New Phone

I got a new phone that arrived with all the "new phone" issues of losing log-ins, saved passwords, sometimes apps, and in this case, a whole lot of randomly missing contacts. I lost old contacts, new contacts, all kinds of contacts.

So!  Last night, I decided to go through my text messages that just had phone numbers - no names - to see what contacts I could add back through text messages.  Pretty doggone clever, eh?

I was feeling pretty good about myself - glad that I tend to use people's names in text messages - finding numbers - reading texts - identifying the texter - and re-adding them to my contacts.   I was finding my lost contacts with great glee (and gratitude) - when I ran into a string of text messages with Greg's phone number.

My breath caught in my chest and the tears came before I could stop them.  The words were there - demanding that I read them.  I read as much as I was strong enough to read.  The tone of the messages I read was warm, light, tender at times, loving without question, easy, comfortable (sober).  It was the way you talk with someone that you love dearly - and know better than they know themselves - in both directions.  In both directions.  I could hear his voice in each message - see his face.  For a few minutes, he was alive again.

Oh God, I miss him.
 
I didn't sleep last night.  I cried.

But the new day starts, whether you're ready or not.  I try hard to be ready.

Today I regrouped as best as I could, went through my day (quietly), made bracelets, answered customer's emails, did some bookkeeping - just normal "stuff", but I didn't have much voice - not many words.

While making bracelets, I remembered the recording I made with my phone of Greg's voicemail after he died.  I grabbed my phone immediately to make sure that the recording transferred to my new phone.  It did not.

Panic

I haven't listened to the recording in quite a while, but it has to be there when I need to hear his voice.  I was afraid I'd forget how he sounded, but now I know there's no chance of that. 

I looked for the recording off and on all day, positive that I saved it somewhere on my hard drive.  No luck.

Tonight I found it in my email (I'm an email hoarder) and saved it on my computer.  I can't lose it. 

The only way to be sure it works is to listen to it.  As I close my eyes and listen, the hurricane of pain and sadness that swirled around me all week nearly breaks me in two.

My sweet son - is gone.  How will I bear it

Not me

Some days I look okay... sound okay... act okay... but I'm not okay.

I take a shower - have breakfast - take my medication - welcome the contractor who's building a powder room in my basement - smile - make a joke... but it's not me.  It looks like me... sounds like me... acts like me... but it's not me.

I'm not in that body.  I can see that body, but I'm not in it - not today.

A Million Little Things

A TV show on ABC based on a man who jumped from a building and killed himself - and the effect of his suicide on his friends and family - something that I probably never should have watched, but I heard it was good. I thought... after the first episode, I'd be okay.  For the most part, that's true.  Every now and then... it's not.

On this week's episode, I heard a psychiatrist (or maybe a psychologist) say that only 1% of the people who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge survived.  Of that 1%, 100% said that the instant they jumped, they regretted it.

They said they realized that it wasn't a case of, "I don't want to live."  It was a case of, "I don't want to live like this."

I wish I had the ability to un-hear things.

No Hard Feelings

Maybe a reminder to hang on loosely - live your life daily - live in peace - know where you are going after this.  Simple and profound.  (The base player doesn't sing - in case you wondered)  Video after the lyrics.

No Hard Feelings

When my body won't hold me anymore
And it finally lets me free
Will I be ready? 

When my feet won't walk another mile
And my lips give their last kiss goodbye
Will my hands be steady?

When I lay down my fears
My hopes and my doubts 
The rings on my fingers
And the keys to my house
With no hard feelings

When the sun hangs low in the west
And the light in my chest
Won't be kept held at bay any longer 

When the jealousy fades away
And it's ash and dust for cash and lust
And it's just hallelujah 

And love in thoughts and love in the words
Love in the songs they sing in the church
And no hard feelings

Lord knows they haven't done
Much good for anyone
Kept me afraid and cold
With so much to have and hold

Mmh

When my body won't hold me anymore
And it finally lets me free
Where will I go? 

Will the trade winds take me south
Through Georgia grain or tropical rain
Or snow from the heavens?

Will I join with the ocean blue
Or run into the savior true
And shake hands laughing 

And walk through the night
Straight to the light
Holding the love I've known in my life
And no hard feelings

Lord knows they haven't done
Much good for anyone
Kept me afraid and cold
With so much to have and hold 

Under the curving sky
I'm finally learning why
It matters for me and you
To say it and mean it too 

For life and its loveliness
And all of its ugliness
Good as it's been to me
I have no enemies
I have no enemies
I have no enemies
I have no enemies

Songwriters: Robert Crawford / Scott Avett / Timothy Avett

15 Months

15 months - and it hurts just as much.

I have some new insights, but I'm too raw today to write them.  I'll try soon.

I haven't written it every month, but if you don't hear from me on the 4th, know that it still hurts as much.  If that changes, I'll be sure to let you know. 

