Showing posts with label sadness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sadness. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 1, 2020

Gloom, Despair, and Agony on Me

Returned from a quick trip to Ohio yesterday. We left Saturday to take Sarah to her Dad. He's moved there recently and since he has primary custody now, she'll live with him. It was so difficult to leave her. It didn't help that I was very sick. I kind of lost it as I was leaving.

I've had a toothache for the last week and by Saturday night it was horrible. My jaw hurt, all my teeth hurt, and the side of my head hurt. Wearing my glasses caused pain over my ear.

Earlier in the week, about last Wednesday, I found that beneath a bridge I have on the left side the gum had swelled. It is a tight fitting bridge, and the swelling presented as small bubbles and it was so painful. I thought I had something under it, but using floss there is difficult on a good day. This wasn't a good day. I needed to call the dentist, but the entire week was one disaster after another. I'm having so much pain walking that even taking the garbage to the street is difficult. Sarah and I both had this ennui and could not accomplish a thing. We didn't even pack until the night before and the morning we left!

We did clean house and do laundry so she could carry everything she needed. Dealing with all that is always exhausting. When I got home, I realized the act of packing for a move creates its own mess. I have to sweep and clean her room, make my bed, and it seems there is stuff everywhere. I'm glad I bug bombed while I was away. That's at least one thing I don't have to worry about for 6 months.

When I arrived home, I called my dentist and saw him on Monday afternoon. They looked and gave me a Z-Pack and referred me to an endodontist. I may need 2-3 root canals and I need a crown on the opposite side. The pain is from the right side, so at this point both sides of my mouth are giving me trouble. ALL my teeth and my jaws hurt. As of this morning, there is improvement, but not a lot.

Sarah began school in Ohio yesterday. They're doing 2 weeks online with limited attendance. After that, I believe they'll be going full time. I know she dreaded it, but I hope this will be a fresh start where she gets the help she needs. The environment is clearly better than the toxic one she was in for 8 months. Her Dad is working, but he's also job hunting for something full time. There are a tremendous number of opportunities there compared to Podunk, Arkansas. 

I'm exhausted from all the stuff I'm battling. My RA hasn't been too bad but my legs, my teeth, my fatigue, and my back have ganged up on me and coupled with the stress of Sarah leaving again, well, I'm worn out.

For now, I'll leave it there. I'm still very blessed. I just wish he would bless me with less pain. Of course, it could always be worse.


Saturday, March 17, 2018

End of the Line

It has been a long and strange journey on this blog. I seem to have lost the impetus to keep it going and I'm a bit sorry about it. I used to enjoy posting about the people and events in my life. I do post on my writing blog and sometimes on Rendered Praise but even that one has languished a bit and both are different. I'm not sure anymore what I want to do... or say.

My world has never recovered since Jerry died, not really. I mean, I've gone on with my life, such as it is. I'm still here. No, I haven't met someone. You actually have to see people for that to happen. I've stayed here in my home, raising my granddaughter. I retired, as you'll remember if you've read along. I thought I'd be able to write more. I got sick, and sicker, and sicker until I despaired of even living at times. How do you function when you're in so much pain all the time and you feel like you're on the wrong train?

You just keep going.

The truth is, I've never been able to right the upside-down world I was thrown into. There was just nothing normal about my life anymore. Nothing made any sense at all. More and more I found myself not wanting to write. Not wanting to do the things I used to do. I don't want to cook but I have an 11 yr old who has to eat. You'd think I'd lose weight but no, I gain it! I'm too tired or too sick to go out and exercise. Or it is so freaking cold or wet that it is impossible. Even the back surgery I had to repair the ruptured disk, although it made some things tremendously better, has not really made much difference in what I do.

I feel like a door is closing and maybe it is. This is probably the last post here I'll do. Maybe it is because I've just been sick for months with colds and I'm still sick with one, milder though it is. I really don't know. My immune system is very low now.

