The swing of it all

Driving my granddaughter to school today, my mind locked on the memory of how Kim would always tell me how “amazing” I was when, faced with some esoteric problem, I’d figure out how to resolve it and implement the fix. I don’t know why, but this memory made me cry. I guess it was self-pity – who will find me amazing now?

Then, driving to pick her up from school, the Luke Combs song Forever After All came on the radio. I don’t know if I just hadn’t paid attention to that song in the past, or maybe that was the first time I’d heard it, but it seemed it was modeled after Kim’s and my life. And it, too, made me cry.

The obvious solution is, I guess, that I can’t drop Vanessa off at school or pick her up…

I can’t determine what seemed to make me so emotionally raw today, unless it was the reduced amount of sleep I normally get on the days I have to drop Vanessa to school, or, simply, that I’ve been feeling “up” for so long now, that the pendulum has begun its descent along its repetitious path?

Time and more experience with this will tell.

In other news, I “graduated” from physical therapy today. They provided me with a few more exercises and sent me on my way after telling me how much they’d enjoyed working with me these past few weeks. As a testament to what they have accomplished, I hit a patch of ice on my way off the porch this evening and did the “Fred Flintstone Dance”; the end of which had me still standing, and keeping my record of never having fallen on the ice at home intact. Thanks, Kelly and Eric!

Tears and Triggers

It’s interesting: I can be in a happy mood, going about my day-to-day, and something out of the blue will choke me up. It doesn’t happen as often as it was initially, but it still does. Little things, mostly – they just sneak up on me and hit a button.

Most of the time, it will be when I’m discussing things about Kim with someone, whether by voice, email, or text. I’ll lock onto some memory or other, and that lump in my throat forms, and the eyes start watering and burning…

I’m back to eliminating the 30 years of tax records from the basement shelves. In the early days, I was a bit slipshod in how things went into the folder, so I’ve had to look at things that have fallen out of my grip. Sam’s, our second dog, adoption receipt. Receipts from the Artist’s Club and Home Shopping Network – two of Kim’s favorites, aside from Valley Vet. Receipts from the kid’s checkups, as our family began to grow. Paystubs, mapping her career from Beaumont to Bottsford, to Garden City Hospital, and, finally, Cardinal Health. Different than the last time, more of these things and the memories that come with them are greeted with a smile, but it’s melancholy happiness they bring. I still feel the urge to run up to her craft room to show her – “Hey! Remember this?”

Another odd thing: I can read these blog pages, and reread them without tears – I do it regularly, correcting typoes, or improving the prose for clarity. But I can’t TALK about them with anyone without breaking down.

This goes hand-in-hand with my conviction that you never truly “heal” from your grief. You grow with it. You learn of it and from it until you can manage the pain.

Wow!

So, I’ve been waxing eloquently on my “technique” to move forward, to get back to a happier state of mind. And then I stumble upon this TEDx talk that has pretty much validated my method: Grief Is Not A Life Sentence, now in the Blogroll and Links menu to the right.

Here are a few others that followed, again: all TEDx talks. These have not been added to the Blogroll, but they are interesting talks for those of us who have lost a spouse – or, frankly, any other loved one.

Frankly, I’m amazed to discover so much “meaty” information on grief, and that it is a frequent subject of TED talks – something I found… shocking. But, at the same time, I found comfort and validation in them. Watching a few of these, YouTube will determine your interest and provide many more. They are all good, and provide you with more ammunition in facing – and, most importantly: growing beyond – your loss.

Godspeed.

On seeing other women

So, I took another gargantuan step yesterday: I went out with a young lady who was a couple of years behind me in high school, and whose husband passed a couple of years before Kim. We had planned for coffee, but, due to various reasons, it got later and later in the day before we could meet, so we ended up not really having a plan. We simply went for a drive until we spotted somewhere interesting, which ended up being a brewpub built into an old church in Saline. We ordered a “flight” of beer samples I thought she might enjoy – a Koelsch, a Saison, and several Belgians – and an appetizer, and we talked some more. We talked of people we knew or know; our careers, our families, our marriages, and our losses.

It was easy to use my “happy face” technique in interacting with her because, frankly, I enjoyed talking to her so much, it came naturally. We have a lot in common – some of those things scarily similar – which gave us common ground for conversation. There are a lot of differences, too, though, which is to be expected between two people who came to where we are via very different paths.

