Saturday we buried some ashes. It was harder than I thought it was going to be. I got home by 6:00 PM and went straight to bed, and didn’t wake up until 7:00 AM Sunday morning.
It seemed so final, staring at this giant hunk of granite with my wife’s name on it. There is no comfort in a “hereafter”. There is no comfort from a “higher power”. There is only a very heavy and cold chunk of highly polished granite in my heart.
I hurt.
I can also understand why some widowers go crazy with hedonistic and nihilist thoughts and actions. Why bother trying to live the good life? Screw it, and get as much as you can grab... we’ll all be dead soon enough anyway.
But rational thought slowly takes over. The community comes out to greet me, lift me up….
And life is relentless in its slow march. Persistent. Hopeful with each Spring day.
Ecclesiastes 1:4
One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever.
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My hiking partner and his wife took me up a mountain for Easter Sunday. It was a hard climb. We followed a mountain ridge straight up with very few switchbacks. My body screamed in pain to match my heart.
It was exactly what I needed to do.
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I have plans to meet WWW later this evening. I am breaking things off with her tonight.
My 93 year old grandfather died last night. He was a WW2 vet, an actual “Lineman for the County” back in the late 50’s, an industrial installer for Ma Bell working specifically in site specific maintenance on aerospace applications in the 60’s and 70’s ….. today’s equivalent of a Network Administrator.
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I still went to my normal Wednesday night dance last night. It was a great dance. As we were leaving the ballroom, a new male friend gave me a hug and asked how I was. I told him about my wife’s birthday and grandfather’s death. He very beautifully said that getting to know me, he can imagine how wonderful my wife must have been, and that he would have liked to meet her. For some reason, that triggered a huge wave of grief that had been bubbling on the surface all day. In the middle of a crowded room, I exploded with tears. He held space for me. I am grateful for his friendship.
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I had a good, long talk with WWW last night. It seems we both were not communicating well together last weekend, and both of us misunderstood each other.
Without getting into the nitty-gritty details, the group of guys I was told about are EX- boyfriends that she remained friends with, in non-sexual relationships. The guy she had a date with (that she cancelled) this week was somebody she has been seeing for a month or so. When it all comes down to the final answer, she has just been dating people. Dating much like people in the 50’s did. Some teenage groping in the backseat every once in a while, some slow getting to know a few people…normal dating stuff.
I feel I over-reacted to some partial information, and she reacted to me. We both acknowledged we got a little prickly with each other. We plan on some more dates. I would like to further explore how my stuff interacts with her stuff.
Whew! Volatile life! I'm just winging it, and this experiment with WWW may crash and burn, but I owe it to myself to at least try.
A simple stone marker with her name and years of birth and death. A simple rose on one side.
Her ashes will be placed near her father, grandfather and grandmother, and many other family members.
Many in the direct lineage never reached 45 years old in this family. With the death of my wife, and no children between us, this is the end for this strain of EDS for this family. My wife’s brother did not inherit the disease, and he has not passed it his daughter.
The funeral director in this small town grew up with my wife’s father, and it was a joy to hear some old stories of his wild youth. It’s always a treat for my wife’s brother to hear about his father.
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My father-in-law had asked me to bring my wife’s ashes on Saturday, just in case the funeral home wanted them right away. They didn’t. I had already prepared my in-laws that I didn’t want to bring the ashes back home with me. My mother-in-law understood, and they took the ashes home with them. I think it will be good for them both to sit with the ashes for the next month while the marker stone is being cut.
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I spent the next few hours with just my brother-in-law. Sitting in his garage. It can be extremely hard for me to talk with him sometimes. I see and hear my wife in so many of his facial expressions, thought processes, speech patterns……..
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I woke up on Sunday morning and went to my normal ecstatic dance. I was overcome with grief when I realized this was the first morning I had woken up without my wife in the house. I realize we are just talking about ashes, but the significance was almost unbearable.
It will feel good, but painful. I’ll bring my old man hanky and have a good cry. I still hurt.
