2nd Christmas

I know I've been absent.  I'm sorry.  I have notes.  Over the next week or so, I'll post what I have from the past month.

Today was a good day.  We had our family Christmas here today.   Years ago, my oldest grandson (who is now 19 years old) dubbed this family holiday, "2nd Christmas".  The title is perfect.

On Christmas day, I go to their houses to visit and enjoy part of Christmas day with each of them  (It's been several years since I've been invited to Greg's house). The Sunday after Christmas, they all come here to receive their gifts from me - and to enjoy each other for the day.

It's been at least five years since Greg's wife was here and at least three, since any of his children have been here.  There are many theories, rumors, and misconceptions about why, but there are no answers.  Many times, the truth is hard to find in this tangled mess.  I've given up trying.  At this point, it doesn't matter.

Today Greg's oldest (19 years old) and youngest (13 years old) sons came for 2nd Christmas.  The middle brother (17 years old) has been sick for two days - too sick to come.  He and I texted and he told me how disappointed he was that he couldn't be here.  I would have loved for him to be part of this year's family day.

Greg's wife was battling a broken heater and spent the day trying to patch together some kind of temporary heat until the furnace can be replaced on Wednesday.   We exchanged text messages and she told me how sorry she was that she couldn't come today.  I'm sorry for an additional crisis in their lives - and that she wasn't able to be here. 
 
 Anyway... I wanted to write about the positive and I'm starting to drift, so.... back to where I started.

It was wonderful to have Greg's sons in my home day.  The family closed up as if there had never been any holes. (At least it felt that way to me.  I hope it did for the boys.)

I feel so inadequate when it comes to talking to Greg's kids.  Do they want to talk about feelings?  Would they rather not?  I got the feeling from the oldest yesterday that he might want to talk if the opportunity presented itself.  I've been told how he feels - but not by him.  The only information that matters is what comes directly from him (or them). 

It's possible that I could help.  As Greg's mother, my perspective may be a kinder, gentler one.  I hope it might be a more healing one for them.  All I can do is wait - be available - follow their lead - and trust God to present (or not) the opportunities.

I don't want to tell them how to feel.  They are entitled to every feeling they are feeling.  I feel a wall between us.  Everyone is so careful.   There have been so many lies and half-truths passed around over the past few years, that trust is a major issue.  With all of the misinformation that they've been given in the past, the fact that they showed up today was incredibly brave of them.  I am praying that God will honor that courage. 

It's late. I feel quiet tonight - relieved this holiday season has come to an end.  Somehow we made it through.  I did a lot of leaning - and the support was there - every time. I am grateful. 

Stocking affirmation

Friday morning.

"Michael, I decided that I want Greg's stocking on the mantle with the rest of the stockings.  Is that okay?" 

"Whatever you want to do is okay.  I'll get the stocking out this morning." 

"Thanks, Michael.  I made a donation to Habitat for Humanity in Greg's name and I'm going to put the card in his stocking."

I feel better.  It feels like the right thing to do.

Before I know it, Brynn is here for her cookie baking day.  Chocolate chips today.  She's as cute as she can be.  Her energy and enthusiasm are catching. 

"Let's bake....... COOKIES!!!"

And so we do.  We bake cookies and more cookies and then... more cookies.  Finally, the cookies are finished and we head to the dining room to play a game.  (We love to play games!)

The mood is light, relaxed - easy.  We're laughing and talking and out of nowhere, the child who hasn't been able to say Greg's name for 6 months, asks, "Is Uncle Greg's stocking going to be on the mantle?"

"It is, Brynn.  How do you feel about that?"  I'm dreading her reaction - and surprised that this is on the radar of yet another child.  When Richard came to pick Kate up yesterday, he brought Brynn and Chase.  Michael told me later that Chase asked him if Greg's stocking would be on the fireplace.

"Uncle Greg will always be a member of our family, right?  Then his stocking should be there with the rest of the family.  Why wouldn't you put up his stocking?"

"I was afraid that it might make Uncle Greg's kids sad to see his stocking there."  (Sometimes I forget she's only 7 years old.  There is so much wisdom in her innocence.)

"I think it would make them happy to know that you didn't forget their daddy."

Sometimes she makes it so simple.

Michael found the stocking and put it in it's rightful place on the mantle.  He printed the Habitat for Humanity card for me and put it in Greg's stocking.  I cried - but I knew it was what I wanted to do.


***Added after our family Christmas on Sunday 12/31/17.

On Sunday morning, I was sitting in the rocking chair, in front of the fireplace.  Kate, Brynn and Bryce were running all over the house looking for hidden clues for their gifts.  Mason was opening a gift and Chase came over and stood in front of me.  Pointing up at the stockings, Chase asked...

"Grammie?," pointing to the stockings.  "Whose stocking is that with the 'G' on it?"

"That's Uncle Greg's stocking," I smiled at Chase.

Chase smiled back, and said, "Thanks, Grammie."

...and he was off to play with his new toys.

Stocking? No stocking?

This subject is a land mine - and everyone has an opinion.  I tend to worry about everyone's opinion but my own.  I'm concerned about causing pain whatever I decide to do.  As a result, nothing feels right to me.  Nothing. 

Greg's wife said that they did not put Greg's stocking up on Christmas day.   His kids felt it would be too painful.  Greg loved Christmas (a repeating message) and he loved stockings and all the clever things that stockings hold.  He was a GREAT stocking shopper - and great stocking opener!   His children felt that seeing Greg's empty stocking would just be too sad, so they did not put the stocking up. 

I understand.  But I'm not sure I'm ready to put Greg's stocking in a box forever.  And I know I'm not ready to throw it away.  And I know I don't want a sad, empty, ghost stocking on the mantle in the middle of all the other stockings. 

Right now the stockings are up.  Greg's is not there and I can't stand to look at the mantle.  I can't look without crying. 

Kate is here today to bake cookies - the second year of what we hope will be a long-standing tradition.  We're busy and having a great day.  She is so smart - and strong - and sweet!  I am constantly in awe of her.  

The state of the stocking doesn't damper our day at all, but after Kate leaves, it buzzes around my head like a gnat.  It's just... there.  I feel a need to make a decision.   

Decorating the tree at Greg's grave on Christmas Eve was heartbreakingly difficult.  I did it originally for Scott, because he was thoughtful enough to provide the tree and no one honored his effort.  I felt I needed to do that for him.  After the tree was decorated and we were at home and I had more time to think about it, I was very grateful for Scott's thoughtfulness.  Greg loved Christmas so much!  Honoring his love of Christmas with a tree (with lights) was the exact, right thing to do.  As intuitive as I usually am, Scott has an amazing way of knowing and understanding these things long before I get there.  We did it to honor Greg's love of life - his love of Christmas (and all things that light up and sparkle at Christmas).  We didn't do it for Greg to enjoy out there at the grave.  He isn't there. 

I decided that in the spirit of honoring Greg at Christmas, to make a donation in his name.   I don't know if I'll do the same thing next year.  I'm just putting one foot in front of the other this year - operating somewhere between autopilot and numb - with an occasional meltdown to tie it all together.