I just know that I don't have anything left to say. The interesting things, at least to me, have declined to the point that there is nothing I really enjoy doing. There are no family stories to relate because there is no family left. There are no work tales to tell because I can't work anymore. There are no exciting people or places or things to tell you about. There are plenty of annoyances, frustrations, and sadnesses but who wants to share that? And who wants to read it.

You'll say this is depression. Maybe it is a mild one. I don't even want to try and figure it out.  What I do want to say is thank you. If you've been with me on this convoluted journey, lived thru the nightmare of death, and laughed at my kids, thank you. I don't know why you did it. But I'm glad you did. You remained silent but if you stuck with me, thanks.

As of now, the blog will remain open. I get comments in my email, not that anyone ever does other than one or two here and there. But if you stop by, shoot me a comment to let me know. Will I come back? I don't know. I'm giving myself permission to give up several things this year. I have too many chains weighing me down and the need to shake them off won't leave me alone. I may if there is something good to say. Today, I can't think of one thing.

So I pray you are blessed and I hope I've given you enjoyment with my crazy Life on the Ledge.

Be happy. Be kind. In the end, that's what will count.


Wednesday, November 8, 2017

Down in the Dumps Day

It's Wednesday. I'm feeling better physically, except I am really tired because I'm still having problems with the Bipap machine. The truth is, I'm depressed today and I don't even know why. I should not be depressed because I feel better. I am rather scared to admit it but even the nerve pain in my left arm is not as bad today. So feeling depressed seems foolish.

It's probably the lack of sleep or proper sleep that's causing this. I don't know what else I can do about it. I used a new mask last night and it did not help. I guess I just keep trying.

I am supposed to see my new primary care today. I don't think that would make me depressed but one never knows. I'm hoping it works out better than the one I've been using. She's a very nice doctor but I just think she's too inexperienced and I have some pretty severe problems. I really wish I could find another Dr. Like Dr. Beckman. The guy I see today is actually a fairly good doctor. I have used him years ago. I'm just really tired of having to find doctors that don't treat me like I'm an idiot. Of course, things have changed, and he may treat me that way, too.

I don't even know why I'm writing this. I've been sitting here all morning feeling down and too tired to do anything. I don't think writing this will help me feel better and I really don't know what will. Sarah has been with her other grandparents this week and I am really missing her. Maybe that's why I'm depressed. When she's here, she's a lot of work but it is work I enjoy and her company keeps me from thinking too much about things that actually do depress me.

At any rate, I'll stop this here. I have nothing else to say and there's no point in going on and on about how rotten I feel today.

Thursday, January 28, 2016

Vanished Into the Dark



Tomorrow will be the 29th. Seven years ago tomorrow my whole world turned upside down. Every day I stare at this tableau there is a stab of pain and a flood of memories.

This morning I was wondering this morning how I was going to address tomorrow. Since 2009 I can't approach January 29 as if it were any other day. I remember the first few years the number 29 drove me crazy. Every time the number came up in any context I experienced anxiety.  That faded eventually but the day is still a difficult day to approach.

In fact, beginning January 29, 2009, every major holiday and special occasion has been painful. Starting in August, with Jerry's birthday, until February there are six days that have nearly wrecked me: his birthday on August 6th, Thanksgiving, Christmas, our wedding anniversary on January 11th, his death on the 29th, and Valentine's Day. For nearly half the year, since 2009, I've clinched my teeth, straightened my spine, and struggled not to think about Jerry not being here. I rarely succeeded in being stoic. Each month I'd have at least one day where I just fell apart.

This year, I totally forgot Jerry's birthday. I was stunned and upset with myself the day after when I realized it. Sarah and I were sick. I always take flowers but I forgot him. In November, I was away from home for the holiday and things were very busy and filled with people I love so I didn't brood over Thanksgivings Past. Christmas the house was bulging for three weeks. More people I love, my family and some friends, filled the house up and there was no time to really brood over anything but the lack of time alone, which they gave me at intervals. It is probably the first time since he died that I didn't feel bereft or make myself sick crying. With so much coming and going, there were few opportunities to wallow in self-pity. You know there's folks who think that way after 7 years. There were people who thought that way after the first 6 months.

