Here's to a Well-Rested 2016!

And now we start a new year.  I’m getting a little more sleep, so I actually have a little more energy.  Before, all I could think of was “when can I go to bed?” 

I know that sounds dramatic, but I swear, it was the truth.  For the past four months, and maybe closer to six months, I’ve been doing the bare minimum in housework, cooking, socializing, just about everything.  My face has aged, I’ve gained weight, and my skin has broken out.  My laundry wasn’t done until we were absolutely out of clothes, and even then, it typically lived in the dryer to be pulled out piece by piece as needed.  And it was all I could do to make myself go to work.  I got up for work at the very last minute, (sometimes later than the last minute) and sometimes rolled into the office unshowered, with dirty hair, no makeup and sporting the sweatshirt I had slept in the night before.  There were a few mornings where I had to burn some sick leave (thank goodness I had it available) just so I could sleep just a little bit longer. 

I’m one of those people who do better with about eight hours of sleep a night.  The description above is what started to happen when I was only getting about four hours a night, and not four consecutive hours at that.  For the past two weeks, I been able to get pretty close to eight full, uninterrupted hours.  And it has made a huge difference.  I’m even starting to have dreams again!

In hopes that I will continue to have the opportunity to get adequate Zzz’s, but knowing that there is a very real possibility that won’t happen, here are my 2016 resolutions:

1.       Respond to all emails and texts within 24 hours. 

2.       Bring my lunch to work or otherwise eat free of charge at least three days a week.

I have other, lesser resolutions, but I’ll stick with the top two.  Both are pretty important and will have positive impacts on my life. 

Wishing you love!

Life After Dad

So, I lost my dad about two weeks ago.  I have yet to cry since he died.  I think I used up all of my tears in the year before his death.  I cried as I watched him struggle to breathe, his shoulders heaving, fighting for every breath.  I cried when his lifelong optimism shone through his sickness as he hoped for a cure while bravely undergoing poisonous chemotherapy treatments.  I cried as I watched him try to keep doing the little things he loved, like yardwork, even though he had to stop every little bit, bending over at the waist with his hands on the tops of his thighs, trying to catch his breath.  I cried when he finally gave up on the little things and resigned himself to staying in the house.  I cried when he forced himself to eat the meal placed in front of him, knowing that he wasn’t hungry and that the food held no flavor for him. 

I cried as I listened to him reassure my mother and me that he had lived a good life and was prepared to meet God.  I cried as I watched that horrible disease attack my father’s once strong body, leaving it an emaciated frame, too weak to stand under its own power.  I cried as he suffered through his final week here on earth; he, confined to his bed, me, lying helpless in a crumpled heap in his kitchen floor. 

It was hell.  They told me it would be.  And I hated them for telling me that.  And I hate them now for being right. 

I feel lost.  Not because so much of my identity was tied to my father.  To be honest, our relationship was far from perfect.  I’m sure he would have told you the same.  But as the only “local” child, I am responsible for helping my mother get through this.  And I don’t know how to do that. 

We are not emotional people.  We don’t share all of our feelings.  We deal with it… later.  We press on and assure ourselves that when we have a bit of time to ourselves, we will deal with all the hurt and anger and pain.  But it is a solitary process.  So, I’m not exactly sure how my mom is doing, other than she now has the attention span of a gnat.  I try to be the one she can lean on when she has a bad day, when she can’t find her car keys, when her Internet isn’t working.  I try to make it better for her.  That’s my goal:  to make my mom’s life better. 

However, I still have a loving husband at home who is used to being the center of my world.  He has been wonderful through the whole process.  Even when his co-worker noticed how much time I had been spending at Mom’s house and asked him if I had left him and moved back home, he kept his sense of humor.  But he needs my time and my help, too.  And I really am trying to be there for him.  And I’m failing miserably. 

And then there’s me.  As selfish as it sounds, I need some time alone.  It doesn’t have to be time at the spa or shopping or even in a warm bath – although all of those sound nice.  It can be while I’m doing laundry or cleaning up around the house.  I just need some time when it is just me, alone, to recharge.  And I’m not getting it.  And I’m starting to crumble.  But there is no time for that.

And so I will press on.  Blindly trying my best to be the person I need to be to help those I love while we all try to work through this time.  They didn’t tell me about this part.

 

Identity in Crisis

Who are we?  Are we the best thing we’ve ever done?  Or are we defined by the worst thing we’ve ever done? 

