Grief musings

  I have not posted here for awhile, but we had Jerry's committal service May 7, as I had planned, on his 84th birthday. If such an event can be perfect it was.  Yet the full circumstances is another complete blog post.  This photo is the columbarium on Memorial Day, the second time that week I went to the cemetery.  Jerry's niche is the bottom row,   the third from the  right.  Since May 7, more vets have joined him and there were only 3 more niches left until  that entire section will be filled.  There is no choosing the site for the niche nor for the gravesite if that option is elected.  It is assigned,  an orderly system.   Someday when I am done with this earthly existence I will join him in the same niche and then they will get anew carved marble cover with my name added.  Memorial Day was very emotional for me, just about the time I thought I had been doing so well in this grief journey that I am taking alone, the crash came and the tears would not stay inside me.  I have learned that t is best to let them flow, a release.  

I went to the Preston Veterans Cemetery on Memorial Day to visit Jerry's niche. It was very busy and a very emotional time for me.   I was grateful for the local woman who saw me and came to ask if I was "ok?" I told her "I'm as OK as I ever will be, thank you." S he spent a bit of time with me and walked over to the niche where she had first spotted me sitting on the cement in front of it. I appreciated her kindness.  These days the comfort comes from strangers mostly.  

 Not one person called me that day let alone thought of going with me. Later that evening Jerry's son called the first time since the service, what we used to call his self obligatory calls.  Although he and DIL and grandson come for the service, they did not stay, flew in and back home,    were no help, no comfort. I can write them off now too. Truly I never expected much support from him but now I know for sure there will be none. He is into himself. Anything I  mention he diverts to his own goings on.  I tried to tell him about the military service and he did not listen.  He has no frame of reference never having served and knows little about his father's life.   So I have nothing to say. I will post more later about the service and how that day was a blur to me although I functioned well and no one noticed.  I got through it. What choice do I have. And that is my reality, I have no choice but to go on. 

 And that is my reality, I have no choice but to go on.  “It’s kind of a dorky statement, but it is true that grief rearranges your address book. It’s amazing how many people drop out of your life in the wake of catastrophic loss. People who have been with you through thick and thin suddenly disappear, or turn dismissive, shaming, strange. Random strangers become your biggest, deepest source of comfort, if even only for a few moments.”  ― Megan Devine   

 Finding this to be true, people I thought were friends no longer know me.  They are going on about their lives. One particular friend now acts very bored the last few times I have tried to talk with her.  When I call her on the phone, she yawns or has to hang up to go  talk with her husband who has come home for lunch. My God, if's not like she doesn't see him every day all the time! I am feeling she cannot be bothered, so I will not try again, 3 strikes and out. I sometimes feel bitter and think, "just you wait...your turn will come..." but I quickly give that feeling up, it does nothing for me. I am living my new reality and my entire life has changed to something nearly unrecognizable.  

Our parish is hosting a new grief support group with another church facilitated by a nurse and a counselor.  It is to be a small group of 12 and meet weekly at the other church.  After learning it is not just for widows, and looking at the book they will use, I pass.  I can see no benefit to me from going into such a setting with mixed grievers. The book is so very elementary it would be like learning the alphabet again.  If is were just widows, I might consider, but this, nope.  The Mayo social worker or known as grief outreach worker called me and offered a widow group but they meet on zoom.  Nope to that too.  I am sick of zoom gatherings.  If it cannot be in real face to face time, nope.  I talked with her a short time and found myself annoyed at this young eager person who has not experienced this loss, yes she has lost a parent.  That is the natural order of life but not relevant to losing my best friend, my 53 year partner. I told her bluntly I have become somewhat of an expert on grief, not by choice.  But losing my only child, our son 12+ years ago and now Jerry,  I am using all the skills I have. Over years,  I have lost all 3 of my closest friends and of course all my elderly relatives.  

My life is not  going to ever be the same, no more coach trip, no more someone to take care of the house, no more hugs, just more and more of no more.  And unless I can be with a group with similar losses I am not interested.  I am not mentally ill and do not need a counselor.  I just would like company.  Sometimes just someone to eat with.  

Lately I am experiencing more down feelings, in waves, previously these had been infrequent, episodic.  So alone yet the reality is I am alone and will be. Some days the only contact I have with other people is a phone call, online--thru FB, or if I go to the store. I have often heard that people desert you in grief and I never concerned myself with it. Hah,  it wouldn't happen to me, not as active as I am.  I thought  the workout friends would endure, they did not.  I did my best with my mother in law who was a widow, not an easy person to be with but who depended on us. I used to talk with her, ask her things, have her here for meals so she would not be alone. My late aunt in PA was another widow, runs in my family, and I called her every week as well as traveling to PA to visit her.  Here, nobody to do that for me.  I think if I dropped dead in this house who would know and how long would I be here. 

I get most support, understanding and wisdom from the FB group, Grief Speaks Out.  Many of the quotes I shared here come from that site where people from all over share their grief experiences.  

It has been very hot unseasonably for us, for June, extreme 90's and 100 degrees, no rain, hot.  So I try to get my outside chores done by noon and even then I am drenched in sweat, and make periodic trips inside to drink water and cool off.  Miserable.  So not getting my daily walks this week.  I had been doing that early morning but that time I need for outdoor weeding, watering, etc, so my walks are off schedule for now.  After dinner time or later  afternoons, it is not at all possible.  The heat is strong.  This is as bad as winter when it is subzero and I stay inside.  Even the weather is not cooperative. 

Well here I am again,  just me and my shadow.....

