Love and Goodbyes

You know, it's true what they say. To love means taking a risk of being hurt.

Since Chuck died, I've sworn to myself many times that I will never love anyone with my whole heart ever again. Of course, I can't stop loving those I already love. But I swore my heart was closed off to any additional "risks". I definitely would never love anyone new. But I also wouldn't love anyone any more than I already do.

I figured it's pretty simple. I remain neutral...or level. And once I go through the pain of losing my current loved ones? There is no chance for the pain of loss to touch me ever again. (Of course it's been in the back of my mind all along about what I will do if and when my sons have kids. Am I going to NOT love any new grandchildren? How is that possible?) I'm sure this is just a logical (grief) response to an illogical (grief) thought pattern.

But this last week with our oldest granddaughter, Lindsey, visiting has proved to me that I am not capable of withholding love. Although I've always loved her, she opened my heart up even more during her stay. In seven short days, she taught me that love is worth the possible pain. An 8-year-old taught me that...such an important life lesson. She taught me that there is always hope and that anyone can persevere through the hardest times. (And believe me, this little girl has seen more difficulties and heartbreak than even a grown adult should have to endure.)

I worried so much in the days leading up to her visit. I thought I would break down and cry the moment I saw her. I didn't though. It was a happy, but casual, reunion. Our visit was nice. It wasn't overly exciting. We weren't on the go all week...trying to fill up every minute with some exhilarating adventure. We played games. We basically hung out around home. We were just together. I asked her what she wanted to do. She didn't care. She wanted to play games. She wanted me to watch her favorite tv shows with her. She just wanted us to be together. It's funny how a child can take you back to the basics, isn't it?

No, there were never any extra special days. We didn't drive here and visit there. We didn't spend much money. The most extravagant (expensive) thing we did was go to the movie theater. We played games (she beat me most of the time), we watched tv, we ran errands together, we caught toads (she's a girly-girl and a tomboy all mixed together!). And we talked. We talked a lot.

We talked about her school. Her new friends. We talked about everyday things. We talked about my job. We talked about clothes and makeup and hair. We talked about pets. We talked about family...about her mom. Her sisters whom she misses so much.

We talked about her Grandpa. About his funeral. About where he is buried. About memories of him.

We talked about life. We talked about death.

And everything in between. Sometimes until very late into the night.

We bonded. Just when I thought we couldn't be closer, our bond became tighter.

.....sigh.

And then it was time to say goodbye again. I took it much harder than I thought I would. Yeah, I thought about whether I would cry or not when I first laid my eyes upon her again. I didn't stop and consider the goodbye part of it. I didn't seriously think about it until this morning. I talked to her on our trip about us keeping in touch a little more often. She expressed her wishes to come visit more often and for a longer period of time next summer. We strategized on how we could get together sooner...instead of waiting almost another year.

And then we arrived at our destination.

Her other, less favorite :), Grandma gave her a bear hug and told her that she missed her. I'm sure she did. There is no way that can compare to the way I've missed her for the last 10 months. When Lindsey walked around to the other side of the car to put her stuff inside, I took the opportunity to thank my husband's ex-wife (whom he wasn't very fond of...still...after 20 years) and my nemesis for all of these years..."Thank you."

"Thank you for letting her come and visit. It was really good for me. And for her, too, I think."

And then I cried. Damn tears. I didn't want to. I didn't want to appear vulnerable or weak. Not in front of the ex-wife of all people. She hugged me and told me not to cry. She replied, "Any time you want to see her." She told me to let her know if there is anything she can do.

This might sound cruel, but I don't trust her. You would have to know the history to understand that. But I have to take her for her word. She has the ultimate control over Lindsey now. Her word and her promise is my only hope for a future with Lindsey...my Granddaughter. Our Granddaughter. She doesn't belong to me. We all have to share her. (Although I am the one who taught her to say "Grandma" when she was less than a year old!)

I feel honored and privileged that I can still be her Grandma. I am so lucky.

I got my emotions in check enough to hug and kiss Lindsey goodbye. She left with the hope that we will see each other soon. Unfortunately, she has learned at an early age to not take things like this for granted. She left happy. Not happy to be going "home". But happy and fulfilled because she spent the week with her favorite Grandma. (Her words...not mine.)

