I can't belive this

I am absolutely stunned with what the NRA said today. More guns?!?! Police in school?!?! I am physically sick to my stomach, literally. I had hope that some kind of common sense would prevail today. I had hope that people would come before money. I had hope that peace would come before fear. I had hope that 20 dead children would bring this country to a place of peace, give us a wake up call. I cannot believe people would even think more guns is a solution, much less say it out loud, in public, on TV. I am sick.

The world did not end today, but mine is so dark. I am clinging to hope that there is a bright future. I can only see one through Jes. She has a bright future, and I will do whatever it takes to make sure I am around to see what happens. That is the only bright spot I can see, the only bright spot I can see anytime in my future, anywhere.

Maybe I do need some medical intervention, i.e. depression medication. John and I will have been married 12 years on the 23rd. He will have been dead for one year on the 20th of January. Daddy will have been dead for one year on March 14. Damn. DAMN!!!!!

I feel like typing on big long string of cuss words. Stop the world, I want to get off this ride.

I have been telling myself, the last couple of days, that I need to start writing again. Private writing. I need to get my thoughts straightened out. Barack Obama said in a interview not too long ago, that he writes because when you try to put your thoughts into complete sentences, you have to face the tough questions. You have to give things more thought. It is easy to just think. When the going gets hard, you just think about something else. But, when I try to write, somehow, it forces me to finish the thought.

I guess that is what I must do then. Write in my private journal. At the very least, start drawing and coloring again.

Stop the world, I want to get off.

Comfortably Numb

I have spent the last month or so being "comfortably numb". That changed today with the news of the school shooting in Connecticut. I apparently still have anger issues, because I went off on Facebook, posting like crazy about it. I haven't been angry in a while, so I guess I am getting better.

I have had the blues the last couple of days. I really miss John. I remember missing him more on Jes' birthday than either his birthday or my own. I am really missing him with Christmas coming up. He was always there sharing in my Christmas ideas, being my sounding board. We talked for a couple of months about what to get Jes and we usually went shopping together to get something really good for her. This year, I can't even think what "big" present she should get. John was always better at that then me.

The summer before Daddy's cancer diagnosis, Jes and I went to visit, and I took one of the best pictures of him. It is one of the last ones any of us have of him when he was healthy and happy. I felt compelled to give everyone in my family a copy of this picture for Christmas this year. I told Betsy that I was doing it because I didn't want anybody to forget. But when that came out of my mouth, I realized how ridiculous that is. So I don't know why I feel the need to give everyone a copy. When I was in Louisiana, I went through a box of old pictures, and it was comforting in a weird sort of way, so I think I am trying to give that comfort to the rest of us. It is also my way of including Daddy in Christmas. Maybe it will bring up the conversation we seem to avoid having. I would love to talk about the good old times. I would love to talk about Daddy and John.

Sometimes bad news seems so overwhelming. It clouds out the good in the world. The good things are usually so fleeting, so small, they come and go almost unnoticed. But the bad news stays and stays. The world seems like a very ugly place full of very ugly people, and the ugly ones block my view of the good ones. And it seems like the good ones die in greater quantities. 27 people, including 18 children, and only one bad guy died. Two really good people in my life died, and the bad ones are still alive and kicking. Un-fucking-fair. And it makes for a very ugly world.

The Black Hole

Shortly after the hell known as January-March 2012, my sister was talking to a co-worker that had lost her son, and knew the pain of death, and this lady told Betsy "Stay away from the black hole." We can all picture what the black hole is. I'm quite sure this means different things to different people, but it is pretty much all the same.

Well, I just recently fell into the black hole, and Betsy and Teresa had to come in and get me out. Here is how that happened.

When I was mentally preparing to go home (home to Louisiana, MO), I was not looking forward to it. I actually hated the idea, but I have to check on the house, and I wanted to vote in Missouri. I knew it was going to be sad, and I thought I could handle it. I thought I was strong enough to be able to look sadness in the face and feel it, but stay sane while feeling it.

A few months ago, I quit paying for cable TV, because I am very cheap. John would be the first to tell you that. He used to be partly amused, and partly aggravated about it. So, I knew I would not have television, which was ok because I don't watch it that much anyway. As long as I had internet, I would be ok. Plus I packed a whole box of books, markers, music CDs etc. to keep myself entertained. Pretty soon after I got home, I threw away one of my CDs because it kept skipping. Then the next one did, and the one after that, so instead of throwing away CDs, I threw away the player. I could still listen to music on the computer though. I also realized one day what I missed about television was hearing other people's voice. I missed hearing people talk. Even if I wasn't listening to what they were saying, just having that in the background, was something I missed.

The internet I have there is not unlimited, and ridiculously expensive if you go over your "allotted" gigabits. I must have been beginning to enter the black hole, because I could have come back to Texas before election day, but it seemed too much trouble, so I decided to stay until after the election. So, election night, I had to watch what was happening. I streamed NBC news for eight hours. It occurred to me the day after, that I should check my internet usage, and I had already used up 2/3 of my allotted time, and I still had over two weeks before the amount "reset". So, not only did I not have television, I had to start limiting my only other contact with the outside world.

As I said before, I don't cook in that kitchen, I don't hang out in the living room, so that leaves the bedroom. And guess what is in there - John's whole wardrobe. He is EVERYWHERE in that house. EVERYWHERE!!!! Even if I could take out all of his stuff, he is in the kitchen cabinets we installed ourselves. He is in the new bedroom windows that he put in. He is in the bathroom that we have re-done at least three times, including the tub, toilet, and sink.

Not only is John built into the house, it is where Jes grew up. Jes and I are in the house too. We lived there for over 14 years. I remember a few years ago thinking how sad it was going to be to sell that house. That was home, for a long time. Home for the family of Suzy, Jes, and John. People grieve over losing just their home.

Anyway, I just got sadder and sadder. I couldn't make myself do anything. The grocery store is now 11 miles (one way) away, so that was way to much trouble. I had pizza delivered. I don't have to go anywhere, or do anything for that. So for the last three days I was there, that is what I ate. Two pieces of pizza a day. Healthy, right? No veggies, no protein, no nutrition. For three days (at least) pizza and coffee was my intake. I made an additional mistake of getting whiskey. The one thing I would get out of the house for was cigarettes, and booze is sold at the cigarette store.

I slept a lot too. And dreamed a lot. John or Daddy wasn't dead in my dreams. I had a normal life in dreamland.

I was able to sound ok on the phone when Jes or Betsy, or Pat, or Teresa called. No need for them to worry. I was able to sound upbeat in texts, and on Facebook. It's all good, everything's gonna be all right, Bob Marley said so, and I choose to believe him. Meanwhile, Garth Brooks, the Rolling Stones, Melissa Etheridge, and others were telling me that the world is sad, but love is good. Love that I have now lost.

Anyway, on Friday night, Betsy called. I had been crying frequently for the past two days and nights, and thought that was healthy. Tears are cleansing, right? If I am able to cry, I'm getting better, right? Betsy could hear the sadness in my voice and asked when I was coming home (to Texas home). I remember telling her that I didn't know because it just seemed like to much trouble. She said "Are you not coming home because you want to stay there, or because it is too much trouble to get in the car?" I couldn't say the answer out loud, so she said, "I'm coming to get you". The relief I felt at that moment was exactly what I needed. I was able to say Ok. And she flew in the very next morning. Teresa picked her up from the airport, and they came over and saved me. Just like Bob Marley's Three Little Birds, we got to spend time together, just three sisters, three mothers, three friends. And Betsy drove home with me. My throat actually started getting sore from all the talking we did in the 16 hour drive.

I am home now. Texas home, with Jes, and Betsy, and Zak, and Pat. And the cats, and unlimited internet, and TV, and food, and people to talk to, and things to do, and everything that you don't even realize are important, until you don't have them anymore.

I feel much better.

Just a plain old sad day

Maybe I'm trying to put off getting very unpleasant chores done by choosing now to write a blog post. But anyway, here what has been going through my head today.

