@$#%!

I'm not a cusser. I'm just not. My family reserves Those Words for important uses, like slamming your thumb with a hammer, or dropping the lasagna on the floor when you've got 10 people around the dining table waiting for dinner. Very specific reasons. (also, when/if lasagna hits the floor, after you say the specific choice words, you laugh, apologize for the unladylike language, and order pizza.)

Capt, on the other hand, having been in the Army, and worked in a sawmill, used most (ahem) choice words like I would use salt, pepper, and garlic. Liberally and often. "They're just words" said he. And since he never used the Lord's name in them (he had STANDARDS...Da**it!"), I chose to not worry about it. They are, after all, just words, with culturally imposed standards. I still chose to reserve them for situations that required a bit of emphasis, perhaps a extra push of severity. or blush of just HOW BAD something stinks. 

So yeah, having TWO husbands, men with whom I chose to spend the rest of my life, be removed to their Heavenly reward far earlier than I expected, is, frankly....a shitty situation. Yes. It stinks to me. Not to them, but then they're not the ones stepping in it every day. Oh, I'm sure I will eventually get to the point where I recognize the blessing within it, but today is not that day. God has very good reasons for what He does and I'm not required to know what they are, any more than a 4 year old is required to know why I won't let him eat a 1 pound bar of Hershey's chocolate. Although I'll tell him (It will turn you into a hyperactive jerk), he won't really comprehend what I'm saying. Kind of like God tells me stuff quietly, but I'm a 4 year old compared to God's wisdom, and have to eat the metaphorical 1 pound bar of Hershey's (and it's not even the good stuff. It's not Vosges truffles or MarieBelle. 

One year I got Mom a box of Vosges chocolate for her birthday. Worth. It.

No, it's the cheap and easy-to-find-at-Walmart). God tells me all sorts of things, wise stuff, sensible information, amazing promises...in myriad ways, too. There's this book that's chock-full of stuff He's saying, in lots of ways ranging from "these guys did this and here's what happened" to "look, here's some rules I want you to follow" and other ways of getting a basic point across:

God loves you want wants you to be Holy, following Him with trust and enthusiasm. Joy comes with with it, as a consequence. Also, He's provided a personal Guide.

But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all the things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.

John 14:26

Ok, so I see all that and think...right. I *feel* like my situation is uncomfortable, awkward, and Not What I Had Planned. What's uncomfortable is that third bit. Thing is, God had this planned out all along. He knew what I was going to do, if I was going to eat the cheap chocolate and be a hyperactive jerk. But He's also given me a Guide to get through the (ahem)...STUFF (see what I did there? There's always an alternative to cussing) and so I am, as I did after Himself left us, remembering to lean on His promises, to trust in His Guide, and save the choice words for hammers and lost lasagna.

Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand.

Proverbs 19:21

 

Silver and gold

A few days ago, a friend contacted me with an invite to A Thing Happening near my house, and offered for he and his wife to pick me up. Ok sure, I thought with a little trepidation. Capt was the Party Animal. I'm usually the quiet one along for the ride. However, I enjoy meeting new people, so why not.

They picked me up, we went, and I (subconciously deliberately) left my phone at home. You see, I do it all the time. It ran Capt up the wall when I did. My thinking is...what about the whole time prior to whenever it was that cell phones became mainstream (mid 90's? I don't know...something like that)? People went on entire vacations without phones. Weeks at a time! Mom would go to the grocery store, hours worth of errands and the school couldn't get ahold of her. Nurses had cots in their offices. Granted, I had a mild "what if something happens" moment but then remembered...my kids are all grown. They'll figure it out. #4 had been back and forth with me all day because he was making a pot roast, and needed advice. (that reminds me, I need to call and see how it turned out)

So yeah, The Thing....the venue was someone's house way-er out in the country than mine, and I wasn't sure that was possible. The guest list was small enough to not be intimidating...maybe (let's see...)10 people. 3 in costume (Bubba went as Bubba, his wife was a scarecrow, and the hostess was a Bee...and a very cute one she was). I chose to identify at a 57 year old women. The Bee told me I pulled it off well. Hamburgers were grilled, potato salad and that amazing Rotel/Velveeta Dip consumed, much beer flowed, and Bubba made these things out of Fireball whiskey and Rum-Chata, apparently called Cinnamon Toast Crunch...of which I had more than I should have. Moderation shall be my methodology going into the future.