I cried for about the first 40 miles home. I felt like I lost her all over again. Just like last summer. Last summer may have been more difficult because I didn't know if I would ever be allowed to see her again. It hurt like hell. But last summer may have also been easier because Chuck and I cried together. I had somebody here who knew exactly what I was feeling. I had somebody here to tell me to "calm down"...as only he could. I had somebody here who was going through the same exact loss that I was.

Yeah, I cried because of having to say goodbye to her. My Lindsey. But I think I also released so many more tears for the many great losses I've experienced in the last year. Lindsey is a person. A unique and special person. But she is also a symbol of my life with Chuck. Of our life together. On so many occasions, our life revolved around her and her sisters. To lose her would be like a break in a big, strong chain of memories.

I've had to say too many goodbyes lately.

I will move forward from this past week having learned and grown. That beautiful little girl reminded me that to never allow myself this type of unconditional love would be equal to dying. She taught me that love is life and life is love. She taught me that it is worth taking the risk of being hurt.

After a week of fun and light and love, the house is too quiet once again.

But my heart is full. I have been reminded how love can be...in its purest and most simple form. I am loved by an innocent child.

She's worth the risk.

On a lighter note.....

My online community of widowed friends has a knack for making light of all the stupid things we do due to our minds not functioning as well these days. We have even coined our own term for it. We endearingly call it "Widow Brain" or "Widda Brain". Of course, every person in the world has a "blonde moment" every now and then. I don't know if there is any scientific evidence to prove that this is a real phenomenon specific to someone who has been through a major life change or trauma. But it can be very frustrating sometimes.

These things range from serious issues to menial everyday tasks. Here are a few examples:
(By the way, these are experiences posted by my online friends...not me!)

• Deodorant does not work as hairspray.

• The dry clothes don't need to be dried again...unless you forget to take them out, and put the wet clothes from the washer in with them. Or unless they're not at all dry, because you never pushed the button to start the dryer to begin with.

• When going to a drive through restaurant, it is a good idea to actually get the food at the second window that you have already paid for at the first window before driving off.

• You can water a fake plant that someone gave you as often as you want - it's not going to grow. Someone gave one to me at my husband's funeral and I watered it for a year before I figured it out. I swore I bloomed a new flower too.

• Before you crank the propane tank open and strike the match, MAKE SURE THE LID IS UP ON THE BBQ!!! I almost blew my friggin head off!!!

• Don't put the coffee in the broom closet...you will never find it.. because you never go into the broom closet anymore.. because you never do any cleaning anymore.. because.. just don't put the coffee in the broom closet.

• Make sure the support group you attend is actually for widows. I accidentally ended up at a narcotics anonymous meeting. When I said "I think I'm in the wrong place" they said, " Oh why? Are you an alcoholic?"

• Write with huge numbers your phone number and be sure to keep it handy... Just in case... I had an embarrassing moment forgetting my phone number!!!!

• When a good Samaritan has stopped to pull your vehicle out of the snowbank/ditch/mud, do NOT gun the motor to help. (...thereby smashing into the rear end of his vehicle after he has stopped and you have not) Signed, The Blonde Widow Brained Voice of Experience

• If you're going to go to the trouble of locking the side door to the garage for the night, you might want to consider actually shutting the gaping big garage door too.

• (I learned the hard way on this one) If you hire a lawn-mowing service to take over yard care until you are "back on your feet" again, don't tell the lawn guy you've just lost your husband. Otherwise, every few weeks creepy lawn man will show up at your door with his late-40-something thinning hair parted down the middle and his beer belly pressing against his lime green tank top and he will be grinning at you while he digs his denim shorts out of his crack and asking if there's anything else he can do for you while you hurriedly try to write his dang check so you can run inside and go, EEUWWW!

• Did you all know that you actually have to put ice cream in the freezer to keep it frozen? Just putting it on top of the freezer doesn't work. I can't seem to get this little bit of info to stick in my head. I just keep putting it on top and don't find it until it has melted all down the refrigerator!!!

• Lose the toothpaste pump and go back to the tube...if it sits next to the soap dispenser you too may end up sticking soap in your mouth. That will take you back to your childhood.