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I worked for 20 years at my previous job. Yup, straight out of High School, I joined a Union and was earning a family wage at 18 years old. It was hard, physical work. My body was being torn apart. I met my wife, and she gently encouraged me to be easier on my body. I started working more in the office instead of on the production floor. I was eventually promoted to a supervisor position of overseeing 1 person (myself). It was still hard work, but now I worked the old noggin instead of the old back.
At the 20 year mark, with my wife’s support, I quit my job in pursuit of another career. I landed in an incredible family owned business, and I am just about to pass the 5 year mark with them.
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The house is slowly driving me crazy. Since I haven’t moved into the home yet, my insurance company mailed me a Notice of Cancellation that was also sent to my mortgage lender. I’ve called my insurance agent, and she will hopefully straighten everything out.
The house is completely unlivable right now. Even the upstairs kitchen and bath have been removed. When we tore off the remaining drywall in the basement, we found more shoddy wiring work and corroded pipes. We are now re-wiring and re-plumbing the entire house. Even the water drain lines needed to be replaced. On the bright side though, I have re-configured the entire basement, and it should be great when it’s done. I’ll have spent my whole retirement nest egg on it, but what the heck, it will look great and outlast me.
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I guess I’m just trying to get through the weekend with my brain and heart turned off. Tomorrow will be an emotional train wreck…..And I don’t want to bring my wife’s urn back home with me.
Bauhaus- Black Stone Heart- Peter Murphy
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Best. Massage. Ever.With FEET! like as in toes, and heels and arches, and balls of the foot!
Seriously. I’ve had a massage almost continuously every 6-8 weeks for the last 20 years from a multitude of massage therapists. This was the best I’ve ever had. I may need to switch every other massage with this. I’ve been seeing the same massage therapist for about 6 years, so I’m not willing to switch completely.
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Tonight, I’m going to that new (new to me) dance class called Contact Improv. It will be interesting to see if it is as much fun the second time. I bought some lightweight kneepads, (the kind cheerleaders use) to help as I bang around on the hardwood floor.
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I’ve written about guilt a few times in past posts. The guilt that my life is moving forward in a really positive way that may not have happened when my wife was alive. Our life was fairly idyllic together. We had no real pressing wants or needs. We were able to float through life with the happy acceptance of everything.
When my wife died, and I had to look closer within myself to keep from going crazy, the guilt started to build. I was expanding myself, opening myself to look deeper. With the unrealistic thought of how horrible I was not to dig deeper and open wider with the relationship with my wife. What did I miss out on with her? What did I deny her of knowing? The guilt that our incredibly beautiful and loving relationship could possibly have been even better. Yes, unrealistic feelings. We had a wonderful relationship that was extremely fulfilling for both of us. I am thankful and blessed for our lives being intertwined.
Saturday breakfast with my vintage store owner friend was great. We spent some time in my basement pondering the possibilities of the space. He had some amazing ideas that I will definitely be using.
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I went to a dinner party Saturday night, and SuperBowl Woman was there. We had another great time together, and even party hopped to another place across town after dinner. The more time spent with her, the better I feel about keeping our friendship on a close level. Our “stuff” would not fit well together in a relationship, and we both know it.
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I missed my regular Sunday ecstatic dance; I was helping a friend move. Unfortunately I hurt my back lifting boxes of books up from a basement. I spent the remainder of the day in bed. But on the bright side, she is a massage therapist and has offered me a message tonight after work.
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I’ve had several phone conversations with my in-laws over the weekend. We have plans to meet next Saturday at the cemetery that my wife’s biological father is buried. He died at 40 years old from the same genetic disease my wife died from.
We plan on creating some type of permanent memorial with her ashes. Her mother, step-father, and brother will all be meeting the funeral director with me. I will be bringing the ashes down with me. I don’t really want to bring any back.
Her ashes are split in two boxes. Most of the ashes are in a nice wooden box urn, the remaining are in an easily opened cardboard box. I really don’t want the full urn back. I have told my in-laws to think about the urn, and where they might like it to end up. I suggested perhaps just keeping the nameplate side of the urn.