But tomorrow is the 29th. Today there is a pressure in my chest and a sadness hangs over me. I'm not distraught. I'm not prostrate. I don't feel like crying. There is this heaviness in my gut and I feel as if I have lost something, and I need to get up and look for it. Maybe tomorrow I'll find it?

I should go to the cemetery. I should take flowers. I should tell him I haven't really forgotten, that every day, at some point, I see him, hear him, and feel him. Sometimes only for a moment, sometimes for hours. I should remind him that when I see his picture, sitting there on that shelf, a flood of memories rushes over me. They're funny, happy, silly, angry, and sad all at once.

And sometimes, I get angry because he's not here. He left me with an upside down world and no one to help me clean up the mess. I have to figure out everything myself. I have to take care of every problem alone. If I get afraid, there is no one to hold my hand or wrap me in strong arms. No one to tell me everything is going to be fine. No one to fix the car, the toilet leak, the floor, or take out the trash.

Tomorrow is the 29th. Perhaps, the wheels will begin to turn again and the world will right itself. No. No, it won't. Because it is the 29th and on that day, I died, too. I won't find the things I've lost. Who I am now is not who I was on January 29, 2009. Everything I was and was supposed to be was gone in a moment. I watched it vanish into the dark. Maybe that is why it still feels like I've lost something. I didn't lose Jerry. I lost me.

I love you, Jerry Maddox. I'll always love you.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Too Deep to Plumb

There are depths of despair that I would not wish anyone to ever plumb. I've been to depths I never thought it possible to descend and had I considered it, I'd have thought it impossible to return alive. And yet, I'm still here.

You think, during the grief process, that it will never end. In a sense, it never does. You do resurface but you don't ever really reach land. At least, I haven't. You learn to tread water. You must or you drown. You know what lies beneath and you never want to try that descent again. So, you just keep paddling. You get tired but you never stop.

I've gotten better in many ways at treading water. In fact, sometimes I can actually swim. There's no land in sight but I dare not stop.

This summer has been lighter, as if someone opened a window. The weather was beautiful for moths. Since June, I've felt better for much of that time. I was sick from a virus for the six month prior to that. I began walking in July, something I thought would be impossible with my joint problems and pain. I started with 10 minutes and managed to work up to half an hour in which I knock out a just over a mile and a half.

Last week, I messed up. On Wednesday I lost a ring that Jerry bought me when I graduated from college in 1995. It was a blue topaz in a filigree band. It was so pretty, not very expensive but just so lovely. It was $99 when he bought it. It was the most special gift he'd ever bought me. And I lost it. It fell off my hand. I can't figure out how it happened.

I'm pretty sure it was in CVS on First Ave. They won't let me put up a flyer offering a reward. I remember something falling near my foot but I was so distracted and tired I looked around and when I didn't see anything, I just moved on. It took four days to figure out what I'd done. Now, I've sunk to such dark depths and I can't figure out what to do.

It's just a ring. It means nothing to anyone but me. It has no intrinsic value other than the price of gold. You might be able to pawn it for $50. I'd pay twice that to get it back. But it has reopened a crevasse that has taken me years to escape. And as before, I can't do a thing about it. I can only struggle for the surface.  I want my ring back. I want to be able to sit and look at it and remember the day we bought it. I want to pass it to Sarah and watch her try it on, knowing it will be her's someday. I want to tell her the story of looking down in the jewelry case and picking it out and how it felt when he brought it home sized for me. I want to tell her why it is so special and hand it to her they way Jerry handed it to me.

I lost it. And the revelation I had was that life is just one series of losses after another. We're all losers most of the time. Winning at anything pales in comparison to what you have to lose. Ultimately, I think, what you lose is a reflection of who you really are, deep down. Had I lost the ring my mother bought me when I was 15 I'd have been sad. I wouldn't have been devastated. Had I lost even the necklace Jerry bought me for Christmas when we were dating, I would not have been so desolate. What I've lost is more than a simple ring. I've lost dreams. You can't replace that.

The depths to which they fall can't be plumbed.

