Jan. 3, 2015
Day 578
My heart is weary tonight. After experiencing the relief that I had
survived the holidays, it's been a bit disheartening for this to happen. But tomorrow is Paul's birthday. Today I did my grocery shopping. As I got the items off the shelf I needed in
the baking aisle it hit me that I should also be picking up a marble cake mix
and a can of chocolate frosting. That
was Paul's birthday cake every year. I've never been all that creative in the
cooking department and Paul knew what he liked. I felt it when Sam, Ben, and I ate at Subway
for lunch - their choice, but I ate there many, many times with Paul because he
loved their food. And when I was loading
up the 12 bags of chips we go through in a month, I spied the chili cheese
fritos and remembered how delighted Paul was whenever I came home with a bag of
those. He'd squirrel them away in his
work van and snack on them in-between stops.
Sigh.
I decorated his grave yesterday for his birthday. As I did so, it occurred to me that for the
rest of my life I will be doing this (decorating). Ah, maybe not. Right now it's important to me, even more so
than it was a year ago, which seems a little odd. But I can forsee a day when the importance will
wane to me. I can't really imagine doing
it when I'm 97, either. His grave is
important to me and I put a lot of thought into what I wanted when I designed the stone. But I remember thinking that I would be
spending hours upon hours there and wanted it just right. I even bought a collapsible stool in those
early days that I intended to keep in my van so that whenever the urge hit to
go see the grave I could whip my little stool out and have a handy place to
sit, away from the grass and dirt. Yeah,
that stool is now in Will's dorm room.
It just never happened, except for maybe once or twice. And that's ok.
I am hoping to have my dad help me plant something up on
or around the actual grave next summer.
I still want it to look nice. And
right now, for whatever reason, decorating it seasonally has become
important. That's ok, too. I'm just going to roll with it.
We're supposed to get snow tonight. After our white November, we had a mild,
brown December. But now we're under a
winter advisory. The snow amounts don't
sound like more than inch or two, but it's going to be bitterly, bitterly cold
with 40 mph wind gusts tomorrow. I'm
dreading it. But Paul would have been
very pleased to get snow on his birthday.
I have two apple pies ready for the oven and a five
gallon bucket of vanilla ice cream in my freezer. We'll get some fried chicken after church
tomorrow (if we have church, with the projected weather) and we will, once
again, enjoy Paul's favorite foods as we remember him.
***************************
And so, it's a new year.
A year ago, the Littles and I brought in the new year by crying at
Paul's grave - not the best way to start a new year, but it happens
sometimes. This year we went to church
again for the soup supper and I hung around until a little after 9. I was ready to leave before then, but it's so
much work to load everyone up and get them corralled, zipped into coats, and
into their seats in the van, that I tend to put it off as long as I can. In fact, on the way to church that night I
thought to myself, "Why am I doing this (going to
church)?" I couldn't think of one
good reason, but I kept heading west anyway.
I finally got Ben and the Littles loaded up and in bed by
10:30. You would think that meant I got
to sleep in really late the next morning, but these things rarely work out like
one might hope! So, I took my shower and
got into bed and flipped on NBC. I've
watched the ball drop most New Year's Eves of my life. But as I laid there, it occurred to me that I
didn't really want to watch a bunch of strangers smiling, kissing, and
overpaid entertainers rocking in the new year.
Maybe I'm starting to listen to myself more, figuring out
just what it is I do want to do, rather than what I think I should be
doing? I don't know. I do know I've
spent an awful lot of energy the last 19 months trying to figure out what it is
widows are supposed to do. I
wasn't ready to go to sleep yet and I eventually figured out that what I wanted
to do, in that moment, was read my new widow book. So I did.
And it was quite pleasant. I had
the lights out before midnight, which was fine - nobody to kiss, anyway. But I did happen to roll over towards the
clock at exactly 12am. So, I saw the new
year in after all.
*****************************
My new widow book I referenced is called, Confessions
of a Mediocre Widow by Catherine Tidd.
It was a complete impulse buy. A
quote from her popped up on my Facebook.
I checked out her blog, which made me laugh, and I immediately went to
Half.com and ordered her book. She was
31 in 2007 when her 34 year old husband was killed in a motorcycle accident,
leaving her with three kids ages 5 and under.
I am loving the book.
The author is a very funny writer.
I love how the most tragic, serious things in life can also be laced
with humor. It's everywhere, even in the
darkest of pits, if you just look for it .