Went to a birthday party Saturday night. They were having a round of performances by the guests. These performances are usually somebody strumming a guitar and singing a song, a poem recital, or a monologue. I’ve never joined in before, as fear and insecurity keep me from standing up in a crowd. Except for karaoke. I can sing the stupidest songs at the drop of a hat… but that is a structured thing. I stand and sing a known song, following a guideline of the bouncing ball on the screen. My attention is not on the audience, but rather the TV monitor.
So the birthday girl wouldn’t take no for an answer, and requested that I do “something”. There was plenty of time to freak out….I didn’t know most of these people. What the hell was I supposed to do? … I could sing a song! But what song? And without backup music? Fear set in.
I turned to this blog.
Perhaps this would be the perfect time to lay bare some of my inner thoughts with these people. Most of them don’t know I’m widowed. Maybe that would be a downer for a birthday party if I talked about grief and death.
I finally figured out what I would do, right as they called my name to stand up in front of the crowd.
There were a few monologues already, and they were well received. I decided to just read verbatim my post onMy First Horror Movie Experience.
The crowd loved it. I loved it. I found myself filled with intensity as I delivered the lines. It was light-hearted and delivered like a stand-up comedy routine. There was the rush I feel at the karaoke bar, only better, as this was of my own doing. My own thoughts. My own writing.
The response was overwhelming. Afterwards people were asking if I had actually written it, if it was a true story. One of the people that had delivered a monologue earlier asked me if I normally do that sort of thing, as she was a speaking/debate teacher and thought I did a great job, saying I was a natural if that really was my first time. Wow! That felt great! Another person asked if I was in local theater!
I realize they might have just been overly generous with their accolades, but boy-howdy, it was nice.
There was also a woman at the birthday party that I had previously met at Ecstatic Dance. Seems she facilitates a dance workshop that involves free-form partner dancing….. Kind of hard to explain, but it is a very physical partner dance where people sort of “roll” over each other, lifting their weight, and just basically interacting with the body of the other person. Think of a close partner interpretive modern dance routine and that is sort of what this woman helps teach.
I have watched people do this dance, and I have tried a bit myself. It is much harder than it looks. I have plans to go for the first time on Tuesday night.
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The young widows and widowers dinner group was Sunday night, and again I felt a disconnect. I started to mini-facilitate with questions and statements bout grief, but quickly stopped and let other people lead the discussion. The topics quickly gravitated towards the food.
After the dinner, I spent a good 30 minutes in the car of the original organizer. She is ready to give up the group as well. I think it is time for both of us.
Dinner with the organizer of the young widows and widowers dinner group went better than expected. We talked a lot about how very different we are now, since our partners died. Almost unrecognizable in the difference. Validation with each other that our lives are indeed moving forward. Guilt and awe, realizing our spouses would be shocked at how much we have changed. And also that horrifying realization that we would be hard pressed to fit back into that life. It's a difficult thing to admit that life is good. Life is happy.
There is still that dark hole deep in my soul, but the screaming mournfulness has subsided into gentle sadness of beautiful memories.
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Half of the siding has been torn off the house, and there is some good looking wood underneath. The insulation that was blown in has turned out not to be the expanding foam, but rather loose-fill fiber. No surprises yet, and everything so far is very smooth.
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Ecstatic Dance was again a beautiful thing last night. I found myself open to people and afterwards I stuck around to socialize a bit. There was even an offer to get some food, and I joined them. The interesting part is during the meal, I reverted back to my very quiet and reserved self. I didn't speak much, but listened intently. I was the newcomer in the midst of a group of old friends, so I don't think my quietness was noticed much.
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I had a massage tonight, and my massage therapist vocalized about how much weight I've lost. I hadn't really noticed it myself, but after I got off the table, I stood in front of the mirror and looked at my unclothed body. My stomach is noticeably smaller, and the double chin action is not quite so pronounced!
I have a reluctance to move any items into the new house. What is my hesitation?
The new path. The shift. The physical act of moving further away from my wife’s death. Acknowledging I have a new life. The unrealistic but very real guilt I feel at having this new life. How dare I enjoy this life. How dare I actually admit I feel like I am a better person since she died. All foolishness, I know.