This year I made a donation to Habitat for Humanity in Greg's name.  Greg was a builder and a problem solver - champion of the underdog - a helper of the helpless.  It seemed right to make a donation to an organization who does so much for people in need.  They (Habitat for Humanity) sent me a card with the donation information - the purpose of the donation - and the information honoring Greg.  I decided to put the card in Greg's stocking and put the stocking on the mantle with everyone else's - and hope I don't cause anyone pain in the process. 

I don't know how it will affect Greg's kids.  I worry about Brynn, who hasn't been able to say Greg's name since he died.  What about Kate and Bryce?  What about the littlest ones?  Will they even notice?  How much do they understand?

I've made the decision.  I'm going with the stocking on the mantle.  I just wish I felt better about it. 

Christmas Eve

Scott bought a live Christmas tree (with lights) for the Greg's grave. He hoped that Greg's sons would put something on the tree, but that didn't work out.

Greg's wife said that she would never go to Greg's grave - that it was meaningless for her.  I guess that they've discussed it at home and that the boys feel the same way?  I don't know, but I'm pretty sure no one from that end of the family has been to the grave.  

I wasn't so sure I wanted to go at Christmas - maybe more sadness than I could stand.  But I wanted to honor Scott's remembrance of his brother. 

Scott took the tree to the cemetery around the middle of December and I hoped to get some ornaments and decorate the tree long before this, but I've been really sick - upper respiratory infection and not allowed outside in the cold.  Housebound. 

I'm a little better today and it's Christmas Eve and I'm out of time, so Michael and I took ornaments to the cemetery to decorate the tree for Greg and his father.  (They're buried next to each other).

I bought some small blue Christmas balls (blue was Greg's favorite color) and wrote on them with a silver marker  -  things that would be meaningful to Greg (like his #7 that he was SO obsessive about in high school) - or that would be meaningful for his father.   I also purchased some small traditional ornaments (an angel, a star, drummer boy, etc.) that I wanted to put on the tree - and one big brass jingle bell with a red ribbon. 

Michael took wire so that he could wire the ornaments on the tree to keep them from blowing away.   I can't possibly describe to you the sadness of being at my son's grave - any time - but especially Christmas Eve.   It was impossible - and yet, I was there.  Michael and I both cried the entire time we were there.

I don't think I'm a cemetery person.  I don't feel close to Greg at his grave.  I'm engulfed by a tidal wave of sadness as soon as I pull into the cemetery.  At Greg's grave, I feel like I'm drowning.  There is no comfort for me at Greg's grave.

As hard as it was to decorate the tree at Greg's grave on Christmas Eve, I'm grateful to Scott for the tree - for the remembrance of his brother.  Greg's grave is a memorial to his life - and so, even though I find no comfort there, I'm grateful that I was able to help Scott honor his brother at Christmas.  

 you remember
what his laugh sounded like?
Yes.
Do you remember
what he looked like catching a ball?
He never caught the ball in his life.
But I remember.
That's because when God
takes someone away from us...
He leaves what's most important
about that person with us.
Right here in our hearts.

Read more: https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/movie_script.php?movie=preachers-wife-th

I'm sorry
about your friend, Hakim.
What if I told you...
that he's not really gone?
Hakim?
Did he run away and come back?
- No, he never left.
- Yes, he did. I saw him go.
Well, you know, my mother...
once lost someone
who was very dear to her.
He wasn't as young as Hakim,
but he was...
too young, just the same.
And she would always do something
that seemed to make her feel better.
- You want to try it?
- Yeah.
All right, close your eyes.
Do you remember
playing in the snow with Hakim?
Do you remember
what his laugh sounded like?
Yes.
Do you remember
what he looked like catching a ball?
He never caught the ball in his life.
But I remember.
That's because when God
takes someone away from us...
He leaves what's most important
about that person with us.
Right here in our hearts.
Yeah, but I still miss him.
Well, she still misses him too.
Are you all right?
Maybe you should close your eyes.

Read more: https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/movie_script.php?movie=preachers-wife-the

Do you remember
what his laugh sounded like?
Yes.
Do you remember
what he looked like catching a ball?
He never caught the ball in his life.
But I remember.
That's because when God
takes someone away from us...
He leaves what's most important
about that person with us.
Right here in our hearts.

Read more: https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/movie_script.php?movie=preachers-wife-th 

This quote came from the movie, "The Preacher's Wife"...

"When God takes someone away from us... he leaves what's most important
about that person with us.  Right here in our hearts."

I can close my eyes and hear his laugh.  I remember his many kindnesses - his sense of humor - his love of music.  I can see him playing baseball - and football.  I can see him sitting outside on my porch, leaning against the stone wall of the house, holding hi son, Alex when he was a baby.

That's where I feel close to Greg - that's where Greg will always be alive for me - in the memories.

Greg is gone from this earth - but never gone from my heart.

I love you, Greg - forever and always.

Five months - the day after

Today I spent the day curled up in a ball on the couch - alternately sleeping and crying.  For the first time, the day after is worse than the day of.

I'm in need of God's mercy and grace to make it through this day.

Five Months

Five months today since Greg died. 

My "logical" self tried to prepare.  I know it's bad - every month.  I tried to prepare this time. 

I called a friend.  Remember my tomato friend, who brought me tomatoes (and love) last summer?  She's still around - still thoughtful - still kind.  I asked her if she had time for lunch.  Thankfully, she did. 

I picked her up at her house and we went out for pizza.  She asked if I would take her to visit Greg's grave.  (Where we decided to go for lunch was fairly close to the cemetery.)   I wasn't sure at first - had to take a couple minutes to think about it.  Could I do it?  Today?  On the 4th?  On the 5th month memorial of Greg's death?

I decided that I could go. 

I took my friend to the cemetery - unloaded my scooter - and we went to the grave.  I felt the same heavy heart - the same sadness pulling me under - the wave of grief that I always feel at Greg's grave. 

We stayed a few minutes and left.  I thought I was okay - not great - but okay.   (Some days, 'okay' is more than enough.)

I dropped my friend off at her house and I went home - and cried.

Will the 4th of the month be this painful forever?  I pray it won't.

Greg's grave marker

Scott sent me a text today to let me know that Greg's maker has been set.

We've been waiting for the marker to be set, but Scott is the one who goes to check.   I knew I couldn't go to Greg's grave before the marker was set.  I wondered if I would be able to go once it was.

When Scott sent me the text about the marker, I was on my way out the door to see Dr. Woowoo.

It's a beautiful day today - temperature in the low 60s - sunny - very little wind.   By the time I arrived at Woowoo's, I knew that as soon as my appointment was over, I would go to the cemetery.

I think the first time will be the hardest.  I know that I don't want to go to bed tonight, thinking about going to the cemetery tomorrow.  I want to get it over with - no matter the emotional cost.  I need to go today.

Woowoo suggested that I might not want to go alone, but there was no time to pick Michael up.  I left Woowoo's at 3:00.  The gates to the cemetery close at 4:15.  I had to go straight to the cemetery.

I drive through the huge, heavy, black, wrought iron gates of the cemetery and before I go fifty feet, I pull over and stop the car.  I have no idea where I am. Nothing looks familiar.  Am I at the right cemetery?  I am completely lost.

Greg is buried with his father, so this is not the first time I've been to this cemetery, but I feel like I'm in the wrong place - and I start to panic.  Where am I?  Is this the right place?  Why doesn't this look familiar?

