Temmie

Hi Annie ~ Well ... I had to "google" the British Horse Society to learn it's an organization that functions as a charity ... that ... "works tirelessly for every horse and rider throughout the regions of the UK. Focusing on horse welfare, horse and rider safety, access and rights of way, training (register of instructors) and approving livery yards and riding schools." http://www.bhs.org.uk/content/default.asp When I was growing up, there was a movie called "The Horsemasters," and being a horse-enthusiast ... I loved it. The movie was based on a school similar to the one I attended. Working with "sport horses" today ... hunters and jumpers, etc. -- there are many schools in the U.S. that offer accredited training programs for those who wish to work in the industry ... but back in the 1970s, the B.H.S. was the most impressive for aspiring equestrians .... Are you a rider? * * * * * On to more ... depressing things ... The reason my son didn't call before leaving the U.S. is because he was working against the clock, trying to finish school work, return library books, clean out his apartment, etc., and ultimately, ended up missing his flight and was absolutely "fried" by the time we talked. I think all is well now .... As well as it can be. He should be in London by now, and ... meeting up with colleagues ... should be leaving for Thessaloniki in the morning. In the meantime, I am so lonely! There's no one to call .... My son is gone. My parents are both gone. I called their phone today ... just for the novelty of pressing "Mom and Dad" on my speed dial ... but the number's been disconnected, and ... driving around today, running errands -- there's no one to visit. There's no "home" to return to. I'm so busy with my work as a teacher ... it is just ... insane, actually ... so, while I was looking at local book clubs today (and entertaining your idea about volunteering with riding programs for the disabled, etc.), I am really ... too ... busy. This is a very difficult profession (for me), and were things different (a better economy, were I younger, etc.), I would look for another line of work. Working with youngsters (on horseback or in desks) has certain similarities ... but I'm having problems with organizational skills, and ALL of the subjects and things required for teaching (or handling) ... reading ... writing ... math ... science ... social studies ... field trips ... our upcoming carnival ... test scores ... book clubs, etc., dealing with parents, dealing with issues of truancy, following up on other matters too lengthy to note: It's just too much. So ... I could blab further about that, but -- more to the point -- I just feel so sad. I've been listening to and reading the Esther and Jerry Hicks (channeled) teachings about "emotions" being a sort of "message" from our bodies ... (hearts, minds, soul) ... relative to our degree of alignment with True Self ... and that we can ... ultimately ... change the experiences we manufacture and attract, by paying attention to how we're feeling (and making adjustments), but: It's easier said than done. On top of that, I'm a child sex-abuse survivor. I casually mentioned this to a coworker the other day (who responded, "I'm a survivor, too ..."), which has led me to wonder -- ((( why have I emerged from a past such as this ... so "damaged?" ))) Do you know what I mean? I always thought my (choose any combination) ... anxiety/fatigue/experiences of failure, etc. -- were somehow rooted to the traumatic events of childhood. But this woman I was speaking to is a rip-roaring success -- and although we're a similar age, and entered the field of education with a background in other areas (and have both taught for the same amount of time ... roughly) ... we're experiencing really different levels of value and appreciation in the workplace .... (my principal recently told me, if I want to look for English language learners, I should look for another job, even though this has been my area of study in graduate school, I'm certified to teach ESL, we have an ESL cluster at my grade level, and I need this experience to complete my master's degree and advance professionally and personally). That makes me feel badly, too. Obviously. I visited my parents' gravesite today. My dad donated his body to science, so his remains aren't there yet .... but ... whether here or there, I guess, I can always "visit" with them at the cemetery ... in the meantime ... Life is just hard right now. It is hard to believe, I am active and fun-loving ... I love to laugh ... and I *believe* I'm a good friend ... but that I am -- essentially -- friendless. It's just appalling, actually. This resulted, in part, with my becoming pregnant, deciding to leave an established social network in NY, etc., because I wanted to raise my child with family in the Midwest. Given the nature of being a single mom, and the fact that it took some time to get "on my feet" my son and I ended up living with my parents ... and then staying with my parents (as they required more care, and I worked on that college degree) ... I didn't have opportunity for making connections with same- or similar-aged peers living in their neighborhood ... (And I didn't date, socialize, hang out, or do much of anything at all in the 18 years it took to raise my son -- but focus on him ... and then focus on my parents.) It's hard to make friends in the "middle years," or so it's been for me. I'm just too darn busy, too stressed, and so ... overwhelmed ... in so many ways. I am grateful for this place here ... for healing and conversation ... I'm sorry if my issues are more broad than what we might usually find here, but that's my story. Next weekend will be my first birthday without Dad. I lost my mom in March of last year, and my dad didn't really remember my birthday last year -- and I don't really care about "celebrating me" of all things -- but like all of us here -- it's just a bit of a challenge not having a sense of family. There is no one to return to. Nothing to look forward to, and nowhere to go. Temmie