This outing was a bit double-edged, emotionally. Though it was thrilling to be interacting in this way with an adult female who was not a member of my family, doing so surfaced a lot of insecurities that I think come from having been singularly committed for so long. Chief among them: “Am I boring her to death?” Oddly, I felt none of the guilt that some widowers speak of when they first venture out of their now-vacant marriage bubble – likely another thing that varies by person.

And, you know what? If our relationship never grows beyond today – basically online “pen pals” – I’m ok with that! I think this is a facet of the maturity that comes from a life such as the one I’ve been living. The need for acceptance is still there, but it is not the overarching demand that it was as a young man. And if it does grow into more? I’m ok with that, too.

I guess, the point I’m trying to make is that it is ok to want to continue living. It is ok to meet other people. It is ok to seek companionship. Your deceased spouse would not want you to be depressed and miserable for your remaining life, locked into a never-ending cycle of grief.

Don’t think of it as “moving on”, because you can no more move on from who you are as you can go back in time and change the events that made you who you are. Your spouse will ALWAYS be a huge component of what makes you who you are today. Instead, consider it continuing the story your life has been writing since the day you were born. And each and every day: a new chapter awaits. Turn the page…

Conversations

Today started with a surprise! I went to my usual 8:30 mass this morning, and as they announced the mass intentions, the lector intoned “Kimberley Babcock!” Though we did not get involved in St. Thomas a’Becket as we had at St. Dunstan, we have some very good friends there. Good enough to remember Kim and ask that masses be said for her.

After mass, I drove to the cemetery as is my Sunday routine. The rotten deer or the wind had, again, tipped her grave blanket over, so I righted it, cleaned it off, and modified it to make it a little more resistant to tipping (we engineers are a determined lot…).

And then I had a very frank, one-sided conversation with her about something that had changed in my life. More on that tomorrow.

They say that routine is good; that it helps keep depression at bay to have a schedule of tasks. The tasks do not need to be all “work,” either. Plan fun things for yourself, too. But develop a routine. It does help.

Grief does not define me

I have been interacting a lot with other widowers on the facebook Widowers Support Network group. Some have been widowed a lot longer than I have; some not even as long. I try to help console those who are in need of it, pass along things I’ve learned about what one needs to do after one’s spouse has passed, and give advice where it makes sense for me to do so.

The number one thing I keep finding myself saying to these other men, sometimes not in so many words, is “Don’t let your grief define you.”

We will all grieve, each in our own way, and each at our own intensity – that’s just nature. We’re all different. But I found there are things that work to help take the edge off of the emotion. First among these are: get out. Interact with people. Be as cheerful and outgoing as you can manage. Not only does this attract people to you, giving you company and taking your mind off your loss – if even for the briefest moment – it also retrains your mind to be, well: cheerful and outgoing!

I’ve been trying to be as upbeat and positive with people I encounter as I can. My number-one testbed has been at my physical therapy sessions, twice each week. I am repeatedly told how much they enjoy my presence there, and that they are amazed at my frame of mind. I even made a new friend of one of them, and am sharing my collection of motorcycle skills books with him. There may be a few rides in the summer to practice what he’s learned with him, too (the Harley brotherhood is a strong one…).

Those of you who have been reading along know that this hasn’t always been my frame of mind. Up until last Saturday, I was having one hell of a time just motivating myself to go out the front door. It took some effort. I went out. I did things and, in doing so, had to work with other people. Plus, I’ve been in physical therapy a couple of weeks, so the impact of my “mind game” wasn’t immediate. The key seems to be taking those steps, framing your mood to present to others, and then sticking with it.

At first, I would still choke up now and again, just thinking that “Last time I was here, I was with Kim.” or “This was Kim’s favorite place.” But, with more excursions, it became easier to do those things and go to those places.

Am I still grieving over my loss of Kim? You bet your sweet… bottom dollar I am. But I’m no longer willing to let it define me. I want the memory of Kim to be something I smile over. Her last few weeks may never elicit that smile, but I note again that she smiled when she passed. I will always remember that as indicating something good for her. That she was at peace and on her way to happiness. See? You can even find something positive in the most negative situation – I was smiling as I remembered her last smile.

I have had the best mood I’ve had in over a year these past few days. Opening yourself up to others like this is a risk, true; however, it sure seems to work. Try it. It may help you attain some sense of normalcy, too.

Happy Friday!

I honestly cannot say why, but I have been in an outstanding mood all day today! I thought I would be in the doldrums because Jeanette, Jillian, and Vanessa left in the wee hours of the night for a pageant in Nashville, so I wouldn’t have my darlin’ daughter to talk to through the day, but it hasn’t been a bad day in the least.

