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Friday, August 28, 2015

Grieving X 2 and more

I don't even know what to say --- I think all these things to write and then I stare at the keyboard thinking --- what? What do I say?

All I know is I'm not in a good place --- and it sucks and it's stupid.

I am not dealing with this so well. And few people even comment here, anymore -- I feel so alone, I feel like no one cares. I wonder why I even blog ---

And I know, everyone thinks I am "so strong" --- oy

I'm not. I guess I'm just supposed to "pop up" and "go on" -- shoot. That's not happening. Sorry.

I have been grieving for so long -- it's stupid...  "Stupid" seems to be my new word.  Everything is stupid, these days. My whole life seems stupid, right now.

But back to grieving ---

I have been grieving for more than 4 years.  I grieved the loss of Bob -- Bob pre-stroke (old Bob), the man he used to be, before the stroke - I'm talking about the charming, articulate guy with the 145 IQ, who used to make me laugh. The guy (pre-stroke) who fixed things and loved to dicker for deal when we were antiquing -- the guy who used to drive The Green Machine, his arm around me, windows open, going for a day trip. Damn, I missed and mourned that Bob. For so long after the stroke.

And I went through those grieving steps, you know, the Denial, Bargaining, Anger, etc. finally getting down to Acceptance -- which I finally did about a year ago, Acceptance that Bob (the new Bob) would never fully recover and, OK, we would deal with wheelchairs and immobility and feeding tubes and aphasia and but still, cognitively, he was getting better, so I had hope and plans for "new Bob" ---

Plans for a therapy room here at the new house (because we finally had money from the settlement) , buy a NuStep and put in bars and hire a PT for at-home therapy, also putting in a pool for aqua therapy, hoping this would make him stronger.  I would have been happy if he could just get to a pivot and stand sort of mobility. It was worth working toward. And having the Bobmobile so we could go out and about, do something fun now and then. Trying to get that new power chair more comfortable so he could tolerate being up for more than an hour --- just got a RoHo cushion approved by the insurance (no small feat, took months!) and was still trying to get adjustments to the chair, etc.  I actually thought that I could get an OT here to figure out how to get an art easel that he could reach from the power chair as he stopped drawing because of his neck issue which caused him so much pain but thinking maybe in the chair, instead of in bed, it might be a better position and I thought we could maybe figure something out to get him drawing again. And I had so many plans and hopes for him. I even found a group that exhibits art from disabled people and thought that, maybe, we could do that and wouldn't that be great? I had so many plans -- what we could do or try to make a new life for Bob and me.

And then he died. In his sleep. And after all of that, it seems so stupid. And fruitless.

Damn. And now I am grieving again, I'm now grieving for "new Bob" and also "old Bob". So I'm grieving two Bobs -- and I know, that sounds really really stupid....

Everyone seems to think I should get over it. Be over it. Go on etc.

And I am sorry that I am not over it and I am still lost now.  I don't even know what to do. I am a mess. I don't know what to do -- everything I planned, everything I worked toward (the lawsuit, the new house, the wheelchair accessibility renovations,  etc.) was for Bob and now he's not here and I don't know what to do now because everything came to a screeching halt and -- I don't know where to go from here.

And I just thank God that Ripley and Kona are here -- giving me a reason not to jump off a bridge.

If you are reading this, and care, please leave a comment. I stupidly need comments/support right now.

And sorry to be so needy...










Wednesday, August 26, 2015

And now

Well, my nephew has come and gone, and we had a real good time. I so enjoyed his company and he helped me take Bob's lift down from the bathroom ceiling and haul that plus a bunch of boxes into the attic. And move the hospital bed into the back bedroom --- quite a step for me.


David and Kona
And we had some fun and even hit the beach! -- first time for me, since -- well, before you-know-what:


At the beach -- that's David on the left side, way down there in the water!
I did the "old lady thing" and rented a cabana - - as it was so very hot. So he swam while I hid in the shade reading my grim books.

So now I'm alone again and I tell you, I am still not handling any of this well.  Yesterday, I ran into a old neighbor (from our old neighborhood) at the dog park and after telling him that Bob died, Boomer died, etc. he got all excited and told me "You have a NEW LIFE, a NEW HOUSE, and NEW DOG!" and that this was a "TIME OF OPPORTUNITY!!" for me and I should embrace it as a good thing.

Oh my --- I wish I could feel that way, but mostly, I spend my days crying and just getting through, doing what I have to. And feeling alone, lonely and watching way too much ID (Investigation Discovery) Channel -- just because it makes me feel better --- I mean, my life might suck but at least I don't have any decapitated heads buried in my garage! ha!

And I miss Bob, so so very much....

And I don't know how to go on/if I can go on without him.  I am really not doing so well, at all.


Did sign up for a grief support group --- starts next week.


Sunday, August 16, 2015

Another Visitor

Tomorrow, my nephew (David) is arriving for a week's stay. I am very much looking forward to the company and to getting to better know my nephew (now a young man) who I haven't seen since he was a kid!

