Chuffed

 

A few days ago, the internet capabilities of my computer flaked out. After a flurry of advice from lots of people, none of which worked, I consulted my Computer Genius Son (he's working on his electrical engineering degree and has been building computers since he was 14). He made a couple of encouraging noises, and I then consulted a website that said this sort of thing happens sometimes with my particular brand (Lenovo), and here's a list of things to try. I tried things 1-5 to no avail. Thing 6 involved downloading a $40 something and I was reluctant. Thing 7 meant going into the deep depths of the internal workings and fiddling with stuff. What the heck. I did it. (not literal physical fiddling, but going places with mysterious names like WLAN). And it worked. Boom. Peggy got the computer working with the help of an Indian IT woman who understood things and put them on the internet. There are an assortment of phrases describing how I'm feeling right now, but my favorite one is "chuffed."

I feel chuffed. 

Typically my response to a mysterious thing going wrong is as described earlier. Ask advice. Panic. Give up. Sleep on it. Get frustrated and have a cup of tea. Sleep on it some more. Pretend it's 1974 and laptops don't exist. 

Except that the loss of internet capabilities also meant my beloved embroidery design program wasn't working. That thing....cost as much as a small used car and I need it to use the embroidery machines. While I would have been able to transfer it to a new computer I DON'T WANT A NEW COMPUTER.

Anyway, the whole point is moot now. I got the problem solved, with only minor inconvenience to the people to whom I turn first for such issues. 

Shortly after Himself died (Feb 2015), the washing machine failed spectacularly. Quit working. Entirely. Not a squeaky belt or peeing all over the floor, just a solid NOPE. O WHAT TO DO? I did not want to ask for help, so I turned to the internet (just like I did this time) and found a forum of people offering advice, and was able to fix the washer with a $150 motherboard that I installed myself (instead of paying someone. I'm that cheap.) That was the first time I'd ever fixed an appliance. Color me chuffed the first time. Before you get all amazed that I was able to install a motherboard, it had several connections that just plugged in, and was configured such that it was impossible to plug something in the wrong place. But still. 

So ok yeah, I'm probably bragging but I am kind of proud of myself. 

Now I need to figure out how to work the pressure washer. 

Ride that wave!

 I've been slammed lately, with those waves that are a natural part of the grief process. It's how it is. I'll be clicking along with life, doing the normal things and seeming to get things in order, then WHAM...a memory, a photograph, a small thing picked up in Key West that time we went in 2019...and suddenly I'm kind of breathless and have to sit down.

Sometimes I'll be watching TV, and a character will be dealing with a similar situation, a loved one dying in the hospital, or the confusion of loss, and WHAM...there's another hit. 

Sometimes I'm that guy, sometimes I'm the other one.

The strangest things will make me cry...a casserole I froze for those days we were busy and didn't have time to cook. A pair of socks. The smell of Safeguard soap. All the bits that made up the ordinary days that are in the past. Poof...Gone.

It's normal. Really it is. It happened after Himself died and since I didn't know what to expect, it would knock me down for hours or days. This time, I know to expect it, and it only knocks me down for hours or days. When that happens, I stop, sit down with a cup of tea, and allow it. Sometimes I'll get mad at Capt for leaving. Not that I blame him, where he's at now is infinitely better than here. I'd leave too, if given the option. Same with Himself. I'd get royally pissed at him, then get over it.

Sometimes the hardest part is remembering the normalcy of it. It's really easy to sink into a pity party and feel like I'm the only person this has ever happened to, but the plethora of books and podcasts and Scripture dealing with grief contradicts that silly notion. I remind myself that it's all apart of the Grand Plan for my life. There's something meant to come from it. Eventually. That doesn't necessarily cushion the blows when they happen, but it does help with the dizziness that comes after.  

So here's some stuff that helps:

 The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9

Do yourself a favor. Go hug the person you love best. Tell them how grateful you are for them, even if you're irritated with something. You'll be glad you did.

