8 years on

 On this day, February 23, 8 years ago (2015) I was alternating between my husband's (Himself) ICU bed and the waiting room filled with friends and church members. He'd had a massive heart attack, 100% blockage of one of the main arteries in his heart, and I'd been told *IF* he survives, he'd have been deprived of oxygen to his brain for so long he'd be a vegetable. Not quite fully brain dead, but no cognitive function. They were, as expected, doing what they could to keep him going, probably out of respect for me and my need to accept what had happened. It took me about 24 hours to really wrap my mind around it all, and when I was told the medicines weren't working anymore and probably should accept the inevitable, I did. After they turned off the machines keeping him alive, it took about a minute and it was over. In reality, I think it was over about 10 minutes after he'd had the heart attack the day before and his body was kept going but *HE* wasn't there anymore. I hope not, anyway. 

June 2014, 7 months before he passed away

And thus was the ignominious end of a 30 year relationship. The following few days were marked with confusion, a flurry of activity preparing a funeral, anger at everyone and everything, and a complete inability to realize just what had actually happened. Himself traveled a lot for work and honestly it just felt like he was off on an extended trip. It took a solid 6 months for my heart to catch up with my mind and accept that no, he wasn't coming back. Those months saw many attorney meetings, paperwork, consolations from friends who stepped in and kept me from feeling too sorry for myself. I learned how to do things on my own, without consulting someone else's opinion. It had been a very long time since that had happened and, while I was rusty at it, managed well enough.

I lost a lot of weight....about 50 pounds...because eating was problematic. I didn't want to. Everything, for that initial 6 months, tasted like sawdust and hunger pangs were satisfied well enough with a glass of water or a cup of coffee. One friend recognized what was happening and stocked my fridge with bottled smoothies. Easy food for someone with no motivation to cook. I certainly had 50 extra pounds worth losing, and people who didn't know what had happened complimented me and asked how I'd done it. When I said "I didn't eat for 6 months" and they asked why, their response to my answer was universally "Oh...." 

Losing their father was hard on our kids. It saw them enter into their own versions of tailspins and even now, 8 years later, they're just starting to get their equilibrium. I'm proud of them, they're finding their feet now and learning to manage the loss.

After meeting Capt, I saw my life entering yet another new chapter. It was a rather short one, just one week shy of 5 years. That loss caused the grief of losing Himself to reintroduce itself in a loud way, with once again the gasping for air and nausea and complete loss of appetite. There's no extra 50 pounds to lose this time, so I have been forcing myself to eat and only lost 5 pounds (that was plenty...pants are loose but not falling off this time, and I despise shopping for clothes so didn't want to have to do that all over again). Once again, little things set me off to crying. Just thinking about either of them will do it. Remembering a trip made, or a plan for the future that won't happen, or an evening alone and no one with whom to discuss plans, those small moments will cause waterworks and embarrassment even though I am the only one (other than the small silly dog, and he's sympathy personif...I mean...caninified) in the house. 

I have some friends here now who Get It. Several of them have also lost husbands and it is so comforting to be with someone who isn't shocked by sudden unexplained tears, or has a word of advice on whether or not to take a specific trip. 

Anyway, today is a sad anniversary, but also kind of a happy one because Himself is perfected and waiting for us to join him.  I've always said, both with Himself and Capt, that it's never good-bye for a Believer. It's see you later. That is a comfort beyond words for me.

In the mean time, I eat expensive ice cream straight from the carton. Watch ER as much as I want, and decorate the back porch the way I like. 

Dream a little dream for me

 Capt's beautiful fishing boat will be going down to Mobile this weekend. A friend down there has offered to sell it for me. Since he's in the business of boats (He modifies/fancies up/customizes them ,and did so with Capt's), he's in a good position to sell it. This boat was a lifelong dream for Capt. Since he was 12, he wanted to run a fly-fishing charter on the coast. Until we met, he really didn't think it would happen. I encouraged him, pushed him, and helped him make it happen. Then he got sick. Long-Covid, etc. The boat sat in the driveway, the fishing gear sat in the office. I kept telling him he'd get better, and the dream would happen, just right now...it's not. Now though...I imagine him fly-fishing in Heaven, bare feet dug into the sand, or maybe in a boat just like this one, standing on the platform, poling through a salt marsh, looking for redfish tailing. But this boat sat in the driveway and every time I see it I think of a dream unrealized. Now, though, maybe it will become someone else's dream boat. I hope so. It is a thing of beauty, that boat. Every bell, whistle, and accessory you could want. Comfortable, too. And it makes me sad to see it, sad to think of it leaving, but I will also be glad it's gone somewhere else. Maybe someone else's dream will be realized. 

This house I am in here in East Alabama, it is a dream Himself had, that we would have a small house on this piece of land, comfortable with everything we want and nothing we don't need. Enough land the grandkid(s....eventually, hopefully) can play around and have woods to walk through the same way he and I did when we were kids. We talked about a floor plan, way back in the day, and that is the floor plan I have now. After he died, I knew exactly the house to build, because we had discussed it for years. A dream partially realized, but without Himself's hand to hold while sitting in rocking chairs on the front porch. I'd rather have the hand to hold, but that's not an option anymore.

