Progress

December 23, 2022

These past six months have given me a lot of insight into me, my life, my “circumstance”. I realize I’m not the only person in the world to have lost someone who’d been in their lives for as long as they were. But I am the only one who is living my life and feeling my feelings so, bear with me please.

When my journey began as a widow, a friend gave me a journal one day, right before we sat down for a lunch date with a couple other friends. It is a beautiful hardback journal with a cover colored in gold and simply, but aptly labeled “Thoughts”. I held it for a while after receiving it and stared at it a while, too, before I actually began writing in it.

I’ve since written many things in it; quotes from other people and lyrics from songs, doodles here and there and of course, there are also my own words and random fleeting thoughts, too. Some of it is just word salad, a group of words that for some may not make any sense, but for me, right then and there when I scribbled them down, the words meant everything. They still do.

One of the more recent topics I jotted down was on being okay. So, here we go.  

A friend of mine told me a while back that eventually, I would be okay. That time would be the healer. That time would also be the thing that would feel like forever and never seem to reveal the other side of the mountain. At that point in this journey, I doubted I’d ever feel okay again.

Yet here I am. I did get to the top of a proverbial hill the other day and saw the scenery around me and realized, I am okay. I AM okay. More quietly? I? I am okay. And I don’t know quite yet how to feel about that.

I didn’t stop living. This is my new chapter. I am learning what I like, I am learning what I don’t like and sometimes I feel guilty at this new-found realization of being okay; of being alive and seeking continued growth. That,  I’m sure, is common. But yet, I do feel at times I should quell those thoughts of feeling good, of feeling okay.

I know, weird, but hey, this is ME after all.

Approaching the holidays quickly now, just days away, I’m not feeling as “bad” as I thought I’d feel.

That is an odd sensation. Maybe this is the acceptance part of the stages one goes through when life tosses a grenade their way. It’s the Oh okay, here we are, this is the new you. You can accept it, you can deny it, you can scrunch it up in a ball and try to throw it away, but this is now your life.

I’ve chosen to live it and see where it takes me and yes, I do feel okay.

I am sure that I will continue to feel the ebb and flow of life; the ups and downs of hills as they come my way, but right now? I am okay.

Do we say enough?

Monday, December 5, 2022

Do we say enough?

Today is the day before the six-month mark since Brandon died. I’ve been keeping busy, but a song just came on in the background and I started paying attention to the words and reflecting. Now, that I’m thinking about the words, let me say the following…

If I’d known what I knew the day before, the day I left the hospital and went home for the last time as a couple and not a single which I became in the wee hours of the next morning, would I have done things differently? I wonder…

Do we say enough to those we love and care for? Do we share enough with people we care about so that they know unequivocally what an IMPACT they have on our lives? Do we speak the words clearly, slowly and with certainty so that people understand how much they mean to us?

We should.

Towards the end of the day, Sunday, June 5^th, I was getting tired, cranky; I still had to get stuff set up when I got home for the item’s hospice was bringing for Brandon’s discharge and then get some rest before getting back up early the next day to be there in advance of his surgery. It was almost 7 PM and I had at least 45 to 50 minutes of drive time. That meant I’d get home around 8, eat dinner super late. House stuffs were being neglected, but what do you do?

He'd had an agitated day that day and yeah, I was feeling a bit frustrated, too. Lots of things had built up to that day. Three weeks of hospitalization, his health was declining at an alarming rate, I was running out of steam, he was dying, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop any of it.

When I left that night, I’d started getting ready about an hour before so he would know clearly that I was leaving. I always started slowly so he had it in his head that I was leaving that last week he was alive. He’d usually start almost pleadingly asking me to stay longer, but the last two nights he was alive, he’d fall asleep while I was packing stuff up and tidying up his room.

I woke him up that Sunday night, the 5^th of June and said softly, ‘hey babe? I’m leaving, I’ll be back first thing in the morning though before your surgery’  (we didn’t even have a time for surgery at that point, the whole thing was a “cluster”) But, I said my piece and was waiting on his response before I left. 

He blinked his eyes open, focused on me, smiled dreamily, and said ‘Okay, love you,’  then slowly closed his eyes again.