Saturday, September 28, 2013

Cathartic Thoughts

There never seems to be enough hours in my Saturdays to do all that I have to do. My day started early. I was up at 7:30 and at the cemetery for my walk at 8 a.m. I grabbed breakfast on my way to a meeting.

I had a meeting at the mall with my NaNo co-ML to review some plans for the kickoff. We nailed down the location, got some ideas and encouragement about the goodie bags and write-ins. From there I headed to Hobby Lobby again to try and pick up some things. They didn't have the items but I picked up some other things... books for Sarah. I went from there to Office Depot to get ink in a couple of forms.

My next stop was home where I stayed long enough to talk to Dave about lunch before we went searching for it.

I ran out of steam around 2 p.m. and came home for a few hours. For some reason the day came crashing down and I was plunged into the abyss. You know the one. Every once in awhile it opens its maw and I am sucked into the dark. I had to get out of the house and the only thing I could think of was the solitude of the cemetery. At 6 p.m. I took second walk in the cemetery.

I suppose if I had met anyone they would have been concerned for my mental state. I walked and cried. Yes, I know. But I did. And I prayed and cried some more. It didn't help. The overwhelming desire to go home again is one that can't ever be resolved for me. I've lost a whole family in more ways than one. It doesn't end. There is no solution, no fix, no relief from the desire to go home. There is no home left to go to.

I do not like these disturbances when they come. The walk was more or less a fugue. I walked but as to what I saw or heard I don't recall much but the pavement at my feet.

Once I left the cemetery it was nearly 7 p.m. and was dusk. I needed headlights to drive. I'll have to be doing the walks by 5:30 before much longer. At least the days are still comfortable. I dread the thought of walking in the cold.

I didn't go home immediately. I was still far to upset so I went to Sonic to collect my free drink and eat onion rings. I pretty much sat my usual stall at the back, facing the darkened hearing aid store and cried. Believe me when I tell you that eating and crying is near impossible. Once I finished with both I sat for a while and just tried to regain some sense of control. Once home I simply sat around doing nothing.

Sarah came over around 8:00 for the night. We read the new books and started watching The Indian in the Cupboard. She fell asleep about halfway through but I watched the whole thing. It is still a great movie.

I don't know why I stopped to write this blog. Maybe because these days it is my only real source of conversation. I've become a fair recluse I think. I'm fine with it most of the time. Except when I'm not: i.e. when I see a family having a good time, or a couple laughing with one another, anything that remotely resembles my old life robs me of light.

I may have mentioned this before but I've taken to avoiding all manner of situations. I still don't watch a whole genera of movies and don't read quite a lot of a certain type of book. Suspense, thrillers, or British mysteries, all minus the homey scenes of other movies. I also don't do death scenes or love scenes. Those are potty or food breaks. In fact, in real life I avoid experiences that revive memories. Holidays, such as the upcoming Thanksgiving, are still not things I want to do. I'm obligated to do them but they no longer hold much appeal for me.

Still the blog is my catharsis. And now, I suspect sleep will be one also.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

A Happy Face

I slept really well last night. One little pill and I feel 100% better. I still have pain in my hands. I'm still tired but I don't feel as bad as I obviously did yesterday and for the last month. I'll probably take these for a few more days at least. The sleep is what helps the most and the pill helps with the anxiety. 

I'm in a place where I'm not happy. In fact, I begin to wonder if I've ever been really happy. There is nothing anyone can do about that so don't offer consolation or solutions. You don't know what it takes to make me happy. I don't either. So, it is my problem to solve. 

Happiness, in a general sense, is not found in people. People constantly disappoint you. Or they go away. No one is who they say they are, even though they think they are and will argue with you till the cows come home that "what you see is what you get". It isn't true. Most  of the time, we all are pretending something. So, depending on people to make you happy is self delusion. 

Happiness is not in things. Things get broken and if you rely on them to feel good, you're going to feel bad a lot. At the least, you'll be dissatisfied with something else. 