This has happened a lot in the past nine months, but it makes me very sad to see old married couples. John and I were supposed to be one of those. I want to tell them all that no matter how annoying some traits your spouse has, hang on tight. It sounds cliche to say I lost my best friend, but John and I were friends. I really liked John. We had a lot in common and we enjoyed a lot of the same things, coupled with the respect that not everything has to be enjoyed by both of us. He didn't get my compulsion with the computer, facebook, news articles, games, etc. I don't partake in the music making, fishing, drinking, but we never asked each other to not do those things. We were individuals, but together. We were supposed to be an old couple. We used to laugh when a car would pass with the lady driving and the man in the passenger seat sound asleep drooling. John was looking forward to that. It is so sad that he doesn't get to get old, or that we don't to get old together.

I don't cook here anymore. We both used to. I don't eat in the kitchen anymore. We always sat at the island and ate together. I don't know how widows get used to being alone in a house that used to be full of life. I am having a super hard time doing it.

Looking into the future, I never saw myself as single, alone. I wasn't supposed to have to do everything myself, or by myself. And I mean EVERYTHING. Cook, eat, clean the yard, sell the car, clean the house, sell the house, make every single decision by myself with no input or second opinion, no one to talk things through with, no one to motive me to get moving. Everything is a goddamn chore and I don't want to do any of it! (Toddler sitting on the floor banging his head.)

Poor little me. Now I'm just getting mad. I guess I will go work out some frustrations on the stupid fucking flower beds that I used to enjoy.

I had a dream

I had a dream last night. Actually it wasn't a sleeping kind of dream, I was wide awake. I will not go into the back story, but I dreamed/wished last night that my mother and her partner could come up here to Louisiana, MO and help me with this house. They are retired and travel around, working at various places, in an RV. It would be extremely helpful if they could come park in my backyard and help dismantle our life here. A mother's cooking is always comforting, and Slick's (yes, that is what he is called), would be very helpful with repairs and other dirty kinds of tasks. But, that will never happen, and that is very sad, especially since the parent I had that would be more than happy to come help, died in March. Yes, I'm 50ish, and at a time like this, I want my mommy and daddy.

I read an article written by a "life coach specializing in grief" about cleaning her husband's closet out. It was FOUR YEARS after his death!! Did you see the phrase "life coach specializing in grief"? I always feel that I am a very bad procrastinator, but geez, four years is an extremely long time. One of the things John didn't like about me was my procrastination. I keep hearing his voice in my head "Why haven't you got this done yet? What have you been doing all day?" Here is what I tell him, "Well, I wouldn't even be having to do this if you hadn't died, so you should just be quiet." Actually I use a little stronger language than that. I sometimes get mad at him for dying.

I haven't been to this house in over two months, and I needed to come back, for one to vote, but also to check on the house. The house is fine, the yard is another matter. Flower beds are full of weeds, and the whole outside just looks like nobody lives here. I also feel like I should start dismantling the life we had here. I started in the bathroom, throwing out old medicine, etc. Moved to the living room but I only ended up making piles of things to sell/donate or keep. I didn't have boxes or anything to put stuff in. It felt ridiculous moving things from one place to another. So, I moved into the kitchen and started throwing away the food that will never be eaten. As soon as I got to the cabinet holding the spices that John used to cook with, I stopped. I don't know why I stopped, and I didn't even think about it. It was like a giant stop sign popped up, a huge roadblock, a dead end. My inner instinct just stopped me. I probably could have sat down and given it some thought, and maybe overcome the roadblock, but that didn't even occur to me. I just stopped. A day or so later, I was able to go through my books and figure out what to keep and what to donate. So, two more piles. When Daddy gave us books, he usually wrote a note on the inside blank page, so I went through those and tore that page out, so those pages are now the third pile.

I thought this process would be hard, but I had no idea. I'm not ready for it, not that it will be any easier in four years, but 9 months seems to early for me.

I have had offers of help from Jes and two sisters, but they have lives that shouldn't be interrupted by my problems.

Looks like I've got some thinking to do. I think I will put it off though and play some more computer games. They are mind numbing and time killing.

John's birthday

Today is John's birthday, and tomorrow will be nine months since his death. He would be 63 today. He would have been glad to have made it another year. We didn't really celebrate birthdays with gifts or even cakes, but we did acknowledge the milestone. On your birthday, you get to be king or queen for the day. Your wishes are granted (to the best of ones ability).

John's younger friends had begun to call him "old man". That bothered him a lot. He would say "I don't want to be old." I never thought of him as old, and I don't think he thought it either. He had began to think about what it would be like to retire, but that was it, began to think about it. We had also been thinking about our "bucket list." But the reason for that was because we finally had enough money to be able to do things on our bucket list, not because we were getting older. Going on a cruise was on our bucket list. John got to pick that vacation, and I was going to pick the next one. Then he got to pick the one after that.

During the exciting weeks leading up to the cruise, we were dreaming of how much fun we could have. We could really, truly relax. No driving, no cooking, no running errands. On a cruise, everything is done for you. The only responsibility you have is to enjoy and appreciate. And - we were going to get drunk and do Karaoke. Yep, let our hair down, get drunk, and play, make fools of ourselves, and enjoy the hell out of it. We talked about and practiced singing together. I pulled out my CD of the Rolling Stones hits. That is when I re-discovered the song Wild Horses. I played that song over and over and over and over.

When I am thinking about John, or when I want to "go there", to my sad place, that is the song I listen to. It makes me cry every time.

John is king for the day. I will spend the day thinking about him. That is all I can give him.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EhVLiHPUOIM

Where is it coming from?

I have been wracking my brain, trying to figure out what makes me so mad about religious people, and their perception of death.

I follow a Facebook page called Grief Beyond Belief. So many of the comments are about how mad it makes people when someone says things like "God's will", etc. It is very clear that it is not just me. This blog has really helped with my anger issues, but I am still not over it, so I will try once again to express it.

From my perspective, people that truly believe in God, and Jesus, really believe that there is a heaven. There really is a place dead people go. And they will get to see them again. Therefore, they can almost be happy about someone dying. How lucky the dead person is because he/she gets to meet Jesus. Lucky because they get to see their mothers and fathers again. They are not really dead, they are just in a place that we cannot communicate with them any longer.

Also, because it is "God's plan", there is nothing to feel sad about. God loves them, and will only do what is best. Do religious people feel guilty if they don't want their father to be dead? How do they reconcile their own wants? Is praying really comforting? Does it really ease the pain? In prayer, do you get to "give your pain to Jesus" so you no longer feel it? How in the hell can that possibly work?

Someone wrote that both of my grandmothers, as well as one grandfather were part of the "welcoming committee", and that gave her great comfort in light of Daddy's death. I can hardly say that sentence with a straight face. That is straight out of LaLa Land. There is absolutely no basis in reality in that statement. I just cannot understand having blind faith in something.

If we are such small inconsequential beings, why would God even bother to put us here? Just to fuck with us? Really? It reminds me of the Stephen King novel - Under the Dome. Just some big experiment. Are we really only pawns in the big game of life? I think not.

I think religious people cannot face the real pain. They can only look up, they cannot look inside of themselves. Because they are only looking up, towards heaven, they cannot see other people and their pain. That certainly seems to be the case in my life. If you really believe in Jesus, how can you not take other people's feelings into account. HOW?  I will admit that I have never read the Bible. I have tried, twice. I could never get past the chapter on so-and-so begate so-and-so, and on, and on, and on, for pages. I have always given it up at that point. But isn't one of the "lessons" is to "Love thy neighbor"? Doesn't that mean to take other people feelings into account? I try to do that. This particular religious person I'm thinking about is entitled to believe whatever/however she wants. No problem. I don't care how she handles Daddy's death. But I have asked her in the past to not preach to me. And she still continues to do it. I didn't ask her to stop believing. I simply told her I didn't want to hear it. But, she cannot help herself, I guess. All she can do is look up to heaven, and cannot see what she is doing to the people that are left here. 

The only comfort I can see in John and Daddy's death, is that is what is supposed to happen. Our bodies are finite things. They wear out. A human body will never last forever. End of.

I guess when I hear stuff about "God's plan", it feels like, me, as a person, doesn't even matter. If I don't matter, why am I even alive? Answer me that, please.

When Daddy was in the hospital, his wife convinced him it was time to die. (It wasn't. He still had the choice to fight and live even a few more months.) She has never been able to explain to us what exactly happened that made her think that. She is either not able to tell us, or not willing to tell us. So, I can only come to my own conclusions. I conclude that Daddy was going to be too sick. He was going to have to go to dialysis regularly for the little bit of time he had left. And that was too much for her. She was not going to be able to handle it, and because of that, and because she thinks he was going to heaven, she was ready to give him to Jesus to take care of. I am talking about a human being. She convinced her husband, a human being, to die, because it was going to be too much for her to take care of. Her husband, the "love of her life", my FATHER, was too much for her to take care of. She didn't ask us to take care of him. We would have. We would have given him the choice to fight and live a little longer, or choose to stop fighting. That is love.

