A Good Day

My day at work went well. It was a very busy, but quiet day. In the late afternoon my daughter called to let me know that she was bringing over dinner, and a birthday cake, to celebrate Michael's birthday.

I love my daughter, and am so grateful that she chooses to always commemorate the important dates that mean so much to me.

We had dinner, talked about Michael, then sang happy birthday to him. Even our two dogs, Ranger and Fido, got in on the act. I think they thought it was their birthday. I picked up Fido so he could help blow out the candles. Some have commented in the past that perhaps Fido is Michael reincarnated. After all, he did arrive the day after the first anniversary of Michael's death. I told the kids Fido could help blow out the candles just in case he is Michael, but that I highly doubt that Michael would be pleased coming back as a Chihuahua. Then I did have to admit that Fido loves to be spooned at night, just like Michael. This gave us all a good laugh.

After dropping off my daughter back at her home, I stopped by the store to buy Michael some flowers. I placed them by his urn, and lit two candles. I stood there talking to him, reminding him of my love. I then came out to the kitchen, poured me a vodka and pomegranate drink, and sat to write. I did for a moment think that the Margo would recommend coke with my vodka, but I'll save that for the next time I sit and have a drink with her.

My daughter commented that I appear to be doing much better recently. I explained that I do feel a change in the last couple of days. I think having my parents around this weekend really helped to boost my feelings. Celebrating Michael's birthday was also a reminder about how blessed I was to have him in my life. I won't lie and say I didn't shed some tears today, but it's all good.

If nothing else, I can say I truly knew love during my lifetime.

Birthday Celebrations.

Michael loved celebrating his birthday. There couldn't be enough celebrating according to him. This photo was taken in 2008, after spending three months recuperating from brain surgery, and completing his first round of chemo and radiation therapy. This particular birthday was celebrated with the kids and I on January 16th, 2008. The next day Michael and I went away for a needed weekend together in Napa, California. We spent two nights are a beautiful Inn. We had a room with a huge bed that was placed in front of an even bigger fire place. In the next room was a wonderful jacuzzi tub for two. We went out for a delicious dinner, followed by a casual evening walk, then back to our room for a bath. I remember laying in bed that night, cozy, feeling loved, and loving and appreciating the gift that he was to me. It was one of many great memories I have with Michael.

So romantic. So perfect.



Dearest Michael,

Happy birthday my love. This is the second year that I will be celebrating your birthday without you. Know that you remain in my heart. With every breath I breathe, I do so for both of us. We had many dreams together, some realized, some yet to be completed. I will do my best to make you proud. I will remember, and channel, your loving patience when I feel that I have none to draw on. I will remember your beautiful eyes, and the smile that made me melt. Those images will keep me safe from all my fears. I will remember the feeling of holding you in my arms, and the way you always rested so securely against my chest. I had never felt such love before meeting you. Thank you for all that you shared with me. Thank you for staying close to me during this difficult time without you. Thanks for holding me safely through each night. I carry your last breath within me, and I will never let it go.

All my love. All my appreciation

Your husband.

Dan

Open House

It's midnight, and everyone has gone to sleep. One of the unfortunate aspects of having my oldest son back in therapeutic placement is that I now have this big house, with only myself and my 12 year old, Remy, in it. I know that eventually my older son will begin visiting on weekends, and eventually my daughter's life will slow down a bit so that she can start visiting more often, but for now, it's rather quiet.

This weekend I have five days off in a row. Due to big cuts in the state budget, the agency that I work for has had to resort to eight furlough days without pay during the next 6 months. While it's nice to have more time at home, it does mean less money, and less time to get the same amount of work done. Oh well, I can't do anything about that.

What I can do is find ways to not feel too lonely in my own home. The prospect of sitting here for five days, feeling low, was too much for me. The first couple of days I found some fun decorating activities, but now I'm spent too much money, and the projects are done with, so life starts moving slowly once again. I decided that it would be a perfect time to have my parents back here for a visit. I really loved having them with me during the Christmas holiday, and since they no longer drive long distances, if I want them to visit, then I need to go get them.

