I feel like I just got in trouble. Correction, I feel as if I just got in trouble for something I didn't do. I have written about the arbitrary timeline that people place on grief before. However, I never thought that somebody would look me right in the face and tell me that others could be offended or hurt if I didn't respect the one year period.
I do want to clarify a couple of things. First of all, I am past the one year mark. (I almost said finish line, because that's the impression I got from today's lecture. ) I am, however, dating Robbie, who experienced his loss only nine months prior to the "words of warning". We are seriously dating. We have not run away to Las Vegas.
When a widow even starts to date a widower, two entire families and countless other friends are affected. The couple has to choose how to balance getting to know each other and possibly letting a relationship grow with being mindful of the fact that a mother, father, sister, brother and a child are gone. The remaining children, siblings and parents can't ever find someone that will allow a new start. That kind of relationship can't be replaced. I like how this clip explains it - substitute your own relationship for the word Dad:
The Dead Dads Club
Discussions about how to respect, love, understand and ease the way for everybody have been a habit for Robbie and me since the beginning. While we want all family members on both sides to be happy for us, we want them to know that we respect what they have lost. We also want them to know that we hold our own memories sacred, and both of us completely comprehend that we were happy with another person for thirty years or so. We are not trying to replace the ones that were lost. That's impossible.
So we listened to the lecturer, remaining politely silent while knowing inside that we are definitely trying our utmost to respect everybody and live up to our responsibilities. The only part where we missed the mark was on the one-year period of mourning. Robbie later asked these questions: "What am I supposed to do for that year? Go home to the empty house? Not talk to another woman? Not go on a date? Be sad night after night?"
If he doesn't do those things, will he get in trouble? Will I get in trouble if I'm involved? Would we not be "received" in polite society? Will our daughters never be presented? Will our sons never be invited to join the country club? Last century, perhaps, or the one before. We are not concerned with rules or silly consequences. We are concerned that all of our family members that suffered irreplaceable loss are given the time they need to understand that we haven't forgotten anybody; nor are we trying to replace them. We've made up our own rules, with love, responsibility and understanding as the guidelines. To answer the lecturer: it will probably take that long, but not because it's a magic number of days or months. It may take that long because we hold so many of you dear and love you as much or more than we care for ourselves. The lecturer is one of the dearest and most deeply affected. We want to do the right thing, timeline or not. We love you all.
Showing posts with label mourning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mourning. Show all posts
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Monday, April 21, 2014
Double Classes and Holding My Breath 4/17/14
Surprise! The art teacher is sick today and there's no substitute! "Of course, I'll take those classes. No problem." I mean, what choice is there, really? Somebody has to take the extra group; I have one and PE already has two. Simple math, the music teacher takes the extra group.
So today, instead of having my usual thirty darlings, I get to control anywhere from fifty to seventy. Alone. I've kind of gotten used to alone. Actually, though, that may be changing.
The last time I had to endure double classes, I wrote about taking a breath. Taking a breath emotionally and letting the realization of "who I am now" find the cracks in the wall that let happiness shine through like bright summer sun. I am a little further along that path now. A journey continues on a daily basis, does it not? My itinerary has been busy lately.
I have seen the sunshine of happiness and I am now traveling a road of healing. the care, attention and understanding given to me by Robbie have helped me wake up and realize that joy can be re-discovered in the aftermath of sorrow. Robbie is traveling the same road, so when we need to take a break and sit on a bench for a while....we do.
Today, although I'm having to monitor double classes, I'm holding my breath - in anticipation. Robbie, who has kindly traveled the miles to visit me twice already, is visiting again this weekend. Although we talk very often, it's so much nicer in person. I'm anticipating laughter, serious talk, fun, a little sadness, but mostly a wonderful time.
Even though I had twice the students I usually do today...on the day before a holiday...I can smile on the inside and know that there's someone to listen to me talk about it when I get home. I may be alone in the classroom, but no longer in my spirit. What a difference. Robbie and I acknowledge our respective tragic pasts and are seeking a happier future. The sad chapters in our story have come to a close, and some happy chapters are being written. So talk on, big groups of kids. I'll hold my breath until 4:00 and enjoy the weekend.
