A Christmas Nightmare

She stared at the Christmas decorations. Those hateful happy colors of warm lights. 

The grief 'support' people had given her handouts of how to prepare for the first Holiday without her husband.

Light a candle for your loved one.
Wrap a gift for the loved one and put it under the tree.
Start a new tradition.

How about this, she thought. Cancel the stupid day. Burn the tree, throw out the decorations. Lock the doors and shut off the phones. Go into a cave of sorrow and spend the time in there with the pains and the hurts that came in waves upon waves.

She just turned off her cellphone. Who knew that this Christmas would be so much more special than a normal nightmare? Who knew that she'd be so sick, that she couldn't leave the empty house or have company? 

To top it all off, the texts from two close friends were constant, asking "what do you need?" Her two sons texting to ask how she was feeling?

She bundled up and went out to check on her animals. At least her fever had broken after 4 days of 101F Hell.
The cold air felt good and the dog was running with happy bursts of speed up and down the driveway. Well, she thought follow the dog. Just do it slowly. 

The walk was slow, not her normal pace, but the cool moist air felt good in her lungs. Back at home she and her dog sat on the porch and watched her equine eat their hay. They stayed like that for a long time until she had a coughing fit.

As an afterthought, she turned her phone back on. It started to buzz and ding with notifications. So many notifications. Her first thought was to turn the phone back off.

Merry Christmas!
Happy Holidays!
Happy emoji with Santa Claus!
Photo of family around their tree, smiles!
Merry Merry
and on and on...

Swipe, Swipe, Swipe,

Both of her sons checked in and she quickly typed an update.

Two friends inquired if she wanted them to come over and help with the animals.
"Got it." After all, she was sick, but not dead.

It was the night that got her. 

You see, no brochure tells you what it feels like to sit there in the silent house without the person you are missing. No one tells you how gut wrenching it feels and how you'd do anything within your power to hold his hand one more time. 

Just having another human to sit next to her and be there would have been nice. But the person would just have to be silent and there. Her one son offered. She declined his offer, she didn't want him to get sick.

It's Christmas Eve.

She got off the couch and slowly took the ornaments off the tree and removed the rest of the decorations around the house.  

She left the lights on the Christmas Chair so they can ward off the winter darkness for now.

Maybe next year.
Maybe next year I can try it again.

Friday's musings...and first steps

I woke up Friday morning in a foul sad mood and wanted to hold on to that "I hate the world mood" for the day.

My first thought was to cancel my gym workout and the luncheon date afterwards at my girlfriend's house. Why go and try to act all nice and all happy.

I decided to make myself go. I still didn't want to go when I got in the car and drove to town. I was still angry-sad. I was willing to be a Grumpet.

When I walked in the door and changed into my gym shoes, another member of the Legends quipped, "Oh boy that looks hard!" --> Meaning the workout that we would do was finishing up from the previous class. She smiled with such an engaging smile that I had to smile back. I felt my anger slipping away.

I said, "Well, we are Legends. We should request to take out the mats and have 'nap time' while the coach plays beautiful music for us."

That idea grew into a discussion. One day we'd show up in our PJ's and bring pillows and blankies and tell the coach our work out of the day is a nap and sleepy quiet time.

Slowly, I could feel the Grinch-tude leaching out of my bones. We started the warm up. As usual, I did something goofy [class clown] and the laughter was loud. The work out was hard. 300 meteres of rowing, box step ups [step up on a raised surface of 20 inches or less and step down], and burpees all modified for us older folks. 

I went at it like I was tackling a demon. The relief from being angry-sad became quite evident. I could smile and engage with other gym members. The sad still was there, I didn't want to go to the luncheon, but Pat who was putting it on stood next to me and put her arm around my shoulders. 

"Come on," she said, "Home made chili and good food. I'll even make sure you have some to take home."

My friend Pat has been supportive all along ... ever since I met her a year and a half ago. She never says sorry, never asks 'how are you doing' in the drama voice. She never asks but manages to make sure I tell her anyway. She offers nothing but to be a quiet friend who will message me at 5am to see if I am doing okay, no need she says to reply, just sent a thumbs up or down.

During the luncheon [wonderful food!] I end up talking with Emma who is going through trying to get her significant other well enough to come home so she can care for her. Emma is a retired doctor, she is in her 80's and has sought me out because I've walked this path more than once. 

I ask Emma how her Kathy is doing and she opens up and tells me everything that is on her mind while we eat. 