I planted a kiss on his forehead, hugged him gently and told him I loved him, too and with my stuff, walked out.

That was the last time I saw my husband “alive”. A whole half a year ago. I cannot believe that it has been that long ago. It feels like a lifetime has passed, but at the same time? Like it was just yesterday.

Do we say enough? we should. Fool that I was, I thought I had more time. Now, I know there will never be enough time for things unless we do them or say the things we feel in our hearts and in our heads.

So, to all my family, to all my friends – new and old, to all the people IN my life, I do cherish you all. You’ve made a huge impact on these last six months. The few moments, the brief or long conversations, the time spent with me in person “after”? They all helped get me through this half of a year.

Say enough, say it all, say something, just say it.

Being Thankful

 Being Thankful

First and foremost. I Melissa, aka Mel am fine – okay slight fib, how about this?  I am “getting there.”

Let’s be honest, this is tough going. Surviving and living after the death of a spouse. I digress…

I’d mentioned in a post on my Facebook page that I’d had a hugely profound moment the other day while sitting in the Birds room (I have two adult Blue and Gold Macaws). I don’t remember what I was watching or listening to or thinking, but it hit me suddenly that I, big bold letter I, am doing “it”.

It being life, It being living, It being acknowledging, It being surviving. It being “being okay” and having moments from time to time out of the blue; driving, showering, cooking, sleeping, watching tv, shopping, taking a walk, exercising, cleaning, sitting in your parent’s kitchen visiting, talking on the phone with a friend, peeing, etc.

It hit me that with all the events of the past year and now the almost six months after, that I do have the strength and backing I’d not thought I would have. I apologized lamely to my Mum for crying while I was sitting on a chair in her kitchen yesterday. Her response, ‘You went through a huge event and it’s all still so fresh. It’s going to happen. It’s okay.’

I made the trek home yesterday, the 26^th of November to see both families for the first time since last Thanksgiving, Brandon’s last Thanksgiving.

Last Thanksgiving was the first AND last time we’d been up there to see folks in two years for a few very big reasons, Covid and well, Brandon’s cancer diagnosis. It was simply too much and too far of a drive for him with his diagnosis. And he was in the hospital for Christmas and then again at New Years with a heart surgery and complications from it and his cancer, so a traditional family gathering wasn’t possible.

I had been home for a brief visit to see my parents back in September; They’d both had some things going on and I needed to be home to see them. I needed to be home for them and for me. A year is an awfully long time to not see family, especially with numerous heavy things happening in this thing called life.

The two visits, the one in September and one to see both families, mine and Brandon’s yesterday were both very poignant. They gave me realizations of things that I know deep inside, yet still question unnecessarily.

Life is so so short, yet so full of everything possible. Family does matter and sometimes family is not always through blood relations, but through people who want to be in your life and are. They are the people who accept you as the person YOU are; the people who love you and would do anything for you to see you happy.

I have both and for that, my heart is full and happy, and I am thankful more than I can say or express.

Life IS good.

Rainy Evenings and a lament on life.

It is late on a Saturday night and raining outside. There is a chill in the air, and I am sitting here with a nice glass of red wine to drink and a big fluffy robe on to keep me warm. I'm winding down from the day; no I'm winding down from the week. Maybe it is the entire year...I don't know anymore. It's all a big, knotted mess, all intertwined and hard to discern what is what and which end is up. 

Fake fireplace is running to ward off the chill here in my bedroom. Real fireplace out in the living room, although ready to go is a bit much now for me...smoke, ashes afterwards and the smoky smell to contend with. These days, it is a bit much, maybe it’s my age. I threw an extra blanket on the bed "just in case". 

The babies, my pups are all snugged up, two in my big bed and two in their own bed at the end of my bed. They are all covered up and hunkered down for the night. Soon, I will follow their lead.