Anyway, I made a couple of new friends. The Bee wants me to teach her how to make marshmallows when we were discussing cakes and decorating and such, and I said something about making them from scratch. Yep, that's a cooking blog I had for a while, and that is my recipe for marshmallows. Maybe I'll go back to doing it, the blog, that is. I still like to cook.

But the point is, I got out there. I almost called and cancelled. Something stopped me. And I made a new friend. No one "oh poor you"d me about being a widow twice over. They were just "huh, ouch" and moved on. I appreciate that.  The fire in the pit was fantastic. Their dachshund was super friendly and seemed to like me. The grilled hamburgers and potato salad were delicious. I really enjoyed myself! Bubba said I seemed to like meeting people, and that's true. I'm not shy at all, and the anxiety of social gatherings is always before, never during. The Cinnamon Toast Crunch drink was delicious and I had too many. I didn't get sloppy, but boy did I have indigestion during the night. Oof. One only, going into the future. 

Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up.  Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

We need friends, people we can call on to share a good time with, or ask for help, or to whom we can offer help when they need it. I didn't realize how much I need friends until Capt was gone. It's easy to get wrapped up in a relationship, just the 2 of us. But now that it's just me and the dog in this house, I'm recognizing that need. And I am very thankful for the people who include me in their lives. 

Remember that song...

Make new friends, but keep the old

One is silver and the other gold

I'll think about it tomorrow

 

More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. Romans 5:3-5

How much more character do I need? Don't answer that.  But if it produces hope, then OK. I'm...here for it. 

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

Hebrews 12:1-3

How big does that cloud have to get? I'm not sure I want to know the answer to that. And yes, I'm tired. But not losing heart.

Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God.  Psalm 43:5

I know. God's in this. It's scary. I don't like it. But I can see He's in it.  

Every day, I have to approach God and ask for help. I just can't do it alone. I can't think about tomorrow right now. I'm too busy trying to deal with today. Honestly, I'm doing ok. Sometimes it might not sound that way, but really, with God's help and messages from family and friends, I'm doing ok. 

When Capt was in the hospital, and sedated, I told him over and over again that I'd be OK. That I'd miss him and think of him daily and then some, but I'd be fine. I didn't want him to be afraid to leave me, struggling and incapable. And I am ok, mostly. I bush hogged the field. I've had great talks with my kids and parents. I got the plants in the greenhouse and usually remember to water them. The bills are getting paid on time. I haven't left the stove on (a big fear of his), or burned anything. OK, so nothing BIG has happened but I think God's kind of easing me (back) into a (somewhat) solitary life. At least that's what it feels like. I don't know why He is showing me this undeserved consideration, but He is and I'm grateful.

In some ways, I'm not really ready to praise God for taking Capt, other than he is released from the physical hardships he was suffering. It took a good while for me to feel that way after Himself passed away. Eventually I recognized the tremendous gift that was for Himself. In an objective way, I can see that for Capt. But in a selfish way...I'm still not very happy about it. I know that God takes every situation and circumstance, and works it out in a way that will glorify Him and be the best thing for me. (read all of Romans 8), but just like a little kid having to learn that about a parent's discipline, it takes a while to really assimilate that.

Anyway....there we are. Hanging onto the promises of God, for today. I'll worry about tomorrow later, for tomorrow is another day (hat tip to Scarlett O'Hara)

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Matthew 6:34

Gulf of Mexico, 7/18/2020

19 days

 So it's been 19 days since Capt left this world and all it's troubles and baloney. 19 days now of no hardships, perfect life. It seems like longer, to me. Months that have gone by in a moment. I had to do math to figure it out, let's see...he left on the 8th and now it's the 27th...(does math) (also, hates doing math)...yeah. 19 days.

and I am so TIRED. like just weary tired. It seems the Energy days and the No Energy days alternate. Yesterday, stuff got done. I have a feeling today, No Stuff will get done. Coffee and tea will be consumed. And maybe some food, if I can find something that doesn't require any effort. My dog has the right idea. He's laying next to me on the couch, snoring in that way only a dachshund can.

Last night (hold on....coffee needs refilling and here lately I've had to do it myself...)

OK where was I? OH yeah. Last night I was thinking about missing having a warm solid body next to me. Nearly every night, in the middle of it, I'll roll over and in the fog of sleep, reach out for that warm solid body. He's not there and I'd think "oh he must have gotten up to g....crap. He's NOT THERE not there."

During the day, I come across something interesting. An unusual flower. That 1952 Willies Wagon some guy keeps parked in front of his store. Something I want to make note of and tell Capt about. Then it's....dangit. I can't. 