Thank you, Annie, that's a nice reminder. We also have a therapeutic riding program near where I live, and I've contacted them previously (by letter and phone). Silly doofs! I have run such programs myself, and have two degrees with the British Horse Society. Perhaps my desire to not only help, but to ride ... threw them off. Let me try again. Great idea! Appreciate your writing .... Temmie

Hello everyone .... I don't remember when I wrote last. It's been a little while .... Tonight my son left for Athens. Or so I think he's left. He's been crazy/busy with finishing up his master's degree at Harvard, and it's been a difficult year ... with Jared losing a roommate due to an accidental drug overdose (they'd only just met), and then losing my dad in December ... and my mom, the March before that. My dad donated his body to the university medical school, and last weekend they had a memorial service for families of donors .... Dad didn't want a funeral (and didn't have one), so ... other than holding his hand after he passed ... and spending time with his body, walking out of the care facility when Dad was wheeled away ... and then spending time in grief and in wonder ... this is the closest I've been able to get to "him" ... whatever remnant of his spirit might have been roaming about the room with the other families gathered for the 74 individuals who gave their bodies to science .... I feel so cast adrift myself. Roaming without anchor. No mother ... no father. No time, apparently for my son to call before a period of time so very far away. It's funny when your children are grown and gone, I suppose a parent never loses that nagging sense that at some point they're going to come "home" again, when really -- although I have so many of his belongings here ... shirts hanging in the closet, even more so -- toys and books and bags and boxes and more piled up behind me in the "computer room/office" that has always masqueraded as Jared's room. The "even more so" relates to the truck-load (and truck-loads) of belongings that were moved here after we had to vacate my parents' estate .... The piano awaits. Was I out of my mind? Where am I going to fit a piano? I've had to rent an extra storage unit, and my garage is unusable (because it's also stuffed with "things"). I've been so busy with school -- and, yes, for "long time" readers who might remember when -- during the bereavement phase ... just just a little over four months ago, until now -- I've been worn out and tested. My principal actually suggested I "watch the postings" for another job (somewhere else), and the assistant principal, is planning a "formal observation" on Tuesday. (Even though this isn't an evaluation year for me and I'm tenured.) I feel ... almost ... chewed up and spit out. I work all weekend long ... and long, long days during the weeks .... I've signed up to teach summer school, to give me the needed opportunity to work with English Language Learners so ... potentially ... I can complete my research and finish up that master's degree .... I feel so worn out, and so unloved, actually. It's not quite the right word. Alone. My phone does not ring. I don't have any friends. I've lost all momentum to get to the fitness center, and ... sometimes ... it's just so very difficult to get out of bed. When there is no one to call. No mom. No dad. When there is no one to stop in and visit with. When there is just ... such ... an ... absence of contact with any loving someone ... and even your child has disappeared, no time to call. It's just tough. I think this time of coming May ... the start of green and budding things ... is especially hard. I'm a former horsewoman, and always watched the Kentucky Derby with my dad .... That was always the start of a busy gardening season with mom, putting those good old stall-mucking muscles to work hauling dirt and fashioning stones ... digging up hostas ... and ... just hauling things around this way and that. I'm so glad I took Dad's shovels, and ... I hope ... I hope I can find time ... soon ... to start digging in the garden out in back of my condo. So busy. So overworked. So stressed, and alone. Grateful for your company here, Temmie