Earlier in the day, I did some "yard gym". I raked leaves, pulled weeds and ivy that's grown rampant along the edge of the house I live in. I got a dead branch down from a huge oak in front of the house. Trimmed some branches and did some basic yard clean-up. I eventually lit a fire and burned debris I'd raked and gathered; the weeds, some of the leaves, the branches, the sticks, etc., that I'd picked up and enjoyed the warmth and crackle the fire produced. I also took chunks of wood that were rotting that had been previously gathered and stacked and tossed them one by one into the flames. Watching as they faded into ash, I had a few moments to think about things and how fast time goes. 

It is amazing how fast time flies. I look back at events of this past year and am blown away at how much life has changed, at how much I am changed. I feel harder, tougher, but at the same time, so weak, so vulnerable and alone. 

I had dinner this evening with friends who chanced by at the same time I was standing outside with my dogs while my fire was burning, and I was throwing things in it. They invited me and I said yes. 

It was good to get out and away from everything.

While we were sitting together eating, I lamented on how fucked up life is and how fast stuff goes and how weird it was (is?) that nothing is the same. I felt kind of sad but also kind of distant from it all at the same time. 

I feel disassociated with everything but am also very in tune to all that is going on all at the same time. It is all a lot of feelings, thoughts, and memories that blend and meld into this weird lump of sticky goo that you cannot escape from no matter how hard you try. 

I have begun reaching outside of my comfort zone to try and make some sense of me, trying to figure out my future. I have started looking at different locales to maybe rediscover who I am. Will it require that I leave my comfort zone? yes. Will it require that I move? perhaps. 

I have been looking at real estate in other states. I can work anywhere. Can I make a move? Yes. I do think I could...Should I? Perhaps. It could give me the push to become the person I SHOULD be, now that so much has changed in the last year. 

I have a chunk of land to move to if I desire, as well. 

Do I want to move? Not particularly, but I am it, here. Except for a couple friends, I am all alone here. 

I grew up moving, so I am used to it. It is not easy, but it is doable. Would I miss my local friends? More than I could say. But.... This house I am in is built for more than me, for a bigger family than what I have right now. Right now, it is me and my dogs and big blue chickens and my new to me kitteh, Frank and the sometimes cat who frequents my deck and back yard, Stevie. That is not enough to fill this space. 

I am torn, do I? should I? Could I? 

Things to think about and seriously. 

Just a Dog?

How?

How can it be that one could be faced with yet another tsunami and stay afloat.

Oof.

No, the wave is not as big as the one in June of this year, but it is devastating, nonetheless.

Times like this, being faced with yet another huge storm makes me feel absolutely desperate. Desperate to want to fight like hell, yet also desperate to just lie down and let the waves carry me away. Yes, that sounds utterly dramatic and it may be. But I’m also desperate enough to want to scream about how unfair it is, but also desperate to not look like a crazy person.

I had a rough afternoon yesterday after talking to my vet about her findings. But, let me say this...

One may say, but it’s just a dog.

Just a dog?

Yes, she is a dog, however, that dog is also a family member. She is a little creature that has feelings, thoughts, makes decisions (not always good ones, like hey, this waterer is almost empty, I want it full and proceeds to paw it enough to dump it and the remaining water over - every.single.time), she expresses happiness, she farts a lot, pees a lot, barks out-loud while she’s sleeping, exasperates the shit out of me sometimes, makes me laugh, makes me cry, is so forgiving...she was so scared when I drove to Memphis to adopt her at being taken from her familiar surroundings there at the shelter. At some point in our long drive, she absolutely melted into the bed I’d brought with me for her to ride in toward her new home with us. At that point, I knew she was ours and we were hers. Now, she’s mine but she’s still a pup that WE earlier in the year “shared” as one of our hairy kiddos. And, soon, she too will be "leaving". 

She’s my Poser Bear, Posey Adele, Po-Po, Poppers, Poe-pers or Pop-pulls (as phonetically "correct" as I can make it using this alphabet/letters available), Posers, and my little Poosha. My little senior lumpy Italian Greyhound.

The idea that she’s sick and has limited time left with me hurts so much that my mood and thoughts match the dreary day outside on this 15^th of November.

Hug your hairy kiddos tonight for me, for Posey...for everyone and anyone who has lost or is losing one of their family. 