So today, instead of having my usual thirty darlings, I get to control anywhere from fifty to seventy. Alone. I've kind of gotten used to alone. Actually, though, that may be changing.
The last time I had to endure double classes, I wrote about taking a breath. Taking a breath emotionally and letting the realization of "who I am now" find the cracks in the wall that let happiness shine through like bright summer sun. I am a little further along that path now. A journey continues on a daily basis, does it not? My itinerary has been busy lately.
I have seen the sunshine of happiness and I am now traveling a road of healing. the care, attention and understanding given to me by Robbie have helped me wake up and realize that joy can be re-discovered in the aftermath of sorrow. Robbie is traveling the same road, so when we need to take a break and sit on a bench for a while....we do.
Today, although I'm having to monitor double classes, I'm holding my breath - in anticipation. Robbie, who has kindly traveled the miles to visit me twice already, is visiting again this weekend. Although we talk very often, it's so much nicer in person. I'm anticipating laughter, serious talk, fun, a little sadness, but mostly a wonderful time.
Even though I had twice the students I usually do today...on the day before a holiday...I can smile on the inside and know that there's someone to listen to me talk about it when I get home. I may be alone in the classroom, but no longer in my spirit. What a difference. Robbie and I acknowledge our respective tragic pasts and are seeking a happier future. The sad chapters in our story have come to a close, and some happy chapters are being written. So talk on, big groups of kids. I'll hold my breath until 4:00 and enjoy the weekend.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Gilbert O'Sullivan Said It Best 1/17/14
Gilbert O'Sullivan Said It Best. You know, that horribly sad song about being alone. "Alone Again, Naturally". (Thank you, Mom, for listening to cool music on WLCY when we were little.).That one could make me bawl out loud on a great day, when no heartache had ever touched me. The narrative of the mother losing the father, and she "couldn't understand why the only man she had ever loved had been taken....." Yes, that song says it best. Haven't heard it in a while? Here ya go:
Gilbert O'Sullivan - Alone Again, Naturally
I wanted to write about other songs with phrases that make the tears flow. "Can I handle the seasons of my life?" (Landslide). "Whenever I see your smiling face, I have to smile myself, 'cause I love you..." (James Taylor). But it's been too rough of a week, and I'm facing so many challenges right now - yes, right now, 8 1/2 months later - that I'm really proud if I remember to give the animals their food, because they need that to live. I can't think of those songs.
The problem is: I like to be perfect. He enabled me to be perfect, because he was behind the scenes making everything perfect. I'm trying now, good Lord, I'm trying. It's not happening. Everyone - that smiley me that you see every day? That smart-aleck person that posts silly stuff? That's not me. That's the fake me. The fake me HAS to exist, because I couldn't do life if she didn't. I hope I'm so good at being fake that the little children don't know. If you adults suspect, I'm fine with that. Speak up. Tell me again that I'll make it, I"m strong.....I need your encouragement. That's a really difficult admission for someone that has made a career of looking people (sometimes very young people) in the eye and saying "You can DO it!!" Many, many of them DID do it, in whatever way, and I'm so proud. I think I have a legacy out there.
I'll smile again on Tuesday. And if you smile with me, and tell me it's okay not to be perfect, thank you. I'm alone, but I'm not deserted.
Gilbert O'Sullivan - Alone Again, Naturally
I wanted to write about other songs with phrases that make the tears flow. "Can I handle the seasons of my life?" (Landslide). "Whenever I see your smiling face, I have to smile myself, 'cause I love you..." (James Taylor). But it's been too rough of a week, and I'm facing so many challenges right now - yes, right now, 8 1/2 months later - that I'm really proud if I remember to give the animals their food, because they need that to live. I can't think of those songs.