Before my wife died, we talked about her expectations for my life after she was gone. She wants me to remarry. I have permission to be happy. I just need to accept it.
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It was a weekend full of parties. Literally.
On Friday I had dinner with my mentor and with a beautiful and amazing woman who was also a complete train wreck. A very successful business owner that divulged a large amount of very horrific personal information. The three of us had a great dinner, and I was both enthralled with this woman and reluctant to spend any more time with her. In my younger years, I would have pursued her with wild abandon with disastrous results. At the end of the night, she said something that really touched me. She said she felt comfortable about sharing her story with me. She said I had a gentle and un-judging nature, She had assumed I was a counselor or therapist… a colleague of my mentor. She invited us to a “Burning Man” type of party for Saturday night, with a theme of “glitter and sparkles”.
Saturday morning found myself up early to hit a couple of second hand clothing thrift stores for some glittery clothing. I found a black sequined blouse that looked vaguely masculine, so I ripped the shoulder pads out, threw on some shiny black tights and some short black athletic shorts and I was set.
Went to lunch with my father, and showed him the new house. He really liked it.
The first party of the night was a 41st birthday party for a friend early Saturday evening. Another small business owner that I have gone out on a date with a few times. I’ve known her for about 3 years. I would like to spend more time with her, but she has put some clear boundaries between us for dating. She has made it clear we can be wonderful friends, but that is it. But I constantly seem to be getting mixed messages from her.
I left her birthday party and made my way across town to the “Burner” gathering. These are a fun and crazy bunch. Very artistic and colorful. Not really my scene, but fun every once in a while. Saw the beautiful train wreck woman that had invited us, and once again, she thanked me for being open to her story and reiterated that she thought I would be a great counselor or “Life Coach”.
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Sunday morning found me with a hangover, but I still got myself up to sweat it out at Ecstatic Dance. The theme for the dance was “Happy” and it was a very happy dance right up until the end. As a tribute, they played Etta James’ At Last. This song was played at our wedding (along with millions of others weddings) and I immediately left the dance floor with tears streaming down my face. I gave myself a few moments, wiped my eyes, and slowly walked back into the room and closed my eyes and gently moved back and forth to the song. The darkness moving through me. Quickly dissipating.
And then the Superbowl party! The birthday girl from the previous night was there. We are very touchy feely. She will initiate contact with a hand on my back, of a pull of my hand in hers. Quite conflicting information for me. After the game ends, and after she had a few Adult Beverages, she exclaims to me in front of a few close friends of ours, that “everyone thinks we should be together” and that she should be “open to a relationship with me”.
I was a bit taken aback with this publicly made statement, and we casually made our way to a more private area to talk. We didn’t resolve much, but we did agree to get together again (without Adult Beverages).
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Am I keeping myself this busy so I don’t have time to think about moving into the new house? Probably.
I started this blog with the intention of downsizing and buying a large van or small RV. With the final intention of downsizing to only a vehicle. Along the way I found that I really need a strong sense of home. I want to travel, but only in short spurts with a home waiting for me.
I haven’t given up my dream of travel, I’ve just modified it.
So here I am, with another 30 year mortgage, hoping I can pay it off in 10 years. The house is already costing me more than I want to spend, but if I get things done right the first time, I should have minimal upkeep as the years go by.
I struggle with the need to have this materialistic home. My wife and I had a beautiful ranch style home in the suburbs on a 1/3 acre lot, with a 5 acre wooded area against our back fence. There would be deer and raccoons that would come into the yard to drink water from our in-ground swimming pool. There were summer BBQ’s and swim parties. There were dinner parties and get-togethers. My wife was the organizer and the glue that held our circle together.
I would like to bring some of that back into my life with this house. Minus the swimming pool. Those things are a real bummer to keep clean. The new house has a hot tub and that will be more than enough work for me, thank you.
Friends over for dinner, around a backyard fire pit. I miss that. And I can have that again, with new friends and new traditions.
Moving through this new doorway, open to new situations.
