Passings

It has been a difficult day. Jerry's sister, Sandra, called this morning to tell me that their 1st cousin, Janie, had died overnight. She's been in the hospital for about a week but there was no indication it was fatal. Sandra had called days ago to tell me that Janie was in the hospital with what they thought had been a stroke but was in fact fluid around her heart. Sandra had talked with her and she thought she was doing fine. Mike called me a while ago and said now they think that is was a brain aneurysm.

Janie was like a sister to Jerry and Sandra. She is devastated and it brought so much to the surface for me. She has so little family left. Just the baby brother and they are not close. I felt terrible for her. I am blessed with six brothers and sisters and I am so very thankful for each one of them. I too loved Janie. My husband just adored her. She was a laughing, funny woman.

I think I must have known something last night. I saw Sandra's number on my phone when I got home from work and I thought in my mind, "I'm so sorry Janie died." But she hadn't at that point. So I told myself that was a silly thought that Janie wasn't dead and that they would call me if something happened. And I went to bed. But she did die that night.

So, my day has been terribly depressing.

I sent an email to my assistant pastor a few days ago about people asking me about Jerry and seeming not to know he was dead. He called me today and we talked for quite a time. I just told him how very difficult I've been having it. He was very shocked by people asking and couldn't understand why anyone would not know. I told him to imagine how I was feeling. He said he would try to insure that people were made aware but he still couldn't understand why they weren't already.

I also told him how isolated I felt and how in all the months since Jerry died the only people I talked to were my family and people I work with and those of you here. As I said, we talked for probably 45 minutes and I told him I was not trying to criticize him but that I was in a terrible place. He did apologize because he said he felt like they had failed me. I didn't point out obvious things. I believe in forgiveness and I try very hard not to ever hold grudges. As I've said before, the people in my church are good people. I told him that I understood that part of the problem was that a lot of people simply don't understand how very terrible this sort of thing is.

I also told him that people like me need to talk. It is like a festering wound that will only heal by getting the poison out. I told him that I would probably feel much better this afternoon simply because he was listening to me and letting me say what I had to say. He prayed for me before we got off the phone. And I did feel better in the afternoon. Not great but better. I'm terribly sad and hurting but I'm not overwhelmed by it.

I just called Janie's son and left a message for him. I know better than anyone there are no words that will help. You just have to let people know how much you care and not forget them when the funeral is over. Fortunately, Rickey's wife and I chat online every so often so I stay in touch with them.

So, now I'm going to get a shower.

I Don't Know If I Can Live With That

I've decided there is no use in pretending that I am better, getting better or will get better. It is too exhausting to keep it up. I'm just worn out with it.

I'm good at hiding behind a shield of work and busyness. I don't think much as long as I'm running on full speed ahead. But it is there, that looming darkness that I keep shoved behind the door, beneath the desk, under the bed, in the closet. The effort involved in keeping it at bay is just overwhelming.

I sat tonight and wondered how badly I really want to even deal with this anymore and realized I don't. I'm tired and sick of dragging myself through this house.

I talked to a nurse today at my Reumatologist's office. Her mother died in October and she said she was so angry at people who were happy. I told her I understood. We chatted for a bit on what she was going through and comparing our experience.

I, on the other hand, am bitter. I was happy once. I had all I ever wanted. A family. My children and my husband, our home was all I ever wanted. Only in the last six or seven years had things begun to really just fall apart. Jerry lost several jobs. He was sick. I was sick. The boys were insane. Mike's marriage broke up. Dave ran away from home and brought back a wife. Mike lost his disability benefits and can't find work. Dave can't keep a job. Sarah sick all the time. Just everything piling up until Jerry just broke under it all. I am caving under the final onslaught.

This woman has no other family. She is alone in the world with only one child and no husband. And I knew that the weight of that must be so horrible for her. I wanted to cry for her. I have this terrible fear that something will happen to my sons or Sarah and I will have nothing left at all. My whole life will have disappeared. It will all have been lived for absolutely nothing. A lifetime lived for nothing! It won't mean anything at all. Pointless. It will never have existed.

That is probably the most horrible consideration of all. That everything was meaningless. All the struggles and stresses and successes, grief, heartache, pain, and even joy will have been to no purpose and there would be no reason to have ever done anything or struggled so hard to survive. We could have sat back and done just whatever we wanted and not worried about tomorrow at all. We could have spent our lives taking whatever enjoyment we wanted. None of it would have mattered anyway.We could have lived much happier lives and probably longer ones because of not worrying so much.

Death is a leveler. He smooths out the bumps and wrinkles, and cracks in the field. They become nothing but chicken scratches in the dirt. You're left standing in that smooth, flat field and realize that you aren't important at all. You're here and you'll die.

You know that story called The Dash. About a preacher saying the dash between your date of birth and date of death is the life lived between. In essence, it tells about making days count and doing things that leave a mark.

But in truth, when you stand at the edge of a grave, the dash IS ALL you see. You can't escape it. The dash is a dagger, a sword, a sharp knife that inflicts a million razor cuts to your flesh and you end up in a heap on the floor, bleeding your life away. You reach a point where you begin to realize that the only thing you know for certain are those two dates on either side of the dash. The beginning and the end. What happened in between is erased and doesn't exist at all anymore except in memories and photographs. Or in journals if you were wise enough to record them. My journals were totally self absorbed and I will be burning them in a few months, probably on the anniversary of Jerry's death. Might as well erase it all. It doesn't really matter anymore because it doesn't exist. The purely metaphysical would say nothing exist and now I'd probably agree with them. Even the Bible suggest we're nothing but vapor.

Another woman I spoke with last night, the one who sent me the photo, lost her husband maybe six years ago. She is probably my mother's age and they were married a long time. She has children and grandchildren. She said, "It never gets better." Her pain doesn't stop. She sees him in the young man who plays the guitar in a church she attends. "He sounds just like George." She sees him on the platform playing the guitar when she comes to visit our church. She lives 50 miles away and can't come often. I know what she feels as she sits there. Her heart is ripped thorough her chest, twisted, and stuffed back in with no regard.

"It never gets better."

I don't know if I can live with that.

A Discovery

Someone sent me picture of Jerry from an old church picnic. He was slimmer an his hair not so thin. He looked so very alive.

There are no fires in hell.

Once through the gates it's just endless dark that scalds you from the inside out.

Back to Work I Go

The weekend is over.

I am resigned to Sundays being the most miserable day of the week. Never thought I'd say I was glad to see a Monday.

I never thought there would be a time in my life when everything was lost that mattered.

I'm going to bed. I'm tired.

Hie Ho, Hie Hoe!

I'm off to work for three hours at the office. I really need to but really don't want to. The piles of paper on my desk are unreal.

I'm less depressed today and when that happens, one begins to hope for light at the end of the tunnel. It is a miserably gray day, nonetheless. I've been praying for sun. I can't stand this gloom any longer! I hate the weather here. I always have. A week in the Sunshine State is not conducive to a happy return to the Depression state. My childhood is filled with sun. All the years prior to 1988 are also sun-filled. That is the year we moved here and darkness crept over the face of the deep. 9 months of the year it is gloomy. No wonder my vitamin D is deficient. No wonder my depression worsened.

Anyway, I've got other things to do as well. The yard is knee high. But after a week of daily rain and wet conditions, that is not going to change soon. Heavy trash pick up came on the 21st and some of the bozos who go through it before it is picked up stole my trash can. Idiot, did you really think I was tossing a perfectly good trash can? It was there because trash pick up was the previous Wednesday and I had only just got back to town!

So, I'm off for now and may be back in a few hours.