So, the "tropical depression" has been upgraded to a "named tropical storm", Alberto, which is heading our direction. We are now under a "tropical storm warning".
And it's not even "Hurricane Season" yet. That's not supposed to start until June....
I am stocked up to "hunker down" as we expect a lot of rain and wind. That means dog food, cat food, vodka and cheese puffs for me. ha!
On top of the clouds, rain and storm, Monday will mark 3 years since Bob's death.
I have been dreading this anniversary for more than a month, though my therapist says this is a "normal" reaction to this upcoming "anniversary".
"Normal." What a word... But "normal" to feel like it's all happening again. "Normal" to wake each day and think, "Bob was alive, today, 3 years ago." Until Monday, which is also Memorial Day, when it will be "Bob died three years ago this morning."
Jeepers. Seems like just yesterday.
I still miss him with all my heart.
And this weather is certainly not helping.
The sky weeps. The wind wails. Darkness fills the house during the day.
This weather, which is already beginning today, is expected to last through Memorial Day, and we will still be feeling the effects well into next week....
Saturday, May 26, 2018
Tuesday, May 15, 2018
Tropical Depression
Which is our weather forecast and that amounts to lots of rain and dreary, gloomy days.... doesn't help one's mood.
Been a few tough weeks for me. Went to a "Grief Healing Retreat" earlier this month, a one day affair which I hoped would teach us coping techniques. Went with two of my widow friends. So that part was nice.
There were about 30 people there, two men, the rest women. As they began the retreat, I notice, once again, I am pretty much the youngest person in the room, with the exception of the one guy who lost his mother. The beginning "introductions" included a woman reading that poem/song/bible verse about "a reason for every season, a time to live and time die," you know the one and I began to "dissociate" (as my shrink calls it) so I took the advice of my therapist, who said when this begins to happen, I should try to "touch" things, concrete things, to pull myself back to realty. So I fled. To the bathroom, thought I was going to puke, fortunately didn't, then just clung to the sink, ran the water, touched the water, took deep breaths, then tried to open my little box for some Xanax, couldn't get it open. Fortunately, one of my friends came in to check on me, and she got the box open. Took some Xanax and returned to the conference room, much calmer.
Then we broke out into groups for different workshops. The first one was to walk a labyrinth which was in a darkened room. I'd never done such a thing before and the woman presenting the workshop explained that it was an "ancient sacred space" and used for centuries and used to "center" oneself, release stress and anxiety and "open" yourself to receive life's gifts.
Sounded good.
When it was my turn, I found myself first very dizzy, and worried I would fall down. We were told to be "quiet and reflective" through the process. At the center, we were to stop and "open" ourselves and "let go" of our negative emotions, then begin the way back. On the way back, for some darn reason, I thought I was lost and would never get out and I began giggling, trying to stifle it, but you know how that goes, and pretty soon I am uncontrollably laughing and can't stop. Very strange. I think I sort of blew that experience for some in the group.
Then there was "music therapy" which was not all what I expected. I expected, I guess, to be taught ways to use music to "heal" instead, the man leading the group gave us all a piece of paper with the lyrics based on Stevie Wonder's song "I Just Called to Say I Love You" adapted to "I Just Want to Say I Love You" and the words, with blanks left open for us to write on, beginning with "Remember when we'd: __________ without you, just isn't the same." Then, "I miss your _____, your ______" and "No one can replace that _________ side of you."
Mine went like this "Remember when we'd drive to the beach, car windows rolled down, radio blaring, wind in our hair, the beach without you just isn't the same. And memories are all I have today. I miss your face, your voice. No one can replace that wonderful side of you. So I what I feel is something true.... and it ends with I just want to say I love you, I just want to show how much I care, I just want to say I love you and I mean it from the bottom of my heart."
And then the man leading the group, took up his guitar, and sang each of our songs.
I tell you, when he did this, there was not a dry eye in the room. And later, that night, just thinking about the "music therapy", I had a total breakdown. That wailing, sobbing, snot running down your chin, can't stop kind of breakdown.
So much for "healing"... The workshop did end with some beneficial meditation techniques and a butterfly release, which was lovely.... but still....
