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.