Yes, I realize my post from yesterday had some activities that might be frowned upon at that young of an age. Just to be clear, I don’t condone that type of behavior nowadays. The teenagers of the 1970’s experienced a wild time that was pre-HIV, pre-meth, and pro-disco.
And rest assured, my childhood did not include a steady diet of worldliness. If anything, I am grateful to be exposed to those things at an early age in a relatively safe environment. When the pressure from my school friends came around to try things a few years later, I already knew the effect things would have on me. I chose not to succumb to peer pressure and could easily divert myself into other situations, or limit my intake to a nominal amount. At parties, I can still nurse a shot of whiskey for well over an hour thanks to my youth.
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The house loan documents have been approved, we are now just waiting for the appointment to sign the closing papers. The house is a foreclosed Freddie Mac home, so it could take another couple of weeks.
The house is basically move-in ready if I am ok with the funky 60’s kitchen upstairs. It would be nice to re-do the kitchen and add a dishwasher and garbage disposal.
I suppose the roof can wait until spring.
I already have a few people interested in checking out the place and perhaps moving in. It would be great to have good quality friends move in. The friendship would either grow tighter, or end in a ball of flame.
A wonderful blog writer over at Pearl, Why You Little…… tells a story of when she was a youngster going to the drive-in and watching a horror movie. It brought up memories of my own first horror movie drive-in experience.
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The year was about 1978, maybe ‘79. I was about 12 years old. My mother’s sister is only seven years older than me. So she was maybe 19 years old. She drove a 1976 Chevy Camaro V8 Rally Sport with the radio on, going faster miles an hour.
Her boyfriend at the time was one of the rich kids in the town she grew up in. His family home sat on the hill, with walls of windows looking down on us poor folk of the valley. The legal drinking age in that state was 18 years old back then.
They were fast, and they were trouble. The Eagles Hotel California cassette tape was the hottest sound of that endless Corvette Summer.
It was a hot desert night and we were cruising The Strip of their small town, drinking Jack Daniels from the soda pop cans. I didn’t like the taste, but sipped it anyway. The strange mixture making my tummy rumble.
We ended up at the only large screen movie option in town. The Drive-in. With that big clunky mono speaker that hooked onto the window.
The move was rated R. No big deal. We had been through this before. My aunt snuck me into the R-rated Saturday Night Fever movie a few weeks earlier.
I curled up in a ball on the floor of the back seat, and they threw a blanket over me. Easy-peasy, I was eating popcorn and drinking Jack Daniels and Coke as the opening Snack Shop montage rolled across the screen.
It was a double feature extraordinaire.
Piranha was the feature flick. A forgettable and campy summer movie. The buzz of the Jack & Coke kept me giggling and laughing at the terrifying flesh-eating scenes of gory high-camp.
During the movie intermission, my aunt and her boyfriend chose to enjoy another rite of teenage passage. The smoking of the oddly shaped cigarette. The smell was quite different from my parents Pall Malls and Virginia Slims.
I was offered a drag. I inhaled. I coughed. I felt my head become extremely heavy. I inhaled again and sipped on another strong tasting soda.
I was enthralled, horrified, and completely grossed out. I screamed. I somehow kept my stomach intact the entire movie. For my young and sheltered life, this was the most horrifying movie I had ever seen.
And then we all went home to my aunt’s apartment. I was left to sleep on the couch to listen to the strange noises coming from her bedroom.
I was still feeling the effects of the toxic chemicals that had entered my body all night. I stumbled to the bathroom and looked in the mirror at my bloodshot eyes. My Eyes. The Mansion of the Doomed images haunting me in my not quite normal state of mind. I gingerly poked a finger at the corner of my eye and watched my eyeball move in the mirror.
I poked it again, a bit harder this time. I screamed.
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Most of us remember our first horror film. Was there a film that made an early impression on you?
I went roller skating last night. Much fun and quite the workout for the two hours I went around the rink. I waited all night for a “couples skate in the reverse direction” but they never called it out.
Roller-skating is a great ‘quiet’ workout for the legs and core. It is also very social. I could easily see myself adding this to my weekly options of activity.