Capt had a dream of traveling the world with me. He told me, the week before he died, to travel. "Put stamps in your passport. Go see Europe, Greece, Israel". I'm starting to do that, making the plans. I'd rather do it with him, but that's not an option anymore. 

I know God has this all worked out. He's smart that way. He's always had it worked out. The only thing that has changed is my perception. My job is to trust that He knows what He's doing and since He's never let me down or gone back on a promise, I know I can trust that it will all work out. I can't deny that it hurts sometimes. I wish His promise included growing old with someone I was young with. Or even middle aged with. At this point I am unsure of any of that. I'm learning to trust His judgement about my life, His plan, but it's not easy.

God is not man, that he should lie, or a son of man, that he should change his mind. Has he said, and will he not do it? Or has he spoken, and will he not fulfill it? Numbers 23:19

Slammed

 One of the typical ways grief happens (and I know there's a more elegant way to say that, but I can't remember it right now), is in waves. At first, they're constant and overwhelming, over and over and over again and you can't catch your breath or think. Gradually, as time passes, the waves are less intense, further apart, and even there's calm spots between them. That's how it's been. I've breathed, gotten some things done, thought about the past without feeling like I wanted to crawl in a cave or throw  up. 

That said, there are things called "rogue waves"...if you're on a boat, a rogue wave can come along out of nowhere and upset the whole thing. Same with grief. I've been rocking along, doing "well", getting some things done and learning Spanish. But the past few days...ooh boy. Rogue Wave. 

And the heck of it is, being a Double Widow, the grief of my most recent loss has reactivated the grief from losing Himself so I get to have Grief Squared. Talk about messed up. My emotional equilibrium is all a-kilter and I've been going from feeling stunned (same as the first few days right after both Himself and Capt passed away) to wanting to crawl in a cave and throw up. Food....gross. Get it away from me. Sleep...yes please. And lots of it. Please, ANYTHING to get my mind into another direction. I know it will pass, and I'm being patient about it.

I just want to try to explain it. 

I know God knows what's going on. He knows grief far more than anyone of us can imagine. I know that, and it makes it possible to talk to Him about it. But there's still dumb little things that will set me off. Finding a bottle of cocktail sauce. Capt loved steamed shrimp and cocktail sauce. Catching a whiff of smoke from a good cigar. Himself loved a good cigar now and then and I got to approve which ones. Daffodils, Himself's favorite flowers, are blooming now. So. Many. Things. Even right now, putting it all down in words, is making me get chokey. 

I want to play a pity party...but c'mon. That's silly. Lots of people go through things. I'm not special. But I miss them both. So much. 

Stream-of-consciousness

 Yeah, it's been a couple of weeks. I've been busy. I like being busy. Dad and I got the pantry redone- new shelves, different layout. This house has 10 foot ceilings so I wanted to have the shelves go all the way up to provide storage for the rarely used stuff like the pressure canner, etc. Now it's off the porch and I can make the porch into a real place and not a storage place. Theoretically. We'll see if it stays that way.

Anyway, yesterday was Valentine's Day. Lots of love flying around. I went to the grocery store and there were men all over the place, buying flowers and choosing cards. The wine section was full of them too. I wondered if I should feel sad because I wasn't getting flowers, cards, or wine, but realized that was silly. I wasn't sad at all because

I am immensely privileged. Enormously so. In the last almost 40 years, I've had 2 men who loved me more than I ever loved myself. They made me feel like a Queen, spoiled me silly, and loved me thoroughly. Why on earth would I feel sad? It was a privilege! Of course I miss them both. I know if Himself hadn't passed on, I would never have met Capt, but that wasn't the grand plan. He did, and I did. Being loved by 2 men is more than anyone could hope for. I know I was blessed! 

So after asking myself if I was sad about all the flowers and cards and wine, and none of it for me, I realized that NO I WAS NOT. I was happy with having had such a life. Both times, the relationships had their joys, struggles, ups and downs. Both times I learned a lot from them and am a better person for them. God knew what He was doing. He still does. My job is to realize that and carry on. And so I am.

Now, I'm planting a garden, picking daffodils, and letting the dog on the couch. My life is shaping up quite differently from how it was. I'm cooking dinner for my parents 4-5 nights a week. I love to cook and doing it for 1 is awkward and silly. So being able to cook for them, and they'll eat anything I fix, is great fun. I have breakfast with friends once a week, attend things every Tuesday, dinner with my son once a week, and have something happening nearly every weekend. My life is full and as busy as I want it to be. 

What has been interesting, is how grieving for Capt has led to grieving for Himself as well. Kind of like everything has clicked back on. I'm doing a lot of reminiscing, looking at photo albums, unpacking memories. There's so much to think about. I am doing a lot of reading about saying goodbye, getting my act together, relating to God in this way and that. Learning stuff...busy times. Occasionally a bit overwhelming but mostly making for a full day. I'll admit to taking a day off now and then, and binge-watching something inconsequential, just to be able to turn off my mind for a while. 

Anyway, that's why I haven't written in a couple of weeks. I'm here and alive. 

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.