Blessings all who visit here. There is little time to write (and even less to read). What a comfort, however, to see your presence in words and thought. I'm sorry I don't have more time to read ... to write ... and to respond personally .... Little by little ... a bed here ... a desk there ... a table ... a collection of rattan ... I've been selling "my" things on CraigsList, and using $$$ to make up for income that was lost due to depleted sick-leave account ... and also to hire someone to help me move. Ouch. Good old Joe says he will give me "all of his Sunday" to help next week. Usually he meets a friend for lunch, so I have his assistance only in the morning .... In the meantime, I've written a man who helped me on Friday to ask if he might be available yet again. By the time Joe and I rent a truck ... and complete the paperwork ... and log the mileage ... and top up the tank ... then stand in line, etc., while waiting to return the truck ("Gary" and I could be done). And still? The piano awaits. That's going to be expensive (and that's going to be more than I can manage with Gary OR Joe). There is no place to put things incidentally, but I'm making good use of the garage (and running loads to Savers and GoodWill.) On the subject of my parents' home, I was -- heartsick -- to see how things were priced for the estate sale. The solid oak dining table (with inlayed detail) and six chairs is priced at $175. (I think we were all thinking it would fetch $500 or $600!) When I saw the library table priced at $17.50, I couldn't sleep. Hence the call to Gary -- and the quick order of pulling out of the house anything and everything within reason .... (Which translates to the library table, a shelf, a tape player tagged at $3 ... and a few other odds and ends.) Most everything else of value is gone ... and I do find that shocking, as well. So much of the house has been dismantled. (And not by me!) I wonder ... why we all didn't take more pictures of the way "it used to be." There's no going back now. As soon as the artwork came down, and JoAnne took off with the guns (Revolutionary War era, I believe) ... the floodgates opened. There is no easy thing in this matter. And now that I've got the library table and the "shelf thing," (and now that I took a gate-leg table that I paid $300 to have refinished over to "make" some kind of "amends,") ... I wonder. When will this all end? Did JoAnne or others feel compelled to return personal things of value to the estate ... to ensure there will be something of value to sell? Tired. Rambling. I'm happy to have so much of "Mom" and "Dad" around me. It's not the same as having them ... but it's a comfort. Soon -- life passes in such a blink of the eye -- we will join our beloveds. Pray that we not leave such a mess in our wake! Start now. I must start now. Just as soon as summer begins ... just as soon, thank God, as I make it through this school year -- hopefully intact and employed. Blessings all, Temmie

I am having a very difficult time tonight. The "estate sale ladies" have been busy with sorting, categorizing, and pricing things ... I never really wanted to let go of. The library table I loved for so many years for $17.50? That beautiful piece from the front hall for $65? Good grief. Oil paintings of Washington D.C. my dad so proudly brought home from the time when he worked for Lyndon Johnson ($10 each). I'm appalled. I've written my sister tonight to ask if she'd let me have or buy the first things mentioned. :-( I lived in this house for 20 years. I miss my parents' so. I know they're only "things," but I'm living with road-side finds ... and how much nicer to furnish my home with a few of the niceities (sp?) that speak of Mom and Dad and home .... I am so lonely. The saw is gone. The music which I'd sorted through and saved in the piano bench (which I'm taking) has disappeared. !!! How nice to have the piano, but how sad to not have the song books Mom introduced me to, and which I first learned to play .... Ugh. It's just still ... so very awful, to see the beautiful things they brought into the home with such pride ... being nickle and dimed down to nothing. I took a laundry basket ($1.50). I took one of Mom's favorite coffee cups (10 cents). I'm feeling very sad tonight. Temmie

