Thanksgiving

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I'm going to do my best. It is when Capt's family has their reunion, and some 50-ish (or so, I think) people will get together and catch up on the previous year. I saw a bunch of them at his funeral service, but didn't have much of a chance to visit, as, well...you know. I wasn't really in the mood.   Anyway, tomorrow morning some time I'll make the 2 hour drive South, with a crockpot full of collard greens and a pecan pie, and a bottle of xanax in my purse. I know I'll get emotional without some sort of pharmaceutical help and I'd prefer to not do that, if at all possible. It's excusable at a funeral, even expected, but to be a slobbering blubbery mess at what's supposed to be a joyful and festive event would be a real downer. I won't do it and if I have to take a tranquilizer then I will. I ain't ashamed.

The first time I met The Whole Fam-Damily (as he'd put it) was Thanksgiving 2017. We were just starting to get serious about our relationship and he decided It Was Time. I was initially a little intimidated, but they're a friendly and welcoming crowd so that didn't last long. His mother in particular. I don't think I've ever met a warmer, more kind hearted person. Anyway. We went on Wednesday and stayed through Saturday, when the Biggest Game of the Season, The Iron Bowl, is played. That's when University of Alabama and Auburn University play and it is a SERIOUS rivalry. Capt's family all (except for Cousin Mike) went to University of Alabama. Mike went to Auburn but they don't talk about that. So did I. Went to Auburn, that is. There is a heavy-duty party that Saturday, with beer and snacks and 4 television sets and a radio, all broadcasting the game from a U of AL perspective. And well. That was one of the occasional years that Auburn won. Oops. 

Over the few years since, Capt and his family have been nice to me about it. Even his father, who takes the game far more seriously than most people. He got a little Auburn magnet to stick on the side of the Alabama Crimson Beer Fridge. I truly was honored and felt very loved by that. 

So anyway, tomorrow is a Holiday. Those are hard when you're grieving, especially the first couple of them after a beloved's passing away. I am still struggling a bit, and will for some time. It's ok, it's to be expected and I know that. I still haven't really gone into his office to take stock and figure out things. I just....can't. It's too daunting, too fraught with memories and spilling over with his personality. What do I do with his framed diplomas? The pictures of his beloved dogs, that I never knew? 

I was looking at some pictures today, of him when he was much younger...in his 20's and 30's, I didn't know him then, but I see his smile and stocky build. I imagine that's what he's going to look like in Heaven, healthy and smiling and handsome. While I miss him, so very much, I am thankful he's not sick anymore. He was frustrated, angry with life, depressed, and felt like he'd let me down. Now he's not. Thank God for that.  

I am truly, deeply thankful that I got 5 years with him, that I got 4 years of him healthy and vigorous and full of vitality.  I am beyond thankful that he's with Jesus, healthy and whole and perfected. I know he wasn't perfect here. Neither am I. No one is. I don't put him on a pedestal and pretend he was. But, I remember the good parts. His smile, his hugs, the way he cared about everyone, whether he liked them or not. 

Yes, I miss him, but I am also very, very Thankful.

Honeycomb

 Have you ever noticed how infectious an attitude can be? You can have a group of people and if one of them is being a noodge about everything, it can bring the rest of the group down, or it will take the efforts of 2 or 3 others working hard to counter-act it. On the other hand, if you're, as an individual, feeling a bit down, one person being kind and funny can bring you right up out of it.

I have a couple of friends here who excel at bringing me right out of self-pity. Not by making me ignore what's going on in my life, or trying to convince me It Will All Be Ok, but by simply making me laugh. 

I was missing Capt terribly one morning, and expressed that I was missing his hugs. So, a friend called me a little later, and loudly (everything he does is kinda loud) 'hugged' me over the phone. I needed that. We talked a little and he made me laugh. I always feel a bit better after talking with him. Another friend, who's a very funny person I've known since childhood, took me out and again, we laughed. A lot. Wine may or may not have been involved. (ahem). The effects of all that laughter lasted several days. Better than any pharmaceutical, to be sure. 

