Clematis

I feel the same way...when I talked to people in my family (what a disaster) or personal life, I either got platitudes, criticism, or at best support that was clearly limited. I felt like I was going to lose whatever relationships I had left by hanging on people emotionally, and while they were concerned, the support was somewhat limited. My grief counselor has been terrific, but I talk to him once a week... Since I invested so much time in taking care of my dad, I was not investing in developing my social network. The first year I lived in my new community, I was working long hours, terrified of losing my first job in my new profession, grieving my mother (even though we hadn't been close and I was mostly relieved, all hope of anything better was gone too), and trying to recover from a respiratory infection that impacted me for six months, during which I could not exercise, sing, drink iced beverages, and so on. I hid in my condo like a little cave teaching myself to play my great-grandfather's violin like my life depended on it because it totally removed my mind from the terror that I was in free fall. Then, a year later my dad moved out here and my focus shifted to him and being a family with him, while continuing the music and settling into my professional life. Losing my dad was much worse than losing my mother, and the last three months have been really difficult and I felt SO alone and absolutely lost, like a kite in a high wind whose string had been severed. Finding this forum has been so helpful, and it has been so good to have the empathy and concern from people at different points on the same path. I also value doing my best to add to the community by reaching out to others and contributing what I can. It has been so healing! However, I am really starting to think I should change my user/login name. Can I do that?

Hi Thundar, I've read and responded to a number of your posts, but I just now read this one for the first time. I'll write you more later-I'm on my way out the door to work and I'm late. But anyway I was really struck by a number of similarities between our situations. Us living on one side of the country, one parent is gone, and now we've just lost the other. When my mother died-11 years ago, I was across the country calling him on the phone. I started when she was on the hospital to nursing home to hospital merry go round, going downhill for 5 months; my original intention was to help him be a better advocate for her because he seemed so lost and I thought I could help him to help her. He was very grateful for the contact and attempts to help, although I'm not sure he did any of the things I suggested, but it strengthened our bond. I talked to him for an hour-and up the three hours-on the phone. His pain was wrenching for me but he obviously needed it. After my mother died I was terrified that I would lose him as well, I intensified my efforts to hold onto him and give him something to hold onto as well. It was a tough time for me as well. I was in my last semester of school, doing my internship and trying to get a job and move. I was desperate to get out of Tucson because I couldn't sleep at night because of the crime. My life depended on my going through the right steps and I never got back there during the five months she was ill, and I was the only person who had the idea she was going to die. I kept talking about going back there, but they all discouraged me to stay where I was and stay focused. "Oh, she's getting better now-you should wait" and that sort of thing. I went out there shortly after graduation and a foot sugary that had unfortunately been set for then, but it was to her funeral. As to people telling you that this is all about her and not about you, they have it all backwards. Life is for the living. Funerals, memorials, celebrations of life, etc, may be about the deceased, but they are FOR the living! They are so that the survivors can be together and share their experiences-about the person they lost and also about what they are going through now. It really sounds like you are doing everything you can, even though a lot is being dumped on you. Keep hanging onto your dad...you have no idea what it means to him. In my case, I am convinced that my hanging onto him like I did after my mother died kept him alive. And he lived for 11 years after her death! Hang in there - Laura

I never tried to contact my mother...but she sure worked hard on contacting me and it took a loo of work! I would be hiking, walking, (and occasionally driving) and would notice a rabbit doing something that is very odd for rabbits. Usually it was a rabbit who would run across a trail or run towards me alongside a trail, stop about six feet away and sit there looking at me. I would stop and we would stay there for a minute or two, gazing at each other. This happened over and over, until I finally got the idea these rabbits were trying to tell me something and that it had something to do with me mother, who had been rabbit-obsessed. I finally started speaking to them..."What is it you're trying to tell me?" And it was not like I heard words like my dad talking to me, but I gradually got the idea she was telling me to take care of my dad. After about a year or so, it stopped. At that point it was obvious to everyone that I was quite committed to caring for him.