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My hiking partner and his wife have a great hike lined up for Sunday morning. I never know where we are going until that morning. It’s wonderful not needing to plan for any of the hikes. I carry a nicely filled backpack that has a little bit of everything so I can make a fire, create a small shelter, and cover myself from the elements, so I feel pretty safe in the woods. It’s always good to be prepared.
I realize none of us are prepared for a partner’s death, but when my wife died, I felt so helpless and lost that I wanted to become prepared for anything. I found myself reading up on ‘preparedness’ and ‘preppers’. These are the new code words for the old-school term of ‘survivalists’. I’m sure there are a great many differences between the two groups, but in my early grief, I clumped the terms all together.
I found myself stockpiling food. I searched out more camping equipment. I upgraded my old camping water filtration items. I bought wilderness survival books like the US Army Survival Manual: FM 21-76.
My wife and I would sleep in the back of the mini-van for weeks at a time, so I started keeping all of my sleeping materials in the back. I created a safety “Bug Out Bag” that I kept in my mini-van at all times. There were solar rechargeable flashlights stuck on my dashboard, always charged. I kept my entire camping setup in the storage compartments of the van. Everything from tent and tarps, to hatchets and 550 paracord. From hiking shoes and poles, to cooking equipment. I shoved as much as possible into the mini-van. I had travelled and memorized the back roads out of town. I could get myself away from the city and up in the hills with enough provisions to last 3-4 weeks.
I wanted to be ready. I wanted to prepare for the worst possible thing I could see myself facing.
I wasn’t going to be caught unprepared, No Sir! I would be able to tackle Anything!
I just wasn’t in the right frame of mind to realize the shit had already hit the fan the night my wife died.
I’ve spent the last three years working through the thoughts that lead me to stock the mini-van.
I can still go for an over-night camping trip with just a moment’s notice…but I’m getting better.
Last night, I went to a small restaurant that sometimes lets a sweet ukulele band play in a corner. The place is pretty small, and I ended up going alone. As I sat at a fairly large table by myself in a crowded room, a group of young attractive women asked if they could join me. Sure, plenty of room, I said. These young women immediately started chatting Sex in the City style. Holy Garbage, Catwoman!
Here is one of the highlights:
First Woman introducing herself to me: Hi, I’m Yasmine.
Me: Hi Jasmine, nice to meet you.
First Woman: No, Yasmine with a Y
Second Woman: You pronounce it with a Y?
First Woman: Are you really asking me how I pronounce my name? How long have we been friends?
Second Woman: Since 3rd grade.
Third Woman: Yasmine, is that like Muslim or something?
First Woman: Well, I am Persian.
Fourth Woman: That’s like Arab, right? But like the good kind?
Me: Well nice to meet you Yasmine, (quickly looking to Second Woman) and what is your name?
I should have written down all the conversations last night. These women obviously had way too much money, talked about jetting across the states for their jobs, buying multiple homes, high-pitched voices with Valley Girl accents, college degree in business marketing….. you know the kind. And yet…. they were empty. Seriously empty. Gut-wrenchingly sad kind of empty. The kind of empty I am afraid of people seeing within me.
Realistically, I acknowledge my life is full and rich with experience. I just need to learn how to accept it.
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And on a completely different note, Van Halen has announced plans to tour with David Lee Roth again. The original Van Halen lineup was my late wife’s favorite band growing up. My wife and I had very different musical tastes, so she would subject me to Van Halen quite often. Sometimes I would quietly retaliate by playing this Jump cover song by Aztec Camera. She would cringe and laugh and we would sing along to both versions.
It must be the calm before the storm. The new house is in a holding pattern, waiting for the paperwork to process. This last weekend was completely free of all obligations, with nothing planned. I had absolutely no desire to do anything all weekend, and I was pretty successful.
A session with my shrink on Friday after work, and then I basically went home to bed. I laid around all Saturday doing nothing but play on the computer, and Sunday I finally got motivated to go to Ecstatic Dance and then do some laundry.