I'm sitting here first thing in the morning, with coffee and the dog. I heard the local wren start yelling, and looked over to the front door. He (or she, I haven't asked) was staring through the door at me. Capt loved those 2 wrens. When they built a nest in the hanging basket right in front of his rocking chair, he carefully guarded it, even put the dumb chicks back in a couple of times a day, when they'd plop out onto the porch. Either they're looking for him or he's saying hi to me through them. I'll take the latter.

Sometimes I worry that the stuff I'm writing is coming across as a bid for pity or sympathy. It's not. I'm hoping that someone else who's going through this will read and realize they're not alone in the struggle. It's normal, probably even healthy. Grief is a form of love, and it's ok to feel it. It's a very lonely feeling, no doubt. But you're not alone in it. There's a nice place online called The Widow's Christian Place that I found after Himself passed on. It's comforting and encouraging. I recommend it.

How do you eat an elephant?

Capt left behind a LOT of stuff. LOTS. For the last couple of months, I've sort of shoved it all into one room and closed the door. Stacks of papers, books, boxes of ammunition, hats, you name it. All the useful-ish detritus of a life lived, but mostly no longer serves a very real purpose. I fumed over it, became overwhelmed, ignored it, made lists of what to do, then ignored the lists. What's the rush? I would ask myself. 

Well, I finally decided to take a stab at doing something about it. Like really doing something. More than hiding it behind a closed door and pretending it didn't exist. 

First, I made a list. I love lists. They're so ORGANIZED. Even when I am having a terrible day and don't (or can't) do anything really productive, I'll make a list. It may have on it things like "brush my teeth" and "get dressed", but being able to check off even the most trivial item can take a terrible day and make it feel like something real was accomplished. My lists now look like line item budgets, only with time instead of money. To keep from having my head explode when I look at the giant amount of stuff to get done, I will budget one hour to a room. One hour in Capt's office, working on one specific spot. Yesterday, it was the bookshelves, picking out the stuff I wanted to keep and boxing up the rest. Today it was the file cabinet, keeping the relevant stuff and discarding the owner's manuals for things like freezers that no longer exist, and articles explaining how to build a solar-powered thing. I have a book. I don't need articles. Another hour spent on Spanish lessons, and another on menus for next week. (per Dad's request..."I'll buy the groceries if you'll cook the meals"...seems fair to me.) Breaks here and there for tea and light reading, or an episode of ER. 

And you know what? It's working! I am getting a bit done where it desperately needs doing, without frustrating myself to the point of quitting! 

Another task I've set to is to identify 3 things a day that I don't want, but someone else might, and list them for sale online- Marketplace, or Poshmark, that sort of thing. It has been...very gratifying. A couple have things have sold on the same day, others have been listed a while but that's ok too. The funds from the sales are going into a saving account, to be used for spending money when I'm traveling. Sensible, no? I get rid of clutter and get to eat tapas and drink wine with it! And...another person gets something they have been wanting or needing for a great price and we're all happy. 

Now, I'm not going all minimalist and having nothing but a chair and a spoon. Books are my friends but I've been able to box up and give away the ones I'll never read again. I've sold (gasp!) FABRIC. Those of you who quilt and sew know how difficult that can be. Fabric Hoarder, I am. But I will likely never use that 6 yards of satin or 4 yards of lace left from a wedding dress project, and someone else might be happy to get it for a great price. (Smoke-free home! Stored on a roll thus no creases! Stored in a box so no yellowing!) I'm picky about how fabric is stored. 

Dad helped me get a long (15 feet!) shelf put up over the windows in my sewing room, and that inspired me to get the messy place cleaned up. So much easier to work in a tidy room. Well...and I have a client coming over on Sunday and didn't want to be embarrassed...motives are motives, and now the sewing room is clean and ready for business.

I'm telling you, finding new homes for a bunch of stuff is really, really gratifying. A great feeling. At first I was worried it would feel like I was getting rid of Capt, and Himself, but that's not where it's headed. There's clarity now and I can see the bits of them I want to...the beautiful oil lamp Capt and I found at an antique store. The cast iron skillets Himself and I gathered up...photo albums...

There was no sense in hanging onto a lot of this stuff. It was cluttering my mind. But some of it, the really special things with precious memories attached, those I'm keeping mY kids or grandkids can figure out what to do with them when I'm gone.

I'm working on it!