Happiness is not about where you're located. You can live in a palace and be unhappy. And while I suspect that all of these things can pacify a person, that is not happiness either. That's a drug.

Does anyone actually like people who always seem to be happy, without a care in the world? Don't lie. You know that you don't. I don't either. Because below it all, we know we're being deceived. We don't like that.

Most of us, in my opinion, don't really know what happiness is or how to get there. Yet, I've learned one interesting thing. Your physical condition does impact real happiness. I don't care what anyone says about people who are stoic in the face of critical illness and how some of them are happy despite being terminal. That's a bunch of poppycock. They aren't happy. They just recognize they can't fix it. They make the best of a bad situation. Pardon me if I cry because I'm sick. I'm not happy about it and I refuse to expect people who are suffering to act happy. I expect them to act civil, not overjoyed at their state of being. I forgive the grumpy old man who is hooked up to oxygen and will never leave his wheelchair again. He has reason to be grumpy. I forgive that and try to make him smile. It isn't happiness he feels and I can't give him that. I can give him a moment's relief from having to pretend.

Here's a quandary.  I'm a Christian and there is this warped idea out there among my brothers and sisters in Christ that no matter what the situation we are supposed to be overjoyed all the time to just be Christians. Our problems are not supposed to get us down and if they do we somehow embarrass God! I have no idea where anyone got this concept. It is not scriptural to me. Maybe someone took something Paul said and made it fit but I've read the Bible, several times, in several orders. I don't see it. 

Let me tell you misguided folks something you seem to ignore. When Jesus carried that cross, he was not dancing up the road to tune of "Singing in the Rain". He was dragging that thing behind him on a back filled with open, bloody gashes that exposed the bones. And when they nailed him to the cross on that hillside, he was not singing "The Hills are Alive". He was in agony and he showed it. He was in pain. He was suffering. He cried. He did not smile at the crowd and say, "It's ok, folks. I'll be fine." He even asked, "My God why have you forsaken me!" Does any of that sound familiar to anyone but me?

So, if I hurt and seem to moan about it and sob and cry...I'm in good company. I'm not happy about my condition, my position, or my location, I'm just thankful God has forgiven me for my failures.

I don't know where this post came from but I think sometimes I moan and groan too much and I feel bad about it. I dislike not being "happy" in a recognizable way. I get embarrassed that my blog contains so much grief, disappointment, and pain. But I realize that is what this societal conception of happiness has done to people. It has made us feel ashamed when we suffer. It tells us that we must greet pain with a smile. We must put on a "happy" face that says, "Don't mind me while I'm bleeding here. Just carry on with the party."

It is just a facade, a word that means a false face. You know it better by its more common name. A lie.



Tuesday, March 26, 2013

A Patch

I've reached my limit. I've had a horrible month. I anticipate this time of year being difficult for me but I expected more around the first of the year, the anniversary of Jerry's death. I was so busy it slipped by unnoticed for a week or more. So, I guess it just caught up with me.

Instead, in the last two months, I've simply been on the slippery slope where I was physically ill with a variety of things. In February, I had a rash on my ankles and legs that I have no idea what caused it but that cost me several nights sleep and a trip to the urgent care. I had pain in all major joints, was unable to walk without limping for days, was not sleeping well, even with medicine. I had increased ringing in my ears, more lost sleep, coughing, sneezing, and now, pain in my hands.

 I've been struggling with pain in my hands the last couple of days that was so bad I was having trouble working. I do tons of data entry. I write. My hands are my living. And they were in bad shape. Tonight, they are better. I asked people to pray for me and I started putting some medicine I use on other major joints on my hand. I still have pain but not nearly as bad. I am hoping by tomorrow that the pain will be gone.

And then there has been the last three weeks of overwhelming exhaustion that had me barely able to get through a day at work without falling out. Some days I had to simply find some place and put my had down because I was so tired I couldn't hold it up. By the time I dragged myself home I was in tears because I was so tired I couldn't bear it. It is a tired that you can't begin to imagine. No, you can't. I can't imagine it either. And when I lay down I could not rest. Things hurt.