I will never forgive her. Never. And because she is religious, I will never be religious. If that is what it means to "believe", I will never do it. I will NEVER knowingly convince someone to die.

I do believe that we are all just doing our best. She was only doing her best. When John died, I was doing my best. There are an unlimited number of things I would have done differently if I would have known what the end result was going to be. Daddy's wife was only doing her best. BUT, her best is so piss poor, it is astounding. Her best is so amazing low, it is incredible. Her best is so bad, I can't even believe it. I cannot believe that a person can be THAT weak and selfish. To me, those are the kind of people that need religion. They NEED it because they are so incompetent at being human.

Proof that there is no God - Daddy is dead and she is still alive.

I would love to write some of the stupid shit she said to us in the hospital. How she sat there at night, when we had all left, and talked to Daddy about how we were treating her. How bad we were treating her. I cannot go into that right now. I am trying to get rid of anger, and that only feeds it.

If you know "God" talk makes me mad, don't talk to me about "God". That is "ungod-ly." If you cannot talk to me without talking about "God", just don't talk to me at all. END OF!

I can't even think of a title, I'm so mad.

I'm at a VERY low point today. I have a toothache, which meant I hardly slept at all last night. Tried to nap today, and I feel like every fiber of my being was clinched in my jaws. Now every tooth in my mouth is hurting. I wish I was a snake and could unhinge my lower jaw and stretch it out.

Today I watched the slide show of Daddy's ashes being spread. Calming and very painful at the same time. The summit of Mt. Ida has the biggest view I have ever seen. No wonder Daddy wanted to be spread there. It really does look like the top of the world. There was wildlife and wild flowers. Beautiful. Two pictures actually showed the ashes in the air as Larry threw them. Good bye Daddy. This is what he wanted and I am very grateful that Larry was the one to spread them. Perfect homage. I would post a picture, but that means I would have to look at them again and I can't do that right now.

I received a message from Daddy's sister yesterday. First of all, it was on my Facebook page One Less Victim. This is a non-profit company Daddy, Jes, and I started. Key word - company. Not personal, nor a hobby, but a state registered company. I have blocked her from Facebook because my anger flairs when I see her talking about Daddy and God. So, she cannot get a message to me on Facebook, without going through my One Less Victim page. However, she has my e-mail address, as well as my phone number. Since she is blocked, I cannot respond to her messages via Facebook.

This message talks about her mother, and my mother's mother being Daddy's "welcoming committee", and how strong they were, and how much they (my grandmother's) loved me. She said Daddy's birthday was still hard though. She also said she hoped this did not make me angry, but she was using this as her "mini-blog".  There was nothing in her message about us, as far as how we are doing. No concern shown at all that we may have had a hard time that day. Her only concern is that her religion would make me mad. NO!! What makes me mad is the lack of sensitivity towards us. Fine, she is grieving her way. Fine, whatever she has to do. BUT, do we not count at all because we don't have the same belief? Why in the hell should I have to listen to how she handled Daddy's birthday, without one thought about us? WTF????? Shared grief has to be give and take. I'm not just here to listen to how other people feel. I need help too. DO NOT COME LOOKING TO ME FOR SYMPATHY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You will not get it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am not able to freely give sympathy at this point. I may be able to in the future, because I have in the past. But at this time in my life, I do not have any sympathy for anyone that is one-sided. If I am not receiving sympathy, I am not giving it. You first!

On January 20 2012, my heart was shattered. On March 13, 2012, my broken heart was stomped on. If you are not giving me a  hand up, a helping hand, I cannot reach you. I am doing every thing I can to pick myself up. Any additional weight is too much.

I do not know how to express this anger any other way. It sounds irrational, almost hysterical, super dramatic. I can't help it. I am trying to express it, but it feels like I can't express it. I cannot find the right words. Maybe there are so many words, and so many ways to express it, that I have to tell this over, and over, and over, in many different ways.

My knickers are in a twist.

ACKNOWLEDGE MY PAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Emotions

Well, I've been going through some emotions lately. Surprise, surprise. I don't even know where to start, so I guess I will try to just go in the order that they happened.

Driving back to Texas from Louisiana, MO, I always have my MP3 player in my ears. And I get to listen and think. I cried a lot on the drive. The most painful thought was why did these awful things happen to the team that was John and Suzy? How can so much bad luck happen to one couple? Why us? We are good people, why us? The worst bad thing is John dying. How can something so awful happen to him? He was "good people". Why did he have to die at the young age of 62? WHY? He didn't deserve that. How/why can one person have such bad luck? The second bad thing, that happened to Team John and Suzy, is the one that is left alone, me. Why? Why me? Why does this bad thing have to happen to me? Life is so fucking unfair!!! It is just so sad. John was "GOOD PEOPLE"! Why did this have to happen to us???? We were a team!!! Why break up a good team?

The opening ceremonies of the Olympics was also emotional since John is from England. Luckily, I got to go to England with John twice. I got to see where he grew up, where he played, where he fished, where he learned to drive, where he smoked cigs on the way to school, the bedroom he grew up in, the butcher shop next door. I got to see him spend quality time with his mother, I got to see him and his sisters together, I got to see his extended family gathered together. Thanks to Julie and John, (John's sister and brother-in-law) we got to spend a few days in London. I got to personally see most of the famous sights in London, the ones they like showing on television. I have been on a train, on the subway, on the "highways", on the local streets. I have seen Buckingham Palace, the Eye, that bridge that the Olympic rings are hanging from, the Shakespeare theater. I have been in the beautiful countryside, and in the House of Parliament, and in a 15th century church. I got to see and experience all of these things because of John and his loving family. John was born the year after the second London Olympics, and died the year of the third London Olympics. When Paul McCartney sang the first words of "Hey Jude", I lost it. I didn't even get to hear half of the song. During the whole show, I kept thinking how much fun it would have been to be watching this with John. How much he would have loved it. How proud he would have been of his home.

And yesterday was Daddy's birthday. We got a package in the mail from Daddy's friend Larry. Daddy had asked Larry to spread his ashes on the summit of Mt. Ida. On July 13, 2012, Larry did it. Larry was kind enough to send a written summary of the day, and of their friendship. He included a CD of pictures. I have read the beautiful writing, but haven't yet been able to look at the pictures. And since yesterday was Daddy's birthday, two pictures of him have shown up on my Facebook newsfeed. Although the pictures are great to look at, unfortunately, they are attached to his wife's page. I thought I was getting over my anger, but, I see her name, and can't even appreciate the pictures. I am so sorry that his memory is tainted by my anger. I don't know what to do about that. I wish I knew. I wish I could get passed the anger.

So, there you go. Poor little me.

The Present

I just read the book "The Present" by Spencer Johnson.

Daddy was always giving us self-help books. I say "always", but it wasn't always. It was really after he left Mom, or after we grew up. Those things happened pretty much together, I guess. When he left Mom, we were mostly grown up. At least grown-up enough to only go back for either advice or money. (Parental lesson there. Obvious to anyone with adult children.)

But I digress. Actually, I don't digress, I just let my mind wander.

Anyway, I am back home in Louisiana. I have a few reasons for coming "home". To pick up furniture. To be alone. To focus. To think. To mourn. To reflect. To learn. To pay attention. To rest.

I'm doing the typical hiding in the bedroom thing, eating what I can find in the kitchen. The only light on, in the house, is in the bedroom. I don't want to leave the house. I don't want to see people. And I don't want to see or do things that John and I used to share. I don't want to face the future without him. This fucking sucks! But, I have to go out because I am almost out of cigarettes. See the irony? I have to go out of the house to get the thing that will eventually kill me, therefore, I am forced to face life. Ying Yang.

I have been home almost 24 hours, and I just got my suitcase out of the truck.

Next to my bed are bookshelves. I picked up a easily read detective book, and read the whole thing this mourning. And I found a little book Daddy gave me. He always wrote a short message on the inside cover. He apparently gave me "The Present" for Christmas 2003. It made me cry seeing his hand-writing.