• When you leave home to pick up your three young children from school don't forget to put your other (the fourth) sleeping baby in the car too!

• This tip I chant to myself: The freezer is NOT the place for your keys. The freezer is NOT the place for your keys. Also I have discovered that if you put the book shelf together inside out, with the holes for the shelf on the outside you will just have to start over.

• When going out of town, (as I did, to a grief seminar no less) remember to take the packed suitcase off the bed and actually put it in the car.

• Do not attempt to put together self-assembly furniture while enjoying several glasses of wine. But if you DO, like I did, and accidentally attach parts that don't belong together and then can't get them apart, take the parts in question over to Home Depot or Lowe's, where there are lots of strong, resourceful men equipped with every tool in the world who love a challenge like this.

I guess I've been pretty lucky so far. I've had a few incidences that I suppose I could blame on "Widow Brain". But I mostly notice that I just have a more difficult time concentrating in general.

Now...if I could just quit putting my underwear on inside out!!

Seriously, I've done that so often lately I often wonder if I am switching them around while I sleep! The funny part is that I found out I'm not alone in this. Several other people have admitted to doing this, also. But, hey, at least I'm only putting them on inside out and not backwards and then wondering why they feel funny all day! :)

So the next time I'm in a grouchy mood, maybe just gently ask me if I have my underwear on the right way! I guess that "don't get your panties in a bunch" saying has a quite literal meaning!

Operation Disconnect

What is it today? I just posted a week ago about how the stretches of "good" days seem to last longer as time goes on. And then today happened. I mean, I just got over a bad period and assumed that I would have a really good week (at least a week)...especially since Lindsey is in town.

Today was nothing major. Just that stupid feeling when I woke up. And it's totally thrown me off course. I don't understand why. It's not the first time it's happened and I'm pretty positive it won't be the last.

I don't really have the desire to talk about any of this right now but I've been forcing myself to connect with people today in any way possible...a phone call, texting, e-mail, Facebook, MySpace. Maybe I'm trying to remind myself that I'm still very much a part of this world...and this life.

I've felt so many things in the last year. I'm getting used to all of the emotions. But today is just different. I feel like I'm an observer of my life today. I think I understand what they mean when they say I'm like an outsider looking in.

I see the circumstances. I see the emotions. I see the pain and the heartache and the loneliness and also the happiness and the love and the hope. But I can't seem to connect with any one thing today. It's a really odd sensation. Is my heart taking a day off? I mean, I'm not feeling cold and uncaring today. I'm just seeing everything for what it is.

I feel numb.

I feel like I'm just sitting on the side lines with my mouth hanging open. I feel like I'm saying, "I can't believe what I'm seeing here." And "I can't believe what is happening right in front of me." I feel like I am watching this happen to someone else. Or like I'm watching some reality show on tv.

I feel like I'm in a dense fog.

I'm going to go to bed soon. And hope that I wake up tomorrow with a clearer perspective on everything. Whether that means feeling good or feeling bad. I just want to feel like I'm actually living inside my own body and inside my own head. I want to feel like I'm not losing my mind. As crazy as this might sound, I just want to FEEL!

Maybe it would be better if I were feeling frantic. Maybe I'd feel better if I were drowning in an insane amount of sadness and despair.

I just really don't want another day of feeling this disconnected. It's throwing me off and I don't like it. Even though I don't particularly like this new normal, at least I know what to expect. This "disconnect", or whatever you want to call it, is a brand new feeling and one I wasn't prepared for. I don't recall reading about this in any of my grief books.

Maybe it really is just me going back to that shock/numbness phase. You know the one. That phase where I could sit here and say how "relaxed" I am and how calm I feel...before his body was even removed from the house. (Can anybody imagine the guilt I feel about that now? For Christ's sake...I think I even had a slight smile on my face because it was finally over.) Or that numb feeling that enabled me to read a 4 page eulogy? And while I'm being honest...I sure felt the sadness that I spoke of that day...but the tears? There were very few of them and I felt like I had to try to force more. After all, if I didn't break down and fall on the floor sobbing, I surely must not have loved him very much...right? Why did everyone else cry more than I did? How did I remain so "strong" throughout the planning of the funeral?