I've been working hard to keep everything afloat, but it's been hard .... I have a difficult class this year. I've lost a student (thank God, he was impossible, and the mom decided it was all me ... with the principal deciding to move him). So ... I don't know whether to laugh or cry -- but mostly it's been very difficult, and now my career is in jeopardy. I've received a rather poorly-written memo detailing 14 things ... (at least!) I'm supposed to improve ... but without clarity as to how I'm supposed to do so (or more importantly, how the "powers that be" will determine when I've met those goals). It's just been a really tough year, and now I don't know if my contract will be renewed following this year .... I wrote a long post about this last night. Not sure what happened .... * * * * * The "stuff" in the basement is slowly coming into shape. I've rented another storage unit. I have a friend to help me ... I think .... I think it will all be over soon. * * * * * Painters and "estate sale ladies" are now turning the home into a thing I don't recognize. There are mice in the basement (and the foundation leaks). This ... beautiful estate ... once appraised at $600K is likely to fetch only $300-something. It makes me so sad. I can't begin to explain (but maybe then I don't have to) ... how great the loss is ... to not have a home to return to. No comfort. No safe-haven. No mother or father. Life is truly challenging ... and there's no rest (and I'm so weary). Temmie

Adapted from a poem by Rumi All day I think about it, then at night I say it aloud. Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing? My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that, And I intend to end up there. This confusion began in some other place. When I get back around to that place that is home, I will not be confused, but clear. Meanwhile, I'm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary. The day is coming when I will fly off, But who is it now in my ear, who hears my voice? Who says words with my mouth? Who looks out with my eyes? What is soul? I cannot stop asking. When I can taste one sip of an answer, I will break free from the confines of confusion. I did not come here of my own accord, and I can not leave that way. But when He who shines His light from beneath that place where my restless soul searches … when He knows I have reached my completion, he will answer these questions and more, and take me home.