So on Saturday I re-activated an old on-line dating profile with OkCupid. Lots of the same faces from a year ago. I put up some new photos, changes some descriptions, and had fun looking at all the pictures. I even spent some time checking out the competition of the other mid 40’s single guys in my demographic. I gotta say, I may not be the most handsome guy around, but I do still have all of my hair with very little gray…and all my teeth too.
I am chalking up my absolutely lazy weekend to a number of things.
My bank account still has my late wife’s name on it, and the underwriter for the home mortgage asked me to clarify my relationship status. I told them I would scan a copy of her death certificate to them on Monday. When I dug out her death certificate on Friday night, I do believe it was the very first time I had read the entire document. Amazing how much information that little piece of paper holds. Amazing how many memories a life can hold.
While my relationship ended cleanly with B.D. early last week, I hadn’t made any plans with friends for the weekend, and more than a few friends are out of town. So I cruised on-line dating profiles all day long feeling sorry for myself, and laughing at the same time at how much I have it together compared to some of my competition. I may come with more baggage than a carry-on, but at least mine will fit in the over-head compartment. It’s taken 3 years of therapy to pack in in the bag, but at least I know what is in it now.
I think my downer attitude is just the basic holiday blues.
I talked with my in-laws last night and they have invited me to their home for Christmas again. I don’t think I will go over there this year. My father-in-law and I talked again about a remembrance gathering for my wife on her birthday. It was a tear-filled phone call for me as I sat in the parking lot of a restaurant on my way to a Christmas dinner with my co-workers.
The last few days I have been looking at large vans/small RV’s again. I am seeing some really sweet setups for about $20,000. I’ve been thinking of forced motivation if I had a small RV. I would still work at my current job. I would want to join a gym for the nice showers. Hopefully a gym with a decent yoga instructor and frequent classes with multiple locations. It might force me to want to socialize more. God forbid, I call my friends every once in a while.
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I will be going to an ugly sweater party on Friday night. Should be lots of fun, and hopefully will get the funk out of my face.
JAMES BROWN Soulful Christmas Santa's Got a Brand New Bag
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Yesterday there was another great post by the folks over at The Good Luck Duck . In the post they mentioned finding space for spreading ashes for a loved one. You would think my own intimate relationship with death and grief would have me thinking warm and loving thoughts towards the nature of the post. My reaction was to laugh. Not out of anything funny (although the Duck Folks quack me up) but rather trying to make it lighter and not such a heavy feeling within myself. I wanted to post irreverent comments. Things like “Hey, it’s great to get the guy out on the town, my wife has been stuck in a closet for years!”
I belong to a widow and widowers support group that meets for dinner once a month and sometimes we make jokes that others would be horrified to hear. They would think we were being cold and calloused. We are actually trying to hold ourselves in a normal space, and trying to lift ourselves from the depression of grief. Should I feel guilt that I have kept my wife’s ashes hidden away in a closet for the last 2 years? NO! Should I subject friends and potential new partners in my life to a barrage of pictures and memories of my wife when they enter my house? NO! Should I find whatever way possible for my brain to move forward in accepting that my wife is gone? YES! Does that include making stupid and inappropriate jokes about sensitive subject matter? YES!
Skipped my first week day post yesterday. It was just so darn busy there was no time.
My mother’s husband is out of the hospital. With the help of Hospice, she took him home yesterday.
I went to a hospice grief bereavement support group on Tuesday night. First time I’ve been back to the group in months. It felt good to talk a little bit. I tend to ramble on (much like my writing) and meander back to tie things together at these meetings. After the meeting the facilitator and I were catching up a bit and she good-naturedly chided me for having this image of myself as rambling. It was quite nice of her to say that I bring a depth and openness to the meeting, and that when I share it doesn’t ramble, but rather brings multiple aspects together. HA!
And to keep with the death and dying theme, I saw my shrink yesterday. She is really starting to kick my rear-end and have me look at myself more critically. She is moving me past the counseling of my grief and moving me towards looking at my other “Stuff” that affects me, and that has always been with me.
