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.