Hello all ~ So very grateful for your writing here. (((hugs back))) An update on my "condition," ... raw, stabbing, unmanageable and torturous pain over family rancor has settled into a more tolerable and familiar dull roar. I used to say, regarding depression, it's like someone you loved has died. Like some horrible sorrow has crept up into your heart, and it's there when you go to sleep, and there when you arise. That's kind of what it's like. And we all know about that, by now, of course. Yes I do, and have had, experiences of the sublime. I spent a period of time in a monastery, and as childhood traumas are wont to do, an even longer period of time in contemplative work and prayer. Sometimes I am able to better touch the heart and essence of "who we really are" behind the veil of physical self. Just as often, however, dull roaring discourse will arise into expression of appalling sorrows. That's about the best I can describe it. Thursday is the anniversary of my cancer surgery in 2006. That issue of depression, which I've also described as feeling like a "hole in my heart" now has a physical representation in a wounding of my interior that will never go away. Humbling. This aging thing. As a participant in a cancer survivors' retreat at Shambhala Mountain Center said, "I've never been concerned about the fact of having cancer. It's what the doctors did to me that remains the bigger problem." Our "bodies electric," are indeed more delicate ... and more intricate ... and more carefully, masterfully put together than any of us can appreciate. What can we do to foster appreciation? Love life. Put down the fork. (We don't need cake every day.) Eat more fruits and vegetables. Push through appropriate movement. (Even when we'd rather not.) Work to expand our range of motion (even when it hurts), and that includes being unafraid and unashamed of expressing every range of "emotion" (so long as it results in understanding that furthers our growth). Keep moving forward. Brush and floss. Do something of honor in the name of your loved ones. A secret, solemn promise of remembrance. Holding the door for the woman behind you at the drug store. Smiling and greeting the checkout person at the grocery. You can even do something you love in the name (and with the intention of honoring) ... someone you hate. That is the hardest, of course, but that is what Jesus recommended, “Pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” We may as well! Perhaps others then might pray for (or forgive us) when we are also spiteful and in most need of love. * * * * * The 18th of the month ... (I think it was the 18th) ... is the anniversary of the last time I visited with my mother. She was feeling poorly. So was I. She was lost, worried, and scared. I was worn out, pushed to the absolute brink of what I felt I could endure with another challenging school year (unruly kids, unfriendly staff, report cards!) ... and I was crabby. I skipped the next weekend's visit, then came down with strep. On Friday night, the 29th of the month, after brothers and sisters had spent the entire day visiting with Mom (and I'd just gotten home from the Rx with my prescription) .... After I was so miserable with pain, I'd also taken a hit of morphine (ever a bit of an addict, yes) to knock myself out, that I might awake pain free and somewhat "better," I got a call from one of my brothers who told me mom was, in fact, dying ... and not expected to make it through the night. It was 9 p.m.! I raced to the nursing home to find one sister remaining. Mom was also getting morphine. Every hour. She was comatose and unresponsive, and her hand ... which I held ... was limp and cold. Katie wanted to know if I wanted to write in Mom's journal. You know, a list of remembrances. The things I valued and treasured. I stared into her face ... incomprehensible. No! I just wanted to spend some time looking into the face of the first person I'd fallen in love with. "Mom ... Mom! Can you hear me?" Her eyelids flickered. Katie then said she was headed home. She urged me to leave, as well, and again: I was incomprehensible. How could anyone -- everyone! -- leave Mom alone on a night such as this? I went home to get a pillow and blanket. I grabbed my favorite stones and a Bible. I called my son. I was ... not quite hysterical ... but certainly distraught. I brought my Xanax, too. (Ever a bit of an addict.) I was scared. I was sick and in pain. I was deeply bereft and lost. "Mom! Mom?" Her bed lowered as a precaution against falling ... not that she would fall on a night such as this, I spent the night on the floor holding her hand -- waking to talk with nurses every hour on the hour as they stepped over my form to give Mom more morphine. When I awoke again after that "last hour," about 5 a.m. ... she was gone. I got into bed with her and held her. I shivered and shook, and a nurse tucked me in. It was the 1st of March. I hadn't seen my mom in 12 days. I was absent from her side during the more grueling and troubling part of her journey as she readied to let go of this life and step into the next. * * * * * Then began the horrible malaise of coming to terms with her loss. The weeping. The sorrows. Volumes of poetry, my outer consciousness and workings in a bit of a stupor, I didn't wash my hair for ten days. (I don't know how my students managed in the presence of such a vacant woman.) I wrote poetry. I strummed the guitar and sang songs. It was incomprehensible to me. * * * * * It is also incomprehensible being witness and party to the dismantling of the homestead. The sister who is even more hateful than myself ... ever so hateful, has lined up all the antiques in a procession that leads to the front door. The sister who is the executor favors her. As does the other sister. (And the two brothers who serve as "bookends" in our remaining family of six.) Such in the indelible mark of childhood abuse. The "victim" becomes the thorny presence of truth that challenges the myth of happy and intact family. We are ever those who walk alone ... sometimes despised ... more often, misunderstood. * * * * * It is helpful to consider or remember ... if you have ever offered any form of the "prayer of the Bodhisattva," offering your life in vows or prayers to be of service to God and (wo)man ... to realize ... you might, indeed, be required (by God and (wo)man) to experience suffering -- as I have stated elsewhere -- that there might be the presence on this very earth -- of one who has suffered (and one who can offer genuine and authentic compassion), when looking into the hearts and faces of other, suffering, someones. Let us pick up our beds and walk. There is so much important work to do. Blessing all who visit here, Temmie * * * * * In Honor of my Mother let there not be a room unlit or a silence unbroken with the call of your name but an opening to your enduring presence a lifting to a higher hearing, seeing, knowing and the awakening to inspiration for more delightful ways of sharing the love you inspired april 7 2008

Dear Mary Linda ~ Also keeping you in my thoughts, and heart during this special day. I'm just getting to know you, and so treasure your messages (and those that friends have left you above). How very lovely to have the comfort and prayers of such good friends here. Wishing you comfort and peace ... Best, best, best! Temmie

