Clematis

KayC, I had another thought for you...is it possible to ask your brother for something that belonged to your mom? Maybe the purse with the deer has already gone to someone who is treasuring it, but he might be willing to give you something... My aunt died a month ago; her 3 kids and my sisters & I-the six cousins all went to West Virginia, where we were all born but the only one remaining there was my aunt. It was very emotional being there with my cousins, their spouses, and kids (some of whom I'd never met) in that house we loved so much as kids and would never see again. I asked one of my cousins if I might have something that had belonged to my aunt, Nancy, who had loved bunnies just like her sister-my mother. But Nancy collected them and had a large collection of them on a shelf. My cousin said, "How about a bunny?" and explained that some of them were particularly precious because they had been given at some particular time. I pointed to one and she told me that, while very pretty, my selected bunny was not one of the ones special to the family. And so it was mine. It made me very happy, and it warms my heart every time I see it at my house. Maybe there is a way for you to have something that was hers...I hope so!

Thank you, Marty! I believe the arts always need an audience because the essence is communicating something...a feeling, an idea, a story, something. So if no one sees or hears it, something is lost. And so, in spite of tremendous performance anxiety I have pushed myself to perform gigs anyway, and I share my paintings whenever I can, because feedback can be helpful in seeing what is actually being communicated. If someone says something I don't want to hear... well I have a pretty good filter. I'm thinking maybe I shouldn't wait to get back to painting until my Maui trip in mid June-I should start today. I'll just put the paint set I keep out at the school out on the table and get the kids to paint with me. Art therapy has been a great activity out there and we haven't done it in a long time. I've been too flattened to even think about getting out the supplies. I am about to head out the door to go work out at the reservation as a school counselor-it's a 2-1/2 hour drive each way. I tell you, it has been brutal getting up at 4:30am while staggering under grief for my father. Good thing it's only two days a week this year. And one of the surprises of my grief process has been that one of the worst parts of my work week is leaving that school to come home. I spent all those school years that I worked out there (five, I think) rushing off from work to get to my dad's house to food him dinner and take care of him. I would generally call him once or twice on the way-whenever I could get a good cell phone signal. And now I come home to a hungry and grateful black pussycat, but no dad...

Thank you so much for responding to this. I'm not sure what to make of it and it is clear that it is not in my control at all. My mother talked to me through rabbits, and I would have to figure out what is was that the rabbits were saying; the only clear thing was that it was her. (she was throughout her life obsessed with rabbits). I finally just flat out started talking to these rabbits when they came running up to me on a trail or something and sat there staring at me...very bizarre rabbit behavior. "What are you trying to tell me?" I eventually got the idea that she was telling me to take care of my dad. This went on for a few years and I think she finally accepted that I was taking good care of him and she let go. Then there were no more weird rabbit incidents until a few months before he died and I had the thought that she wanted him back. I was worried and angry-I wasn't ready to let go of him... About a month after my dad died I heard my mother actually speak to me, and she said she was sorry, and, "I really did love you"... From my dad, I have had him speak to me out of the blue burt not when I was trying to get hold of him. More like he says whatever he wants to whenever he feels like it. The only exception was in the tire store when I was trying to figure out what kind or tires I should put on his old car that had been my mother's before. Should I pick out the mediocre ones he put on for himself or the good Michelin tires he'd put on it when it was my mother's car? After asking him (out loud) in the tire store several times, he told me to get the good ones. The tire guy said he heard him too. But when I was picking out tires for my own car, he was nowhere to be found. I asked the tire guy and he said the ones I had been buying were fine and better ones on that car wouldn't really do anything for me. Ok...

I've had a good day and felt like myself-off and on-but it is still not the same as I was-more like a few glimpses. I'm not sure who I am, or from whence comes my strength, because I think it was my dad all along who inspired me and kept me going...But nonetheless, I have to get up at 4:30 am and drive to the reservation to work, regardless of who I am...

