If You're Going Through Hell

[kayc]

Oh Gin, I'm sorry.  It is so hard when you don't hear from one of your kids and you know they aren't doing well.  We always care about our kids, and it's a helpless feeling when they won't let us help them.

[KATPILOT]

Gin does your son's father or siblings live close enough to check on him? This has to be so hard.

[Gin]

Stephen,

No, son in Ca.   Rest are in Chicago. He has done this before, but I think I am crazier now.

[KATPILOT]

I don't think your crazier Gin. More sensitive perhaps but not crazy. When you are in a state of grieving, everything that can touch a personal note in your life is magnified. It's not unlike when we see or read a news story about someone losing their husband or children, we feel it more strongly. It gets to us more. At least that's what I have discovered about myself. When my oldest son was deployed in the middle east, I worried but I also had Kathy with me. Now I worry more when he is making even a short flight around Virginia. I worry about my grandchildren riding a bike in front of a car. I don't think I was this way before. I hope you will hear something positive soon and your mind can be at rest.

I wonder if perhaps I now realize that I never did have any control over life.  Before Kathy died of something I could not control, I may have thought I did.

[Margm]

3 hours ago, Gin said:

but I think I am crazier now.

 

1 minute ago, KATPILOT said:

I wonder if perhaps I now realize that I never did have any control over life.

  Not having any control does make us crazier.  Playing with semantics again.  Sensitivity could take the place of "crazy," but I have never been offended by being called crazy.  It is what it is.  

In my Grief One Day at a Time book, the author today explained this quote "I feel like a part of my soul has loved you since the beginning of everything.  Maybe we're from the same star."  --Emery Allen.  It is explained by Alan D. Wolfelt, Ph.D. like this "When my soulmate dies, the only way to heal my grieving soul is with mourning that is as large as my love."  I think most all of us have the mourning down right, now if the healing would only begin.  I'm waiting.  

Sometimes platitudes don't mean a whit if we cannot locate the right attitude.  I'm searching.  

[brat#2]

57 minutes ago, Marg M said:

"When my soulmate dies, the only way to heal my grieving soul is with mourning that is as large as my love."   

Wow Marg, that says it all!

Joyce

 

[KATPILOT]

2 hours ago, Marg M said:

 

   It is what it is.  

 

"I feel like a part of my soul has loved you since the beginning of everything.  Maybe we're from the same star."  --Emery Allen.  

For some the cosmos is like religion. Since I was much younger I had always been captivated by the words of Carl Sagan. It was the understanding or at least the attempt to understand the cosmos that Kathy and I felt. "Star Stuff" is what Carl called it. The birth and death of stars spreading throughout the cosmos made me think how I was born of something so far away from here and so was she. And when our sun dies another will begin taking part of the two of us to begin again somewhere billions of years from now. I wonder sometimes if she and I were not from the same star stuff. We used to talk about that for hours on our weekly nights out. I so miss talking philosophy with her. We fed off each other. The sky was the limit. No, the end of the cosmos was.  Always I am drawn back to that simplest philosophy of hers............"It is what it is".

Thank you for those words of Emery Allen   Marg.   It got to me like I can't tell ya.

[Margm]

"Sunday Morning Coming Down" always wakes me on Sunday mornings.  No, not the music, the odors of food cooking.  Does anyone cook any day but Sunday?  I have not doubted my move from the big house.  I am not unpacked.  I still wonder where things are located, which box.  I don't want to look.  It is said to not make any major moves for one year and I immediately make the move that is necessary for me..  I could not stand to see Billy constantly sitting on that old couch.  He tied his flies and he wrapped his graphite rods from that one sitting spot.  I took things off the double table next to where he sat, I swept them into a box........somewhere in this house.  I came down here to find the young Billy and myself.  When I ride anywhere, and I am familiar with all these back roads, these country roads, all owned by private concerns. We went to Arkansas to roam the national forests.  And roam we did, for 18 years.  I road around places to get out of the house when staying at my daughters.  Just looking for familiar landmarks.  My son lives in the RV in his daddy's hometown.  He visits all the old haunts.  He finds comfort and the passion to paint the old pictures of that period of time.  He does not have to look in distant places, that little town has not changed much at all.  I moved to the apartment because Billy's presence in that house was blatantly absent.  I cannot feel him here either, but the apartment and noise gives me comfort.  In the end, I did have to consider myself.  I also said it was to help my sister.  My hurt was so bad, so fresh, I was no help in watching my mama die, death all over again.  But, she passed away a long time ago.  The little shell of a woman still had the sharp tongued mouth, but it was all bluster.  When I was young it was mental abuse for me, and maybe her mental anguish was even greater than mine.   