I watched Hachi and it really worried me...am I Hachi? Is this my life now? I hope not...

Kay and Marg-it's just amazing that you both said that; I had the same reaction to early life situations beyond my control. I was a self-hypnotic virtuoso, but after many years of therapy it doesn't work anymore. I used to be able to put a finger on each temple and be gone. I haven't even thought about it in some time. It seems like it would be good to escape some of this pain, but my grief counselor keeps telling me that ultimately you can't cheat grief-like you can avoid it but it doesn't go away. I moved out west away from the crazy family and did all that therapy and got to be really tough. There was a ten year period when I did nothing with my father but project/deliver anger at him across the country. Then, having gotten it out of my system I spent about a decade trying to make friends with him. My sisters stayed in the crazy mess and drank to get through it. When my father moved out here, I said to my older sister, "Isn't it rather remarkable that after all that I am the one who took him on-after all that anger and being across the country all this time?"And she said, "No, it's not-you're the only one who not only would have, but could have taken him on." My younger sister, when she saw us together complimented me on how well I "handled" him. He really was a much nicer person in his last ten years. My older sister gave me credit for that...a huge compliment. So now, I am grieving and they are drinking and blaming me and drinking and circling the wagons to exclude me and drinking. However I see no signs of their suffering like I am. I do know that the father they lost was not the same person I lost, they hadn't really had any contact with him in ten years, and they really didn't have invested in him, But they have other things I don't have...like guilt, like knowing that they lived their entire lives without a good mother or a good father really, like that the only ten years any of the three of us that had a really good parent-child relationship was mine and pretty much mine alone. My grief counselor told me that I am actually handling this better than they are-that them drinking/avoiding indicated they were in a worse situation than I...hmmm... When I coaxed him out here, I promised that he would have a fresh start, a new slate-and that as long as he was kind and decent to me, I would never leave him alone for major holidays and would never desert him, but would do absolutely anything I could for him as long as he lived and no matter how bad it got. In the beginning there were some difficult times, but I sensed that I was by far the stronger of us two and I didn't put up with any b.s. If he flipped out some nasty remark to me, I'd tell him I wasn't going to see him until he apologized. And I wouldn't. He would apologize...the next day...then it was a half hour...then it took ten minutes or less for him to apologize...and then he stopped saying mean things to me. And my reward--was his unconditional love, friendship and support. He totally had my back-on everything. Someone would tell him he was a lucky man (referring to me) and he would get all choked up, his voice would crack, and he'd say, "Yeah, she's wonderful" What a payoff-I totally invested in him and gained so much in the ten years I had with him. G-d, I miss him! And now he's gone (wail) and he's never coming back! I had the ultimate in the way of a friendship with him and there will never be anything else like it in my life. So, I sit here in his condo wondering how I will ever get through this. It would be so much easier if I could just put my fingers on my temples and "space out". Anyway, Kay and Marg, it makes sense that we three would have this in common; I think it goes with the territory of what we are doing for others here...

I think you're right. My mother thought she had it made and would live a very long life because she didn't smoke and took reasonable care of herself, She lived until she was 75-refusing to ever exercise may have been a problem, but who knows. Her sister and mother lived to be 85 or more drinking lots of scotch and smoking. When my dad was 78 he declared with pride that he had lived longer than any male in his family ever had. And then he lived another ten years. Who knows? I think some of it is just dumb luck. I wish he was here. I miss him. But I have to get up at 4:30 in the morning to drive to a reservation to help some kids who have had more trauma and loss than I have ever had...

