Adrift

Sometimes, it feels like I’m drowning. Like I’ve been pulled beneath the surface and am simply taking on water. When this feeling hits, frustration with whatever I’m doing ensues, and I just want to explode – let it all out in a big Shrek-like roar.

Neither option is available to me at present – neither holding it in nor letting it go in that manner would be healthy for me or any around me. I’ll have to find a healthy vent, because “just keeping busy” isn’t working anymore. I keep busy by adding things to the list. The drowning feeling prevents me from focusing on anything properly, resulting in just another incomplete project on the heap of things to do, which increases the suffocating stress.

And then there are outside influences – the demands of the parents, the poor performance of my mom’s healthcare team requiring that those of us in Michigan spend extra time with her because the company doesn’t manage their personnel well – we’ve been having multiple incidents where there was no coverage, and their management is, frankly, ineffective. Having to spend extra time with mom seems innocuous enough, but it, too increases that stress and that pile of things not getting done, and carries stress of its own due to mom’s condition and the things that I cannot do for her if needed.

Sigh.

Life, in general, doesn’t stop, even if mine seems to have.

Good Friday

One of the facets of Christianity and salvation history I struggle with is this: God is God. He can do anything. So why was it necessary for Jesus to have died on the cross to redeem mankind? Every once in a while, my mind will glom onto a cogent argument as to why it was necessary; however, the “Ah ha!” is fleeting, and the wonder at the rationale returns. I guess this lends credence to something I often say: I do not presume to know the mind of God.

One of the things I always take away from Jesus’ passion is how incredibly cruel mankind can be. Throughout the ages, mankind has demonstrated an incredible capacity for cruelty and delighting in others’ pain – to me, it is one of the most disgusting aspects of our broken nature. Maybe one day we will rise above it.

I hope everyone took some time today to contemplate what occurred in Jerusalem so very long ago. For the price paid in human flesh by God for our redemption.

God bless.

Maybe they do speak…

A bit of an odd day today. I had an appointment with my PCP for a long-overdue physical. Leaving there, I got it into my head that, my doctor’s office being well over half way to the cemetery, I’d swing by and “see” her – the precise thought in my head: “I need to go see Kim.” So I did, enjoying my coffee and a bag of mixed nuts along the way since I had to starve and dehydrate myself until that blood was drawn for the physical….

On the way home, instead of my usual 8 Mile to I-275 route, I turned down 9 Mile, which yielded an unexpectedly more scenic route, oddly reminiscent of the drive Kim and I took after the doctor’s appointment during which she had decided she’d had enough of the chemo. Some of the scenery looked déjà vu familiar, but I’m sure I must have taken that path at least once back in my LIT college days, so no real mystery there.

Eventually, I made my way back to 8 Mile, and then onto Newburgh, figuring, for some odd reason, I’d stop at the Westland Meijer to get gas on the way home. The truck was almost 3/4 full, so I’m not sure why I decided that. As I approached 5 Mile, I was hit with an overwhelming compulsion to go to Kim’s Dad’s house which is along that route, and an urgent need to complete a “mission“ of intervention for someone I knew would be there, but whom I had already decided to let go their own way – I, frankly, had enough on my plate. I think that this “mission” may bear fruit.

Maybe it was just my conscience. Maybe. Or maybe it was Kim and her Mom, buried next to each other, making me an instrument to open someone’s eyes to what they were doing. Can’t say. I know I cried pretty much all the way home afterward – along I-275, as the desire to go to the Westland Meijer for gas disappeared…

If you are the praying sort, please say some prayers to strengthen the subject of my “mission.” And, while you’re at it, maybe a prayer for me, too. Thank you.

One flew over…

This is what it must be like for insane people.

I know Kim’s gone, but my mind fights against that reality at times. For instance, I would complete some non-mundane task that Kim usually took care of, and I would have the urge to go tell her to not worry about it: I’ve already done it. Or when I consider making changes in the house, and stop myself with the thought “No – Kim likes it this way.” Or, how when I go into her craft room to take care of her plants in the morning, I reflexively look over to her chair at her main table, half expecting her to turn around and smile at me.

The name’s Jacob. Jacob Marley…

There is a point to all of this that often gets lost since, when I am specific, I target others who have lost their spouses in my posts. But there’s something here for those who HAVEN’T – and that thing is for people who love ANYONE; not just their spouse.

Like the ghost of Jacob Marley warning Scrooge to mend his ways, I offer the following point:

You do not know when the last time you will see your loved one will be. It could be tomorrow. It could be next year – it could have been a few moments ago.

With this in mind, I implore that you become and remain aware of your relationships. Give your wife, husband, mother, father, child, grandparent… no matter who: give them a hug and a kiss whenever you can. Be patient with the irritations that come with any relationship. Never forget that neither you nor they are permanent. Remember the finite nature of this life, and you will have no regrets if one of your cherished ones should pass out of your life.