Pleasant words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the bones. Proverbs 16:24

I am immensely grateful for having a couple of people in my life that can make me laugh in such uncomplicated ways. I'm not really like that, able to make people laugh the ways they do. It's a real gift they both have and I'm not even sure they're aware of how valuable that it. Me, I give jelly and pickles. It's what I know how to do. I can make people laugh sometimes,  but a person needs a pickle now and again, and that's the truth. 

And they don't try to FIX thing. Some things can only be fixed by God. Some things, no matter how much we want them to, WON'T be fixed by God because that's not in His plan. Oh, how I prayed that week Capt was in the hospital, that he'd be healed. I knew God could. I knew God heard my prayers, and the ones by everyone else...his family, friends, people we'd asked to pray for him. But that wasn't what God had in the plan, since the beginning of time. 

He did, however, know I'd need some help afterwards, and had all that in place at the right time. He did the same thing when Himself passed away. There were people, ones who made me laugh, let me cry, all those necessary actions for recovery from such a huge shock. 

Oil and perfume make the heart glad, and the sweetness of a friend comes from his earnest counsel.  Proverbs 27:9

I have been immensely blessed; far, far beyond anything I could deserve. I have friends.

Warm socks and toilet paper

I can tell. Today is going to be One of Those Days. Anyone who's been in the middle of grief knows what I mean. The least little thing will inevitably set me off. I'll have to sit down, and make sure there's a box of tissues (ok, I'm being fancy. In my case it's actually a roll of toilet paper because I never remember to buy tissues)  handy, and tell myself there's not really anything that important to do right now.

I'ma need one-a these.

Actually there kinda is. Company's coming this weekend in the form of a wonderful young couple I got to know through Capt. He (I'll call him D) lived with Capt as a teenager, and they became very close. She (I'll call her A) is D's wife. They lived with us for several months when their living situation caved in. It was fabulous. Anyway, they're coming and I need to make up the bed in the guest room, clean the bathroom, and make a pot of chili. Then this afternoon I'm working with Dad at a university event, for a few hours. So yeah, there's stuff to be done and all I feel like doing is sitting on the couch with a roll of toilet paper, feeling sorry for myself.

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

I think God knows when I need to be doing stuff. I am prone to self-pity sometimes, and it's not a good look. I am impatient with it in others, so am also with myself.  But I am taking a few moments anyway. There's a nice cup of coffee, and I lit the peppermint candle. It's one of the few candle scents that won't send my asthmatic lungs into a tizzy. There's frost on the ground outside, and that means I get to employ a wool sweater (rare opportunity in East Alabama) and thick socks. God's lining things up nicely to provide some comfort here.

There's a lot of thinking to do. It can be done while making beds and scrubbing toilets and browning beef. There will be music, stuff with which I can sing along. Probably tylenol as well. This grief business gives me a headache. 

But yeah, this morning, a lot of background stuff is hitting me in the figurative feels. I am the sort of person who sees the mistakes I've made to the exclusion of the good things I've done. I see myself as a fairly terrible person most of the time. (Honestly, I'm not looking for anyone to tell me otherwise, I'm just saying what's on my mind). I wish I could see the good stuff, maybe I wouldn't be so hard on myself all the time. But, this morning I was taking account, and, as usual, my brain started throwing up on me....all the THINGS. IF ONLY....WHY...WHAT WERE YOU THINKING (oh that's right....YOU WEREN'T). All the regrets, missteps, thoughtlessness. IF ONLY....Capt would have been happier/healthier/this wouldn't have happened...IF ONLY...Himself would have/could have/that wouldn't have happened.

2 of my sons pointed out, recently, that I was shouldering too much of the responsibility. Capt and Himself were grown men who made decisions about their lives. BUT...I said. No, Mom...they were grown men, not puppets you manipulated. You see, both of them died, essentially, as a consequence of dietary and lifestyle decisions THEY made. Not because I did or didn't do something.  Thing is, it's almost easier for me to accept responsibility somehow, than to accept that I wasn't responsible. Strange way of thinking, no? And why did it take a 23 year old to point that out to me? How did my kid get so wise?

Nonetheless, today, I am sad. I miss them both. I miss the things we had and the things we won't have. I know if Himself hadn't died I'd never have met Capt. What a ball of weird emotion that thought causes. I miss the evenings on the patio with Himself, a glass of bourbon and a cigar on the table next to him. I miss the mornings with Capt, hot tub-sitting loosening our stiff joints, and planning the day. I miss the 3 day weekends in the mountains with Himself, watching the snow fall and wandering through antique stores. I miss the weekends with Capt, on the beaches of Florida, or diving in a clear spring. I miss planning meals with them. watching a movie, all those minutia of middle-aged life with someone else. 