Marie'sGirl-I am so sorry to hear about what you are going through. I know from my recent experience losing my dad and then my aunt that having family behave in a way that is hurtful makes a person feel much more alone. It's possible that your dad won't let go of the rings, but maybe there is something else you could have that was hers that he wouldn't be so attached to...like clothing? It is understandable that losing someone so close to you would make you feel lost and without purpose in life, and that may make you wonder how you can even go on in such a world-without her. I have had times when I felt like that after losing my dad, but even at the worst of times I have had some sense in the back of my mind that there was a way to go on and a path to some future, even if I could not see it. I believe that is true for you as well. Your mam loved you and would want you alive and well. Sometimes you need to just keep putting one foot in front of the other and deal with one day at a time until you get through more time. Focus on the things you need to do to take care of yourself and your son. I know that you can't see anything good in the future, but there just might be a future some day that you want, and it will be better if you are intact to live it when you get there-so don't hurt yourself! It's good that you have seen a grief counselor, and the folks on this site can give you some support and validation that can be very helpful. Sometimes grief groups can be helpful as well. Denial is part of the grief process, and I think it's hard to take it in that a person who has always been in your life-like a parent-is no longer alive in your world. My dad was cremated and the coroner brought his body back. I had seen him earlier in the day when he died and he never spoke to anyone again after I left. I think he waited until after I left-that happens a lot. I have had a lot of thoughts about what if I had done this or that, would he still be with me. To every one of these queries, everyone has told me no. It's just part of what you go through. I had a dream the other night that he walked in the door, and so I know that I am still dealing with denial, even though I mostly know he is gone. Just today I had an appointment for a hand injury with Mark, an Occupational Therapist whom my dad had also seen. I was talking about haw hard it is to accept, and was telling Mark, well maybe they made a mistake and it was really someone else who died and I'm just not sure how the coroner ended up with my dad's watch, which he handed me along with the urn of ashes. Mark and I agreed that my line of thought here was extremely unlikely. In my mind I am pretty sure that it really is my dad's ashes that are in the urn across from me, but in my heart and depths it is hard to take in. For me, it has been 3-1/2 months since my dad died and people keep telling me that is not really very long. They are probably right. My aunt died shortly after my dad did, and there was an open casket funeral, which I found very difficult because it looked so much her and obviously was her, but at the same time it didn't really look like her. My mother did not have an open casket and so I didn't see her, but there was this shock of thinking, "My mother is in that wooden box-how can my mother be in that box?" I think it's really painful however the final details go and if there is a cremation, open casket, or whatever. The denial is just part of it, no matter what happens. I think the thing that has probably helped me the most is that I have heard him talking to me since he passed. Also, I have been living in his house and I feel closer to him here. A lot of people do hear the person they loved after the person is "gone" and it can help. Everyone deals with loss differently and no one can tell you how to do it other than to stay alive, be gentle to yourself, be careful as you go about things, and take things one day at a time. Grief takes time, and people who say they are done with it in short order have not actually dealt with the loss. I hope you will take care of yourself, and lean on your husband, take solace in your son, and be easy on yourself.-Laura

I know quite well what you mean. Sedona has TONS of psychics, mediums, channels, and so on. A lot of it is just a way to make money from vulnerable, tourists hoping for some magic. People go on jeep tours to see the vortex sites, all of which happen to be in places with awesome views. The money-making aspect of all that seems suspect to me, but I don't doubt for a second that my dad is talking to me. And when people tell me their personal stories about psychic connections to people in their lives, I can't explain it but I believe it and think it's a marvel. I also think it's helpful and healing to have contact with people who have "gone" and to feel that they are still around us. My personal belief is that we all have this capability, but in some it is more natural or more developed.