The problem is: I like to be perfect. He enabled me to be perfect, because he was behind the scenes making everything perfect. I'm trying now, good Lord, I'm trying. It's not happening. Everyone - that smiley me that you see every day? That smart-aleck person that posts silly stuff? That's not me. That's the fake me. The fake me HAS to exist, because I couldn't do life if she didn't. I hope I'm so good at being fake that the little children don't know. If you adults suspect, I'm fine with that. Speak up. Tell me again that I'll make it, I"m strong.....I need your encouragement. That's a really difficult admission for someone that has made a career of looking people (sometimes very young people) in the eye and saying "You can DO it!!" Many, many of them DID do it, in whatever way, and I'm so proud. I think I have a legacy out there.
I'll smile again on Tuesday. And if you smile with me, and tell me it's okay not to be perfect, thank you. I'm alone, but I'm not deserted.
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.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Way To Go, Audience Guy. 10/29/13
I had a wonderful birthday and a great weekend of fun to celebrate. It is humbling how many people took time to look out for me and make sure that it was a special day. I said on the social media page that the love and care created a bubble that insulated me from too much sorrow. It was true, what I said. Until the weekend, and the one thing I saw.
We attended the Texas Renaissance Festival, sort of a tradition for the past five years or so, and had several adults and two little ones. Wearing costumes and makeup has always been an escape of mine. I can paint and dress how I want to feel and usually, the feeling follows. If I share a song or two in the meantime, don't be surprised. I can always conjure up an imaginary audience to applaud my effort. Kind of spooky, right? Like I'm a modern-day Norma Desmond! Anyway, it was fun to dress up and go be amongst others that enjoy the same sort of thing. With that many adults, a few of us were able to sneak away and see the "not for kids" show. Entitled "Sound and Fury", they use Shakespeare as a framework for double entendre and some downright naughty comedy. The show was enjoyable, albeit a little lengthy. But it was what happened as it started that threw my day of make-believe for a loop.
The actors started out by explaining that they perform some improv with audience members. They then searched for a guy and a girl to go on stage. One of the actors would start some dialogue, stop abruptly in the middle and touch the guy or girl's shoulder to finish the phrase. I am doing my best to recall the sentiment from this past weekend, if not the precise words: Actor "I have found that I cannot live without....." (touches guy's shoulder) Audience guy turns to audience girl and says "You". Entire audience "awwwwwww". Actor "And so, this being the situation, I have found that I need to say......."(touches guy's shoulder). Audience guy turns to audience girl, kneels, opens a ring box and says "I can't live without you, I love you very much, will you marry me?" Audience is on feet, cheering.
I cheered - for a moment until the brick hit me. Love is out there, all around. But mine is gone. I managed to hold back actual sobbing and just leak a few tears, raise my glass and whisper "I wish you more years than we had." I do not wish to deny anybody of their joy and happiness. Joy and happiness are the balancing weight to sorrow and despair. Although I am sad and feel often alone, I wish the very best for those that are at the opposite end of the road. Well done, audience guy. I hope the two of you have many years, much love and don't have to say goodbye too soon.
We attended the Texas Renaissance Festival, sort of a tradition for the past five years or so, and had several adults and two little ones. Wearing costumes and makeup has always been an escape of mine. I can paint and dress how I want to feel and usually, the feeling follows. If I share a song or two in the meantime, don't be surprised. I can always conjure up an imaginary audience to applaud my effort. Kind of spooky, right? Like I'm a modern-day Norma Desmond! Anyway, it was fun to dress up and go be amongst others that enjoy the same sort of thing. With that many adults, a few of us were able to sneak away and see the "not for kids" show. Entitled "Sound and Fury", they use Shakespeare as a framework for double entendre and some downright naughty comedy. The show was enjoyable, albeit a little lengthy. But it was what happened as it started that threw my day of make-believe for a loop.