I know I have to move on ahead. I get that. And I will. I'll be OK, life goes on, and New Normals are forged. I've got God right there with me, so I'm not alone. I'll be ok. 

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9

Slowly, one day at a time

 I love Capt, and Himself. Is it possible to have enough room in your heart for two men? Sure it is! Do you love one child less because you have another one? No! Your heart grows to accommodate them all.  That's not to say I'm poly-whatever. No. One at a time, thankyouverymuch. They both filled particular places, for a specific amount of time. 

After Himself's passing on, I was pretty sure I'd want to get married again. I loved being a wife. It was an enormous part of my identity. Having a companion, someone to talk to, do things with, bounce ideas off of, all that....it's important to me. 

However (tell me you didn't see that coming), I'm not so sure This Time, that I want to do it again. Capt was an enormous presence. I love and miss him terribly. I'm not so sure I want to do this again. Why is that? you might ask.

I'll tell you why. I'm not sure I can. I can't lose someone again. Not like this. Not the person who means so very much to me. I just...can't. Even if it means being on my own in this house and not having someone with whom I can do all the things. It's too complicated, too painful, too...everything. 

Even though I know, from experience, that I won't collapse and crumble and be helpless, I also know that...good Lord, this is hard. Right now, I simply cannot imagine risking putting myself through this sort of thing yet AGAIN.

I might change my mind. I know that. I'm prone to it. But right now, it's a hard NO. I can be useful in lots of other ways. I can find my identity in my relationship with God. I'm working hard on that bit right now. I can work on my friendship skills. Maybe I can even (somehow) figure out how to use my experiences (plural! Ugh!) as a widow to benefit other women going through similar situations. 

As I told my PT, Brooke, yesterday, This Time (UGH!) I'm regaining my equilibrium a lot quicker than Last Time. I'm breathing and eating already. It's been a month and 9 days since Capt moved on. It took 6 months+ to do that after Himself passed. 

Ok so that thought led my ADD brain (SQUIRREL!) to this thought...how many euphemisms does our American lexicon have for the act of Dying. Passed on, passed away, Heavenly Reward, all ways to avoid that kind of ugly word: Death.

Saying Death kind of implies an absolute finality. Gone. Poof. No more. I don't believe that's what happens. Lots of anecdotal evidence to the contrary. There's a couple of places they go. One we don't like to think about because it's ugly and no one wants someone they love to end up there. The other is kind of the Ultimate Destination. Better than any place a cruise ship could take you. So we say Passed On, because they've Passed On to there. Some people will say Transitioned. Or Left This Earth. That's kind of how I like to think about it. They've left behind the flawed body and uncomfortable ways of this world, and transitioned into their heavenly and perfected lives. It's certainly a more comfortable way of thinking about it, in my opinion. Our earthly body is this imperfect container we use for a while, because God saw fit to stick us in it while we figure things out . 

That's not where I intended to go when I started this post. That's why I used a different font...because it's an aside. 

Anyway. Brooke and I talked about that for a bit, about finding someone Else. I'll know when or if it's Time. About 2-1/2 years after Himself passed away, passed on, met his Heavenly Reward, *ahem*....died...I felt like I was ready to find someone to be my new person. I also knew that I'd eventually want a new person, but wasn't going to push it right away. I needed to start breathing and functioning first.  Well, I'm breathing and beginning to function now, but the idea of a new person in my life is unpleasant and causes my brain to say "are you KIDDING me? NO!" So I am choosing to operate with the idea that it will be just me, in the future. 

Kind of like...sometimes when you buy a house, you think about resale value (stick with me here...there's a point), and you decorate it in ways that are easy to fix up and make universally appealing. And sometimes, you get a house knowing that you're probably going to be here for good, so you fix it up in the ways that work for YOU, even if you know it's not anyone else's cup of decorative tea.  I'm gong to fix my (literal and figurative) house up the way I want it. Quirks and all. I'm going to use those ornate cast iron shelf brackets even though someone else might think WHY. The cabinet is going to get a lick of paint in the color I want, and by golly the lace is getting the boot. I'm going to wear what I like, even if it's a vintage 1970's Pendleton vest and a pair of Lee jeans and some hiking boots. 