I don't want to be doing this fucking grief shit! I want to be four years old and pitch a big fucking fit and get away without have to do it. Or just express my energy and be able to focus and get it done.

My four-year-old self needs a nap.

I love you, Daddy and John!

I'm off to see the Wizard

Toto, where shall I go? What shall I do? (Maybe I'm thinking of Scarlet O'hare in Gone with the Wind. I'm getting my classic movies mixed up, and showing my age.) I'm off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

Why is that going through my head? Because I am lost. It struck me that I am over the "acute" phase of grief. Today is 6 months since John passed away. (That is the first time I have used the term "passed away".) No wonder I feel sad. Tears are bubbling up and I'm not sure if I can contain them. I don't really cry much, but I never really have. I'm a tough old boot. Even though I think it would be cleansing to cry, it is hard to get there. We watched a movie the other night, and I started crying half way through, and continued until the movie was over. Why is it easier to cry at a movie?

Today is my sister's birthday. That makes me feel like crying too. Daddy is gone, John is gone, but the birthdays, holidays, life events just keep on coming. Life is just sad today.

Back to the Wizard. I love traveling. And, I'm lost now. In a split second, my future changed. No warning, no preparation, blind-sided. I was supposed to get to travel with John. We thought we would get an RV and wonder around the U.S. That was the plan. Damn. So, now I get to do it by myself. And by "get", I mean that totally sarcastically. We were such a good team! Wondering around the U.S. together would have been amazing. I would have dragged him to museums, hiking trails, lakes, botanical gardens, etc. John was a much more experienced traveler and would have given me courage to try new places and new things. He was much more of a "people person" than me, and a lot more courageous in trying new food. He was also very "street smart". That seems very helpful when traveling. And of course, two heads are always better than one. But, he is gone. I hope he is okay. I worry about that. Stupid, I know.

So, now, instead of getting to be part of a team, I get to do it alone. I am standing at a fork in the road, and I am having trouble figuring out which fork to take. I want to get lost and find my way. The magical wizard is out there and I will find him, or die trying. That is the only thing I have left to fear, dying myself, but that is for another post.

If I write my plans on this blog, I am one step closer to turning the plan into action. So here goes....

Tonight, we are going out to celebrate Pat's birthday. My plan is to leave for Louisiana (home, sort of home) on Monday and come back with our beds and a couple of pieces of furniture we need here, in my other home. After that, away I go!!!!!!!!!! I want to get John's CB installed in the truck, and get a camper shell. I do not want to be staying in hotels every night. I really want to be closer to nature than that, so camping sounds delicious. My first destination will be Mount Rushmore. When trucking, we got within 30 miles of Mount Rushmore, but you cannot take an 70' truck sight-seeing. From South Dakota, I plan to continue west to Washington State. I want to see the Mount St. Helen museum and western Oregon is beautiful! I have only been to Canada once, so, north to Vancouver and since I will be that close, on to Alaska. The Grand Canyon is also something we got close to in the truck, but never got to see, so my plan is to travel south from Alaska, through Northern California, east to Nevada, then south to the Grand Canyon. If I haven't found the wizard by then, I want to explore the Gulf Coast all the way through the Florida Keys. If I still haven't found the wizard (and have managed to earn money somehow), the next desired destination is Europe!

Okay, I actually feel better now. Thank you for listening.

I am still mad

*Warning - strong, foul language*



I apparently still have anger issues. I thought I was working my way through them. And, I am, I guess. I'm not as angry as I was (good thing), but little things set me off.

We live on the bottom floor of an apartment complex. I was trying to take a nap yesterday and the kid that lives upstairs was making so much fucking noise our sliding glass door was rattling. Now, I like kids. It is summer, kids are home, bored, playing, being kids basically. But DAMN! I feel like I got irrationally mad. Good thing I have some manners and didn't say anything. He was just being a kid.

Today, I was walking to the post office. I was crossing a street IN THE CROSSWALK and this stupid mother fucker in his big ass pickup truck just kept going! He had to stop and wait for the traffic before turning right, and sat right in front of me, blocking the fucking crosswalk. He wasn't able to turn until after I had already made it across. Now, what would it have hurt for him to wait BEHIND the crosswalk? Don't pedestrians have the right of way? Stupid red-neck tattooed asshole. (I'm not insulting tattooed people, really. I have two tats myself.)

So, two days, two happenings that just got me going. WTF? I'm not usually so irritable.

What I am really mad at right now is.....John fucking DIED! He fucking DIED! Why couldn't he just get really sick? Why did it have to be so bad that he died? Why???????????????????? Why did he have to fucking die?

Why do I have to go through grief? I'm basically a good person. Last night was group grief therapy. I was mad and didn't go. Why do I have be going on the grief journey? It is not fucking FAIR!!!!! I don't want to do it anymore!

Life just fucking sucks!

Do you ever just feel like beating the living shit out of something?

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK (of course that is underlined in red, it must be spelled wrong.)

Okay. There is not one goddamned thing I can do about it. Just fucking try to think about something else. Let the anger just sit there and simmer. And yes, I have tried to walk it out. Nature is supposed to be so calming. Well, I just got back from a walk - it didn't help.

One more question - why do good people have to die, and bad ones get to live?

John

I almost picked up the phone to call you a few nights ago. That was the first time that has happened. What I wouldn't give to be able to call you. What were you doing Sunday night? What is it like to be dead?

I finally got the results of the autopsy. I feel like I have been holding my breath all this time. The waiting is over. I was so torn between wanting to know, and not wanting to know. The next step is to absorb the details of the report. I haven't even looked at it yet. Just knowing it is there is a good thing. Betsy read it, and gave me her first impression. I am so relieved that it seemed to be more of a "natural cause", than the fault of someone else. That would have been intolerable.

Betsy said she is glad you didn't know how bad your heart was. She called it "old people disease". You would have hated having it, with every fiber of your being. In a strange way, I'm glad you didn't know too. On one hand, if you had known, you could have done more about it. On the other hand, if you had known, you would have had to do more about it. What would you like? To eat all the tacos and pico de gallo you want, or to have to diet and exercise all the time? Would you not have been a truck driver? Would you have rather gone the safe route and gotten some dumb job in Louisiana that you hated? Are you sorry you died, or is it OK to be dead? I almost want to die myself, just to see what you are doing. Just to be with you again. (Don't worry, readers. I'm not going to intentionally die.)

Anyway, I love you Bubbles. I still do, and I always will. You showed me what a good husband is. You showed me what a good man is. You showed me what a good person is. You showed me what a good life is.

The tears are finally able to flow more freely.

7 ways to find clarity

I follow a FB page called The Grief Toolbox. It has a lot of good information. I keep gravitating towards the poems for some reason. Probably because they are short. The above poem is from that page.

I stumbled upon an article, also on their page, called 7 ways to Find Clarity Following the death of a Loved One.

https://www.thegrieftoolbox.com/article/7-ways-find-clarity-following-death-loved-one#.T9TUIb35SkY.facebook

I included the link because I think I have to give credit if I'm going to quote it. Plus, you may want to read the article yourself. If not, don't worry, I'm about to talk about. Here is the premise...


"When you lose someone you love, it's natural to start thinking about life. You think about where you are in life, what you want to get out of it, and what's missing. These thoughts are a natural reaction to your circumstances and should not be ignored, but rather nurtured and acted upon. Take this opportunity to do some soul searching and look to answer all of these questions about your purpose in life and what you need to do to make a change. Here are 7 tips for finding clarity and purpose following the death of your loved one."

1.  What do you miss about the departed?
For me, this is an never ending question. I'm not sure I am ready to look at this. But, I will give it a start anyway. I miss John's sense of humor most of all. I miss his dumb jokes. I miss his blue eyes that always looked like they were smiling. I miss looking at his arms and hands, how strong and able they were. I miss eating with him. I miss how he would moan in delight when I made tacos with pico de gallo. I miss hearing him chat with his mom on the phone. I miss him tooling around the house doing something and nothing at the same time.  I miss how proud he was of Jes. I miss getting to share her life with him. There is so much, this list could go on and on and on. I think I will physically write some more of this list in my private journal. In quiet contemplation and vulnerability. This is probably a VERY important step in my grief. I will have to give this more thought.