Dear Stacey, Having been a daughter ... a mother ... a teacher, and a student ... I know -- there is nothing nearly so hard as being a college student (especially a college student during finals) -- even pushing out a baby ... up and until, you lose a parent. It breaks my heart to hear your story of loss at such a young age. I am so sorry ... so very, very sorry ... and so very pleased to hear about your boyfriend and psychology professor (and your mom's fiance, of course). Condolences also to him. Please hang on to those who love and support you best. Write here ... and as you're able, keep pushing forward. I have found comfort in books .... I was acquainted with Kubler-Ross' work on death and dying, but had forgotten, I suppose -- that there were also stages of grief ... for those of us who are bereaved (and plenty of detailed writing that helps explain, support, and ease our understanding as we move along the continuum). After my dad died (10 months after my mom), I found support in a different type of reading. If it speaks to your interest, you might find comfort in books by those who've had "near death experiences ...." As I said, whatever works -- grab for it! I spent some time in a monastery, and reading about "Heaven" ... it was helpful ... even if not always speaking to my views. Finally, there's a lovely American-born Buddhist nun with massive amounts of materials both in print and on CD that you can find at your local public library. Lately I've been listening to Pema Chodron on my iPod at work ... just bustling about doing my thing, while she's walked me through discussion of the "Bardo" (Tibetan place of rest between lives), and more importantly -- how to deal with issues of grief and pain in THIS life ... while keeping our hearts open (and our feet moving forward). I strongly recommend Pema. If it resonates? Go for it .... Do give Pema a listen. :-) Last, hang in there with the loving support and advice from friends you'll find here at Hospice of the Valley. This is truly a blessed ... healing ... special ... place. You will find the right hands to guide you in all of these things ... and the needed comforts and supports. Hang in there ... keep moving forward. You are amazingly strong, with such a full and beautiful life ahead; and even if it seems incomprehensible that you should -- that life should have required that you suffer so ... there is nothing that will help you better understand the brokenhearted than having had your own heart broken. And there's such a need for authentic compassion on this planet. You can do it! Having had my own academic career derailed due to illness ... then death of one parent ... then death of another ... I am still, at 55, seeing windows open with every door that slams shut. It is possible I can still get that thesis written with work I started today being "reading buddies" with a grade one classroom that happens to have the ESL population I need. Oh my! Who would ever have dreamed this late in my academic career (after so many derailments) I would find yet another possibility. And if I can dream this big at my age, you can too. You can do it! You can, and you will. Keep relying on help, friends, and whatever supports present. That's the way you carry on your mother's love (and wouldn't she be proud of you). Many blessings, Stacey, Temmie

This writing is just too miserable to leave public. Sorry. I'll be back when I can, T.

Dear Midnight, Sounds like a nightmare. I suppose when you take ... every possible ... variety ... of family constellations that might present -- there are quite a few who are less than balanced and whole. Be well ... take care ... keep breathing ... keep moving forward .... Wishing you well, Temmie

Also in my thoughts and prayers! Keep writing. We'll all be here as you take necessary steps to take good care of you .... Love ... love, Temmie

Good morning all ... I'm so blessed and privileged (and grateful!) to have you here .... My eldest sister is the executor. The youngest sister is the "bully." Jane (eldest) won't do anything to stand up against JoAnne. I guess ... in the end, it doesn't really matter. Who was it that wrote, boxes and what-not are not the things of life? Marsha? Also, the dresser I'm using (even though it's a "by the side of the road find" serves as a devotional space/place ... and is just the right height for me, when I'm sitting or kneeling before it in devotional work. And does that "devotional work" clear my heart, by the way? Not really! But it does focus my intention. It is a good thing for me to spend time before candlelight and reflect on the light within. Plus -- I've claimed the piano. :-) And even though I can't read music, and haven't played in years -- I do have a sense of harmonies and can play most anything "by ear." Surely, having the piano I grew up with will take me into explorations of music and song that bring more joy to my soul. I am ... without a voice today, darn it ... but also without sick leave, and don't have sub notes or plans, so into work I go. I think I'll take a moment to write everyone's names down on a piece of paper to stick in my pocket -- so even though I feel friendless and bereft (I really have no friends here in the Midwest, save for a lackluster but goodhearted boyfriend I see occasionally, thank God for Joe!) ... so even though I feel alone and invisible -- I'll have a reminder of your loving care and words. Thank you all. May we be lifted up and heartened this day, and may we find (and promote) experiences of joy and wonder. Love ... love, Temmie

Can't stand having a permanent/public record of such sad writings.