The sheer volume of what I'm dealing with has become unbearable. I simply can't take it anymore. The proverbial brick wall lies in shambles from the impact. And when my mind starts reasoning that what I'm doing is not living, but dying slowly, in pieces, then I know I'm in a bad place. It is a road I've traveled several times and it ends on a ledge overlooking a bottomless pit. You're too tied to do more than stare down into it and think about how very easily it would be to just close your eyes and lean over and let go. It isn't going to get better.

I came home from work today and took Ativan. They prescribed it for me when Jerry died. I was on it a couple of months. It is amazing stuff but I stopped taking it after a while because it is highly addictive. I have enough problems without an addiction. I've taken them a couple of times since then, for about a week at a stretch. But I still have maybe 25 pills. Tonight I started again. This is the point at which addiction is a very minuscule issue.

No, it isn't a fix. I've decided nothing can be fixed. It's nothing but a patch.





Saturday, March 16, 2013

A Small World

There is no guide on how long grief lasts. I've wondered for over four years now if there were markers, like mile posts along the highway, that would tell me when I was getting close to the point where I won't remember, relive, or feel the death of my husband. Unfortunately, no one appears to have erected such markers. The road is long and I've seen nary a one.

I missed Jerry today.  So, I stopped and bought flowers and took them to the cemetery. I've avoided it for months, felt guilty every time I pass the gates, which is fairly often since they are on a road I travel several times a week. No matter how many times I pass the sadness of it never fades. Oh, I don't fall apart as I once did but honestly, in some ways, this is much worse. I can't explain it. There is a sense of betrayal in it. Imagined, I'm sure, but nonetheless felt. 

As I put the flowers beside his tombstone, I couldn't breath and I couldn't look at the name graven in the white marble. I apologized for being so long in coming and tried to explain  but it is no use. While I know he'd understand, I feel no better. The bands around my chest only tighten and I have to go back to my car where I sit and sob and try to breath and explain why. 

When I see someone walking in my direction, I know it is time to go. No one wants to share this.

And I came home. I don't feel better. I do what I always do. I push it away and try to think about something else. It's a small world, grief. There is nothing else.


Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Fading Flames

Mama, Aunt Phillis, Alice (my mother), and Daddy.
Mama and Daddy were my aunt and mother's parents.
I keep coming back to these old photos and studying them careful. This was taken the year I was born and what you see in this photo is what I always saw. Oh, there were terrible times and things I'd like to forget. Like everyone else, they did stupid things. They cried and got angry and depressed but if there are any good memories of my life, this photo reflects them. They always seemed to be laughing.

This image also reflects any gatherings of my family. We usually end up laughing at something and often it involves a story from the lives of one of these people or something one of us has done. We are a family of natural humorist. We are funny without trying to be funny. And we laugh most at ourselves.

This morning it occurred to me that this photo also depicts the three women who most profoundly affected my life and directed its  course. These women determined my outlook, my character and my goals. They made me most of who I am today, good and bad. I can't imagine what my life would have become without them. They gave me the strength to survive trials and turmoil and grief and continue laughing, even through tears. They gave me a desire to become more. I love them, each in a slightly different way but far more than any of them could guess.

Mama would say, "My Cindy can do anything." My aunt always says, "You are so smart." My mother always said, "I'm proud of you." I had no idea who they were talking about. I wanted to be like all of them to one degree or another. I wanted to love the way Mama loved. I wanted to be the kind of Godly women Mama and my aunt were. I wanted to be as beautiful as my mother, to have that presence that made heads turn when you enter a room. She drew people like moths to a flame. I always thought if I could have inherited the best qualities of these three women I could shake the world. I do not think I've ever approached that goal.

I can't say my mother and I were close. Her parents raised me but I still loved her, with bitterness and then, with resignation. I loved her humor, her laughter, and her singing. She had a beautiful voice and I loved riding in the car with her and listening to her and Mama sing gospel songs. They'd let us kids sing with them but those two voices were about as close to a heavenly choir that I've ever gotten. I loved her ability to go out job hunting at 8 and come back with a job at 10.