When you’ve known a person your entire life and they’ve been nothing but loving, helpful, loyal, and kind to you the whole time, is that who they really are? 

What if you found out they had committed an unspeakable act that hurt someone?  Does that change who they are?  Are they the kind, loving person you’ve known or were they actually a monster the whole time?

It’s so hard to know…  When you know someone so well, yet you never caught even a glimpse of the darkness inside of them...  Was the darkness always there?

If a good, caring person who laughed and loved and made the world a better place suddenly, inexplicably, and irrevocably indulges in a damnable act against another, then who are they? 

Are they the person who held your hand when you were scared?  The one who laughed with you and cried with you and only wanted the very best for you? 

Is it OK to keep loving them for who they were, even though it seems the rest of the world hates them?

I'm so sorry...

I’m not sure if this is how they do it everywhere, but around here, when a person dies, we typically have a visitation the evening before the funeral.  Visitations can be excruciating.  The family stands in a receiving line and welcomes each guest.  It is extremely tiring for the family, and it can be intimidating as a guest.  Even though I have been to countless visitations, and have stood in both the guest line and the family line, I still struggle with the process. 

As we stand in line, I try to watch the others and see how they interact with the family.  Do they shake everyone’s hand?  Everyone’s?  Do they hug?  Should I hug or shake hands?  What if the people in front of me are distantly related to the deceased and that’s why they are hugging the family and then I try to hug them and they’re freaked out because they really don’t even know me?

And beyond the initial contact, what the heck to I say to these poor people?  I really struggle with this.  The last thing I would ever want to do is to make one of the most difficult times in their lives even worse by a misplaced comment.  I tell myself that if I can’t go wrong if I speak from my heart, but my heart seems to suffer from stage fright which leaves me stumbling over my words and eventually having to resort to one of my two lifelines. Unfortunately, of those two lifelines, only one is really acceptable. 

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” is fairly standard and is probably the most commonly uttered phrase at a visitation.  If I stuck with that, and didn’t say anything else, I would probably be fine. 

However; I can’t seem to stick to the script and the phrase “You look really pretty,” tends to come out of my mouth instead.  In my defense, who doesn’t want to hear that they look pretty?  This line has led into some heartwarming stories about the deceased- for instance, once the widow’s earrings were an anniversary gift from her late husband and she shared that memory with me.

Other times, my “pretty” comment just gets me a blank look.  If I’m lucky, I can smooth it over with “I’m so sorry for your loss,” but at other times, I go even further off-script and end up leaving them even more confused. 

My only hope is that they will have no memory of my having been there. 

Goodbye, Old Friend

I know it may sound silly, but I never knew how much I could love a cat.  This little holstein cat captured my heart and made the past 17 years of my life better.  He sat with me when I was ill, loved me when I cried, and demanded nothing less than my full attention when he felt he needed it.  In return, I nursed him through injury and illness, told him he was a pretty cat and a good cat, and held him on my lap every chance I got.  Losing him is tearing me apart.  There are so many stories I could tell about this cat, but they are only special to me. 
Just know this: 

I loved this cat, and I will miss him. 

I Hate February

Every year, I dread having to face the cold, dark abyss that is February.  The weather is cold; unwelcoming and unforgiving.  It is a hostile month and in the past my only defense has been to slip into a sluggish state of depression. 

But not this year.  This year I pledge to face February head-on.  I will find a way to keep myself distracted from the dreadful conditions which always seem to accompany this month.  I will smile.  I will grow.  I will enjoy these 28 days and wish for more.  

Even though February is still two days away, I can already hear it laughing at me.  Taunting me.  Chiding me.  Daring me. 

Here’s to greeting the arrival of the lion or the lamb as a better, stronger person than I am today.

Looking for You

I look for you in the faces of strangers.  I wonder if there is another you out there, living a life.  You, but someone else.  I look for that spark in their eyes.  That little bit of recognition that tells me it’s you.  Sometimes I will see someone who walks like you or holds their shoulders the same way you always did, and I wonder if they can make awesome spaghetti sauce.  Or if they laugh out loud when they read Garfield comic books.  Or if they can program a mainframe. 

I wonder if their family appreciates them in the way I never thought to appreciate you.  I want to warn them that you are only here for a little while.  And I am jealous that they still have you.  Even though it’s not you at all.