I gave my folks a call, letting them know that since I was not working, I would love to have them visit. They also thought it was a great idea, so I drove the two hours to their home, and now they are here. We sat and talk most of the day, cooked our dinner together, then talked some more late into the evening. I love my parents, and greatly appreciate the gift that they are to me. And, because my parents are here, one of my brothers called and said he and his family would like to come visit tomorrow as well.

This is the gift that keeps on giving!

Tonight I realized that I have only used my oven on two occasions, and both times have been because my parents were here. I love catering to them, and cooking for them. I love discussing my job with them, and explaining how I came to decorate my home in certain ways. I love sharing my world with them. Because I made the move to southern California, I am able to do this more often. Having these types of visits have really helped fill a big void in my life. I get to sit in my home, share it with other adults, and have adult conversations. I get to talk about Michael, about my grief, and hear of their feelings about the man that I lost.

And because of the loss that I have experienced, I don't take any of these opportunities for granted. Just like I knew that I would not always have Michael, I know that I will not always have my parents. I want to enjoy my time with them as often as possible.

I'm realizing that my home is just like my heart, if I open it, they will come.

A Painful Day

A couple of days ago I had my yearly physical. While there my doctor had the brilliant thought that I should have a tetanus shot, especially since I work with infants and toddlers. While they are cute and cuddly, apparently they harbor deadly germs and viruses. What do I know?

Anyway, whenever we get these helpful shots, like the flu shot of the moment, there is always the chance of possible side effects. My doc said not to worry, as my flu shot from last month went without a hitch. Well, last night I got deadly sick. Aching muscles and bones. Shaken nerves, headache and nausea.

Lovely.

I ended up going to bed early, choosing to just sleep through it. I had some crazy dreams, but mostly slept well, and felt enormously better this morning. In fact, I decided to get out the vacuum, and do some light house cleaning.

Bad decision.

While moving the very light vacuum, I pulled a muscle in my back. I let out a very loud scream, and found myself, tears in the eyes, descending toward the floor. I had all the animals around me looking traumatized, and my youngest son running out from his bedroom to see what had happened.

Well, that pretty much stopped me in my tracks. Nothing much was getting done today. Fortunately for me, I had stored up quite an arsenal of past prescribed medication, and found myself popping some expired Vicodin, and some helpful Motrin. Within a couple of hours I was beginning to feel better, yet had to make every move with caution.

It's quite scary when you become so sick, and you realize how alone you are. Now, I did have my son, but a 12 year old can only do so much. I also didn't want him to worry too much, so I told him I was much better than I actually was.

I took a seat on the couch, and tried to entertain myself with the television and computer. I read each email as soon as it arrived throughout the afternoon. At one vulnerable point in the day I received an email from the Musella Foundation, which does research on brain tumors. I don't know how to unsubscribe from their mailing list, so I always take a deep breath when these messages arrive. Today's message annouced a lecture titled "Practical Suggestions For Brain Tumor Families" which was to be held on January 18th, Michael's birthday.

I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. Punched real hard. I sat here, and began to sobbed.

As the day has gone on that deep emotional response to this email has stayed with me. Each time I think about it, the sobbing returns.

My body, and soul, certainly knows pain. Pain such as this has the powerful ability to lodge itself deep into my memory bank. With each of these painful deposits, I suppose I could be considered quite wealthy.

No worry. This will pass. As each of us has learned, while pain doesn't always completely go away, it does become less intense with time. We become familiar with it, and we come to have our individual ways of getting through it.

I will get through it.

You will too.

Enough

Today has been a very difficult one. Although I have written in the past about my teenage son's emotional problems, I have not addressed them here for awhile. I think I wanted to pretend that it wasn't truly happening, or that my life could suck any further than it does.