Garage cleanout

I mentioned that we are having our garage floor replaced.  What a huge job!  We didn't find out until Friday that Joe wanted to start work on the floor the next Monday (October 1st).  Riiiiiiight!

Before the work could start, we had to empty the garage.  Do you have a garage?  Is it ultra tidy - or is it like mine? 

Scott and Richard both offered to help move the contents of the garage over the weekend.  I don't know what we would have done without them.

One of the things that had to be removed from the garage, was a set of shelves that Greg built for Michael - to hold all of his shipping envelopes and boxes - so that Michael didn't have to go up and down the stairs every time he needed a shipping envelope.  He built the shelves out of whatever he could find in the garage:  dry wall, pieces of scrap lumber - anything available.  The shelves weren't pretty, but they were a huge help to Michael.

The shelves were moved to the back porch until the construction is over.  Scott and Richard suggested that I have new shelves built that would look better and be more sturdy.  I just nodded my head - couldn't talk.  Greg built them.  I don't like to get rid of anything connected to Greg - in any way.  It's like I'm throwing away a part of him.  How can anyone ask me to do that.

At the same time, there was a bag of small pieces of wood - useless, unless you're a contractor.  And boards - old boards - same thing.  On sane days, I know that saving everything that Greg touched isn't good for me.  It makes me sad to see those things - reminds me of how unrooted he was - how alone he felt - out of his home - away from his children.  It's not just blocks of wood to me - or pieces of wood - shelves made out of loose ends.

Greg left me so many special things - the plant hangers with the initials of my  grandchildren - the old-time tricycle on my mantle that he made out of metal - the 1949 Aladdin kerosene lantern in the dining room - the plastic happy-memory Santa on my window sill in the kitchen - and of course, Billy the squirrel on my mailbox - just to name a few.  Do I really need/want blocks of wood, boards, shelves made out of drywall to remember him?

While cleaning out the garage, Scott and Richard threw out the blocks of wood, and boards, laughing about what a hoarder their dad was (or at least pretending so for my benefit). When they told me, I had a catch in my throat - and then I mentally reminded myself of all that I have that connects me to Greg (as if any physical thing is necessary).  I was sad briefly, but then it was okay.

Richard and Scott asked Michael if he wanted those shelves back in the garage.  Michael told them that he did not.  Michael knew instinctively that if they came back in, I would not be able to let them go.

Richard said he would come and get the necessary things back in the garage.  If he gets rid of the shelves and I don't have to see them again, I think I can handle it.   I am grateful for all of Richard's help.

I'll just go sit on the porch and look at my plant hangers and talk to Billy for a little while and I'll be okay. 

Coming and going

I had hopes in the beginning of writing every day.  After reading the first few months of this (after I promised myself I would not go back and read what I wrote), I couldn'e help but think how depressing it was - couldn't possibly help ANYone - and wondered if it was good for me to write every day.

A cancer diagnosis solved part of that problem for me.  There are days I'm just too exhausted to do anything other than the things I need to do every day - the "one-foot-in-front-of-the-other" things that keep me from thinking any farther than the next hour.

So... I come and I go.  I don't like it, but it's where I am in my life at the moment.  Maybe tomorrow will be better - or next week maybe.

I feel better today than I have for quite a while (remembering that everything is relative).

I didn't feel great this morning, so I went and plunked myself on the sofa (a reclining sofa) in the den - put my feet up and my head back - and I fell asleep quickly.  Sounds perfectly normal - until you understand that we are having construction at our house this week.

Downstairs, in the basement, the plumber (let's call him Dave) is breaking up the concrete floor in order to add a powder room there.

In the garage, a concrete guy (let's call him Joe), who had already broken up and removed our garage floor on Monday, was filling the garage floor area with gravel and tamping and leveling (I guess) the gravel with a machine that sounded like a helicopter was in our garage - truly.  It was so loud, that Michael and I had to yell to talk in the den (the garage is on the other side of the wall where the sofa is located).

Michael left - I fell asleep - with the helicopter machine behind my head - growling and sounding like a helicopter.  I probably slept close to two hours.  It was likely that the silence of the helicopter-sounding machine being finished was what woke me up.

After I woke up, when I saw Michael, he looked concerned - couldn't believe I could fall asleep with that noise.  He said he came and checked on me several times.  I was sound asleep.

"How are you doing?," he asked, his brow furrowed with worry.

"I feel SO much better after sleeping!"  I'm going to take a shower, get dressed, and get my day going.  He just hugged me and told me he loves me - which I appreciate.  He thinks I'm "just being brave", but I really do feel pretty good - a far cry from three hours ago.  This is how it's gone - up and down in the same day - often within a couple of hours.  Crazy,

This whole experience is just strange - not definable - barely describable - it just is.  And what is true this minute may be entirely different an hour from now.

And once again, like ripples in a pond, this affects everyone I know and love.

Minute by minute - step by step - in faith - trusting God.  That's all you can do.