The only time I choked up a bit was discussing my buddy’s elderly mother-in-law, whose body is shutting down. His description of what she’s going through reminded me very much of Kim’s last days. That, and his aunt who was a hopeful inspiration to Kim and me – she’s been battling pancreatic cancer for over 7 years – is now on the losing end with metastases in her lungs, and no longer having the will to put up with chemo. But, for flying solo all day today, I have to say it was a VERY good day.

The therapy for the signal imbalance in my ears, too, went very well, and to good effect. Frankly, I think I’m pretty much back in fighting trim – at the very least 98-99%. My PT suggested we continue with the two scheduled sessions next week, and that will likely be that. I like the people there and will miss them. They are friendly and approachable – not at all like the ENT who sent me there.

Excepting the two bits of bad news for my buddy, I’m hoping for more and more days like this one.

And, today is Family Friday. It’s Christopher’s turn in the galley, and he’s on a keto diet, so I’m a little curious to see what he has in store for us.

Postscript: Barbacoa! Delicious barbacoa tacos. I ate too much…

Et Tu, Verizon?

Ugh. So the transfer to my new phone did not go as smoothly as Verizon and I had hoped, and they’ve changed their business hours leaving me “phoneless” overnight. Seems texting still works, but various things are sending me notifications that my phone number is no longer recognized by my carrier. Life in the modern age, I guess.

In any case, the phone is wrapped up and is all set up now. I expected it to be a nightmarish ordeal dealing with off-shore support personal reading from some playbook. Surprise, surprise! I was amazed by Verizon’s support! They’re in Georgia – the state, not the country – and they kept with me until it didn’t make sense to do so, but then called me back twice afterward to ensure everything was working OK! Wow! I don’t think I’ve EVER had a support experience like that! And I will keep this in mind whenever a lucrative deal for switching providers come up: they’re worth it! (Not affiliated – I gain nothing from saying this – I was simply amazed!)

My mom’s numbers appear to have improved, and my friend’s mom seems to be improving, praise God!

On that phone: the 12 uses facial recognition. Cool, right? Well, there I was in the grocery store with my shopping list on my phone. And a mask on… So much for not having to type a passcode. Made me miss the thumbprint reader on the 8…

Kim was on my mind today, as usual. A few melancholy moments, but mostly good memories. I was remembering our first winter here, and a MAJOR snow the night before Valentine’s day. I remember the drifts were absolutely huge, and it was right after I had gotten Rocky, a german shepherd mutt from the shelter, for Kim. I went out to shovel, and Kim and Rocky came out to “help.” We ended up in a snowball fight and then just played with the dog in the snow. I don’t recall if we ever cleaned the walk or the drive. I remember us both being laid up with a flu bug a little while later, sleeping the day away. I remember we were both miserable, but, in retrospect, that was likely the best case of the flu I ever endured, having her there with me…

I spent a bit of time working in the kitchen today (Jillian wanted my 7-bean chili for dinner), and there were a few times I swore someone had come up behind me and given me a quick hug. Wishful thinking, I guess. I think I miss those hugs the most.

Lots going on

Sometimes you have one of those days that everything seems to happen at once. Today is one of those days. Sometimes on those days, certain aspects just “come together” for you. It was one of those days, too!

I’m still wrapping up some of the financial issues that come about when your spouse passes away. That activity sometimes requires notary service. Ordinarily, you just pop into your bank or credit union,. and request it – not so in the age of COVID: you have to make an appointment to get it done. So, I had that.

For better than a month, I’ve been planning to send some Kowalski natural casing hot dogs east to my sister – apparently, they can’t get them there. The document I needed to notarize also needed to be next-day shipped via UPS, prepaid.

I had vetibular therapy today, and it is right next to the grocery store where I have been unsuccessful for the past several weeks in getting some dry ice to pack the hot dogs in. They had it today.

All of that, plus my normal work schedule, literally consumed the day from early morning until 3:30 pm.

My trusty iPhone 8 plus has ballistically met the floor too many times and is beginning to fail in ways beyond what I can tolerate, so I bit the bullet Monday and bought a replacement for it. THAT arrived today, so a major swath of the day was consumed in prepping for its use. iPhones are a bit notorious for giving issues transferring your photos to a pc. Mine decided to follow this route. More time consumed parsing the photo and video files to determine which one was causing the file error every time I tried to copy them over.

I bought a roast Saturday with the intent of making the kids a batch of jerky. It’s Wednesday, so that had to be done.

Finally, if you haven’t noticed in any of my writings, I’m a wee bit on the religious side. Tonight started an online bible study on the gospels of Mark – my first, true bible study since the 80s when I had temporarily walked away from the Catholic church.