That is a really amazing story; thanks for sharing it with us! Amazingly enough, my dad is still helping me, even though he isn't here with me bodily. Last summer he came and rescued me when I ran out of gas, right in the middle of town and with my cat in the car in the heat. I was only 1/4 mile from the gas station and there is an auto parts shop right there across the parking lot. I coasted into the center (turn) lane, jumped out of the car with the cat, purse, and cell phone and sprinted over to the side of the road. I sat under a tree with Lena on my lap and called 911. When they asked me why this was an emergency, I explained that when the police saw my car sitting in the middle of the road, THEY would want to get it moved ASAP, so they might as well get started. Someone came right away and pushed the car off the road while I steered, under the overhang of the entry of a hotel. I went in-with Lena- and apologized for my car bring under their portico, but not much I could do about it. I took off walking & carrying Lena to the parts store, calling my dad on the way. I wasn't sure I could carry the cat and a full can of gasoline, especially without getting gas on the cat. He was moving rather slow in those days, but got in his car and drove over to the gas station. I had bought a gas can and was walking to the gas station, struggling with the cat and the gas can, and a woman I know was driving through the parking lot. We jumped in and she took us over to the pump before setting off to work-she said she was late. While I was filling the can, my dad drove up and took us back to my car. In mid November it was unanimous that my dad should NOT be driving anywhere. He was depressed and I panicked. What would I do without my daddy to rescue me? (Ughh...think smarter, don't let the las tank get so low, think about buying a car that has less than 300,000 miles on it...) And now he's gone...but he's not really gone and he's still helping me...

And now I feel like I am neglecting my cat Lena. It's spring and so she is losing her winter coat. I usually brush her a lot this time of year and she hardly ever gets hairballs and the barfing that goes along with it. But she has several times lately, and I feel terrible about not brushing her enough. I have been so preoccupied...but how can I neglect my beloved cat?

I was going to orchestra rehearsal last night-about an hour away and no gas stations in between, on a windy night with some light precipitation off and on-rain where I was and snow where I was going, and driving through a narrow canyon in between. I thought I had enough gas to get there and left the house with my cello, but right away I heard my dad say, "Better get some gas". I was concerned that I might be late. He said, "They'll wait for you." No, they wouldn't., actually. They would wait for the conductor, but not some cellist, and not even the principal cellist. "Well the hell with them! Just get some gas!" It's funny-that's the kind of thing he would have said-"The hell with them" but I never heard him say it about the orchestra...I bought some gas, and as it turned out, I wasn't late at all.

It does keep bothering me. We were both sure he was coming home. He had lost one of his bottom teeth-and was supposed to have another pulled on what turned out to be the day before he died- due to eating all that pudding and not remembering to take care of his teeth. He was so adamant all along about staying at home-and I wanted him with me. I was working on arranging to have the other tooth pulled so that it could recover to a point where he could get a partial. We were both sure he could live another five years. He never did have the tooth pulled, but I feel horribly guilty that I was even worried about his teeth whenever I look at his urn of ashes in the living room. Everyone in the world kept telling me he should be in assisted living. Maybe he should have been-they would have taken better care of him than I did. They probably would have taken better care of his teeth. But he just hated the idea, and would out his hand in a position like a gun popping off, pointed at his head whenever the subject came up. That was what he thought about living in a facility. I tried desperately to keep him at home. But it is really hard trying to take care of all of someone else's needs and your own as well. And I work about full time, and need to continue doing so. When he got to a point where it was totally obvious to everyone that he could not go home and would have to live somewhere else, it was really awful. But he was suddenly incontinent, it took two people to transfer him, and I couldn't do all that myself. I tried desperately to get him some caregivers for him at home, but trying to get people to do anything in between Christmas and New Years is about impossible. I hurt my back trying to help him get out of bed and it was hard on his back as well. And if he had come home he could have needed round the clock care, which no one was able to pay for. His days of living at home were over and he just stopped breathing in his sleep. I tried to get him what he wanted at the end of his life. He had always said that he wanted to die in bed in his sleep of old age. Well his didn't exactly die in his own bed, but he never did move-even though he died in the end in a hospital, he was still living at home. I did the best I could and didn't really know all that much about taking care of someone at home. I was just stumbling along doing the best I could. But I keep feeling badly about his teeth and having been worried about that. I wouldn't have been thinking about his teeth if I knew it was his last day, and they in fact did not pull the tooth, but I feel badly about it...