That's another big thing I miss. The solid presence (and Capt was SOLID like a brick wall. Short, powerful, thickly muscled) and Other Person with whom I could share an interesting thing, and who would share interesting things with me.

When we dove together, he was always waving me over to point at a tiny thing, a fire worm, a nudibranch, a seahorse. His eyesight was far better than mine and he knew I'd never see those tiny things unless he pointed them out.

Do not touch! They're called fireworms for a reason!

I knew he'd get a kick out of the 1952 Willies Wagon. I wonder if they have old cars in Heaven?

Anyway, last night I was thinking about those things that have gone into the past. I miss them. 

That Time, This Time

It's different This Time...THIS TIME....how many people say that? It implies there was a similar Last Time situation. Which there was, only not really similar at all, other than the label of Relationship.

Last time, I was with the man for 30 years, raised 4 children.

This time, it was 5 years, no children.

Last Time, we grew up together.

This time, we planned to Grow Old together.

Last Time, I was Housewife and Mother, Keeper of the Keys

This time, I was companion, Bouncer of Ideas

Last Time, he left suddenly, in moments.

This time, he knew, for months, and planned.

Same label, completely different role. 

So yeah, it feels different this time. Himself and I met at 20 (he) and 19 (me). Capt and I were 51(he) and 52 (me), a lifetime's worth of experience and opinion differences.

So the differences are profound. Still painful, but not as confusing. When Himself died, I felt like 1/2 of my self had been ripped away. It took a very long time to get my balance after that. There's no real recovering from it, as that implies a return to normal. There's just getting used to it, that New Normal. It's an appropriate phrase but I haven't decided if I like it or not.

Capt's Home-going (I prefer that to "death") was radically different from Himself's. There was time to plan, even though I thought he was being morbid. Obviously he was right, and thank God he made the plans. The confusion, the What the Hell Just Happened, and What Am I Going To DO...that's not there. It's a whole level of stress and hardship I don't have to mess with. 

You see, Capt knew what I'd gone through after Himself's Home-Going. He didn't want that to happen again. And I am grateful.

Even though I thought he was being morbid. My plans didn't include all that. Mine involved being 80 together and sitting on the front porch, in rocking chairs. Arguing over Gunsmoke or Guy Fieri eating tacos in Cleveland. So much for my plans.

And, while I am a casserole of emotions right now, confusion is not an ingredient. That makes it easier This Time. I am not gobsmacked, just sad, grieving. Missing him but OK. 

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. Revelation 21:4

I have a widow friend who held my hand Last Time. Her husband had died after a long illness, and she knew it was coming. She told me that knowing that didn't really make it any easier, in that it was still a shock to the system for him to be GONE. I get that now.  Capt was sick for months, in the hospital for a week, and spent 2 days at the end of it, gradually slipping away. I was there, I prayed for him to go easy, and when he took that last breath, it was still a shock. I knew he was walking to that door and fixing to go through. But when he did, it still hit hard. But, instead of begging God not to take him, I praised God for healing him. It was a lot easier than you'd think, but still heart-wrenching, shocking, but strangely not devastating. 

 For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep. 1 Thessalonians 4:14

This Time, I think I knew what to do. And that has made it an easier load to carry.

I love you, Capt, and I miss you, but I know you're fly-fishing on the warm shores, bare toes dug into the pure sand, singing along with the angel choirs as you praise God, perfected and pain-free. I gotta admit, I'm a little jealous.  See ya later, love.

Duck!

I've made it pretty clear, I think, that I miss Capt. I'm not just grieving for HIM, the person, individual man, but for the loss of what I thought our future held. When you're in a relationship, it's not just about the here-and-now. There's plans. The front-porch-and-rocking-chair plans. Stone crab claws in Key West. Charter boat fishing. Big stuff. And little stuff, too. A new recipe (hey what if we add this...?), Hemming up pants. A puppy for his birthday. Boom. Gone. Replaced by cognitive dissonance and tears. And no small amount of anger.

ANGER?? WHAT?! Yes. Anger. That he didn't take better care of himself. That he left (however unintentionally) me with all this...stuff. Emotional baloney, fishing gear, unhemmed pants. Welding things...I can't even tell you what they are. They're heavy. That's what I know. HIs office is full of his things. Files, more fishing gear. Boat stuff. And there's a fishing boat in my driveway I am wholly unqualified to use. He told me who to take it to, who'll sell it for me. (Good grief, Capt! Don't be saying things like that! you're going to want it when you're better!) 