God bless you, Jackie, Shelley and more .... Your words are a healing balm and help me know: I am not so very alone. With much love, Temmie

Thank you ALL ... I don't know enough about navigating this site to respond to you all personally. * * * * * Yesterday was the one-month date of when I last saw my dad. Christmas. Today it is one month since I rushed to his side. * * * * * You are all right ... that it is all very hard ... the loss of family doesn't spark understanding ... and that it takes time. Saturday evening I went to our "holiday" get-together at a local restaurant. Oh my! I'd forgotten (as a younger thing), parties are occasions when women trot out their cleavage and jewelry. (I so don't fit at this school or with this group.) Someone asked, "How are you doing," and when I replied, "I've been better," I realized ... they just meant "in general." They had no thoughts or concerns (and perhaps no remembrance) about my father's passing. (Or my mom's 10 month's before.) :-( I have decided -- in terms of preserving career -- I cannot take a leave from work. It won't be long until we have spring break ... and then it won't be long until summer. And all through this time, I'll certainly take days if and when I need them (but I'll also be looking for a new job with a different school as positions are posted ... more coming into view in April, May and June.) I still ... awake ... feeling as though a bomb has gone off in my chest. I use prayer, visualization, Light ... anything and everything I can think of to dissolve that grief ... but it stays there like a horrible weight and pain. I so treasure your company here. All of you. Your words of solace bring a great comfort. Bless all who visit here ... and however we pray, God's grace keep us upright and strong. Temmie

And God bless you, Shelley! Today ... I'm waking up with a feeling as though a bomb has gone off in my chest. I feel scared of the dark, and don't want to wake up (but can't afford to sleep). I have mountains of school work ... oh dear. Report cards await, and my work is in a bit of a mess. Oh well. I'm finding some courage in the remembrance of how much better I felt yesterday. That I can resume some level of control. And ... also, in the feeling ... that life is so very fleeting, fragile, and short. We are all here for such a short period of time, in the greater scheme of things. And even when we suffer (or fall into disrepair), the suffering is temporary. Surely better days lie ahead. What more can we do than put one foot in front of the other, and try to step forward into our days with more confidence? In the name of our loved ones, Temmie

Oh my, those prayers work! (Thank you all.) I feel much better today. I'm ... somehow ... stronger (and feeling myself). Of course I'm a good teacher, and my 34-year old newly appointed vice-principal? I'll chalk-up his criticisms to the ignorance and arrogance of youth. Thank you all for helping and supporting me. Enclosing all of us who visit here ... in well-wishes and love .... Temmie

