So many other things have been happening right on schedule since Scott died: the garbage is collected, the bills have to be paid, haircuts are needed, fingernails keep growing, meals have to be cooked and dishes washed, dogs need grooming. It shouldn't be amazing to me that I would start feeling ready to see my little ones at school again. But then again, any good feeling right now amazes me.
In a few weeks, the imagination will become reality. I really do hope that I can keep the happy face on for the kids and that my twenty-fourth year of teaching music will be as fun for them as it has been for all the little ones through the years. I'm thankful for the family of friends that will be there with me, and may we all stay away from the "burn-out"!
"Burned out" is one of the awful insider insults in the teaching field. We see another teacher lose their patience, not turn things in, arrive late, depart early......and we whisper "burned out" among ourselves. I personally am always showing signs of "burnout" by the time summer is here. When I am finally home day after day, it takes a while to re-charge. For the remainder of June, I don't want to be around children, hear child's voice, talk cute to a child.....thank goodness, mine are grown and there are only college-age semi-adults around. But sometime in July, it always happens; I miss the kids.
I start looking at kids again. I start smiling at the things I hear them say. (Let's face it, children are, quite often, hilarious!) I watch them goof off in the grocery store, or at a restaurant. I'm ready to interact with small humans again. It takes about six weeks, but the turning point always arrives. After that, I'm anxious to prepare the classroom and get ready for that first day of school. Welcoming my little darlings is so much fun. I know that if they are greeting me with a smile, a big hug, and "I missed you so much!" that I'm doing something right in their little lives. I must not be completely "burned out".
I think the turning point has come for me is the past couple of days. I wondered if events at home would delay the turning point and extend the summer "burnout". That remains to be seen, because imagination and the actual classroom with the actual little darlings are two different things. I have been lonely for a few days now, and I think (hope, wish, pray!) that my job is the perfect counterbalance to loneliness. Children are always needy, or excited, or wondering, or hurt....you get it. I see one hundred fifty different little ones each day! There's no way I can be lonely if I truly connect and teach them. I may be sad underneath, but I won't be lonely!
I do worry some about the coming school year. I worry that my underneath sadness may surface and cause me to cry, or speak sharply to a child that just needs a gentle correction. I worry that older little ones, now that they have probably heard why I missed a week last year, will ask me about it, and crack my happy shell and the sadness will pour out. Hopefully, the very fact that I am worried about them - and how my actions will affect them - will keep me in check. I like to think I have a protective instinct around the little ones.
Let's say for now that the turning point seems to be happening, right on schedule. So many other things have been happening right on schedule since Scott died: the garbage is collected, the bills have to be paid, haircuts are needed, fingernails keep growing, meals have to be cooked and dishes washed, dogs need grooming. It shouldn't be amazing to me that I would start feeling ready to see my little ones at school again. But then again, any good feeling right now amazes me.
In a few weeks, the imagination will become reality. I really do hope that I can keep the happy face on for the kids and that my twenty-fourth year of teaching music will be as fun for them as it has been for all the little ones through the years. I'm thankful for the family of friends that will be there with me, and may we all stay away from the "burn-out"!
Sunday, June 30, 2013
The Restoration of Joy as a Whack-a-Mole 6/30/13
I started to wonder today if I will ever feel pure joy again. The true, pure, bubbling-from-inside joy that we feel when something is incorrupt, happy , adorable, innocent, comical, surprising......you get it, right?
It's as if my joy has become a whack-a-mole. I hear something funny. I laugh. I think: "oh wait until I tell Scott.." whack. I see a commercial for a cool new show. "Cool! I'll have to tell Scott!" whack.
The kitten (is anything a more pure joy than a kitten?) is jumping great distances, playing with a new toy, just being so joyfully CUTE - and I think "I can't wait until Scott sees her...." WHACK!!!
If I'm with someone - maybe one of you that actually reads this - and I laugh......it's not fake! I do still find things funny, amusing, frustrating, you name it! It's just that when I feel those emotions, I had thirty years of being able to share them with him. Funny was funny twice. Frustration got shared and ridiculed. (Sometimes the ridicule was pointed at me for getting frustrated!!) Cute animal stuff was a staple of our lives. If one of the dogs was asleep, dreaming and yelping, sitting an adorable way - we had a code - "Look at big white dog!" - because we knew saying their name would distract them and change the moment.
I know that joy is promised from God. I can still hear that lady singing "Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation...."in church when I was young. That particular quote came from David - yes, the Old Testament King David. But David needed his joy restored because he had sinned big time (adultery, murder....big time). What did I do to deserve this? Was this a plan for him and me from the beginning? I don't think I would have agreed to it. Why us? Why me? One of the many questions I have for that big Q&A session in the sky.
I will try, you know. I don't intend to become a depressed, sad, mean person. But don't forget that underneath the trying, I'm not whole. He was indeed my other half, so I'm not complete any more. But will I ever feel joy without getting whacked? I'm not sure. I think all happy occasions that may occur for me for the rest of my life will be tinged with sadness. I can't imagine it happening any other way. So please understand if something really happy or funny is going on - and I just close my eyes and get quiet for a minute. It's to absorb the whack.
It's as if my joy has become a whack-a-mole. I hear something funny. I laugh. I think: "oh wait until I tell Scott.." whack. I see a commercial for a cool new show. "Cool! I'll have to tell Scott!" whack.
The kitten (is anything a more pure joy than a kitten?) is jumping great distances, playing with a new toy, just being so joyfully CUTE - and I think "I can't wait until Scott sees her...." WHACK!!!