Everything has a back story

My trusty Kenmore Jerry bought for
me in 1968, my birthday present,

 Posted on FB (see excerpt below) about my sewing machines and got to thinking about all the stories of my life that are attached to almost everything I have.  I like to share these on FB because I get a lot of feedback ad comments from friends all over the country.  Sometimes it really stirs up memories for some people.  And sometimes it is amazing how alike so many of my friends from PA days and I remain with skills like sewing.   Now I have no one to share those stories with...so this blog has to do.  

The other day I bought a new pair of khaki denim jeans at the Rootin'Crown Botique in LaCrosse,  for only $6.  Brand new, designers, original tags still on.  At that price, I grabbed a pair, besides they are petite sized 4 and fit, except too long, would have to be hemmed.  I can do that easily but was feeling lazy and thinking I could help support another local business by taking them to the Dry cleaners that does alterations.  It wouldn't cost too much so I decided to do that.  All the while my inside voice kept hounding me that  I was wasting money, I could do this myself readily, I have hemmed hundreds of jeans, slacks, etc...But when I tried to take them to the place the snarky slobby clerk announced that they were not "doing any alterations now"  WTH?   So I left immediately, brought my jeans home and took them down stairs to hem,  And my inside voice rejoiced!  So I trimmed, pressed and hemmed my new jeans at home in about 30 minutes altogether on my trusty very old Kenmore Sewing machine. 

My downstairs sewing closet

 

From my FB page: "Just hemmed a pair of bargain jeans on my old trusty Kenmore sewing machine that Jerry bought for my birthday in 1968. When we moved from CA I as going to pitch it but my late friend Sandy who was a quilter & sewer told me to keep it,that it as very well made, no plastic parts and mechanically good. So it came along and we found an old cabinet at an estate sale for it. Had it serviced/tuned up years ago here by a local gentleman who repaired/adjusted sewing machines. He and his wife who was a seamstress both told me if I ever didn't want it to call them, that it was an outstanding machine one of the best Kenmore made.... So I kept it & never did buy a new fancier digital one. It has sewed everything over the years and latest masks...has been my go to sewing machine..one of 3 I have. My late aunt gave me a portable Montgomery Wards when we first bought this home because she said "you cannot be without a sewing machine. " That was as essential to her as a stove but she kept her old time singer and used it forever too. I bought a small cabinet for the portable but kept it's antique mini Gold Leaf machine inside it. That's my tale of 3 sewing machines. They do not make'em like that anymore. And then too many just toss and replace for newer, faster, etc "

Motgomery Wards portable sewing
machine

Back to Rootin'Crown, a different unique local  thrift store that specializes in being clean, displaying items nicely, not having junk or cheap stuff, and above all does not smell. It is staffed totally by volunteers from different organizations in the area.   Donors and purchasers can designate a local charity to receive part of the proceeds.  I just donate to my friend's parish because that is easy for me.  I had forgotten about the place but on the news one evening there was a brief story about them.  Wow!  Wished I had thought about them when I was do busily clearing out Jerry's clothes and boots.  So many of the better things I could have donated here but instead took nearly all to the Salvation Army,  ah well, at least they may be put to use by someone else. 

But the gist of this post was to keep my story going, to have it out here on blogland until who knows when.   It serves a purpose. 

It's easy

 First the good news, I have found a good, decent, reliable handyman to hire do things that I cannot.   That is a relief and although I am learning all the time there is still much that is beyond my capability,  so much that Jerry did always and I cannot.  Often I do not know where to begin but stumble along.  When I am successful I feel very proud of me.  When I am challenged it is frustrating.  

 Lately doors seem to be my challenge.  That old adage, "when one door closes another opens,,,,"  maybe, maybe not.  For me lately I have not found  doors opening so I am waiting.  Mostly it  seems that I stand behind that closed door looking out and wondering, watching, waiting.  

 Months ago  to keep busy during sub zero temps I was polishing all the wooden doors and trims inside the house, a huge effort that I have never done all alone before. 
And being short I had to use the 2Step Stool to reach the tops of the doors and trims.  Kept me busy.  Then I tackled the downstairs where I yanked and pulled a folding dual wooden door off track between the study and TV room.  It began to fold up and come down on me, bigger than me but I got it to the floor.  Trouble was I could not put it back up, Called a friend to the rescue who restored it and had to unbend the bracket I'd twisted.  He and his wife cautioned me that could have been really bad and I was lucky and please be careful.  I try to be,  And yes, what would I have done underneath, wedged into the folding door,on the floor, alone, here?  But  thankfully my tribe of angels guarded me once more.  

Last winter the two end boards at the corner of the deck came loose, the wood had deteriorated.  I patched it  by holding it together with zip ties and shoved it back, wedging it into place to hold through the winter.  It did that. Nothing else came loose and the lattice work 
stayed put too,  I imagined everything would begin to fall apart like a towering jenga stucture  where a balancing piece had been pulled loose, thankfully it turned out to be not so.  So early this year I checked and decided a dose of gorilla glue could work on that wood while I figured out how to get it fixed.  I need to keep it secured and the screen in place to thwart wild life critters, rabbits, squirrels, etc  from taking up residence underneath the deck.  So I couldn't have been happier when Bob , the handyman looked at it and said, "oh that is an easy fix, I'll stop by and get it in no time."  And he did.  It was easy for him.  He replaced the ends with sturdier boards, treated wood that I can paint later when it is warmer or not.  Easy.  