I know this is very general. And I am keenly aware of how hard it can be to follow that advice – even now after having experienced the loss of my life partner. But I try and I will continue to try to remember that, at any moment, they could be gone.

I cannot tell you how much pain comes with such a loss – if you haven’t experienced similar, my words cannot possibly convey the width, depth and breadth of the hole that is left behind – not just a figurative hole in your heart, but a gaping maw in EVERYTHING that your life was, is, and will continue to be. Regrets are like razor wire around the periphery of that hole, tearing you further as you try to rise above the edge of that abyss. Don’t let the neglect of your relationship be one of those regrets. If you manage this alone, all of what I put to digital paper here is worth the effort to me.

God bless.

A well-beaten path

That I’m not the first to have walked the empty path of widowhood is not lost on me – the floors are well-worn. I personally have known many who have lost their spouses at various junctures of life. What was lost on me in the past was the pain and torment of having lost your life partner. I sincerely apologize to all those I’ve known with whom I didn’t adequately empathize. I simply didn’t know.

And therein lays a lesson to me and others walking the well-trod path of widowhood. They don’t know. They can’t know. They have nothing with which to compare this loss. When their advice and platitudes seem unbearable, remember this point: They. Do. Not. Know. Moreover: you cannot teach them, nor adequately explain what you are feeling for them to empathize.

It can be hard, but have patience. It’s far better to endure the irritation that comes of it than it is to burn bridges.

Talent

As I go through the things in the house trying to make order out of what’s there, I continuously come across things Kim has created or bought to create things with. Kim was so talented. She could draw, she loved to paint, she loved crafting and coloring.

This wasn’t something that she had started when we were married, but before – there are crafts she made long before we were married at her dad’s house.

I remember the first full launch I did for Ford- the 1992 Ranger in Edison, New Jersey. It was the first time we’d be apart for more than a day. It was not easy on either one of its, but I always thought it was easier on me. We had Jeanette by then and I think Kim had returned to work by then. Kim worked midnights, so she had to drop Jeanette off with my mom in the afternoon, then pick her up in the morning. Somewhere in there, she had to get some rest.

Me? I’d go to work, return to the hotel, lather, rinse, repeat until every other weekend when I’d get to fly home. Kim would drop me off and pick me up at the airport. The hotel I stayed at had “points” with which we could get prizes. I spent so much time there that we were able to get a few things – a play tent for Jeanette (which HER daughter now plays with!), a stereo for Kim (it has been retired by mp3s, but still works and is still in the basement), a juicer for the kitchen (which was GREAT, but died decades ago). With the overtime, I was able to buy Kim something that would fuel her crafting passions for her remaining life: a New Home Memory Craft sewing machine that would do all kinds of stitches as well as embroider – and scan in her own embroidery designs! I honestly don’t remember whether Kim had wanted it, or if it was something I came upon myself, but she loved that machine. One of the first things she made was a little pink and grey jumpsuit for Jeannette on which she embroidered a bunny with a basket of flowers. For Halloween, she made a cute costume for Jeanette that is still around – I think each of the kids wore it for at least one Halloween, and it is still in the basement. I think our granddaughter may even have worn it.

A couple of years ago, that machine broke down for the last time – the repair shop couldn’t get parts for it anymore. She had already bought a bigger machine that, frankly, we couldn’t afford, but I wouldn’t let her take it back (and, lo and behold: we afforded it). The new machine could do bigger things, and you could put patterns to embroider on with via flash drives, but the only way to design your own was through some VERY expensive commercial software, or some very confusing open-source software. We kept the New Home – I figured I’d get the time to open it up and troubleshoot the board and maybe get it going again. It still sits waiting for me to find that time. Sigh…

Kim had made a beautiful quilt depicting The Last Supper on the new machine – she had just finished it and started on what was to be her lap quilt for cold weather chemo trips when the chemo caused her to lose feeling in her fingers and she couldn’t sew anymore. She was so proud of that quilt, and everyone who saw it raved to her about how great it was. I had promised her I would build a special frame for it that would incorporate internal lighting to show it off. Of course she passed a month or so after finishing it. I’m not in any hurry to make the frame – handling the quilt is emotionally painful to me – but I will get it done as soon as I clean all the extraneous crap out of the garage and have access to the woodworking equipment therein. I really need to get a new shed built.

Her craft room and the basement are full of so many half-done projects that will never be completed. So many supplies for new projects that will not be started…

Are all lives left so unfinished? When people die of old age, do they leave so much unfinished behind? Or is it only those who go too young?

Random memories

As I was driving to a dental cleaning appointment this morning, I looked over to see a pretty young lady driving in her car alongside mine. This brought back memories of how, shortly after we were married, Kim would tell me how guys would “still check her out” as she drove by as if simply being married changed what others saw. She would also delight in the surprise she’d see on faces on the occasions she would be driving my Bronco- she’d comment on how they’d look up at the big ol’ beast to see a little girl driving it. A pretty little girl, if you asked me.