You know, he was going to teach me how to weld. I want to know. I want to learn how to use the plasma cutter, get a CNC machine and table, and make cool things. First, we have to get the roof on the shop. See? More plans shot to hell.  We were going to rent a small crane and get the roof on the shop. He was going to weld the trusses into place. Put in rafters and a metal roof. He was going to paint GO ARMY GO RANGERS on it because we're in the flight path of the folks training at Fort Benning. Pffft. So much for that.

And all this dive gear! I can't use the tanks, they're too big and heavy. I can't use any of his equipment- the side mount BCD, gloves, fins, whatever. How do I clear his computer so someone else can use it? I DON'T KNOW. Grrrrrrr......And that wetsuit....the custom one made to his measurements (which were peculiar)? Dangit. Is there another 5'7" diver out there who wants a cold-water wetsuit and is built like a 250 pound fireplug? Probably not. Sigh.

So yeah...I'm PISSED. I've got a shit-ton of stuff I can't use, that I've got to figure out what the hell I'm going to do with it, and no. I'm not going to apologize for using unladylike language. I'll get over it. At some point I'll decide what, when, where, and who, and the stuff will go places and to people who will make better use of it than I will. Until then, I keep the door of his office closed. 

Nothing-doing

Some days, I don't know what to say. I know what I'm feeling...sort of. Maybe. I think of things I ought to do, or could do, but I'm sort of stalled out. Like...someone hit my pause button. Sit down, Peggy. Be quiet. Stop trying to fill all your time. It's not necessary.

The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.  Zephaniah 3:17

But it kind of is, one one level. My upbringing told me that wasting time is...wasting time. Doing nothing when you should be doing something is Unacceptable. So define doing nothing? Is it a visible thing...doing nothing? If I can't point to this or that, and say THIS was accomplished, is that doing nothing? What about thinking, reflecting, being grateful, or sad, or confused, or determined...is that doing nothing because I can't hold it in my hand like a loaf of bread and say THIS was done today?

That's been a real hurdle all my life. Being able to do (what appears to be)NOTHING is not part of my raising. But I'm learning how. I still have to do SOMETHING in order to mentally allow myself to do NOTHING. At least now, however, I don't feel like NOTHING (as defined by my upbringing) is a bad thing. I can sit and think. Meditate. Reminisce. Ponder. It's healing, all that Nothing-doing. 

In Mark 6:30-32, leading up to the bit about feeding 5000 people, Jesus told the disciples "Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place, and get some rest." So they went away by themselves in a boat to a solitary place.  

What a comfort, to know God knows we need to sit quietly sometimes, by ourselves, and rest. 

I'm resting right now. The last couple of weeks have been...kind of...harrowing. Confusing, What-the-hell-just-happened-ing. People right and left and all over are offering real help and I'm still trying to breathe. Forgetting to eat (although that's getting better), wanting to sleep. But now, I don't feel so much like I'm standing on thin ice or the edge of a cliff. I'm going to be OK. God's right here with me. 

For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, "Fear not, I am the one who helps you."  Isaiah 41:13

Of Channel-locks and Power Bills

 Yesterday turned out better than I'd expected. It started out slow and potentially...well, it may have turned into a pity-party if I'd let it, but there were piles. Stacks of stuff that hadn't been dealt with in months because it just didn't seem important. How many months? At least 6, because that's how many power bill receipts were in it. Among other things. Recipes that were printed out. Bank statements. Hospital instruction booklets from assorted procedures. You know..."I don't want to throw it away but I also don't want to deal with it so I'm going to make a pile" pile on the end of a cabinet. I looked at it, growled, and said NO MORE. 

That Pile was managed. Filed, thrown away, prioritized. Reduced to about 10 pieces of phone calls and consideration. Go me.

And it lead to more....more elimination, more putting away in it's proper place, and another pile of other stuff to be put away where it belongs. Tools mostly. We are both bad about using a tool and just putting in down, with Plans to Put It Back Where It Belongs. Eventually. Eventually is here. I am going to take an hour today and put all those tools away. I know that will lead to another task, then another task. ad infinitum. The elimination is of the disorganization. I'm not Getting Rid of Capt. I'm just...doing things the way I wanted to do them. I had the same issue with Himself. Maybe it's a Man Thing. It certainly seems to, at the very least, be a My Man Thing. "Don't move that tool. If I leave it where I used it the last time, I'll know where to find it the next time." They both said that. And I'm thinking "yeah but...if you put it in the toolbox, not only will you know where it is, I won't have to trip over it for the next 6 weeks." Not that I'm the Benchmark for tidiness....all you have to do is look at my sewing room to know that. But at least I keep the sewing stuff in the sewing room.