Have you ever noticed how many ads there are, everywhere? On TV... BUY THIS THING/SERVICE/PILL AND YOU'LL BE HAPPY/ORGANIZED/HEALTHY. Online, BUY THIS STUFF AND YOU'LL BE INTERESTING/IMPRESSIVE/RELEVANT.

I'm tired of all that. I fall prey to it as much as the next person. Buy these shoes and you'll be comfortable and stylish! Buy this bracelet because you know you want one! You'll be helping some lady in India if you do! DON'T YOU WANT TO HELP SOME LADY IN INDIA?! NO? WHAT THE HELL'S WRONG WITH YOU! And, who doesn't want a pretty new bracelet? Or comfortable shoes that look nice? 

There's a lot I want. A new bedspread. Different bar stools. And there's a lot I don't need. A new bedspread. Different bar stools. Linen clothing. Granny bras. Ok maybe I do need those, according to style mavens but whatever. I'm not trying to impress anyone with properly aligned boobies. 

It's a daily fight with me. The 2 little personalities on my shoulders, one saying "you don't need that" and the other saying "it might make you happier if you have that" bicker constantly. I have to ask myself "why" and if the answer is "you already have one that works" I will try to talk myself out of it. Usually I succeed. I don't see it so much as self-denial as practicality. I already have so much, more than I know what to do with most of the time. If I can't be happy with what I have now, it's a guarantee that another silver bracelet won't improve things. If someone isn't impressed (as if that matters) with my current wardrobe, then they aren't really the sort of folks I'm interested in anyway... as if I want to impress anyone with blue jeans, long sleeved t-shirts, and hiking boots. I mean...c'mon. 

And he said to them, “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.” Luke 12:15

Right now I have so much to go through and make decisions about. Fishing gear mainly. I don't need saltwater fly rods nor boxes and boxes of lures. I am sure someone out in the world would be delighted to have a new rod and reel, I just have to find them. And until there's room for breathing, nothing new needs to come into the household. Not a new bedspread, nor a bracelet. I am trying to make room for a life I can live well. There's a lot to clear out, physically and metaphorically. A lot of work to do. 

Halp!

But godliness with contentment is great gain, for we brought nothing into the world, and we cannot take anything out of the world. But if we have food and clothing, with these we will be content. 1 Timothy 6:6-8

I really need to take these words and put them in front of me constantly. Contentment with what I have is a daily struggle.

I did a thing...

 I did a thing I said I'd never do. Yes. I did it. 

I got rid of books.

Not ALL the books. I'm not crazy! But a bunch of them. As I sorted through them to put up on my fancy new bookshelves (Capt and I intended to get these things up last year but life imploded and that didn't happen), a question came to mind. "Why are you keeping these ones you'll never read again? Or that pile over there you've never read but seem to be constitutionally incapable of pitching?"

And I though to myself, "Self, why ARE you keeping those books you'll never read?" 

And I answered, "Self, because it's WRONG TO THROW AWAY BOOKS."

Why?

I dunno, it just seems....wrong. 

Well, it's not and someone else perhaps can use them. Maybe someone who can't afford to go to a bookstore will be able to spend 25 cents on them and have a good story to read. 

And so it happened. Books that were unpacked have now been repacked and will soon go into the back of the truck and carried to a thrift store.

I have a few favorite authors, and those books will be kept. 

What I have now is a satisfyingly orderly set of shelves, sprinkled with a few sentimental items, punctuated with a scattering of oil lamps (useful things in a pinch), and rows of old friends...Chaim Potok, Fanny Flagg, Jan Karon, and a single Stephen King lurking menacingly in a corner. John Irving is glowering from the top shelf, while Catherine Marshall perches next to James Herriot. There is a sort of order to them, that makes sense to me if no one else. One small section has some great Old Books...Vanity Fair, Swift's Satires, Gone With The Wind...Those will get re-read (for the umpteenth time) over the next year or two.