Dog formerly known as Cyclone, aka Veronica and at some point interestingly enough, had also been named Sophie. Now known as Posey. 

Pensée time...

Honest truths. It might hurt but give me the ugly, please never lie.

The other day, I was asked – paraphrasing here…’why didn’t you stay at the hospital when stuff was happening?’

My first response was, I could not, I had other responsibilities – the dogs, the birds – someone had to take care of them. That has always been my response. I would get there at 7 or 8 in the morning and stay ‘til 8 or 9 at night most nights if not later.

When more gently asked of why I did not let someone help me during that time, My honest hard reply though after taking a breath, was,  I desperately needed the break. I needed some ME time. I needed to be away for a little while. I needed the quiet that I did not have anymore.

More quietly, to myself, I was slowly falling apart, and that time alone gave me a little reprieve.

That may make me a bad person and that is okay. I am the only one who has to live with that.

I needed a break.

Having those few hours of no responsibility was like having the silence when the eye of a hurricane is over you.  That time before shit starts twirling around you again and you have no idea what things will look like in twenty minutes or two hours or the next day even.

How else can I say it other than, it was my time to let go of the breath I had been holding all day long while sitting there in the hospital with Brandon.

So, I went home at night. I got a break for a short bit of time to refresh and sleep and get myself prepared for going back the next day or later that night to sit with Brandon and be his rock.

I just wish he had had that chance, too, to take a break.

End of the day

Ends of the day are my most difficult times during a day as I had alluded in my last post.

End of the day is when all the busy abruptly stops. Your mind in motion with things you have to do at work is suddenly halted and that's generally when one can start to decompress. Usually, my decompression would happen in my car during the drive home when I was still driving to work. 

Mindless music, an audio book, or just taking in the scenery; all a needed intrusion into what is an otherwise overthinking/hyperactive mind.

When COVID hit and I started working from home permanently, that decompression time was kind of lost. I no longer had that drive time; that half hour to myself, with no phones, no emails, no gotta do this, gotta do that. When COVID hit, that decompression time became where I would go chat with hubs for a few and we would rehash our day before moving onto  things needing to be done or things we wanted to do after the work day had ended.

When Brandon got sick, our days and schedules changed significantly. 

<where I sound like I am ungrateful or bitchy, perhaps both? I'm not either, I promise.> 

He was no longer sitting in his office because it hurt too much for him to sit at a desk. He was now here in the space where I sit about fifty feet away from me. 

We had gotten him a lift chair as standing up unassisted became difficult. The quiet little space I had created for my "office" was now a space where the TV was on all day long and where another body filled the room, dogs were meandering around, etc.

I had some important stuff going on at work, but those things faded quickly and deeply with Brandon's diagnosis. My co-workers and boss understood and gave me a huge leeway. That presented some stress nonetheless, I tried to maintain normalcy which sometimes added further to my stress.

Where it started gradually, I was suddenly juggling an additional ball in the air. Wife first/foremost - not new although those dynamics changed, too. Worker - also not new, except for now sharing my work space with hubs doing his own thing IN that same space. The new ball was the new position of Caretaker. That included being a nurse, an Uber, an appointment keeper, a medication reminder, a medication giver, a wound caregiver, chef, housekeeping, therapist, etc., all while trying to maintain somewhere in all that, me. Very new, very huge, very stressful.

It was all a 24 hour job and I didn't have any ME time anymore. 

When Brandon died, I had an hour drive to make to get back home. I had back a "moment" of decompression where my whole life was suddenly and vastly different than it had been just a few hours earlier when I'd taken the drive in the middle of the night down to the hospital. 

That first "ball" of being a wife was gone. So was the third ball of being a caretaker. Right then and there, all I had left was the second ball and that was it. Continue to work, continue to exist and somewhere along the way, I have to figure out how to bring myself back into the equation.

That is where I find stuff difficult. I have a huge gap of time in between work and the sleep that ends one day and begins another to contend with. As that moment draws near Monday through Friday, a tiny part of me way deep inside feels a panic. 

It sounds dumb, but going from a million miles an hour to suddenly crashing into a brick wall and finding out you're still alive but very much alone after you wake up is kind of heavy. 