I'm fairly certain the author is not a Christian,
though. That has the wheels in my own
brain turning. Actually, these wheels
have been turning for about 4 months now and I'm strongly suspicious that God
is prodding me to write my own book on widowhood. The reason I know it is because I keep
feeling this poke, poke, poke in my heart and it feels exactly like it
did five years ago when God was informing me that I needed to consider adopting
more children, even though was very content with what I had already.
But I don't know if I'm quite ready. I do know that, at some point, I'm going to
sit down at my monitor and be very intimidated by the first white page of Word
staring back at me - a page that is supposed to become page one of my
story. I am dubious that 19 months is
long enough to have learned anything worth imparting. I've still got widow's brain which means that
most of the time I'm functioning in a fog and have trouble following
conversations that last more than three minutes. I'm finding that peri-menopause brain is very
similar to widow's brain...it's a miracle that I'm able to get out of the house
these days with both shoes on and no tags sticking out of the front of my
shirts...not that I'd be aware of it if I was partially shoeless or wearing my
shirts backwards. But fuzzy brains and
writing don't go together so well.
I look at the row of books on widowhood on my bookshelf
and I wonder why it is I think the world needs
another one. At the same time, I
have had a sense of disatisfaction with every one I've ever read. It's probably just because every widow's
story is so unique that no other writer is going to be able to capture my
experience except for myself. But why
put in the time and effort to write something, pay someone to edit it, pay
someone else to design a cover, and more than likely pay some company to
self-publish it, when only my mother and a couple of friends might read it?
And just when do I think I'm going to have time to do
something like this? Already, writing
these few paragraphs, I've been interrupted numerous times and have turned into
a very growly monster as a result. All
they want is some of my time, but I'm considering taking away more from my kids
just so I can write. That doesn't seem
fair to them. So, do I wait another 15
years until they're all grown?
And, just as I have asked Him for months, God is finally giving me some
clarity on my future. It is looking like
it's going to involve full-time employment in about 3 years and going back to
college somewhere in there. I'm still
wrestling with all that because I don't want to do either, really. But I am fond of my current lifestyle and
would prefer to not have to sink to poverty levels once Social Security dries
up. So how does writing fit in with all
this?
I do not know. I
don't know anything. But what I do know
is this persistent knocking on my heart and how I keep thinking things and then
immediately follow it with, "That needs to go in my book!" I had been thinking about this a great deal
last fall but then when I fell into the holiday pit I found myself really
doubting my ability. It seems like I
don't have enough capability to hold my own life together - what makes me think
I could ever be of encouragement to someone else wading through the same deep
waters? But now, reading this book, I'm
starting to re-gain some of my confidence.
I am planning to meet with a couple of authors sometime
in the near future. Once just published
a book about her daughter's death and the other has a book on the Christian and
suffering coming out this winter. It
would probably be good to tap their brains.
Maybe they'll tell me I'm nuts for toying with this idea now and I need
to save this kind of effort for when I'm really old and have figured out what
it was I supposed to have learned from losing my husband at a young age. We'll see what happens, I guess.
*****************************
I worked on a couple of different projects this week,
neither of which involved any writing.
Monday night I re-did my bathroom wall.
I am so proud of that thing, even though I think now my bathroom looks
like the restroom at a BBQ joint would.
That wasn't really the look I was going for! But I'm still pretty pleased. Monday, Will and I went to Menards and he
helped me pick out boards and glue. That
evening he hauled Paul's circular saw onto the front porch and showed me how to
operate it, along with a caulking gun.
After that, the project was mine. And I did a good job! And, wow - that saw sure has some power! What's kind of scary, now that I think about
it, is that I was operating that thing under only the light of my dim front
porch light and the Christmas lights out there!
But I still have all ten fingers, so I guess it worked. I just wanted to get it done that night.
I spent New Year's Day painting my hallway. It's now a warm taupe color. Will thinks it makes the hallway look
smaller, which it probably does. But I
think it also makes it have a cozier feel.
*******************************
I thoroughly cleaned the girls' room this week, too. I never did find Ellie's other brown church
shoe. She stashed that thing somewhere
good. It's probably in the same place
she put her white sandals last summer.
Those have yet to be found, too.
I was up there one morning this
week and she was still sleeping. She
roused as I walked in, stretched, and exclaimed, "Oh, I had a good nap,
Mommy!" I guess so - about a ten
hour one!
****************************
We go to court this Friday for Ben's guardianship
hearing. I don't want do it. I find courtroom situations stressful. It's kind of like when I see cop on the
road. I immediately slow down and start
sweating, even though I'm perfectly innocent.
I just don't like courtrooms.
I suppose there's an element of sadness, too. Normally, when a child hits age 18, the
parents see freedom in their new future.
They've raised the child and sometime in the next few years, that child
is going to fly away to start their own life.