This grieving business is a hard and lonely job --- and, I tell you, being a widow sucks.  My motto lately is "one day at a time" and in that way, I plow along....






Monday, August 10, 2015

Notes from a Mediumship Reading

I went to a medium, last week. For a reading. The reading was an hour and a half long and I was emotionally and physically drained and exhausted, for days, afterward. She e-mailed an audio recording of the reading, which I listened to twice.  The first time, I cried all through. Heck, I cried all through the actual reading. But I listened to it today again, calmer now, and took some notes.  Here are some of the highlights:


I see a man, tall and slender and light complected, blonde hair, thick and wavy. Very tall, over six feet tall. Does that sound like your husband?

I say, yes.

Tell me something for your wife:

He was sick at the end. I feel this from him.  Tell me something for your wife.

He says, he loves you a lot, he loves you so much, he loves you very very much, he comes and touches your face, sometimes, but you don't feel it.  He loves you very much, this is the first thing he wants you to know.  

And he does not want you to remember him the way he was at the end, he wants you to remember him "tall, blonde and handsome" the way he was when you met him.

Oh, this is silly, but I'm getting goosebumps. Look at my arms, see? goosebumps! I cannot fake that. Do you know what that means? It means this is a truth, a universal truth. 

He's saying to you, "you are the love of my life", he loves you so so much, he's making me cry, the love he has for you is so great, it's unconditional, there is no limit to his love, he loves you so very very much. It's the kind of love God has, angels have, that's the kind of love he has for you. 

You are the love of his life. He keeps saying that.

He's showing me you, when you are younger, wearing a blue dress, and you are dancing with him. It's a fancy dress, with short sleeves and tight on the top but with a full skirt. It looks like a 1950's style dress. He says you were beautiful then.  He says you are beautiful now.

But he does not want to talk about the past. He wants to talk about now. He is worried about you.

He doesn't want you to suffer.  He did not want to hurt you.  He did not want to leave.

He's concerned you do have not enough support.  You do not have people around you.  Your husband wants you to have friends, wants you to have support.  You shouldn't be so alone.

You are blessed. This man was your soulmate, he loves you so much. Most people never have that.  Oh, 99% of people never have that! But you did. You are truly blessed. 

But he feels like he has let you down. He didn't want to leave you.  He didn't want to hurt you by leaving you. 

He's been trying to connect with you in your dreams, but because you are so much in pain, he can't connect. He visits you at night, sometimes you wake up and when you wake up in the middle the night, it's because he has been there.

He's having a hard time because he doesn't want to leave you. He wants you to be OK. He wants to wipe away your tears. I think it's beautiful, the way he says that.  He's trying to take care of you, trying to help you. 

He's also concerned about his daughter, a daughter with blonde hair, he's trying to take care of her too. She has a man in her life that he does not like. He worries about her, too. It's too bad that you both can't talk together. You both need support.  

He wants you to have someone to talk to -- he wants you to have friends. He does not want you to be alone. He wants you to have support.

He wants you to meet him in a dream, he wants to meet you in a beautiful garden in a dream.

She asks me if I want to say something to him, I tell her to tell him "I'm sorry." That I'm sorry I did not take him to the hospital the day before he died.

He says that he did not want to go to the hospital. He says, "No way!",  if you would have taken him to the hospital he would be mad at you for that. He hates hospitals! He doesn't like hospitals, he makes it very clear, he HATES hospitals. You did the right thing. You were a very good wife. He knew he was passing and he did not want to go to the hospital. He did not want to die at a hospital. You did everything right and he thanks you for that. He is grateful. And he wants you to know, he did not suffer.

I ask, what was he trying to tell me the night before he died? He was trying to say something that I could not figure out.

He was having speech difficulty, he couldn't talk -- but he wanted to tell you he was afraid that he was going to pass and he wanted to tell you that he was going to pass--  but he couldn't find the words. He wanted you to be okay. He was afraid to leave you behind. He didn't know how to say it in words.

He doesn't want you to think of him how he was at the end. Think of him, always, the way he was when you met him.

You are the love of his life. He keeps saying that!

Diane, are you wondering, Diane, thinking about -- moving?

Me: No, not right now, but some people have told me I should.

Should I ask Bob? Ask him what he would want you to do?

I say, okay.

Bob, do think your wife should move from the house?

Well, I know it's your house, Bob, but you have to think about her! It's her house too! Maybe she should move on. Maybe it would be good for her to move on. Maybe there are too many memories there.

He is arguing with me, your husband is a very stubborn man! A very strong guy! He says it's his house and he wants you to stay there. He's very insistent on this.

It's his house and he wants you to stay there!

But he wants you to have friends, to do activities, to enjoy your life. He wants you to be okay, so he can be okay.

But he's there for you, he's with you, he's with you a lot. He's there if you need him. You may not be able to see him right now, but he's there. You are the love of his life, and he will always be there for you.