So the back door to the garage is warped and has seen better days. It is original to this house.  Jerry was going to replace it, "one of these days..." and well now here I am.  So I asked Bob who again said, " sure easy.."   He measured it, told me to get a right hand swing, new lock and to go over to Menards and look, pick out what I wanted but advised me to get steel insulated, Mastercraft brand.  In another month or so because he is booked busy for a few weeks.  Well I won't be doing this until after Jerry's committal service May 7 anyway, so that works for me.  

Out of curiosity I looked on line today at Menards and wow!  Who knew a door could be so complicated, sure the dimensions are easy but so many other things, options, so I will need another quick consult before deciding.  These things that are so easy for a man who knows what to do are as challenging as a door closing in my face to me.  

  

Memoir writing

A chill winter wind is hanging around today and with the grey overcast temperatures are not conducive to a walk.  Nope it is the kind of weather that makes me retreat inside.  It also makes me sleepy.  But at least it is better than a year ago when we had snow on this day, so I saw in my FB reminder photo today.  So I will not complain too much.  I have enough to keep me busy inside.  

 I started blogging years ago at the urging of a few dear friends and relatives who enjoyed my letters and my writings and felt I had a gift, something to say, something to share.  They have all since passed on and joined my angel tribe.  I lost my primary blog audience but I kept at it as  a pass time outlet, to record things about the travels we were on, sometimes to record something I did not want to forget about and often especially lately in my grief, I write to vent.  This is a safe enough space to me because it is not read and certainly not read by  a particular person who has pushed my buttons.  For a time there were a couple groups I wrote with and enjoyed but they too finally went by the wayside, one was Sepia Saturday posts and there I share a lot about my ancestors.  It helped me  in my genealogical research too.  

For a time I stepped fully away from blogging here and chose Facebook as primary communication.  It still is and a preferred way that I can keep in touch with so may all over the country at the same time.  But with Jerry's passing I migrate back here sometimes to write.  It serves as akind of journal for me.  

I used to think that someday I might write my memoir.  So when I saw the following by author Sue Monk Kidd on Facebook today I decided to copy it here to preserve the thoughts.  

Sue Monk Kidd

 For the woman I overheard say she wants to write a memoir, but can’t help feeling it’s self-indulgent…

May I go on record here. Writing memoir is gloriously self-indulgent and I’m perfectly okay with that. Women have been told so many times to be selfless that it can actually feel uncomfortable when we attempt to search for one.

When I write memoir, I’m undoubtedly in search of wholeness. Maybe I’m trying to resolve something, heal a wound, redeem some part of myself that has been orphaned or lost, or give a voice to what has been silenced. Maybe I’m trying to step into my truth. Maybe I’m trying to reveal myself to myself.

But here’s something I didn’t expect. Writing memoir can also be gloriously other-indulgent. The process not only takes me into myself, it frees me from myself. When I manage to distill my experience into meaning and integrate that meaning into my life through the creation of a narrative, I make it possible to move on without all the preoccupation and unconscious pull of the experience. It’s the unexamined experience that wreaks the most havoc in my life and in my relationships.

The surprise is always this. The deeper we delve into our own lives, the more likely we are to tap into a universal experience. We find the portal to everyone.

Daffodils

 

Late yesterday between rain showers I picked daffodils that began to bloom last week when he had warmer balmy spring days.  I remind myself that April showers bring May flowers. I  shared this on Facebook and commented how I intend to plant more bulbs this fall.  I used to plant bulbs every year when we lived in California on my birthday.  But here by the time November arrives I am either too tired out from all the leaves I have cleared and or it is already too cold and wet for me to be digging and or I neglect to buy bulbs ahead of time and they are not available locally when my intentions arise.  So I made a note on the calendar.  We will see.  But I thought about CA and how I wished I had a picture of those blooms.  Back then, I did not have the easy access to tablet and cell phones.  Cell phones were new and for travel or emergency only, lacking the camera features of todays.  And too, I never thought about photoing the bulbs.  I took it for granted that they would always reappear.  It is so easy to take things for granted when younger and busy with career and family and just all the things of life.  Today I have seems like all the time I needed back then and the hours sometimes go too slowly.  

I did find a couple of poor photos taken 1999 of the early blooms in CA where January heralded first blooms.  On one bank I had abundant white Dutch iris  mixed with the white jonquils and along another fence the yellow King Alfreds had already begun to appear.  I scanned both photos together. It was dark so this probably was taken after I got home from work.  The crape myrtle tree trunk is barren here.  I reflected a bit on "those were the days.." and I suppose the refrain, we thought they'd never end...at least back then I did not give much attention to ends.  Life has changed though.

The rains have passed for today and although it is cloudy and cool I will get out there for a short walk on this Divine Mercy Sunday.  Later I will link in to a mass at my old home church St Mary's of Czestchowa in New Kensington via zoom.  I am  excited about this virtual opportunity to go home. :Few things lately have had me that excited so I will appreciate this relief. 

Fake it until you make it.

 I do not know where I heard that or if I made it up, but yesterday it came to me  clearly.  I am doing just that.  When moments come, I push through and let them pass.  Now that the weather is warm and spring appears here to stay I can work outside, dig in the dirt and keep busy that way.   Dandelions, first bursts are showing in nearby fields, seems like overnight after just with a couple warm days, thankful we have a lawn service that sprays our yard to prevent these prolific weeds. I snapped these alongside the school on my walk yesterday.  

 

Yesterday I was busy, bought rosemary, basil and parsley at Home Depot and planted them.  Love that scent of rosemary which I pot each year.  Really enjoy cutting my own fresh herbs to use in my meals..