I do live in an amazing place. Sedona is beautiful itself, and is also close to the Verde Valley, Flagstaff, and not too far from the Grand Canyon. The Verde Valley has a little river running through it and an entire riparian area which is host to a whole world of birds, water birds, migrating birds, otters, fish, and other creatures. It's particularly magical because you drive through the area and only see that there is a low spot-in a very dry open valley-that looks a little greener. And there's a whole world down there! It's magical

More about food...I started calling my dad "Pudding Man"... I cooked for my dad and encouraged him to eat whet he could from a normal diet, even though he obviously preferred Cozy Shack rice pudding to whatever I had cooked and ate myself. Toward the end he did more and more just picking at his food, and would apologize, saying, "I'm sorry-I just don't have much of an appetite". So I could ask him if he had any appetite for pudding and would he be willing to drink a chocolate Boost. Well yes, he would, and often he would consume both. I was trying to get him to have some real nutrition but it was really hard. When I started really pushing him to drink more Boost, and yeah, just go ahead and eat all the pudding you want, he stopped losing weight, but it didn't make him any stronger. I had gone with him to his speech path appointments and tried to incorporate her suggestions about his swallowing disorder related to the Parkinson's to what he ate. There were some things I definitely eliminated, and there were some things that he never liked anyway that he objected to; "that kale and collards have just got to go!" But at some point he told me that he really couldn't eat the peas and the corn that he kept asking before because he would choke on the skins. I eventually realized that there were tons of things he avoided because he knew they would make him choke, but he wouldn't admit anything anything about not being able to eat something he used to love, like nuts and pretzels. I didn't figure a lot of things out until after he was gone because he just wouldn't tell me. Then, when he was at the rehab hospital for his last six days they pulverized all of his food and put thickener in all of his beverages. They wouldn't even allow him to eat rice pudding because of the little rice pieces. I felt badly-that maybe I should have been feeding him like they were feeding him. But he hated that pulverized stuff and I don't think he would have sat in his own house and drunk water with thickener in it, even if I given it to him. I eventually got him to eat yogurt, since it had more protein than pudding and was just as tasty. I sure fretted a lot about my dad and his food, I'm not sure if it helped at all, and I still wonder if there was more I could have done...

Lisa, I am so sorry to hear about your losing your mom. Your situation seems much like my own; my dad-that I was caring for-died on Jan 13, and so I am on the same road as you. So much of what you wrote is familiar to me. My siblings are across the country, I am the executor and everything fell in my lap-before and after his death. I had gradually taken on an increasing amount of caregiving for him as he went downhill from Parkinson's and without realizing it, my caring for him had become a huge part of my identity and purpose. When he died (suddenly in my opinion), I was staggered my how much more I was impacted than I thought I would be. I knew I would miss him and be sad, but I never thought his loss would throw me into a confusion about who I was and what was my purpose, and that there would be this enormous void in my life. People think I am a a strong person, and I can see their point, but these months I have felt as fragile as a wet kleenex blowing in the wind. It's getting a little better, but it sure has been a hard road. I have been amazed at how little exhausts me. Grief is different for everyone and no one can tell you exactly what to expect or do. But since it was your mom and you were caring for her, it's likely to be significant. I think in the beginning the most important thing is to take care of yourself and be careful. Quite literally, be careful when you are walking, driving, cooking, and doing anything where there is any risk. In my first weeks, I lost my keys, purse, sunglasses, etc. I lost three debit/credit cards that I have yet to ever see again. I fell-several times, almost rolled the car, and came close to a head-on collision (the other driver was on my side of the road driving too fast and sliding around a corner on the ice). I felt lucky to clip the guard rail and get a little bump on my front bumper. I think it's also important to find your own time frame and not let anyone push you. Anything that someone else can and will do for you is a blessing. I was and am used to be a caretaker, but I need people to take care of me. In the beginning I felt totally alone, because I live alone with a cat. She is great but she has yet to offer to make me dinner! Her response is always to point out to me that if I would just feed the cat everything would be better. And truthfully, she's right. Sometimes all I can do is what's right in front of me-feed the cat-and myself-pay the electric bill before it gets shut off, and leave it at that. I think Kay is right in suggesting a grief counselor and seeing a doctor. Find time for anything that seems like it would make you feel better, even for the moment. And keep coming back here to this forum. You'll find a lot of love and support from people who are on the same road as you...