So, I write, I walk, I clean stuff, I talk to people if they're available, I put on music and balter goofily around the kitchen singing. I do busy stuff to occupy my new found huge gaps of time that for a while I did not have. 

I hate it. 

I am learning how to deal with it though. I have lists in my head of things I want to do once things have calmed down a little more, after I find my footing really is  secure.

I'm figuring out "why", "where", "who" and "when" and until that time I'm sort of just moving through the motions at the end of the day. 

Four Months In - Gettin' By

October – four months in

Mornings are becoming slower to start even though the time change has not happened just yet. The last two days have begun with some beautiful pink tinged clouds accompanying the much cooler temperatures that this area has had recently. The cooler weather, a welcome change. Evenings come a little sooner now and are a little longer.

Mornings and evenings are usually “difficult” times for me.

Morning – waking up from under bodily warmed covers in a still dark room and becoming conscious again of what is.

Evening – ending the day with a comfortable sigh but not having your person there to talk about your day.

Morning first.

Morning time is becoming a bit less difficult in that there is routine. Wake, stretch, yawn, pat a couple dogs, wake up a couple more that are still drowsing and help them out of their bed. Take them outside and walk around for a bit. Start food bowls for the parrots, take care of my own needs; Dress, coffee, then begin work. All fairly mindless actions.

That first moment though of opening my eyes after the alarm goes off where stuff rushes back in very quickly and suddenly? that is difficult. That realization of the sheer and utter singularity of the life I am leading right now. I am in charge of me, and I have some decisions to make right now before I swing my legs out of bed.

What is today going to be like? Well, obviously one cannot definitively answer that question, but I can control how I will feel and react. So, how will I handle today? How am I feeling inside right now? Kind of sad? Well, okay, you need to put on something that you think is pretty or powerful.

Feeling strong today? Keep that feeling. Again, dress for it, keep it going. Dress your naked face maybe and own that feeling. Don’t hide your face with your hair. Get up and just keep moving.

Work keeps me busy, but there are times when I lean back and for a millisecond, all confidence is lost and I wonder why?

What is all this for and how did I end up here? How do other people do this – life.

I know I am not the only one to lose someone. There are folks before me who have loved, who STILL love but also lost or are losing someone. Whether it be from death, sickness, age or divorce or another reason altogether. No matter the reasons, their pain is just as valid as is mine. I am just sharing me and how loss has affected my own person.

Right now? I kind of feel “blah” and I’m going to quote Bon Jovi’s song from Cross Road Someday I’ll be Saturday Night here…’my life’s a bargain basement/all the good shit’s gone.’  

But...someday, I WILL be Saturday night ;) 

I am just trying to figure out where I belong right now and doing things a moment at a time…

To be continued…

Masks - an allegory

Masks, maps, and apologies. Masks, first. 

Do you know what is still so weird? The feeling that I can reach out and tell Brandon a funny or a gripe I have. I miss that. The ease with which I had that availability to talk to someone that had been there for half of my life.

When I have those moments of starting to shoot a message to him, I feel a sudden “thud", like running into a brick wall and being abruptly stopped dead in my tracks. Nope, you cannot do that. There's only a small handful of people I talk about this with. And, I'm even sort of lying to them. 

When I say I'm good, that I am fine, really, I find myself doubting everything I had thought I had known, mastered, gone through, etc. since...Since losing Brandon. Right now, I do not know how to do it. It - life. I feel fake. I have been fake, with everyone. 

As though what people see is what I want them to see and I am enabling that, too. Put on a smile, look presentable, laugh, Are you wearing clean clothes? take goofy pictures, or take serious pictures showing that hey, I am among the living. Please tell me I am doing well. I do not want to fail. Dress up, dress down, hide the truths about yourself with makeup or clothing to disguise yourself. Brag on myself and my little accomplishments, look what I did... Use filters, look your best. Ugh. 

Why do we do that? Why DO we do that? Acceptance? Confidence? Needing to hear kudos? I am definitely guilty. 

Who you see in photos I share is not me…not the real me…It is but is not. I am just not sharing those honest (truthful??) ugly scenarios with anyone, really. Perhaps I should. 