Last night, I was remembering how, when we were dating, we’d take her family’s dog, Ginger, for walks – the dog would carry her own leash in her mouth – insisted on it – and she wouldn’t stop to poop, no. It would just come rolling out as she walked, so you had to watch out for it! In the summer, we’d take her along the periphery of the neighborhood park, stopping so she could visit with each of her “friends” in the adjoining yards. I had forgotten about those walks through the park with Ginger, and cannot conceive of why they suddenly came to the fore of my memory.

We certainly enjoyed our walks. We’d go up the street holding hands, and then, once we’d turned the corner, it as time for a hug and a kiss, and then we’d continue on our way. We used to go for lots of walks before I started launching. Not so much afterward. I was usually “too busy,” but we did go for regular walks, off and on.

Kim loved to walk in the nearby nature trails along the Rouge River. I went with her a few times before Wayne County had developed them and made them “official.” One time as we were walking to go through the trails, I got hit with a bizarre dizzy spell, and we had to turn home -YEARS before this vestibular thing (maybe it’s always been there, and it just got exacerbated by something in October, last?). She an Jillian walked them a lot, and I have lots of pictures of Kim< Jillian, and the dogs out there.

I find it a bit funny how the majority of my memories of Kim lately are from our early days together. She was so beautiful – but not just then – she was beautiful her whole life. I don’t think she realized that whenever I looked at her, I saw the woman I loved. Looking back at pictures, I can see how she changed over the years, but I honestly didn’t see anyone other than that beautiful girl I fell in love with when I’d look at her. I guess that’s what love does. But she had her demons. Some I knew about, some she only hinted at, some I’m sure were totally private. I know when I first started launching, she was worried that I would find someone else. I’d assure her time and again, but I know this bothered her. I don’t think she realized that I’m truly not wired that way until that Christmas absence when she and her alcoholic brother were on a bender and she didn’t come home for several days. Her dad was afraid that I was going to divorce her, but, as I said: I’m just not wired that way. I guess I’m loyal to only one woman. This was true even when I was dating – I’d not go out with more than one girl at a time. One. Maybe it’s a fault; a flaw. Don’t know – I think it’s a virtue. Some I dated didn’t deserve that loyalty. Kim did.

Jambalaya

Well, the meatless jambalaya is in the history books. It turned out pretty good – much better than I actually expected. The dinner, though, was pretty much a bust: Jeanette, Jillian, and Vanessa were off to a pageant in Kentucky, Chris had a late meeting, and Kenny is like a badger – he comes out for food and drags it back into his lair. Tiffany, Chris’ girlfriend, was the only one to show up. She liked it- had seconds and we had a nice visit.

Times like this will occur, but it was a a little depressing to not have our gathering. Next week being Good Friday, there will be no Family Friday. That will probably be depressing, too.

Small distractions bring big memories

Keeping busy keeps my mind off of Kim – but that, too, depends on the type of activity I am keeping busy with. Some become unbearable as memories flood in – like cleaning things up in the basement. Even the most mundane items remind me of Kim or bring me back to a time long before now when she was still vital and alive.

Getting ready to break down an oddball rack that held all of those tax records I spoke of earlier, it simply brought me back to when we moved in, and when we had our boat. Kim never really had anything to do with that rack, but it is still steeped in memories for me. I had to stop working on it and go upstairs to find something else to do.

And Jillian, my youngest, is really getting into exercise and fitness since I put the old Bowflex back together. She likes to get up early, go into the basement and do her workout with that machine and the resistance bands we bought the other day. All of which hearkens back to a memory of Kim on the floor in the family room doing her leg-lifts every morning in the time before any of the kids were born.

The weather being fine today, and having been cooped up in my office chair literally the entire day, due to meetings stacked upon meetings, I decided on a fast-paced walk around the block – which invariably follows the route Kim and I took every day last year. Generally not a problem until I come to the “crack the whip” turn, in which I still choke up a bit.

Finally, tomorrow is Family Friday. No-one wants to cook, so I decided to do a meatless version of my jambalaya – which necessarily sent me off in search of meatless substitutes for andouille and chicken. Kroger has veggie sausage, I was told by Jessie, so off I went to the closest Kroger – a store that I think I only set foot in once before without Kim in tow. (No veggie andouille, but veggie chorizo – I’ve made jambalaya with chorizo before, so hopefully…. and some extra firm tofu I should be able to fry and season to taste and act like chicken. Wish me culinary luck…)

It seems no matter where I go, or what mundane thing I choose to occupy myself, it draws my attention back to Kim. I suppose this will continue as I’m not sure why it seems to have escalated. Like exercise, the more I am faced with these – the more I face them – the stronger I will become. And, as they say: no pain, no gain. So it will continue to hurt until I drive my emotional threshold higher by continuing to work through them.

That rack needs to be broken up, and I need to strengthen myself. It will be ready for next trash day…