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.