Last One Standing

It isn't a good day. I started rotten and hasn't got much better. When the alarm went off at 6:30 I didn't even get out of bed. I simply rolled over and called in sick. I hurt everywhere more than anywhere else, as my Mama would have said. I did not get on the floor until after 10:00 a.m. And then, I still didn't feel well. I was so tired and achy that I couldn't face a day at work. I found it was raining. . . again.

Now, as bedtime nears, I am still tired. I despise this disease. It saps every ounce of strength. I think it is because you are so busy struggling to deal with the pain and function that you just wear yourself out.

I cleaned up the living room and did laundry between reading and doing my bank statement. The writer's group will be meeting here Thursday night.

I had a prayer meeting sometime in the middle of the day. Don't know that it helped the pain but couldn't hurt. I'm a bit depressed as well so I guess it is all just part and parcel of the same thing. Saturday night when I asked Sarah whose photo was on the shelf, she said, "That's Pawpaw. He's gone to heaven. I wish he would come back to me." I do, too.

It would be bearable if you could stop missing them. If you could just flip a switch and stop wanting desperately to see them. But then you think how disloyal that thought is. You must not love them if you want to stop missing them. You must be cold indeed if you want to forget. And the pain in your chest is just this huge bomb waiting to go off when you realize you don't want to forget or to stop missing them, or even stop hurting. If it doesn't hurt I must be insensitive. If I forget I must not have cared at all. If ... if... if

It is the power of death that you feel. The unassailable power you can't stop or deter. That can come in and sweep away an existence as if it never existed and leave not even a footprint in the sand. It can't be stopped by any one of us. There is no weapon that can halt his actions. You begin to look at every person around you and think, "They could be next!" or "I could be next!" You look at children differently, your own and others.

You realize how very important continuity is to humans, the desire to live on, not necessarily forever, but in your children, your grandchildren, and their children. You look at the last survivor of your line and you have this sense that you will truly be dead when that last one is gone.

For those of you who've done family trees, you know what I mean. You trace that tree for one purpose. To anchor you to something, to make a connection to the past and carry it through to the future is some how comforting and gives us a sense of security and belonging. It is a sense of continuity, that you will survive somewhere. That in the future, someone will be born with your eyes, your hair, your nose or your flat feet. It doesn't matter as long as your DNA goes on.

I've seen children who do not know who a one of their parents is and the sense of being an outcast or reject is so powerful to them. They can't trace one half of themselves and their children can't as well. They struggle for an identity. It is torment for them because they can't ever know. They suffer from a sense of incompleteness.

I never realized how powerful that connection to family could be until mine began to die off. With my husband's death, the sand began to race with an incomprehensible speed. Now, I see my small Sarah alone and with no connection to her past left when I am no longer here. My oldest son has no children. My youngest in all likelihood will have no more. Only if God is gracious to us, will Sarah have children of her own. And I know how she will feel at that point. She will wish we could all come back to her.

I wish they could all come back to me. Tonight, I am the last one standing. It is a terrible feeling.

Weekend Over

Aunt and Uncle are on their way home. They were up for the weekend to celebrate my birthday and my sister, Phyllis' birthday. We had a lovely time together. My sister, Phyllis went to church with us on Sunday and prayed back through to the Holy Ghost! She really got a wonderful touch from God.

Got an electric blanket for my b'day and the last two nights I have not frozen or woken up stiff as a board. Still have pain but much better mobility. So, I'm hoping the winter will be a bit easier for me.

I'm ready for work and will be leaving in a short time. I hate having to work. I never get over it. I guess it is from all the years I got to stay home and take care of my kids and be a homemaker. Mostly, I think it is mostly that I'm just tired all the time. I know that is my fibro causing that but I keep hoping it will get better at some point. Odds are it won't. Sustaining the energy is a real problem.

Had Miss Sarah most of the weekend, as you will have gathered if you've watched the movies I posted. She is such a funny doll baby. She went to church last night and was a bit wired up but went to sleep in the service. She didn't want to go home afterward but with me working, I can't keep her overnight except on the weekends. By the weekend, I'm nearly wiped out. I hate that most of all. I want to keep her overnight so bad. But my concern is she won't stay and I'll have to get up in the middle of the night and take her home. That'd be very bad for me.

Anyway, got to head out. Hope you all have a great day.

TGIF

Finally, Friday if here and it isn't a moment too soon for me. I'm so tired. Every night this week I've gone to bed a little earlier each night. I'm still tired this morning despite going to bed at 10:30! When I get tired, I get very upset and depressed so it hasn't been a great week. I keep getting these urges to pick up the phone and call Jerry. It just drives me nuts. This week that hasn't been as bad as last week because I'm so tired I can't think straight.