Dirt digging lifts my spirits I have been doing it all my life, early memories  with my granpap Teofil digging in the dirt, maybe I was 4?  And this year is no different.  I resisted a  temptation yesterday to buy more roses  for the very diminished front rose garden, but going along the aisles I talked myself out of it.  Jerry was better at digging the deeper holes for rose bushes, here  and I worry about their winter survival.  I have lost most of the ones I started with. In summer we get the dreadful Japanese beetles here and they have no repellant so that means I have to catch them by hand, usually early in the morning and drown them in a jar, just like my grandma Rose did except her jar had kerosene and I use only detergent in water.  I guess I will have to be content with my memories of my 400 roses in CA.   

Yesterday our snow plow guy stopped by with his bill for March and said he was done with snow but I should not worry because if we get a storm he will plow me out..  I agreed I am very done with snow too and now that I have dragged the furniture out onto the deck from the season room, it is done.  I now have reclaimed the season room for living in.  I like to sit there the few times I do sit down thru the day.  It is peaceful,. An afternoon glass of wine goes perfectly there.  

Being a local friend too he asked me how I was doing and getting used to being by myself.  I told him it is not easy after 53 years this is a new routine  but I am not the only one living alone and I will fake it till I make it.  He said, Well you might not always be alone, you are a good looking woman and some guy will come around."  To which I almost shouted, "not for me never ever.."  He laughed and said he knew he'd get a rise out of me that way.  I suppose it was a complement as well as a tease, but  I still miss Jerry and know I will forever,.  I cannot expect different after 53 years.   No one will ever replace him.  I am financially ok and do not have to  move nor adjust my lifestyle downward, do not have to work, did not have to make anymore quick decisions changing things.  That is positive, many are not so fortunate, but we planned carefully and I worked at my career 34 years, and we saved.  So here I am faking until I make it.     

No Skin Off My Nose

Judging behavior not the person and based on experiences.  I tell myself "no skin off my nose" about things I try to not let bother me lately and often I find it is what I try to convince myself of with the annoyances of what Jerry's son does or does not do.  Yes, supposed to be my son too after being married to his father for 53 years, but I do not feel that comfortable with him and I do not believe he does with me either.  After all his head has been directed by his mother and even though he was here through and on Jerry's last day, and did what he felt he could, the attitude resumes. While here he sat with his phone most often.  Was ready to leave as fast  as he could which was ok with me. No way  would I try to explain to him that just maybe a bit of support would have been nice.  The words and promises, "if you need anything just call me..."  Sure, as if it were that easy.  They live in CA, we/me in MN.  So that is empty to me.  

Actions speak louder than words and lack of being in touch and overall lack of concern  resonate clearly with me. Now not even occasional texts from DIL. What else did I expect?  Not much really but guess I had hoped for better.  What has me referring to no skin off my nose is the latest  as time approaches for Jerry's committal service in May. "We'll be there" he said when he was here and on the phone since.  And they will.  We means he, DIL, and adult grand daughter and grandson.  Although both grands are married with their own lives (?) they are still interwoven.  That is how they live and it is a lifestyle neither Jerry nor I understood having been independent people who managed to live away from family and who raised our late son to be independent as well.  Not so they. So he called to say they had booked their hotel suite  would fly the day before the service and leave a day after.  Staying at a hotel across the river in La Crosse.  I ponder why other than they know it is the "right thing to do" they are  flying in for the service.  Perhaps he really does care, but this feels very nonchalant.  Obviously no concern about if I might need something because there will be no time for it.  I can hear Jerry telling me, "you expect too much from people"   

At least the granddaughter is in touch, phones at times and talks.  I feel a closeness, love for her.  The grandson, nope not after his snit when we were in CA in 2015.  He hurt Jerry and never apologized and so I was done then and  remain done. When I am through I am really through, truly a no skin reaction.   Perhaps it is defensive on my part to not experience the same treatment again.  I prefer to think I am wiser  than I used to be and have learned that when people show you who they are, believe them the first time.  Do not give them another chance to show you.  Forgive, sure but that does not mean interact or return for another dose.  I would love to have had time to spend just with granddaughter who called to share her exciting news that she is pregnant, expecting their first  in September.  Her hubby will not be coming along, someone has to take care of the home and their 3 dogs! But that will not be either and Mom and Dad are in control. 

I am also a bit disappointed that SIL will not be staying longer, but her partner is coming with her and he has a medical appointment on May 10, the service is May 7, so they will need to return to Denver quickly.  What was I expecting?  Maybe that she would be able to stay for a week or so and  spend time with me.  Yet I understand and she did a lot when Jerry was ill.  Marty has issues to be dealt with and yet he is making the effort to be here in support.  And Jerry reminds me from afar beyond, "you expect too much from people.  Expect nothing and they will not disappoint you.".  

 I did not realize my expectations were so high but now I am learning that really they are.  When I got annoyed about something Jerry would remind me to "consider the source. People  only know what they know. For some with limited life experiences they do not know much.  

I suppose I expected that they might have a taste of  grief I am working along.  Maybe they do.  I am perhaps looking through my own expectations and how I have and continue to act  helping through deaths, burials, funerals.  It was never about me, always about them. Now that it is central to me, I feel it is still just about them for their convenience for fitting into whatever all else they have happening.  I suppose I expected that these really were concerned about me just a little, and yet now I clearly feel not so and I am disappointed.  I know I am on my own.  I know I will survive.  And I know I will get through this.  

I will be here alone again right after the committal. nothing new, I have been alone these month s now since December.  I will deal with myself and my grief  just as I  have been doing.   I will survive because I have to.  But this has been a  reminder that all I have is me and the Lord. and my friends here whom I try not to pester.   