It was this very type of disconnect that I'm feeling now. It wasn't intentional. It had to be nature's way (or God's way....however you want to see it) of insulating me from the hardcore pain.

I never understood. My stepson's cousin died a couple of years ago and I couldn't believe his young, pregnant widow wasn't inconsolable in her grief. I just didn't understand. And now I'm very sorry for ever thinking that way. But this isn't like the movies, People. It's far from it. Now I understand.

Just put me back in the middle of ground zero. Let me feel what I need to feel so I can get through it and eventually move on with life.

I hope I'm not doing this to myself. If I am, I don't realize it. Is my brain protecting my heart because it's too painful? Or am I just tired of the grief, loneliness, heartache, loss, and pain? I'm smart. I've researched everything there is to know about all of this. Otherwise, I may have tried a little harder to escape from it all. But I know that I have to go through it eventually...there are no shortcuts.

I'm not trying to escape. Although, if there were a way, I'm sure I would take that path. I'd like to think that I'm on strike for the day. Or for 3 days...or a week. Whatever it takes. Or even just on vacation.

Something.

I would like to feel really good. Or really bad. Or somewhere in between.

I don't want to feel disconnected...ever again. It just doesn't feel right.

Aren't naps supposed to feel good?

I have so much to do.

I'm not talking about things I've got to necessarily get done today...but things that need to be done soon. I hate putting things off until the last minute. I've struggled with procrastination my whole life. But I started getting better.

Honestly, none of it seems important to me right this minute.

I have to get things done around the house, the yard. I have a stack of paperwork to go through. I have to sit down and figure out bills for the next month. School is starting for the kids in a month so I have everything that goes along with that. The thought of getting myself back to school is being pushed back at least another semester. I have another house I need to prepare for rental since it's unlikely it will sell this summer.

And those are just the big things.

I need to start by pushing myself into taking my shower yet today. I need to think about getting to the store so there is something to eat for dinner.

Yet all I want to do is sit. I don't want to sleep. I don't want to read. I don't want to watch tv. Or work on a puzzle. Or waste time on the computer. Or talk to anybody.

I just want to sit.

I want to close the curtains again.

I had a dream while I napped this morning. I don't even really remember it now. I do know that it wasn't anything devastating. It was just a normal dream. And I would wake up to my normal life.

That's what got me. I'm doing so much better about not turning immediately to sad thoughts upon waking like I did for the first 8 months. I never forget but I'm not dwelling on it for the first hour of my day anymore...

Until today.

I woke up from that nap and those feelings came right back. He isn't here. I haven't been sleeping this whole time just to wake up from a terrible, terrible nightmare. It hit me like it was Day One all over again. And it hit me hard.

I haven't cried today. I'm not hysterical. I'm not moping. I just feel like I'm in shock and in a daze again.

This is all so unpredictable. That's what I hate the most. If it started out terrible and slowly got better with each day in a predictable time line, I could handle it so much better. I hate not knowing what each moment has in store for me.

I hate not knowing how I will feel when I wake up.

And to think that this day started off pretty good. I shouldn't have taken that nap.

I am going to start my day over again right now. I think I'll start with a shower and a trip to the store.

No matter what, I'm keeping the curtains open.

Through a child's eyes

Children amaze me. Or, more accurately, their memories amaze me. I haven't seen our 8-year-old granddaughter in over 10 months.

I had no doubt that she was old enough to remember us and the times we shared together.

But today, she showed me just how precise her memories are. She took her various stuffed animals out of her suitcase to show me. Many of these animals she's had since infancy. Especially her bunny and her giraffe.

She said, "Grandma, my giraffe's tail is starting to come off again." So I looked at it. I said, "Lindsey, did someone already sew his tail back on once before?" She said, "Yeah, Grandpa did."

He's been gone for over 8 months. She hasn't been here for over 10 months.

At only 8 years old, she remembered that her Grandpa was the one who sewed the giraffe's tail back on. And he probably did it a couple of years ago.

And to think I was so worried she would forget him.

The other day, I started getting pissed off when I thought of the time he "wasted" fixing up Nichole's place in order to get her situated here...near us. It was a waste in my mind because that whole situation was nothing but chaos. He thought he was making a life for his daughter and granddaughters. For them to live close by.