That’s a lot of activity packed into one day.

Add to this that the mother of my friend is having complications after surgery, and my own mother was taken to St. Joe’s with what appears to be a repeat of an infection that devastated her in September…

When it rains it definitely pours.

All of this gave me little time to think about Kim, though I managed to do so, anyway. Certain happy, and certain melancholy remembrances surfaced. But, I have to say that I think happy recollections outnumbered the sad today. I think that’s a first since she passed.

Do I think I’m not going to have empty, lonely, sad, sad, sad days in the future? Certainly not. Do I think I’m making progress in my growth and healing? Most definitely. And to what do I credit this? I think writing of my experiences helps me – even some of the mundane stuff, like how busy today was. Moreso, I think my involvement in the Widowers Support Network contributes as well. It’s a place that I can talk about the things that are bothering me and get the perspective of a couple thousand other widowers in various stages of grief – but it’s also a place where I can give others my perspective; where I can try to console others – and I think it’s that last bit that helps me more than any other.

I’m no fan of facebook, but if you are a widower, I highly recommend this group. Search for Widowers Support Network – Members Only. It is primarily for widowers, but they also invite men who are the caregivers of their terminally-ill spouse. Frankly, I don’t think I would have found the time to interact with them when I was Kim’s caregiver; however, I sure could have used their support at the time. Check them out.

Honesty

Part of healing is being honest with ourselves. And, sometimes, being honest with ourselves can be more painful than confronting the loss we’ve suffered.

I loved Kim, plain and simple. I still do. That love for Kim kept me with her through the terrible experience of her alcoholism, despite my pragmatic brain telling me that the better thing for the security of my family may have been to divorce her and separate the risk of her potentially having a terrible accident while drunk from the family’s livelihood.

Yes, many times I considered that I should do that, but I still remembered the version of Kim before she succumbed to that disease and had hope that she might return to that state. I know she had been clean and sober for a period of three years after the onset of her alcoholism and prayed and hoped she’d find the strength to be clean and sober once and for all. Plus, as most spouses of alcoholics will tell you: I blamed myself to a large degree for her condition. I could always point to things on my side of the fence – my job, my “perfectionism,” my community involvement, my hobby cycle, and the collections of “stuff” it resulted in (it used to drive Kim nuts. As she put it to me: “You get interested in something, you dive into it with your whole being, master it, then get bored with it and move to the next.”). That tempered any action I may have taken. Plus, as I told her dad one particularly bad December a couple of years back when he was worried I’d reached the end of my rope: I’m just not wired that way.

But Kim was an alcoholic. My hopeful brain referred to her as a “recovering alcoholic”, and I knew that she did try, but the plain fact was that, up until the diagnosis, she was constantly drinking with few respites. The understanding of her condition I commented on in an earlier post refers to this alcoholism. I would become furious with her over it, and the hidden, wet beer cans stashed wherever she was drinking when she thought she’d be caught. I never really voiced this fury with her, but I know she could tell.

Early on, I would pull the cans out of their hidey-holes and stack them up prominently where they were found, hoping to embarrass her into stopping. I tried pleading with her, warning her that it would eventually kill her. I tried pointing out things that were great and convincing her to quit. I tried just leaving her be and hoping that would get her to stop. I tried everything that experts on alcoholism say everyone who loves an alcoholic tries, but which invariably do more harm than good. Finally, I just accepted it and did my best to boost her up when I could see her mood swing to more depressed. But, within mere months of that acceptance, her diagnosis came, and it was that which finally ended the drinking. Don’t ask me how or why, but she was absolutely sober for the rest of her life.

In any case: I made a promise, and I kept it, just as she kept the promise she made me by staying by my side when most of my contemporaries ended their marriages in divorce due to the loneliness that comes with your partner being on the road more than home. And, frankly, that promise was a lot easier for me to keep than it would seem, reading only the preceding paragraphs. Kim wasn’t evil. She wasn’t hurtful or unloving. She simply had a problem.

So, if you are going through something similar, know that it is not your fault; you are not the cause. Know that it is not within your control. Like the cancer that took Kim’s life, alcoholism is the result of a biological flaw. Take heart in knowing that beneath it all remains that person whom you love. If you need to break off the relationship for your safety, sanity, or security, no-one will blame you. But know that when that person’s end finally comes, either due to the alcohol, or, as in my case, due to something else, you will likely grieve just as I am grieving today. You probably won’t remember that troubled version of the person you loved as much as the other, earlier version.