Since then, I've been pretty depressed, sort of counting the days until Bob's death anniversary (28th of this month) and this darn Tropical Depression certainly does not help. Nor does it help that I accidentally "blew up" my pool -- I kid you not. Well I didn't blow up the actual pool, just the pump when I went to turn off the solar heat, I did something wrong and the next thing I know is I've got a geyser of water shooting in the air behind our house. So haven't been able to use the pool for more than a week now and that's the one thing that reduces my stress and relaxes me. Waiting for the technician who is supposed to be here sometime today and hate to think what the bill is going to be... but hope he gets here soon, because the rain has been filling the pool to the brim and will surely overflow and I can't drain it without the pump running and certainly do not want my back yard flooded.
Just another day, here at The Pink House....
Been a few tough weeks for me. Went to a "Grief Healing Retreat" earlier this month, a one day affair which I hoped would teach us coping techniques. Went with two of my widow friends. So that part was nice.
There were about 30 people there, two men, the rest women. As they began the retreat, I notice, once again, I am pretty much the youngest person in the room, with the exception of the one guy who lost his mother. The beginning "introductions" included a woman reading that poem/song/bible verse about "a reason for every season, a time to live and time die," you know the one and I began to "dissociate" (as my shrink calls it) so I took the advice of my therapist, who said when this begins to happen, I should try to "touch" things, concrete things, to pull myself back to realty. So I fled. To the bathroom, thought I was going to puke, fortunately didn't, then just clung to the sink, ran the water, touched the water, took deep breaths, then tried to open my little box for some Xanax, couldn't get it open. Fortunately, one of my friends came in to check on me, and she got the box open. Took some Xanax and returned to the conference room, much calmer.
Then we broke out into groups for different workshops. The first one was to walk a labyrinth which was in a darkened room. I'd never done such a thing before and the woman presenting the workshop explained that it was an "ancient sacred space" and used for centuries and used to "center" oneself, release stress and anxiety and "open" yourself to receive life's gifts.
Sounded good.
When it was my turn, I found myself first very dizzy, and worried I would fall down. We were told to be "quiet and reflective" through the process. At the center, we were to stop and "open" ourselves and "let go" of our negative emotions, then begin the way back. On the way back, for some darn reason, I thought I was lost and would never get out and I began giggling, trying to stifle it, but you know how that goes, and pretty soon I am uncontrollably laughing and can't stop. Very strange. I think I sort of blew that experience for some in the group.
Then there was "music therapy" which was not all what I expected. I expected, I guess, to be taught ways to use music to "heal" instead, the man leading the group gave us all a piece of paper with the lyrics based on Stevie Wonder's song "I Just Called to Say I Love You" adapted to "I Just Want to Say I Love You" and the words, with blanks left open for us to write on, beginning with "Remember when we'd: __________ without you, just isn't the same." Then, "I miss your _____, your ______" and "No one can replace that _________ side of you."
Mine went like this "Remember when we'd drive to the beach, car windows rolled down, radio blaring, wind in our hair, the beach without you just isn't the same. And memories are all I have today. I miss your face, your voice. No one can replace that wonderful side of you. So I what I feel is something true.... and it ends with I just want to say I love you, I just want to show how much I care, I just want to say I love you and I mean it from the bottom of my heart."
And then the man leading the group, took up his guitar, and sang each of our songs.
I tell you, when he did this, there was not a dry eye in the room. And later, that night, just thinking about the "music therapy", I had a total breakdown. That wailing, sobbing, snot running down your chin, can't stop kind of breakdown.
So much for "healing"... The workshop did end with some beneficial meditation techniques and a butterfly release, which was lovely.... but still....
Since then, I've been pretty depressed, sort of counting the days until Bob's death anniversary (28th of this month) and this darn Tropical Depression certainly does not help. Nor does it help that I accidentally "blew up" my pool -- I kid you not. Well I didn't blow up the actual pool, just the pump when I went to turn off the solar heat, I did something wrong and the next thing I know is I've got a geyser of water shooting in the air behind our house. So haven't been able to use the pool for more than a week now and that's the one thing that reduces my stress and relaxes me. Waiting for the technician who is supposed to be here sometime today and hate to think what the bill is going to be... but hope he gets here soon, because the rain has been filling the pool to the brim and will surely overflow and I can't drain it without the pump running and certainly do not want my back yard flooded.