After Himself, and now Capt, passed on, met his Heavenly Reward, *ahem*...died, I continued and continue to live in ways that he, and he wanted, approved of, expressed opinions on. After all, those are the clothes in the closet and the foods on the pantry shelf. But you know what? I HATE MIXED VEGETABLES. You know the kind...the frozen ones in the bags and all the veggies taste exactly the same. YUCK. AND....I HATE CHICKEN BREASTS. They're bland and dry and gross. That's the only kind of chicken both Himself and Capt wanted. I'd fix breasts for them and thighs for me. There's a pile of chicken breasts in the freezer. I'll use them up in soups. 

Gross. Ew.

All that said, part of really loving someone is being willing to compromise.  They made plenty of compromises for me. All over the place, they did. I know that, and I'm grateful. It's the nature of a good relationship, a balance. 

Now I don't really have to do that much. Not in the minutia of a household life. I don't have to keep chicken breasts and mixed vegetables. I can use ornate cast iron, wear hiking boots and flannel shirts without commentary, and take the long way to get anywhere. I can park badly, run out of oranges, and leave a box of books in the middle of the living room floor. If I smack my toe against it, it's my fault.  It's taking me some time to realize that, to be able to watch Dr. Pimple Popper without listening to the little voice that says "be ready to change the channel, you know how gross he thinks that is." (EW, Peggy...WHY do you watch that?? Because I like to see people's lives transformed. They go from shame and embarrassment to confidence and relief)

All that said, those are all things I'd gladly shelve if it meant he were back on the couch, planning our next trip to the Keys, or discussing what kind of bookcase to put where, or requesting a chicken pot pie made with breasts and mixed vegetables.

Its funny how don't cuts of chicken mean much, in the grand scheme of it all.

Anxiety and decision-making

I said it there in the title. I have anxiety. Sometimes (frequently) I want help making decisions. I'm so afraid (there, I said that as well) of making the wrong decision on my own that I wind up making no decision at all, or deciding No, I won't do that. No, I won't buy that dress, make that trip, do that thing. Even when there's nothing wrong with getting a dress, making a trip, or doing the thing. 

What if I'm wrong? What if the trip is a disaster? What if I do the wrong thing? It is so much easier with shared responsibility. If WE made a trip and it wasn't as fun as we thought, I didn't feel particularly guilty, I could say "Oh well, it was just a trip and we'll be ok". 

This is a character quality, this anxiety of messing up, the timidity of taking a step, that I despise in myself. I am trying, really trying, to do the things. To allow myself a new dress, a trip, an evening out with friends, the dog on the couch, the carbs, the plans for bookshelves, all harmless fun that will have no ill effect on anyone but are things I wouldn't do without running past someone else for an opinion.  

 For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline. 2 Timothy 1:7

What a strange situation to be in. 36 years of running everything past someone else, and now I've got to make decisions sans input. I suppose it ought to be liberating, to some degree, but at the moment it is only anxiety-inducing. I know I'm not dumb. I can do this, and (hopefully) make fairly wise and informed decisions. But there's a small annoying creature on my left shoulder, whispering "what if you get it wrong? You might get it wrong." into my ear. 

I'm reading a book right now about the Holy Spirit, and how it's always there as a guide, always present, always working. My job is to be receptive to the guidance. I'm trying! I excel at ignoring the Holy Spirit pokes. I'm working on fixing that. Again, though, that left-shoulder irritation sows seeds of doubt. So there's a struggle that happens and my inner self decides the best thing to do amidst the struggle is...nothing. Bide my time. Read a book, do some laundry, and wait. I'm not sure that's the proper way to handle it, but at least I'm not doing the WRONG thing? Right? I don't know!

In the same way the Spirit also helps our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words; and He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. Romans 8:26-27

I think sometimes as a middle-aged adult, I'm supposed to have my act together. To have it all figured out and the path is clear. That's baloney. My path is clear as the Ogeechee River after a week of rain. Right now I'm filling my time with the small things, asking God constantly for an abundantly clear open door, perhaps even with a shove through it. My days start with "thank You for seeing me through the night" followed by "HELP!" 

