I was desperately trying to come up with something to say for tonight... if for no other reason than to goad TLC, but I got nothin'... one little story about B.B..
Today at Walmart:
Me: B.B., do you want to look for something to ask Santa for?
B.B.: No (long pause) I want to be mean and hateful!
(Of course, that's much funnier knowing B.B.'s disagreeable tendencies and juxtapositioning it with her angelic 4 year-old voice.)
And a confession...
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
HUMBUG!
12/04/11 Editors note: If your Christmas tree is giving you problems and you Googled the name and got sent here, the only help I can offer you is to try THIS; although you can read the following year's entry and learn that it helped some, but not all of the problems.
P.D. asked me yesterday why artificial Christmas trees were invented.
"Well honey, I guess so people won't have to go to the trouble of going to buy a tree every year, they'll already have one at home. It's just easier."
Today, I had to rethink my answer.
For our first Christmas in this house, (2005) my mom bought a pre-lit tree for us. (Actually, for P.D.... she said that her baby deserved something better than the "table-top fiber optic gizmo" that Deat and I called "Our Christmas Tree".)
Oh, that tree that Momma bought, it's a beaut... a 7 1/2 ft Emerald Peak Tree (From K-mart's Martha Stewart line no less). It "features 800 multicolored lights and 1,504 easy-to-shape branch tips Revolving stand included" Yes, that's right folks, my tree TURNS. And man, that first 2 years, well, she was glorious. (Although, I will admit, having an angel staring down while turning in a circle as if she were surveying the room took some getting used to.)
Last December was terribly hectic, not to mention a hard one to "get into the spirit" so putting up the tree was a hurried affair one afternoon after school. I pulled apart the bunched-up branches like fighting fire. As a result, we had a somewhat "gappy" tree. Later in the season, one small line of lights near the bottom stopped lighting... no matter... in a few seconds the good side of the tree came around again anyway. Besides this thing has at least 16 different plugs (with a configuration so confusing, it came with all of the sockets pre-plugged except for the 3 letter-matched plugs and sockets required to connect the 3 different layers of tree.)
Today I decided I'd take a little extra care; I'd take advantage of those "easy-to-shape tips" to make sure our tree would look like the one on the box again. I thought to myself this morning, "I'll try to find that line if I have time and fix it, too."
So, I set the first section in the stand... two rows of branches that fall into place when you set them upright. I noticed as I was shaping the bottom row that the upper-row branches I kept pushing up out my way refused to say there, so I called to P.D. to bring one of my belts from my closet. I pushed all of the upper row branches up out of my way and cinched them with the belt.. worked like a charm! So there I sat on the floor shaping each tip, branch by branch; turn the tree, shape the next one... so pleased with my work... repeat for the next row.
Luckily, P.D. had retrieved not one belt, as I requested, but all of them, so I already had them for the middle section (five rows). I took the top-most of the middle sections branches, cinched them, then the second top-most, cinched them and so on down, so when I finished shaping the bottom-most section I was working on, all I had to do was release the belt above it, and only the very-next row would drop for shaping.
I really wish that had been as easy as it reads here. Those easy-to-shape tips (and the greenery adorning them) hurt! Anyone who has ever made the mistake of working in hay in short sleeves can relate to the scratches covering my lower arms. If you can't relate... be glad. One hour in, and I'm only beginning to shape the bottom-most row of branches for the middle section. It took me another hour to get those rows shaped.
Luckily, TLC called and kept me company for half of that ordeal and the shaping of the top section. As I mentioned to her on the phone, with 2 hours, I could have run out and bought a real tree, and the price would have been a cheap exchange for scratch-free arms! We discussed several topics as I worked, one being that she, (unlike me) had blogged 3 times in November and had also blogged yesterday. As I finished the top section, I told TLC I had to go... it was time to start the decorating.
I plugged in my 3 trusty letter-matched plugs and called to the girls for the first lighting....
Only one of that multitude of light-strings lit.... ONE half of ONE side of ONE row on the bottom of the tree. Just then, I noticed a tag on the plug leading into the base, "One spare fuse inside the socket." Hooray! It's probably just that fuse, right? I opened it up, checked the fuse inside, but it looked fine. I re-plugged the main wire into the wall socket... and now none of the lights will light.
Next year, I believe I'll be forgoing the convenience of my artifical tree for a troublesome real one!
Oh well, while my Christmas Spirit may be a bit lacking at the moment, my competitive spirit is alive and well... At least now I'm one up on TLC for blogging in December.
P.D. asked me yesterday why artificial Christmas trees were invented.
"Well honey, I guess so people won't have to go to the trouble of going to buy a tree every year, they'll already have one at home. It's just easier."
Today, I had to rethink my answer.
For our first Christmas in this house, (2005) my mom bought a pre-lit tree for us. (Actually, for P.D.... she said that her baby deserved something better than the "table-top fiber optic gizmo" that Deat and I called "Our Christmas Tree".)
Oh, that tree that Momma bought, it's a beaut... a 7 1/2 ft Emerald Peak Tree (From K-mart's Martha Stewart line no less). It "features 800 multicolored lights and 1,504 easy-to-shape branch tips Revolving stand included" Yes, that's right folks, my tree TURNS. And man, that first 2 years, well, she was glorious. (Although, I will admit, having an angel staring down while turning in a circle as if she were surveying the room took some getting used to.)
Last December was terribly hectic, not to mention a hard one to "get into the spirit" so putting up the tree was a hurried affair one afternoon after school. I pulled apart the bunched-up branches like fighting fire. As a result, we had a somewhat "gappy" tree. Later in the season, one small line of lights near the bottom stopped lighting... no matter... in a few seconds the good side of the tree came around again anyway. Besides this thing has at least 16 different plugs (with a configuration so confusing, it came with all of the sockets pre-plugged except for the 3 letter-matched plugs and sockets required to connect the 3 different layers of tree.)
Today I decided I'd take a little extra care; I'd take advantage of those "easy-to-shape tips" to make sure our tree would look like the one on the box again. I thought to myself this morning, "I'll try to find that line if I have time and fix it, too."
So, I set the first section in the stand... two rows of branches that fall into place when you set them upright. I noticed as I was shaping the bottom row that the upper-row branches I kept pushing up out my way refused to say there, so I called to P.D. to bring one of my belts from my closet. I pushed all of the upper row branches up out of my way and cinched them with the belt.. worked like a charm! So there I sat on the floor shaping each tip, branch by branch; turn the tree, shape the next one... so pleased with my work... repeat for the next row.
Luckily, P.D. had retrieved not one belt, as I requested, but all of them, so I already had them for the middle section (five rows). I took the top-most of the middle sections branches, cinched them, then the second top-most, cinched them and so on down, so when I finished shaping the bottom-most section I was working on, all I had to do was release the belt above it, and only the very-next row would drop for shaping.
I really wish that had been as easy as it reads here. Those easy-to-shape tips (and the greenery adorning them) hurt! Anyone who has ever made the mistake of working in hay in short sleeves can relate to the scratches covering my lower arms. If you can't relate... be glad. One hour in, and I'm only beginning to shape the bottom-most row of branches for the middle section. It took me another hour to get those rows shaped.
Luckily, TLC called and kept me company for half of that ordeal and the shaping of the top section. As I mentioned to her on the phone, with 2 hours, I could have run out and bought a real tree, and the price would have been a cheap exchange for scratch-free arms! We discussed several topics as I worked, one being that she, (unlike me) had blogged 3 times in November and had also blogged yesterday. As I finished the top section, I told TLC I had to go... it was time to start the decorating.
I plugged in my 3 trusty letter-matched plugs and called to the girls for the first lighting....
Only one of that multitude of light-strings lit.... ONE half of ONE side of ONE row on the bottom of the tree. Just then, I noticed a tag on the plug leading into the base, "One spare fuse inside the socket." Hooray! It's probably just that fuse, right? I opened it up, checked the fuse inside, but it looked fine. I re-plugged the main wire into the wall socket... and now none of the lights will light.
Next year, I believe I'll be forgoing the convenience of my artifical tree for a troublesome real one!
Oh well, while my Christmas Spirit may be a bit lacking at the moment, my competitive spirit is alive and well... At least now I'm one up on TLC for blogging in December.
Friday, December 4, 2009
I Feel Lucky, Too
Can you guys stand a story about how great my kid is?
Today is Friday, the day B.B. gets to spend all day with Mommy.
She's not actually old enough for Headstart (missed the deadline by 2 months) but she attends anyway at a local childcare. There's no Headstart on Friday, so we hang out together all day. Sometimes we go pick up McDonalds for breakfast after we drop P.D. off at school.
Normally, P.D. is my angel, always thinking of others and putting them ahead of herself. Most times, P.D. is really happy for B.B. when she gets to do something special. (My Dad says he's never seen a child as good as P.D.... he says he knows HE didn't have one!) Her sweet and kind nature make her sorrows that much more painful for me to see.
So, her reaction this morning really threw me. As B.B. was chattering happily about going to get pancakes, P.D. became jealous and hurt; she was so mad she wouldn't eat breakfast here at all. I reminded her that she and I had a lunch date earlier in the week after her doctor's appointment. Since I live for teachable moments, I also pointed out that this was why the Bible tells us not to covet... it only makes us miserable. I pointed out other examples where she got to go do special things without her sister. She was having none of it.
I spent forever on the phone this morning with my sister discussing it, it really upset me.
This afternoon when B.B. and I picked her up, she was in a serious but sweet mood. She reached over in the car and hugged me and said she was sorry for being angry this morning.
"I re-read part of 'A Child Called It' today." (A book about an abused child that had really upset her.)
Thinking this was P.D. changing the subject, I replied, "Oh, it made you really sad again, huh?"
"No, it made me feel lucky."
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
What? A new post?
Short but sweet
Warning to Ms. D. (my therapist, also becoming my newest reader):
1. All (well, most) the names in this thing have been changed to protect the innocent and the not-so-innocent
2. It will make more sense if you start from the other end and go chronologically
3. Um, I know I spend too much time on the computer but if I start blogging again (now that I've seen all the SVU's) that almost counts as something productive, right?
For my other readers:
Okay, so I've made some efforts toward getting better, but I'm still not medicated. I got a referral from my regular doctor for an appt. w/ a psychiatrist, but it turned out to be a doctor that I have a major conflict with from her treatment of my brother-in-law, (can you say "I lay the blame for Deat's brother's death squarely at her feet?) so I didn't stay for the appointment. Ms. D also gave me referral to another guy, but the appointment isn't until November 20.
BUT, I have done some other things. I joined Curves and man, endorphins are SUCH a RUSH! I feel so much better! I also restarted counseling with Ms. D. I still have a way to go, but I'm feeling much better.
Because of the family-history, my sister still says I need to get started on meds, but I'm not completely convinced. Perhaps it's my mechanical inclinations, but finding the right medication appears to be a trial and error process, and that whole idea gives me the willies. I like A+B to equal C, every single time, not A+B might equal D, or it could be E, or if neither of those work we'll try F... It's particularly unnerving to me when we're talking about putting something in my body with the specific task of influencing my cognitive processes!
So maybe we'll try meds, maybe we won't. More to come...
Warning to Ms. D. (my therapist, also becoming my newest reader):
1. All (well, most) the names in this thing have been changed to protect the innocent and the not-so-innocent
2. It will make more sense if you start from the other end and go chronologically
3. Um, I know I spend too much time on the computer but if I start blogging again (now that I've seen all the SVU's) that almost counts as something productive, right?
For my other readers:
Okay, so I've made some efforts toward getting better, but I'm still not medicated. I got a referral from my regular doctor for an appt. w/ a psychiatrist, but it turned out to be a doctor that I have a major conflict with from her treatment of my brother-in-law, (can you say "I lay the blame for Deat's brother's death squarely at her feet?) so I didn't stay for the appointment. Ms. D also gave me referral to another guy, but the appointment isn't until November 20.
BUT, I have done some other things. I joined Curves and man, endorphins are SUCH a RUSH! I feel so much better! I also restarted counseling with Ms. D. I still have a way to go, but I'm feeling much better.
Because of the family-history, my sister still says I need to get started on meds, but I'm not completely convinced. Perhaps it's my mechanical inclinations, but finding the right medication appears to be a trial and error process, and that whole idea gives me the willies. I like A+B to equal C, every single time, not A+B might equal D, or it could be E, or if neither of those work we'll try F... It's particularly unnerving to me when we're talking about putting something in my body with the specific task of influencing my cognitive processes!
So maybe we'll try meds, maybe we won't. More to come...
Monday, September 7, 2009
Fessing Up for Additional Accountability
Where have I been? Well, I've been depressed.
I tried everything to fight my way out of it, and sometimes I thought I was winning. I kept telling myself:
And then, the more recent, the best one...
Do I have a right to be depressed? Sure. My husband died a bit over a year and a half ago, and with him every plan I had for my life, and most of the parameters for my decision-making. Sure, I probably should still be a bit lost, a bit depressed.
But it's more than that. I've been battling depression since before he died... actually since before he got sick, since before B.B. was born... since before B.B. was even imagined. Even if Deat had never become sick, that damn "yuck feeling" would still be there running in the background like one of the myriad of processes in the background on my PC... not outwardly visible but sucking the power out just the same. For all my guessing and researching I wasn't recognizing what it was, so I wasn't counteracting it properly.
I like to think I'm a damn good actress. I like to think I hid it well. I like to think very few people suspected. I know there are some very dear friends of mine that I've had fooled (
I did a pretty good job of hiding it from myself for a long time. Yeah, yeah... Denial ain't just a river in Egypt. Shleprock says I'm one of the cheeriest optimists he knows. And I am a cheery optimist... but even the optimism has only gone so far. That sadness, that anxiety just kept coming back.
So this past summer I started giving in to it... I didn't call my friends so much. I spent more and more time alone. "Maybe if I get this one little project on the house done the blues will go away... but I don't feel like working on the project today... I'll play on my computer just a little while longer, THEN I'll tend to the things I've been procrastinating on. Oooops, I've wasted the whole day...time to go get the girls, put on the smile."
I kept thinking if I had set goals and accomplished them, THAT would make me feel better... the only problem was, I couldn't think of anything attainable that I wanted badly enough to work for it. I just haven't "wanted" anything... another symptom in itself.
I stopped fixing my hair, I stopped wearing makeup. It was an effort, an accomplishment, just to get a shower. I stopped answering the phone. I did what I had to do for the girls... but very little beyond that. I had a excuse for any and all of the symptoms. I found a multitude of excuses to stay home even though I had things out there in the world I needed to do. I'd started finding excuses to stay in my room anytime the girls weren't home.
So that's why I went to the Mills this past weekend. I desperately needed someone to "see" it. It had to be someone (in this case, several someones)"safe". Since there's a pretty strong history of depression in my family, I knew they would recognize it and call me on it. And they did.