 I  follow a FB group, "Grief Speaks Out" and usually always gain some tidbit of wisdom or comfort from reading, and commenting.  Most of us in that site are currently in grief stages,  some have been there for years, some are new to yet another grief, like me,  some are young, some are old.  The other day we agreed how grief does not have a timeline. 

I think I am doing well and most who see me agree.  Some marvel, some wonder, I suppose.  But only a few really know that this is the most lifechanging event for me,  possibly worse than losing Steve, our son, because after all, I still had Jerry and he was my rock.  Few know me well enough to realize and the truth is most people are talk and that's where it stops.  

Best to not reflect on what is beyond our control and on those things we cannot change. Survival means  getting back to it, no skin off my nose. .  

Lenten Meditation on why me

 

Yesterday's meditation in the Little Black Book, pictured on  the left,  appropriately reflects a lesson about the crosses we get to bear in life.  been through can share.   When Jerry was so ill and coming to the last months of his lfe, our PCP told me at my annual visit, "we all get our crosses to bear."  So true and I was certainly thinking why me, why him, why us, why now, just WHY?

Years ago in PA a longtime friend and I were commiserating.  we have both lost adult children, a grief only those who have encountered can share.  We admitted that at times we thought this "why me?" As we talked about the questions we would be asking the Lord at the end of our time on earth, my friend said, "likely when we ask why, why me?"  we might be shocked to hear the Lord respond, "why not you,  you are nobody special."  

Ever since, I have followed my why me thoughts with that response, yes indeed, why not. Some of us are given heavier crosses certainly, but if we have faith and trust, the Lord will bear them with us.  This does not ease some of the pangs of misery that we feel at the moment but it can provide comfort.  

This Lenten meditation was another good reminder....it happens in this existence,  our life here on earth.  We can only try to Be Still and Be Not Afraid.   

"Happiness can only be achieved by looking inward and learning to enjoy whatever life has, and this requires transforming greed into gratitude."

— St. John Chrysostom

Grief stages and reality of aloneness

Before mass the other Saturday evening, our deacon  asked me how I was doing and said he thinks about me frequently.  I  replied, "I am doing good, I think,  and others seem to say so too.  I have my moments but I expect them and I let them be."   He asked how long we had been married and when I told him 53 years, he replied, "when you share a lifetime together like that and that is a lifetime for many and beyond a lifetime for others, you can expect to grieve.  It is absolutely perfectly natural."  I shared with him that I think I am at peace, if this is peace because I know I did all I could for those months and the last hardest weeks, when I so worried about how I would continue to care for him as he became weaker and could hardly get up out of bed.  All I could do was pray.  But God was with me and still is always. I knew Jerry despised becoming frail and feeble, his main complaint was he hated not being able to do anything, he would say, "I can't do anything."  He had always been strong, healthy. He had overcome and survived. At Jerry's last breath when he gasped and was gone immediately and I saw the peaceful look of comfort that came all over his face immediately, I knew he was better off, that his struggle ended with victory of eternal rest and that we will be together again, that we will be together in my heart here on earth as long as I live."  "  He agreed that my faith is my great sustainer and I replied, "yes, I know ...it has held me through the loss of my only son and others...it is all I have left and it will just have to be there for me.  Somehow I always suspected I might become4 a widow because Jerry was 7 years older than me, but with his health and the longevity of his family, his genes surely meant a long life ahead.  He would tease that he would see 100 and surely he could have if those lungs had not been ravaged." 

Later, after mass, at home, I pondered  if all the practice I have had these past few years in losing  my dearest to deaths has numbed me or prepared me.  I have been blessed with little despair, not the  weeping and sobbing as some do at all.  The losses may have helped me to realize that death is the end of this life for each and every one of us, no one gets out of this life alive. It certainly has required me to become resilient, but then I had Jerry alongside me as my rock, now  just me and God.  I have had plenty of grief rehearsals. 

Currently a longtime friend from PA is grieving  and marking her first a month loss of her husband.  But she has family and  from her FB posts her daughter stays the night with her,  she does not face aloneness and seems to be unable to cope.  She is truly mournful to the depths.  I feel sorry for her and yet, I feel a bit annoyed.  I think, "get a hold of yourself, you have support, family people right there....and remember you are not the only widow in the world."  But I do not say that to her,  I  only do as others, offer a few encouraging words and  will send her another card soon.  And yet I compare to myself and my situation.  I know we are different people and perhaps I am super strong because I have to be. There is no one who will shoulder this with me.  There are days when I hear from nobody and on gloomy cold wintry days I keep myself busy inside doing something, any project, because I have no human contact.  I can make phone calls and I do.  I can post to FB and talk with others and I do, but it is not the same as having another person around.  But I just have to get used to it,  Jerry is not coming back.  This I know.  

t is now just me and I must do my darndest no matter what.  I must take care of me.  I promised Jerry I would.  In fact I think once I got it into his mind that I would be ok and he believed that he was free to leave this earth.  The last week he would say, "you are strong, you will be ok, and I will always watch for you." This little cartoon I saw years ago is so appropriate, . 

 

My mother and father 
 1943 Charleston, SC

I  think back over my family and all the women who became widows, not a one of them sat around and wept nor carried on.  It just is not our way, not that they did not grieve, they too were hurt, devastated, but they knew life must go on. I think of my Mom, pregnant with me,  WWII era and my father a B24 pilot in the Army Air Corps.  He and his plane and entire crew disappeared into the Atlantic.  No trace ever found.  Mom was
young only 20 and alone there in South Carolina when she got that dreadful news, her mother, my grandmother went to her on the train and brought her back to PA. Mom always said, "life is for the living."  She did remarry and life did go on.  My grandma became a widow later in life and then immediately moved into our house.  Years later when she came out to CA to help me, a dumb young, struggling single mother, she said that she wished she would have had a way to keep her own place instead of moving in and  cautioned me to always be able to take care of myself.  Life was different then for her, she had no income. She said back then that "you never know what life will throw at you so just be sure to keep your hands folded to the Lord.  