Thanks for the pics, Kay, and I agree with you...it's good to be tolerant of others, even when you don't understand or agree. Thundar, I think you have done an amazing job of coping with the Moebius. It must be really hard having lost your mom. From working in the schools with kids with disabilities and challenges, I know that their mothers are often really critical in helping disabled kids learn to cope in the world. If she was key in your being able to get along as you have, it must be especially hard to have lost her. And it was so recent! I am really struggling with the loss of my dad every day and he died on Jan 13. It's been long enough that I am coping a little better, but people point out to me all the time that three and a half months is not long at all. And for you, the loss is really really recent. How are you doing?

Kay, your house sounds like mine...and for a lot of the same reasons. If I spent most of my days at home practicing the guitar and only had to work a couple of days a week teaching guitar lessons like my friend B, my house would look different than it does-same as you. Hoarders by definition keep stuff that has no purpose or possible use, like pieces of string, rubber bands, pictures of people you don't even know, stacks of newspapers, and that sort of thing. If you keep five copies of a newspaper that has your picture in it-or your grandchild or spouse-that's normal. If you have waist-high stacks of newspapers you keep for no reason and would go into a panic if someone tried to get rid of them, that's different. I have a friend in Tucson who is a bonafide hoarder. We went to graduate school together but I had never been to his house. Then one year I desperately wanted to go down there for the gem show and needed a place to stay so I begged him if I could stay at his house. He was reluctant, but we both really wanted to see each other and so he said ok. We both work in mental health and so he knew as soon as I walked in the door that I knew what I was looking at. We laughed about it a little and I asked him how he managed to clear out the bed I was to sleep in (although there were piles of stuff all around it). He laughed and said he had worked really hard on it. I had brought a little cooler with me and had the thought I would put my little cooler freeze things in his freezer. He kind of laughed and said he didn't think it would work. I opened up the freezer door and every inch was packed with really old stuff that all had freezer burn-not one thing in there was edible. I looked at my little freezer blocks and he laughed and said, "Yeah, I know. But don't worry-we'll just go buy you some ice before you leave to go to Sedona." It was interesting, but it didn't change what I thought about him or my gratitude about being able to stay with him and be able to attend the gem show. I think it's a bad thing that people have created TV shows about the rare condition of hoarding because people find it titillating. True hoarders are people with a serious mental health condition that cripples them. They shouldn't be put on display and we have the end result that people who really don't know anything think they can diagnose the disorder. But that's our world, huh? I have a rather balanced (led-right) brain, but also some ADHD. All that music, art and creative writing, but I am also gifted in math, love science-especially chemistry, and when I have a problem that stumps me, my first go-to for help is to make a spreadsheet about it. One semester in college I was given an award in art for my watercolors, and the next semester I received an award for math but teacher who seldom ever gave an award to anyone because of a paper I wrote on the derivation of the 12-tone scale. This was accompanied by a presentation where I taught my classmates how to calculate the distance between the frets on several fretted instruments using the formula using the 12th root of two. I was so excited when I did my presentation that I stumbled on the math part a bit and my teacher laughed and had to help explain it in so that my classmates could do the math I had presented. I loved what you said about your friend Jim. He sounds like an amazing person-and also very bright. He is probably out on the end of the bell curve in aptitude in several areas, and that makes for a a person who is very different, and a lot of people do not tolerate that very well. I think it's worth hanging onto someone like him-or my friend- even though they may have behaviors that you wouldn't tolerate in someone else. Say, what did you think about my painting of the guitar with the blood running across the strings?