At that moment, Scott calls and for a minute, I pretend that everything is fine.

Answering the phone,  "Scott's mom. May I help you?"   (My friendly, customer service greeting.  I'm the only one that thinks it's funny, but that doesn't stop me)

 "Hi Mom.  Where are you?"

"I decided to go to the cemetery today,  I just got here a few minutes ago.  I'm right inside the gate."

And then my voice breaks.  "I'm lost, Scott.  I don't know where I am.  Am I at the right cemetery?"

He talks to me for about 10 minutes - quietly - calmly - describing where the grave is.  "Look for the tree," he says.

Greg and his father are buried under a tree.  

Nothing he says makes any sense to me.  "Drive toward the circle, but don't go around the circle.  Before the road goes around the circle, look to your right.  You'll see the tree."

I can't move.

"How did you get there, Mom?  Which way did you decide to go from your doctor's?"

I'm calmer now - calm enough to know that this is the third time this has happened to me since Greg died.  Twice before I was driving and suddenly... I was lost.  I had no idea where I was. Nothing looked familiar.  I didn't even know what road I was on.  Everything else was okay - I was just completely disoriented.  Both of those times,  everything cleared up in a couple of minutes.  Maybe I can simply wait this one out, too.

And then there's a small clearing in my mind.  "I turned left from the main road and drove down to the second gate, which is where I am now.  I'm about 50 feet inside the second gate."

He goes over the directions again and I still don't understand, but I'm no longer panicked.  "I think I'm going to unload my scooter before I run out of time. I'll find the graves.  I'm okay."   (I really wasn't okay, but I knew I was close enough.)   "Thank you so much for calling when you did.  Your timing couldn't have been better.  I love you, Scott."

We hang up and I unload the scooter - still not knowing where I am, but feeling confident that if I just move forward, this confusion will pass.

I sit there on the scooter, behind the car for about 5 minutes and then start moving toward where I think the graves are.  (This is a HUGE cemetery)  Within 100 feet of the car, I know where I am - and I see the tree. 

I find Greg's grave - right next to his father - and the pain and heartbreak cut through the fog and I can't control the sobs.  My son.  My boy.  My sweet Greg.  Gone.  At this moment, life makes no sense at all to me - and has no purpose.  I wish there was a hole for me.

The man who locks the gate at dusk interrupts my grief to tell me that I have to go.  It's time to lock the gates.

As I head back to my car, I'm grateful for the interruption - and that the cemetery locks their gates at dusk.  If they didn't, I don't know if I'd be able to leave.

I load my scooter into the back of my van, move my oxygen machine to the back seat of the car and plug it in.  As I climb into the driver's seat, I try to be present.  I try not to live in "10 minutes ago" - or in tomorrow.  Think about now.  Think about turning around and going through the gate.  One step at a time.  One minute at a time.  

I call Michael and tell him that I'm on my way home.  That's all I can tell him.  He doesn't ask any questions.  He just tells me he'll be glad to see me.  He reminds me to let him know when I get home so that he can help with the oxygen.  I am grateful. 

It was impossibly hard to see my son's grave, but in retrospect, it was comforting that Greg and his father are buried together.  Neither grave was a lone grave.  They have each other.  I'm not sure exactly why that was comforting, but it was.

If I had to go (and I did), I'm glad I went today.  I was sure the first time would be the hardest, but whether I go ten more times or a thousand more times - how could it possibly get any easier to look down on my son's grave?

I miss him a thousand times a day.

The day after - Thanksgiving

Today it hits and I'm overwhelmed with sadness.  I'm listless - no energy - emotionally drained.  My goal today is to let the tears come - keep breathing - put one foot in front of the other - and make it to bedtime. 

This day seems endless.

Thanksgiving

Thanks to Scott, Thanksgiving was okay.

We started the day at Bryce's football game.  (They lost, but Bryce played his usual, solid game).  It was a beautiful fall day.  The temperature was only 36 degrees, but the sun was bright and warming and there was very little wind.

True Colors

True Colors

Cousin Tom

My cousin, Tom died today.  I'm not sure how old he was - I think 62 or 63, probably.   I'm 69 and my brother is 59 and I know Tom was a few years older than my brother.

He's been sick for quite a while now.  Cancer.  Multiple Myeloma, lung cancer, liver cancer - too much cancer.

Type---erase---type---erase

I've been doing that whole type-erase-type-erase thing for days.  What I want to say - I can't.  And I'm probably better off if I don't dwell on it.  So, instead, I'll say this...

My days

I spend my days
losing things
and finding things
losing things
and finding things

since Greg died

The Connector

My oldest son always said that Greg was the 'connector'.  He never let us get too far apart.  Until the past couple years, if Greg didn't hear from any one of us for a few days... he'd call us to check in and see what we were up to.

On the job that Greg had for most of his life - since he was 18 years old - he spent a lot of time on the road.   He started as a laborer and ended up as the project manager for a commercial roofing company, often traveling hundreds of miles in a day to check on jobs.

Healing After Loss

"Sometimes the long view is not what I need.  I need this moment, without hostage to past or future, experienced for itself alone."  Martha Whitmore Hickman from Healing After Loss

Healing After Loss is a book of daily meditations that covers a year.  An old friend sent it to me shortly after Greg died and it resonated with me and I planned to start reading it daily, but as in most things over the past four months, my plans fell by the wayside.

Four months

Four months today since Greg died.
It feels like a minute.
It feels like forever.
It doesn't feel like four months.

 Chills - fever - tears - hopelessness.  Welcome to the 4th of the month.

Case closed

I received a letter last week from Family Court.  There was a piece of unfinished business with Greg that I needed to take care of, so today was the day - the sooner the better.

I chose today because I wasn't sure how I would  be affected and I have a haircut appointment at 1:00 this afternoon.  Busy is better.  I didn't want to go to Family Court on a day that I didn't have anything to do in the afternoon, but... think.

I'll Be Your Water

Nothing to say today.  I'm just listening.

64 and sunny

Better day today.   Better doesn't necessarily mean "good".  At the moment "better" means "able to function on some level".  Tomorrow that definition might change.  That's how I roll at the moment.

I got almost 4 hours of sleep last night - possibly a record high.  I'm sure that's the biggest contribution to my "better" day.

Long way around

Part One
A long, long time ago, my husband painted the house (inside) and he asked me to paint some of the trim.  We were young and loved working on our house.  I wasn't sure I'd do a good job, but I said I'd
try.  After a couple hours of painting trim, Rich looked at the trim and this is what happened...

Carouself of life

Sometimes I feel as though I'm sitting in the center of a carousel that's moving slowly around me.  The deck of the carousel extends farther than I can see in all directions and on it - is the world - Life.  I can see sunny days - rainy days - happy people - sad people - desperate people.

I can see the world moving - Life going on all around me - circling me slowly - inviting me to hop on - just take that one step... but I can't.  I'm stuck in the middle. 

All I can do is watch...

Soccer goals and touchdowns

Football and soccer this weekend.  I didn't feel like going to any of it this weekend.  That's kind of unusual - not something I allow myself to feel.

The kids and grandkids are my lifeline.  They connect me to the world.  They are my reason to stay alive.  There are no options when it comes to going to whatever game they're playing.  I'll be there.