Something else that has given me strength is my foundation in change management in career days, way back when I was implementing quality teams, etc.  Part of the training focused on the stages of grief based on the  research work of Elizabeth Kubler Ross into deaths.  Death is the ultimate change.  We learned about DABDA, and how some people cycle back and around and may become perpetually stuck in one cycle or another.  She asserts there are  5 stages of grief, reflected by the first letter of each, and peoples reactions vary.  They may not  smoothly flowing from one stage to another.  They may not move through the stages in a linear way.   

• Denial   What?  Can't be.  Will not happen.  No way
• Anger   How can this happen.. I do not deserve this. This is not fair. Where's God?
• Bargaining  Just another month, year, day, etc.  I will be a better person.  I will do.....
• Depression  My heart is broken.  I can't go on. I want to die.   
• Acceptance      So this is the end.  Let me be still.  I can go on.  I must persevere

I feel blessed and that my faith has me at acceptance.  That my faith and life brought me to this.  And though I do not like it,  I wouldn't have chosen this, it is now here .And I must go on, alone.  And keep my faith.

 

WIDOWHOOD

 The following  appeared today on a friend, AWON sibling's FB post.  Joyce is also a widow.  This hits the bullseye for me,  I have had so many of these thoughts.  Today is Valentine's Day.  I almost totally forgot it, first time in over 50 years.  I would have too if not for talking with sister in law on phone who sent me a card and a chocolate bar.   Another friend posted on FB  the roses her family had sent her to continue  the tradition her hubby, whom she lost in Oct.,  had of bringing her roses on Valentine's Day.  This is my first year in ever so long without roses too.  I suppose if I had not been stuck inside at home waiting out these sub zero temps I might have been tempted to buy some for myself.  I did not face that nor the heart tug that would have gotten to me watching guys buy for their sweeties.  This is a sad day now for me.  But I will make some phone calls and keep busy with polishing the wooden trims upstairs, doors, baseboards, a project I started a couple days ago.  A project Jerry always helped with.  Now it is my solitary task and I need the step stool to reach the tops of the doors, trims, etc. We have lots of wood in this house and the project takes me days.  Busyness, my antidote.

ONE MORE DAY·

“Widowhood is more than missing your spouse’s presence. It is adjusting to an alternate life. It is growing around a permanent amputation. 

Widowhood is going to bed for the thousandth time, and still, the loneliness doesn’t feel normal. The empty bed a constant reminder. The night no longer brings intimacy and comfort, but the loudness of silence and the void of connection. 

Widowhood is walking around the same house you have lived in for years and it no longer feeling like home. Because “home” incorporated a person. And they’re not there. Homesickness fills your heart and the knowledge that it will never return haunts you. 

Widowhood is seeing all your dreams and plans you shared as a couple crumble around you. The painful process of searching for new dreams that include only you amount to climbing Mount Everest. And every small victory of creating new dreams for yourself includes a new shade of grief that their death propelled you to this path.  

Widowhood is second guessing everything you thought you knew about yourself. Your life had molded together with another’s and without them you have to relearn all your likes, hobbies, fears, goals. The renaissance of a new person makes you proud and heartbroken simultaneously. 

Widowhood is being a stranger in your own life. The unnerving feeling of watching yourself from outside your body, going through the motions of what was your life, but being detached from all of it. You don’t recognize yourself. Your previous life feels but a vapor long gone, like a mist of a dream you begin to wonder if it happened at all. 

Widowhood is the irony of knowing if that one person was here to be your support, you would have the strength to grieve that one person. The thought twists and confuses you. If only they were here to hold you and talk to you, you’d have the tenacity to tackle this unwanted life. To tackle the arduous task of moving on without them. 

Widowhood is missing the one person who could truly understand what is in your heart to share. The funny joke, the embarrassing incident, the fear compelling you or the frustration tempting you. To anyone else, you would have to explain, and that is too much effort, so you keep it to yourself. And the loneliness grows inside you. 

Widowhood is struggling with identity. Who are you if not their spouse? What do you want to do if not the things you planned together? What brand do you want to buy if not the one you two shared for all those years? What is your purpose if the job of investing into your marriage is taken away? Who is my closest companion when my other half isn’t here? 

Widowhood is feeling restless because you lost your home, identity, partner, lover, friend, playmate, travel companion, co-parent, security, and life. And you are drifting with an unknown destination. 

Widowhood is living in a constant state of missing the most intimate relationship. No hand to hold. No body next to you. No partner to share your burden. 

Widowhood is being alone in a crowd of people. Feeling sad even while you’re happy. Feeling guilty while you live. It is looking back while moving forward. It is being hungry but nothing sounding good. It is every special event turning bittersweet. 

Yes. It is much more than simply missing their presence. It is becoming a new person, whether you want to or not. It is fighting every emotion mankind can feel at the very same moment and trying to function in life at the same time. 

Widowhood is frailty. Widowhood is strength. Widowhood is darkness. Widowhood is rebirth. 

Widowhood…..,,,,,is life changing."