How very cool-some fellow rose lovers! I want to tell you a story... Two summers ago I spent the entire summer on my front porch painting the flowers I grew, especially the roses. I'd get up early every morning and paint until it was too hot and/or the light changed. In the fall I was frustrated because I was back at work in the schools and no longer had leisurely mornings to paint the flowers. But then it was November and it was cold and the roses were gone and almost all of the flowers were gone and I felt bereft because the next sumer seemed so so far away. And my dad told me this..."well you know, it's practically Thanksgiving, and then it will be Christmas, and a few weeks later it will be Spring Break, which is practically summer and your roses will be back!" I play cello in the community orchestra in Flagstaff, and it has been a fabulous thing for me because I only started the cello four years ago and to be able to play in an orchestra is such a thrill. I have been wanting to play the Strauss waltz "Roses From the South" since he said this to me, and after my dad died, I asked David our music director and conductor, couldn't we please play Roses From the South as a tribute to my dad. He said he would look into it, but then said that the music was not public domain like much of Strauss and therefore we could not just download it like much of our music. I knew this but was hoping, and had no idea how much the music would cost-maybe a lot! So he got back to me and said that if someone would sponsor it for the cost of the music we could play it in April and then we would own the music and could play it anytime. Sixty-five dollars-that's not so bad...I told him-I'll sponsor it myself! And so, we are playing it next Friday night. But I haven't been able to practice the cello part-I've been just too wiped out...most of it I can play because it's not too hard, but there two little sections... Somehow I have to find it inside myself to practice those little parts between now and then. Somehow...

My father left me all of his personal property in his will, but my sisters had already acquired TONS of family things over the years and then when he moved out west, because he moved from a big house to a small condo (891 sq ft). My dad brought with him the things that were precious to him, which didn't even include much furniture. A few old pieces, and then he bought new things-like bedroom furniture and a couch We really picked it out together...because he knew it would someday be mine and he wanted to make sure I liked it? Probably, although he didn't say so... Anyway, my younger sister said, "I don't want anything that was his", but when my sisters came out for the memorial, I noticed her fondling a few little things and I asked her if she wanted them. She said, "yeah" and so I gave them to her. My older sister said, "I don't want any of his stuff except the banjo", which youall have heard probably more than enough about. But she really didn't want anything-just because it was his. I guess she actually had some already because she had stuff that belonged to both of my parents. I think it's nice to have things you can touch and hold that feel like family, even if it's not exactly the same item. I think my sister will go get her own Gibson tenor banjo (she has already been looking at them on e-bay). The six of us cousins loved canoeing on the Greenbrier River as much as anything in life when we were kids, and three of the six of us ended up with a canoe. My older sister had "the" canoe-the family one-and somehow managed to lose it. (How do you lose a canoe?), my cousin bought one and taught her kids to love it, and when I acquired a condo with a garage, one of my first thoughts was how to acquire a canoe and hang it in the garage. My dad-over the phone from PA-helped me figure out how to use multiple pulleys so that I could get it up and down by myself. My canoe is red and a plastic laminate that glides over rocks in the little nearby river, and the original was aluminum. But in my heart of hearts, it is the same canoe... I think my sister will end up being happy with a banjo that is much like the one we watched my dad play when we were kids, and she is not obsessed with his skin cells on the skinhead, like I am. She doesn't care about the dirt from his hands being on the banjo head and I do. I think my sister's ultimate banjo will work for her just like my canoe works for me. There was only one family banjo and only one family canoe, but we both loved the canoe and the banjo... Do you see what I am saying...I think you can transfer meaning to things that aren't exactly the same one, but you give meaning to it from your heart... My great aunt used to love flowered cloth hankies and I ended up with her collection, which I used but didn't want to lose. I began acquiring new ones that were similar and mixing them together because I was afraid the fabric in the originals would be worn out from age and they would all be gone. Now it has been many years and I'm not really sure which ones were hers and which came later. In my heart, every time I use any of those flowered hankies, they are totally from her..

I responded to a post under "2 hard days in a row" and was writing about how I hear my father talking to me, and it is not a repetition of things he said to me when he was alive-it really is new comments. I just wonder if this is something that others have experienced and what that is like for them. Any comments?