Gratitude and Patience

The medication helped with the pictures in my head last night.  I didn't sleep much, but the wakefulness was not because of nightmares. 

The images from yesterday are still there, but not as bright - or strong.  They've faded a little, but they're still there.

Extra session

Woowoo called an emergency session to do some PTSD work (whatever that means).  I'm not sure we were successful.  Part of the problem is my reaction to everything.

I can't go into detail about what we did - I don't think I could go over it all again and end up with any kind of sanity at all.

Flash of light

Today was a flash of light in a wall of darkness.

I had an appointment with the ophthalmic surgeon this morning.  It was 58 degrees when I unloaded my scooter to go into the office.  My kind of weather.  It was cool and crisp - cleansing.

It was a long appointment and by the time I was loading my scooter into the van again, it was 68 degrees - 10 degrees warmer - still a beautiful day.

Lack of sleep is lethal

I'm not sleeping well, if at all - and it's getting worse.  It's not unusual at all to be awake all night - or to sleep a half hour or 45 minutes - total.

That kind of Tired skews my perspective on everything. EVERYTHING.  It takes small problems and makes them huge.  It takes large problems and makes them insurmountable.   Decisions become impossible - and the few decisions I make - I question - then reverse - then decide again - and doubt.

Energy runs at a deficit.  Every step becomes a push.  Every appointment becomes a mountain.

The Storm is Over

There is an old, corny movie called "Hardball" with Keanu Reeves and Diane Lane - one that I've watched at least 5 or 6 times.  Today I made  asked Michael to watch it (when I saw that it was on, I recorded it, of course).   He agreed and so we watched it tonight.  He even liked it.  :-)

Insight

What am I learning about grief - my grief (everyone's grief is different, you know)?

I've read the "grief" list and I have a lot of the normal grief "things" like...

One Friend

I hear different meanings on different days.  So many songs that used to mean nothing - now mean something and so many songs that used to mean something - now mean nothing.

I miss my friend.

Expect the unexpected

Today was a little better - a little more... even, I guess.  Tears, but not a sea.   There was sadness, but with a lower case "s".

Not a lot of energy, but I was able to work online on my shop and get a few things done. I even cooked dinner - a REAL dinner - barbecued pork chops, sweet corn on the cob, green beans, baked potatoes, (I forgot to cook biscuits).   Okay... maybe I didn't completely cook it, but I did start it (with the intention of finishing) - first time I got that far since Greg died.  As usual, Michael picked up the pieces and finished dinner.  (My youngest son called and he's always a priority - always more important than dinner)

Gloomy Sunday

Slow moving - slow thinking day - restless.  No matter what I'm doing, I want to be doing something else - anything else.

Nights are awful - the thought of the lights going out makes me cry.  I don't know what's coming, but I know something is coming.  I try to fill my head with positive images - thoughts of my grandchildren - remembering concerts that I loved - images of the ocean - anything that might work.

Saturday distractions

It's been a tough week.  It started on the 4th and I can't seem to get past it.  I'm trying.  Really trying.

I think I mentioned before (today the fog has set in and I'm not sure what I mentioned - when - or if) that there is delicate balance between grieving and my health.  Too much grief causes increased health problems.  The changes can be permanent.

How do you manage grief?  I don't know, but I try.

Memories of my grandmother

My mother died on September 19, 1985.  She was just sixty years old - the oldest daughter, the second oldest child of four children (three daughters and one son) born to Josephine K. (Gramma Jo to me)

Gramma Jo was eighty-four years old when my mother died - and in excellent health.  She died in October, 1986 from a heart attack - just about a year after my mother died.

5 things I've learned

I have learned:

1.  That lack of sleep is my enemy.  It steals perspective and makes me unable to think clearly (which is a problem now, even with a good night's sleep).

2.  That seeing a red Silverado truck with a ladder rack makes me cry.

Three months

Three months today since Greg died.
It feels like a minute.
It feels like forever.
It doesn't feel like three months.

I can feel the date markers before they get here.  The anticipation of the date marker is almost as bad as the date itself.  This month is worse than last month.  I pray that's not a trend.

Monday meltdown

Busy day yesterday - no time to write until last night- and by evening I could barely think, let alone write.  I had a meltdown that was more physical than emotional.  I don't even know how to describe it.  I wasn't entirely present for most of the evening.

I could see and hear the television, but I remember very little of what was on.  I could hear Michael talking to me, but I couldn't understand the words.  It was frightening.  I thought I was headed for the hospital and remember telling Michael that I was afraid that if I went to the hospital, I wouldn't get out. 

Fix You

And again... old songs take on new meanings - and when I heard this one today, my heart broke all over again. 

Not all surprises are bad

Life happens in spite of loss.  Even days that I'd like to stop the earth from turning (like today), life keeps on happening. 

I made it to 5-year-old football this morning at 9:00am.  At the game, my oldest son offered Michael and me tickets to the Phillies game tonight - great seats - second level.  Can I go?  Am I able to go to a baseball game with - mobility scooter - oxygen?  I don't know.  It's been years since I've gone to a Phillies game.  It was hard then.  My health is worse now than it was then (although I refuse to quantify how much worse).

Sleep timer

Often I find that I can't completely judge the impact of the day until it's dark - and quiet.  Then all of the images and feelings that I didn't have time to process during the day, come in like a flood and  I can't sleep.

I'm hoping that we can find something to listen to until we go to sleep - something peaceful - quiet - restful - that will occupy the silence and help me get to sleep.

We've tried leaving the television on for an hour - like a sleep timer thing.  That doesn't work - too much light.   Then we tried listening to one of our Pandora stations on the television - again with a sleep timer set for an hour.  We both found ourselves too involved in the music.

So, now we're listening to a "soothing music and sea sounds" channel that I just created on Pandora.  It's working a whole lot better than the silence, but it's still not right.

Lack of sleep is becoming a huge issue that affects every part of my life.

I need to sleep.

Tears in Heaven

I remember when I first heard this song after Eric Clapton's son died.  I could feel the sorrow in the song - and now I share that sorrow.  Every day.

Today I'm thinking about all the people who have lost a child, and feel unable to express their grief.  I'm grateful for musicians and poets - songwriters and storytellers - who can express our grief when we cannot. 

Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong and carry on
'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven

Would you hold my hand
If I saw you in heaven?
Would you help me stand
If I saw you in heaven?
I'll find my way through night and day
'Cause I know I just can't stay here in heaven

Time can bring you down, time can bend your knees
Time can break your heart, have you begging please, begging please

Beyond the door there's peace I'm sure
And I know there'll be no more tears in heaven

Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong and carry on
'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven

Plant Hangers Plus

A few years ago, Greg made a plant hanger for his house with his sons' initials on it.  He liked it so much, he made three for me - one for each of my sons - with the initials of each of their children.  (I think he also made one for each of his brothers with their children's initials.)  The plant hangers are attached to the left sides of the white posts that hold up the roof on my porch.

This is the one for Greg's family that shows better how they looked on the post:

It's everywhere

About a week ago, I was looking for something to read - something light - no mysteries - no murders - no drama - light.  So I checked on Amazon for Kindle freebies and found a book called "The Beach House" by Mary Alice Monroe - a Harlequin book.   I read some of the description - sounded pretty good - it got 4.5 stars on Amazon.  It said it was about a young woman far removed from the beach who reunites with her mother at the beach house.