Dixie's Aunt and Uncle are due to arrive sometime this afternoon. Not sure when exactly. They will spend the weekend. My sister and I have a birthday this week. Her's is today and mine the 28th. They come to celebrate with both of us.

I'm on my way to work. All day training today means I'll be dead on my feet when I get home. If I don't get back for a few days, everyone have a wonderful weekend.

Sunday Aches and Life Sucks.

I woke up this morning in pain. So, what else is new?

Everything hurts. I did not go to church. I tried to call the youngest son to see if some of them would come and drive for me but no one answered the phones. I didn't even try Mike. He never gets up and I am tired of calling and calling to ask.

So, I didn't go.

My hand, arms, shoulders, knees, feet and legs hurt. Some is caused by my carrying Sarah a bit in the mall yesterday but the cold is the greatest contributor I suspect. This time of year is a nightmare for me. My hands are cold and my feet are cold, despite thick wool socks my sister bought for me. I can only imagine how cold they would feel without those!

I sleep in sweats and I've not even got dressed all day. Shoulders hurt when I try and reach up to get anything above shoulder height. My knees hurt when I walk. They feel like they are froze, too. Everything just feels stiff and locked up. Muscles in my calf and upper arms are sore.

I'm miserable and I hate this. I can't stand living like this. I can't do anything. My brain is in a constant fog. I'm always tired. I manage to get through my work day but I'm totally wiped out by 5 pm. I can't go anywhere and do anything for long. Once I sit down, I'm done.


I want Jerry to come and just sit next to me. I just want him to come home. I'm tired of this.

Survivors

Many of my readers have repeatedly said that they didn't know what to say to someone experiencing grief. My own situation has caused me to look at this in a different way and far deeper than I ever imagined I'd want or need. As I've become able to function more normally, I've found myself fascinated by a paradox.

A vast majority of people across all cultures believe that death takes that person to a better place. This is supposed to give comfort to those left behind. Honestly, it doesn't much. But if they've gone to a better place, it does leave the survivors alone in a hell not of their making. Those not affected by it simply stand on the edges, watching the struggle. The grief-stricken are left alone to claw their way back to the land of the living. For truly, a part of you has died and left to your own devices, you may very well die, too. I can tell you, I felt as if I were being pulled into the grave with Jerry. And nine months later, there are days I still do.

If the bereaved is not to blame for the death of the person, why does the rest of the world spend so much time making them feel they've done something wrong? People won't talk to you or listen to you. They barely speak when you approach them. They don't call or come around. Yet, if you stopped them and asked them, they'd automatically put it back on you, the bereaved with "Why didn't you tell me?" or "You should have called me."

There are things you need to know about these Survivors of death. The bereaved can barely walk for months. They don't see things right in front of them. I've run numerous traffic lights in the last seven months. I've probably run three in my entire 53 years, until now. I absolutely didn't see them. Ask Mike. He's been with me twice.

The bereaved can't remember what day it is. They don't remember if they paid the light bill. They don't remember if they went to the store, despite finding the milk in the laundry room. They forget to take medications. But they are expected to remember they need solace and call for it as if they were ordering pizza?

Rest assured, they have trouble remembering their address at this point. They won't remember your phone number or even your name at times. Particularly if you never bothered much anyway. I have a basket of small notes with phone numbers on them taken from the answering machine over months. Some don't have names on them. I knew who they were when I wrote it down....

I remember nothing but bits and pieces of the the first three months after Jerry died. Most of those have to do with times I fell apart and couldn't get up out of the floor. Or they were the trips I took out of town to be with people who could look after me for a while and pick me up out of the floor. Or they could make me not think about what was happening to my life. I remember trying to get ready for work one morning and suddenly, doubling over and screaming over and over, unable stand or to breath. I was only able to sob uncontrollably.

For two months after his death I was afraid to go to sleep at night. I was afraid I'd die in my sleep. It was horrible to even lie down and think about letting go so I could sleep. As a Christian, this is a terrible feeling. We aren't supposed to fear death! I don't know if it is normal. If other people feel that way, they don't tell it.

On top of that, the darkness is the best movie screen ever designed. Every scene is played back for you in living color. If you witnessed the death, as I did, you see it again, and again, and again. You hear the sounds they made in those last minutes. You see the empty eyes. Simple sounds take on new meanings. You see that last day over and over and wonder what you could have done differently that MIGHT had altered the course. Change one thing and everything changes.

Survivors, wondering if they had steered a bit more south they'd have missed the iceberg. Survivors, just like those committees who go over wreckage with a fine toothed comb, go over every detail of our lives and the death to discover what happened and if we could have stopped, slowed, reversed, prevented it all.

Most of us are left wondering, clinging to the wreckage, holding a shirt with the scent of a memory. We are Survivors and we're left with only questions.