I listed to my sister all the things I'd (done/been trying to do) to make it better... she answered "Oh, yeah, so how's that workin' for ya?" (Um, it hasn't been?)I've shunned medication for depression for over 5 years now, convinced that I should be able to overcome these feelings without it. (And how's that workin' for ya?)
I started on the road back to L-town with a list of things she told me to do... one of the main ones being find a really thorough mental-health professional to find the best medical and therapeutic treatment for this. As I drove, I started imagining what life would be like without this weight (figurative and physical) slowing my steps. It was a really nice picture... and for the first time in a long time, I have a REAL goal that makes me smile to think of what will come with it.
I'm going to fight this, with real weapons this time, and I am going to feel better.
And then, I really will be able to be the best Kelly I can be. I remember her. Without this weight, I know she's a pretty damn good one.
I tried everything to fight my way out of it, and sometimes I thought I was winning. I kept telling myself:
If I could only get x, y or z accomplished, THEN I'll feel better...
It's just this dang (cloudy, rainy, snowy) weather. A little sunshine and I'll be back to myself
I'm just homesick, a couple days in Ruddles Mills and I'll be fine.
I just need to go to church regularly instead of hit and miss
I just need to lose some weight and quit smoking, then I'll get my confidence back..
I just need to focus on my job and get good at it again...
I'm really a praise hound, I just need some praise from someone...
And then, the more recent, the best one...
If only Deat were here...
Do I have a right to be depressed? Sure. My husband died a bit over a year and a half ago, and with him every plan I had for my life, and most of the parameters for my decision-making. Sure, I probably should still be a bit lost, a bit depressed.
But it's more than that. I've been battling depression since before he died... actually since before he got sick, since before B.B. was born... since before B.B. was even imagined. Even if Deat had never become sick, that damn "yuck feeling" would still be there running in the background like one of the myriad of processes in the background on my PC... not outwardly visible but sucking the power out just the same. For all my guessing and researching I wasn't recognizing what it was, so I wasn't counteracting it properly.
I like to think I'm a damn good actress. I like to think I hid it well. I like to think very few people suspected. I know there are some very dear friends of mine that I've had fooled (
I did a pretty good job of hiding it from myself for a long time. Yeah, yeah... Denial ain't just a river in Egypt. Shleprock says I'm one of the cheeriest optimists he knows. And I am a cheery optimist... but even the optimism has only gone so far. That sadness, that anxiety just kept coming back.
So this past summer I started giving in to it... I didn't call my friends so much. I spent more and more time alone. "Maybe if I get this one little project on the house done the blues will go away... but I don't feel like working on the project today... I'll play on my computer just a little while longer, THEN I'll tend to the things I've been procrastinating on. Oooops, I've wasted the whole day...time to go get the girls, put on the smile."
I kept thinking if I had set goals and accomplished them, THAT would make me feel better... the only problem was, I couldn't think of anything attainable that I wanted badly enough to work for it. I just haven't "wanted" anything... another symptom in itself.
I stopped fixing my hair, I stopped wearing makeup. It was an effort, an accomplishment, just to get a shower. I stopped answering the phone. I did what I had to do for the girls... but very little beyond that. I had a excuse for any and all of the symptoms. I found a multitude of excuses to stay home even though I had things out there in the world I needed to do. I'd started finding excuses to stay in my room anytime the girls weren't home.
So that's why I went to the Mills this past weekend. I desperately needed someone to "see" it. It had to be someone (in this case, several someones)"safe". Since there's a pretty strong history of depression in my family, I knew they would recognize it and call me on it. And they did.
I listed to my sister all the things I'd (done/been trying to do) to make it better... she answered "Oh, yeah, so how's that workin' for ya?" (Um, it hasn't been?)I've shunned medication for depression for over 5 years now, convinced that I should be able to overcome these feelings without it. (And how's that workin' for ya?)
I started on the road back to L-town with a list of things she told me to do... one of the main ones being find a really thorough mental-health professional to find the best medical and therapeutic treatment for this. As I drove, I started imagining what life would be like without this weight (figurative and physical) slowing my steps. It was a really nice picture... and for the first time in a long time, I have a REAL goal that makes me smile to think of what will come with it.
I'm going to fight this, with real weapons this time, and I am going to feel better.
And then, I really will be able to be the best Kelly I can be. I remember her. Without this weight, I know she's a pretty damn good one.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
It's All About Ass, Baby
But before I get to the "Round Tuit" post which promises to be long and boring and of little interest to any of you... (I just want to post it for posterity's sake)I wanted to comment on a pleasant memory I had a few moments ago.
I just got over here from facebook and I noticed that a girl from home had posted this as her status message:
This was one of Deat's favorite expressions... in fact he quoted it so often he finally condensed it and just made it his standard response, particularly when he heard about bad behavior or if the word "ass" was used in any context:
When he wasn't on the radio or TV, he had a slight twang to his voice... and on air or not, his inflection and comic timing were hilarious... I can just hear him now... I may make that one my own. Man, it's nice to have good memories now and not feel like crying every time I have one.
(Which he somehow would have found a way to reply to that with that standard reply above)
I just got over here from facebook and I noticed that a girl from home had posted this as her status message:
Life is about ASS.....everyone is either covering it, laughing it off, kicking it, kissing it, trying to get a piece of it, or JUST BEING ONE......
This was one of Deat's favorite expressions... in fact he quoted it so often he finally condensed it and just made it his standard response, particularly when he heard about bad behavior or if the word "ass" was used in any context:
"It's all about ass, baby."
When he wasn't on the radio or TV, he had a slight twang to his voice... and on air or not, his inflection and comic timing were hilarious... I can just hear him now... I may make that one my own. Man, it's nice to have good memories now and not feel like crying every time I have one.
(Which he somehow would have found a way to reply to that with that standard reply above)
Monday, July 27, 2009
Round Tuits and the Tuits they create...
This is my Really Sweet Pry-Bar. (Not to be confused with Delmer's Really Sweet Minivan.) Follow the link, then search Really Sweet Minivan... the only thing more fun than reading about Delmer and his Really Sweet Minivan is hearing him talk about it, but then, I just love Delmer... I digress.
I bought my Really Sweet Pry-Bar for about $8.00 back in 2003 when I was remodeling our house so we could move in. I've spent hours upon hours working with it... quite a worthwhile investment. I learned then that working on, tearing up and repairing stuff around the house is my favorite pastime... When needing to unwind, get challenged and really aggravated, then relax again, some people go get their golf-bag, I go get my toolbox.
For size reference I put my cell-phone down next to it, right after I quit working with it tonight. I meant to write a blog today about how all the round tuits have grown upon one another... but as you can see by the time on my phone and the time on this post it's late, and I still need a shower... more to come.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Blame it on the Goober
Okay, so I was gonna blog tonight about all my little "round tuits" I've been accomplishing.
I felt I needed to blog SOMETHING... I've been so inspired by my friend Terre. She's participating in a "blogathon"; she started at 8am and is blogging every half hour for 24 hours to support the Depression and Bipolar Alliance. What a challenge! If you'd like to follow along, go here.
Anyway, I was going to write a real blog, but my buddy Goober called and proceded to give me down the road for spraying bleach on the walls in my basement to make sure I killed any lingering mold.
At the end of the conversation, he admonished me to go gargle water twice and then drink 2 glasses to wash away any lasting effects of the bleach. I nearly drowned myself.
He knows I'm dumb enough to screw up gargling: I think he's trying to kill me.*
Anyway, I have to go to bed and get rest... I have major cleaning to do in the morning. MOMMA IS COMING! I had the house so clean the last time she visited she didn't wrinkle up her nose even once. I'd hate to let her down.
*playful sarcasm alert for the wit-impared
I felt I needed to blog SOMETHING... I've been so inspired by my friend Terre. She's participating in a "blogathon"; she started at 8am and is blogging every half hour for 24 hours to support the Depression and Bipolar Alliance. What a challenge! If you'd like to follow along, go here.
Anyway, I was going to write a real blog, but my buddy Goober called and proceded to give me down the road for spraying bleach on the walls in my basement to make sure I killed any lingering mold.
At the end of the conversation, he admonished me to go gargle water twice and then drink 2 glasses to wash away any lasting effects of the bleach. I nearly drowned myself.
He knows I'm dumb enough to screw up gargling: I think he's trying to kill me.*
Anyway, I have to go to bed and get rest... I have major cleaning to do in the morning. MOMMA IS COMING! I had the house so clean the last time she visited she didn't wrinkle up her nose even once. I'd hate to let her down.
*playful sarcasm alert for the wit-impared
Friday, July 24, 2009
Substitute for a Blog (or, God is Great, Beer is Good, and People are Crazy)
Since I went crazy blogging last week (no kids, I can do that with no kids, can't do that now) I started to feel guilty for the people who follow this blog.
So, in the interest of providing some kind of entertainment, I decided to pass along something I heard for the first time today and really liked. This may be a huge country song for all I know, I'm pretty clueless as to new music, but I liked it.
So, in the interest of providing some kind of entertainment, I decided to pass along something I heard for the first time today and really liked. This may be a huge country song for all I know, I'm pretty clueless as to new music, but I liked it.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Suddenly, I've Got a Ton to Write About...
I have topics filling my head!
1. Found a friend I haven't talked to in a little over 10 years... I will be doing a blog at some point of the idiotic stuff in our college days.
2. Today with Ev... it was awesome. We spent the day doing chores outside... aw, can't do that one tonight, need to flesh out how I want to describe it.
3. Yesterday with my D. family... man I am SOOOO blessed!
4. Still have the one about TLC and Shleprock on the shelf... my blog born from her blog about my blog...
But tonight, this has to be short, just a quick observation.
1. Found a friend I haven't talked to in a little over 10 years... I will be doing a blog at some point of the idiotic stuff in our college days.
2. Today with Ev... it was awesome. We spent the day doing chores outside... aw, can't do that one tonight, need to flesh out how I want to describe it.
3. Yesterday with my D. family... man I am SOOOO blessed!
4. Still have the one about TLC and Shleprock on the shelf... my blog born from her blog about my blog...
But tonight, this has to be short, just a quick observation.
Spent HOURS talking to TLC (girlfriend, writer, close friend from my EKU days) over the weekend... about EVERYTHING. One of us will start to tell the other about something that happened to us... the other automatically knows the reaction... a really DEEP friendship.
One of the things we discussed was that sometimes, (oftentimes!) in writing these blogs I learn something about myself.
Backing up a bit... several weekends ago Momma, Daddy and Wayne came down to L-town to look over the estimates I'd collected on waterproofing my basement. Wayne once worked for B-Dry, and Daddy and Wayne like each other, so they rode together.
Anyway, at one point, Wayne, Momma and I were in the kitchen talking and Daddy had stepped back out into the backyard to look over the back entrance to my basement again. I looked out and saw him hand-motioning at the door and talking to himself. I pointed it out to Wayne and laughed... He's always done that and I do the same thing. When I have a big decision to make or a big job to tackle, I often have a conversation with myself about the variables... just voicing what I'm thinking about helps me clarify the issues in my mind... at least I come by it honestly.
C.T. once told me that helping me figure things out was easy, I most often figured out whatever was troubling me in the course of explaining it to him. (Again, maybe he wasn't as great as I thought he was... just kidding. I needed a venting place and he served THAT role well.)
Back to my conversation with TLC, she asked me where I thought I was in the whole grief process and I said I felt I was very close to total acceptance but that I realized that in some ways I would always grieve for Deat. She answered that she finally believed me.
"Huh?"
"Well, you know, I've kept up with your blogs. You spent a lot of time in what I called denial-acceptance. If you're spending that much time saying you've accepted it, you probably really haven't yet."
Which of course made me think... TLC ALWAYS makes me think, even when I don't want to!
Prior to our conversation, I had been pondering why, nearly a year and a half later, I felt a need to spend so much time, to write so many blogs talking about Deat. As I was re-reading my Kirk/C.T. blog, I think I hit upon an answer in one line in the section about "A key component of major grief,
Until I wrote that line a couple days ago, I don't think I ever really described to anyone, or even conceptualized for myself just how much I HURT. When that description came out it was almost as if I was recognizing that level of pain for the first time; then, I was realizing that I really do still hurt, but not LIKE THAT anymore.
The hurt is still there, but it isn't so sharp that I can't bear to talk about it. I talk about Deat so much because I CAN now. I'm not desperately trying to push the memories away. I don't work so hard at stopping the tears when they come, as I did then. I acknowledge God's blessings in the whole experience, but I don't feel so compelled to try to STAY focused on them for fear of allowing the pendulum to swing the other way. I'm not afraid of the hurt anymore. I still have my grief-fog moments, but I'm no longer afraid of completely losing my mind.
And in the past few months, I've become comfortable with the idea of not dating, and comfortable with owning up to the fact that I'm really not ready.
Would I like there to be someone special? Maybe. But now I'm okay with the fact that it may not even be worth it for all the planning and arrangement-making it would have to involve, instead of lamenting how difficult it would be to manage. I don't need a relationship to help me hide from the hurt... at this point my mind is wrapped up in the girls' and my day-to-day, in accomplishing some long-set-aside goals, in laying groundwork. Honestly, it seems like dating would be a distraction from the things I really want to do, instead of a distraction from the things I really wanted to hide from, as before.
In writing, I discovered, "Wow, some progress in the healing process snuck up on me!"
One of the things we discussed was that sometimes, (oftentimes!) in writing these blogs I learn something about myself.
Backing up a bit... several weekends ago Momma, Daddy and Wayne came down to L-town to look over the estimates I'd collected on waterproofing my basement. Wayne once worked for B-Dry, and Daddy and Wayne like each other, so they rode together.
Anyway, at one point, Wayne, Momma and I were in the kitchen talking and Daddy had stepped back out into the backyard to look over the back entrance to my basement again. I looked out and saw him hand-motioning at the door and talking to himself. I pointed it out to Wayne and laughed... He's always done that and I do the same thing. When I have a big decision to make or a big job to tackle, I often have a conversation with myself about the variables... just voicing what I'm thinking about helps me clarify the issues in my mind... at least I come by it honestly.
C.T. once told me that helping me figure things out was easy, I most often figured out whatever was troubling me in the course of explaining it to him. (Again, maybe he wasn't as great as I thought he was... just kidding. I needed a venting place and he served THAT role well.)
Back to my conversation with TLC, she asked me where I thought I was in the whole grief process and I said I felt I was very close to total acceptance but that I realized that in some ways I would always grieve for Deat. She answered that she finally believed me.
"Huh?"
"Well, you know, I've kept up with your blogs. You spent a lot of time in what I called denial-acceptance. If you're spending that much time saying you've accepted it, you probably really haven't yet."
Which of course made me think... TLC ALWAYS makes me think, even when I don't want to!
Prior to our conversation, I had been pondering why, nearly a year and a half later, I felt a need to spend so much time, to write so many blogs talking about Deat. As I was re-reading my Kirk/C.T. blog, I think I hit upon an answer in one line in the section about "A key component of major grief,
"When you hurt to the point you can't relay it to anyone because you're too afraid of opening it up and looking at it yourself..."