If I'm with someone - maybe one of you that actually reads this - and I laugh......it's not fake! I do still find things funny, amusing, frustrating, you name it! It's just that when I feel those emotions, I had thirty years of being able to share them with him. Funny was funny twice. Frustration got shared and ridiculed. (Sometimes the ridicule was pointed at me for getting frustrated!!) Cute animal stuff was a staple of our lives. If one of the dogs was asleep, dreaming and yelping, sitting an adorable way - we had a code - "Look at big white dog!" - because we knew saying their name would distract them and change the moment.
I know that joy is promised from God. I can still hear that lady singing "Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation...."in church when I was young. That particular quote came from David - yes, the Old Testament King David. But David needed his joy restored because he had sinned big time (adultery, murder....big time). What did I do to deserve this? Was this a plan for him and me from the beginning? I don't think I would have agreed to it. Why us? Why me? One of the many questions I have for that big Q&A session in the sky.
I will try, you know. I don't intend to become a depressed, sad, mean person. But don't forget that underneath the trying, I'm not whole. He was indeed my other half, so I'm not complete any more. But will I ever feel joy without getting whacked? I'm not sure. I think all happy occasions that may occur for me for the rest of my life will be tinged with sadness. I can't imagine it happening any other way. So please understand if something really happy or funny is going on - and I just close my eyes and get quiet for a minute. It's to absorb the whack.
Monday, June 24, 2013
"It'll be hard", they said. 6/24/13
"It'll be hard", they said. "You have to make sure you take care of yourself", they said. "All the feelings will come back again", they said. And they were right.
People tell you how you will feel for certain events. Movies and TV tell us to cry at weddings, cry when we leave our first-born at kindergarten, bean with pride at graduation, etc. Everyone is full of advice for those that are grieving a loved ones' loss, too. Mostly, they are right on track. Mostly.
You see, "they" can say all they want to you - but nothing prepares you for the waves of grief. You can be going through all the motions of life, talking, laughing, helping prepare dinner, cleaning up - and CRASH! Tears, sobbing, struck silent because speaking would turn into crazy shrieking......it all hits you like a huge salt-water wave from behind. Then life goes on pause while you cry it out, talk it through, do whatever it takes to re-surface from the drowning that is grief.
So I'll agree - it was hard. Being together with the entire family but feeling his absence like a knife in my stomach was hard. Making sure all the details for the service were in place, yet knowing all along why we were doing those things was hard. The finality of people arriving at the chapel, the service actually happening, seeing and welcoming old friends for a terrible, terrible reason was hard. It was also beautiful, comforting, and a blessing. Because those friends weren't just there for him. They were there for us. That part of celebrating and remembering someone's life is amazing. You see each other and although years have taken their toll on the physical appearance, the jokes, personalities, and love you've had for these friends immediately resurfaces. Then you promise to get together again soon and not let so much time pass.
All of that was hard. But you know what's even harder? After. The service ends, the friends go to their homes, the visiting with family ends, we head home, and......nothing. Nothing to look forward to. Waking up and thinking "why?" The hammer of ALONE FOREVER hitting me in the head again and again. Convincing myself to do chores and catch up on TV and try to enjoy the pool when I'd rather sit in my bathrobe and stare.
It's a kaleidoscope of feelings - twisting toward resigned, happy memories, sadness, anger, despair, etc. etc. And there are no "stages" (sorry, Ms. Ross). There is more a gumbo of different feelings that swim around and attack you when you suspect it least.
So - go ahead, tell me how I will feel. At least I'll know that someone else has been there and knows how hard it is, and that it hits without warning. If I'm crying, talk to me anyway, that's better than being alone forever. And if it happens to you, or to someone close to you - remember: It'll be hard.
Truer words were never spoken.
People tell you how you will feel for certain events. Movies and TV tell us to cry at weddings, cry when we leave our first-born at kindergarten, bean with pride at graduation, etc. Everyone is full of advice for those that are grieving a loved ones' loss, too. Mostly, they are right on track. Mostly.
You see, "they" can say all they want to you - but nothing prepares you for the waves of grief. You can be going through all the motions of life, talking, laughing, helping prepare dinner, cleaning up - and CRASH! Tears, sobbing, struck silent because speaking would turn into crazy shrieking......it all hits you like a huge salt-water wave from behind. Then life goes on pause while you cry it out, talk it through, do whatever it takes to re-surface from the drowning that is grief.
So I'll agree - it was hard. Being together with the entire family but feeling his absence like a knife in my stomach was hard. Making sure all the details for the service were in place, yet knowing all along why we were doing those things was hard. The finality of people arriving at the chapel, the service actually happening, seeing and welcoming old friends for a terrible, terrible reason was hard. It was also beautiful, comforting, and a blessing. Because those friends weren't just there for him. They were there for us. That part of celebrating and remembering someone's life is amazing. You see each other and although years have taken their toll on the physical appearance, the jokes, personalities, and love you've had for these friends immediately resurfaces. Then you promise to get together again soon and not let so much time pass.
All of that was hard. But you know what's even harder? After. The service ends, the friends go to their homes, the visiting with family ends, we head home, and......nothing. Nothing to look forward to. Waking up and thinking "why?" The hammer of ALONE FOREVER hitting me in the head again and again. Convincing myself to do chores and catch up on TV and try to enjoy the pool when I'd rather sit in my bathrobe and stare.
It's a kaleidoscope of feelings - twisting toward resigned, happy memories, sadness, anger, despair, etc. etc. And there are no "stages" (sorry, Ms. Ross). There is more a gumbo of different feelings that swim around and attack you when you suspect it least.
So - go ahead, tell me how I will feel. At least I'll know that someone else has been there and knows how hard it is, and that it hits without warning. If I'm crying, talk to me anyway, that's better than being alone forever. And if it happens to you, or to someone close to you - remember: It'll be hard.
Truer words were never spoken.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)