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)
Friday, June 26, 2009
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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