The very first thing he got done was Lindsey's bedroom. God it was a pretty bedroom. It was a room fit for a princess. He wanted to get it done for her. That was his first priority and he was so proud of how it turned out. That's the only room he got done before he got sick.

But it wasn't a waste of time, even though Lindsey only slept in there a couple of nights. Because every time she thinks or speaks of that room, she knows her Papa made it pretty for her. (It saddens me that she still has her heart set on living there again because I know it will never happen.)

She didn't forget who sewed her giraffe's tail on. She won't forget who fixed her bedroom up for her. She told me today how she remembers us running out to the car after leaving the zoo (a few years ago) because it was pouring rain. I told her that I think it stopped raining as soon as we got to the car. She said, "No, Grandma. It was still sprinkling when we got to the car. After we drove down the road it stopped raining."

Obviously, she will always remember him. Her Papa.

And she will continue to amaze me with her memories. Maybe she will remember things that I would never think of again.

I love this little girl. I love her with all my heart and I'm so grateful to have her here with me now.

Thank you, Chuck. Without you, I wouldn't have this beautiful granddaughter. And she loves you, Baby. To this day, she still loves you.

You were worried that people would forget? She never will.

Never.

Curtains

It's no secret I've been in a little bit of a slump lately. It's a pattern I've come to accept. If I had my choice, I would be on a more even keel. My life and my moods would be more stable...just like they used to be. But they aren't so I've had to learn how to adapt. I really am learning to adjust to this new way of life. And I'm learning to accept the inevitable bad days for what they are. More importantly, I'm learning to embrace the good days and make the most of them.

A couple of days ago, I decided to start feeling alive again. I resumed working on the bathroom remodeling. I started cleaning up the house a little bit. I could tell my mood was on the upswing.

This morning I woke up sore and stiff. I haven't really overexerted myself physically, but I guess I've done enough to make myself feel this way. (Getting older sucks.) But I still pushed on. This latest "down time" seemed to drag on forever and I refused to let a few aches and pains waste another day because I've wasted enough time lately.

So, I've gotten some things accomplished. I'm satisfied with my progress on the bathroom...give me another two full days devoted to it and it will be finished. I've cleaned up the house so it is presentable and, more importantly, comfortable to me. And, probably the most telling of all, I opened up the windows and the curtains all the way today.

It's funny how much you can tell about my mood by how far the curtains are open. They've been in a position of almost fully closed to half open for a couple of weeks now. But today I wanted them wide open. I wanted to let the sunshine in and to feel the breeze blowing. Even though we are well into summer, it almost felt like the first spring-like day after a long, cold winter. My moods are quite like the seasons. I can feel the change coming on gradually and they tend to overlap quite a bit.

But today? It was springtime for my heart. Not the rainy days of early spring. But the perfect weather, flowers blooming, birds singing time of spring. The time of rebirth and renewal and rejuvenation.

It felt good.

I'm halfway to exhausted tonight...but a good type of exhaustion. I'm not emotionally drained. I'm looking forward to laying my head on my pillow with a feeling of accomplishment. I'm looking forward to what the new day might bring. I don't know if I'm trying to make up for the time lost during my depressed periods or if I'm trying to get ahead of the game before the next one hits. Whatever the reason, I will make the most out of the good days.

When I'm at my lowest emotional point, I feel like so much of me died that day. But today, I am alive. He wanted me to live. I didn't die that day. Neither did he, really. He is alive within me. At least for today. As long as my heart is beating, he is alive. I will continue working towards our goals. I will continue reaching for the dreams we both shared.

One of his concerns was my well-being after he was gone. I told him I would be okay. So I will always be okay. But today I am better than okay and I just know that he is smiling. He is saying, "That's the Jodi I've always loved. The strong one. The one who can be independent and do anything she sets her mind on."

The other day I read some of the older stuff I've written. The pattern has become very obvious to me. Without a doubt, my mood will once again start to get darker. I will slide back down into the pit of despair. I will, once again, feel like I'm half dead.

I will close the curtains and try to shut the world out.

Until then, I will accomplish. I will laugh. I will excel. I will live.