Until I wrote that line a couple days ago, I don't think I ever really described to anyone, or even conceptualized for myself just how much I HURT. When that description came out it was almost as if I was recognizing that level of pain for the first time; then, I was realizing that I really do still hurt, but not LIKE THAT anymore.
The hurt is still there, but it isn't so sharp that I can't bear to talk about it. I talk about Deat so much because I CAN now. I'm not desperately trying to push the memories away. I don't work so hard at stopping the tears when they come, as I did then. I acknowledge God's blessings in the whole experience, but I don't feel so compelled to try to STAY focused on them for fear of allowing the pendulum to swing the other way. I'm not afraid of the hurt anymore. I still have my grief-fog moments, but I'm no longer afraid of completely losing my mind.
And in the past few months, I've become comfortable with the idea of not dating, and comfortable with owning up to the fact that I'm really not ready.
Would I like there to be someone special? Maybe. But now I'm okay with the fact that it may not even be worth it for all the planning and arrangement-making it would have to involve, instead of lamenting how difficult it would be to manage. I don't need a relationship to help me hide from the hurt... at this point my mind is wrapped up in the girls' and my day-to-day, in accomplishing some long-set-aside goals, in laying groundwork. Honestly, it seems like dating would be a distraction from the things I really want to do, instead of a distraction from the things I really wanted to hide from, as before.
In writing, I discovered, "Wow, some progress in the healing process snuck up on me!"
Just Wanted This Here.
I'll always love you, Buddy. Always.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Revamping, Revising and Updating
Editor's note: This spot said "MOVED" for some time because the blog that WAS here was long, rambling, and made very little sense to anyone but me. I decided to put it back. Just be warned, it's long, rambling and makes very little sense.
Okay, so I had a really great idea for an entry for today, but I knew I couldn't post it without first running it by Schleprock, since he was one of the people I'd be mentioning. Schelprock is a very dear friend, and a pretty private person. In our discussion, the logistics became so complicated I decided to save writing it for another time... Since Schleprock asked me not to identify him, I'm writing this preface for him specifically:
The piece I'm including in this post is something I actually originally wrote for one person, but as I re-read it again today, I realized it really belonged to someone I met AFTER I wrote it. With that in mind, I adjusted it a bit to fit the guy it really belonged to, to a later time frame, but one still well before now:
For those "getting reacquainted" months, I wouldn't write about Kirk and my interactions publicly because I believed there was something of a romance there, and I thought I would be judged harshly because it was "too soon". No one but my closest friends even knew about it.
I was frustrated with Kirk during that time, because I wanted to "move forward," to spend time together, to see each other more. Kirk kept pushing me back. When wrote the original of the (poem, essay, horribly melodramatic allegory, just weird ode-like thingy...?) in September of 2008, I mistakenly believed, as Kirk said, he pushed me back to protect me in the ways I mention in it.
Since then, much of that early fog of grief has lifted. I was no more ready for a "relationship" with Kirk, or anyone for that matter, than the man in the moon.
Some go to drugs and alcohol, I went back to those old romanticized feelings I had for Kirk way back when we met. About a month after I wrote the original to this piece, and the fog began lifting a bit more, and I realized that that Kirk's enigmatic actions were less about the protecting the fragility of a potential relationship, more about trying to conceal his own demons. I was finally able to view Kirk, "as is" not "as was".
The Kirk I knew in 1993 had so much going for him, wrote the most wonderful letters... I spent hours back then imagining what life with him would be like. (To his credit, he really is an intelligent guy). But I was a 22 year-old girl crazy about a 22 year-old guy who had all this potential. Now I was a 38 year-old woman looking at a 38 year-old man and figuring out that he allowed (and, sadly, continues to allow) his demons to get the better of him. The potential, while it may still be there, hadn't moved him forward. And... the prospects of his ever pushing that potential to build a bigger life for himself didn't look so good.
I'll always care about Kirk. I still try to be a friend to him. I won't "judge him" for the things he allows to hold him back; but neither will I accept them; nor will I pussyfoot around by pretending I will, not even in the context of simple friendship. (Climbing down off the soapbox again.)
When I went back and re-read that September post today, I reminded just how vivid my imagination was, (and just how cheesy my writing is when it takes a turn toward the romantic) imposing on Kirk, motives that I only imagined were there. However, I was struck by some strange parallels.
The person who came closer to having the protective nature described in the (uh, allegory?) was C.T.! (see Stressing on the Buildup, One Letter and a Bear) Not only that, but he did it, not out of hopes for some romantic relationship with me, or some other selfish reason, but because he's was a good guy, he simply cared. (Well, okay, maybe he just wanted another care package with Mingua Brother's beef jerky, his buddies in his hometown can't get it for him... ha ha.) Even more strangely, when I looked at the date, I realized that the day I wrote it was the same day I had my first contact with C.T. Further, C.T. was the one who later gave "Way-Too-Nice Kelly" the guts to tell Kirk that I wouldn't be tolerating his demons any longer.
C.T. and I chatted for hours on Yahoo or MSN about everything. If he subscribed to an old Gant-family saying: "If we never give you a hard time, it means we probably don't like you," then, dang, he must have loved me to death! We laughed, argued, debated... He thrived on being a jerk... But he was the one I turned to during some of the roughest "down" nights... He'd sit at his monitor in Iraq, reading, commenting here and there and offering his own observations and encouragement. (I told him once he was a great cheerleader, then got completely cracked up at the idea of him with that bald head and probably hairy legs in the uniform, complete with the pleated skirt and pom-poms.)
However, even with close friends, C.T. prefers to "compartmentalize" different aspects of his life... he doesn't like the lines to cross. (I wonder if he's one of those people who doesn't like the different foods on his plate to touch? I digress...) In my continuing (and mostly subconscious) push to "latch-on" to anything that made me feel better, I over-stepped, a lot. Being the naturally way-too-nosy (It's okay to be nosy if you admit it) person I am, I was constantly pushing the limits on his comfort zone.
Messing with C.T.'s comfort zone was a BIG no-no. He'd mentioned before that in other relationships, when pushed, he walked away.... completely. Several times when I went too far, crossed those lines, C.T. would push me away again... but he always let me come back.
Until the last time.
Starting right after Christmas, some of those irrational grief-things were eating me again. (More fog, God I love grief-fog, :rolleyes:) I knew I had been internally over-reacting to some of the things C.T. and I had talked about... I was becoming way too "clingy'. I realized I was "smothering" him (electronically, ha ha) but I couldn't figure out why. It was like watching a train wreck and being unable to stop it, even sitting in the engineer's seat.
I tried to dismiss it and go back to the casual friendship we had enjoyed, but it just kept eating at me, keeping me on this up-and-down roller coaster. I wondered if maybe something weird was going on from his end, and I was just reacting to that. I wondered if he was becoming exhausted with my increasing "neediness" and wished he could "walk away" from me, but was at a loss as to how because he didn't want to hurt me.
When he was getting ready to come home on for a nearly 3-week leave in March, I was really anxious about it. He had planned to come visit (a 6-hour drive) to finally "meet" in person... and I tried several times to "let him off the hook." from the visit. Looking back I wonder if subconsciously I knew something unfortunate was bound to happen, or if perhaps little tingly "bad premonitions" are real. I don't know.
I thought the day of his visit went very well. We laughed and joked, had some serious conversations. We both remarked on how interesting it was that it felt like we really "knew" each other despite that all our previous contact (except for some text messages and a couple phone calls in his first week home) had been online.
Earlier that week I had seen a post to his (public, not private) myspace status message and curiosity got the best of me... I did a little research and filled in some blanks, and during the course of his visit mentioned it... we even talked about it a bit.
C.T. has some kind of delayed-reaction mechanism in him for things that bother him. Online, he rarely reacted immediately if I said something that truly aggravated him. Sometimes he wouldn't say anything about it for a couple days, even if we had talked in the meantime. Apparently the same is true in person. I didn't realize I'd over-stepped again. He never flinched. The afternoon went on as it had been.
But I didn't talk to him for the rest of his leave... I was hurt but I tried to write it off as simply being busy with his friends from home. Then, a day or two after he got back to Iraq, I noticed he wasn't on my Facebook friends-list anymore, and wasn't showing up in a search. "Gee, wonder why he'd delete his account?" Later that night, while talking to a friend on the phone, she searched and his picture came right up on her screen. He had blocked me.
I saw him on MSN a couple days later and angrily confronted him. (Why hadn't he TOLD me?) He referred to the aforementioned part of our conversation from his visit and said that temptation to be nosy was too much for me and he was just taking away a temptation... that we could still talk on Yahoo and MSN, and that I was over-reacting. (Funny to me now: I didn't get ANY of what I'd mentioned to him from Facebook, yet that's where he blocked me.)
In my hurt, anger, and quite frankly, exhaustion, I decided that I had had enough of the "up-and-down" feelings over our friendship from the past month. I blocked him from everything: Myspace, Facebook, MSN, Yahoo. I wrote him an email telling him that while I appreciated the things he'd done and been for me, I just didn't see me ever fitting correctly into one of his "compartments" and I was worn out from trying.
I deleted every contact we'd had: every e-mail, every message sent on Myspace and Facebook, the archived conversations from MSN and Yahoo, the text messages and voicemail from his visit home, his cell number. If I was going to get off the roller-coaster, I had get rid of everything, clear my head. The only thing I kept were the blog entries.
It took me more than 2 weeks to realize what had really been going on with me, where all the anxiety leading to this point had come from. It took distancing myself from everything about our contact to get perspective.
C.T's personality is nothing like Deat's was, so I suppose that's what took me so long to catch it: I wasn't trying to "replace" Deat with him, but without realizing it, I had been trying (unsuccessfully) to "shove" him into some of the roles Deat used to play. I so missed having that one person to tell "everything" to, that one person who told me everything... that one person whose life I knew inside out. That's a role a spouse plays, a role that someone who is legitimately sharing your life with you plays, not the role of a platonic friend.
I wrote him a long, rambling snail-mail trying to explain this discovery, to tell him that I had needed the time away to clear my head... but I made a point not to ask him to respond, much as I wanted to. I purposely chose snail-mail so I wouldn't "know" when he'd receive it.
He never responded. I gave it some more time... then I emailed. No response. I tried emailing again sporadically since then. I guess I kept hoping I could "fix" it somehow. I'm all about the "courage to change the things I can" part of the prayer, not so good at the "serenity to accept the things I can't" or the "wisdom to know the difference" parts.
Losing my friendship with C.T. has bothered me... a lot. If I've had another friendship completely end this way, I certainly don't remember it. I have no idea if he read any of the emails, or even the snail-mail for that matter. The only subsequent response was back in May when I tried to "re-connect" on Yahoo Messenger: declined. Although I doubt I'll never know "the rest of the story," if there is one, the gist of C.T.'s silent message is pretty clear, "You called it off, and I am DONE."
After the adjustments to the original (and still ridiculously melodramatic) allegory... life imitated the art created even before the incident: it happened just as the hero feared.
Hmmm...
When I started this blog earlier today, I planned to completely skip over "how" it ended and only mention that it had. I started this one only to give C.T. credit for how much his friendship really did help me on my grief journey. I never meant to go into as much as I did, but then again, maybe I needed to.
Over the past couple weeks, I've started writing a blog about losing his friendship in my head a dozen times. I always stopped myself, thinking how pathetic and sad the whole thing would seem to a reader, and thinking that I just needed to let it go. A little over a week ago, I thought "Say bye, dammit" would be enough. We had a bunch of stupid "phrases" that nobody else would get. I miss those too.
So maybe starting this one this morning was a way to get it out. Over-done as that "piece" is, I still think C.T. "deserves" the credit it offers far more than Kirk did. At least Kirk got to read the deluded original, but C.T. will likely never see this. Even if he did, I doubt I'd ever know.
Did C.T. see this coming and try to prevent it? I don't know... that's just a nice way for my imagination to wrap it. He's a really sharp person, he may have... then again he may just be the self-centered jerk he told me he was. Maybe I "thought" I meant more to him than I did; maybe I just finally gave him the "out" he was looking for.
Maybe I gave him more credit than he deserved when we were still talking, too. (Doubt it, but makes the loss easier.) Fact remains, whatever the answer: for that period of time, he really helped me.
Of one thing I am certain, that my clarity and discernment in all relationships, (working, friendship, whatever) was, and may still be, "off" for a long time. (Have I mentioned how much I love grief-fog?)
As I type, I'm still anxious about posting this, "Do you really want people reading your blog to know all this? Do you really want to give people a chance to view this part of your life and think "Dang, that chick is NUTS!"?
But as I said before: maybe later, that reader, when experiencing his or her own major grief, will remember something I wrote. Maybe when he or she sits back after being confounded by his or her own insane-but-seemingly-un-grief-related thoughts and actions, will remember reading my crazy passages and realize that grief-fog, grief-insanity, isn't permanent. Albeit mind-numbingly slowly, it does get better. If one person finds some comfort later, realizing that grief-insanity is normal, who cares what the rest think.
I know I'm not crazy... at least not as crazy as I was.
Okay, so I had a really great idea for an entry for today, but I knew I couldn't post it without first running it by Schleprock, since he was one of the people I'd be mentioning. Schelprock is a very dear friend, and a pretty private person. In our discussion, the logistics became so complicated I decided to save writing it for another time... Since Schleprock asked me not to identify him, I'm writing this preface for him specifically:
Dear Schleprock, THIS IS NOT the post you and I discussed. THIS IS NOT YOU. I care about the two people I'm writing about in this one, but I'm not worried about protecting their privacy as I was yours. Besides, if you read this post thinking you were going to be in it, you'd read it, lean back and say "HUH? How did I miss all that?" Ya didn't miss anything, it ain't you. While I care about the people in this post, they don't warrant a pre-contact. Heck, I doubt either of them will ever see it.Onward! To the real post!
As I was looking back through some old blogs from Myspace to change them to "private" (On Schleprock's advice) I came across something I wrote privately and decided to write around that instead.
The piece I'm including in this post is something I actually originally wrote for one person, but as I re-read it again today, I realized it really belonged to someone I met AFTER I wrote it. With that in mind, I adjusted it a bit to fit the guy it really belonged to, to a later time frame, but one still well before now:
Her WorldI originally wrote this in a "private" blog for an old friend (something of an old spark from my college days actually) who came back into my life a few months after Deat died (July of last year). "Kirk" and I made a joke during that time about my being "Miss Unrequited Love, 1993", but he made it plain that he was still very attracted to me.
She was hurt, broken, when she dropped into your world, though she believed she hid it well. She was wandering in and out of a dangerous ravine where pain grabbed her without warning. She would often wonder if she'd ever find her way out. She'd been told she'd have to work her way out slowly, to learn to be patient, some of the ropes holding her fast would eventually slacken on their own.