Oh don't get me wrong...for months after Himself died, I'd have given all my back teeth to have him leaving tools everywhere, if it meant he were with me. Right now I'd give my back teeth to have Capt dropping his boxers on the floor next to the laundry basket, and leaving channel-locks on the kitchen counter, if it meant we were planning a trip to the beach. It's peculiar the things you miss. Sometimes it's the very things that annoy you when they're alive. Never take anything for granted, y'all. 

I don't see this as a sign of...whatever you want to call it...healing. It's more...Dealing With It. I am controlling something I can control, and letting the stuff I can't, just go on and be whatever it is. Out of my control is out of my control. I can control channel-locks and piles of papers and the dust on the coffee table. And so I am. 

Good days, bad days

Like I said yesterday, there's no timeline to follow here. The day before yesterday was a Good Day. I got some sewing done, some necessary cleaning, cooked a good meal. It was a day I felt almost Normal (The Old Normal). Yesterday, notsomuch. I was tired, like REALLY bone-weary tired all day. I don't even remember what I did....Oh yes I do! Nothing much important. That's what I did. Today, this morning as I stare into my coffee cup and sigh because there's no one here to refill it for me, kinda feeling tired again. 

There's a balance I have to find in here. It's important to recognize and allow feelings to happen. Shoving them down and pretending they aren't there is a recipe for disaster. I've tried that in the past, and the results were ugly. They came out in other ways...migraine headaches, rashes, behavioral explosions. I was told by my doctor to not do that. Let them happen, but don't wallow in them for too long. As for the definition of "too long", I'd have to figure that one out. "Find an outlet" he instructed. And that's why I write.

After Himself died February 2015, and then #3's car accident May 2018, I coped by writing. Those are links to the blog I was writing at the time, beginning with each event.  I've been writing for ages, since I was a child. Putting things in a written word allows me to process what's happening. I can re-read what's written down and remember clearly the events, and how I coped with them. It allows me to talk to God and feel like I'm making sense. While I know God understands even when I don't, it's important for me to wrap my mind around what's going on, and see it from a more eternal perspective, more of an "Ok, now what" and less of a "Why O Why is this happening to O Poor Me!"

For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways. 

Isaiah 55:8-9

Shit happens to all of us. Someone we love dies. Someone else is injured, or suffers a debilitating disease. Our plans are radically, unexpectedly, and permanently changed. I know I hate it when that happens, especially when I see someone I love being the first-hand sufferer. I can handle personal suffering. A thing hurts, or something on my body quits working...whatever. That's no big deal to me. But if someone I love dies, has a life-altering car accident, suffers a permanent disability...I get mad and want to fight. I pray for God to lift that burden from their lives...at least at first. God's got His plans for that person.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.

Philippians 4:6

Capt suffered, for a long time. Months. He had COVID in early 2020 and never quite recovered. He tried to return to Normal, but his health wasn't the same. Then he became sicker and no one could figure out why, and for 9 months he slowly slid downhill. And I got mad, not at him, but at the circumstances that took my lively, cheerful, indomitable man away from me. Then he blew up and spent a week in the hospital surrounded by people who said there wasn't anything they could do, and he was gone. And I'm mad about that. I can't say my life was ruined, although my plans sure were. I'm beyond thankful that Capt knew God in a very real and lovely way. He was by no means a perfect man, but he had that. God didn't lift the burden of poor health from Capt, not in the way I wanted Him to. But He did lift it.

As the mountains surrounded Jerusalem, so the Lord surrounds His people both now and forevermore.

 Psalm 125:2

I'm handling this whole situation one day at a time. Yesterday, I was tired, lonely, sad, and angry all at the same time. Then, there was a box on my doorstep. A dear friend sent me a lovely gift to remind me to take care of myself. And I did. She gave me permission to take a day and not worry about the field that needs mowing, or the stack of papers that need filing, or the closet full of Capt's clothes that need going through. If you know someone who's dealing with a heavy load of grief, send them something fun, that gives them permission to take care of themselves. The rest of that stuff....the tall grass, the papers, the shirts....that'll be fine. 

Oh I remember what I did yesterday! I went to the Farmer's market and bought Fall vegetables. A butternut squash, beets, a turnip, a couple of chayote. I'd seen a recipe for Butternut squash soup, and that led to a plan for roasted root vegetables, which morphed into a memory of a discussion about tinola manok- a Philipino chicken-ginger soup that has chayote in it. More self-care. Nutritious food, time in the kitchen, and probably sharing it (always nice!) Now I don't know what to make first. 