Monday, Monday

... can't trust that day  (according to the Mamas and Papas).

I agree.  I'm all over the place today.

If you don't know... Facebook occasionally puts together random pictures in a collage - then they title the collage and suggest you share it as a post.  Usually, the pictures are pretty random, but today Facebook combined a picture (at the top of the collage) of Greg and his sons from about 10 years ago, a picture of the beautiful work area that Greg created for us (on the lower left)  and the picture of Psalm 91:4, that I posted after Greg died (on the lower right).

Bridge Over Troubled Waters

If only it had been enough.

When you're weary, feeling small
When tears are in your eyes, I'll dry them all (all)
I'm on your side, oh, when times get rough
And friends just can't be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

When you're down and out
When you're on the street
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you (ooo)
I'll take your part, oh, when darkness comes
And pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

Sail on silver girl
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way
See how they shine
Oh, if you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind

Joy in the small things

It's been a trying week, both physically and emotionally.  I'm ready for the distraction of the weekend.

Last Saturday we spent the morning at 5-year-old soccer and then left from there for 12-year-old football in the afternoon.  SO hot - humid - the sun overhead.  You get it.  Hot.  Very hot.

Sunday there were two soccer games with the girls - also mid to upper 80s - no breeze.  Tough afternoon.

10 ways to recognize a friend of mine

 10 ways to recognize a friend of mine

 1.  A Masters degree in Patience (preferably a PhD.) or equivalent life experience
 2.  An ample supply of tissues
 3.  Comfortable with frequent and spontaneous burst of tears lasting 30 seconds to a 3 minutes
 4.  Knows where I left my car keys (phone, pulse-ox, purse, glasses, or mind) - or is willing to help me find them
 5.  Understand the importance of "the hug" (both mental and actual)
 6.  Not embarrassed when seen in public with me toting an oxygen tank and with a rubber tube attached to my nose
 7.  Able to tolerate rambling and/or disjointed conversations
 8.  Likes Pina Coladas and walks in the rain (just seeing if you're a reader or a skimmer)
 9.  Smiles patiently when I tell stories about my grandchildren (over and over and over)
10. Brave and courageous, with a greater share of compassion than given to most humans.

Prayer warriors are greatly needed. 

Birthday thoughts

Today is my birthday - I woke up tired, discouraged, with a soup-thick brain fog.  This is sure not my happiest birthday.

I had an appointment with my rheumatologist this morning and an appointment this afternoon for a haircut.  Today was my first "I-don't-want-to-leave-the-house" day since Greg died. I mean I REALLY didn't want to leave the house.

Cheap Chicken Monday

My twelve-year-old grandson told me that Acme has a special on their fried (and grilled) chicken on Mondays - eight pieces for $6.99.  He loves it!

Greg didn't tell me about the special but he did tell me that Acme had the best fried chicken - anywhere.

Be attentive

Granddaughter soccer today.   7-year-old soccer at noon followed by 10-year-old soccer at 1:30.  These girls play pretty intense soccer.

Two days in a row of sunny days with temperatures in the mid 80s - so hot.   The heat takes a toll on me.  We took my new portable oxygen with an extra battery (or two) so that I was able to have constant oxygen.  I guess it's not surprising that my oxygen needs increase as the temperature and humidity rise.

Grieving and healing

Long night last night - couldn't sleep, so I got up, took a bath, read a while and finally got to bed at 4:00 am.  I slept about an hour - maybe an hour and a half and then it was time to get up.

Five-year-old soccer this morning (about a half hour north) - and then twelve-year-old football at 12:30 (about a half hour south).

No time to think today. No time to grieve - at least not time set aside to specifically grieve.  Whether I'm crying or not, I grieve all day - every day.    What does it meant to grieve, anyway?   Beyond the definition, how do you grieve?

Two year Facebook Memory

According to Facebook (and Facebook is THE authority on these things),  Greg gave me this 1949 Aladdin oil/kerosene lamp two years ago for my birthday.  He found it at a garage sale for $2.00.  I fell in love with it the minute I saw it.

Greg knew me really well - he knew what I liked - and he knew that I loved things with a story even more than new... or unused things.  We had that in common.  All you had to do was take a look in my basement and you would see that my tastes were varied and more than plentiful (That's 'polite' for basement-full-of-junk). 

Care

I have been on my own, emotionally, since I was very young - maybe seven or eight years old.  I've lived most of my life with my head down and my fists up (and a smile on my face).

I've been fiercely independent - determined (read: bullheaded).  I take care of myself - and everyone within my reach.  No one takes care of me.  I never expected anyone to take care of me.  It didn't occur to me that anyone would. 

Mercy

Watching the "Hand in Hand" benefit concert on television tonight - thinking of all of the people whose lives have been devastated by Hurricane Irma - and of all the people who have stepped outside themselves to help - to love - to be the change that we so desperately need.

Don't Give Up

Watching the weather on CNN and the Weather Channel - watching Hurricane Irma approach the United States - listening to the evacuation warnings and orders - talking to friends on the west coast of Florida who are in the process of leaving their business and their homes.

What I think - how I'm feeling - seems small and insignificant today - and so I offer this - for beauty of the message - and the beauty of the voices.

Feel the pain

Today,  Greg's death doesn't seem real.  I check my phone to see if he called or texted.  (He didn't) Why is it necessary to face reality?  I've never been great at reality anyway.  I've always tried to find my own reality. Maybe Reality is way overrated.

"Feel the pain so that you can heal."  Really?  What does 'healing' mean, anyway? How do you know you're healed?  Does healing change Reality?  (There's that dreaded Reality again)  "If you don't feel the pain now, you'll just take longer to heal."  What does that mean?

Meet BIlly

One afternoon Greg came into the house, grinning, with a rusty, dirty, metal squirrel that you could attach to a post.

"Nice, Greg," I said laughing.  "Where did you find that treasure?"

"Across the street - out of K's trash," he said, looking down at the squirrel.  He was obviously delighted with himself over this "find".

Showers of sadness

Tonight we went to the Container Store to buy a new order cart for our new helper.  Briefly... when Michael packs orders, he uses the cart to gather the leather and findings and then to mark a small card to include with each piece of the order.  The cart was (as in - used to be) low and made it painful to be bent over all day.

Spirits?

We have a young girl who takes pictures for us.  She cute, creative and she takes great pictures.  She's also very young.  She just graduated from high school this summer and this is her first job. Anyway... shes interesting, to say the least.

So!  Late this afternoon, this young girl sent me a Facebook message and asked if she could come back and talk to me.  I, of course, replied that she could.

What's a grief hangover???

Tuesday is therapy day - usually.  Next week it's going to be Thursday, but this week - and most weeks - it's Tuesday.

I woke up feeling not-so-great, but physically that's not altogether surprising.  I've been dealing with this autoimmune disease for over 15 years and I've learned to make feeling better a decision - like a fake-it-til-you-make-it kind of thing.  If I give in to the 'not-so-great' when my feet hit the floor, I'm doomed for the day.  I'm not giving in to this thing.

Two months

Two months today since Greg died.
It feels like a minute.
It feels like forever.
It doesn't feel like two months.

Holes

The hole in my heart is growing
What happens when
the hole in my heart
becomes larger than my heart?