My physical therapist (hand surgery) is also a recent widow. Today we talked a while about dealing with that anxiety. It was nice to have someone who GOT IT. "YES!" she said. "I have so much trouble making sure I'm making the right decision!" It was affirming, in a way, to know that my anxiety isn't unusual. Sharing the burden makes it easier. It just does.

Plan C

Many plans are in a man’s heart, But the counsel of the Lord will stand.

Proverbs 19:21

Plan A was made in the 1980's: Get married, have kids, House With White Picket Fence, etc. I knew from the time I was old enough to think about such things that this was what I wanted. I wanted to take care of a family, cook the meals, all the things I was told (literally) were a waste of my time and intellect. Pfft. I did it and I don't regret a single minute of it. However (you knew that was coming), it didn't quite end the way I'd planned. Yes, I got to do all of those things and while the house itself didn't have a white picket fence, my garden did. Himself knew of that particular fantasy and did what he could to satisfy it. The ending was not the one I wanted. I wanted a 50th Anniversary Celebration with grandkids in the yard and daughters-in-law in the kitchen making deviled eggs an Himself and I on the front porch talking about the good life we'd had.  He passed away 6 months before our 29th anniversary.

On to Plan B. I didn't have a Plan B. It never occurred to me that Plan A wouldn't work out, since it had for almost 29 years. The only part of a Plan B that existed was the life insurance I insisted on when Himself announced he wanted a motorcycle. 

So, I waited. I went to school, as much to have something to fill my time as anything. I got an associate's degree in business management. I floundered with my children, as I had no clue what to do with them while they floundered with being adults. Fish out of water, I was. I'd gone from living with my parents to getting married and living with Himself. I quite literally had never been On My Own. Oh I knew the basic stuff: Pay the bills on time. Buy groceries regularly. But the relational part...the evenings on my own, once I got over the revelation of being able to decide, without input, what to cook for meals or watch on TV or when to go to bed...that was harder. I had no idea how to just...be on my own. Clueless. 

And I met Capt. We shared a whole lot of common interests. He was FUN. And FUNNY. And deeply opinionated. He loved everyone until they gave him a reason not to. He cared for my kids in a way I never thought someone, especially someone who didn't really know them, possibly could. He had a very interesting and close relationship with God. He wasn't perfect, but neither was I. We got to know each other, relationship developed, and we decided that Yes, This was my new Person. 

Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another. Proverbs 27:17

Let me tell you. When you're in your 50's (I was 52 and he was 51 when we met), learning a new person, with all their ingrained habits and behaviors, with their opinions formed over the last 50-odd years, it's not the easiest thing in the world. We had our conflicts. We also had our commitment. 'Til death do us part" and "In sickness and in health". Those words are not meaningless. He was progressively sicker starting from when he had COVID in 2020. "You didn't sign up for this" he said. Oh but honey, I most certainly did. 

All along, we agreed that our meeting wasn't chance. God put us in the same place at the same time, with intention. Capt was vitally necessary when it came to various situations with my sons. He gave me common sense advice, guided me on how to handle them (I was clueless). He showed me how I could live my life and that there was nothing wrong with enjoying it. He was the finest companion a person could have. I loved (and still love!) him very much in myriad ways. I also think I was necessary for him. He needed someone who would believe in him, help him fulfill some dreams, cheer him on, and never give up on him. And toward the end, that last 9 months, someone who would take care of him. I wasn't perfect at that, let me be clear. I didn't really understand just how sick he really was. I got frustrated...both with him and with the doctors who said they couldn't find anything. But all that said, I was committed and I loved (still do!) him.

So, Plan B lasted one week short of 5 years. On to Plan C, which I never considered. At all. I have no idea. So at this point, I'm going to wait and see what develops. I've started doing a few things with Dad and The Lions Club. Yes. That Lions Club. It's interesting and fun (so far) and I enjoy volunteer work. I've also talked to someone about being a fill-in-the-blanks sitter for a person who's bedridden. I can do that easily, it's an hour or two, here and there. Time fillers, basically, that are more than making sock monkeys and watching TV (although I'm doing that as well). Same sort of things I did after Himself passed on. I've adopted a Wait and See mentality. Which door is God going to open? How will I know to walk through it? Lord, give me patience and wisdom. 