Capt, doing what he loved: diving with a turtle.

Timeline, what timeline?

We buried Capt 10 days ago. How is it possible for days to pass so quickly and so slowly at the same time? I've done little to change anything around here. There's no timeline, really. No handbook that says "After 5 days, throw away his toothbrush. After 10 days, pack up his clothes" (etc.) I haven't done any of that. The only thing I've done is change the towels in the bathroom, and that's because it needed doing anyway. He liked these giant thick ones, and I prefer smaller ones. So the giant thick ones are washed and stacked until I decide what to do with them. His toothbrush is still by the sink. The bottle of Pepto is still on his bedside table. His slippers and bathrobe, still in the on the floor and hung in the bathroom. I'm in no hurry.

All those little things...the toothbrush, the Pepto, the slippers...they provide a sense of normalcy in a tumultuous time. They're necessary, as much or maybe even more so than they were when he was here. I can sometimes pretend he's just stepped out for a couple of days, maybe taken a group of students down South for their check-out dives. Maybe he's on a 2 day charter trip, taking a man and his son-in-law fly fishing off Cape San Blas. Then I see the dive gear hanging on it's rack, and the boat in the driveway. 

And it's quiet. It was never quiet when Capt was around. Music was playing, or some cooking show on TV. Capt had severe tinnitus from his years in the Army and working in sawmills. He needed background noise to keep it bearable. I like the quiet. Or used to, anyway. Not so much now. I'll put the music on his favorite stations...No Shoes Radio (Sirius XM)...Or that radio station out of Myrtle Beach that plays old school Beach Music. We were going to take Shag lessons and go to the big dance festival in Myrtle Beach next year. 

Lordy, we had plans. I was going to take him West, to see the Palo Dura Canyon. We were going to see his friends who live in Arkansas on the way. We were going to make an annual trip to the Keys, to see friends there, dive the beautiful reefs, and eat stone crab claws. He wanted to see Greece, and Israel, and Scotland. He wanted to show me Chile (he'd worked there), and Costa Rica. Belize....the world is a fantastic place, he'd say. It would be a shame to think that all we'd see is a 5 acre spot in East Alabama.  He told me a couple of months ago that I was to use the proceeds from his life insurance to travel the world. I said he was being morbid and I wanted US to travel the world.

Palo Dura Canyon

I wanted to get old with him. I wanted to have grandchildren holding his hand, calling him Grandpa, annoying him with their messes and dirt, melting his heart with their hugs and shouts. I know that's what would happen. Grandpunkin does it every time he comes over. I wanted to sit in the rocking chair and reminisce about the travels..."remember that fisherman in Belize...the monkey in Costa Rica that stole your sunglasses...the chill of walking on the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem?" Who am I supposed to talk about that stuff with now? 

He will swallow up death forever. The Sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces; he will remove his people's disgrace from all the earth. The Lord has spoken.  In that day they will say "Surely this is our God; we trusted in Him, and He saved us. This is the Lord, we trusted in Him, let us rejoice and be glad in His salvation.  Isaiah 25: 6-9

But y'know, he's getting even better stuff than that now. He's walking the streets of Paradise! He's got Eternity to explore the nooks and crannies, the beautiful beaches, crisp streams, golden streets of the Kingdom of Heaven! His knees don't hurt, and his ears are filled with the sounds of the Angel choirs instead of the harsh ringing of artillery-induced tinnitus. There's no frustration, anxiety or need for the ever-present bottle of Pepto. Nope, Capt's in the best possible place there is.

'He will wipe every tear from their eyes, There will be no more death' or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.  He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" Then He said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true."  Revelation 21: 4-5

But I sure miss him now. 

I'll be fine.

There's no set timeline for grief. Judaism has a timeline for public mourning-7 days of Shiva and 23 days of Sheloshim. These are intense periods with a lot of prayer and care for the bereaved, as well as worship and certain behavioral restrictions (things I, personally, don't feel like doing anyway when I'm mourning...like concerts, games, public celebrations). Now, I'm not Jewish, but there's a lot of things I think they get right. Like mourning.

But grief is different from mourning. It's private and internal. It's a wave, or a sledgehammer, or a dark blanket, that drowns/slams into/covers the individual dealing with it, often unexpectedly and in the most inconvenient ways. 