 By: Alisha Bozarth

Journaling for health and well being

 Somehow I have known this for a long time but now Mayo Clinic agrees publicly that journaling is beneficial.  I have begun using this blog as my journal because since returning here sporadically there are no followers.  That's ok with me, I can journal away, working my way through winter isolation in this season of my grief.   I suppose these days of pandemic and more isolation to more people countrywide bring on more feelings of isolation and loom.   I have copied and pasted here as a self reminder, what Mayo says:

Journaling: Why it's good for you, how to do it  By Mayo Clinic Staff   Do you ever find yourself feeling overwhelmed, stressed or anxious? One often-overlooked way to deal with these feelings is journaling.  "As situations become stressful, we can easily become overwhelmed and caught up in trying to just get through the day," says Craig Sawchuk, Ph.D., L.P., psychologist and co-chair of Mayo Clinic's Division of Integrated Behavioral Health. "Journaling is a helpful way to take time out to reflect and focus on where you're at this moment and how you have been doing."       

The power of journaling  Journaling is one way to express your thoughts in a safe space and without judgment. It can help you organize your feelings, process worries or frustrations, or clarify a problem you're working on.  Journal writing also appears to reduce stress and increase well-being. In one study, adults who spent time journaling three days a week experienced several benefits. They reported less anxiety and depressive symptoms, and greater resilience.   Other studies have found that journaling may improve blood pressure, heart symptoms, self-care and quality of life.  Journaling can also help you stay focused on your progress toward health-related goals.  "Journaling increases self-accountability," says Dr. Sawchuk. "It can also create an opportunity for self-reinforcement by encouraging progress toward these goals."  

Getting started with journaling   There's no right way to journal. The key is finding the method that works best for you.  "Journaling can take on many forms," says Dr. Sawchuk. "It can be a brief stress-o-meter rating from 1-10, writing down the things you're grateful for, or an opportunity to set and check in on progress with goal setting."   The main idea, Dr. Sawchuk says, is that your journal entries are brief, focused, relevant and practical. He offers this advice for getting started:    

 Keep it simple. Don't worry about having a fancy journal or complicated journaling system. "Set the bar low to start," says Dr. Sawchuk. "The simpler the better!"     

Make it portable. Carry your journal with you so you can write when the inspiration hits. Or keep your journal on your smartphone, which is likely to be close by.   

Add it to your routine. Journal at around the same time each day — for instance, every morning or at night before you go to bed. It may be helpful to set an alarm to help you remember.   

Set time limits. "Set limits on how long you journal when you first start," says Dr. Sawchuk. "From 2 to 10 minutes is a good goal."   

Get creative. "Try to make it fun and creative," says Dr. Sawchuk. "The brain loves novelty, so having a cool looking way to journal may be more engaging than a pencil and a blank piece of paper."   

Bullet journaling, collages or illustrations are just three ways to be more creative in your journaling.   

Be yourself. Remember that no one else is going to see your journal. Free yourself up to write what you really think and feel.   

Don't let journaling add to your stress. Don't feel pressure to be a good writer, to have perfect penmanship or to use a fancy journal.    And be wary of trying to do too much with your journal. "Don't try to track so many things that you overwhelm yourself," says Dr. Sawchuk. "That would be counterproductive to the purpose of journaling."    

Don't get discouraged. Don't give up or be hard on yourself if you miss a day. "Each day is a new day to get back on track," says Dr. Sawchuk.

I do not agree with nor follow all these hints,  first I am not that self disciplined and long ago decided my journaling would occur when I felt like it or had the time, I could not make it another to do task and be stressed if I missed it.  I wanted release not another obligation.  

I am currently sorting through my collection of my journals that I wrote  with pen over so manyyears, especially when I was in my career days in CA.  I have often thought how irrelevant to my life today are all those things I fretted so about in the bureaucratic world of state government.  How seriously I took things that now are meaningless and when I read some of the worry I had over such trivial things I shake my head and wonder what I could have been thinking.  Still, it was my world then.  Who knows why I kept these, now something else to rid self and space of.  I think once upon a time I fantasized about writing a memoir and would need these as reminders.  I did not do that just like other grand  plans and ideas and now I have no interest to do so.  What for?  Bigger yet, who for?  

I have decided to destroy all those writings, they were my personal thoughts.  i have no one who needs to read them when I am gone and well frankly some things I would not care for anyone to read nor know.  They would ultimately get tossed, so I review a few pages now and then, usually in evening while I am watching tv and then tear the page.  Like looking through old photos, but these words do not puzzle me so much as photos can.  Especially if I did not write the  places, names and dates on the photos from way back, there can be people I do not know.  So I toss them.  

Most all my journals begin with a similar page at the very beginning.  Way back to advise anyone who might be tempted to read it that it would be best if they didn't.  To keep prying eyes away.  Jerry would never have done so I know so I was not as concerned about him as anyone else who might be around the house whenever.   This is a good wintry project.    

As our sub zero temperatures have continued and I am staying in for now the  3rd day in a row I look for things to do.  I have  occupied myself  the last two days  polishing wood upstairs, the  baseboards, doors, cabinetry in the bathrooms, the hallways all the extra bedroom doors.  I have a lot of wood and do not  really do this type of polishing shining but maybe once a year.  Jerry used to help out on this task but now it is another of those things I must do.  It eases the boredom and otherwise stir crazies that could overtake me.  I had intended to get out today but the winds howled this morning and the snow fell again and the weather advisory was stay in at -8 degrees when I got up this morning.  Granted that is warmer than the 25 below a  few nights ago.  

 I did a bit of driveway shoveling yesterday and cleared a path down the drive to the mailbox. Although it was zero degrees the sun was shining and I could work out there for a bit.  The snow dusting was not enough for the snow removal guy I hire to bother with so he did not show up yesterday.  He uses a small Bob cat.  So dustings are immaterial to him.  I wish I could hire someone to snow blow or shovel but that is a pipe dream these days. 