Going through the boxes I came across one box full of photo albums...talk about a trip down Memory Lane. It's a good thing I am not on a particular timeline. Pictures of Himself and the boys (preschool aged) washing our 1987 Dodge Caravan in the yard, droopy diapers, covered suds. Grayton Beach with #1 as a 2 year old, brown as a bean in that Summer sun.  I found my grandparent's old album! In it was a tintype of my Grandmother's parents as children. She was born in 1913, so this had to have been the late 1800's. Clothing styles say shortly after The War.

I am gradually, one room at a time, shifting the house from Ours to Mine. No, I am not getting rid of Capt, but I am also not making this place a shrine to him. I will always have memories, photographs, bits and pieces from our travels together. Same with Himself. Photo albums, Christmas ornaments from trips, bits and pieces. Those 2 men are woven into my life and always will be part of it. I am very thankful for them and our times together. 

I have a lot of work to do, to become a Me instead of a We. I'm ok with that. I might as well be, there isn't much I can do to change it. I am starting with bookshelves and painted cabinets. 

Sunshine on my shoulders

 Writing is my therapy. It is a tool for organizing my thoughts, and for coping with all of them. When I am feeling overwhelmed, it is a way to contain the mess, put it in a metaphorical box, and allow that box to hold onto everything so I don't have to. Consequently, most of the writing probably comes across as "Oh poor me, I'm suffering and having a hard time" and that can be sort of....I don't know...problematic (maybe?) 

Because, honestly, I am not always having a hard time. I just don't write as much when things are going well. Re-reading what-all has been written in the last few months made me realize that. I need to write more about the good stuff, reinforce the positive emotions...and just now, that phrase "positive emotions" can be a little problematic. It implies "good" and "bad" and frankly, I am not sure there are "bad" emotions, necessarily. There are emotions, and those are responses to events. I could get all philosophical about them but I won't, except to say emotional responses to events are as normal and natural as breathing and sleeping. 

Lately I've been doing really well, thus the slow-down in the writing. On the cold and rainy days, I am gloomy and eat too much ice cream. On the bright and sunny days (like yesterday and today) I am smiling, listening to music, and getting stuff done. Through all of these days I have the immense luxury of being able to roll with it, listen to my moods, and be kinder to myself than I would "normally".

I am trying to be kinder to myself. All my life, my sense of worth has been based on my ability to be productive. The sweet truth of the matter is that my worth (nor yours) is not based on production numbers or energy output. It's based on the simple fact that we are God's children, created by Him and loved with a completeness that none of us can even comprehend. 

How priceless is your unfailing love, O God! People take refuge in the shadow of your wings. Psalm 36:7

I have no idea what my long-term purpose is. I don't really know WHY God has orchestrated my life in such a manner. I see friends who are (still) married to the person they met 37-odd years ago. I'm not envious of that, they have what God gave them, and I am thankful they aren't enduring the losses of those people.  I wouldn't wish this sort of mess on anyone. I know that God has His own reasons for the things He does and I've seen enough miracles just in my own immediate family to know He's got this, knows what He's doing, and is completely trustworthy.

The Rock! His work is perfect, For all His ways are just; A God of faithfulness and without injustice. Righteous and upright is He. Deuteronomy 32:4

My point is, that here and now, in the midst of grief, a modicum of uncertainty about the future, and the apparent mess of my life, I'm actually doing well. I haven't reached a point of contentment yet, but I'm getting there. I am satisfied that the circumstances of the changes are meant to be, and the results will be good. Some of them already are, with the release from the frustrations of life here for 2 people who were (and still are, really) most central to my life. Knowing that they're happier than humanly possible is a source of immense comfort and satisfaction. It makes me smile between the tears, and converts sorrow into something much gentler- a sadness of missing them, but a peace of knowing it's "see you later". 

*edited a bit later to say this...

All that stuff said, I still pout and get annoyed when I realize there isn't ever going to be a 25th Anniversary Celebration. No 50th Anniversary. I won't be like my grandparents and get a write-up in the paper on my 70th anniversary. I won't sit on the front porch in a rocking chair, holding Himself's hand as we watch great-grandchildren wrestle in the front yard. Capt and I won't get old together and make fun of each other for our wrinkly knees. It ain't happening. Eventually I'll quit pouting about it, feeling sorry for myself, all that. One day. 

What timetable?