I hate unexpected. I'm a control freak and when I'm grieving I want to do it quietly on the couch with my dog. And no one else in the room. I want a cup of tea on the table and a fresh box of tissues and maybe some background music. I DON'T want it when I'm on the phone with the real estate agent, or in line at the grocery store and someone uses a phrase Capt would say, or any other place where there's another person present....especially if that person is unaware of my situation. That would mean having to explain my quiet hysteria which only makes it worse.

I have found that most people, especially younger ones who've never experienced the death of a spouse, are profoundly uncomfortable with the grief of another person. Some people act like it's contagious, backing away with a few spoken platitudes, and dropping you like a hot rock. Others try very hard to say the right thing but speak in cliche's, saying such things as "Oh, he's in a better place!" and "Heaven has a new angel" (which is theologically WRONG. Here's a bunch of scripture explaining what happens and why) Look, I know they mean well. They're trying to give comfort as best they can, and when it happens I smile and thank them for their kind words. But, I wish our culture here in the USA knew better how to treat the bereaved (I blame it on a lot of things but that's a rant for a different day)

Sometimes, the best thing is to say nothing, just hold my hand, or hug me, or hand me a cup of coffee and sit for a bit. Let me cry and talk and not feel embarrassed that I'm taking up your time or making you uncomfortable. Sometimes the thing might be to meet me at the Asian restaurant and share a giant bowl of soup and a pot of tea. Or text me in the evening with a picture of your dog being goofy. SOMETHING that tells me you see me as a real person and and not....I don't know...a WIDOW. Even though I am.

What's the story, Mourning Glory?

I remember after Himself died in 2015, thinking the idea of widows wearing black was a good one, and unfortunate that black was stylish, because now there wasn't something that told the world that this person was in mourning. There was a very strict prescription for how long to wear black based on your relationship to the person who died. And I realized one of the practical things about wearing black was that you didn't have to think about what to wear. I was having a hard enough time remembering to eat. Having to choose between a red shirt or a blue one was more than I could handle. Knowing that all I had to do was grab a black one was one less decision I had to make, in a period of intense decision making. I am not doing that this time. Capt made it abundantly clear that he despised black. 

Yesterday I was at the fabric store. I needed some thread to repair some pants for a friend and decided I also needed (NEEDED...Even though I already have 4...) a new bathrobe. I chose some soft flannel and as I was waiting to have it cut, a pair of older women, getting fabric for quilts, commented on how soft it was and asked what I was going to do with it (Women in fabric stores almost always ask what you're buy your fabric for) and I said "a new bathrobe". How nice! That is so soft and will make a fabulous robe!  One thing led to another and I, of course, announced that my husband had been dead almost 2 weeks and started tearing up. The 2 of them and the clerk immediately launched into sympathies and and empathies. One of them had lost a husband several years prior. Another has a sister who's lost 2. There was no shock and fear and pulling back as if I were contagious. It was "well then you DESERVE a new bathrobe!" and one of them handed me a laminated encouragement card, and another invited me to the quilting club on Friday. Now THIS is the way to treat a new widow, I thought. Like a real person, not like a freak of nature who's contagious. As they finished up and walked away, they said "You've got this! You'll be just fine!" 

And you know what? They're right. I've got this. I'll be just fine. 

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.                              Matthew 5:4 

Mixed emotions

 Oh I miss my Capt. Oh how thankful I am he has been released from the suffering he endured. I'm lonely, interested in what the future holds, happy for him that he is healed and whole, resentful that there are so many plans that won't happen, enjoying not needing to get a consensus on daily stuff like where/what. And confused because I am so mixed.

mael·strom

/ˈmālˌsträm,ˈmālˌstrəm/

noun

1. a powerful whirlpool in the sea or a river.

   Similar:

   whirlpool

   vortex

   eddy

   swirl

   Charybdis

   • a situation or state of confused movement or violent turmoil.

     "the train station was a maelstrom of crowds"

     Similar:

     turbulence

     tumult

     turmoil

     uproar

     commotion

     disorder

     jumble

2 Timothy 1:7 For God has not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

And I miss him so much. His big, loud, sometimes overwhelming presence. His strong opinions and loving, generous ways. His spontaneity...

I've been accused of being as spontaneous as a long-distance adoption. He could change plans and go 90 degrees on an instant whim. Initially that was disconcerting but it became fun once I realized the world wasn't going to collapse if we dropped everything on Friday afternoon and went to the beach with nothing packed but a couple of towels and a clean pair of shorts. "We'll get snacks there. It'll be fine! Relax!" 

Buying groceries a couple of days ago, I realized I'd never bought for just one person before. Ever. EVER. There has always been someone else to consider. Parents, a spouse, children. This time, it was...strange. Liberating. Confusing. I didn't even know how to do it, really. I wound up getting a cornish hen and some frozen meals. It felt like a cop-out. 