The actors started out by explaining that they perform some improv with audience members. They then searched for a guy and a girl to go on stage. One of the actors would start some dialogue, stop abruptly in the middle and touch the guy or girl's shoulder to finish the phrase. I am doing my best to recall the sentiment from this past weekend, if not the precise words: Actor "I have found that I cannot live without....." (touches guy's shoulder) Audience guy turns to audience girl and says "You". Entire audience "awwwwwww". Actor "And so, this being the situation, I have found that I need to say......."(touches guy's shoulder). Audience guy turns to audience girl, kneels, opens a ring box and says "I can't live without you, I love you very much, will you marry me?" Audience is on feet, cheering.
I cheered - for a moment until the brick hit me. Love is out there, all around. But mine is gone. I managed to hold back actual sobbing and just leak a few tears, raise my glass and whisper "I wish you more years than we had." I do not wish to deny anybody of their joy and happiness. Joy and happiness are the balancing weight to sorrow and despair. Although I am sad and feel often alone, I wish the very best for those that are at the opposite end of the road. Well done, audience guy. I hope the two of you have many years, much love and don't have to say goodbye too soon.
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.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
The True Story Behind "Thank God For Makeup". 10/1/13
I cried myself to sleep last night. I felt sad from the moment I left school after the little show. I had been named employee of the week, the choir did well on Saturday, and last night I had directed a successful, cute little show. My district boss thought that the little show idea was great, and praised it. What could have been sad about a day like that? (Besides the obvious, that is...) I wanted to share it. I wanted to tell him. I didn't want to text this person or call that person, I wanted to flop down in my recliner, beside his recliner, and tell him about the day and the evening.
I tried telling the dogs. They don't speak English. They also don't actually take the time to process whether what you are telling them is an accomplishment or a shameful moment, they just jump on the love bandwagon, tails wagging away. I didn't even try telling the cats, their level of 'don't care' surpasses the dog's love.
So I cried. I thought of calling or messaging many people. They're all there for me. The overwhelming thought I had? I will make them sad. I mean, there's no sense in making another person sad on a boring Monday night, right? So if you are one of my people, and you are thinking "I wish she had called me!" I would have, and I thought about it. But because I didn't, you didn't go to sleep sad.
Instead, I cried, slept a couple of hours, woke up, checked the phone, cried a little more, the got rudely awakened by the morning alarm. Going through the morning routine is a bit of a consolation. Another day has arrived, it's time to look it in the face. I put on my makeup, and the song "Tears of a Clown" kept running the my mind. I know, it's about a breakup, most songs are. But I started thinking about how I look with my makeup fresh in the morning. It enhances the 'real me'. No, it doesn't hide every scar and wrinkle...but it helps. It opens my eyes. It enriches my eyebrows and lips. It actually kind of.....magnifies the real me. (Good or bad....) With my makeup, I can still pretend for a bit that I'm in my forties, haha. I also have a feeling, whether it's true or not, that my makeup hides my sadness. When the mascara goes on, my eyes have their happy crinkle. (Crinkle with some wrinkles.) That can disguise the fact that I went to sleep crying because I felt so all alone. Please don't tell me if that's not true. Please allow me this small deception that helps me face each day.
After the makeup application this morning, I felt better. I also wanted to put a cute status on my favorite social networking site. "Cried myself to sleep last night but am much better this morning" did not win. Neither did "Had really cool stuff happen yesterday, but nobody to tell". Or there could have been "Aren't you glad I didn't call and make you sad last night?". Instead, I started thinking about my beautiful makeup job (the song was still there......"my smile is the makeup I wear since my breakup with youuuuuuuuu.......) and I simply wrote "Thank God for makeup". Take it as you will.
The real healing comes when I can finally have an hour or so to sit down and pour this all out through typing fingers. I think that it because I know that nobody HAS to read it, like you would have to answer the phone. You can not read it at all, stop half-way....your choice, just like writing it is my choice. I'm a bit addicted to the writing right now, but it and the makeup serve good purposes for someone in my position. They cover, yet magnify the real thing. Thank you so much for listening, I hope you're not too sad now. If you are, try some new eye-shadow.