I see as she talks with me that is having a profound effect on both of us. We are sharing our grief and knowledge in an amazing way. She is a doctor and is asking me to just listen. I can see that she is getting things off her mind and I listen so intently that I don't hear the other folks at the table.

Emma gives me a squeeze on the arm when she is ready to leave and thanks me for listening.

As the others leave, I start to clear dishes and help Pat clean up. We get the dishes cleared and Pat pours us each a cup of coffee and tells me to sit down.

"You had another one of THOSE mornings, didn't you?"

I nod. "This helped immensely, thank you for making me come."

We fall silent and gaze out of her little cafe and look at the beautiful winter wonderland of melted snow and ice.

I tell her that I'll miss next week's workouts because I'll be sitting for my friends while they do a 5 day chemo treatment. 

Pat makes a face and then smiles at me. "Being with a 2 yr old and a 4 yr old will be the best thing for you during Christmas." 

"Indeed Pat. I will feel loved and needed and important to someone with this coming week. It will be good to chase around little ones."

Pat looked down at her coffee, she is such a wise friend. "Val, you give and give and give of yourself. You are a gift to anyone who knows you. I don't believe you know how much you are respected and loved in our class either. When you aren't there and you were caring for Rich, others would say that they just wished they were like you."

"Giving," I reply, " is the only way I can feel better. "I don't feel like I am just an old widow sitting in her house and glaring at the world or crumbling to pieces. I feel self worth if I can help either by doing or listening."

We finish our coffee and I tell Pat that I am terrified and excited about a hiking club I joined and that my first hike was on Saturday morning with complete strangers. 

Half of me says, don't go. Part of me says, it is too long of a drive. Another part of me says, this is just right up your alley.

I want to stay home. But if I go and I enjoy it, I just may expand my world and find new friends. That could be a good thing.

Pat takes a sip of coffee and says quietly, "Go do it. Let me know how it went when you are done."

It is much better than staring at the Christmas Tree chair and thinking about putting it all away because I am the only person enjoying it.

I packed a backpack with my spare gloves, some food, some water, and my normal hiking stuff last night.

I put my key to the car on top of the pile, I set a timer and put the directions to the meet up place in my phone to take me there.

I am terrified and excited to take that first step.

Fingers crossed.

And yes -- Rich told me to go, meet some folks. I'm proud of you girl [he'd say that anytime I had doubts]

Advice on what now...

 Actually, I don't have any advice. Period. 

Everyone says: It will get better. It will.

Alert.

It hasn't. IF it wasn't this time of year, perhaps I could distract myself in the long dark cold evenings or I could distract myself during the long ... cold...dark mornings. 

My saving grace is forcing myself to go do things when it would be so much easier just to wrap up in a blanket with Charlie at home and watch the wall do nothing. 

This is called depression and it is classic. However, it did not hit me hard until 3 months later. I have a feeling that I am not the only one to go through this, but at night with just the soft light coming from the Christmas Chair, it feels as though I AM the only person in the world experiencing this.

In fact at 3am, 4am, 5am...I know I am the only person in the world experiencing such harsh, painful, and gut wrenching grief. No one else in the world knows what it is like.

Charlie sits up and stares at me. He can only sigh and move closer. My stomach aches, my eyes burn, my throat tightens. Then nothing. I am numb. I am tired. I am angry, sad, frustrated all at the same time. How on earth can that even be?

Yesterday was so happy, so fun, and so energizing. The dark morning is so wretched. I get up, light the scented candles, and made some decafe. 

I stop at the sink and look at the dishes I didn't wash last night. My first thought is to throw the dishes in the trash. I know I'd regret it so I stack them into a sink tub to do later. Maybe the dish fairy will show up and clean them. I don't even want to look at them. For some reason I hate them. 

The 4 dishes and 2 cups show me that only one person lives here. 

Stupid.

I want to kick something, but don't.  I feed Charlie and he gobbles up his breakfast and stares at me until I realize that his grunts are for his morning chew treat that is supposed to clean his teeth.

Good Dog. He makes me move from where I was glued to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I finally decided that I was going to force myself to go to the gym and work out with my gym pals, my support group. We gals wore our Friday shirts that says CrossFit Legends-I'll be there for you T-shirts.

We'd done a hard cardio workout and then Deadlifts which are everyone's favorites. I did a life time achievement lift. I weigh 118 lbs and lifted 160.  The coach was exuberant as were the others. Oddly enough, I wasn't, I just shrugged.