But, she knew better. She knew she'd found the short-cut, the escape route. She saw your kindness, and ran to it. For a time, her injuries are numbed. For a time, she thinks she's healed, that the cruelty of Mourning's Valley is behind her... She's free to go on her way, as long as you've got her by the hand.
You warned her, she'd have to go back there, that she couldn't keep running. Eventually, she'd have to face that terrain again, and again, and then again; and you tell her you can't go with her.
You see cords that still hold her, ones she doesn't want to feel. You know, you can't untie the binds for her, much as she would beg you to. Only time and her willingness to endure can bring the liberation she so desperately craves: slowly, so slowly, she's learning to loosen one knot after another. You tell her you can't pull her free of them. You only hint of your dread: they'll
pull her in tighter, maim you both.
So for now, you walk near her, but keep your distance; you can only watch helplessly as she's pulled back to that chasm where she's so afraid. You tell her she has to go alone. You cringe while she's there, but won't let her run back to you, won't coddle her with a place to hide. You suspect; sometimes know better than she does, what she'll find.
You wait.
She emerges again, bruised, bleeding. You console her while she attends to her wounds, re-opened each time she's dragged back to that hollow. You can't tend them for her... only listen to her anguish.
You say you can't feel it for her, but I know you feel it through her. I'm sorry for that, but grateful. You cared for her. You teach her patience despite her protests, and reassure her that one day she'll return yet again from the vale, this time, healthy and whole.
For those "getting reacquainted" months, I wouldn't write about Kirk and my interactions publicly because I believed there was something of a romance there, and I thought I would be judged harshly because it was "too soon". No one but my closest friends even knew about it.
I was frustrated with Kirk during that time, because I wanted to "move forward," to spend time together, to see each other more. Kirk kept pushing me back. When wrote the original of the (poem, essay, horribly melodramatic allegory, just weird ode-like thingy...?) in September of 2008, I mistakenly believed, as Kirk said, he pushed me back to protect me in the ways I mention in it.
Since then, much of that early fog of grief has lifted. I was no more ready for a "relationship" with Kirk, or anyone for that matter, than the man in the moon.
A key component of major grief: When you hurt to the point you can't relay it to anyone because you're too afraid of opening it up and looking at it yourself, you will grab on to ANYTHING that looks like happy. You'll latch on to ANYTHING that lets you think pleasant thoughts and will fight tooth-and-nail to get away from the pain. The ache is still there, and although it doesn't work, you tell yourself you can quiet the ache with "this thing", whatever it might be, to drown it out.
Some go to drugs and alcohol, I went back to those old romanticized feelings I had for Kirk way back when we met. About a month after I wrote the original to this piece, and the fog began lifting a bit more, and I realized that that Kirk's enigmatic actions were less about the protecting the fragility of a potential relationship, more about trying to conceal his own demons. I was finally able to view Kirk, "as is" not "as was".
The Kirk I knew in 1993 had so much going for him, wrote the most wonderful letters... I spent hours back then imagining what life with him would be like. (To his credit, he really is an intelligent guy). But I was a 22 year-old girl crazy about a 22 year-old guy who had all this potential. Now I was a 38 year-old woman looking at a 38 year-old man and figuring out that he allowed (and, sadly, continues to allow) his demons to get the better of him. The potential, while it may still be there, hadn't moved him forward. And... the prospects of his ever pushing that potential to build a bigger life for himself didn't look so good.
I'll always care about Kirk. I still try to be a friend to him. I won't "judge him" for the things he allows to hold him back; but neither will I accept them; nor will I pussyfoot around by pretending I will, not even in the context of simple friendship. (Climbing down off the soapbox again.)
When I went back and re-read that September post today, I reminded just how vivid my imagination was, (and just how cheesy my writing is when it takes a turn toward the romantic) imposing on Kirk, motives that I only imagined were there. However, I was struck by some strange parallels.
The person who came closer to having the protective nature described in the (uh, allegory?) was C.T.! (see Stressing on the Buildup, One Letter and a Bear) Not only that, but he did it, not out of hopes for some romantic relationship with me, or some other selfish reason, but because he's was a good guy, he simply cared. (Well, okay, maybe he just wanted another care package with Mingua Brother's beef jerky, his buddies in his hometown can't get it for him... ha ha.) Even more strangely, when I looked at the date, I realized that the day I wrote it was the same day I had my first contact with C.T. Further, C.T. was the one who later gave "Way-Too-Nice Kelly" the guts to tell Kirk that I wouldn't be tolerating his demons any longer.
C.T. and I chatted for hours on Yahoo or MSN about everything. If he subscribed to an old Gant-family saying: "If we never give you a hard time, it means we probably don't like you," then, dang, he must have loved me to death! We laughed, argued, debated... He thrived on being a jerk... But he was the one I turned to during some of the roughest "down" nights... He'd sit at his monitor in Iraq, reading, commenting here and there and offering his own observations and encouragement. (I told him once he was a great cheerleader, then got completely cracked up at the idea of him with that bald head and probably hairy legs in the uniform, complete with the pleated skirt and pom-poms.)
However, even with close friends, C.T. prefers to "compartmentalize" different aspects of his life... he doesn't like the lines to cross. (I wonder if he's one of those people who doesn't like the different foods on his plate to touch? I digress...) In my continuing (and mostly subconscious) push to "latch-on" to anything that made me feel better, I over-stepped, a lot. Being the naturally way-too-nosy (It's okay to be nosy if you admit it) person I am, I was constantly pushing the limits on his comfort zone.
Messing with C.T.'s comfort zone was a BIG no-no. He'd mentioned before that in other relationships, when pushed, he walked away.... completely. Several times when I went too far, crossed those lines, C.T. would push me away again... but he always let me come back.
Until the last time.
Starting right after Christmas, some of those irrational grief-things were eating me again. (More fog, God I love grief-fog, :rolleyes:) I knew I had been internally over-reacting to some of the things C.T. and I had talked about... I was becoming way too "clingy'. I realized I was "smothering" him (electronically, ha ha) but I couldn't figure out why. It was like watching a train wreck and being unable to stop it, even sitting in the engineer's seat.
I tried to dismiss it and go back to the casual friendship we had enjoyed, but it just kept eating at me, keeping me on this up-and-down roller coaster. I wondered if maybe something weird was going on from his end, and I was just reacting to that. I wondered if he was becoming exhausted with my increasing "neediness" and wished he could "walk away" from me, but was at a loss as to how because he didn't want to hurt me.
When he was getting ready to come home on for a nearly 3-week leave in March, I was really anxious about it. He had planned to come visit (a 6-hour drive) to finally "meet" in person... and I tried several times to "let him off the hook." from the visit. Looking back I wonder if subconsciously I knew something unfortunate was bound to happen, or if perhaps little tingly "bad premonitions" are real. I don't know.
I thought the day of his visit went very well. We laughed and joked, had some serious conversations. We both remarked on how interesting it was that it felt like we really "knew" each other despite that all our previous contact (except for some text messages and a couple phone calls in his first week home) had been online.
Earlier that week I had seen a post to his (public, not private) myspace status message and curiosity got the best of me... I did a little research and filled in some blanks, and during the course of his visit mentioned it... we even talked about it a bit.
C.T. has some kind of delayed-reaction mechanism in him for things that bother him. Online, he rarely reacted immediately if I said something that truly aggravated him. Sometimes he wouldn't say anything about it for a couple days, even if we had talked in the meantime. Apparently the same is true in person. I didn't realize I'd over-stepped again. He never flinched. The afternoon went on as it had been.
But I didn't talk to him for the rest of his leave... I was hurt but I tried to write it off as simply being busy with his friends from home. Then, a day or two after he got back to Iraq, I noticed he wasn't on my Facebook friends-list anymore, and wasn't showing up in a search. "Gee, wonder why he'd delete his account?" Later that night, while talking to a friend on the phone, she searched and his picture came right up on her screen. He had blocked me.
I saw him on MSN a couple days later and angrily confronted him. (Why hadn't he TOLD me?) He referred to the aforementioned part of our conversation from his visit and said that temptation to be nosy was too much for me and he was just taking away a temptation... that we could still talk on Yahoo and MSN, and that I was over-reacting. (Funny to me now: I didn't get ANY of what I'd mentioned to him from Facebook, yet that's where he blocked me.)
In my hurt, anger, and quite frankly, exhaustion, I decided that I had had enough of the "up-and-down" feelings over our friendship from the past month. I blocked him from everything: Myspace, Facebook, MSN, Yahoo. I wrote him an email telling him that while I appreciated the things he'd done and been for me, I just didn't see me ever fitting correctly into one of his "compartments" and I was worn out from trying.
I deleted every contact we'd had: every e-mail, every message sent on Myspace and Facebook, the archived conversations from MSN and Yahoo, the text messages and voicemail from his visit home, his cell number. If I was going to get off the roller-coaster, I had get rid of everything, clear my head. The only thing I kept were the blog entries.
It took me more than 2 weeks to realize what had really been going on with me, where all the anxiety leading to this point had come from. It took distancing myself from everything about our contact to get perspective.
C.T's personality is nothing like Deat's was, so I suppose that's what took me so long to catch it: I wasn't trying to "replace" Deat with him, but without realizing it, I had been trying (unsuccessfully) to "shove" him into some of the roles Deat used to play. I so missed having that one person to tell "everything" to, that one person who told me everything... that one person whose life I knew inside out. That's a role a spouse plays, a role that someone who is legitimately sharing your life with you plays, not the role of a platonic friend.
I wrote him a long, rambling snail-mail trying to explain this discovery, to tell him that I had needed the time away to clear my head... but I made a point not to ask him to respond, much as I wanted to. I purposely chose snail-mail so I wouldn't "know" when he'd receive it.
He never responded. I gave it some more time... then I emailed. No response. I tried emailing again sporadically since then. I guess I kept hoping I could "fix" it somehow. I'm all about the "courage to change the things I can" part of the prayer, not so good at the "serenity to accept the things I can't" or the "wisdom to know the difference" parts.
Losing my friendship with C.T. has bothered me... a lot. If I've had another friendship completely end this way, I certainly don't remember it. I have no idea if he read any of the emails, or even the snail-mail for that matter. The only subsequent response was back in May when I tried to "re-connect" on Yahoo Messenger: declined. Although I doubt I'll never know "the rest of the story," if there is one, the gist of C.T.'s silent message is pretty clear, "You called it off, and I am DONE."
After the adjustments to the original (and still ridiculously melodramatic) allegory... life imitated the art created even before the incident: it happened just as the hero feared.
Hmmm...
When I started this blog earlier today, I planned to completely skip over "how" it ended and only mention that it had. I started this one only to give C.T. credit for how much his friendship really did help me on my grief journey. I never meant to go into as much as I did, but then again, maybe I needed to.
Over the past couple weeks, I've started writing a blog about losing his friendship in my head a dozen times. I always stopped myself, thinking how pathetic and sad the whole thing would seem to a reader, and thinking that I just needed to let it go. A little over a week ago, I thought "Say bye, dammit" would be enough. We had a bunch of stupid "phrases" that nobody else would get. I miss those too.
So maybe starting this one this morning was a way to get it out. Over-done as that "piece" is, I still think C.T. "deserves" the credit it offers far more than Kirk did. At least Kirk got to read the deluded original, but C.T. will likely never see this. Even if he did, I doubt I'd ever know.
Did C.T. see this coming and try to prevent it? I don't know... that's just a nice way for my imagination to wrap it. He's a really sharp person, he may have... then again he may just be the self-centered jerk he told me he was. Maybe I "thought" I meant more to him than I did; maybe I just finally gave him the "out" he was looking for.
Maybe I gave him more credit than he deserved when we were still talking, too. (Doubt it, but makes the loss easier.) Fact remains, whatever the answer: for that period of time, he really helped me.
Of one thing I am certain, that my clarity and discernment in all relationships, (working, friendship, whatever) was, and may still be, "off" for a long time. (Have I mentioned how much I love grief-fog?)
As I type, I'm still anxious about posting this, "Do you really want people reading your blog to know all this? Do you really want to give people a chance to view this part of your life and think "Dang, that chick is NUTS!"?
But as I said before: maybe later, that reader, when experiencing his or her own major grief, will remember something I wrote. Maybe when he or she sits back after being confounded by his or her own insane-but-seemingly-un-grief-related thoughts and actions, will remember reading my crazy passages and realize that grief-fog, grief-insanity, isn't permanent. Albeit mind-numbingly slowly, it does get better. If one person finds some comfort later, realizing that grief-insanity is normal, who cares what the rest think.
I know I'm not crazy... at least not as crazy as I was.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Dwelling and "Fear"
Two years ago today life as I knew it turned upside down.
Two years ago yesterday, Deat went to Dr. Kavanaugh's office in S-town for preliminary blood work for an ear surgery that never happened. He arrived home from the doctor's office and quickly changed into his uniform and headed back out to work at the jail.
Not long after he left, a lady from Dr. K's office called and said there were indications in Deat's blood work that his kidneys weren't functioning properly and that she had tried to reach Dr. Pratt (our family doctor) but was unsuccessful. I don't remember how I knew, but I told her Dr. Pratt would be out of town that week. She went on to say that Dr. K wanted to refer him to a nephrologist (kidney specialist) there in S-town and would we mind if she went ahead and made an appointment for Deat. No problem. She'd call me back with the appointment.
Ten minutes later she called back to say that his appointment was for 9 a.m. the following day. WHAT? In ten minutes she made an appointment with a specialist for very first thing the very next day?
"Um Ma'am, what did you find in my husband's bloodwork?"
She explained that a normal BUN level runs around 10... Deat's was 98. A high creatinine level is 1.3... Deat's was 4.8. I called Deat, then I called Mom.
"Kelly, I think maybe you better go to this doctor's appointment with him, okay?"
Deat drove us over in his car the following morning. I don't remember what we talked about but I remember where we parked. Being my anal self, I took a notebook with me, and took notes as Doctor Matthews talked. The following is an excerpt from the "Deat Updates" I sent to our family and friends:
I remember when I told Jeannie Deat's creat and BUN levels, she said "And he was WALKING AROUND?" Mom also told me she was pretty certain that they would admit him when I had told her the levels the day before, but she didn't want to scare me so that was why she had told me to go with him.
I don't remember much else about that day... I know I went to L-town and back to S-townt (maybe to get Deat some things for the hospital, probably) and back to L-town to be with the girls. I remember noting that they had an excellent coffee shop at the hospital and I would make use of it. I don't remember if I had family at the house that night, but I'm pretty sure I did... but I don't remember if it was Mom, and/or Jeannie, and/or my in-laws. I think I was on auto-pilot... so many i's to be dotted and t's to be crossed, and the surge of adrenaline that comes from fear of the unknown.
I know I drove back to the hospital in my truck early the next morning, and that around 10:30 Deat looked at me and said "Listen, there's nothing you can do here, and I know you have renewals to run here in S-town, go out and get some work done," so I complied.