I tried telling the dogs. They don't speak English. They also don't actually take the time to process whether what you are telling them is an accomplishment or a shameful moment, they just jump on the love bandwagon, tails wagging away. I didn't even try telling the cats, their level of 'don't care' surpasses the dog's love.
So I cried. I thought of calling or messaging many people. They're all there for me. The overwhelming thought I had? I will make them sad. I mean, there's no sense in making another person sad on a boring Monday night, right? So if you are one of my people, and you are thinking "I wish she had called me!" I would have, and I thought about it. But because I didn't, you didn't go to sleep sad.
Instead, I cried, slept a couple of hours, woke up, checked the phone, cried a little more, the got rudely awakened by the morning alarm. Going through the morning routine is a bit of a consolation. Another day has arrived, it's time to look it in the face. I put on my makeup, and the song "Tears of a Clown" kept running the my mind. I know, it's about a breakup, most songs are. But I started thinking about how I look with my makeup fresh in the morning. It enhances the 'real me'. No, it doesn't hide every scar and wrinkle...but it helps. It opens my eyes. It enriches my eyebrows and lips. It actually kind of.....magnifies the real me. (Good or bad....) With my makeup, I can still pretend for a bit that I'm in my forties, haha. I also have a feeling, whether it's true or not, that my makeup hides my sadness. When the mascara goes on, my eyes have their happy crinkle. (Crinkle with some wrinkles.) That can disguise the fact that I went to sleep crying because I felt so all alone. Please don't tell me if that's not true. Please allow me this small deception that helps me face each day.
After the makeup application this morning, I felt better. I also wanted to put a cute status on my favorite social networking site. "Cried myself to sleep last night but am much better this morning" did not win. Neither did "Had really cool stuff happen yesterday, but nobody to tell". Or there could have been "Aren't you glad I didn't call and make you sad last night?". Instead, I started thinking about my beautiful makeup job (the song was still there......"my smile is the makeup I wear since my breakup with youuuuuuuuu.......) and I simply wrote "Thank God for makeup". Take it as you will.
The real healing comes when I can finally have an hour or so to sit down and pour this all out through typing fingers. I think that it because I know that nobody HAS to read it, like you would have to answer the phone. You can not read it at all, stop half-way....your choice, just like writing it is my choice. I'm a bit addicted to the writing right now, but it and the makeup serve good purposes for someone in my position. They cover, yet magnify the real thing. Thank you so much for listening, I hope you're not too sad now. If you are, try some new eye-shadow.
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.
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.
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.
Friday, July 12, 2013
I Know Why 7/12/13
Three times now, I've tried to write a bit. Three times now, the page crashed and the bits were lost. They weren't enough to make me famous or anything, they just had real sentiments that I'm not sure I can ever express the same way. Paper and pen, you just scored a point.
This title....I Know Why. Maybe I should explain a little more. I don't know WHY. Who does, really? I'm closer to knowing stuff, because of my experience, but nobody really ever knows WHY. I should have stretched the title to say "I know why widows wear black". (wore? Right now I have on a blue t-shirt and white capris, so those days are kind of over.) I went out with some friends a few nights ago and it helped me to realize that an outward symbol of grief might not be creepy, and might actually be very helpful!
My main historical knowledge of "mourning" clothes comes from "Gone With the Wind" - when Scarlett most assuredly did NOT want to wear widow-black......and more recently, "Downton Abbey" - when Mary Crawley most assuredly did NOT want to wear black for mourning. I guess it wasn't the most popular thing to be seen in, at any point in history, therefore the demise of the custom.
You see, I think it helped everyone. I feel as if I'm walking around with a mark on my forehead. I feel this, but other people don't see it. If you know me, sure...you know what happened, and you understand if I hang my head for a minute. If you are a stranger, you can't tell that I've been through a great tragedy, an immense loss, and am right now suffering from deep, dark, sadness. You can't tell, because it doesn't often show. The outward appearance, the routine of life, the talking with people and friends that even involves laughter - who could tell? Matter of fact, I sometimes look around at strangers and wonder what deep, dark feeling they are carrying.