Just another day, here at The Pink House....
Tuesday, May 1, 2018
I did it....
Installed the new phone, had read all the directions, then unplugged our old phone with our greeting on it, then plugged in the new phone with 2 extensions, running the wires for the extensions, etc., etc. and put our old phone in a box and put it in the closet...
and then sat down and I cried and cried and cried.... tried to call a couple people, no one answered... watched some TV -- ate too much... did go for my daily swim...
shoot.... still crying...
"Life sucks then you die"
-- that's a quote Bob used to say (with a laugh)....
hard sad day, all around...
And I wonder, Why am I still here?
and then sat down and I cried and cried and cried.... tried to call a couple people, no one answered... watched some TV -- ate too much... did go for my daily swim...
shoot.... still crying...
"Life sucks then you die"
-- that's a quote Bob used to say (with a laugh)....
hard sad day, all around...
And I wonder, Why am I still here?
Saturday, April 28, 2018
More Baby Steps...
Today, they had the annual "drop off" unused narcotics day at our local police station. And I still had some Fentanyl patches in the cupboard. So I took them to the police station and dropped them off. And got back into the car and broke down in tears....
And another thing, been going on, is our cordless phone is "dying" -- and I've not changed the "greeting" message at all since Bob died.
A little backstory -- our former cordless phone "died" after Bob's stroke. It still had the "greeting" with Bob's voice sounding perfectly normal and when the phone died, we went and bought a new one and I thought, jeepers, I'll have to record the "greeting" and then, had a "brilliant" idea, because Bob was still here and maybe he could record a greeting.
So I worked a simple script for him. And of course, with his aphasia, he kept screwing it up. So I finally thought, okay, we can do one of those "cute couple's" messages, you know the ones, where two are talking saying "Hi, this is Diane and" and the other says "Bob" and figured all he needed to remember was his name and after I say "leave a message", he was supposed to say "Bye" at the end.
We tried this, I don't know, 16-20 times, and he kept screwing up, to the point we were both laughing so hard, then finally when re-recording he got the"Bob" part right! Yay! -- but when it was time to say "Bye" he said "Diane" instead and I started laughing, he was laughing then silent and finally said Bye bye -- and when I played it back Bob said "That's funny!" so I kept it plus I was tired... and I figured there was time to retry again.. but we never did.
And after he died I just kept that last "greeting" on our answering machine... Bob and me, laughing.... jeepers. The good old, bad old times... and I couldn't bare to erase it.
Some people have told me "never change it!" and that it's beautiful and makes them laugh but others have told me "it's morbid" as he's dead, and then others (like my pool cleaning service) were surprised and confused, thinking Bob was still here....
So I guess, it's time to change the greeting... jeepers will be 3 years next month... But I still didn't want erase that old message, felt so much erasing another part of Bob...
And as the phone has been acting up, ready to die -- I went from the police station dropped off the patches then, in tears, drove to Best Buy, and got a new cordless phone, because I don't want to lose that 'greeting' message, figuring if I "save" the phone it before it dies, I will always have that recording to listen to and maybe can get that recording transferred to a flash drive or something.
Today, I experimented using my TracPhone to call our number and my camera to record the greeting message: Here it is: hope you can hear it! Click to enlarge if you can't hear it... and to those of you who are used to calling me, there will probably be a bland automated greeting, soon... but know you got the right number...
And another thing, been going on, is our cordless phone is "dying" -- and I've not changed the "greeting" message at all since Bob died.
A little backstory -- our former cordless phone "died" after Bob's stroke. It still had the "greeting" with Bob's voice sounding perfectly normal and when the phone died, we went and bought a new one and I thought, jeepers, I'll have to record the "greeting" and then, had a "brilliant" idea, because Bob was still here and maybe he could record a greeting.