This morning I looked to my right.  No couch, but I could see Billy.  I see him in the clouds and I always say "Billy, I don't know how, I just don't know what I am doing."  He would know I did not know how to do anything without him.  I told him I could not live without him, but here I am.  

This morning I pictured him and then I looked at the big fluffy clouds out my window.  I cried sad, pitiful sobs.  I don't do that very often.  I am alone in the living room.  Billy knows I have to take care of myself.  And, one thing about being older, no one comes to me and tells me that I will find someone else.  I did not cry for very long.  It gave me a headache and it did not bring him back.

I know it must have been mentioned on here before, the book, The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion.  I read excerpts from the book.  I don't have to read it, I am living her book with all of you.  I am ready for something funny, something that will make me laugh and not cry.  Forgetting Billy is not an option, finding someone else is laughable to me.  And, I guess I am waiting for that year to pass before I empty boxes.  I moved.  That was a big enough step.   

[Gwenivere]

2 hours ago, KATPILOT said:

I wonder if perhaps I now realize that I never did have any control over life.  Before Kathy died of something I could not control, I may have thought I did.

I've had this discussion with several people that have been thru heavy duty losses.  It dies flip a reality switch on.  We may not have noticed we didn't have the control we thought before, but we had the life spark, if you will, to adeptly work around things and it seemed like control.  

One close but long distance friend told me I am now seeing them impermanence of life for the first time even tho I have experienced it numerous times.  Loss if a pet, parents, job, bodily changes, etc.  There were others things to fill those voids, or enough so they didn't cripple me. Plus I had a partner to weather them with and me for him.  When Steve accepted his fate he had someone to express those feelings to and try to comfort as best I could.  

Having to face this alone now is the hardest and most eye opening, much less almost terrifying, truth.  I couldn't stop the the death that was following and gaining on us, no matter what I did.  There were no alternate plans if attack.  It was coming and there was nothing we could do to stop it.  No stealing from one account to appease another.  The target was set, missiles armed and locked on him.  The trigger was pulled and he was taken.  

So now I do see it all around me.  I still work thru things that happen in day to day life, tho many times I am amazed I have the brain power for it, but eventually I get them done.  But the awareness of how many there are is magnified so intensely.  I choose not to watch news about catastrophes or senseless killings because they are reminders of my situation and I have become too empathetic to those left behind to live with the events.  I thought I was being selfish but realized that wasn't it.  There is just plain nothing I can do but carry more knowledge of pain.  I happened to read an article about 'compassion overload' regarding those who volunteer to help in places that evoke so much emotion that the turn over rate was very high.  People can't take being continually exposed to suffering and those that can have to erect mental boundaries to protect themselves.  I'm sure that is why medical people have what we might consider sick senses if humor to release the suffering they see in their jobs to be able to be there for the next person in need they may know will not make it.  

So I guess the overlong point I am trying to express is two fold.  I have found I'm not turning into a cold person because I don't allow others tales of woe when I wander the world of the living penetrate much.  I just have nothing to give them and see they are awakening to this reality they never knew.  The second point is life is now forever changed for reasons even beyond the loss of our partners.  I will never be the same and for a time I was waiting for a big part of me to be that person again.   But I never will be.  I understand more more now why people float out of my life because they are tired of waiting for her.  I see the world differently now and cannot go back, much as I would like to as I miss my old persona.  I miss her even dealing with myself.  I want her back as much as I want Steve, but with time comes more reality.  A lot isn't pretty anymore.  It's a bitter pill to swallow, but I have to.  Deceiving myself, intentional or not, was getting me nowhere.  