It's not deep and dark because anyone purposely hides it. My sadness is deep and dark because of the immensity of what happened. Losing my husband, my partner in all aspects of life, the person that loved me more than himself, has left such a deep hurt that I will never be the same. I don't try to hide that, but I also don't tell every stranger I see. It's a part of me, and if you know me now, or get to know me in the future, it just is, it just exists, it can't be changed.
Back when widows wore black, I think it demanded that others, even strangers, treat them a little more gently. This is all conjecture on my part, but I just imagine an old-fashioned grocery store; a widow dressed in black checking out, and everyone just speaking a little more softly, kindly......yeah, my imagination. I imagine that a teacher wearing black for mourning was respected, and all the children behaved beautifully, because they understood that sadness was somewhere in there. Crazy thoughts, huh?
So, if I don't know the WHY of life, I'm sorry. But trust me, I ask about it probably more than you do. But as far as the why of openly signifying mourning? I truly believe that must have been (most of the time) a gentle, soothing way of easing back into life while doing so with your new deep dark sadness; and it gave those around you the opportunity to show extra kindness and understanding, especially when you stumbled along the way.
The moral here is that we could be nicer. It's blithely said every day, especially now on social media, but it's true: "You never know what someone is going through". Be nice, everyone. Nice and kind beats all. That's all.
This title....I Know Why. Maybe I should explain a little more. I don't know WHY. Who does, really? I'm closer to knowing stuff, because of my experience, but nobody really ever knows WHY. I should have stretched the title to say "I know why widows wear black". (wore? Right now I have on a blue t-shirt and white capris, so those days are kind of over.) I went out with some friends a few nights ago and it helped me to realize that an outward symbol of grief might not be creepy, and might actually be very helpful!
My main historical knowledge of "mourning" clothes comes from "Gone With the Wind" - when Scarlett most assuredly did NOT want to wear widow-black......and more recently, "Downton Abbey" - when Mary Crawley most assuredly did NOT want to wear black for mourning. I guess it wasn't the most popular thing to be seen in, at any point in history, therefore the demise of the custom.
You see, I think it helped everyone. I feel as if I'm walking around with a mark on my forehead. I feel this, but other people don't see it. If you know me, sure...you know what happened, and you understand if I hang my head for a minute. If you are a stranger, you can't tell that I've been through a great tragedy, an immense loss, and am right now suffering from deep, dark, sadness. You can't tell, because it doesn't often show. The outward appearance, the routine of life, the talking with people and friends that even involves laughter - who could tell? Matter of fact, I sometimes look around at strangers and wonder what deep, dark feeling they are carrying.
It's not deep and dark because anyone purposely hides it. My sadness is deep and dark because of the immensity of what happened. Losing my husband, my partner in all aspects of life, the person that loved me more than himself, has left such a deep hurt that I will never be the same. I don't try to hide that, but I also don't tell every stranger I see. It's a part of me, and if you know me now, or get to know me in the future, it just is, it just exists, it can't be changed.
Back when widows wore black, I think it demanded that others, even strangers, treat them a little more gently. This is all conjecture on my part, but I just imagine an old-fashioned grocery store; a widow dressed in black checking out, and everyone just speaking a little more softly, kindly......yeah, my imagination. I imagine that a teacher wearing black for mourning was respected, and all the children behaved beautifully, because they understood that sadness was somewhere in there. Crazy thoughts, huh?
So, if I don't know the WHY of life, I'm sorry. But trust me, I ask about it probably more than you do. But as far as the why of openly signifying mourning? I truly believe that must have been (most of the time) a gentle, soothing way of easing back into life while doing so with your new deep dark sadness; and it gave those around you the opportunity to show extra kindness and understanding, especially when you stumbled along the way.
The moral here is that we could be nicer. It's blithely said every day, especially now on social media, but it's true: "You never know what someone is going through". Be nice, everyone. Nice and kind beats all. That's all.
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