For the past couple of months life at home has been very unpleasant, and very draining. I feel like I rarely have a moment's peace. It's tough enough getting through life after losing your spouse, but it gets amplified when you are being attacked emotionally, and sometimes physically in your own home.

Mental illness is a crazy thing.

I know that statement is funny, and there is little to laugh about these days, but having a son with mental illness makes your own life crazy. You know longer have a good grip on your own reality, or the reality that most enjoy. I sometimes wonder what my life would be like if I had more sanity around me. I wonder how I would be adjusting to Michael being gone if I had the opportunity to live each day feeling emotionally safe, and stable. I don't have those things, and for the most part, never did.

I gave it my all, and tried to make it work with my son living at home, but the final straw hit today. That was me. I have been his punching bag for far too long, and I have now decided I can no longer live this way. I don't want to live another day with any type of violence in my life. I no longer want to question my own sanity, well, anymore than any normal parent does.

I'm okay, but a little sore. I was hurt this morning, and my son was placed in a psychiatric hospital. I have spent the day talking to police, school personnel, therapists and doctors. With each conversation each wanted to know why we moved here, and if there have been any other major changes in our household.

We moved here to make a change.

We needed a change because my husband died.

Because my husband died.

Condolence. Condolence. Condolence.

I know I'm writing about crazy stuff. I know that I'm trying to deflect from the trauma of the day. I know that life will get more sane. Soon, I hope.

In a way I am used to this type of trauma, and all that will unfold from it. At least now there will be the appropriate services put into place for my son. At least there will be a plan of care which will include emotional and physical safety for us at home.

I will be fine.

Can we talk about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?



As a side note. People are funny. Today the cops were very helpful, but very young. There were three different ones who came into my home at different times, and within 5-10 minutes each would say, "hey, nice house, did you remodel it?"

Consolation Prize

I have been feeling anxious tonight. I reflect on all who grieve, all who remember, and all who struggle to keep their lives moving forward.

This journey can be so painstakingly slow, and oh so laborious. I'm not sure if I am making progress, or just biding my time. I suppose anything I experience throughout the day is authentic, and where I need to be, or what I need to experience. In a way I am appreciating how life has kind of slowed down for me.

Still, I am not fully engaging with those around me, yet at the same time I don't feel like I am in hiding. Just taking it slow, and being mindful of my emotions.

I was sharing with someone this weekend that my new home, and anything else positive that seems to come my way, feels like a consolation prize. In a way, I am leading a life I had not anticipated, one that affords me new opportunities, and new relationships. My life feels full, but scattered. Yet as I write this, I begin to question my own statement. Is my life full?

It is definitely not the life I wanted, but not necessarily a bad life. I suppose it is really just an alternative life. One that I must live until I can better define what I want. I'm a realist, so I know that I need to work with what I have. I need to be willing to see positives, and move toward them. I need to seek joy, and open myself up to opportunity.

So what if it is a consolation prize of a life. Is that so bad? Can I find a way to embrace the good fortune that I am afforded as I continue on my own life journey?

I think I am setting myself up for a quieter version of my life. It works. It isn't terribly exciting, yet I'm not expecting much right now.

Zen New Year

Happy New Year to each of you.

I just got home from a New Years evening out. It wasn't the traditional way of celebrating, but it was great. I went to an evening of yoga. We gathered at 10pm, and were guided through two hours of quiet, and slow moving, yoga. The evening culminated in savasana pose at midnight, which was signaled by the three rings of the bell. We shared an appreciation to each other, and bowed in our communal response of Namaste.

Afterward we open sparkling cider, champagne, and treats to eat. We sat, we spoke, we touched. We laughed, we shared, we confirmed each other's presence.

I came home feeling peaceful. I came home feeling connected.

Someone asked where I have been. My absence from our class had been noticed. I was encouraged to return. Maybe it's time to come out of hiding. Maybe it's time to rejoin the world. Maybe my self imposed hibernation is over.

Maybe.