Long overdue lunch

Greg's youngest son turned 13 this week.  I invited him for lunch and he chose Friday at 1:15 - so today it was.  I was thrilled he wanted to go.

He walked down the driveway, leaned into the driver's window to give me a kiss, and then walked around the car and got in the car in the front seat.  I laughed.

Antique Tricycle

Something lighter today...

Greg came to the house one day with a replica of an antique tricycle made out of steel.  I did my usual ooooooo's and ahhhhhhhh's that always seemed to accompany any new treasure from Greg. He knew me so well and we loved the same things.

Conflicts

In writing this down, there are things I don't know how to record - or even if I should.

There are feelings about people - interactions with people - that I'm not writing down.  It feels less than honest - only tells half of the story, but I'm not sure honesty is worth the cost - to friends - to family - to me.

Help or not?

So sad today.  Nothing makes sense to me.  I - especially don't make sense to me.  I don't know who I am.  I'm looking for the bread crumbs that mark the path out of this, but they've been eaten by the birds.  Do traditional "helps" really help?

Shackles

Greg sent this video to me one day and that night he talked to me about the video.  He said there were times that he made it through the day only because of this video.

Today I am grateful that Greg's shackles are gone - and that he can dance - finally.

Soccer Sunday

It's soccer season for the girls.  Richard texted last night to let me know that both girls had soccer tournaments today - in separate locations.

My first reaction was that I didn't want to go.  This was a too-busy week and I was looking forward to a Sunday of nothing - no pressure - no expectations.  BUT... I really do love to watch them play.

It depends

I'm trying.  I really am.  Trying to... what? Be normal?  What's normal for this?

My grandson had his first football game of the season today, so I was happy to go watch him.  He loves to play and I love to be one of his biggest fans.  It's a fit.

Another busy day

Today I went with my "tomato friend" to meet her parents and friends of ours who live in an assisted living facility (is that the right name?) for lunch.  The facility is about an hour and a half from us - beautiful ride - gorgeous day - great company.

Thursday is Chase day

Long day, but a good one.

I was sitting on the front porch this morning when Richard came to drop Chase off at my house.  He got out of the car, running toward me, his arms wide open.  I especially love that first hug.  I reached out and pulled him onto my lap, held him close and whispered in his ear how much I love him, how special he is to me, and how happy I am that he came to visit.  Chase's hugs are long and lingering.  He melts me.

Waiting

I'm waiting for a day without tears - don't know if that day will ever come, so I'll try to live my life in the spaces between the tears and hope that the people who have been so kind to me won't lose patience with me too quickly.

No horror stories

I originally started this journal (I don't think of it as a blog) about a year ago, after a disturbing night with Greg's drug use.  I chose the quote in the title, because I was hoping desperately that Greg could get the help he needed and live the life he deserved.  Obviously, that's not what happened.

My intent was to record all of the events on Greg's way to sobriety and happiness - and possibly it might help someone else's mother to hang on through their child's journey through drugs to a good life.

Child Rental - Postscript

Brynn and I had some very serious talks yesterday, but that was not the tenor of the day.

We laughed.  We played Animal Rummy and Dutch Blitz.  We made jewelry.  We baked cookies and Brynn made us lunch. She went to "Cake Camp" this summer and discovered a love for cooking and baking. 

Child rental

Today is what Richard's kids call a 'Grammie Day' - a one-on-one day with me.  Since my energy does have it's limits, I find that having each child by themselves works better for me (and them) than having them all together.  Is there anyone who couldn't stand a day of focused love - and the undivided attention of someone who thinks they are the warmth of the sun?  (And I do feel that way about each one)

High five

My house was built in 1952.  1952 was a great year for knotty pine - and my house did not escape.  The kitchen in knotty pine, the main bathroom WAS knotty pine, the den/TV room is completely knotty pine - floor to ceiling.  It's not paneling... it's the tongue and groove heavy duty knotty pine.

Lost and found

Today was Beadfest.  Beadfest is essentially a national jewelry trade show that comes once a year to the Philadelphia area - the largest of its kind.  We have several vendors that we deal with who come to Beadfest every year and we love to go see them.   We can pick up an order (saves shipping) and see what they have that's new and interesting - and catch up with the ones who have become friends. It's usually a fun day.

The non-reclining recliner

When Greg started spending so much time at my house, I bought him a chair.  He often talked about how he wanted, but could never find, a chair that reclined, but that you could still keep your feet on the floor.  I found one - kind of - on Overstock and I had enough credits from over the years that I was able to get the chair at no cost other than the reward points I had accumulated. 

For a moment

My faith has always been strong.  I don't question God - never have - hope I never will.  I surely don't understand all of this, but I'm not questioning God (at least not in words - spoken or thought).

People give me Bible verses about God's love - how he will hold me up - comfort me - and more. Most of the time I don't see it.  I feel alone and abandoned.

No thanks - but thanks

In August, before Greg's junior year in high school (and his older brother's senior year), Greg came home from football practice and told me that there was a kid on his football team who was having problems at home and needed a place to live.  After hearing the details of the problems, I was pretty sure I didn't want to be involved.  But Greg wouldn't let it go, so I called the Principal of the high school to see what he knew about this young man.  The principle told me that Rich (let's call him Rich) was an exceptional child - athlete - good student - someone we would be glad we had in our home.  Greg had it exactly right... after speaking with Rich's mother and grandparents, we invited him to come and stay with us.  That meant that we had two high school seniors, one high school junior, and our youngest, who was ten - all living in a house that was less than 1,000 square feet before we closed in the garage  - three bedrooms - 1 bathroom.

Blackness

The past couple days have been black.  In spite of how it appears, I'm trying.  Unicorns and rainbows don't do it for me.  I'm way past that.

I've always considered myself pretty brave. but I don't have the courage for this.

Can't

Not today.

One foot in front of the other

Today is a slow-moving, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other, kind of day.  My mind is slow and dull - and my body hurts.

Michael took two of my guitars in to be restrung.  (Part of me wonders why I wanted that done)  He unloaded my scooter and I got to go in and see the guitar tech (who is also a friend) - worth the trip.

Scattered thoughts

Medical tests all morning.  This time it's Michael's turn.   Lately it seems like this is all we do.  Surely there must be something else for old people to do than visit doctor's offices and hospitals.  Surely.

My therapist had a suggestion.  She suggested that maybe a support group - like 'Compassionate Friends' might be helpful.  I'm not sure I'm ready (or if I'll ever be).   There is some interesting information on their website - affirming.  I found "me" on this page several times: For the newly bereaved.  In the end, though, isn't that all just a big "so what"?

Putting in time

Yesterday was an energy depletion - both physically and emotionally - which means I'm starting off behind today.  There have been a lot of those days lately.

Penn Lung Center

Wednesday

This morning we left right after 8:30 for a 10:00am appointment at the University of Pennsylvania Lung Center.  I made the appointment about four months ago, so there was no canceling.  I had to go.

It took over an hour and a half to travel what should have taken about 30 minutes - BUT we got to enjoy the morning traffic on the westbound Schuylkill Expressway.  Thankfully, it was a pretty day - a great day for sitting on the Schuylkill.  :-)

Senseless

Tuesday

Better today, but not much.