I have a new friend...this climbing rosebush...I think she's pretty nice even though she has thorns. I was on my way to a grief support group and didn't want to leave her in the car, and so took her with me. One of the women was having her birthday and couldn't stop crying. I cut off a rose and gave it to her...she inhaled the fragrance for the rest of the group. There is just something magical about flowers...

KayC, I know what you mean about wishing we could have them back and spend even more time with them. Nevertheless, since I lived 1-1/2 minutes from my dad and saw him about ten times a week, I might have made him nuts had he spent any more time with me...he was getting more and more tired and I (in my non-grief state) generally have as much energy as a group of people. I really believe that I did absolutely everything I could for him and I think everyone who knew us believed the same. Ultimately I think that will make it easier to know there is nothing more I could have done, but right now it's too painful to actually feel that. I have thought a lot about what I wish could have been different. In the beginning I wished fervently that we had had about five more years together. Not long before he died he told me he thought he could live another five years and I was ready to take it to the bank! But he really was very near the end from Parkinson's-although neither of us knew it-and he had "moderate" dementia. He had some memory problems and he had trouble working his way things. I think he really couldn't figure out how to handle a lot of things, and he was not able to admit this to me. This was a guy with about a one in a thousand IQ-really stellar- and he had trouble with rather basic problem solving. Had he lived for another five years, he would not have known who I was. As it is, I have been hearing talking to me since late in the day that he died. I had this idea that if I just had a Bose radio in his house, it would not be so painfully silent there and that the lovely sound would wash over me like a balm. I heard him telling me over and over, "Just get it. If you think it will help you, do it. Just get it." Over and over...and I have found the radio to be comforting. But aside from the radio, I have been hearing him tell me to be careful. "You need to be careful with your money. I'm not there to help you anymore. Be careful with your money; I can't help you now." Eventually I got it in my head and the messages went on to things like, "I'm so sorry-I just couldn't do it any longer. I'm so sorry-I tried so hard for so long. I never wanted to leave you." Also, at the end, he went into a rehab hospital (and off hospice). His doctor told me, "This place is tremendous-he's going to be stronger than he's been in years!" I was ready to take that one to the bank too! But he got weaker instead, and in spite of the efforts of the fabulous staff at the rehab hospital, he went downhill instead, and was dead a week later. The hospital was an hour and a half from where we lived, but I spent a good part of every day with him, and he died shortly after what turned out to be my last visit with him. I drove over to get his possessions from the hospital, came home and collapsed in his favorite chair, sobbing. I heard him tell me, "Go get that blue blanket." I had given him a navy plush throw for Christmas and it was irresistibly soft. He had it with him everywhere during his last weeks. I sat in the car crying and he kept telling me, "Go get it. It's still in the car. Really. Go get that blue blanket." I went out and got it, and he was right; it was like wrapping his love around me... He still talks to me, and sometimes he says funny things. But mostly it's my telling him I want him back and him saying, "I'm so sorry-I just couldn't do it any longer"...

KayC, Thanks for your comment about the banjo, which is mine (I was writing to Patty about it, which can be confusing)...I think it would be wrong to give up the banjo. He clearly wanted me to have it and I do. And it definitely can be fixed. It's just a tuning problem...worst case scenario is replacing the tuners with modern ones rather than working with the older ones. Paul is just a busy guy so it will take awhile. Meanwhile, I have other fish to fry...

It was nice to see my paintings hanging at the greenhouse and that the staff and customers are enjoying them. I took these photos last spring when I took my dad over there to see them hanging. I feel for him as I recall how difficult it was for him to make it over to this area, even though it was only 30 feet from the car. I feel sad but not shattered as I sit in his house looking at the roses out his back door and remember the day we went to see these panels, but I think I am seeing that I am still the daughter he was proud of. I think I should get my reports written...