And he's hurting because he can see you and you cannot see him.  He is trying to send you healing and energy.  He is trying to help you. He loves you, so much.  The love never changes.

When your pain is not so intense, you will see him. You will know he has never left you. And you will see him again. Believe me, you will see him again.

Now he's showing me a window, with lace curtains, curtains you can see through, see the light through. This is in your house, I think, if you sit by the window and think of him, he will try to connect with you there.

As I was typing this, suddenly this video popped onto my computer screen and began playing, without me touching it, without even the play arrow, it just played on its own -- :

video











Sunday, August 2, 2015

Rain

It has been raining, here, for 20 days. This, I learn from the radio: today is the 20th day of rain. I cannot remember such a rainy season before -- it seems the whole world weeps, the sky weeps, the days are countless, changeless, dreary, matching my mood.

This house is haunted. Not by Bob. I am the ghost who wanders these dark, gloomy rooms. I am the voice heavily sighing in the corner. A long low involuntary sigh. Then there's Zenith.  I see her shadow, peaking around the door.  I see her on my bed at night, back turned to me, licking her paw. Zenith is still here, Zenith haunts the house with me, and I wonder: where is Bob? where is Boomer?

A long time ago, when Bob and I had one of those obligatory married couple talks, the what-to-do-if-I-die talks, I told Bob that if he went first, that he better come back and haunt me.  He laughed and promised he would "haunt my ass" (his words, well actually he would have said "your ass"--anyway) and then he said, if he couldn't do that, one day I would be sitting on the porch and a little red bird would land on the railing and look at me and that little red bird would be him or a message sent from him.

I think of this now, a little red bird, and I wonder why he chose red -- and if he chose red, or if I only imagined "red" and maybe he just said a "little bird". But I have seen no bird, red or not, on the porch railing. I have seen no ghost of Bob. I have gotten no messages from the beyond. Not even in my dreams.

Only Zenith is still here, peaking around the corner.  A flash of Siamese fur in the hallway, a dark tail disappearing through a doorway.

And Bob exists only in my imagination, in my mind, in his pictures and art on the walls, in the things we collected together, the stories we shared. In a box of ashes on my memorial table.

Long ago, before we were married, I told Bob (and I don't remember why, or what we were talking about) but I told Bob I had never received a dozen roses. Not once. In my entire life. No one ever sent me a dozen roses. I had received, of course, flowers, but never a whole dozen roses.

Bob was poor then, recently graduated from art school, unemployed and looking for work.  And he wanted to be the one to buy me a dozen roses, but he couldn't afford it and so, he drew me a picture of a dozen roses and matted and framed it, himself.

He gave it to me, saying, that now I "would never be without a dozen roses".


A Dozen Roses by Bob


I still have a dozen roses. I will always have a dozen roses.

Outside, it continues to rain. The sky is weeping and so am I.



Friday, July 31, 2015

Alone Again

My dear friend, Lori, left on Wednesday so I am alone again. I think, the thing I miss most is having someone to say "Good morning!" to every day.  This business of being a widow is a lonely one...

Lori & Kona
So I am back to aimlessly wandering this lonely old house, this house that seems no longer like a home, but a museum of memories.

Lori did help me accomplish many things, for which I'll be forever grateful.  We did manage to donate lots of medical supplies & equipment, including Bob's manual wheelchair, to the local hospice (though I still have the expensive hospital bed and power chair, I have contacted a medical supplier about selling the bed, but I'm not sure if the wheelchair is even paid off, yet.) And dispose of prescription drugs. And tidy up many other things including storing Boomer's things and picking up Boomer's remains (my little memorial table grows, I hope no more). Also did some fun shopping at thrift stores, antique shops, etc. -- and found a new (used) couch for Kona! This to keep her off my antique furniture:

Kona's new couch
Talk about a spoiled dog. She's acquired a new middle name, Kona Jean. As Lori kept calling her "Marilyn Monroe" -- such a blonde diva-dog she is on her very own "chaise lounge"!

To fit the new couch in the living room, we had to move Bob's hospital bed into the corner --- no easy thing for me. Will the tears ever stop?

Lori & I did some other fun things: trips to a couple of museums, a visit to the Gulf of Mexico (though it was raining the whole time) and some dog training/testing for Kona including a stop at a dog-friendly restaurant for breakfast.  I'm proud to say, Kona passed with flying colors.




Now it's back to "widow's business" -- my desk is piled to the hilt with paperwork:  bills to pay, cards to answer.  So many grim tasks, including yet another "certified death certificate" to send off (which, by the by, is a most horrific document: its actual title being Certification of Death and looking not unlike a car title in style and color, but saying much much worse. I can't help but to recoil in horror looking upon it and touching it, or worse, having to run to the bathroom to vomit, so I try not to look - though I must touch - while I quickly fold it and shove it into an envelope) -- this one goes to the insurance agent to take Bob's name off of our homeowner's policy. So much of this stuff strikes me as stupid and unnecessary.... I mean, do they really need an official certificate to take his name off the house insurance policy? jeepers...