So I worked a simple script for him. And of course, with his aphasia, he kept screwing it up. So I finally thought, okay, we can do one of those "cute couple's" messages, you know the ones, where two are talking saying "Hi, this is Diane and" and the other says "Bob" and figured all he needed to remember was his name and after I say "leave a message", he was supposed to say "Bye" at the end.
We tried this, I don't know, 16-20 times, and he kept screwing up, to the point we were both laughing so hard, then finally when re-recording he got the"Bob" part right! Yay! -- but when it was time to say "Bye" he said "Diane" instead and I started laughing, he was laughing then silent and finally said Bye bye -- and when I played it back Bob said "That's funny!" so I kept it plus I was tired... and I figured there was time to retry again.. but we never did.
And after he died I just kept that last "greeting" on our answering machine... Bob and me, laughing.... jeepers. The good old, bad old times... and I couldn't bare to erase it.
Some people have told me "never change it!" and that it's beautiful and makes them laugh but others have told me "it's morbid" as he's dead, and then others (like my pool cleaning service) were surprised and confused, thinking Bob was still here....
So I guess, it's time to change the greeting... jeepers will be 3 years next month... But I still didn't want erase that old message, felt so much erasing another part of Bob...
And as the phone has been acting up, ready to die -- I went from the police station dropped off the patches then, in tears, drove to Best Buy, and got a new cordless phone, because I don't want to lose that 'greeting' message, figuring if I "save" the phone it before it dies, I will always have that recording to listen to and maybe can get that recording transferred to a flash drive or something.
Today, I experimented using my TracPhone to call our number and my camera to record the greeting message: Here it is: hope you can hear it! Click to enlarge if you can't hear it... and to those of you who are used to calling me, there will probably be a bland automated greeting, soon... but know you got the right number...
Tuesday, April 10, 2018
Mourning
"Mourning" I like that word, better than "grieving". Softer word, I don't why people don't use it anymore. The Victorians had it right, a whole protocol on "mourning" which involved black draped windows and mirrors and a black wreath at the door, so everyone would know a tragedy had occurred -- then there was the dress "code".
Proper mourning periods in the Victorian period were as follows:
Okay, the last one sucks and is sexist... I admit!
"Deep mourning" was the first year after a husband died. Victorian widows in "deep mourning" wore black crepe dresses without trimmings. Plain black crepe veils were worn covering their faces. The veils were worn with wider hems at the beginning of the deep mourning period. Crepe, in it's finest form, is a very fragile material, tends to shred, tear easily and also black crepe will turn brown after much wear. This tattered, brown appearance lead to the phrase "widow's weeds".
After a year, the widow could discard crepe as a fabric, but still dressed in all black be it silk or satin or serge. But black, unbroken by any color. She would not wear jewels or any embellishment considered too frivolous.
After 18 months, the widow entered "half mourning" which meant she could wear black dresses trimmed with black ribbons or black lace, as well as white cuffs or a white collar. Other suitable trimmings included black embroidery, bands of black velvet, jet or black beads -- but these must be "dull" in color.
It was not suitable for a widow to go out socially during "deep mourning".
Okay, you all are wondering why am I writing this --- those who know me well, know that I have always loved the Victorian era and wrote and published a book on Victorian fashion, which I started collecting in my teenage years and am considered somewhat of an "expert" on...
But also, I am writing this because the Victorians had it right in many ways (except the widower thing, ha!). By wearing mourning dress, people actually understood what the person was going through and treated that person with respect, gentleness and care. No one would dare say such things as "get over it", "go on with your life", etc. etc.
And I do wish we had some such signal today. Just to let people know that I am in "mourning", so please be gentle and kind.
"Mourning" went out of fashion during WWI, when the president asked the nation to stop the custom as it made for "too gloomy of a home front" for returning soldiers.
Another word I love is "melancholy" so much better than "sad" or "down" or "depressed". One of my all time favorite poems, by Tennyson is this untitled sonnet:
I just wish more people understood. I am in mourning and sometimes give up wholly to mild-minded melancholy. It's a totally normal reaction to what I've been though.
And thank you Vindi Vin for the link you left in your comment, which finally explained a question I just asked my therapist last week (she couldn't answer it): what is the difference between "pain" and "suffering"? and that article said "Pain + Resistance = Suffering".