If Greg died of cancer, he would still be gone.  But to hang himself?  What a senseless, useless death.  For someone who showed kindness every day -  who sometimes got paid with old cars or useless junk because he helped someone with no money - who was capable of more compassion - more empathy - more forgiveness than anyone I've ever known - what a sorrowful, desperate way to die.

Bracelets

Another day in the pits and I just can't write that again today.  Instead, I'll tell you about Greg's bracelets.

I think I've mentioned that I make bracelets.  If not... I make bracelets.  Currently, they're mainly leather bracelets.

The longest weekend

I am hollow.

I can barely hold my head up this weekend. I can't think.  My brain is a sieve.  Thoughts fall apart and fall through.

Maybe it's because Greg's garage and workshop are being dismantled this weekend- his things separated into piles for disposal.  I know it has to happen, but I hate the thought of it.

Lean in - but not too far

 I woke up tired, this morning - not a regular tired - an emotional tired.   I'm learning that when this feeling comes, I need to just lean into it.  It usually means that I've been pushing down the feelings and they're coming to get me.

If I don't pay attention - if I don't lean in - it will come harder tomorrow - and that frightens me.

A friend in need...

...needs a friend, indeed.  (my own twist)

Sometimes out of the worst of things, something wonderful happens.

After Greg died, I heard from an old friend (Let's call her Carol).  I met Carol over 30 years ago at church and loved her immediately.  We both had families.  Life gets busy.  And the years disappear.

One month

One month today since Greg died.
It feels like a minute.
It feels like forever.
It doesn't feel like a month. 

Check

Haircut this morning - didn't feel like going - almost canceled, but that empty hour is no income for a person who was counting on that income, so I went.

I heard from them the week after Greg died.  They know.  What will they say?  How will I react?  I sure don't want to spend an hour crying in a hair salon.  I should have canceled early in the week.  I might have - if I could have seen that far ahead, but I couldn't think about Thursday on Monday.  It's hard to imagine I ever did.

Have a Little Faith in Me

... and another one

I always saw this song in the context of "romance", but today it's the love of a mother for a son - that unconditional love that says... I love you... you can tell me... I'll love you no matter what... you can do this... have a little faith.

I am the weather

I'm angry today - unkind - ungrateful - judgemental - uncaring - unforgiving - impatient - ungracious - insensitive - all the things I hate.  I see each one in me today.  This is not who I want to be.

Mason therapy

Tuesday

Sporadic sleep last night - alternating short periods of sleep and short periods of wakefulness.  I think I was asleep more than I was awake, so that's a good thing.  I'll take it.

Hole in the World

Tuesday

Richard said he finds that song lyrics mean something different too him now.  The words take on a different meaning.  I find the same thing.  Parts of songs jump out at me and I hear them differently than I ever did before.

Monday, Monday

Monday

Another difficult day.  I'm trying.

I had a lunch date with a friend of Richard's - someone who's been a special friend of his since they were in school back in "the day" (let's call her Tammy).  She is dear and sweet and someone I've cared about for years.

I wanted to go - to see her - talk with her - to remind her how much she's loved.   My thoughts are scattered today - I'm having a hard time putting thoughts in order.  Today I'm not able to put the numbers 1 through 10 in order.

Still here

Monday

Some days I wake up, half surprised that I'm here,
wondering if I'll make it through the day.

The Scream

Pretty day today, so we decided to take a ride to Lancaster.  We were about 15 minutes down the road when I started second-guessing my decision to go.

There are days that I feel fragile - painfully needy - and I hate being needy.  I want to be stronger, so I do things sometimes that I shouldn't do - push myself more than is good for me.  I don't want to be a burden to anyone - to Michael - to my kids.  There are days that I just want to curl up in a ball and hide in the dark.

Flea Market Flip

Greg and Michael and I watched Flea Market Flip - a lot.  We all had opinions about what the "flippers" chose - how much they paid - what they decided to do to the pieces they purchased.

We each knew who paid too much for what item - who lacked creativity - who had no color sense.  We all knew that Greg could spend $25 and make 3 items that were crazy creative - and win.  He wouldn't need anywhere near the $500 total allotted for purchases.  Buy low - sell high.  Easy peasy!

His voice

Saturday

I miss the sound of Greg's voice.  I can hear him in my head, but I'm afraid I'll forget how he sounds.  The thought crushes me and I'm a sea of tears - again.

I know Amy has to turn Greg's phone off at some point, but maybe she hasn't yet.  Maybe I can still reach his voicemail.  So I call... and there he is.  More tears - and then the tears are replaced with an urgent project - how to record Greg's message before his phone number is turned off.

Music and friends

Friday

Restless today.  I am beginning to see all the things I wanted to do in the house over the past few weeks and completely forgot about.  I can see them, but I'm not capable of doing anything about them yet.  Maybe tomorrow.

Andy, the friend who came with his wife to visit the other day is a musician.  He plays tonight at a local bar and Michael thinks it would be nice for us to go and support him.  I agree.

Small steps - and rest

Thursday

A day to recover.

I'll make some phone calls today that I've either put off or forgotten about - and schedule some medical tests.

Call #1.  I have an appointment at the Penn Lung Center in August.  I don't have a clue what day - or what I need to tests I need to have before I go.  I called, got the date, found out what I need and was relieved to find that I had not missed the appointment - and I still have time to complete the tests.

Play date

Wednesday

Up early to prepare for Kate.  Mornings are not my best thing and I want to be ready and outside waiting for her when her dad pulls into the driveway at 9:10am.  We agreed on 9:00 which means he'll be here at 9:10.  I smile the first smile of the day.

Dressed, hair, makeup, clothes - check.   It's a pretty morning - 70's - low humidity - a great morning to sit on the porch and read while I wait for Kate.

Changes - hour by hour

Tuesday

Yesterday I began adding the day to my post - just a self-check.  I forget what day it is.

Not much sleep last night - foggier fog than usual this morning.
. 
9:40 - Michael and I are out the door for back to back appointments at the lab for blood work - mine at 10:00; his at 10:15.  We're finished by 10:45.  (They do not have "Princess"  band-aids.  Bummer.)

Loveburgers

Monday

A couple of days ago, A friend (we'll call her "R") of Greg's (since they were in 2nd grade) invited Michael and me to dinner on Monday (today... or well... last night since it's 2:00 am.)

I asked her if I could let her know on Monday.  She sweetly replied that I could.

This morning looked like it would be another day like the last 3.  Or was it 4?  The days bleed into each other and I can't remember what day it is.  Brain fog.

"Determined"

I learned this weekend that sheer will does not determine the quality of the day.  Shouldn't have been an "Aha!" moment, but it was.

Friday was SO bad, I "decided" that yesterday would be better.  I thought I could "manage" my sadness and grief.  Right.  Not happening, but surely not from trying.  

woowoo

I've been seeing a therapist for about 6 months (I think - my time warp is time warped).  I liked her as a person before I liked her as a therapist.  She's terrific as both.

I was rejected by two therapists before I found her.   Too much baggage - they weren't sure they could help me.  Too much illness - too much stress - too much trauma.  Do you have any idea how it feels to be rejected by a therapist?  There's a joke in here somewhere, but I still can't find it.

The longest day

Today is the longest, saddest day so far.  Every time I stop crying, I start again.