But with Ben, I'm having to petition the court for legal responsibility
for him because he still needs me. This
isn't the way things are supposed to go.
And, I'm getting increasingly concerned about what this
is going to cost me. My attorney, as
most attorneys do, bills by the hour, and he seems to be racking up quite a few
of them as we prepare to go to court.
Ben's case manager has been helpful to me as I've been
preparing. She called me a couple of
weeks ago and suggested I get a copy of Ben's neuropsychological evaluation
that was done in April to present to the court as evidence, which I did. While talking, she casually mentioned that
Ben's IQ score from that test, which puts him squarely in the category of
having a mild intellectual disability.
None of this is news to me. Well,
the score itself was, but it's not a news flash that Ben does not function at a
typical 18 year old level. I have been
dealing with this reality for his entire life.
But it hit me like a fist to the heart when she told me. I don't quite understand that, really.
Ben has had a harder break. He is really agitated lately that he doesn't
have the same authority over the Littles that his brothers do. He tries to intervene in different situations
and it makes the problem ten times worse.
He then gets very angry, which ticks me off. He has also seemed to be perverserating a lot
more than normal lately. At any rate,
I'll be glad to see that school bus Monday.
If there is school with the cold and weather they're predicting!
He hasn't been only trouble. Several mornings I have found him quietly
reading his new Bible. That warms my
heart. He also, completely on his own,
took it upon himself to organize my food storage containers. That shelf has taken on a life of its own, to
the point that I've been throwing containers in there and then slamming the
door before they can tumble out to the floor.
I've even been toying with the idea of throwing them all away and
starting over with new containers and lids.
But he took the time to take them all out and stacked like sizes
together and now that shelf is very manageable.
****************************
Guess who found his wallet with his brand-new driver's
permit in it? It wasn't David, that's
for sure! Will butchered the deer this
week with a friend. We keep the meat
grinder in the laundry room next to the laundry rack. When he moved the rack to get the grinder,
the wallet was laying underneath. David
must have had it in a pants pocket in Nov. and sent the pants into the laundry
where the wallet then fell out. I have
been praying and praying we'd find that thing!
I have been letting David do the driving up to City Hall
every evening when he collects his water sample for his job. I have been pleasantly surprised with what a
good job he does on these city streets.
Maybe driving will come a little easier to him than I was anticipating.
****************************************
One thing I am sorting through in my
mind as I read this widow book is the author's tales of "visits" from
her husband and "messages" she has received from him through
mediums. That kind of stuff makes the
hair on the back of my neck stand up, as it should to all Christians. I want to say it's purely demonic in nature
and her husband is probably not aware of these messages she has been
given. But they're coming from
somewhere. Part of me is almost jealous,
though, because there have been times I would like to have a "sign"
from Paul. There have been a couple of
dreams that I'm pretty confident were not just random couplings of stuff
floating around in my head. They seemed
to be designed to impart a message. But
I've always taken that as a message from God, not from Paul. I'm still thinking through all this. It isn't just this book, either. I've heard stuff like this from lots and lots
of widows and I always feel kind of left out because I've never felt a tap on
my shoulder or had Paul's ghostly image sit at the foot of my bed to impart a
final message. I'm sure it's a good
thing, actually, because then I might have to question my salvation if I did
see these things. I may seek some
counsel sometime when I can figure out what it is I want to know, exactly.
*******************************
Here's my Facebook post from Tuesday
night. I don't have a whole lot here to
add to what I wrote, other than I was doing more than "fighting"
tears. They were pouring down my face at
one point. I was glad for the darkened theater. Before the movie started, the girls and I
walked in and there were two ladies and a little girl in there. They saw us and immediately nudged eachother,
quickly summing up our situation in their minds. After that they were super nice to us,
offering popcorn to the girls, who were more than happy to receive it (because
I'm too cheap to buy them their own movie popcorn). For awhile as we waited, Lizzie sat with the
girl and the two of them were chatting.
Lizzie motioned back to me, and I heard her say, "That's the lady
that adopted me." What?! I mean, yes, I am, but I'd rather hear her
say, "That's my mom." I think
they must have been talking about adoption, though. Anyway, this is what I wrote:
We had a family night tonight, sort
of...While the boys went down the theater to hall to watch some hobbits or
something the girls and I saw, "Annie." With the girls' background, I had a few
reservations about watching the movie. I
wasn't sure what kind of emotional fall-out I'd be mopping up afterward. But when Lizzie found out the main character
was played by a little black girl, she wanted to see it in the worst way. And so we went. It was fun and mostly light-hearted -a "feel good"
movie Actually, I ended up being the one
fighting tears for the last third. Its
themes of abandonment/foster care/adoption touched on exposed places in my own heart. Plus, the main character reminded me so much
of my Lizzie! The credits began to roll
and Ellie hopped off my lap, free from my restraining arm at long last. I had been absent-mindedly stroking Lizzie's
curls for some time with my other hand.