Then I helped Charlene who was having trouble with stretching out afterward. Julie came up and hugged me telling me that her new cancer treatment was hopeful. Pat came up to me in the parking lot with a meal of Chicken Gumbo and Rice that she'd made and handed it to me. She thought a homemade meal would be good for me.

When I got in the car to drive home, I didn't want to kick the dog or scream at the world. Even though there was freezing drizzle, I felt oddly comfortable and pleasant.

Then came the phone call from Olive. She apologized and said she had a BIG ask. What was I doing for Christmas Week?

I immediately told her I was available for whatever she needed. Nate was going to have his second round of 5 days of chemo from the 22nd to the 26th. I said I'd clear my schedule and there it was. I could watch her 2 and 4 yr old boys for the week while they did the infusions.

She apologized for the Big Ask during Christmas and I said I that I could think of no better way to spend the Holidays but with children. 

So, my what now advice? I don't have any. But when others reach out, it makes life a bit better.

No one really knows how much they helped me on Friday. But I do.

Dear Rich

     Hi there. I wonder how you are doing. I often feel you right next to me and when I do something stupid, you laugh. I can't really hear it in the open spaces or the house. But I hear it in my ears anyway.

Isn't that weird?

I think I was numb the first 2 months you were gone. I was so busy taking care of the details. In fact I haven't even written the thank you's for those who visited at your celebration. I think I was numb and dumb during that event anyway.

Your photos were scrolling through on the huge TV Screen. I took most of those photos and each one gave me a glimpse of our memories together. The faces of many of the folks were a blur except maybe my sons and a couple of grand kids. I don't even think my stepdaughter came over to talk with me. 

She hung out on the other side of the funeral home with her group. I confess, I ignored her because I didn't have the mental capacity to deal with her. I only was doing what was expected of me and wanted to get it done with and on with the next chore that death brings.

I couldn't handle Veteran's Day. It is on the 11th. Only you could be born on the 11th day of a month and die on the 11th day of September  and be a Veteran too. Too many 11's. Your dad's funeral was on your birthday. Another 11. 

Thank God Pearl Harbor Day is not on an 11.

The only time I don't feel your presence is when I am outside hiking and doing work. Maybe that is because those were solo things I've done for the past several years without your company. 
I'm feeding the birds and watching them, Little Richard has special 'calf' hay to help him chew with his ancient teeth. The mule gals are good and have gotten themselves into burdock.

Oddly enough, I feel half of what I was. It's hard to explain. I'm not as excited about everything anymore because I can't share my observations with you. I'd come home from a winter hike and you'd ask about the ice, did I find any? I'd show you photos and tell you all about it. I'd go work out and when I got home, you'd ask me how was it and what did I do? Even when you were not well, you'd ask and I'd delight in telling you everything.

Now at the gym, I listen to the coach and go through the workout without the same gusto and wise remarks. It felt like a 'job' last week so I didn't go on Friday. I didn't want to hear all the stories from all the other folks about their Thanksgiving. Mine was good, don't get me wrong. But it wasn't our Lasagna dinner with Apple Pie and Lego Building afterwards.

I will keep going, that is how I see other people and interact as well as keeping myself in shape. 

I have a really good network of friends. But nothing like what we had. I miss the morning coffee cup tapping you did to remind me to get you more coffee. It really made me mad at the time. But I'd trade it now for an encore. 

It is December. You used to delight and shake your head at my stupid Christmas Chair Tree. You said No one on earth did anything that weird. But you enjoyed it and loved looking on the Chair seat each morning to see what the toys would be up to.
You'd comment that I NEVER grew up. And we would laugh and you would roll your eyes.

You'd then ask me when I was going to write a letter to my Dad. He died in 2005, however, Dad and I always talked on Christmas Eve by phone. After he was gone, I would write him a letter each December. There was no place to send it. But I'd write it.

Now I have to add you to the list. Damn.

Thank goodness your suffering and anguish of Moral Injury is done. So I am grateful for that. I am being selfish for missing you so much. I am being selfish to wish you were here to encourage me as you always did.

I'll never forget your encouragement for me to go back to college and earn a degree at 50 yrs old. As my partner you gave me the abilities to be who I am now. You gave me confidence in myself and you gave me independence.

I need to tell you that you were the best gift my life ever had.

New waves

 Grief is funny in a way.

It sneaks up on you when you least expect it. I am standing in the living room getting ready to go outside to do chores and admire last night's snowfall~~~

The house is silent. I am silent. I'm waiting and I'm not sure why.