Is this a fluke-or what? Yesterday my mood went from zero to...well a little into the negative but not too far down or for too long. I actually got some productive work done on one of the two psychoeducational reports I really need to get done if I want to finish the school year looking good and have some work to go back to at the end of the summer. It's been hard to drag myself to it, but I'm doing it! And then today, I woke up-and got up at a normal time for me-before 7:00, with some energy and enthusiasm and positive thoughts about what I can do with the day. And some other days to come. In other words, this is the first day that I woke up feeling like myself in a long time. I am going down to the Verde River Growers-to talk to Shawn, the owner, about my father's rosebush and bring him some blossom samples. Verde River Growers has been one of the joys of my life in the last few years; they have dozens of greenhouses and open areas of flowers, bushes, trees, and every other plant imaginable, and the people there are so friendly and helpful. They haven't seen much of me this year because I have been too flattened to move, but last year we did a big trade where I did three huge acrylic paintings of veggies on wood panels to help them promote their veggie area, in trade for plants. I was so happy about having my paintings there and doing the trade. It's hard to believe that was me, but I'm pretty sure it was, because I signed them. Just the other day I introduced myself to someone, who said, "Oh, I know who you are-you did those paintings of the veggies down at the greenhouse!" Yeah, that was me... Anyway, I would just love to have my own rosebush of the same variety that my dad has at my own condo so I can continue to enjoy his roses even after he is gone, his house is sold, and I have no more access to it, but I have no idea what it is. I'm sure Shawn can help me get to the bottom of it. Also, he has expressed interest in having me do another trade this year--this time of flowers. Perhaps I should work on being more interested myself. Maybe if I acted more like myself, I would feel more like myself. Also, I met some nice neighbors last night. Now that it's warm, I need to water the plants and flowers at my own condo as well as the ones at my dad's where I am living. I certainly don't want to be a plant-killer on top of everything else! I would feel even worse! These condos are close together with tiny narrow streets with a lot of dead ends so you can't go zooming around, but you can walk through connecting paths easily. So I was walking back from my condo to his and noticed a car drive to the dead end of the street I was walking on, and then back, very slowly. I was watching them because they looked lost and I was going to ask them if they were lost and offer direction. They rolled down the window and asked me if I was lost. I said no, I thought maybe they were lost. They laughed and said no. They seemed very friendly-two men wearing ties in the front and two women in the back dressed casually, and looking to be in late middle age, like me. They seemed friendly and this is Sedona, and I will talk to just about anyone...I had the vague impression they were doing some kind of religious outreach. So I told them that I did feel rather lost because my dad had died, even though I knew exactly where I was. They laughed, sympathized, and we chatted a bit. Turns out one of the couples lives in my condo complex and they gave me their phone number, suggesting that I should call them any time I felt like talking-that we could meet down at the condo association's jacuzzi. It's inside a locked gate so only the residents have access. but I never go down there alone, and I nave have anyone to go with. What a lovely offer! It made me feel good... And feeling good is an oddity these days...so I guess I'll snip a few roses and go see Shawn...I'll bring back a photo of the boards I painted last year! Thanks for listening!

Polly, that is wonderful to have such support from your stepson, and it will be very helpful to have assistance in going through his dad's things! I will have help going through my dad's things, but it has been and will be people I pay that didn't know him. I get more questions than answers. Going through his things together may prove to be a chance to process things about your dad, and you may learn things about Rich and his earlier life that touch your heart. I think you are lucky to have him as family!

Wow-there are certainly a lot of options!

They also have "keepsake urns", so that you can keep part of the ashes in a tiny container. My dad always wanted to be cremated and to be placed in the same gravesite as my mother's casket. This was in his will. But then, in his last few weeks, he started saying he wanted my mother exhumed and brought from PA to AZ to be with him. I decided to not take this literally and to interpret it as his wanting to be with her and also to stay with me. Hence the keepsake urn, and also all of the rest of him is staying with me until my sisters stabilize themselves enough for us to have a visit together at the gravesite in PA. I think there are more and more good options...