Here's another thing I probably never mentioned...I have synesthesia-like Kandinsky, and my music and are are totally intermingled. Even though I may be painting a flower or a guitar or a cello or my cat of all of that, ultimately I am always painting music. It is my subject matter and the way I interpret everything. There are different kinds of synesthesia. Kandinsky heard colors, some people see music, and so on...the senses are intermingled. When I listen to music-especially classical music-I don't see, but sense three dimensional lines. I don't even have to hear the music-it can be playing in the background in my mind-but the lines come out in the painting, all by themselves. I have learned to suppress this while I work on other parts of the painting, but ultimately the lines get in there...For me, painting is like my soul breathing, and if I'm not painting something is seriously wrong. But sometimes I get caught up in other things and stop painting. Having B in my life is like someone who can remind me to breathe... She is also like a mirror, although sometimes she is just wrong. Although I realize that it could happen some day that I may have to survive without her, she is worth putting up with a few tantrums here and there. Somehow I think I see the world through my painting...it's like how it becomes real. I lost my job in 2009 and was so devastated I would lie on the floor with my cello next to me some days and wait to stop breathing. I didn't see how I could go on (even though my dad was essentially carrying me-I wasn't sure at that point that I could trust him. I was sure I would just expire. Nevertheless I still got up every morning and practiced the guitar and/or the cello for three hours before I did anything. My painting was very dark and somewhat deranged. I kept thinking about how depressed I was. Then one day I looked at some light sunny flowery thing I had painted and realized, no one would ever think the woman who painted that was depressed. "Oh, I must not be be depressed any longer", I thought. At that time B and I were not communicating. If we had, I probably would have gotten to that realization a lot sooner. See what I mean? It's an unusual friendship. Anyway, thanks for listening! Thanks for listening...

I like that, Kay, and it's so true! B and I had this last disagreement because I was talking about how my house had gone from it's usual level of creative clutter to an absolute trainwreck/landslide over the last few years because I spent so much time involved in my dad's care. She said no, that I was a hoarder and so was my dad. Well she was just dead wrong. My dad wasn't a hoarder; he had advanced Parkinson's disease and was too tired to get the magazines off the floor or the boxes off the stove. Once I boxed him into paying for a housekeeper, it was hugely better, and he liked being in a livable house (although half of it was still a giant mess. I'm not one either; hoarders don't beg and pay people to help them jettison tons of stuff. When I disagreed, she just went over the edge. I'll have to remember to not mention hoarders for awhile... But B's friendship is of extreme value to me. She was my first fan-of my painting. She is a classical guitarist and a serious musician. We learned about art as young adults by her talking about painting with a musical vocabulary and I talked about music with painterly terms because it was the only vocabulary we had. Over the years we developed our understanding of the world and art by talking, looking and listening. We would lie on our backs together listening to Pablo Casals and Janos Starker and tease out what was style vs. technique vs. personal interpretation in the way they played one movement from a Bach Cello Suite. She would look at my paintings and talk about the rhythm, the tempo and the dynamics... One day, at least a decade ago B looked at me out of the blue and said, "I know what you're thinking." Huh? I hadn't painted in a number of years as I developed my career, went through two graduate programs and focused on a relationship that made me totally nuts (long over now). "Yeah", she said, "You think that you're going wait until you retire and start painting and it's going to be really great. But you're wrong. If you wait until you retire, it will be too late to ever develop the chops to be the artist you've dreamed of being since you were twelve. You have to start now so that by the time you retire and have the time to paint like you want, you're ready to go after it" I realized she was right and I started painting. Do you see what I mean? Her having a blowup over a definition of hoarding is like a pea sitting next to a whale. She is a huge part of almost everything that I am... '