Makes sense to me. In other words, you need to "feel it to heal it". So -- excuse me if I linger a bit in my mourning process.
Wish black crepe and black veils were still in fashion....
Proper mourning periods in the Victorian period were as follows:
Death of husband: 30 months
Death of parent: 24 months
Death of grandparent: 9 months
Death of child: 9 months
Death of sibling: 6 months
Death of aunt/uncle: 3 months
Death of wife: 3 months
Okay, the last one sucks and is sexist... I admit!
"Deep mourning" was the first year after a husband died. Victorian widows in "deep mourning" wore black crepe dresses without trimmings. Plain black crepe veils were worn covering their faces. The veils were worn with wider hems at the beginning of the deep mourning period. Crepe, in it's finest form, is a very fragile material, tends to shred, tear easily and also black crepe will turn brown after much wear. This tattered, brown appearance lead to the phrase "widow's weeds".
After a year, the widow could discard crepe as a fabric, but still dressed in all black be it silk or satin or serge. But black, unbroken by any color. She would not wear jewels or any embellishment considered too frivolous.
After 18 months, the widow entered "half mourning" which meant she could wear black dresses trimmed with black ribbons or black lace, as well as white cuffs or a white collar. Other suitable trimmings included black embroidery, bands of black velvet, jet or black beads -- but these must be "dull" in color.
It was not suitable for a widow to go out socially during "deep mourning".
Okay, you all are wondering why am I writing this --- those who know me well, know that I have always loved the Victorian era and wrote and published a book on Victorian fashion, which I started collecting in my teenage years and am considered somewhat of an "expert" on...
But also, I am writing this because the Victorians had it right in many ways (except the widower thing, ha!). By wearing mourning dress, people actually understood what the person was going through and treated that person with respect, gentleness and care. No one would dare say such things as "get over it", "go on with your life", etc. etc.
And I do wish we had some such signal today. Just to let people know that I am in "mourning", so please be gentle and kind.
"Mourning" went out of fashion during WWI, when the president asked the nation to stop the custom as it made for "too gloomy of a home front" for returning soldiers.
Another word I love is "melancholy" so much better than "sad" or "down" or "depressed". One of my all time favorite poems, by Tennyson is this untitled sonnet:
Check every out flash, every rudder sally
Of thought and speech; speak low and give up wholly
Thy spirit to mild-minded melancholy:
This is the place. Through yonder polar valley
Below the blue-green river windeth slowly;
But in the middle of the somber valley
The crisped waters whisper musically,
And all the haunted place is dark and holy
The nightingale, with long and low preamble,
Warbled from yonder knoll of solemn larches
And in and out the woodbine's flowery arches
The summer midges wove their wanton gambol
And all the white stemmed pinewood slept above
When in this place, first, I told my love.
I just wish more people understood. I am in mourning and sometimes give up wholly to mild-minded melancholy. It's a totally normal reaction to what I've been though.
And thank you Vindi Vin for the link you left in your comment, which finally explained a question I just asked my therapist last week (she couldn't answer it): what is the difference between "pain" and "suffering"? and that article said "Pain + Resistance = Suffering".
Makes sense to me. In other words, you need to "feel it to heal it". So -- excuse me if I linger a bit in my mourning process.
Wish black crepe and black veils were still in fashion....
Monday, April 2, 2018
Widow's Brain and other Grief Symptoms
Yes, I'm going to write about grief, because it seems no one wants to talk about it. Our society seems to think of grief as something that can be "fixed" or "gotten over" in a short period of time, but I tell you, I still suffer.
Symptoms like "Widow's Brain" -- an inability to concentrate, forgetfulness, disorientation. I can't count the number of times I've left the house to walk dog, only to find on returning, that I pocketed my car key instead of the house key and locked myself out of the house. (Now I keep a spare key hidden outside.) I still often can't remember what day it is, or month, and have to actually look up the date on the computer. The other day, I took the dog for a walk and on returning home noticed I was wearing two different shoes! And if that wasn't bad enough, one was a grey sneaker and the other a brown slipper, and add to that I was wearing the "right" slipper on my left foot. Yeah, I wondered why my feet hurt while walking, and thought it was because my shoes were getting old.