These stretches of good days seem to last longer as time goes on. For that, I am so grateful. I have faith that the day will come where the low points are almost nonexistent. It's not a matter of forgetting all that has happened. It's just about being satisfied that I had so much in the first place. That I've been lucky enough to have had such an awesome 20 years.

I will come to a point where the memories won't hurt anymore. Where the very thought of him doesn't make me feel like my soul is bleeding. Where I can open up the curtains fully and greet each day with a smile...just because.

Because I've known the feeling of true and everlasting love. I've loved fully and I've been fully loved.

Even the most dreary day can't darken that feeling.

Thank you, Chuck. I love you.

The empty chair

I'm copying something I wrote in a notebook last night. I hand write a lot that I don't share here but I want to share this now as a continuation of my previous two entries of the day. Although today has been a much better day, I want to share what a bad day is like...completely through to the end. My mind doesn't shut off. It wanders from one random subject to another and there is no stopping it.

Usually if I just keep on writing, my spirit begins to lift and I will start to feel better...which is exactly what has happened. That's my ultimate goal...to work through the negative, painful feelings and get to a better day. Thank you, every one of you, who read. Thank you for listening.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009 -- almost 11:00 PM

Why wouldn't he ever agree to Hospice bringing a bed? I told him at the time, "Just let them bring it. You don't have to use it. But it will be here if and when you choose to use it." Instead, he sat/laid in that stupid vinyl lift chair. Until the end. I would have rather had him die in our bed if it would have made him more comfortable. I guess he must have been as comfortable as possible in that chair or he would have asked to move.

I think he didn't want a bed because he didn't want to see them carry in his "death bed". He would feel like he was sick. (That's something that he couldn't accept.) He would feel like he was giving up. Like he was "laying down to die". Of course, I'm only speculating because he never gave me a reason. But this is what my mind does when I'm going through these low points.

He DID like the chair. He felt so much relief when they first brought it. He could finally feel somewhat comfortable. I could have even been relieved seeing him in that chair -- IF he would have laid his beautiful head back and appeared relaxed.

Whenever I think back on that time, I can't help but go back to that feeling...just wishing he would rest his head. Instead, he always held it up...his neck straight. When he slept, his head would nod forward like someone who dozed off in the evening -- trying, but failing, to stay awake for a favorite TV show.

I hate that vision. I pray to God he was in the most comfortable position he could be in. I pray that he didn't sit that way for the same reason he refused a bed...

Because he didn't want to give up. Because he wanted to put up a fight. Because he didn't want to die.

Thinking about it now, over 8 months later, I can still feel the tension in my own body. When he couldn't relax, I couldn't relax. When he didn't feel good, I didn't feel good. I never realized how connected we were. In every way possible.

The next morning, before they came to pick up his chair, I sat in it for the first time ever. I thought about the time, a few days before, when he tried to push a button on the control pad. He kept pushing and pushing and he just dropped it and gave up and said, "I broke it." He didn't break it. He wasn't even pushing a button. This smart, strong man was so sick that he couldn't even push a button.

Then I thought even farther back to when they first delivered the chair. He felt bad because my Mom had spent "so much time" sewing thicker cushions for a rocking chair we owned to make him more comfortable...and he only used it for a day or two. (I reassured him that she didn't care if it only made him feel better for a couple of hours...anything she could do for him was worth her time.) It was a classic example of how concerned he was for others' feelings. In a less dire situation, I have no doubt he would have still sat on the cushions that were sewed specifically for him to let Mom know how much he appreciated her thoughtfulness.

So, I sat silently in his chair for a few minutes. I guess I just longed for that connection. I couldn't imagine how it was ever comfortable for him. While sitting there, I noticed one of the hairs from his head barely sticking to it. I picked up that single strand of hair so tenderly. I was so afraid of dropping and losing it. I safely Scotch-taped it to the front of the folder from Hospice...the folder that holds every piece of paper from that period in our lives.

As much as I wanted to keep all of his things right where he last left them, I couldn't wait to get rid of anything that pertained to his illness. Especially that chair. But once it was gone, the room felt so empty.

That room and this house were still filled with stuff. But he was gone.

The house was truly empty.