Put her in a crowded room with boring people and where she was standing would be a party. When she was a waitress her customers were the happiest in the room. It was not unusual for her to carry home $200 in tips for an evening's work and that was in the 70's. People just flocked to her and she reveled in that. When I was a little girl and she came home from time to time, I loved the moments when I was the focus of that dazzling smile and I felt the warmth of that flame. I was special for a little while and when she left, I always missed her.

Thursday I will see her one last time. The flame of my mother's life is extinguished. She's left me again.



Sunday, May 13, 2012

My Party

Vacation ended with a thud. No, I didn't have barrels of fun. I enjoyed the canoe trip. I enjoyed seeing members of my family, including a new great niece and nephew. I visited Jerry's brother and sister on the way home.

It was nice to see them but Jerry's brother was so like him that it was a dagger to the heart. I thought I was going to die. I fell apart, embarrassingly so, and I've felt out of sync ever since Thursday, as if I've been thrown back in time. For two hours afterward I was simply unable to stand up and went to bed at the hotel, leaving Mike outside. Even today I'm barely able to function and I've had a migraine since Saturday.

Jerry's niece came home with us and is staying for a bit with Becca and Dave. I invited Becca and Kim to lunch yesterday because I thought it might make me feel better. I was going insane alone here in the house. Becca invited me to lunch today but called later and said she and Sarah would go to church this morning with me instead because she and Dave were fighting about something and so she couldn't invite me over today for lunch after all.

So, for the most part, I've spent yet another Mother's Day alone. Only Mike went to church with me and I took us to lunch. He's in the house but you'd never know it for the most part. He means well but conversations require concentration unless it is about t.v. or movies, we don't really talk a lot. The church did present a rose to every mother so I got a flower. No wake up smiles, no calls, no gifts, no cards, and oh... my youngest called late (probably after he got out of bed around 2 p.m.) to say he "didn't get the memo that today was Mother's Day and Happy Mother's Day." Odd, since his FB wall mentioned it yesterday. I'm a bit lower on the scale of importance than FB. There are people who think they have been in contact with me just because they do graffiti on virtual walls. You haven't.

I've learned since Jerry died that my worth for some is measured solely in dollars and cents...mine and how generous I am with it.

I go back to work tomorrow. To the real world, or at least what passes as real for me. Where people honestly don't care about me.

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to. . .you cry on yours when it happens to you.


Friday, February 3, 2012

A Week Ends

Maybe it is just me but this week seemed to alternately fly by and crawl. Today is one of those days when I don't want to do anything and I want it to fly by. It is very sunny and 48F outside. Cold to me but I hear Europe is below zero so I'll take the 48 gladly.

I am having so much trouble with my hip hurting. It keeps catching and is painful to walk. I think the weather caused it. It was very damp and gloomy for a few days now and we are to get more rain over the weekend. This always seems to make my joints worse. My left shoulder has really been very bad and I've had to wear the pain patch on it again. It helps.

I am not as tired this morning but I didn't want to get up. I was sleeping so good and the bed was warm and cozy. Of course, once I wake it is very hard to go back to sleep or get comfortable so it probably didn't matter.

Things at home are a bit dull. Nothing much I want to do. I've read some, crocheted some, and watch t.v. some, usually while crocheting. I so enjoy the crochet. I am hoping when the weather warms up I can get back into the sewing room. It is so cold in there with no heat. I love the room. I was going to get a new heater but had to have a new sink so it will have to wait. I may go see if they still have any and if they are on sale. I could go back to the heater store and see about a really good one installed. What I have cost a couple of hundred dollars about 10 years ago. It still sells for about the same price, or did last year.

Writing. Must do the writing, too. I'm fairly over the cold so I've no more excuses except pain issues. At the moment, that isn't to terrible.

Happiness is a state of mind and it is very hard work being unhappy.  Apostle Paul said that he had "learned in whatsoever state" he was in to be content. He didn't elaborate that I can recall on exactly what technique he used. Just that he had learned it. I have learned that no matter what state you're in, it is a lot harder to be happy. That or I've not learned what Paul knew.