Thanks, Patty! You are right-there is a long family history, and it's my banjo-my daddy gave it to me. He knew my sister wanted it, but he also knew that my sisters had no interest in him. He had Parkinson's disease and it was obvious after my mother died (11 years ago) that he could not stay in the split-level house where they had lived together. he had to go somewhere and thought he'd just move an hour away to the town where my two sisters and the five grandchildren lived. They said no-if you move here you will never see us. So, my narcissistic mother died, and for the first time I was able to see him alone and not as her little satellite. I was amazed at the really nice man I found-who is this guy and where has he been my whole life! Things had not been good with either parent before, and I can't really fault my sisters for fearing that he was the same old guy and they didn't want him near them or their children. But I was sure I saw something new, and ever the humanistic optimist, I coaxed him out west and told him that if he came out I would take care of him as long as he lived and no matter how bad it got. I also told him that we would start over with a clean slate and be friends in the now; all I expected was mutual kindness between the two of us. My sisters thought I was crazy and that he hadn't changed. I wasn't going to move across the country, but I didn't want to be responsible for abandoning an elderly parent with failing health, so I coaxed him out west. It was a risk, but I took it and I was right. Of course I earned the banjo and some other stuff, but what I really earned was the friendship and unconditional love of my father during his last ten years. I also sacrificed a lot taking care of him rather than pursuing other things. I was cooking him dinner, getting him to exercise, tracking his medical treatments, entertaining him, sharing my life with him. I never regretted any of it and I got the jackpot, which was not the banjo, but a really great relationship with my father...and do I ever miss him! My grief counselor has advised me that people very frequently focus on some item and/or money as a way to let themselves go into anger rather than feeling the real feelings of grief, loss, guilt, and so on. My sisters are both narcissistic like my mother and functionally like adolescents. I left the crazy family almost 40 years ago and did a lot of therapy. I was so lucky to end up with a ten year close friendship with my father at the end of his life. I miss him horribly, but I have no guilt or regrets. I did everything possible for him. I suppose it is possible this will make it better for me in the end as I grieve, but at the moment it really seems that all I invested in him is just making the loss greater. by the way, I just got a very sweet text from my friend A, who seems to have moved on past the banjo issue. Meanwhile, the banjo is, more or less, in the hospital dreaming of a future life of jolly tunes...Paul the engineer is pretty busy and it could be awhile... -Laura

You're right-we don't. It's painful to have my friend of thirty years tell me that she can't handle talking to me and we need to take an indefinite break. This has happened for thirty years and she always comes beck, but it's bad timing. I have another friend, A, that I think maybe I should stop trying to contact. A has this thing where she listens for a little bit and comes up with something that she thinks I've done wrong. She figures that if I could just apologize, that it would magically fix anything. I was able to get enough money to my older sister to keep her house from foreclosing, between my own money, my dad when he was alive, and pushing hard on his life insurance policies after he died. During these two years that I was helping her and getting my father to help her, she got increasingly nasty to me. I don't get it-if someone was trying that hard to help me, I would be really happy, but not her... When she heard he had died, her immediate response was to demand that I give her the family banjo, which my dad had given me eight years ago. Both of my parents gave both of my sisters TONS of stuff over the decades that they all lived near each other and I was out west. When my mother died 11 years ago my two sisters got about 80% of what was in the house, and it was with the understanding that my father would eventually give me the 20% that he picked out to take with him out west, and he left it to me in his will. But the banjo he had given to me eight years earlier. And my sister, upon hearing that he had died-all she cared about was the banjo, which is not even playable. I have put it in the hands of a friend, Paul, who is an engineer and banjo aficionado who has friends who are machinists. It has already been to a luthier and to others who tried to fix it but couldn't. When I told my sister that the banjo was not playable and it would take some money to fix it up, she kind of lost interest in it. I think she thought she could just take it out of the case and it would be like it was when we were children. She didn't really care about my dad and she doesn't care about me. I want that banjo because not only can I actually play it, but it has my father's DNA from the dirt and skin of his hands-and that of his father-and eventually mine, all on that leather skin head. Paul tole me that the first thing I should do is get rid of the old leather skinhead and replace it with a synthetic one. I told him no-never-we've gotta save the head-just fix the tuning! That banjo-and its dirty skinhead- means a LOT to me and I'm not giving it to my sister, who didn't care about him no matter hat he did for her. And my "friend" A of 20 years thinks I can fix generations of family issues if I would just give my sister the banjo. Sounds like magical thinking to me...and someone to stay away from for awhile. I actually think that where A is coming from is that if I could give away the banjo, which means nothing to A, it would fix all the problems, I would stop kvetching, and she would feel relieved. A and my sister will just have to get over it. I have a huge load aside from that...