2.  What are you passionate about?
Probably the most important thing for myself is freedom and peace. I hate the constrains of a "predictable" life. I hate getting stuck in a rut. I hate the "rat race". This is supposed to be about what I want, but all I can come up with is what I don't want. I will have to give this more thought. (Are you sensing a pattern here?)

3.  What are your unique talents?
Have you ever asked yourself this question? I feel like I don't have any unique talents. How many of us really do? If we did, wouldn't the world be a totally happy place? Wouldn't we all be rock stars, or rich novelists, or successful chefs? I do like to write, and I love to travel. A combination of the two would be a dream.

4.  What's holding you back?
Damn good question! The answer is FEAR!

5.  Seek Guidance.
OK. But, let me get over fear first.

6.  Keep a Journal.
Doing that as we speak. But, the article says to read back over it and see if something in particular keeps popping up. I know right now, anger keeps popping up, but that will not help me find clarity, or find a future.

7.  Schedule time for this journey.
Does that mean writing in this blog everyday? Reading articles every morning? I do enjoy the first few hours of the mourning wondering around the internet. Reading about grief, thinking about John and Daddy, and frankly thinking about myself. What to do, where to go..... I call this grief work. As far as scheduling a life, I have to figure out what life I want first.

Ok, my work for the day is done. I hope everyone has a very good day. For me, I try to remember I still need to enjoy life because Daddy and John don't get to enjoy it anymore.

Hope Waited

I knew that grief waited. I didn't know hope waited. That is good to know. We, or should I say "I", think that if something good happens, you should grab it, then and there. The thought of good things waiting, never even occurred to me.

As I was copying, pasting, linking (whatever) this picture, it started raining. I am currently in Texas where it very seldom rains, especially in the summer. Remember when you were a kid and you played in the rain, jumping in the puddles. Or in our case rolling in the puddles, getting really dirty, having tons of fun. Most of the time when it rains, we run to our car, or to the inside. Getting wet seems to be a hassle, an inconvenience. Well, this morning, I decided to go out in it. Everyone one else was asleep, so I didn't have anyone to play with, so I just went outside. I stood, in the rain, in the yoga pose called "tree pose". Basically you just stand straight up, hands by your side, feeling your feet planted, while trying to touch the sky with your head. I tried to meditate. If you have never tried meditation, it is fucking hard. I just kept repeating the word "quiet". But, since I was in the parking lot of the apartment complex, it wasn't very quiet, even on a Sunday morning. When you are a child, it doesn't matter how things look to other people, if it is fun, you just do it. Since I'm not a kid anymore, I felt like I looked weird just standing in the rain. So, when a car drove by, I had to pretend I had a purpose for being out there. Needless to say, meditation didn't work well for me. But, the yoga pose worked really good. I felt my muscles loosening up. It always surprises me how tense I am.

Before it started raining, I was doing my usual internet browsing. I found two new grief pages and was reading other people's advice and experiences. I read an article about signs. I read one about emotions taking control, albeit temporarily. I read about what not to say to a grieving person, and how easy it is to hurt their feelings. Then, I found the poem about hope, and it started raining. I am taking those two things as signs that I am doing ok. I need to be living in the moment.

This post may seem disconnected and rambling, but I feel the need to clean out a little of the dust that has been settling.

First of all, I feel a little bad about my last post when I was so angry. But, like I said then, I need to express those feelings or I will never be able to get rid of them. Apparently my anger is still an issue. That is part of the reason I haven't even tried to look for a job yet. I'm worried that I will not be able to contain this anger, and will go off on someone that doesn't deserve it. I also feel like I would not be a very good employee and that wouldn't be fair to the company that hired me. On the other hand, boredom is also my enemy.

I also have a bit of frustration. There are times and people I would like to talk about John or Daddy with, but unless they are in the moment of sadness, it gets passed over. Sometimes I need to tell people what is going on. And I need to tell it to people that haven't already heard it before. Death is such a taboo subject. Because death is fucking scary. Who wants to think, much less talk about, death? Unfortunately, it is very much a part of my life. And, I have said this before, but if you have never been touched by the death of a close loved one, it is impossible to relate. I never could.

Here is a frustration that I have. Daddy's best friend, Larry, received some of Daddy's ashes. It was VERY painful to get the e-mail from him. I have a ton of questions, still. I sent Larry an e-mail saying I couldn't really express what I was feeling. I didn't hear a word back from him. He is in Colorado, so I thought he was being affected by the wildfires, and that was why he hadn't responded. So, I sent him an e-mail saying we were thinking of him and hoping for the best in wake of the fires, and I got a rapid response. Why can he respond to that, but can't talk about Daddy? I wish he would have just said, "I'm here for you to talk to." Instead, I got nothing. Not even acknowledgement that I had written about Daddy's ashes. Nothing. That is hurtful. I am in pain, and I need people to take some of it. I need to give it to them, have them absorb it, take some of it. These "people" can do that by just listening. Listening and caring. It is just so much easier to stick your head in the sand, put your hands over your ears and say nanananananana, not listening. But that hurts. Some people just really come off as selfish. That's a shame.

It is funny to me that on Jes' birthday, I missed John a lot more that I did on my own birthday. John was more generous than I am, and he always had things he wanted Jes to have, or to experience. I got to talk about plans for her birthday, talk about gift ideas, etc. He always wanted her to have a good birthday. I missed him a lot that day. My anger also reared it ugly head that day. Funny, (not haha funny, but hmmmm, strange, funny).

Yesterday Betsy and I went to the lake. We used to go there as kids. Growing up, we had a ski boat, and practically every weekend, we went to Lake Travis. As soon as we parked, and got all settled, a boat went by pulling someone on an inner-tube. I started quietly crying. A few seconds later, Betsy said, "Man, I feel like crying". She looked over at me, and I was already crying. So, we just let the crying come out. It didn't last a long time, but we cried. And talked. And got better. It seems like we have to spend every second holding ourselves together, and when we got to a point of relaxation, the emotions just came up and out. We may look fine, we may act fine, but apparently we are not fine. Our emotions are barely covered under the surface. One little poke, or scratch, and here it comes.

Well, the household is stirring. I have aired some thoughts and it is time to put them away for the day and "get on with it". This is what "grief work" is.

Bad Feelings

Today is my daughter's birthday. I was having a really good, happy day, wrapping presents, chatting with Jes, eating birthday cake. I went outside to smoke, and my angry feelings just popped into my head. I told myself to just ignore them, and continue to have a happy day. But, I decided to write about it instead. That is, after all, why I started blogging in the first place.

In this month alone, my sister had a birthday, my niece and I shared a birthday, Father's Day has passed, and today is the fourth day of birth for one of my family members. Or should I say one of Daddy's family members, close family members.

Not a single one of us has heard a peep from either Daddy's wife, or his sister. Now, I'm thinking to myself, "you are fucking pissed at them anyway, what do you expect?". I guess I expect them to be adults and at least try to have a relationship with us. Some explanation of what they are/were thinking would be ideal. At what point did Stacy decide that all she could hear the doctors say was that Larry was dying? You know that is a decision you make either consciously or unconsciously. What made her think that is what the doctors were saying? I don't care if it was fear or what, at least talk to us about it! Shit, I can't even think what to say now. I'm so fucking pissed off at her.

Okay. I will try again. I am going to pretend I am talking to Stacy. What was happening to you? Why was the only thing you were able to hear was "Larry is dying"? Why, Stacy? Was it fear? Did your fear over-ride the ability to, at the very least, be a decent human being, much less a loving wife? Are you that weak and frankly, stupid, that all you can think about is yourself? When your husband, "the love of your life", is battling cancer. Did you not give one little shit about him? Oh my god, you are such a waste of oxygen. Since you will not talk to me, and at least attempt to explain your side, all I can do is assume I am right. You are a very weak, selfish, stupid human being. I can't even believe Daddy married you. At what point did he realize how shallow you are? Was it too late by then?

And another thing, Stacy, the Jesus lover. Why, if "God" needs another angel, did he have to "take" Daddy? Why couldn't he leave him here with us and take your sorry ass instead? You will really help the atheist's beliefs in no God. You are such a fucking hypocrite, you make the whole religious community look bad. God, my ass. IF there is a god, and we do all go to "heaven", I'm pretty damn sure I will be seeing you in hell. Stupid and ignorant is no excuse.