After I got off the hospital campus, I called my friend Kevin P. Kevin is an NFIB rep in Georgia, and one of the most Godly men I know. I jokingly say when I grow up I want to be just like Kevin... when he starts talking about the Lord, you just want to jump up and yell, "YAAAAY GOD!!!!"
When he answered, he said he was in a member's office waiting for the member to come in to meet with him but he had a few minutes.
"Kevin, I need a prayer warrior."
"What's up?"
I quickly summarized the events of the past couple days... and that was all Kevin needed.
He began "Father God, you said where ever to come together in your name and agree you would answer, well Kelly and I agree..." and launched into a heartfelt and inspirational prayer. (In a member's office, waiting for the member to come in... did I mention that I LOVE Kevin Parker?)
I don't remember all of it, but I do remember his saying, "And Father God, give Kelly peace," and it was immediate. Right at that second, every bit of tension fell from my shoulders and I knew God was with me and that He would get me through whatever was coming. And God did, and God has, and God will continue to do so.
Yesterday I had decided that I would write the above to be my blog entry for today. I checked my Facebook earlier and noticed I had been "tagged" in one of those "fill in the blanks" notes over there, but thinking I may have already filled that one out, I quickly went through my notes to check. I found an entry in my notes from earlier this year that qualifies as a "blog post" and since I wanted all of my entries to be "here" I decided to copy/paste it. Strange how that works... I needed to be reminded of what I said "then" today.
So here's that entry:
February 3, 2009, 8 p.m.
FEAR
I noticed in a friend's notes today that she listed her greatest fear as "losing someone I love." My immediate thought was to try to think of words to help quiet that fear for her. Fear is a horrible feeling, and I know that particular fear very well. I've been saying for months now that fear is wasted energy – after all, my fear, losing my husband and our marriage, actually happened; but I'm surviving; I'm here; I'm okay. How could I share that with her in a way that made sense?
Pondering this question made me realize I needed to adjust my position on fear. I began realizing some of the reasons that I am better off than I might have been. I am free of so many of the burdens other widows carry, and fear was part of the answer.
Several years ago, Deat and I came to a place where neither one of us was particularly happy in our marriage. We had no major complaints, and we had decided from the beginning that divorce was quite simply, never going to be an option to consider. During that time, the idea of spending the rest of our lives on the road we were on was a scary prospect too.
I was blessed in that fear; it motivated me to seek ways to improve our marriage. We decided to get back to the basics: The vows said "and forsaking all others," so we learned how to really apply that in our lives. We made a conscious point to put one another first. They said "love, honor and cherish" and we noted that they did not say "unless you don't feel like it.' so we made a point to be kinder to one another... to find kind words to say about the things we appreciated in one another, even when the things we didn't appreciate so much seemed glaring. Those simple steps made a huge difference in how we viewed one another and our marriage. It's hard to hold grudges against someone who is making a point to tell and show you how he loves you.
The other fear: losing my husband to Lupus. I knew when we married that it could begin flaring again. After 8 smooth years, the fear had subsided somewhat, but with his hospitalization in July 2007, that fear returned one hundred-fold. As that journey began, I sought every avenue I could to prevent that fear from happening... I kept a database of all his medications (as many as 12-14 at a time); I kept every lab organized in a folder; I kept a calendar of all his appointments, attended every doctors' appointment, kept fastidious notes on every word every doctor (He had 8) said to us. I prayed, we prayed, I prayed some more. In the last weeks, I believed he would get better, but as he became weaker and more miserable, I was more afraid that he wouldn't.
In the end, (February 23, 2008) none of these things kept my husband alive. His autopsy showed that the one detail I "thought" I had missed would not have changed the outcome. He may have lived for a brief while longer, but his suffering would only have been worse. In the end, my fear was realized. So for some time afterward, I believed that fear was pointless... it didn't change anything. Losing him, as I expected, has hurt worse than anything I have ever experienced.
However, there are so many more sorrows that I was able to avoid. I know with certainty that Deat died knowing how much I loved him... there were no words left unsaid. I know with certainty that I did everything I possibly could to help him heal. I have no regrets in either of those areas; I have no "if only" questions to nag at me. I know that God will care for the girls and me always, just as He did during Deat's illness... in my fear, and Deat's, we turned to Him and learned where true peace lies. I know Deat is now well, happy and whole, free from the myriad of ways his body betrayed him, and he was able to let go of this life with the same assurance that God would care for us in his absence.
I've wondered these many months why God would allow us to have an emotion like fear, in it's most basic form it seems to be one of the most terrible of all emotions. It can paralyze you, if you allow it. However, I wouldn't know any of these things I mentioned if I had not been so afraid. I've decided that fear is a good thing if it spurs you to change your habits, if it motivates you to action.
So, that's my message for my friend who harbors a similar fear to the one I carried all those months, and to any of you who carry it with you now. Act on that fear, even if your situation doesn't make the prospect loom close. Let it remind you to appreciate the little things in your spouse, your children, your parents, your siblings, your friends. Make sure you tell them the things they need to know. Use that fear to protect those who need protecting, and to let go of those who need to be let go.
Two years ago yesterday, Deat went to Dr. Kavanaugh's office in S-town for preliminary blood work for an ear surgery that never happened. He arrived home from the doctor's office and quickly changed into his uniform and headed back out to work at the jail.
Not long after he left, a lady from Dr. K's office called and said there were indications in Deat's blood work that his kidneys weren't functioning properly and that she had tried to reach Dr. Pratt (our family doctor) but was unsuccessful. I don't remember how I knew, but I told her Dr. Pratt would be out of town that week. She went on to say that Dr. K wanted to refer him to a nephrologist (kidney specialist) there in S-town and would we mind if she went ahead and made an appointment for Deat. No problem. She'd call me back with the appointment.
Ten minutes later she called back to say that his appointment was for 9 a.m. the following day. WHAT? In ten minutes she made an appointment with a specialist for very first thing the very next day?
"Um Ma'am, what did you find in my husband's bloodwork?"
She explained that a normal BUN level runs around 10... Deat's was 98. A high creatinine level is 1.3... Deat's was 4.8. I called Deat, then I called Mom.
"Kelly, I think maybe you better go to this doctor's appointment with him, okay?"
Deat drove us over in his car the following morning. I don't remember what we talked about but I remember where we parked. Being my anal self, I took a notebook with me, and took notes as Doctor Matthews talked. The following is an excerpt from the "Deat Updates" I sent to our family and friends:
Dr. Matthews spent quite some time asking us about Deat's health history, and carefully explained to us that Deat was suffering from kidney insufficiency. Serious, but not life threatening, very treatable. He said he wanted to admit Deat to the hospital immediately in hopes that some intensive intravenous steroid therapy might "kick-start" his kidneys into functioning again. He explained that if they only regained a small amount of function, that we could go ahead and start the process for a kidney transplant and hopefully avoid dialysis.From his office we went directly to the hospital... I think I called Deat's parents from there. As soon as Deat was settled in, I had to leave to make arrangements, and dang it my cell phone was almost dead so I remember I went to the local Radio Shack and bought a charger (funny the goofy things you remember) so I could call my Mom and my sister Jeannie was at Mom's house so I spoke to her also.
I remember when I told Jeannie Deat's creat and BUN levels, she said "And he was WALKING AROUND?" Mom also told me she was pretty certain that they would admit him when I had told her the levels the day before, but she didn't want to scare me so that was why she had told me to go with him.
I don't remember much else about that day... I know I went to L-town and back to S-townt (maybe to get Deat some things for the hospital, probably) and back to L-town to be with the girls. I remember noting that they had an excellent coffee shop at the hospital and I would make use of it. I don't remember if I had family at the house that night, but I'm pretty sure I did... but I don't remember if it was Mom, and/or Jeannie, and/or my in-laws. I think I was on auto-pilot... so many i's to be dotted and t's to be crossed, and the surge of adrenaline that comes from fear of the unknown.
I know I drove back to the hospital in my truck early the next morning, and that around 10:30 Deat looked at me and said "Listen, there's nothing you can do here, and I know you have renewals to run here in S-town, go out and get some work done," so I complied.
After I got off the hospital campus, I called my friend Kevin P. Kevin is an NFIB rep in Georgia, and one of the most Godly men I know. I jokingly say when I grow up I want to be just like Kevin... when he starts talking about the Lord, you just want to jump up and yell, "YAAAAY GOD!!!!"
When he answered, he said he was in a member's office waiting for the member to come in to meet with him but he had a few minutes.
"Kevin, I need a prayer warrior."
"What's up?"
I quickly summarized the events of the past couple days... and that was all Kevin needed.
He began "Father God, you said where ever to come together in your name and agree you would answer, well Kelly and I agree..." and launched into a heartfelt and inspirational prayer. (In a member's office, waiting for the member to come in... did I mention that I LOVE Kevin Parker?)
I don't remember all of it, but I do remember his saying, "And Father God, give Kelly peace," and it was immediate. Right at that second, every bit of tension fell from my shoulders and I knew God was with me and that He would get me through whatever was coming. And God did, and God has, and God will continue to do so.
Yesterday I had decided that I would write the above to be my blog entry for today. I checked my Facebook earlier and noticed I had been "tagged" in one of those "fill in the blanks" notes over there, but thinking I may have already filled that one out, I quickly went through my notes to check. I found an entry in my notes from earlier this year that qualifies as a "blog post" and since I wanted all of my entries to be "here" I decided to copy/paste it. Strange how that works... I needed to be reminded of what I said "then" today.
So here's that entry:
February 3, 2009, 8 p.m.
FEAR
I noticed in a friend's notes today that she listed her greatest fear as "losing someone I love." My immediate thought was to try to think of words to help quiet that fear for her. Fear is a horrible feeling, and I know that particular fear very well. I've been saying for months now that fear is wasted energy – after all, my fear, losing my husband and our marriage, actually happened; but I'm surviving; I'm here; I'm okay. How could I share that with her in a way that made sense?
Pondering this question made me realize I needed to adjust my position on fear. I began realizing some of the reasons that I am better off than I might have been. I am free of so many of the burdens other widows carry, and fear was part of the answer.
Several years ago, Deat and I came to a place where neither one of us was particularly happy in our marriage. We had no major complaints, and we had decided from the beginning that divorce was quite simply, never going to be an option to consider. During that time, the idea of spending the rest of our lives on the road we were on was a scary prospect too.
I was blessed in that fear; it motivated me to seek ways to improve our marriage. We decided to get back to the basics: The vows said "and forsaking all others," so we learned how to really apply that in our lives. We made a conscious point to put one another first. They said "love, honor and cherish" and we noted that they did not say "unless you don't feel like it.' so we made a point to be kinder to one another... to find kind words to say about the things we appreciated in one another, even when the things we didn't appreciate so much seemed glaring. Those simple steps made a huge difference in how we viewed one another and our marriage. It's hard to hold grudges against someone who is making a point to tell and show you how he loves you.
The other fear: losing my husband to Lupus. I knew when we married that it could begin flaring again. After 8 smooth years, the fear had subsided somewhat, but with his hospitalization in July 2007, that fear returned one hundred-fold. As that journey began, I sought every avenue I could to prevent that fear from happening... I kept a database of all his medications (as many as 12-14 at a time); I kept every lab organized in a folder; I kept a calendar of all his appointments, attended every doctors' appointment, kept fastidious notes on every word every doctor (He had 8) said to us. I prayed, we prayed, I prayed some more. In the last weeks, I believed he would get better, but as he became weaker and more miserable, I was more afraid that he wouldn't.
In the end, (February 23, 2008) none of these things kept my husband alive. His autopsy showed that the one detail I "thought" I had missed would not have changed the outcome. He may have lived for a brief while longer, but his suffering would only have been worse. In the end, my fear was realized. So for some time afterward, I believed that fear was pointless... it didn't change anything. Losing him, as I expected, has hurt worse than anything I have ever experienced.
However, there are so many more sorrows that I was able to avoid. I know with certainty that Deat died knowing how much I loved him... there were no words left unsaid. I know with certainty that I did everything I possibly could to help him heal. I have no regrets in either of those areas; I have no "if only" questions to nag at me. I know that God will care for the girls and me always, just as He did during Deat's illness... in my fear, and Deat's, we turned to Him and learned where true peace lies. I know Deat is now well, happy and whole, free from the myriad of ways his body betrayed him, and he was able to let go of this life with the same assurance that God would care for us in his absence.
I've wondered these many months why God would allow us to have an emotion like fear, in it's most basic form it seems to be one of the most terrible of all emotions. It can paralyze you, if you allow it. However, I wouldn't know any of these things I mentioned if I had not been so afraid. I've decided that fear is a good thing if it spurs you to change your habits, if it motivates you to action.
So, that's my message for my friend who harbors a similar fear to the one I carried all those months, and to any of you who carry it with you now. Act on that fear, even if your situation doesn't make the prospect loom close. Let it remind you to appreciate the little things in your spouse, your children, your parents, your siblings, your friends. Make sure you tell them the things they need to know. Use that fear to protect those who need protecting, and to let go of those who need to be let go.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Say bye, dammit
(Note: only one person in the world knows what this means... that person will probably never see this, but I felt better posting it)
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Wish I had something insightful to say... but since I don't, just a little recap
Worked hard this week. There's nothing like physical labor to make me feel I've accomplished something... or to keep my mind from wandering off to places that only confound me. (Mind started going back there so I decided to write this to get it back out.)
Yesterday got the yard mowed and scrubbed the back porch clean. Today Kim came over and we managed to get a wall of books and furniture we never imagined we could move by ourselves out of the basement to get ready for the water-proofing next week. Yaay me and Kim!
Kim brought Kyle, Trevor & Tyler (the twins) and John Jr. (aged 6 to 9, bless Kim's heart). They are the cutest set of rough-and-tumble boys, and VERY well-mannered, very much to Kim and her husband's credit. They've been here before, and P.D. enjoys hanging out with them: they play hide and seek, dodge-ball and everything else you can think of... and I'm FINALLY seeing a bit more of my tomboy side in my little Barbie and nail-polish loving girly-girl. (If you've seen her picture, you know, I didn't give this baby a single gene of mine. If I hadn't been RIGHT THERE with NO ANESTHETIC I'd swear Deat gave birth to her.)
But then again, her gentle pied-piper side came out, too. Just before lunch time, as Kim and I were packing up the loads of books, P.D. found the hard-back 2000 "Guinness Book of World Records" in the collection and asked if she could take it outside to read.
Around 15 minutes later as we started preparing lunch, I looked out the kitchen window to see P.D. sitting in a chair on the back porch, reading the book aloud with 4 little boys perched all around her. They stayed that way for almost 45 minutes.
Man I wish I'd grabbed my camera!
Yesterday got the yard mowed and scrubbed the back porch clean. Today Kim came over and we managed to get a wall of books and furniture we never imagined we could move by ourselves out of the basement to get ready for the water-proofing next week. Yaay me and Kim!