I feel Greg's pain - over and over all day.  I feel his shame.  I carry his sadness.  I ache for his frustration and loneliness.

Truck - hope

I started this morning the same way I ended last night - in tears. Yesterday it was the bathtub.  Today... it's Greg's truck.

Scott is trying to get rid of Greg's truck for Amy, but he said it's a disaster.  The cab of the truck was filled from the floor to the roof in the back and in the front - leaving only a very small place for Greg to sit.  There were clothes, tools, nails and screws, pipes and fittings - almost anything you could think of.  There are missing knobs inside, a problem with the front end, and other signs of neglect.

It was the bathtub

I don't feel like doing this tonight.  I've had enough "feeling" for today.  But, if I don't want to do it, that's probably proof that I need to do it.

This morning was okay - then lunch with Richard - always good.   Michael had a CT scan this afternoon at 3:30, so we left the house around 3:00.

Slow day in a busy week

I woke up this morning, procrastinated for about a half hour and finally dragged myself out of bed - took a bath - did the whole "get-up-and-get-moving" thing.

Checking in with myself, I feel sad - not an overwhelming sad - a quiet shadow-sad that promises to follow me around today.   How long?  You never know with this stuff.  Some days it gets worse - some days it gets better.  This morning, the sadness just hangs on me like a weight.

Lift the fog

I've noticed that even when I seem fine on the outside, my brain is not functioning normally.  I'm scattered - I have trouble following conversations - or simple directions.  For example:

* I took a bath, washed my hair, dried off and then realized that I hadn't rinsed the shampoo out of my hair.  Back in the bath for me.

Can you cha cha?

I remember teaching Greg to cha cha in the long hallway in our house.  James Taylor was playing on the stereo (is that an old word?) and Greg said that he didn't know how to "Cha Cha Cha" so I told him I'd teach him.  We started the song again, and before the song was over, Greg could cha cha - in spite of how hard we laughed.  I miss him.

Movie Memories

Mamma Mia

A couple months ago on a gray, rainy day, Greg stopped by.

"I'm ready to escape the gray day with a movie." I said.  "Interested?,"

"I'm in," He replied, settling himself in HIS chair.

Watch for the clues

I thought I was pretty good this morning.  I woke up - didn't feel like staying in bed to avoid the day. I could feel my fingers and toes - my breathing was even - no horrific images in my head - no sobbing when I put my feet on the floor to start the day.  It was going to be a good day.

I took a bath - my usual routine.  I've done the same thing every morning for as long as I can remember - at least since I was married in 1970 - in the same order - muscle memory takes over - I don't even have to think about it.

The sky knows

It rained for two days after Greg died.  His friend said that the sky was weeping with him over the loss of his friend.  He was right.  The sky wept with all of us who loved Greg.

Today the sky is enraged and menacing - growling and spitting fire.  Crashing thunder and lightning echo the turmoil inside me.  Violent rain pounds the ground - a rushing river flows across my yard.

I want it to carry me away.

Gregory

Greg's oldest son, Gregory is 19 years old today.  Not surprisingly, he's not interested in a celebration of any kind.

I sent him a text message to tell him that if there was ever a time to celebrate his birth, this is the year.

He thanked me, but it didn't help.  Nothing helps.

Fear vs Love

I woke up, again, afraid of the day - and what it would hold - how much pain - how much sorrow - what surprises would shake me - rock me without warning today.

I finished my "morning routine (maybe should be mourning routine??), fielded a horrible phone call that turned out to be a scam, and Richard called on his way out of town.

Prayed up

Amy planned a reception for friends and family after the burial.  Not what I would have done, but again, it was perfect. (Pay attention, people!  Learn the lessons along with me, if you haven't learned them before.)

When asked last week... "Are you going to the funeral home on Wednesday morning?

Burial today

I buried my son today.  He was cremated and I'm grateful.  I don't think I could stand to think about putting his body under the ground.  Ashes are easier for me to live with.  I'm not sure that makes sense, but it's how I feel.

Grave marker

Today, Richard, Scott, and I made arrangements for a grave marker for Greg.  According to Richard and Scott, Greg was very opinionated about his father's grave marker, so we had a pretty good idea of what he wanted.

The plan was for the three of us to meet at the cemetery.  I knew it would be hard, but I counted on Richard and Scott to get me through in one piece.  I drove out by myself - thought it would be horribly sad, but that I'd be okay.

 

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die. 

                                        Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

By Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/do-not-stand-by-my-grave-and-weep

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

By Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/do-not-stand-by-my-grave-and-weep

Call me Hansel

I picked up a tissue from the floor this morning and it made me laugh.  It reminded me of Hansel and Gretel.

If you remember the fairy tale, Hansel and Gretel were the children of a poor woodsman and his wife (obviously, their stepmother).  The wife decided that unless they got rid of the children, they would all starve, so they planned to take the children into the forest and abandon them.

Absention

I was wide awake at 5:40 this morning, but stayed in bed until almost 9:00 am - as if I could avoid the day that way.

Didn't work. 

Day 5?

The days are blurring into one long sadness.  Today was a hard one.  Each hour seemed to last two hours.  I watched the clock as the hours snailed through the day - and the night.

The days seem endless.  I wake up waiting for bedtime and I go to bed dreading morning.  Will that ever change?

Gifts

About the time, I thought I might actually cry myself to death, Richard stopped by to check on me.  He knelt on the floor and held me while I cried - and shook - and tried to pull myself together.

Always (unless he's really cranky - and he can get cranky) his voice calms me and somehow, life makes some kind of sense again.  His smile (and he smiles a lot) gives me hope. :-)

Birthday

Today is Greg's birthday.  He would have been 44 years old.

My knees are weak.  It's hard to breathe.  The tears never stop.  I try to cry quietly - but I hear the sounds I make.  They're ugly - and deep - guttural - and I can't control it.  When I inhale to catch a breath, I think my chest will cave in and that will be the end. I hope so.  I try not to hope so.

Character

Better day today.  Sadness comes in waves, but the waves today were not the ones that break over you and crush you.

There is also admiration - for both Richard and Scott and their kindness.  Scott's response to Amy's situation has been a study in grace and compassion.  I'm humbled by his heart.  

Six arms of therapy

Late afternoon and Richard tells me he has to leave.  It's been raining all day.  The kids' swimming meet has been canceled and Brynn has a basketball game in about a half hour.

"See you there," I say impulsively.

He leaves and I tell Michael (dear, patient Michael) that I need to go to that basketball game.  He (of course) stops what he's doing and we get ready and leave for the game.

How many hours in a day

Engulfed in sadness today - trying to stay busy - hard to see through the tears.

Richard is in the next room, doing whatever he's done since Tuesday to save me from additional sadness - to do the things that I'm not able to do.  I'm glad he's close.

Bring the straight jacket

Last night I thought I was going to lose my mind.  I thought someone was going to come and take me out of the house in a straight jacket.  I lost it.  I won't describe it - don't want to relive it - don't know what I'll do if/when it happens again.

Yesterday was busy after we heard the news.  Michael's daughter was here with her husband and they kept me busy until bedtime.

My son is gone

Today my son killed himself.  He hanged himself in the workshop behind his house and was found less than a half hour later by his wife.  He would have been 44 years old on the 8th of July.

I'm lost.