Ok, I got that off my chest. Those were some really harsh words. I am going to publish this. It may make me  look equally stupid and ignorant, but, I wrote what I was feeling. If I don't get to say it, I will never be able to let those feelings go. So, here it goes. Out to the internet, never to be taken back. Unlike "someone else I know", I don't have much fear left. I still have a lot to lose, a lot of people I could lose, but I lost two very important people and have managed to live through it.

Thank you for listening.

Checking In

I haven't written in a while. I'm still enjoying living in the moment. Understatement, but, "doing grief work" is not pleasant. I would much rather spend my day simply living. However, I want to complete the process, and not get stuck, so I must keep working on it.

Daddy's request was for his ashes to be spread on Mt. Ida, Colorado. You have already seen what has been done with his ashes thus far. We still have some, and are very comforted by that. We are not ready to let him go. There is no reason for us to do that, until we are absolutely ready. No reason at all. Also, as you have already seen, we are not the only ones with some ashes. As per the wishes of Daddy's parents, some of them are buried in Alabama.

A few days ago, I got an email from Daddy's best friend, of over thirty years, that he had received some ashes in the mail. Twenty years ago, Daddy asked Larry to spread his ashes at the summit of Mt. Ida. They went camping, hiking, and photographing together there often. Larry sent an email to let  us know he had received some ashes and he would do his very best to spread them honorably. I am very sure he will do just that.

I have so many questions about how this transpired. Did Stacy initiate it? Did Larry initiate it? Why is Larry doing this alone? Did Stacy keep some of the ashes, or has she washed her hands of the whole thing? Is this something Larry wants to do, or feels obligated to do? How hard is it going to be to get it done? Many, many questions. Can I ask these questions of Larry? Or do I sit back and simply observe? Daddy was more than just a father. This is not only "our" loss. Stacy lost her husband, Linda and Doug lost their brother, and Larry lost his best friend. I feel like they also deserve to honor him in their own way, just as we deserve to. So, I guess I will just sit back and let Larry handle this part as he sees fit. I will not ask my questions, unless he invites me to.

It is so very hard picturing the moment when Larry lets the ashes go. But, Daddy died. There is no bringing him back. As much as we wish we could add water to the ashes, and bring him back, we can't. If only.

Don't worry, I haven't forgotten that I lost John as well. I still have everything of John's. Including all of his ashes. I have his guitars, wallet, glasses, clothes, all of the stuff from his truck, his tools, his passport, everything. His cell phone is still connected, although the battery is dead. I haven't even turned his phone on yet. I'm not disconnecting it until I am able to listen to his voice again, over and over and over and over..... I have to get  used to my "new normal" first.

I have two wishes. First, that both of them were still alive. Second, that I did not have to mourn both of them at the same time.

Connected-ness

Daddy liked to read self-help books, and when he found one he particularly liked, he would share a copy with everyone he felt was open to it. He shared one with us that was about a person's "traits." His first "trait" was called connectivity. One of the examples he gave us to explain that was when he saw a person throw trash out of their car window. It angered him thinking about how that person did not even think about the person that had to pick up that trash, or the other people that had to look at it. In his professional life, he was always thinking about ways to connect businesses to other businesses. At the school district where he worked, he was in the transportation department, but he set up a program that allowed churches to rent unused school buildings - connected-ness.

I was thinking about my earlier post about peeking ahead and behind, which led me to think about Daddy, which lead me to think about his involvement in One Less Victim. (For those of you who don't know, Daddy, Jes, and I started a non-profit company to help with prevention of sexual and/or domestic abuse, called One Less Victim.) Connected-ness. So, by looking behind at Daddy, I am able to look forward at One Less Victim. This doesn't sound like the same type of connected-ness that Daddy used, but it rings a bell to me. Because John died, I have more free time. I have been able to use some of that free time to work on OLV more. John and Daddy are connected.

This is also connected to another thought I had about looking behind and ahead. By looking at the past, I can look at the future, or the other way around. When I look at my future, John and Daddy are going to have something to do with it. John, because he is gone from my life, and Daddy because he helped me start OLV. Connected-ness.

When I think about the future, I think about the post in which I asked how am I supposed to look at the future, that it was scary looking there. The best advice I got, was that I need to have a future and experience things because John and Daddy no longer get to. That thought takes away some of the guilt and gives a reason. Which leads me to think about the post I did about balance. I do feel more steady now. I am able to drop one of the negative juggling balls and get better balance.

I also think about the post about the popcorn. How thoughts just seem to pop, pop, pop. Well, they still do, but they are staying around long enough for me to at least get them written down.

Which leads me to think about why I started this blog in the first place. Which was to work my through grief.  I think this blog has really helped me. I can see that I am a lot better than I was, emotionally. I have moved past anger, I have moved past obstacles (mowing the f...ing grass), and I am able to look at and talk about John and Daddy with less pain.

So, the future and the past are connected, and my blog posts are connected. Connected-ness.

Father's Day

Ok, I will try to do this. Happy Father's Day Daddy. I would normally be calling you on the phone to tell you this. To see how your day was going, and what you would be doing today. Since it is Sunday, I would imagine you would be going to church, maybe out to lunch with friends, then running errands to get ready for the coming week. I am positive you will be going for a walk by the water today. You will also take some time to sit outside and watch the birds and fish. "Wa wa fish are jumping." You will definitely get your daily dose of sun, and eat some good food. If I could, I would make sure you had some cookies.

As sad as I am for us, and for you, this is what is supposed to happen. You died first, before any of your children. You were able to live a full and complete life. I wish it would have been much much longer, but 73 years isn't to shabby.

Betsy, Zak, and I went for a walk last night on a beautiful trail. You were definitely with us every step. All of us talk about you a lot. When we are doing something we know you would like, we say "Daddy would love this." Or we say "I remember being here/doing this with Daddy." You are still living with us Daddy. All of your girls, except Pat (but we are taking care of that), have something meaningful of yours that we have on a chain to wear around our necks, and close to our hearts. We have pictures of you around the house. Zak still has that ugly pig statue thing that use to give me nightmares. When something good happens, or good luck is on our side, you get the credit. You, and John, get the credit for "watching out for us".  You gave Betsy a gift yesterday. You are still with us.

We have some of your ashes. We are thinking about what to do with them. We are going to the 4th of July fireworks on Town Lake this year, and we will take some of the ashes with us. We have little jewelry bags and a little scoop in your box. We are thinking we will spread little bits in your favorite places. We can't bear to let any of them go yet, but one day we will be able to. Or not. We may keep them forever.

Anyway, Daddy, I love you. We all love you and we are so glad you were our Dad.

P.S.
And, once again Father's Day is on my birthday this year. Today is also Maia's birthday. Remember how I used to hate when Father's Day was on my birthday? Maia feels the same way.  So, Happy Father's Day to you, and Happy Birthday to Maia and me.

Feeling Guilty

I feel stronger, more hopeful, less sad. I have been living the last few days "in the moment", not looking ahead, or behind. It is scary looking ahead, and sad looking behind. But I will admit, it is not as scary or as sad as it was even a week ago. Here is where the guilt comes in. Have I paid enough homage? Have I cried enough? Is my grief going too quickly? Am I not doing it right? I don't have the answers for those questions.

Neither John nor Daddy would want me to be sad. I know this. When they died, there were two giant holes in my life. I think the scab is beginning to form over those holes. I have to be careful, too. I don't want to go back to the "dark place". But, I know I will have to revisit that place sometime. If only to find out the holes are not as deep as they were.

I need some help here. How do you get over feeling guilty that you are still alive? How do you get over feeling guilty that you have a future? It is so weird that in my belief, when you die, that's it. John and Daddy are done with this human experience. They cannot communicate with us. They are not waiting in heaven. I will never see them again. Why do I keep thinking they would be disappointed in me? That I haven't grieved enough? At the same time, knowing they are gone, they can't be disappointed.

For now, I'm going to try to stick my head back in the sand, try to continue to live in the moment. But, I will not forget. I will not forget them, I will not forget that I lost them. I will move forward, for now. But I will not be afraid to look behind either.

-----

I just did a "preview" of the posting and realized I am afraid to look behind. And I am afraid to look ahead. I'm going to put my blinders back on for now, and only peek at the future and the past. Little peeks, now and then. For now.