Kim brought Kyle, Trevor & Tyler (the twins) and John Jr. (aged 6 to 9, bless Kim's heart). They are the cutest set of rough-and-tumble boys, and VERY well-mannered, very much to Kim and her husband's credit. They've been here before, and P.D. enjoys hanging out with them: they play hide and seek, dodge-ball and everything else you can think of... and I'm FINALLY seeing a bit more of my tomboy side in my little Barbie and nail-polish loving girly-girl. (If you've seen her picture, you know, I didn't give this baby a single gene of mine. If I hadn't been RIGHT THERE with NO ANESTHETIC I'd swear Deat gave birth to her.)
But then again, her gentle pied-piper side came out, too. Just before lunch time, as Kim and I were packing up the loads of books, P.D. found the hard-back 2000 "Guinness Book of World Records" in the collection and asked if she could take it outside to read.
Around 15 minutes later as we started preparing lunch, I looked out the kitchen window to see P.D. sitting in a chair on the back porch, reading the book aloud with 4 little boys perched all around her. They stayed that way for almost 45 minutes.
Man I wish I'd grabbed my camera!
Friday, July 3, 2009
Sometimes When I Think of Deat & Cry, It's Not Sad, It's Something Else
Last night I was over at Sabrina's and she and I had a long talk about devotion to our husbands and families. She and I have hashed out just about every up and down in our marriages as they happened over the years. (She's one of those friends close enough to know Deat WASN'T perfect.)
As we've often discussed, we both made decisions to put career dreams we held for ourselves on hold (or let go of them completely) in support of our respective husband's dreams, and sometimes felt that they didn't realize our efforts. We also talked of how later, in illness, each had acknowledged and shown appreciation. (Not long after Deat's death, Sabrina's husband, John, had a heart attack and open-heart surgery. He's recovering.)
Sabrina and I agreed that while we may have had reservations at the time when we let go of our own dreams, that in hindsight each of their dreams may not have been the best financial choices for our families, but overall they were the right decisions. We each did what we should to support our spouses and back them up. No wishing for anything different.
I told Sabrina I often felt it was one of the ways God had protected me in Deat's death: I had and have no regrets that he missed ANY of his dreams. I have no regrets that I could have done more, I really think that's a gift, I have no emotional baggage wishing I had done more to make him happy.
One of my favorite moments in the week before he entered the hospital for the last time:
Deat and I were standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom getting ready for yet another a doctor's appointment, talking to each other's images in the mirror. I noticed his breathing was becoming ragged from the effort of standing.
"Honey, sit down, that's why the chair is here."
He sat and looked up complaining, "I want you to look at what I've been reduced to!"
For some reason the complaint flew over me. We had been through so much in that past 6 months and so many friends, family members and I had worked hard at maintaining a positive, hopeful attitude.
I snapped at him, "Jerry D.! You need to jump back and count your blessings!" I searched my mind for a quick one and continued, "For one thing you have a wife who absolutely worships the ground you walk on!" (In that mental split-second I thought, "Gee Kel, you're the best you could do?")
He grinned at my reflection in the mirror, "Yeah, I do, don't I?"
Since he died, I've treasured that moment. I know, he knew. No regrets.
This morning, on Facebook I noticed a friend of mine posted the audition performance by Kevin Skinner from Mayfield Kentucky from Youtube. Of course he's a favorite among my Facebook friends: a home-state boy. I had been seeing posts about him but hadn't really paid attention: Deat and I had turned off the cable television years ago, so I don't follow TV phenomena very closely, but decided to at least check out the video.
Here's a link to the clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LqhbAZXB6JM
He sang "If Tomorrow Never Comes." and in light of Sabrina and my conversation last night, a flood of emotions washed over me. I was pleased for the Kentucky-Pick when the judges praised his performance, but as he was walking off-stage I was struck again, and tears started rolling. The background song was "I'll Be".
"I'll Be" was our song. It came out around the time Deat and I got together, and it brought back many memories. I always loved the lyric, "I'll be, the greatest fan of your life."
So yes, I cried this morning, but not in mourning. I had a moment to celebrate what we had. Yes, Deat was very popular and had a strong following in his radio and television days, but for all the accolades, it still came back to me.
I fulfilled that promise I sang to him way back in the day.
As we've often discussed, we both made decisions to put career dreams we held for ourselves on hold (or let go of them completely) in support of our respective husband's dreams, and sometimes felt that they didn't realize our efforts. We also talked of how later, in illness, each had acknowledged and shown appreciation. (Not long after Deat's death, Sabrina's husband, John, had a heart attack and open-heart surgery. He's recovering.)
Sabrina and I agreed that while we may have had reservations at the time when we let go of our own dreams, that in hindsight each of their dreams may not have been the best financial choices for our families, but overall they were the right decisions. We each did what we should to support our spouses and back them up. No wishing for anything different.
I told Sabrina I often felt it was one of the ways God had protected me in Deat's death: I had and have no regrets that he missed ANY of his dreams. I have no regrets that I could have done more, I really think that's a gift, I have no emotional baggage wishing I had done more to make him happy.
One of my favorite moments in the week before he entered the hospital for the last time:
Deat and I were standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom getting ready for yet another a doctor's appointment, talking to each other's images in the mirror. I noticed his breathing was becoming ragged from the effort of standing.
"Honey, sit down, that's why the chair is here."
He sat and looked up complaining, "I want you to look at what I've been reduced to!"
For some reason the complaint flew over me. We had been through so much in that past 6 months and so many friends, family members and I had worked hard at maintaining a positive, hopeful attitude.
I snapped at him, "Jerry D.! You need to jump back and count your blessings!" I searched my mind for a quick one and continued, "For one thing you have a wife who absolutely worships the ground you walk on!" (In that mental split-second I thought, "Gee Kel, you're the best you could do?")
He grinned at my reflection in the mirror, "Yeah, I do, don't I?"
Since he died, I've treasured that moment. I know, he knew. No regrets.
This morning, on Facebook I noticed a friend of mine posted the audition performance by Kevin Skinner from Mayfield Kentucky from Youtube. Of course he's a favorite among my Facebook friends: a home-state boy. I had been seeing posts about him but hadn't really paid attention: Deat and I had turned off the cable television years ago, so I don't follow TV phenomena very closely, but decided to at least check out the video.
Here's a link to the clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LqhbAZXB6JM
He sang "If Tomorrow Never Comes." and in light of Sabrina and my conversation last night, a flood of emotions washed over me. I was pleased for the Kentucky-Pick when the judges praised his performance, but as he was walking off-stage I was struck again, and tears started rolling. The background song was "I'll Be".
"I'll Be" was our song. It came out around the time Deat and I got together, and it brought back many memories. I always loved the lyric, "I'll be, the greatest fan of your life."
So yes, I cried this morning, but not in mourning. I had a moment to celebrate what we had. Yes, Deat was very popular and had a strong following in his radio and television days, but for all the accolades, it still came back to me.
I fulfilled that promise I sang to him way back in the day.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Clarification:
I had a friend tell me my blog confused him a bit, so to clarify... the biological dads who walk away I am referring to in my "resentment rant" are also known as "deadbeat dads." I know several men that I think highly of who, while not married to their childrens' mothers, still do their best to be excellent dads. Them I don't resent.
It's these men who father children and then cease participating in their childrens' lives and fail to contribute financially that make me sick. If I ran into one on "One of Those Nights" (see earlier blog) I'd most likely break my pool cue over his head, and beat him unconscious.
Better Wayne?
(Smoothing shirt, climbing down off soapbox)
It's these men who father children and then cease participating in their childrens' lives and fail to contribute financially that make me sick. If I ran into one on "One of Those Nights" (see earlier blog) I'd most likely break my pool cue over his head, and beat him unconscious.
Better Wayne?
(Smoothing shirt, climbing down off soapbox)
Thursday, June 25, 2009
It's a Longer Process than I Thought
I guess I keep putting off writing because I feel guilty about writing about widowhood... is that all there is to me? Is that going to be my identity from now on? "Hi, I'm Kelly and I'm a widow who can't stop talking about it."
Part of me says, "Kelly, you've got to let go of this "widow" title, it's been over a year. You need to write fun whimsical things that people will want to read."
Part of me says, "Kelly, this IS who you are. You know it still colors everything that you do and think. You're being less than honest if you try to pretend you don't think about and miss Deat every single day."
I know my mindset is better. I've discovered some things I missed in being part of a two-parent household. My new favorite time of the day during the school year is the 15 minutes it takes to drive P.D. to "big school" after dropping B.B. off. That's when she really talks about what happens at school and we really talk and bond with one another. I didn't realize how much I missed when Deat was the one who did the bedtime stories with B.B.. I've learned to set aside time for "special stuff" like going to a museum or even simply to the pool... things I would have left to Deat.
I actually enjoy tackling some of the new challenges of caring for myself, my girls, our household, "on my own." I know I will have to get some kind of job soon, but I'm trying to use this time to take care of issues I've been meaning to "get around to" for years: making a REAL budget, sewing grass seed on that bald spot in the yard, hiring someone to waterproof the basement, putting in deadbolts, getting the back door fixed; and I relish the sense of accomplishment from each one.
I wonder, "Have I grieved? Am I past the pain?" I feel so much better than I did a year ago, so maybe I have.
But what if I missed a step? What if I missed some really important element to the process and it's going to take me hurtling back to that horrible dark place where all I can do is wish for the life we had planned?"
Then I think, "It's somewhere in between." Past the worst of it but still with work to do, things to work through yet. I still struggle with resentments in this new life, one being that a year later, it still feels new. I resent:
At least I've got material!
Part of me says, "Kelly, you've got to let go of this "widow" title, it's been over a year. You need to write fun whimsical things that people will want to read."
Part of me says, "Kelly, this IS who you are. You know it still colors everything that you do and think. You're being less than honest if you try to pretend you don't think about and miss Deat every single day."
I know my mindset is better. I've discovered some things I missed in being part of a two-parent household. My new favorite time of the day during the school year is the 15 minutes it takes to drive P.D. to "big school" after dropping B.B. off. That's when she really talks about what happens at school and we really talk and bond with one another. I didn't realize how much I missed when Deat was the one who did the bedtime stories with B.B.. I've learned to set aside time for "special stuff" like going to a museum or even simply to the pool... things I would have left to Deat.
I actually enjoy tackling some of the new challenges of caring for myself, my girls, our household, "on my own." I know I will have to get some kind of job soon, but I'm trying to use this time to take care of issues I've been meaning to "get around to" for years: making a REAL budget, sewing grass seed on that bald spot in the yard, hiring someone to waterproof the basement, putting in deadbolts, getting the back door fixed; and I relish the sense of accomplishment from each one.
I wonder, "Have I grieved? Am I past the pain?" I feel so much better than I did a year ago, so maybe I have.
But what if I missed a step? What if I missed some really important element to the process and it's going to take me hurtling back to that horrible dark place where all I can do is wish for the life we had planned?"
Then I think, "It's somewhere in between." Past the worst of it but still with work to do, things to work through yet. I still struggle with resentments in this new life, one being that a year later, it still feels new. I resent:
- That so many biological fathers walk away from their kids, while my girls had a Daddy who wanted to be with them and didn't get a choice.
- The title "single mom". I'm sure it's part of the reason I cling to the title "widow". This nagging voice in me wants to make it clear that I didn't CHOOSE to be a single mom, I didn't walk away, drive him away, nor did I let him leave. I fought my damnedest to keep him with us.
- That doctors are not infallible and I really resent the diagnosis "Lupus". I have since decided that "Lupus" actually means "we really don't know what is wrong and we have no clue what to do but we'll give it a name and so we can pretend we know what's going on."
- That I find myself missing male companionship but dreading the whole process of changing that. I did my time on the dating scene when I was younger. Now I'm older, ill-equipped for dating and terrified of some of the possible ramifications to not only my well-being but also to my girls'.
At least I've got material!
Friday, June 5, 2009
First Night Here
Okay, so I wrote this really nice intro to myself and copied all my old blogs over here.
I read back through them and I sound like a liar... but then grief is a long process. It's work, a job I didn't want to begin with.
However, in reading back I felt a bit uplifted. You can't read it in them (or maybe you can) but a great deal of progress has been made. I read them and remember my mindset at the time, and I know I've come a long way.
I have a few "rough" posts: they dwell on widowhood and the changes it brought quite a bit; that's where I've been... but many/most of them still have a positive ring to them (kinda like the previous paragraph). Well, okay, in part, it's because it's how I WANT other to view me, as upbeat.
Then again, the negativity in my posts often strikes me (and another blogger friend) as more powerful. As a writer-friend of mine and I discussed today, I think that comes from the times when the muse really punched me and made me "throw up on paper"... the times when the need to write is so strong that I'm compelled to my keyboard and typing on hyper-drive - afraid if I don't "get it out" right then and there I'll explode.
So, I suppose it's okay if the blog truly goes up and down. I truly do, too.
I read back through them and I sound like a liar... but then grief is a long process. It's work, a job I didn't want to begin with.
However, in reading back I felt a bit uplifted. You can't read it in them (or maybe you can) but a great deal of progress has been made. I read them and remember my mindset at the time, and I know I've come a long way.
I have a few "rough" posts: they dwell on widowhood and the changes it brought quite a bit; that's where I've been... but many/most of them still have a positive ring to them (kinda like the previous paragraph). Well, okay, in part, it's because it's how I WANT other to view me, as upbeat.
Then again, the negativity in my posts often strikes me (and another blogger friend) as more powerful. As a writer-friend of mine and I discussed today, I think that comes from the times when the muse really punched me and made me "throw up on paper"... the times when the need to write is so strong that I'm compelled to my keyboard and typing on hyper-drive - afraid if I don't "get it out" right then and there I'll explode.
So, I suppose it's okay if the blog truly goes up and down. I truly do, too.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
May 14, 2009 - Deciphering
Why do I try so hard to decipher the happenings around me? I study the flow of life like a scientist, watching the ups and downs as though I could find some way to measure it, create a scale for predictability. I search for clues, "If I just had the right variables in my database..."
I watch my subconscious maneuver and collect, convinced that if I catch all the signs, I can prevent ever feeling blindsided... or ever feeling hurt again. If I just keep a handle on all the information, I can be as kind and giving and trusting as is my nature without ever regretting. I go back and look... I go over and over the things that led up to each wound "Man, I won't do THAT again!"
But then, seemingly from nowhere, another blow gets landed... ever the more painful because I was convinced my logic was sound. A+B is SUPPOSED to equal C, right? If I worked for what I wanted... in my homelife, in my career, in my relationships, I'm supposed to HAVE what I sought, right?
This morning, B.B. (now 3) wanted ice cream for breakfast, and was very upset when Momma made her throw the ice cream sandwich she stole from the freezer away. She became even more upset when, after she fished it out of the trash, Momma grabbed it and flushed it down the commode. She cried and wailed "I want ice cream! I want it Momma! I want...." (Sound familiar?).