I feel like sitting couch and pulling a blanket over my head. If I do, perhaps I can blot out the day for a while.

There is a pain that travels through me and it takes me a moment or two to discover that it is my grief catching up to me. I don't want to cry, because I may not stop. It's cold outside and the mules need feeding.

I'm literally stuck and cannot move. Do I cry and get my face wet then go out in the frigid air and freeze my cheeks? No. Just suck it up and take a breath.

Then go out and feed the animals and carry warm water to our little pony.

For some reason the frigid air and winds blow away the grief as my mind is on what I am doing and not what I had been thinking -- or not thinking.

I finish with the girls and then open the porch door and ask Charlie if he wants to go for a walk. Of course he does. We wander the neighbor's beat up forest and meander our way towards the road on the ridge. There is mail to be collected. 

By the time we get back to the house, the grief has gone. Well, that is

until I get back inside a very quiet house with no one to greet me.

I sigh and then decide to start another project. Something that will take all of my concentration. The waves will return when I least expect it.

That is okay, it is the way it is supposed to be.

I find that if I keep music playing in the house, it doesn't feel so empty. 

It must be destiny

This summer I got a text from my good neighbor Olive. It simply said, "I'm having a really bad day, I could use a friend."

The home health aide was with Rich giving him a bath so I asked if I could run up to her house and find out what was the trouble. Olive never sends cryptic messages like that.

I did go there and found out that her husband had just been diagnosed with a rare cancer and surgery was going to happen in 5 days. She was distraught, her husband was not. 

The surgery was called a success and I helped out in their garden when I had respite visiting us. It was for emotional support and I helped keep the littles busy while Olive worked [from home].  When they were too tired, I picked their veggies and strawberries and as a reward, got to keep what I picked.

I'd have done it either way.

When Rich died, they had me over a few times to ease the quietness of our house and I got to enjoy the chaos of little ones climbing furniture and jumping off couches. The squeals and peels of laughter and cries of hurt or imagined hurt filled my heart with joy. We laughed about kids and life. Aiden, who is 4 offered to come and live with me for a bit so I wouldn't be lonely.

I got another message today while returning from a nice long hike with Charlie at Wildcat Mountain State Park. 

I rushed out the door after dropping Charlie off and walked the 1/2 mile to their house. 

That awful C word had re-entered their lives with the latest follow up scan. Another one is planned for later this week to see if IT is in the lungs. Then in a few days there will be a follow up plan.

Olive said she needed to be able to fall apart and be a Hot Mess for a bit. I took her in my arms and told her to let it go. She did and she shook and sobbed for her heart, for her husband, for her children, for the unknown, and for herself.

She talked about what might happen and choices they didn't know they'd have to make.

I said that I think I understood a little of what she was feeling. 

"When Nate told you," I said, "did if feel as if all the blood drained out of your body and fell into a pile on the floor with all of your guts? Did you want to puke, scream, and faint at the same time? Did it feel like a gut punch and you knew you were just going to melt into a puddle on the floor...BUT couldn't?"

"Almost exactly like that." We spent more time holding each other.

I walked outside and stopped to talk to Nate. He was working on a project. He told me that he would have choices once the lung scan had been done on Friday. 

It was possible he'd have to do targeted radiation. It was possible that he'd have to targeted radiation AND chemo. 

He looked at the ground and said radiation is a course of something like 6 weeks in LaCrosse which is an hour away. 5 days a week. Chemo had its own crazy schedule.

I told him that I could help. I would commit to being the transport if they wanted it. Olive works a full time job as he does. I know how hard it is to work and transport for treatments daily. The grind is hard. But I've done it. 

I also offered to take Aiden to school if needed or pick him up. I could be a babysitter for the times they needed to go to appointments without kids.

Olive's mom would have been in my place except she is still recovering from her medical monster of having a cancerous tumor in her leg. 

I told Nate, that I knew the routine. I'd drive him there and back and would not question him during treatment. I told Nate that I'd be his driver and he could rest on the way there and back. I would be happy to be the silent partner.

I told Olive that it would be good for me to feel needed and actually be able to be helpful. 

She argued that they would have to 'pay' me at least for gas. I said all of that was negotiable. For a chosen family that is not genetic, there is no price for the ability to assist.

[Especially in an area I'd been through before. Yes, I know, each person, each cancer is different. But a good support crew is what really matters. I'm all in on that.]

I was going to enroll in a volunteer Hospice program this winter, but it looks like I can be of a more immediate help to a young family.