It sounds like you did very well on your show-that's great!

Patty, I thought this was really interesting what you said here about your friend not being "able to hold your sorrow". I think I have been having the same problem with a few people in my life, one in particular. We have been friends for thirty years, but it's been off and on because she is very limited in what she can "hold" and she copes via alcohol...

Kay, I really appreciate what you said about my sisters. It has been SO upsetting; they are not really struggling the loss of our dad as far as I can tell, and they have been really nasty to me. I am also realizing that during the ten years after I coaxed him out west and they were being much nicer to me, they were really using me to get me to help them financially. And now that his income source is gone they don't have much motivation to be nice to me. There is some money in a trust that is to be divided by the percentages he set out, but only after things are settled, and it's not really a lot. The bereavement counselor from hospice has pointed out that because he had Parkinson's, if I had pushed him into assisted living years ago when everyone in the world was telling me I should do so, everything he had would be gone. Everything would have been liquidated to pay for his expenses and there would be nothing to even talk about. The only reason anything is left is that I fought for him in his desire to live at home and take care of him at home. I wanted him at home too. The facilities are all at least a half hour from where I live and we would have seen a lot less of each other. For years he worried that I would push him out and into assisted living. I don't know how many times I told him he was crazy and reminded him, "I can get in my car at my house and be at your house in a minute and a half. That is exactly where I want you!' So, anyway, the grief counselor's conclusion is that all three of us should see anything that we get from him after his death as a bonus (and my sisters should stop complaining). Neither of them really works, but they sure aren't coming out here to help me. I guess they'll have to deal with it. I wish I could do a better job of letting it go. Every time I think about my sisters I feel hurt and angry... -Laura

George, I believe that the deeper love, the deeper the grief, and that the more intertwined you were with the person you lost, the more intertwined you will remain. The relationship doesn't end because the person no longer breathes and eats food; it changes, and it changes to something that you never wanted. So many of my early conversations with people after my dad died ended with my sobbing, "...and he's never coming back!" I guess I am still partly in the denial state. I watched a movie the night before last called Hachi, about a dog who showed up every day at the train station at 5:00 waiting for his owner to get off the train-for ten years after the guy died. This was based on a true story, although it was actually nine years. Hardly matters-it left me wondering about my own future. I am still living in my dad's condo, and have changed very little, other than giving away most of his clothes and replacing them with my own. I had a dream the night after watching the movie that my dad walked in the front door (younger and stronger and without the Parkinson's), and I was SO happy that I was there, sleeping in the daybed of his second bedroom and everything was still more or less the same for him! And so I think, am I going to be like Hachi and be sleeping in that little daybed waiting for him to come home for ten years? Well, probably not, because I actually am making some progress, and also because I can't stay here forever. My sisters very much want me to hurry it up and get out of his condo and get the estate settled so they can get their share of whatever money that is left, and the sooner I do it, the more they will get. I have my own condo a couple of blocks away, and I will eventually get our things consolidated into mine. Probably most of this will happen this summer because I have ten weeks off from work. I have a number of people lined up to help me. And since he had nicer furniture and whatnot, probably a lot of what I owned will be sold, given to thrift, or tossed. At some point I'll replace my carpeting and move back into my house, which will look more like his does now than mine ever did. Kind of living in the past? Maybe. Probably... When a close friend friend was killed in a hit and run bicycle accident, I couldn't believe anything could hurt so much. I went to work the next day and they just sent me home because I couldn't stop crying. But it was a relatively short-lived grief. My losing my dad-like your losing your wife-is very different because the bonds are so much deeper. I don't think I will ever be over losing my dad, but he is part of me. He lives inside my very DNA. I am built like him and have lived my life like him in many ways. He was my hero and my strength and my inspiration. I was sad when my mother died 11 years ago, but it was much less because for me it was always about him-good or bad. He is part of me and was ripped out, and nevertheless, he is still here. I hear him talking to me, and yet he is not here. My sisters' greed and ickiness is upsetting to me, but the attorney assures me that if I can pull this off in the time frame I am working on, it would actually be very fast, and not slow like my sisters see it. So I am probably not in danger of them pulling anything. But it is sort of amazing that they are not staggering in grief. But they weren't bonded to him like I, and so their grief is not the same. Also, he was really a different person ten years ago when I coaxed him out west to join me and for me to take care of him. He was the same person, but not to them, and so the grief was different... I know this was kind of long, George, but does it make sense? Shalom, Laura