"B.B., you can't have it, you're not going to have it, its time to think about something else"
Then later, "Momma, I don't WANT to go to little school! I don't want to! I don't!"
"B.B., you have to, it's going to happen, so we might as well talk about something else."
I was reflecting on B.B. and my struggles after I dropped her off this morning... her turmoil-filled morning. I smiled remembering her happy grin as I left. "Bye Mommy! See you later!"
Um, Gee, Kel, maybe YOU should practice what you preach.
I watch my subconscious maneuver and collect, convinced that if I catch all the signs, I can prevent ever feeling blindsided... or ever feeling hurt again. If I just keep a handle on all the information, I can be as kind and giving and trusting as is my nature without ever regretting. I go back and look... I go over and over the things that led up to each wound "Man, I won't do THAT again!"
But then, seemingly from nowhere, another blow gets landed... ever the more painful because I was convinced my logic was sound. A+B is SUPPOSED to equal C, right? If I worked for what I wanted... in my homelife, in my career, in my relationships, I'm supposed to HAVE what I sought, right?
This morning, B.B. (now 3) wanted ice cream for breakfast, and was very upset when Momma made her throw the ice cream sandwich she stole from the freezer away. She became even more upset when, after she fished it out of the trash, Momma grabbed it and flushed it down the commode. She cried and wailed "I want ice cream! I want it Momma! I want...." (Sound familiar?).
"B.B., you can't have it, you're not going to have it, its time to think about something else"
Then later, "Momma, I don't WANT to go to little school! I don't want to! I don't!"
"B.B., you have to, it's going to happen, so we might as well talk about something else."
I was reflecting on B.B. and my struggles after I dropped her off this morning... her turmoil-filled morning. I smiled remembering her happy grin as I left. "Bye Mommy! See you later!"
Um, Gee, Kel, maybe YOU should practice what you preach.
May 1, 2009 One of THOSE Nights
Most of the time, I do a pretty darn good job of my "brave" face. Sometimes I even have so many good days in a row, I think I've accepted this life... that I'm "fine"...
Then comes one of THOSE nights. Deat's absence feels like a hole cut out of me... a hole that can never, ever be filled. I can try all the tricks I've learned in the last year to focus on the positive, but none of them work on one of THOSE nights. I can wish and wish and wish... but I'm not going to wake up, this is it, this is real.
I know, I know, tomorrow I'll be better... I'll get stronger everyday.... blah blah blah. I don't WANT that. I want my life back. I want to go home, back to before the dialysis and the meetings with the nephrologist, the rhumetologist, the cardiologist and the half-dozen other "ologists" who fed me full of bullshit and still didn't save him. Good God I have a notebook where I wrote down nearly every word they told us... for all the good it did. I have a database of 18 medications, but keeping track of them didn't help either.
Maybe it's so hard to figure out who I am without him because I DON'T WANT to be whoever she is. I never have. I still don't. I just want to go home... Deat and I used to say "Home is where ever YOU are." Instead I come back to this house where we were SUPPOSED to be raising the girls TOGETHER... and I've searched it over and over... some of his things are still here, but he isn't.
Yes, tomorrow I will feel better. Tomorrow I'll be able to rattle off every good thing in the world about my life and how blessed I am. But cut me some slack tonight. It's one of THOSE nights.
Then comes one of THOSE nights. Deat's absence feels like a hole cut out of me... a hole that can never, ever be filled. I can try all the tricks I've learned in the last year to focus on the positive, but none of them work on one of THOSE nights. I can wish and wish and wish... but I'm not going to wake up, this is it, this is real.
I know, I know, tomorrow I'll be better... I'll get stronger everyday.... blah blah blah. I don't WANT that. I want my life back. I want to go home, back to before the dialysis and the meetings with the nephrologist, the rhumetologist, the cardiologist and the half-dozen other "ologists" who fed me full of bullshit and still didn't save him. Good God I have a notebook where I wrote down nearly every word they told us... for all the good it did. I have a database of 18 medications, but keeping track of them didn't help either.
Maybe it's so hard to figure out who I am without him because I DON'T WANT to be whoever she is. I never have. I still don't. I just want to go home... Deat and I used to say "Home is where ever YOU are." Instead I come back to this house where we were SUPPOSED to be raising the girls TOGETHER... and I've searched it over and over... some of his things are still here, but he isn't.
Yes, tomorrow I will feel better. Tomorrow I'll be able to rattle off every good thing in the world about my life and how blessed I am. But cut me some slack tonight. It's one of THOSE nights.
Old - November 9, 2008 - Stress reliever
Other things I learned last weekend:
1. I LOVE my Beretta, but this could get expensive.
2. Stance is easy... just like shooting pool but standing upright.
3. I am accurate as heck aiming for the X. actually more accurate in rapid fire than going slow. (FIFTEEN, count 'em, inside the main 2 rings, and NONE outside the 9)
4. I do well on the the left or right 7, so-so on the gut 7.
5. With the other guy's 9mm (don't remember the brand) or when I try the neck 7 shot... ehhh, not so much.
6. Never ever wear a v-neck sweater to the range, even if it's a fairly modest one. A hot shell landing in your bra will break you of that right quick!!!!!
Old - November 9, 2008 - One Letter and a Bear
It's amazing how God can take a little kindness shown here and there, and create such an amazing ripple effect. Strangers become friends over the course of online conversations, and suddenly a simple act balloons into an awesome aid to a totally unrelated situation.
I'm no stranger to online friendships... Several of my friendships here in L-town began online at a local online forum. The group at the forum walked with me the whole way through Deat's illness. Cathryn, Tina (Filly) and I met on our forum, and have become great friends in real life... Cat helped me get my current job, her husband Billy is the one who let the girls explore the helicopter. Filly and her family have been a blessing to the girls and me over and over and over again.
I've mentioned my soldier (online therapist) friend CT before. He's currently serving in Iraq. We talk (type) often, so several of my friends and my girls have "met" him in our online chats.
In October, P.D. came home telling me how her class at school was gathering things to send in care-packages for the soldiers in Iraq, and wanted to know if CT would get any of the stuff they sent. I told her I doubted it, so she said she wanted to send one just for him.
When I talked to CT I told him about it and asked him what kind of things to tell P.D. that he'd like. (I also e-mailed a friend of his from home for ideas in the process, and made a new friend there!) He told me I didn't need to do that for him but I answered it wasn't FOR him, it was to encourage P.D. for wanting to do something nice, if he wanted to pay me back he could write her a nice letter.
CT jumped on that idea and went a bit further. He told me he got P.D. a bear all dressed in camouflage, and even had "rank" sewn onto the bear's hat so it could be a Sergeant just like him... He took pictures of himself with the bear so P.D. would have something to take to show the kids at school, but waited to send them so the present would be a surprise.
CT and P.D.'s Soldier
"Mean Mugging" the New Recruit
Look what I got!
Love at first sight...
I'm no stranger to online friendships... Several of my friendships here in L-town began online at a local online forum. The group at the forum walked with me the whole way through Deat's illness. Cathryn, Tina (Filly) and I met on our forum, and have become great friends in real life... Cat helped me get my current job, her husband Billy is the one who let the girls explore the helicopter. Filly and her family have been a blessing to the girls and me over and over and over again.
I've mentioned my soldier (online therapist) friend CT before. He's currently serving in Iraq. We talk (type) often, so several of my friends and my girls have "met" him in our online chats.
In October, P.D. came home telling me how her class at school was gathering things to send in care-packages for the soldiers in Iraq, and wanted to know if CT would get any of the stuff they sent. I told her I doubted it, so she said she wanted to send one just for him.
When I talked to CT I told him about it and asked him what kind of things to tell P.D. that he'd like. (I also e-mailed a friend of his from home for ideas in the process, and made a new friend there!) He told me I didn't need to do that for him but I answered it wasn't FOR him, it was to encourage P.D. for wanting to do something nice, if he wanted to pay me back he could write her a nice letter.
CT jumped on that idea and went a bit further. He told me he got P.D. a bear all dressed in camouflage, and even had "rank" sewn onto the bear's hat so it could be a Sergeant just like him... He took pictures of himself with the bear so P.D. would have something to take to show the kids at school, but waited to send them so the present would be a surprise.
CT and P.D.'s Soldier
"Mean Mugging" the New Recruit
These acts in themselves are very nice... but nothing really amazing: a sweet kid deciding to do something nice for a soldier, the soldier deciding to do something nice for the kid. The bear arrived Thursday. CT was even thoughtful enough to include a great hand-written letter. He described his camp, his living quarters, the move his unit was making to be closer to Baghdad. He even described Baghdad and how it was was like our Washington D.C. I know CT had taking the letter to school in mind when he wrote it, but I'm sure he never imagined how it would grow to be something so much more.
P.D.'s been having a hard time at school, and had come to dread going. She loves learning, but little children HATE to be seen as "different." P.D. has always been very sensitive child. Any attention relating to losing her Daddy hurts to a degree, not only in her sorrow, but also the pain of feeling that she doesn't "fit in" anymore. When Deat died, her whole first-grade class made condolence cards for her... very sweet but it "set her apart" from the other kids. She had even said over the summer, "I hope nobody in 2nd grade finds out that I don't have a Dad."
So, P.D. has had to try to cope with having attention showed to her for the most painful event in her life, some good, helpful attention, like the kindness shown in the cards, some downright horrible. Little kids are curious, they ask questions, or they shy away... both of which has been hurtful to P.D..
Even worse, P.D. came home right before fall break telling me that a girl MADE FUN of her because she didn't have a dad. (Does the idea of hearing my baby tell that story and how it felt even need a description? I called the principal... it has been addressed.) Even with the things a Momma can do to try to make it better, it only goes so far. On Wednesday she was again, telling me how much she didn't want to go to school. On Thursday, "Sergeant Dominic" arrived in the mail.
P.D.'s been having a hard time at school, and had come to dread going. She loves learning, but little children HATE to be seen as "different." P.D. has always been very sensitive child. Any attention relating to losing her Daddy hurts to a degree, not only in her sorrow, but also the pain of feeling that she doesn't "fit in" anymore. When Deat died, her whole first-grade class made condolence cards for her... very sweet but it "set her apart" from the other kids. She had even said over the summer, "I hope nobody in 2nd grade finds out that I don't have a Dad."
So, P.D. has had to try to cope with having attention showed to her for the most painful event in her life, some good, helpful attention, like the kindness shown in the cards, some downright horrible. Little kids are curious, they ask questions, or they shy away... both of which has been hurtful to P.D..
Even worse, P.D. came home right before fall break telling me that a girl MADE FUN of her because she didn't have a dad. (Does the idea of hearing my baby tell that story and how it felt even need a description? I called the principal... it has been addressed.) Even with the things a Momma can do to try to make it better, it only goes so far. On Wednesday she was again, telling me how much she didn't want to go to school. On Thursday, "Sergeant Dominic" arrived in the mail.
Look what I got!
Love at first sight...
Friday afternoon was a completely different story. P.D. got in the car as happy as could be and chattering away about all what a great day she had. She said that her teacher loved the letter and read it to the class and wants his address to have all the kids write letters back to him (CT doesn't read this blog... don't tell him about that Steff!) She talked about how all the kids wanted to hold "Sergeant Dominic" how one boy told her if he had a bear like that he'd sleep with it every night... she went on and on.
She had the best day she's had at school since her Daddy died, a day that gave her a joy that as much as I wished and worried, I couldn't have imagined or orchestrated for her. She got all the positive attention I really believed she's needed to start looking forward to school again... all because a little girl wanted to do something nice for a soldier, all because a soldier wanted to be kind in return... all because of one letter and a bear.
She had the best day she's had at school since her Daddy died, a day that gave her a joy that as much as I wished and worried, I couldn't have imagined or orchestrated for her. She got all the positive attention I really believed she's needed to start looking forward to school again... all because a little girl wanted to do something nice for a soldier, all because a soldier wanted to be kind in return... all because of one letter and a bear.
Old - November 3, 2008 - I Said Goodbye (from SotB) Part 2
It was a beautiful day Saturday. The sun was shining and warm. Deat's grave is on top of the hill, shaded by some huge trees. I remember thinking he had a very nice view... "Um Kel, he's not here...."
I called someone, honestly don't remember who, before I got out of the car. Probably my mother. The footstone really is perfect, just as I had imagined when I laid it out. I was glad that I was able to make it as I wanted it.
I went over and sat down beside his footstone and started writing my letter... tears rolling, and I just let the letter go where it may. I caught him up on recent happenings in my life, in my struggles, but as I kept writing, I realized I was telling him goodbye... and I realized it was for the final time. I was telling him I couldn't take my cues from him as I had for the past ten years, that line of thinking was for our life together, but now death had parted us and I had to make new choices based on who's left.... me.
I went over and sat down beside his footstone and started writing my letter... tears rolling, and I just let the letter go where it may. I caught him up on recent happenings in my life, in my struggles, but as I kept writing, I realized I was telling him goodbye... and I realized it was for the final time. I was telling him I couldn't take my cues from him as I had for the past ten years, that line of thinking was for our life together, but now death had parted us and I had to make new choices based on who's left.... me.
And I left there feeling better and more ready to face the world than I have since he died. From there I went to the shooting range, by myself, and I felt good about it. It was just the right thing to do.
From there, I went back to my sister's house, visited a bit, then took the girls to Mom & Dad's, and sat and wrote what I got from my day. Some of this may sound harsh, but it's true. I wrote:
1. Today I said goodbye
2. Today, it's over.
3. He's not coming back, no more waiting, no more wishing.
4. And since he's not coming back, what was "ours" or even "his" is now mine.
my gun
my car
my house
my family
my life
5. I don't need approval from anyone. I don't need decisions by committee. I don't need confirmation that I'm right. I'll make mistakes, I'll live with them.
6. If I want it, I am the only one to do something about it. No one is waiting to come riding in on a white horse to do all the things he used to do, or the things we planned for him to do.
7. I did all I know to do, my obligation is over. The only obligation I have to Jerry D isn't really an obligation to him... it's to myself and my girls. To make sure they grow up to be honest, caring people with integrity about them, and to ensure that they have access to anything they want to know about their Daddy.
8. I am who I am. I am not who I am by association. My name is not "Jerry D's Wife" or even "Jerry D's Widow." I am just Kelly, and I'm a pretty good person all by myself. I don't need those old names to identify me to others or to prove that I am somebody worth knowing.
Going forward... I have goals to set. I'll be working on proving to myself that I really can do all the things we used to do as a team... and I refuse to be a victim any longer. To me, that means I will not be "letting life happen" to me anymore. It's time to step up and start "happening to life."
6. If I want it, I am the only one to do something about it. No one is waiting to come riding in on a white horse to do all the things he used to do, or the things we planned for him to do.
7. I did all I know to do, my obligation is over. The only obligation I have to Jerry D isn't really an obligation to him... it's to myself and my girls. To make sure they grow up to be honest, caring people with integrity about them, and to ensure that they have access to anything they want to know about their Daddy.