I hope to find different paths to contentment because the old ones are gone.  Grown over so much I can't even see a hint of a trail.  Hope being the key word because I don't know what that really means....yet.  I know the word but the definition now elude me.

 

[Gwenivere]

Marg, that you moved was indeed a huge step.  One I could have never done.  I'm still in this house we shared and sometimes, not very often, I get a flicker of comfort seeing something of his.  But mostly it hurts.  We all weigh what we need to do and the thought of strangers living in our home sickened me.  But we weren't wanderers like you two.  This house was our home in every way.  I know being surrounded by boxes is awful.  But you got this far, time to rest and feel the new emotions that are surfacing.  One thing we can count on, no hiding from them.  They will track us down.

[Margm]

Gwen, I do try to hide sometimes..........truth.

[Gwenivere]

They'll still find you tho!  We can't outrun ourselves.  I've tried too.

[Margm]

I know the old saying "everywhere I go, there I am."

[TerriL]

Gin, I'm so sorry you are going through that situation with your son. I pray that he will start to realize what his lack of communication puts you through and pick up that phone.

Marg, you can be zombified along with me whenever you want to. We'll skip the brains part though.

Today was kind of rough. Had a couple of friends visit and things seemed to g well and then, shortly before they were leaving, they felt they had to tell me how I've lost weight and my legs look a lot skinnier than they used to. Um.....thank you? The weird part was I was feeling fairly okay before they arrived and when they left, I was off to look at myself in the mirror and wonder if I was not aware of how bad I truly looked. Why do people feel the need to do that? 

I love all the talk of being from the "same star"! I loved that, Marg!! Did anyone else see Neil Degrasse Tyson on 60 Minutes when he said that science has found the same particles that make up stars inside of US. So, they were right---we are stardust, we are golden. I need to look up one of my all-time favorite essays, The Desiderata. It is so poignant and beautifully written. No matter which decade we're in, it remains relevant to this day. 

[brat#2]

2 hours ago, Gwenivere said:

So I guess the overlong point I am trying to express is two fold.  I have found I'm not turning into a cold person because I don't allow others tales of woe when I wander the world of the living penetrate much.  I just have nothing to give them and see they are awakening to this reality they never knew.  The second point is life is now forever changed for reasons even beyond the loss of our partners.  I will never be the same and for a time I was waiting for a big part of me to be that person again.   But I never will be.  I understand more more now why people float out of my life because they are tired of waiting for her.  I see the world differently now and cannot go back, much as I would like to as I miss my old persona.  I miss her even dealing with myself.  I want her back as much as I want Steve, but with time comes more reality.  A lot isn't pretty anymore.  It's a bitter pill to swallow, but I have to.  Deceiving myself, intentional or not, was getting me nowhere.  

I hope to find different paths to contentment because the old ones are gone.  Grown over so much I can't even see a hint of a trail.  Hope being the key word because I don't know what that really means....yet.  I know the word but the definition now elude me.

 

Oh Gwen, that is so true and I feel exactly what you are feeling. 

Joyce

 

[KATPILOT]

Well spoken Gwen. Well spoken.

[Patty65]

4 hours ago, Gwenivere said:

we had the life spark, if you will, to adeptly work around things and it seemed like control

Here's the messed up thing.  Last night, I realized that from the time Ron got sick at Christmas, until literally two days before he was gone (after 3 weeks in Hospice), I didn't even CONSIDER that he was going to die.  I didn't even CONSIDER it!  I swear.  Talk about the godly power I thought I had!  I thought he was choosing not to speak because he was so depressed and HE was thinking he might die, when in reality he COULDN'T speak. Much more than a word or two.  The last full coherent sentence he said was, "Oh, I was worried about that!" (about the business, when I was explaining that we were making it and holding on even though he wasnt there right then.  The next closest was "Messy, Messy Patty" when I explained why I came in covered in sauce or something.  (I now TOTALLY embrace my messiness).