Dear ThinkSpring, mlg, and Kath … So very helpful to rise this morning and find words from you. ((hugs)) I am seeing a therapist through my HMO, but even though we meet every few weeks, it is hard to schedule “crisis” to delay (or occur) around the time of those appointments. I feel, given my history, it would not be a problem to have either the therapist or my primary doc or comp med physician to recommend a leave. There would be an 11-day period without pay (during which time it would be expected I would use up all my sick leave, of which there is none). Then I would be eligible for a “teachers’ bank” that would give me another 55 days off with full pay and benefits. That would take me up to … around … spring break …. (But it’s still a very difficult decision.) After spring break, if I wanted (and I believe I could get it approved), I could go on medical disability, which would give me 80-percent of my pay. I took a school year off on disability following two surgeries … and can say, while the break is certainly lovely … this presents a financial hardship, affects career advancement and taxes, as there are no taxes withheld (and would likely have lasting ramifications on my career). I’ve just borrowed $250 from my son. I have only $6 in my savings account and am paying for groceries with small dollar amount that comes my way with belongings I’m selling out of my parents’ home. Sunday I sold a child’s table and chairs. Last night I sold a conference table. I have a few more desks to go (and a paycheck coming at the end of the month, thank God). With some level of inheritance coming … I suppose before the year is through, I should be okay – but coming back to this job, this school, I don’t know – that could be a real problem. It could also be a problem finding another job with a different school given my history. I just don’t know. I was *not* a particularly good teacher “before all of this.” It’s a tough job. I have management problems with my kiddos. I’m working at a new grade level, so all the curriculum is new. I’m trying to make my way through two … giant … texts about based on latest research (which introduces new pedagogy and routines I haven’t mastered). I’ve been placed with a 5-member team (which means with the four teachers who’ve paired off in terms of working together and sharing students and planning time, etc., I’m all by myself). It has not been an ideal situation, and I’ve talked (never do this), in “confidence” with my assistant principal about some of my struggles (and of course, now it’s all coming back to bite me). [Later note: I felt I should add, of course I’m a good teacher. I have students (and parents) tell me all the time … but I’m not doing *all* the things I’m supposed to be doing, and it’s hard … in this first year in a new grade level.] The timing is not ideal, by any means … that this new assistant principal would take this occasion to light a fire under my tail. (Why doesn’t he go “pick on” any one of the other teachers in this building? Why can’t he cut me some slack?) Yes – I understand the concept “because my growth requires it,” but it is a tough situation, and at a very tough time. Principals are not recommending additional time off. I think they would prefer that I resign. The teachers’ union … who helps protect our contracts … is suggesting it as an option. I will think and pray on these things …. First … I have to get through those report cards. But at the same time? I think I’ll make an appointment to see one of my docs (therapy appointment on Monday), and … we’ll see … about taking some time. This certainly feels like the most shaky financial time I’ve been through. Everything feels scary. Thanks for your help, everyone, and for your words of kindness, encouragement, and prayer. Temmie

... quietly trying to change things.

I can see this now. If "I," with some awareness of self and self "within" is having this much difficulty, other family members must be completely bereft and functioning solely out of knee-jerk response (a sad distortion). I don't "need" anything in terms of Stuff that Belonged to Mom and Dad. My own mortality feels so near. Surely, I am more aware of the fragility of life, and the need to move through with minimal encumbrances ... and a strong sense for letting go and opening to the every spiraling presence of imagination and self. I hope this makes sense. May we all come into a greater experience of peace and goodwill. Temmie

Thank you, Leeann. As usual, your words are heartfelt and true. You packed quite a bit into this .... Will take time for me to digest (as well as taking time to sift through and digest issues of childhood (my son's and mine) and loss .... It is certainly complicated, but their is always simplicity in letting go. Letting go of habitual response. Letting go of caring about what others think, etc. Just letting go. I do appreciate being able to write here (and always enjoy your thoughtful and to-the-heart reponse). There was someone else, incidentally, who sent me a "pop up" of some sort. I am not particularly savvy working my way around the site here (and have lost) ... but thank you, one and all. One step at a time. One step after another. Temmie

The house is still coming apart ...

Dear Kath, Thank you or the one task, one hour, one day at a time reminder. It was also helpful ... and assuring, in a sisterly way, to hear of someone else who'd been swept into the wailing defined by "keening." Funny, I can find little information on this in a contemporary sense ... even in searches on physiology of crying. Perhaps "giving way" to "wailing" is a thing that's become suppressed in our modern era. I hope not! It keeps us connected to our instincts, and provides the perfect vehicle for expressing profound loss. Oh my. On to "The Basement" issue, as perhaps you've seen in my writing to Leeann, I had help from a friend today, who said he would help me next week (etc.). Lucky me! It's an immense project, and my sisters will soon see (when they descend the stairs to address M&D's "collection" ... ), that perhaps our deadline needs to be expanded. I am getting ready, shortly, for my "Day in the Life of" back in the classroom tomorrow, so I'll not be able to read or write with as much frequency. However, to you and all who have visited me here, who have read, paused long enough to respond, and even further ... who've poured out your hearts with words of wisdom, kindness and encouragement ... I am forever grateful. This is a beautiful community, and I'm so pleased to have found it. Google searches on "grief" and "loss" following my mother's death on March 1 did not lead me here. Thank God, this time they did. Again, my thanks and blessings ... Temmie