8. I am who I am. I am not who I am by association. My name is not "Jerry D's Wife" or even "Jerry D's Widow." I am just Kelly, and I'm a pretty good person all by myself. I don't need those old names to identify me to others or to prove that I am somebody worth knowing.
Going forward... I have goals to set. I'll be working on proving to myself that I really can do all the things we used to do as a team... and I refuse to be a victim any longer. To me, that means I will not be "letting life happen" to me anymore. It's time to step up and start "happening to life."
My life, in MY world, for MY family.
Old - November 3, 2008 - Stressing on the Buildup Part 1
Last Friday, on the 24th, when I called my Mom she mentioned that they finally had Deat's stones up at the cemetery. (For those of you who didn't know, Deat is buried in P-town). The first set that came in had a stain on one of the stones and Mr. Bledsoe sent them back... so I've been waiting for this news since before Memorial Day.
I had plans with Tina and Cathryn for my birthday for the next day, (25th), so I called my in-laws and told them the news and made plans to meet them in P-town on Sunday the 26th, though I really wanted my first trip to see them to be alone.
What I didn't expect was for this news to hit me like a ton of bricks at 100 mph. I was up half the night that night in tears... luckily, CT, my soldier friend, (my instant messenger therapist, ha ha) showed up at about 1am... he's had to "listen" (read) about these things quite a bit. I can type away and he has no idea I'm in tears if I don't tell him... yet somehow he either (a.) says the exact right thing or (b.) aggravates me so much I end up laughing before I log off anyway. Usually, it's both.
I talked to Mom again that Saturday and she said (and she was right) that making the trip to P-town and back in one day with the girls would be too hard, so I made plans to go this weekend, which gave me a whole week to stress and dread some more....
I told Fill on Friday that I went back and read through my blogs and realized that nearly all of them are about death, dying, grief... and it bothers me a bit but it's just where I've been, can't change that. Besides, if anyone reading this HASN'T had a major loss, maybe this will help one of you when you do. Grief is crazy, and irrational... maybe someone reading this, in the midst of their own grief will think, "Wait, I'm not going crazy, this is normal, I remember when Kelly said... "
So anyway, I've spent a great deal of time analyzing my own behavior, and I've learned a lot... but I don't think I ever made as much progress in this whole grief process as I did in an hour at Deat's grave. So much so... I'm giving that one it's own blog.
So, Saturday:
Got up, took a shower, fixed my hair, put on make-up... for those of you who know me well, this is not my Saturday routine. I almost never bother with make-up on Saturday unless we're having a cookout, sometimes not even then. I carefully picked out my favorite blue sweater, the one I knew he liked on me. I was running all around the house looking for a certain pair of jeans... even though every other pair I owned were clean and hanging up.
I stopped myself, "Why are these jeans so important?" hmmm. Because I've lost weight since Deat died, and I wanted the pair that really showed it off... "Um, Kel, he's not there..." As I've said before, grief is crazy. No matter how logical and rational a person you believe you are, the denial, the bargaining stages will creep in and out.
I always get anxious when the girls and I go out of town, I'm always afraid I'll forget the one thing I need when I'm packing. Filly and fam came over, and she stayed right with me, clucking like a Mama Hen the whole time I packed and basically kept me sane. My plan was to take the girls to my sister's house, go to the cemetery alone, then take the Beretta to the shooting range to get rid of how frustrated I figured I'd be after going to the cemetery. We finally got on the road at about 11:00, to my sisters' by 1:30, and I was back out to the cemetery by about 2.
I have a journal that I wrote a letter to Deat in every night for the first 2-3 months after he died. I decided to take it and my favorite pen with me.
to be continued.....
I had plans with Tina and Cathryn for my birthday for the next day, (25th), so I called my in-laws and told them the news and made plans to meet them in P-town on Sunday the 26th, though I really wanted my first trip to see them to be alone.
What I didn't expect was for this news to hit me like a ton of bricks at 100 mph. I was up half the night that night in tears... luckily, CT, my soldier friend, (my instant messenger therapist, ha ha) showed up at about 1am... he's had to "listen" (read) about these things quite a bit. I can type away and he has no idea I'm in tears if I don't tell him... yet somehow he either (a.) says the exact right thing or (b.) aggravates me so much I end up laughing before I log off anyway. Usually, it's both.
I talked to Mom again that Saturday and she said (and she was right) that making the trip to P-town and back in one day with the girls would be too hard, so I made plans to go this weekend, which gave me a whole week to stress and dread some more....
I told Fill on Friday that I went back and read through my blogs and realized that nearly all of them are about death, dying, grief... and it bothers me a bit but it's just where I've been, can't change that. Besides, if anyone reading this HASN'T had a major loss, maybe this will help one of you when you do. Grief is crazy, and irrational... maybe someone reading this, in the midst of their own grief will think, "Wait, I'm not going crazy, this is normal, I remember when Kelly said... "
So anyway, I've spent a great deal of time analyzing my own behavior, and I've learned a lot... but I don't think I ever made as much progress in this whole grief process as I did in an hour at Deat's grave. So much so... I'm giving that one it's own blog.
So, Saturday:
Got up, took a shower, fixed my hair, put on make-up... for those of you who know me well, this is not my Saturday routine. I almost never bother with make-up on Saturday unless we're having a cookout, sometimes not even then. I carefully picked out my favorite blue sweater, the one I knew he liked on me. I was running all around the house looking for a certain pair of jeans... even though every other pair I owned were clean and hanging up.
I stopped myself, "Why are these jeans so important?" hmmm. Because I've lost weight since Deat died, and I wanted the pair that really showed it off... "Um, Kel, he's not there..." As I've said before, grief is crazy. No matter how logical and rational a person you believe you are, the denial, the bargaining stages will creep in and out.
I always get anxious when the girls and I go out of town, I'm always afraid I'll forget the one thing I need when I'm packing. Filly and fam came over, and she stayed right with me, clucking like a Mama Hen the whole time I packed and basically kept me sane. My plan was to take the girls to my sister's house, go to the cemetery alone, then take the Beretta to the shooting range to get rid of how frustrated I figured I'd be after going to the cemetery. We finally got on the road at about 11:00, to my sisters' by 1:30, and I was back out to the cemetery by about 2.
I have a journal that I wrote a letter to Deat in every night for the first 2-3 months after he died. I decided to take it and my favorite pen with me.
to be continued.....
Old - October 8, 2008 - Answers
I've been playing over on Facebook, and I get innundated with some interesting and strange "Quiz" application invites: What 80's Movie Defines You? (Say Anything, a movie I've never seen) Find Out What Movie Star You Were in a Past Life (Marilyn Monroe, puh-leeze) What Kind of Tattoo Should You Get? (A nude angel with small wings and big boobs... SHUT UP Kevin!)
I was pondering why these little quizzes are so popular, why I even bothered. I suppose it's because we all want ANSWERS: in part, because want something outside ourselves to help define us, in part, to ease our minds about issues we don't understand completely. With all the changes of the past year, finding my new "place" in life, finding answers, has been a huge theme of mine.
Recently, our priest was called to move to another parish. Father Charles grew up in an evangelical household, and came to Catholicism and eventually priesthood, as an adult. Mass with Fr. Charles was never dull. Although Deat wasn't Catholic, during one of Fr. Charles' visits to him in the hospital, he made a point to tell Fr. Charles, "You are my pastor." Fr. Charles was so moved by this statement he repeated it several times in the days following Deat's death, including during the funeral where he presided.
The first Sunday after the funeral, I felt very alone as the girls and I took our place in our usual pew near the front. Involuntary tears slid down my cheeks as I listened to the Psalm of the week, the 23rd.. I looked up at Fr. Charles, and noticed him looking at me and tearing up himself: my pastor, my friend. He stopped, right in the middle of the service, and asked all the ladies in attendance to come sit with me and show their support. It was a beautiful moment, and one I needed. His last several masses with us were bittersweet: full of appreciation for knowing him, but sadness at a new, fresh loss in a year that at times, seems to have been defined by loss.
I tried to greet Father Pat, our new "pastor", with an open mind. I was pleased at his first sermon to discover that, although while he wasn't as dynamic as Fr. Charles, he could deliver an interesting sermon. He seemed like a very kind, sincere and genuine man.
Fr. Pat's second sermon, however, threw me for a huge loop. He said he had not faced major tragedy in his life, such as the loss of a close loved-one. He said he doesn't believe that God "makes" these losses happen, but that God is always there to hold us close while we endure them.
WHAT?! Everything I've held dear in my faith the past seven months was suddenly wrong? His words seemed to fly in the face of the scripture I've clung to since Deat first became ill, Romans 8:28, " And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."
To me, this verse means that God's hand is on EVERYTHING that happens, and everything is according to His plan. Yes, my personal loss was huge to me, but my God is omniscient and omnipotent...I've been comforted knowing that God's hand was on this event: believing that Deat's life and death served multiple purposes His plan: a plan much larger and greater than my own. I've been able to accept life without Deat in part by believing that ultimately the purposes this loss served in God's plan were, and are, more important than whatever pain it brought to me.
Suddenly this new priest, a man I've been taught that I'm supposed to trust to help me grow in my relationship with God, is saying, "No, God didn't MAKE this happen, He just watched while it did?"
In my mind, the God Fr. Pat referred to was some mamby-pamby being who didn't direct our lives, He just "let" things happen to us, He just tried to comfort us after they did. If God did not purposefully end my husband's life, then am I to now believe He didn't STOP his death, even though He could have? If Fr. Pat's assertions were right, WHY OH WHY did my husband have to die? Why did my precious babies have to lose a father who loved them more than breathing? The mere idea that this interpretation could be true cut me a thousand ways.
I tried to approach Father Pat after mass to understand his reasoning, but in the conversation I couldn't stop tearing up and shaking, I'm sure my reaction suprised and bewildered him, and I wasn't able to focus on his replies at all. I missed church the following two Sundays: angry at the implications of his sermon, angry that he wasn't Father Charles, angry that I was being expected to cope with yet ANOTHER loss.
After some thought I decided, as Fr. Pat had mentioned, he had never endured major loss, so of couse he wouldn't know. I returned to church this past Sunday, and tried to put my feelings about the previous sermon behind me. This week's sermon didn't cause any damage. Besides, I love the praise and worship of mass, I love the other members of my church family. Someday I may try again to discuss the contents of that sermon with Father Pat, and who knows? I may grow to love him, too. I may even call him my pastor.
Going forward, I've decided that Father Pat has every bit as much right to be fallable as those stupid quizzes. Putting my faith in how other humans see me, my life, my God, is silly. Listening and talking with others may help me sort out my feelings on an issue, but I can find many of the answers in prayer, in my Bible, and in myself. Who says we're supposed to get all these answers we seek in this life anyway? I'll look for answers from the sources I'm sure I can depend on...
And I don't think I'll be getting that angel tattoo any time soon.
I was pondering why these little quizzes are so popular, why I even bothered. I suppose it's because we all want ANSWERS: in part, because want something outside ourselves to help define us, in part, to ease our minds about issues we don't understand completely. With all the changes of the past year, finding my new "place" in life, finding answers, has been a huge theme of mine.
Recently, our priest was called to move to another parish. Father Charles grew up in an evangelical household, and came to Catholicism and eventually priesthood, as an adult. Mass with Fr. Charles was never dull. Although Deat wasn't Catholic, during one of Fr. Charles' visits to him in the hospital, he made a point to tell Fr. Charles, "You are my pastor." Fr. Charles was so moved by this statement he repeated it several times in the days following Deat's death, including during the funeral where he presided.
The first Sunday after the funeral, I felt very alone as the girls and I took our place in our usual pew near the front. Involuntary tears slid down my cheeks as I listened to the Psalm of the week, the 23rd.. I looked up at Fr. Charles, and noticed him looking at me and tearing up himself: my pastor, my friend. He stopped, right in the middle of the service, and asked all the ladies in attendance to come sit with me and show their support. It was a beautiful moment, and one I needed. His last several masses with us were bittersweet: full of appreciation for knowing him, but sadness at a new, fresh loss in a year that at times, seems to have been defined by loss.
I tried to greet Father Pat, our new "pastor", with an open mind. I was pleased at his first sermon to discover that, although while he wasn't as dynamic as Fr. Charles, he could deliver an interesting sermon. He seemed like a very kind, sincere and genuine man.
Fr. Pat's second sermon, however, threw me for a huge loop. He said he had not faced major tragedy in his life, such as the loss of a close loved-one. He said he doesn't believe that God "makes" these losses happen, but that God is always there to hold us close while we endure them.
WHAT?! Everything I've held dear in my faith the past seven months was suddenly wrong? His words seemed to fly in the face of the scripture I've clung to since Deat first became ill, Romans 8:28, " And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."
To me, this verse means that God's hand is on EVERYTHING that happens, and everything is according to His plan. Yes, my personal loss was huge to me, but my God is omniscient and omnipotent...I've been comforted knowing that God's hand was on this event: believing that Deat's life and death served multiple purposes His plan: a plan much larger and greater than my own. I've been able to accept life without Deat in part by believing that ultimately the purposes this loss served in God's plan were, and are, more important than whatever pain it brought to me.
Suddenly this new priest, a man I've been taught that I'm supposed to trust to help me grow in my relationship with God, is saying, "No, God didn't MAKE this happen, He just watched while it did?"
In my mind, the God Fr. Pat referred to was some mamby-pamby being who didn't direct our lives, He just "let" things happen to us, He just tried to comfort us after they did. If God did not purposefully end my husband's life, then am I to now believe He didn't STOP his death, even though He could have? If Fr. Pat's assertions were right, WHY OH WHY did my husband have to die? Why did my precious babies have to lose a father who loved them more than breathing? The mere idea that this interpretation could be true cut me a thousand ways.
I tried to approach Father Pat after mass to understand his reasoning, but in the conversation I couldn't stop tearing up and shaking, I'm sure my reaction suprised and bewildered him, and I wasn't able to focus on his replies at all. I missed church the following two Sundays: angry at the implications of his sermon, angry that he wasn't Father Charles, angry that I was being expected to cope with yet ANOTHER loss.
After some thought I decided, as Fr. Pat had mentioned, he had never endured major loss, so of couse he wouldn't know. I returned to church this past Sunday, and tried to put my feelings about the previous sermon behind me. This week's sermon didn't cause any damage. Besides, I love the praise and worship of mass, I love the other members of my church family. Someday I may try again to discuss the contents of that sermon with Father Pat, and who knows? I may grow to love him, too. I may even call him my pastor.
Going forward, I've decided that Father Pat has every bit as much right to be fallable as those stupid quizzes. Putting my faith in how other humans see me, my life, my God, is silly. Listening and talking with others may help me sort out my feelings on an issue, but I can find many of the answers in prayer, in my Bible, and in myself. Who says we're supposed to get all these answers we seek in this life anyway? I'll look for answers from the sources I'm sure I can depend on...
And I don't think I'll be getting that angel tattoo any time soon.
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