She snuggled up closer and breathed in my ear, "I love you,
Mama."
Sheer thankfulness flooded my
soul. Beautiful things do come from the
hard and difficult. It just takes time.
***********************************
Yesterday was the Hawkeye bowl game. They performed miserably. They were playing in what used to be called
the "Gator" bowl in Florida.
Only, money must have exchanged hands and the name has changed to the
"TaxSlayer" bowl. I assume
that's a business name. Only, I could
not keep that straight in my head and kept thinking, "Tax-Evader
bowl."
*********************************
Last night Sam wanted to know who it
was that discovered the earth is round and not flat. I told him I thought it was Galileo and Sam
excitedly said, "Oh, I've heard of him!
Then he went on to say, "I just love the sound of 'Galileo' - it
sounds like a piano!" I thought
that was a very poetic expression coming from my normally very practical and
unromantic little boy. He then added
that he thought "Beethoven" was the perfect name for a pianist, too
because it sounded so "musical."
I'd like to take credit for all these deep thoughts and the fact that my
7 year old is familiar with greats like Galileo and Beethoven, but truthfully,
he probably got it all from PBS.
And, as it turns out, I misinformed
him. It turns out that some Greek
scientist named Pythagorus was the first one to decide the earth was
round. He has kind of a musical sounding
name, too, though.
*******************************
I bought the girls a book for
Christmas entitled, I'm a Pretty Little Black Girl. It had good reviews on Amazon and I thought
it would be a nice addition to their "black girl" book
collection. It is a cute book as a
little girl narrates her day, comparing her different friends to different
brown foods. It's kind of similar to
another book I got the girls earlier.
But as we read the book the first time, I was surprised when, at the
end, the little girl talks about getting out of her bed and dancing around her
bedroom, watching herself in the mirror because she's such a "pretty
little black girl!" I thought that
was a bit narcissistic sounding. Being
appreciative of God's gifts is one thing - gloating in front of the mirror is
another. In the story, Mom hollers up the stairs that the pretty little
black girl had better get her heiny back in bed (or something like that -
that's what I would say if I was the mom) but the little girl has to
continue to parade and twirl in front of her mirror because "I'm just so
pretty!" Lizzie was horrified. She exclaimed, "Mom - she's being
disobedient!" I did a mental
fist-pump right there. Yes-s-s...she's
getting it!
******************************
A friend of mine posted on Facebook
this week, asking her friends to list the worst and best parts of 2014 on her
wall. I sat there and thought. I really did.
But I couldn't think of a single thing and ended up just scrolling down
my feed instead.
That has bothered me ever
since. Shouldn't I be able to figure out
something like that fairly quickly? If
it had been 2013, it would have been easier.
I would listed our 20th anniversary trip as the best thing and Paul's
death as the worst. But 2014 was
different. There were good things that
happened during the year - finishing my house, our two trips, the other
"family" things we did together, Ben's solo at the Christmas program,
Will's start of college...but I can't look at any one of these things and say,
"This was the BEST thing" because they're all kind of a blur in my
mind. The specialness of everything was
obscured by the pain of existing. And
maybe that was the worst thing of 2014, the fact that I had to keep putting one
foot in front of the other, while hurting so much. I couldn't give up even though I wanted to
many times.
So what will 2015 be like then? At the end will I be able to say, this
was the best and over here, this was the worst? I don't know. My fear is that grief will continue to dog me
and that I won't be able to shake free from its sharp talons. New Year's Eve night I looked into the
bathroom mirror after brushing my teeth and thought, "I'm tired of
this. I want to live
again!" If my life was a movie, I
would immediately buy a new wardrobe with lots of red in it, I would start
college classes next week and be climbing the corporate ladder by June. I would throw open the blinds in my house
(which are already open, actually, mostly because I usually forget to shut them
at night) and give the house a thorough cleaning. You'd see my sweating on my new treadmill as
I shed this extra weight and reading books with titles like, "Be the Best
You!" or "Embrace your Future!"
But my life isn't a movie. I'm tired of living in the abyss of grief but
at the same time, I'm terrified of taking steps away from it. All the same, though, I'm inching towards
that future - with more timidity than confidence, but it's still progress.
Someday, I'll live again. It may not happen in 2015, but I'm getting
closer.
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