The mind of man plans his way, But the Lord directs his steps.

Proverbs 16:9

FINALLY!

 It has taken a ridiculously long time to get Capt's death certificates, without which I cannot proceed with ANYTHING. None of the legal stuff with his will, life insurance, nothing. NOTHING. At first I was fine with not having them. It gave me a couple of weeks to catch my breath, grieve undistracted, all those good things I didn't get to do with Himself (long story for another day).

However, after 3 weeks and not receiving them, I grew impatient and knew I needed them. So, I called the funeral home. Nope, don't have them yet. Call the coroner's office, maybe? So I did. Nope, not my responsibility because he was in the hospital for more than 24 hours. Ok then...I finally got my head together and called who I should have called in the first place. The Vital Records Dept at the hospital.

" Oh," she said. "The doctor hasn't signed it yet."

"It's been nearly a month!" I didn't scream. "I can't DO ANYTHING!"

"Hum. Well, give me an hour and I'll call you back." She was very sweet and calm.

~an hour goes by

"Hello! The doctor signed your certificate!" I was cheerfully informed.

"How long has it been signed?" I was thinking it was signed shortly after Capt died, and some shuffle meant it was ignored/forgotten/sidetracked.

"5 minutes ago. I tracked him down and made him sign it."

This woman is going to get high praises, because she didn't say "Not my department." or "I can't help you. You'll have to wait."

I called the funeral home and she said "We'll have them by tomorrow" and I said I would come get them (even though it's a 2 hour drive), because the mail service is erratic here. 

So yesterday, I drove the 2 hours south and acquired them. *whew*. I also visited Capt's parents (30 minutes from there) for a bit, and that was lovely. I love his parents. Even though I've only been part of that family for 5 years, they all (the whole large family) have treated me like a full-fledged member from the very beginning. That's a new feeling. And a wonderful one. 

Now the Logistical Work begins. I am glad I had a few weeks to gather my wits. Hopefully *this* time it won't be such a scary thing. You see, Himself didn't have a will. I had a minor child. There was a LOT of stuff that I had no idea how to handle and it was very scary. There was also a very kind, understanding, and competent attorney who weekly told me to relax, that he'd handle it. So I am going into this knowing I can drop a file on the attorney's desk and he'll handle a lot of it. This time, Capt has a will. He knew about everything I'd gone through previously, and made sure I wouldn't have to This Time. 

Ladies and Gentlemen, have a will. It's not very expensive and it will save your family no end of difficulties.

Ladies and Gentlemen, have a financial reserve of about 3 months income, if at all possible, so if your income source suddenly irrevocably disappears, you won't have to panic. I know that's not the easiest thing to do for a lot of people.  

Ladies and Gentlemen, Make sure you know ALL THE PASSWORDS and have access to EVERYTHING. Make sure you know the codes for your safe, have the key to the safety deposit box....all of that. When Himself died, I didn't. It got ugly when I couldn't pay bills. Capt knew that and made sure I could access all the things. 

All of this stuff is difficult to think about. I know that. I know how hard it is to think about the possibilities. But I also know what kind of havoc it can cause to not know, or have in place, or be prepared. 

I had the best possible circumstances in the worst possible situation. Himself had a good life insurance policy, that gave me wiggle room. Capt made sure I was taken care of with all the logistical stuff, that eased my mind because I had knowledge.

But I can imagine what it would be like if I didn't have any of those advantages, and I want to impress upon you the huge importance of them, especially if you love your spouse. I've said it before. 

If you truly love someone, you want what's best for them. 

Leaving them with a pile of stuff to sort through and figure out, especially during a time when they're overwhelmed with grief, just because you don't want to think about it...well. That's irresponsible, cruel, and thoughtless. There. I said it. Just because it's unintentional and you don't think it will happen to you doesn't make it any less difficult for whoever's having to deal with it. 

Just like taking care of your health if you love people is necessary, so is taking care of your affairs. It's not morbid. It's love.

But if anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for members of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever. 1 Timothy 5:8

Harsh sounding words from Paul, I know...but there it is.