I have learned that I don't want to think beyond the now. I avoid thinking of the past as much as possible because it is filled with loss. I avoid thinking of the future, except on rare occasion when I start wishing for something. Neither past or future are in my reach. All I see is now. Most days it is a hollow shell. Contentment wouldn't describe it.

At least the sun is shinning.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Looking for Answers


I've been looking for sources, particularly weekly newsletters, for widows that are Christian based. Actually, there don't seem to be any. Why is that? Are we less important than a drug addict, an alcoholic, a paralyzed person? Do we have no need for spiritual encouragement? Is our situation of so little concern that it is considered a waste to provide such items? Are they so few of us that it is deemed low priority?

It astounds me to find that this appears to be a common problem. Go look at your favorite support website, whether Christian or not. Come back and tell me how many articles or newsletters you find there that deal with the death of a spouse or other loved one. This is begging the question but I'm willing to bet it is slim to none.

You can google "grief newsletters" and you will find lots of items on grief. But not a single one of the major Christian based sites such as Bible Gateway, Christianity Today and several others has anything remotely resembling these carried any newsletters or devotionals. I know because I looked.

The print industry has mass quantities of books on grief. But I can tell you quite honestly that during the first year and a half, reading is nearly impossible. You can't think. You can barely remember how to put a meal together. Focusing on novel length, self-help manuals is not possible for most people going through this. Planning a strategy to combat the horrible effects of grief are equivalent to scaling Mt Everest. You will eventually get to the summit but the road is through hell. Reading for content is not something most of us can do.

For some reason the items I found on Google that seemed helpful at first glance were in little known, under advertised, and obscure sites solely about grief. They come with many titles and in many guises, some barely related to the healing process. One was called "Creative Funeral Ideas" and the banner was . . . festive. I was totally put off by the flippant sound of that. Why would you need creative funeral ideas? How far in advance do you need to plan such an event? Funeral homes have funeral directors but this title alone would indicate that one would need something far more talented than a simple funeral director, sort of like a wedding planner. It made me angry.

There seems to be a huge number of blogs by widows now. I'm no longer doing something unique, apparently. I read a few and found it odd to read my feelings scattered over the internet, written by strangers. After reading a few, I wondered again why anyone would read about my experience. It is so depressing... particularly if you are on the same train.

This morning I was reading the comments on one such blog and found it surprising how much everyone sounds the same. The stories related were like echos, differing only slightly because of the shape of the lives in which they resonate. All had a similar complaint. There is no support, no resources readily accessible to widows in their cities. Their friends seem to have deserted them. Churches don't see them.

Don't get me wrong, major and some mid-sized cities do have support groups but most groups are geared to seniors. I was 53 when Jerry died. I would have been very uncomfortable in a group of over 60 widows I think. And there seems to be a huge number of young widows, below age 50. We're at war, remember. One place stated that there are over 13,000,000 widowed person in the United States and of these, 11,000,000 are women. The men tend to remarry. Probably younger women.

So with that in mind you would think resources would be fairly prevalent. I suppose the increase in blogs is a defense mechanism we've taken on ourselves because we are dissatisfied with the lack of an effective and inexpensive support system. I mean, consider the cost of counselors, books, and seminars for all kinds of problems. It is an industry. Widowhood is not a mental illness but it can lead to them. It isn't a physical aliment but it can lead to them. There are treatments for the symptoms, just as any other disease, but no cure. Yet, there are very few places one can go for help. Most of them cost something.

I was fortunate to have health insurance that covered a grief counselor. I suspect it was pretty much a waste of money as I don't feel a lot better than I did before. You go because you hope there is a cure. There isn't. You go because you're afraid of monsters only to discover they have no defense against them. There is no armor, no shield, no weapon that will repel them. You simply fight bare fisted and hope you are left standing at the end or at the very least that you can crawl off the field and live to tell it.

Overall, I'm unimpressed with my search for resources. I am not hopeful or comforted. I wonder how the other 10,999,999 feel?