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My Father worked very hard all his life in a very physical manual labor job. He worked a lot of swing and graveyard shifts. He slept a lot in the day time. My mother would constantly try to keep my brother and I quiet. Her simple request of “Shhh, be quiet, your dad is sleeping” somehow added together with other stuff to transform in my mind to “Shhh, don’t speak up and be noticed” which of course then added up with my other insecurities of a lack of education to turn into “Shhh, don’t talk, and they won’t notice you have nothing worthwhile to say”
All of this is crazy talk, and my rational brain knows this. But the 12 year old hiding inside doesn’t like talking to my 44 year old brain.
This guy is really working hard to use all of his allotted nine cat lives. They took him off the feeding tube and life support stuff, gave him a bit of morphine, and he spent the night relatively alert and talking and completely cognizant of the situation. As of this morning, he is still going strong. Not sure if he is eating or drinking though.
I still have a hard time entering hospitals. I paused at the doorway and felt the grief wash over me again. It passed fairly quickly and with just a tear or two. I met my mother and brother in the waiting room outside of the Intensive Care Unit. I won’t go into the room. I can’t look at anyone hooked up to the machines.
I won't go into the private "little room" where the doctor can give you updates. The little room is not for positive updates. I can't go in there.
I let my mother’s grief explode in her, giving her my shoulder and a warm hug. It’s quite hard for me to hear her speak words and phrases like “You know” and “You are the only one that knows how I feel”. No Mom, I don’t know how it feels. I know how I feel, and each of us feels differently. I just hug her tighter and say yes and nod my head. I got her to drink some water and then I got some food from the cafeteria for her.
When my wife died, my vocabulary diminished down to one phrase: OK.
I said OK to everything asked of me. It was an answer, a question and expression of pain. I said OK as a statement when no one else was talking. I said OK to myself. I said OK to the wall.
My mother was saying OK a lot last night.
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I had canceled a date with B.D. last night, and she was very supportive. Tonight I will be going to my Widows and Widowers Support Group for the first time in months. This event seems to have triggered the need.
I expect a phone call today though, telling me he has passed on, and I will spend the evening with my Mother. I don’t know if I have the emotional strength.
As the famous philosopher George Lindell once said. "Reality hits you hard, bro"
When life is in turmoil, my first reaction is to curl up on the couch and escape into television or mindless web surfing. I am currently in that mode, and am having a difficult time finding the motivation to do the daily tasks and chores.
Oh, don’t get me wrong… if there is some social activity to engage in I am happy as can be. I’m just at another plateau and the next hurdle is slamming me in the forehead.
My dating life is taking the hit. The relationship with my wife was such a deep connection, with lively and fun interaction...our wants and needs blending so well together….and that type of connection is something we worked on strengthening all of the time. So now I feel if I don’t have that strong connection right away with someone, it’s not worth pursuing. I realize the fallacy of that, but I still can’t seem to get over it. Why expend all that energy and emotion on someone if I don’t “feel it” right away? Ahhh…. My brain tells me I should spend that energy and emotion on strengthening myself and everything will fall into place. I need to be my own favorite person. My Passion and Purpose should be within myself, and not wrapped up in someone else.
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Friday night I went to the home of a friend for a singer/songwriter jam fest. I have had the biggest physical attraction to this woman for over 2 years. But I know it isn’t worth pursuing. At least I think so. We are going to hang out together alone on Thursday. We have always been in a group when we meet, so the interaction will be interesting.
Saturday morning found me lazy and unmotivated. I literally lounged around feeling sorry for myself and surfed the web all day until late in the afternoon. Saturday night found me listening to a friend sing Christmas carols at a wine bar. It was a great time, and my friend was very well received by the customers. I met a friend of hers that is a doctor in Canada, but only works 3 weeks on, 2 weeks off, and has a house here in town. Wow, what a life!
Sunday morning was incredibly lazy again. I forced myself up and to at least get out of the house. I had plans in the early afternoon to meet some dear friends from out of town. This couple was very close to my wife, and were considered family. They have been extremely supportive and encouraging to me these past 3 years. We ended up having dinner and I invited B.D along. This was a huge big step. It felt surprisingly ok.
Can I move forward? Maybe the question is…. Do I want to?