I still cry.
I still scream at the walls.
I still have difficulty sleeping. Difficulty driving. Anxiety attacks.
I still wear our wedding rings.
I still feel like I'm living in a dream.
People say I should be "over it", and "let it go", and offer all sorts of well intentioned advice such as "volunteer" or "take a trip", join a club, etc. But when you are grieving it's not about "fixing" something, it's not about avoiding your feelings by staying busy or helping others, because death cannot be "fixed" and feelings pushed aside have ways of coming out. As someone once said, "you have to feel it in order to heal it."
Grief is a journey. A journey of the heart. A heart that has been broken into a million pieces. And, truth be told, it sucks.
Everyone deals with it in their own way.
This is my way. I own it.
That doesn't mean I like it. It means I am dealing with it in my own way. And I am doing the things I feel are right for me.
Seeing a therapist.
Swimming daily 120 laps. (OK, I admit my pool is small.)
Getting out of bed in the morning, even when I don't want to.
Writing my memoir.
Meeting up, occasionally, with friends for lunch or going to a play or movie.
These things take strength. Some days I have more strength then others. Some days, I do not cry. Some nights, I sleep better.
I am reading a book suggested to me by my therapist. It's called It's OK That You're Not OK: Meeting grief and loss in a culture that doesn't understand by Megan Devine. I'm glad my therapist suggested it, because now I don't feel like I'm going crazy. Or that I'm "taking too long". Or that something is wrong with me. I'm just still grieving. I lost the love of my life. Grief is a normal reaction a loss that huge, and it's okay to talk about it and write about it.
And this journey is going to take some time.
I miss him, every single day.
And that's OK.
PS: Kona back to her usual nutty self! Such a relief...
Symptoms like "Widow's Brain" -- an inability to concentrate, forgetfulness, disorientation. I can't count the number of times I've left the house to walk dog, only to find on returning, that I pocketed my car key instead of the house key and locked myself out of the house. (Now I keep a spare key hidden outside.) I still often can't remember what day it is, or month, and have to actually look up the date on the computer. The other day, I took the dog for a walk and on returning home noticed I was wearing two different shoes! And if that wasn't bad enough, one was a grey sneaker and the other a brown slipper, and add to that I was wearing the "right" slipper on my left foot. Yeah, I wondered why my feet hurt while walking, and thought it was because my shoes were getting old.
I still cry.
I still scream at the walls.
I still have difficulty sleeping. Difficulty driving. Anxiety attacks.
I still wear our wedding rings.
I still feel like I'm living in a dream.
People say I should be "over it", and "let it go", and offer all sorts of well intentioned advice such as "volunteer" or "take a trip", join a club, etc. But when you are grieving it's not about "fixing" something, it's not about avoiding your feelings by staying busy or helping others, because death cannot be "fixed" and feelings pushed aside have ways of coming out. As someone once said, "you have to feel it in order to heal it."
Grief is a journey. A journey of the heart. A heart that has been broken into a million pieces. And, truth be told, it sucks.
Everyone deals with it in their own way.
This is my way. I own it.
That doesn't mean I like it. It means I am dealing with it in my own way. And I am doing the things I feel are right for me.
Seeing a therapist.
Swimming daily 120 laps. (OK, I admit my pool is small.)
Getting out of bed in the morning, even when I don't want to.
Writing my memoir.
Meeting up, occasionally, with friends for lunch or going to a play or movie.
These things take strength. Some days I have more strength then others. Some days, I do not cry. Some nights, I sleep better.
I am reading a book suggested to me by my therapist. It's called It's OK That You're Not OK: Meeting grief and loss in a culture that doesn't understand by Megan Devine. I'm glad my therapist suggested it, because now I don't feel like I'm going crazy. Or that I'm "taking too long". Or that something is wrong with me. I'm just still grieving. I lost the love of my life. Grief is a normal reaction a loss that huge, and it's okay to talk about it and write about it.
And this journey is going to take some time.
I miss him, every single day.
And that's OK.
PS: Kona back to her usual nutty self! Such a relief...
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