I don't want to have another C story. Really, I don't. But this is another path that has chosen me. I will follow it with my heart.

Just like the vine I saw today while hiking with Charlie.

The Heart knows when it is needed.

What about now? An afterwards.

One month later.

I still haven't gotten to the Thank You cards. They are sitting there with all the cards written on as to who was there and if there was $$ in the card. I checked the sign in book from the Funeral Home and those who visited didn't always leave an address.

There are so many other things to deal with, that I kept putting this job off.

The paperwork surrounding the death of my husband feels endless. I think I am almost done with all of it and I only have to deal now with Social Security. The guy I talked to at the local office sounded overworked and underappreciated. He kept telling me just to go online and do it. It almost sounded as if he wished I hadn't called and asked for his assistance. I imagine if I had an IT person handy, I would have gone online and done the work.

I don't. It was such a huge mess when I applied for SS, that I am hesitant to even try doing this thing online. I figured I'd have to drive to the office in person and present the paperwork, but the SS dude said we could do it with a phone call appointment and set it up for the end of October. This, after he told me that he needed a hard copy of our wedding certificate. 

That does make sense of course, but in my head I visualized me trying to hand the paperwork to him through the telephone.

Then there are the practical things I forgot about.

Every fall Rich and I would set up our LP heater and make sure it was working properly. As the weather cooled this week, I realized that I never really got an understanding of how the cabin wall heater worked. It has a pilot light somewhere in there and we usually took the covers off so I could clean the fan and the vents.

I took one cover off and carefully cleaned things up. Then I realized that I needed a second person to do the rest of it. I called the company that had fixed this heater two years ago and asked to have the service guy come out and make sure the heater was working properly before turning it on.

To me the wall furnace is a motor - thing. I don't do motor things. 

I'm still going through things. I opened the drawer where Rich kept his 'keepsakes' and discovered all of his things from his army days. I found rings from his days when he was a pool hustler and other bits that surprised me. I wished I'd dug into those items years ago and asked him about them.

In the back of the closet in a black zip bag was two of his dress uniforms. I knew they were there, but he always told me just to leave them alone. I laid them on the spare bed and wondered what all the 'stuff' on the uniforms meant. And then I wondered what the heck I was going to do with them.

I put them back in the bacg and hung them up.

I am slowly sorting clothes. My grandson Dennis has gotten a few of Rich's vintage western shirts that I still had. I often stop and give up to go do something else as it is slightly overwhelming to know that he is not here to use them again.

I've gathered a box of new and gently used pants he had to take to a place called Bethal Buttik. It is a thrift shop and donation place for those who may be in need. So many of his clothes were old and well-worn. His work shirts have holes in them from welding and grease stains from working on equipment. 

I was always patching his shirts or pants until they literally fall apart. That was his motto wear it all the way out. It sure did save on buying new clothes. 

I still get the texts or messages. "How are you doing?"

I am fine most days. The days I'm stuck inside the house are the hardest ones. The house is too quiet. No one is asking for popcorn to be made or what's for supper? No one is tapping his coffee cup on the table with a grin on his face...to ask for more coffee.

He's not here to remind me to feed the birds. He's not here to give me his morning monologue of which birds have come to the feeder. He is not here to ask how my walk was and what I got to see.

Even in his last weeks, I would tell him what I saw and what I thought. He was my sounding board even when he couldn't be.

I have stayed busy. I'd spent days helping friends at a wedding. This past weekend I went with another friend to see her daughter dressed up for Homecoming and enjoyed sitting out on her deck chatting.

Yesterday I took a hike with Charlie. I've been hiking this trail for years. They say grief comes in waves and in strange ways. 

Charlie and I came up through the woods and saw this tree. 

I saw the fungi all over the tree and the bare branches. This tree is a maple and should have still had its leaves. It was barren, with so many of its limbs now on the ground.

This tree was shown to me in 1995 as the grand old tree by Rich on a very special ride we had taken. It was the first of many mule rides with him.

I've always stopped by this tree to recall that first ride on a mule with my future husband. When I reached the tree with Charlie, a huge wave of emotion hit me like a proverbial brick. I sat down on the limb next to the tree and was overcome.

I wanted so much for him to be home when I got there so I could tell him of the tree's final demise. 2025 got to our tree too.

I sometimes wonder if what I am going through will help anyone else. Grief and loss are funny and odd things. It can smack you at the oddest times and places without warning.

I wish there was a guide to take me through this. I know that a true guide doesn't exist. I just have to continue to go with the flow.