Would it be therapeutic? 

Maybe. 

Does anyone want to see the ugly side of things? Is anyone curious? Or do we all just pretend that part of living does not exist.

I sometimes think that folks really do not want to see real. I for one though, appreciate the honesty when folks share with me, even if it hurts. I need to become better at being THAT person instead of who I have become. Again - trying on different "outfits" as it were to try and find out who I am.

I am going to make a start. Not only mentally, but also physically, take off that mask. Here I am. Lines, scars, nothing to hide the “stuff” one would normally hide when trying to make a good impression.

Like me for me, right? 

Baby steps first, I suppose. 

This is plain old me. No more masks.

Hi...

It's nice to meet you. 

Reflection and Chrysalis

September, 2022

Reflection and Chrysalis - Sounds like an oxymoron. Perhaps it is in a way. We will see. 

I will see. 

Reflecting - looking back, what could I have changed or done differently? Nothing.

Chrysalis - a transitional state, becoming. What shall be? that remains to be seen. To quote Rush - 'hope is epidemic, optimism spreads.' I'm going to cling onto that idea. 

Reflecting: No matter how prepared one thinks they are for a huge change, one will always look back and wonder 'what if'. The afternoon that a call came in from the doctor that had started treating Brandon's symptoms, I literally looked in the mirror after I'd brushed my teeth and put my hair into a ponytail and said to my reflection, 'your life is about to change.' I knew. He knew. WE knew. 

The drive was awful, punctuated with awkward silences in between trying to rationalize what we had an idea we would hear when we walked into that office. Long 45 minutes of feeling like you were about to walk headlong into every horrific scary movie scene possible. A walk you could not stop.

The image - I love imagery - of walking into a big empty room with a small brown wooden door at the other end is what I felt. 

You walk through the room and shadows from the stark lampshade-less light overhead follow you. As you approach the door, it opens and there is nothing but darkness beyond. You hear a silent roar inside your head that you cannot escape from, your hands are damp with sweat and you cannot stop yourself from walking through the door. You are thinking, if I scream, I can wake up, but you ARE already awake and all the scary things you imagined in your entire life are about to happen.

That is how I felt. Cannot stop entering that black within, but desperately wanting to not even approach it. We got swallowed up when we stepped inside. One story ended and a new horror began. 

Fast-forward. A year and five? months later.

Chrysalis: This is where I attempt to maintain some measure of decorum in transitioning from a couple to a single. A single who had previously been in a long-term relationship that ended abruptly. 

I have been trying on different outfits. Have not quite found one that fits me, yet.

I am coming up on four months "after" in this new period in life. I liken it to a nightmare I have, the one where you are supposed to be attending a class and taking a test - college or high school, take your pick. 

You know you should be attending it, but have no idea where your locker is, what your combination is, who your teacher is, where the class is. You have already missed several tests, it is mid-term and grades are about to come out. You are about to fail. You try and try and never find out where you are supposed to go. 

THAT is kind of how I feel right now. If you have never had that nightmare, please, call or write me. I will be happy to explain. It is awful. If I had a therapist, I am sure they could explain it all to me, but I digress. 

I am in the phase of "where do I go from here because I no longer have a road map." I am in that transitional period of being squishy, covered in goo, all tied up and pinned down in my own shell and cannot seem to find my way out. Lost. 

Part of me knows this is a process and all natural, but since I am being open here, I still cry; Sometimes it happens unexpectedly when I am out walking or driving, or in the middle of cooking, or at work. Sometimes I feel it coming and accept it and let it happen because it feels so good to just let it go. Other times, I try to quell it down because it feels inappropriate and then I get angry.

Sometimes, I feel so lost, I will queue up some music that I know will make me cry because I feel empty and needed to remember what it feels like TO have feelings. It is not every day anymore, but often enough, still. 

Part of me feels that I am a burden and I need to not share because eww, move on 

I will do that in my own time. Move on...but not in how one would imagine moving on. I will grow, but not forget.

Right now, this is my chrysalis. I am becoming. I will fly again.