On the other hand, I am enjoying, in a weird way, being the one who decides when to go to bed and when to get up. I am NOT liking having no one but the dog with whom to discuss the day's plans. I AM enjoying being able to do what I want without the limitations of caring for someone who's so ill he can't do all the things we did in previous years. I DO feel tremendous guilt about that. I feel like I'm saying that I'm glad he's gone. 

He had been ill for 9 months+. Gradually sinking, gradually becoming more and more depressed. Convinced he was dying. "It's just a season!" I'd say. "We'll get past this, you will get back to teaching and we'll get that fishing charter business to going and this will be an unpleasant memory! I'm sure of it!" Well, I guess we did. Just not the way I'd meant. I kind of feel a little...I don't know...silly. Naive. I truly honestly believed that right up to the day the doctors told me they couldn't do anything more for him. He'd heal, we'd go to the beach, life would go on as we'd planned. Silly me.

Like I said, mixed emotions. A veritable maelstrom of them. Constantly. Fear that I'm dishonoring him, Gratitude that he's healed and whole. Excitement about the future. And trepidation. Loneliness. Relief. Pick a feeling, there it is.  

Help from the 1970's

 Getting up this morning was hard. I'm kind of achy all over and blamed it on the cold, but upon checking my phone, saw that a cold front is coming. 

Great. I haven't winterized the greenhouse and there's about 100 potted plants (big ones, that take 2 people to carry) that need to go into it and also I've got to find stuff to protect the citrus trees and good heavens, it's mighty early for a frost.

I guess I know what I'm doing today! I'll call Dad, and see if CJ can come by after work to help with the plants. Good grief. 

I also woke up feeling very sorry for myself. When ever I was in that sort of mood as a child, Mom would sing this song:

"Let's have a pity-party...1..2..3..AWWWWWWW"

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

When my kids were young(er), especially teens, I'd sing this song from Hee Haw (remember Hee Haw?)

Gloom, despair and agony on me, 

Deep dark depression, excessive misery!

If it weren't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all!

Gloom despair and agony on me!

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

Then there's this song from The Muppet Show (remember The Muppet Show?) The setting is dark and gothic, with 2 very gloomy characters in ashy black suits and extremely glum countenances. One is banging on a piano. They sing in a minor key, with somewhat nasally voices:

I'm so ha-aa-py

I'm so gla-aa-ad

Life has been

wonderful to mee

that's why I'm soo

haa-aa-peeeeee

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

So, as you can probably tell, I come from a family who has no patience for self-pity. I've spent the last week in a fog. And yes, a lot of it has been feeling sorry for myself. 

Judaism has this beautiful process of dealing with grief. Shiva is a seven day period following the burial of a loved one, where the immediate family members stay home and accept condolences from the community. Services are held daily, morning and evening, in the home so the family members don't have to leave. Meals are brought to them so they don't have to cook. After the 7 days of Shiva, there are 23 days of Sheloshim, a gradual easing back into everyday stuff, returning to work, and activities of daily living. Participation in entertainment, like movies and parties, are not allowed. After the month of mourning, participation in normal life is permitted. 

I love this. I think by prescribing times gives the grief-stricken a handle to hold onto, and the community times that they know What and When. I need that sort of thing. It's not everyone's cup of tea and no, at the end of the month Grief isn't just OVER and let's All Get Back To Normal, but it also forces/permits the bereft to sit and mourn without the burden of feeling like they're being useless. That's very important to me. Not feeling Useless. 

It's been 6 days since Capt's funeral. I'm not Jewish, nor are any of my immediate friends. Upon reflection, I kind of feel like God said SIT DOWN, because I came down with a nasty cold and have been forced to sit, drink hot tea, and meditate. Now I'm looking at the upcoming cold front and almost feel like God is saying "Ok, that's enough. Get up."  

God knows our innermost qualities. He knows who needs gentle treatment and who needs to be told what to do forcefully (that would be me.) Do I think He caused the cold front just to get me off the couch and moving around? Pfft. I'm not that special. But He works in His own way, for His own purposes.

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God's people in accordance with the will of God. And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.    Romans 8:27-28

So, in my estimation, God can work head colds, cold fronts, living situations, TV shows from the 1970's (and there it goes again...double spacing and I don't know why) for my good, because I love Him.  He will take this situation I see as awful and unfair, and work it out. I know He will. Not sure how, yet, but He will.