No one has to grieve alone.

http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/no-one-has-be-alone/201204/no-one-has-grieve-alone

This article was written by Lani Leary Ph.D., for Psychology Today, on April 24, 2012.

The subtitle - Validation is the key to resolving grief.

Yes! This is part of why I write this blog. I need to talk about it, about everything, about anger, about John, about Daddy, about myself. And I need people to listen.

"The key to resolving your grief is for someone to validate your feelings. To resolve means to settle, to work out, or to find meaning. It does not mean to erase, or to end."

" The great healer of your grief is validation, not time. All grief needs to be blessed. In order to be blessed, it must be heard. Someone must be present, someone who is willing to “hold” it by listening without judgment or comparison." This is part of why grief counseling works. One-on-one and group therapy. They/we are there to listen. Everyone gets a turn to talk, without interruption. They/we listen, and understand. Just listen, and nod your head, like you understand what they are saying. If you don't understand, try.

"The bereaved need:
. To be cared for through a sense of presence, permission, patience, predictability, and perseverance.
. To have their feelings acknowledged and their loved one remembered.
. To have their feelings and needs normalized.
. To be heard.
. To be seen and acknowledged."

I think this is part of what I was/am so angry about. The people that were hurting us (Daddy's wife and sister), didn't care, didn't know what they were doing, wouldn't listen, couldn't hear.  I felt like I had to keep bitching, cussing, being mean, just to get them to acknowledge me or even to acknowledge our loss, our pain. I wrote a lot of blog posts about it, I posted a lot of anger postings on Facebook. I had an argument with a "friend" of Daddy's. She finally said "Larry was my friend". Finally, someone was talking about Daddy. Just Daddy. Not how she was feeling, or what Daddy's wife was going through. (I could care fucking less what she is going through, frankly.) I wrote a nine page story about what happened. Kind of a step four in AA. Another of friend of Daddy's said I could give it to her. She said she would understand. Well, I sent it to her, and I have not heard anything from her since. Nothing. No validation there. I have tried to just stop. My anger will never be resolved. I just have to let it go. My anger will probaby not ever be "settled, worked out, or any meaning found. It will also never be "erased" and will probably never end. I do not see a time when I will ever forgive either one of them. Ever.

"How can we help the bereaved?" Answer - "We can learn what it means to follow the pace of the bereaved; to listen without trying to "fix"; and to give the bereaved our undivided attention without interjecting our own story."
 

"Validation is a standard of care and an action that we can implement. Validation sounds like

• supporting the bereaved's perspective;
• listening "between the lines" for what is and is not said;
• listening for symbolic language and what it means to the person;
• asking open-ended questions;
• clarifying what you have heard; and
• asking to hear their story as many times as they want to tell it.

Validation looks like

• direct eye contact;
• gestures of affirmation such as nodding;
• appropriate gentle touch; and
• a posture of leaning toward, rather than away, from the bereaved."

 I didn't mean to copy almost the whole story. But so much of it says so much to me. This is what grieving people need. Grief will not just go away by itself. We can do it alone, or we can have help. Grief will get done at some point. It has lots of patience, it will wait forever. But, it has to be done. We have to go through it, not over, not under, not around, but through.

I will finish with this quote ..
 "You deserve a hundred opportunities to tell the story of love remembered and a person honored."

Mowing the grass

I had to mow our grass the other day. For the first time this year. Do you know how hard it is to start the lawn mower the first time of the season? Well, it is hard.

John was my mechanical god. He could fix anything. He always started the mower the first time. He knew how to drain the old gas, clean the spark plug, sharpen the blade. We would take turns mowing. He would do part of it, I would do part of it. It was a good work out for both of us. Neither one of us had to sit inside feeling guilty that the other one was out in the heat doing all the work.

When we were finished, we like to sit on the front porch and watch the world go by, and admire how nice our yard looked. We have five really big hydrangea bushes in front. We would baby those things. Prune, mulch, water. We would get maybe three blooms all year and be so proud. Since I have spent the majority of this year running away, the hydrangeas were neglected. In late May, I came home. The hydrangeas are the most beautiful I have seen them. I bet we have two hundred blooms. All colors, pink, blue, purple. Really big "mop head" blooms. Amazing.

Anyway, I now had to face taking care of the yard all by myself. No one to share the work, or the joy and relaxation. Not only is John not here to help, he is not here period. He never will be again. No more of the sharing. All of this is in my head when I think about mowing the fucking grass. Not only do I have to face the future without John, I have to start the fucking mower. (My anger is beginning to show.)

So, I prepare myself mentally. Then physically, making sure it is late enough in the day that I won't die of heat stroke, shaving my legs, finding my lawn mowing shoes, etc. I go out to the garage and there is no gas. Good thing I shaved my legs, cause now I have to go to the fucking store for gas. Another goddamn obstacle in this awful task.

I actually got the stupid mower to start!! I couldn't believe it. I did it, all by myself. Jes came outside and cheered for me. She had no doubts at all. She reminded me later that I took care of the house before I met John, and I could do it again.

I got it all mowed and sat out front trying to cool off. Drank three bottles of water, and talked on the phone. I normally would be sitting there with John. But, the yard still looked good, I had sisters to talk with on the phone, my neighbor Karen and I had a chat.

Life will go on. It just seems much harder now, and with a lot less joy.

Check Yourself

"Check yourself, before you wreck yourself."

Yesterday was a dark day. I was in my dark place. It started out ok, but I had to take care of business. Phone calls, mail, etc. I needed to run a couple of errands, but the thought of going out of the house, seeing people, kept me inside. Everything seems like a chore, an unpleasant chore. My patience is lacking. I used to feel like I had patience, until I met John. He was a very patient man, and compared to him, I had a long way to go. Apparently I have even further to go now.

Life felt so pointless yesterday. You're born, you live, you die. That's it. It happens every day. Some people get to live a good long time, others not so much. Some people suffer, others go like lightning. It seems like we are all just spinning our wheels until our time is up. We create material things, we consume, we dispose of everything somehow. We are basically here to make ourselves more comfortable. Then we die. The end. For everyone that dies, there is another one born, so the cycle goes. It seems pointless.

I haven't written in my private journal since I started this blog. But, I wrote in it last night. I felt the need to check myself, before I wreck myself. It didn't help much and I decided to go ahead and write a blog post today anyway. Publicly share my feelings. I'm not doing this so you can feel sorry for me. It is what it is. I am what I am. This is what it feels like when your world explodes. Before John died, I had visions of the future. I thought I knew what the rest of my life would look like. In an instant, the future, as I knew it, was erased. Start over, clean slate, blank slate. Reboot. Refresh.

I am currently stuck. I'm stuck for things to say. I'm stuck on what to do. The computer in my head is rebooting, and it is running VERY slow.

Tattoos

John has three tats. The first one he got was when he was a young man. It is a blue butterfly just like the one from the movie Papillion. That movie came out in 1973, so he probably got it around then. He hid it from his mom for a while, but she saw it one day and said "I need to get the bug spray. There is a bug on your back." He thought she was secretly proud of him.

He had one on his right upper arm that was a lightning bolt. He didn't have much of a story about that one. Probably the result of partying one night, somewhere in Tennessee or something.

On his left upper arm was the U.S. flag on a pole, and a British flag also on a pole. The poles crossed each other. He got the U.S. one first. He decided to add the British one not long after we got married. He was able to keep in closer contact with his family, and felt closer to his English heritage. I went with him to get that one, and I got one too. Mine is a small vine of flowers on my upper right arm. I also have a purple dove with an olive branch on my left lower arm. Representing Peace and Love.

I am thinking about memorial tattoos. The one I want to represent John will be of teardrops and hearts. I can't decide how I want it, but I definitely want it under the flower one I got with him. The one I want for Daddy will be a sand dollar. The beach was a place we have been going as long as I can remember. Sea shell hunting has been a life long past time. Finding a whole sand dollar was always our goal. I will always remember the good times we had as kids. Daddy made sure of that. The sand dollar will also represent the knowledge that the best things in life are found in nature, and they don't cost a thing. (As a side note, Daddy didn't have any tats. He didn't really approve of them. But, three of his four daughters have at least one.)

Do you have any memorial tats? I would love to see, or hear the stories behind them.

The path of least resistance

Like water flows. It always follows the path of least resistance.

I have so many possible titles for this posting...