 The past several days (weeks, really) have felt like a slow crawl through cold mud. Exhausting, messy, no fun. Even debilitating at times. The weather didn't help. There have been a scattered day here and there, when the sun was shining outside, and that lit me up inside, and things got done. Those days felt really good. 

It made me think hard about this whole process. I went through it The First Time (UGH) but had kind of forgotten about it, the slogging part. The fact is, there is no timetable. There's nothing that says 

Week One: this this and this.

Week Two: that that and that.

After One Month: blah blah

After 3 Months: More blah blah

Granted, there are logistical issues to deal with on a particular time frame. Probably ought to make sure an attorney is consulted, to deal with the will, or if there isn't a will. Probably need to make sure insurances and bank accounts, and stuff that had his name on it is dealt with. Probably should have a funeral or memorial service. Hopefully you know someone who can help you with all that logistic stuff. I had people The First Time (UGH) and consequently knew pretty much what to do The Second Time (UGH). 

But all that stuff aside, there's no time frame for when you should Get Over It. There's no rush, which is a good thing because you probably never will Get Over It. You just get used to it. It's that whole New Normal thing.

I am 3 months apart now, from Capt's passing on. Nearly 8 years from Himself's. There is not a single day that I don't remember Himself. Currently, not an hour without thinking of Capt. And now that they're both gone, I tend to think of them at the same time, with the same sort of wistful reminiscence. I have these pictures of them. One I took of Himself, about 6 months before he left. It's moody lighting, at night, on the patio. He's smoking a cigar, part of his evening ritual after a long day's work...a glass of bourbon and a cigar, slowly enjoyed on the patio. Another of Capt, on the beach, kind of squinting off into the distance, looking at the ocean. Both of them doing something that relaxed them, so I look at those pictures and see them looking content.

I know widows who met someone and began a relationship 6 months after their husbands died. I know some who never entered into a relationship afterwards. I know one who was not fond of her husband and is happier now that he's gone. I know some who loved him so much she felt guilty when she smiled. There's no template for being a widow. It is as individual as the person experiencing it. 

In both relationships there were ups and downs. You can't have 2 people sharing the same lives without that. I have chosen to deal with the loss by remembering the good parts, and knowing we made it through the bad ones. Both times, there was unresolved stuff, and I am sad about not being able to settle it now, but comforted knowing it doesn't matter anymore. Himself and Capt are happy now. They love where they're at and are released from the unresolved stuff, as will I be eventually. I can't hold onto the unresolved feelings and situations. Nothing would be accomplished by that, except my own bitterness and regret. 

So yeah, those weren't perfect and blissful relationships. Who's are? But they were committed relationships, involving people who were determined to make it work, willing to do the work, and loving the person who was working. That's how it's done. That sense of commitment doesn't end immediately upon the loss of one of the people. I still have work to do, and will keep doing it, because I feel like I owe it to them to become the person they saw (most of the time), just as they are finally able to be the people I knew they were, completed and fully perfected. 

So here I am, 3 months later. Still sad and missing Capt. And I'm ok with that. 

*yawn*

Three times now I've started and stopped a post. I've tried to put into words the stuff that's happening, both internally and externally. And I can't. It's too vague. Like mist or smoke. The words are there then they aren't. Gone before I can get them down. I hate that. I've had one really good day recently, with energy and motivation, and stuff accomplished. It felt really good. Then the clouds came back, literal and metaphorical. It's this Winter weather. Rain, cold, then not cold and rain, and more rain. I need some sunshine. In a real and longer-than-a-day kind of way. I want to actually FEEL like getting outside and prepping the garden for Spring, get some things painted, get a red jacket made. But then I get tired. I want to sit down with a cup of coffee and disappear into some form of fiction. A movie, a binge-watching of ER, a good book. Something that ISN'T HERE.

Ah well. This too shall pass. I know it for what it is, and it isn't a permanent situation. At least I don't have small children who need me, or a job that must be done Or Else. Being able to binge-watch is a luxury I am not taking for granted. 

It's the time of year. It's Winter. I can't imagine how I'd be if I lived some place WAY up North with the super short days and blistering cold. I'll have energy come Spring. Things will get done. For now, I do what I can.