Thank you!

Thank you, KayC for complimenting my painting. I hope to get pack to it this summer. I have a trip planned to Hawaii with two friends, and I'll bring my watercolor supplies no matter what I am feeling like. Once there, I will probably "get back on the horse" and paint some flowers. This summer will definitely not end up being like either of the past two summers of basking in the golden summer painting flowers, if nothing else but that I have the big job of combining my dad's and my own condo's stuff into one, while navigating the "river of grief" and fending off the crocodiles (my sisters). But perhaps a little flower painting will find its way in there, even after returning from Hawaii...

I think it takes a lot of energy and motivation to do "all that stuff you're supposed to do". I'm not doing very well at it either. I have eaten a lot more macaroni & cheese, ice cream, and Lucky Charms than I have in a long time. I know it won't last, and If I gain a couple of pounds I will lose them once I feel better. But a lot of days, my cat gently massaging my face and knowing that a box of Lucky Charms sits on top of the fridge is enough to get me out of bed. Then I go on from there. Grief is difficult and draining. It's hard to make friends, exercise, and cook fabulously healthy food when you feel flattened, and anti-depressants aren't necessarily effective for bereavement since bereavement and depression are not exactly the same thing as the other; there's just commonality. I am not a grief counselor-more of a garden variety counselor, and I would be quick to say that grief is not my specialty. Finding myself in the midst of a significant grief process, I'm learning but am as bewildered as anyone by some of what I have experienced. I was talking to a friend (who is a psychiatrist) on the phone the other night, and she suggested talking to my GP about an antidepressant and I said respectfully "no thanks-I don't think so". She is my friend and thus cannot diagnose me, I cannot diagnose myself even though I own and am qualified to use a DSM, and I'm not sure my GP, wonderful as he is, is qualified either to do this; he's a generalist. I do, however, trust that my hospice grief counselor is probably on target when he tells me that what I am experiencing is normal for what I am going through at the stage where I am-three months out. It seems to me that if you want an accurate diagnosis for the purpose of medication, that it would be best to see a professional who is qualified in this area. Aside from that, it seems to me that it's a good idea to listen to everything with a good filter. Take in and try things that seem like a good idea, and don't worry about advice that doesn't suit you--or that you just can't do. Just my thoughts...

I can relate to all of this as well. It is nice to not be cold and not worry about wrecking the car in the snow and ice. I enjoy seeing the flowers and I keep reaching out to them, but it's not like last year or even more so the year before, when I was happy overall and flowers threw me into an ecstatic state that filled me with joyous anticipation of painting them. My mood goes up and down, but it's up to zero and then back into the negative range. The flowers are nice but they don't do much for me-certainly not enough. I painted this two years ago-I spent the entire summer painting flowers, and I m not sure where that woman even is who was so inspired to paint this or if she'll ever come back. In the back of my intellectual mind I think I will someday be in a place inside where I can paint again and be excited by flowers, but it's hard to imagine from where I stand now... - Laura