Everyone knew but me.  We never talked about it -- because he couldn't and I didn't consider the possibility. I believe now it was our unspoken contract, that it happened the way it had to happen, with both of us in denial to the end because we couldn't fathom life without the other.  Because the pain was just too deep to even consider.  And so, we just didn't.  It was our way to survive the unfathomable. Now I'm finding the consequences are all the unanswered questions.

 

[Margm]

4 hours ago, Gwenivere said:

Marg, that you moved was indeed a huge step.  One I could have never done.

I thought I was going to RV but suddenly so many things in that house that was Billy's would not fit into an RV and RVing was his and my life, not mine alone.  I became a terribly fearful creature.  I was all of a sudden alone, ancient, and even considered assisted care living, except I did not really need assistance with anything except knowing how to live without Billy.  So I did the last thing Billy would have done, I moved into an apartment.  I miss nothing about that quiet mausoleum that was a house.  It was so quiet the quiet was deafening.  I was 100% safer than I am now, but I hear people, not wildlife.  And I know Billy would tell me I was safer in that house, but I would have died if I had stayed there, I have no doubt.  I don't know what the path is.  I probably cannot see it because it is so short, but I don't care.  I can understand people wanting to stay in their home.  My mom was a homesteader, I am not.  Of course I have no apologies to even Billy for doing this.  I thought I could feel him more at "home."  He is still gone and all I can do is look at the sky and say "I don't know Billy, I just really don't know."  I don't know how to live, I don't know how not to live.  If I go to a shrink he will say it is "natural grief."  I am not happy, but I doubt if I ever will be.  I will say I did have a lot of happy years, I should not complain, but I will complain.  I will fuss, I will find roadblocks and have to go around them, but I will go around them.  I understand what "live for today means."  And, another "I don't care."  

But I have bills to pay (nope, not in debt at all) and life to live and I will do it, until I cannot, and then like Billy said "I will be gone and won't have any worries."   And, we all have to keep on living and putting that one foot in front of the other and it really is what it is.  

4 minutes ago, Patty65 said:

We never talked about it

Patty, I had the God complex too, certainly he was not going to die and I got angry at him for giving up.  And, I will stop on that one. 

[Gin]

Patty, Marge,. 

I also thought Al would live.  A few friends told me recently that they were sure he was dying several months before.  I think we could not even imagine that one of us would no longer be here.

[KarenK]

Like each of you, I did not expect Ron to die. I knew he had a horrible, uphill battle to fight against his cancer and other medical problems, but in the 40+ years we were married, he had always accomplished whatever he set out to do. The day before he aspirated into his lungs, I was visiting SNF's to find a place for him to recuperate. Not until that happened, did I have a clue, but then I saw him slipping away.

In my mind, my daughter is not dead. She is simply too busy living her life, enjoying her home and her horses to call me. In my heart, I know she is gone.

[Margm]

Hugs to you Karen.  I think that is what I would have to do also.  

[kayc]

15 hours ago, TerriL said:

shortly before they were leaving, they felt they had to tell me how I've lost weight and my legs look a lot skinnier than they used to

I think I would have asked them what they expected me to say to that...did they want thanks???  Amazing!

21 hours ago, KATPILOT said:

I wonder if perhaps I now realize that I never did have any control over life.  Before Kathy died of something I could not control, I may have thought I did.

I'm sure that's true for all of us.  I know I was going on about my happy life...until it came to an abrupt end.  It's almost like I died at that moment and became a different person...a person that views life differently and can no longer take anything for granted.  But I was in ignorant bliss before, the same as most people are today.  You are never quite the same after such a loss as this!
 

 

13 hours ago, Patty65 said:

Everyone knew but me.  We never talked about it -- because he couldn't and I didn't consider the possibility.

I didn't have advance notice.  We knew he had something wrong, but never dreamed it was something huge and serious!  We had no clue.  The first time I had an inkling he would not make it was that fateful weekend...particularly after listening to the heart surgeon.  I knew then it was likely he wouldn't make it through the surgery.  When the surgeon was pointing to some pictures and speaking to me his voice went far away and quiet and I couldn't hear what he said or make sense of it.  I was in shock.
 