 I would have finished today but the additional morning snow made it  more than I care to deal with.  And yet he still has not come by, I hope he does tomorrow or yet this afternoon.  Otherwise  it will stay,  the walk will not be shoveled and I will drive over it, which I dislike doing but will to get out tomorrow or Monday.  Fortunately I do not need anything, I have enough food supply to eat for  many months here.  But I just like to  get some outside world contact.  Otherwise it is just me here.  That is the worst,  Phone calls help some yet it is very lonesome that I know.   

One more door to finish up here on teh main floor and then done until I tackle the kitchen Monday.  It keeps me busy and that is key to me. 

Below zero and holding single digitas

 At 7:30 AM three thermometers showed -25 degrees, the house thermostat with outside sensor, atomic clock, and the old vintage one on the back deck outside the kitchen window.  I do  not ever recall it being this cold, so began Day 2 of another day I will not leave the house.  I kept busy watched 3 masses on tv first, doing this and that and reminding me that I can be grateful for a warm comfy house and not having to go out anywhere.  Others are not so blessed.  We are to give thanks for everything so there it was.  I had some lemons to use and have had a craving for custard lately after eating a wonderful dessert a friend brought to me. So I entertained myself by making  a small recipe of lemon custard, the one I'd use for pie filling.  

While I stirred it constantly as required to bring to a boil, lest it scorch I wondered why custards only use the yolks of the eggs.  I shared that on FB and a few responded that the yolks thicken and the whites  are too watery.    

But I still wondered if the amount of liquid could not be reduced to compensate for the whites and why the whites could not simply be whisked into the egg yolks and used.  My stirring stirred my curiosity.  So I have unanswered questions. the next time I make custard I will experiment for myself.  Meantime today I made a whites only egg omelet in a cup, microwaved to use up the eg whites.  And 3 tangy lemon custard servings await for later.  All o keep myself from going completely stir crazy confined here with just myself  

I miss Jerry,  I know I always will and I know this is all taking lots of getting used to.  Yesterday I wrote a long letter to a friend who just lost her husband too.  But she despite family, adult children, with her is feeling more despondent and cries.  Maybe there is something wrong with me but I have had no real crying jags.  I suppose it is because I took care of him for so long and knew he was truly suffering, miserable at the end and did not want to be that way.  My priest says it is because I have such deep faith and know what lies Beyond.  I know he is not coming back and I will never replace him.  I miss the presence of being with someone else in the house even if we were doing other things.  I miss his hugs.  I miss cooking something and having his comments, mostly of appreciation.  There is ever so much missed yet I pause and remember.  

I keep busy,  last week the living room chairs and a small stool were picked up to be reupholstered. They were burgundy and one got a bit shabby from Jerry sitting in it a lot as he was confined to the living room, first floor and as his world shrunk in size moving between his hospital bed and the chair.  Since they match I chose to have both recovered at the same time.  Thankfully Deb, the gal who does this is still working, not yet retired. She has done other pieces for me.  Another year+ to go, for her, whew.  Otherwise I would have been without a resource.  Burgundy fabric is no longer a fashionable color so the re-upholsterer advised me to get that idea out of my head.  I wanted something different anyway,  time to change.  

My first thought was a sage green to go with the floral print of the sofa.  I did not want blue because I have lots of blue elsewhere including downstairs and green appealed.  But as I perused the many swatch books for a couple days I could not find a sage fabric that was suited.  The one I first chose  began to look too drab after I observed it in the different lighting and at different  times of day against the cream carpeting and cream draperies.  I did not want a tweed which seems to be   very popular now but neither did I want just a solid color. 

The burgundy chairs have a tone on tone sort of pattern that appears solid but is evident closer up.  So back to looking and finally I was down to 2 different choice's, at least that is what  I thought.   

Both fabrics by Barrow, the same manufacturer, both with exact same specifications, both the same color "kelp", but with different names.  One was Nut Island  the other Ripple.  Deb laughed when I called her with my selection and dilemma.  She was familiar with the manufacturers doing this, identical with different names in different swatch books.   Hardly ever noticed by customers but since I had two.  Apparently this was the right one for me I felt because I had picked it out twice.  When I  looked at both together I had to laugh.  What are the odds?  I am not sure which she ordered but that is my selection,  Kelp not sage with a dot of yellow and blue to break up the solid.   

The little footstool made in the  1970's in PA by my late Uncle John went too.  It did not need to be recovered but I figured why not,  did not need another pattern in the living room and since I will keep that small stool here for use  while sitting in one of the chairs, might as well match it too.   Jerry used it more toward the end instead of the larger hassock from the bedroom recliner.  This little stool is just right for me to put my feet up when sitting in the chairs.  Funny how it had the same shade of green I chose to recover and there is a gold to this tapestry too.  I have two other of these downstairs that Uncle John did with his friend who did woodworking.  The old tapestry is still in tremendous shape.  The other two are different and one matches the seat of another wooden chair recovered,  more of a predominant red, fabric.  So that was a project that kept my focus for a week. 

Now the living room looks empty without the chairs but it will not be long until she returns them.  Fortunately for me she is doing mine now ahead of another big job she expects that will keep her busy through May.  I was in no rush, but it will be fine to have this done and over with.  For now it is just me here and I retreat downstairs to watch tv at night once again.  And if I do sit in the living room the sofa works fine.  Should anyone stop by and want to sit in the living room I can drag dining room chairs in for them.  I will get by just as I have been.