Mother Nature is my "God".
Life and Death.
I am like a drop of water.
Journey - A babbling brook or a dry creek bed.
Life is like a raindrop.
Water does not go uphill. Why am I trying to?
(Pop, pop, pop.)

I wish I was a painter. It seems like it would be easier than writing. How do I paint the many pictures in my head? I have to pick one picture and try to paint it for you.

Life is like a raindrop. I'm going with this one for now.

Life and death are ying and yang. You cannot possibly have one without the other. At the beginning, you are a raindrop falling from the sky. You land where you land. You don't have any choice in the matter. You don't pick your parents, your nationality, your siblings. You don't get to decide if you are gay or straight, rich or poor, sick or healthy. You don't get to pick if you land in a smooth spot, or you land in the roughest spot of earth. You don't get to pick to land in a lake, a puddle, or land all by yourself, alone. This is the beginning of your journey.

You, however, must follow some path. Mother Nature says so. Gravity says to follow the path of least resistance. So starts your journey. I hope it is a long, long one. Your journey, your life, your raindrop is going to one day  turn into the condensation that goes back up into the sky. John became a raindrop 63 years ago. Daddy became a raindrop 73 years ago. They were broken down and sucked back up as condensation. Their journey ended. Ying Yang.

My head says ying and yang. My heart says NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! I'm not ready!!!!! My raindrop is still here. My raindrop wants John and Daddy to still be in my puddle. Where do I go? What do I do? The grief journey is definitely the dry creek bed. Full of rocks, boulders, very few other raindrops. It seems all uphill. I want to be back in the puddle with John and Daddy!!! (I use exclamation marks to yell it really loud. Yell it at the top of my lungs. !!!!!!!!!!!!) This part of my journey fucking sucks! Where is the path of least resistance?

Balance

I was in gymnastics in my childhood. So I'm going to use the balance beam analogy. Right now, I can stand on the balance beam. I'm still wobbly, but I am not falling off. I'm on two feet. Not one foot, or up of my toes, like you see in the Olympics. Not doing flips, or spins, or even walking on the beam. I'm standing there, afraid to move. If I don't concentrate and focus, I will fall.

I not only have to stand on the beam, I have to juggle several balls at the same time. What? How? I can barely hold the juggling balls and keep my balance. Right now, all the juggling balls are in one hand. The weak hand. All the balls represent the bad, and ugly. All I can do is concentrate and focus. I can't move a muscle, or I will fall. But, I'm standing.

This blog is a picture of my journey through grief. As I go back and look at past postings, I can see the dark place. I remember what it felt like. Today, I seem to be in a little lighter place. Farther along in my journey. I must be healing a little. Healing. A. Little. That is unbelievable. I didn't think it was possible. I want to reach out and touch the light. I want to, but afraid that if I move a muscle, I will fall. I think I will just stand here and try to breath, and not fall off of the balance beam.

Disinheriting myself

https://www.facebook.com/notes/to-write-love-on-her-arms/disinheriting-myself/10150747770629658


Above is the link for the following "note". I did not write this note. It is signed by the writer, Emmi.

I was born into a legacy of bitterness.

One side of my family consists of a long line of women whose lives haven’t turned out quite as they had imagined. They might not say it outright, but they are angry, and they have been angry for a long time. They have been left by more men than they can count; fathers, husbands, and lovers have walked out of their lives without looking back, but not before doing some deep damage. They can’t seem to forget, and those memories have decayed into a sense of bitterness, which makes itself known through criticism, gossip, and broken relationships.

It’s exactly the kind of legacy no one wants to inherit.

I wondered for a long time if this legacy was mine to inherit too, just like the women before me had inherited it from their mothers and grandmothers. Never mind that I have an amazing father who chose to stay and to fight for me through the most difficult years of my life. Never mind that I am not prone to heartbreak. When a trait runs that strongly in your genes, it’s hard not to wonder if you will have it too, like blue eyes or a long nose. It begins to seem inevitable.

But then, that thing happened, the thing that threatened to give me my own list of “if only’s,” the event that threatened to toss me into a pit of bitterness without a means to climb back out. And in the brokenness, anger, and heartache that followed, I somehow decided that I didn’t want any part in this legacy of bitterness.

I chose to disinherit myself.

I chose to forgive.

Putting this decision into action hasn’t been the simplest thing I’ve ever done. Sometimes when your heart is smashed into a million pieces, you have to dig pretty deep to collect all of them again, and along the way, anger and bitterness and resentment rear their ugly heads and try to convince you that it will be easier to just give in to them.

And sometimes, that’s a pretty tempting idea.

Those are the days when you have to take a deep breath and choose, again, the path to forgiveness. And if that’s not enough, those are the days when you find someone who will help you want forgiveness, and you sit with them and cry about how unfair it all is until you settle down and realize that what you’re doing feels terrible and the forgiveness thing is just a better idea anyway.

And after enough days, and maybe months, of deciding again and again to forgive, it suddenly becomes easy. And you’re finally not angry any longer.

Here’s the thing: harboring bitterness against someone else ultimately doesn’t affect them very much. But it could destroy you. That bitterness will seep into your thoughts, words, and actions, and it will affect your relationships with the people you love. So, forgive—if not for them, then for you.

In the end, no matter how your plans turn out, no matter how others treat you, you get to choose what your life looks like. I’m choosing fullness, joy, and forgiveness.

It’s a legacy that I hope will live on for many, many years.

Emmi

I hope I gave the proper credit to the writer. I seem to be having a hard time writing my own stuff these days. I keep sharing other peoples ideas. Anyway, I found this on the Facebook Page To Write Love on Her Arms.  Other people are so much better writers than I am. I don't even realize this is how I feel, until I see someone else write it. One reason I am working so hard on getting over this grief, is because I want to be emotionally healthy. I want to come out on the other side a better person. I don't want to feel anger, hate, depression. One day, I won't feel that anymore. So, please bear with me.



 

Lari Teresa

 The following is what my sister, Teresa, wrote for Daddy's Memorial Service. And since I knew her when she was younger, I still call her Teresa.

How do I do this?  How do I put into words what my dad means to me?  Words can’t possibly convey all the intricacies of our relationship.

I was named after my dad.  Larry.  Who names a girl Lari?  I really hated having a boy’s name when I was growing up.  I couldn’t understand why my parents did that to me. I used my middle name when I was younger.  After I graduated from high school, I starting using the name Lari because I liked being unique. But as I get older I understand why my parents gave me that name.  My dad gives meaning to my name.  He’s the reason I’m proud to be named Lari.  My husband and I gave our oldest son the middle name of Lawrence in honor of my dad.  He reminds me of my dad.  He’s a strong, honorable man. 

I’m not sure how my dad survived living with 5 women.  It was usually loud and emotional.  But somehow he supported us all.  I never appreciated the pressure he must have felt being the sole support for a family of six until I had a family of my own. 

I remember lots of weekends spent at the lake water skiing or just playing in the water.  He taught us all how to water ski.  He spent hours driving the boat pulling one or the other of us on skis or the boogie board he built for us to ride on.  Sometimes the trip there and back was an adventure in and of itself.  There was the time the car almost didn’t make it a big hill.  By the time we got to the top we were only going about 10mph.  We had a flat tire on the boat trailer, got the car stuck in a small ravine where we were camping, and frequently had difficulty getting the boat back on the trailer and out of the water.  But I don’t remember him ever letting those problems beat him.  That may have been the best lesson he taught me.  You just put your head down and keep moving forward to fix the problem. 

I used to love going to visit his office, especially when he worked at IBM.  They always had some cool machine for us to play with.  He took us down there one day to let us play with this new machine called an ATM.  It was a prototype that issued play money.  I don’t know how long we stayed there getting money out of that ATM.  Too bad it wasn’t real money.

I was listening to George Strait while I was driving back to St. Louis after telling him goodbye a couple of weeks ago and one of my favorite songs came on.  It’s a song about how Dads love their children no matter what.  “Daddies don’t just love their children every now and then.  It’s a love without end.”  It was so true with him.  He could be mad or disappointed with us but we always knew he loved us. 

The world feels colder, darker and less safe now.  I wish he was still fighting but I know he was so tired of being sick.  He hated being sick.  He loved life.  I love you and miss you Dad.  I hope you’re up there somewhere playing with Sam. 

 The world does indeed feel colder, darker, and less safe now. And Sam was Daddy's dog.