Another bonus that blew in with this particular wind...I had a friend of 30 years who decided to stop speaking to me. I think the level of my grief was too much for her and she had a meltdown towards me. She has her issues (a little paranoia and volatility?) and things have been off and on all along. I think she's fragile in some way and limited as what she can take. Of the two of us, I am definitely the stronger and I have learned over the years that after she blows up, she recovers and we can go on, even though she never apologizes or admits any fault. Nevertheless, the gaps in contact have gone from a year or more to much less-like a week!. Slowly, however, I think she is gaining some insight into things, and the bottom line is that she is as important to me as my family. Losing her right after losing my dad, my aunt, and contact with my sisters was hell. Anyway, I called her to ask her advice about the wind and the weather and she was friendly as could be. This is good-we're back on. I just have to remember to keep things light. Having a friendship with her is like walking through a mine field with a magical unicorn, but the mines are getting scarcer, and keeping her is better for me than losing her...

Yes, I'm not driving to the reservation. I'll try to make up the day in May if I can, and tomorrow I'll work on my reports for the other school where I work as a school psychologist. I've been wondering how I would find the time... Nice to have Dad still looking after me... good luck with the snow!

Wishful thinking? I don't think so...and I don't think it's my imagination either. I have heard some things from my dad that sound just like him, but not from the past-it's new material. When he was alive, especially toward the end, he was really slow to answer the phone. Sometimes he would have left his cell phone in this bed ing the morning and wasn't answering the house phone for some reason. Well he did have Parkinson's. I'd call him over and over, sometimes call a neighbor or the police to check on him if I was out on the reservation or something. When I finally got to talk to him I'd say, "Why didn't you answer the phone? I thought you were dead!" And he would say, "No-sorry-not today!" Hahaha...the guy had a weird sense of humor. So. several weeks after he had died, I was moping around in the grocery store, feeling sad that I couldn't call him to see if he needed anything. Clear as a bell, I heard him say, "Go ahead and call me-I won't answer. It'll be like old times!" Real funny, dad... Most of what I have heard has been practical advice, like I need to be careful with my money because he can't rescue me anymore. One day they were predicting a big snowstorm in the area that I travel through to get to the reservation where I work two days a week. I couldn't decide if I should go to work anyway, or if I should call in and explain that I wasn't going that day. He told me to sleep in and write an email the night before. Tomorrow there is a wind advisory in the area I travel through (a 2-1/2 hour drive) and I am supposed to go out there tomorrow. They are expecting winds of 25-35 mph with gusts up to 55 mph. The first part of my drive is sheltered by a canyon and trees, the second part is a major highway with heavy traffic-lots of semis, and the last and largest part is super wide open flat where the wind can really get going (and it also has more than a fair amount of drunk drivers). I have been out there and had the wind suddenly almost whip my dar off the road. I am sitting here watching the wind whip the roses around on the back porch at my dad's house today (and it will be worse tomorrow). I am thinking maybe I should go anyway, and he has several things to say about it. "You just don't need to be out there." "Remember that day you were out there and all the trucks were lined up on the sides of the highway-this is likely to be worse than that" "Do you know when they are talking about possible property damage and hazardous conditions, that means some of that property may be flying through the air?" "Do you remember when you had a collision with a camper shell that blew off someone's pickup?" "Tell me again, what do they pay you out at that school?" I think he's right-they can probably do without me tomorrow.

I just read this...I think somehow I missed part of it before-the part about feeling you husband's hand on your back/shoulder. That is so sweet!

I am so bonded to Lena, I cannot even the horror if something were to happen to her, even though I kind of know in the back of my mind that I will probably outlive her and therefore lose her. But having survived 15 years with NO cats due to allergies and asthma that kept me from having a cat, now that my health and situation has improved to where I can live with a cat--well I would not want to live for a day without one! Only two things stop me from having a lot more than one cat--Lena would hate that and if I tried having more that one cat, my allergies/asthma might return and then I could be back to having no cat. And so Lena has to tolerate soaking up the love that would be realistically spread among many cats by me, as well as the love that was not allowed to be released to any other cats for those 15 years. She doesn't seem to mind too much. "There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats." - Albert Schweitzer