 

11 hours ago, KarenK said:

In my mind, my daughter is not dead. She is simply too busy living her life, enjoying her home and her horses to call me.

Who knows, perhaps that IS what she is doing...not too busy to call you, but that veil in between our world and their's right now.  But I hope she has horses with her!  I hope George has food...God that man loved to eat!

[TerriL]

I feel like I'm reading things I've written---all of your experiences are what I have gone through, too. I thought for sure, when Paul had the seizure and they rushed him into surgery to open the arteries, that they would come out and tell me the surgery was a success and with rehab, Paul would be okay. When the surgeon told me that they tried, but the artery kept closing down on them and it wasn't as successful as they had hoped and he was not optimistic that Paul would be able to recover, I don't think even then that I believed Paul would die. I thought for sure we would have a miracle. It wasn't until the next day when the nurse had a doctor speak to me on the phone that they told me there was no hope at all that Paul would ever regain consciousness again, that the reality truly began to sink in and I felt my body suddenly become cold all over and I was shaking. I suppose that, too, was shock. I just stumbled back to Paul's room and sat there, tracing his mustache with my finer one last time, kissing his face, holding his hand. I was trying to memorize him and couldn't believe that the plans we had been making just a week before were suddenly just over. No more. Our life together was done. And what Gwen said is so true. I feel like everyone is waiting for the old me to return. They don't understand that she died along with Paul. Or at least a large part of her did. 

One of those friends who visited yesterday called me just a  few minutes ago to let me know that my 82 year old friend with the esophageal cancer passed away this morning. I began crying all over again. For him, for his family's loss, for my own loss, for all of your losses, for all the losses big and small that keep happening all around me. The friend who called mentioned that there would probably be a celebration of life dinner somewhere, but I told her I didn't feel that I could attend. I told her that things like that right now are too painful for me. She seemed shocked and said to me, "But, when we were there yesterday, you seemed to be getting better! Isn't the pain better?" I refrained from voicing was I was thinking: "No, it doesn't GET better!! And by the way, did you notice that I lost weight and have thin legs?" lol I just told her (she still has her spouse, even though hers has not always been a great marriage) that I hated to break there news to her, but the pain doesn't go away and that I feel depressed much of the time, but I don't curl up in a corner if someone comes to my home. I'm able to function as a human being. It doesn't mean though that I am no longer in pain. She did at least have the decency to apologize and I told her that I'd send my respects to the family but wouldn't attend any sort of dinner. If I'm an ogre, so be it. Just call me Shrek. 

Kay, how are you feeling today? Any better at all? 

 

[TerriL]

Oh geez....can you believe this? Right after I got off here, a friend came by to pick up the junk metal I had in my back yard. It had been raining off and on this morning, due to that tropical system. I was walking out to the trash can when he arrived, my flip flop hit a wet spot on my sidewalk and I fell. I landed right on my left knee cap and even though he immediately came running over, it took me a few minutes before I could get up and sit down on the bumper of my car. He helped me inside and I got some ice for the knee, took a couple of Tylenol (I can't take NSAIDS for inflammation---allergic). I can put my weight on the leg, but if I bend it to step up or try to bend it with weight on it, it hurts like a bugger. I don't think I broke anything, but I'll keep an eye on it. He told me it will hurt even more before it gets ay better. Oh, goodie. I've had to fight those "what if" thoughts though. My anxiety can get the best of me in situations like this. What if he had not been here when I fell---I could have laid there on my sidewalk for God knows how long. These are the things that really scare you when you're all alone with no husband anymore. Paul would have picked me up and he'd be nursing my knee for me right now. At least I was wearing long jeans when it happened. I would have busted my knee open if I'd been wearing shorts. I just shake my head in complete wonder. 

Edited August 29, 2016 by TerriL
I can't type under stress.

[brat#2]

Terri - I'm so sorry you hurt your knee and hope it starts to feel better soon.  I know exactly what you are talking about, I have that fear all the time now, that if something happens to me, like a fall or whatever, how long would it be before someone would find me and then there is the fact that I don't have anyone to take care of me.  It seems to be never ending in this new life.  Hugs to you.

Joyce