Day 559

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

December 14, 2014

Day 559

What a week it has been.  And I don't mean that in a good way!  I'm not even sure where to start...

I'm struggling.  I know I've mentioned this numerous times already as we've moved into the holiday season, but I really am.  I am becoming convinced, though, that it's not all emotion and grief and loss.  I was talking with a nurse friend yesterday, describing what's going on and she said, "This is totally menopausal stuff."  I haven't had a single hot flash yet so I'm probably a number of years away from having the whole process over and done with, but it is nice to know that there may be a reason why I'm such a mess.

That's one component.  The other is loss and that's very real right now.  Very real.

I am not much of a crier, by nature.  But the skin around my eyes is chapped right now.  Friday I sobbed, off and on, for about 5 hours straight.  I do not cry in front of the kids by design.  I don't want to freak them out. They need the stability of knowing that Mom is ok, which means they are going to be ok, too.  So, sometimes that cork just pops.

Everything has just been building to a crescendo inside me.  I went a week with a migraine, which was not helpful.  More than likely, it was hormone-related, I realize now.  I'm figuring out my future and I find that I am mourning  afresh the loss of the plans Paul and I had.  It breaks my heart that my younger kids are not going to have the stability of a stay-at-home mom and that I probably will not be homeschooling much longer.  I worry about money.  I have teenager issues - normal stuff, but stuff I'd sure prefer to pass off onto a dad.  I feel tremendous pressure about vehicle and home maintenance stuff.  It's all there and it all builds inside and even though well-meaning friends toss Bible verses my way, it is hard to grab onto them at times.

And there's just the ever-present grief, as well.  I miss him.  When will that stop?

Friday I was scheduled to meet with Marcia for our normal Bible study.  I got in my van for the 22 minute drive and wasn't even out of our little city before the tears started.  I cried all the way to church.  I   climbed up the steps to Marcia's office and she asked, "How are you doing?" and I began to cry harder.  She held me and I just sat in there and cried and cried for an hour straight.  And I cried all the way home, but managed to pull myself together for the kids.   But I spent a lot of time in my bedroom that night, so they wouldn't see me because those tears just wouldn't stop.

This morning Marcia asked if I had gotten all the tears out and wouldn't  you know it - my eyes began to well up immediately and I just prayed nobody else would ask how I was doing as I went to get my coat and the kids.

I hate this.  I want to be strong, but wet eyes have a way of making me feel very weak, worthless, and vulnerable.  I want to be that person everyone looks at, nods, and agrees that she has it all together.  Why, look at the terrible things that have happened in her life, but she's so strong, regardless!  Instead, I'm a hot mess of tangled emotion, tears, and hampered decision making.

And, apparently, I'm also stressed.  Or so I've been told.  My friend, Jenny, gave me some lotion last week from Bath and Body, called "Stress Relief."  I love it.  It smells so good.  I keep it on the shelf right inside my bedroom door and whenever I walk in, I put some on my hands.  David saw that and commented, "Well, it's a good thing she gave that to you because everyone knows you're so stressed!"  What?

Then, Monday, my friend, Deb was here because she's going to start working with Ben for his SCL services and she earnestly told me, "I know you have so much stress in your life and I want to help."  And then later in the week, our mayor told me, "Sarah, you have too much going on in your life right now!" and then he insisted on setting up a play date later in the week for his daughter and my girls who are all about the same age.

The truth?  Yes, there is stress.  But, I don't think I'm drowning in it.  Maybe.  Or it's more of of factor than I recognize yet.

But the nice thing is that people care.  I could be going through all this and I could be alone, which would be far, far worse.

Yesterday, a sweet teen from church came home with us from program practice.  She did all my Christmas wrapping, which is a LOT of presents when you have a big family.  I had supper ready for the kids and for the hunters, but she cooked it all so I could leave the house for a few hours.  She washed my dishes and swept my kitchen floor, and bathed the girls and even washed and detangled their hair, which is a big job.  This morning Lizzie informed me that she wishes Arien could do her hair every time because "she's gentle Mom - not like you.  You YANK, YANK, and YANK my hair!"

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The kids are having fun with the gifts from Amanda the Panda.  Every day they excitedly ask who gets to open one today.  They're all buried now underneath the other presents.  I'll have to have the kids dig them out.  Ellie was given a 24 pack of play dough for one of her gifts from them.  My first thought was, "Somebody there really must hate me..."

I am not a fan of playdoh.  It gets in carpeting.  It gets in clothing.  Kids mash the colors together which always upsets another, neater child.  It dries out.  But the Littles all had a ball with it.  But Sam did get upset when the the girls seemed to prefer gooping all the different colors together and even hid the containers of the colors he was interested in so the girls couldn't mess them up.  So, against my better judgement I bought him his own 24 pack of playdoh this week and now it's wrapped up and under the Christmas tree.

I'm a good  mom.

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I finally called my neurologist on Tuesday because after six days, my headache was not letting up.  He said he didn't think I was in any danger of another stroke, but I probably should do something to get rid of the headache and he recommended I get an infusion.  I had never heard of such treatment.  I have heard of migraine shots, but not IVs.  As time goes on, I am losing a lot of my faith in the entire medical profession.  I questioned the nurse who called me back on Tues, explaining about the possibility of the infusion.  I asked if this was something that I would need a driver for.  She said, oh, she really didn't think so.  But then she mentioned that benedryl is given first.  I've taken benedryl before and I know how it affects me!  If a couple of pink and white capsules can make me a little loopy I could only imagine what benedryl flowing directly into my veins might do.  So I called Will and he was willing to drive down after classes on Wed and take me to the hospital.

On Wednesday, I set up the appointment at the hospital because I still had a headache.  They told me that I would need to sign an agreement stating I would pay anything insurance wouldn't cover.  I said that was fine, but asked how much the procedure typically runs.  The nurse said she wasn't sure, but thought it was just a few hundred dollars.  Oh, well, that's fine.  I'm willing to pay a few hundred dollars to get rid of a week-long headache. 

So Will and I arrived and they hooked me up to the IV and then handed me the paperwork.  To my horror, I saw that the drugs were just a few hundred dollars, but the nursing care was being billed at nearly $1500!  I didn't know what to do.  I already had this needle in my arm, but if my insurance doesn't pay, then I'm going to get a nearly $1800 bill.  I seriously thought about pulling the needle out and leaving. 

But then I'd still have a headache.  And what if my neurologist was wrong?  What if this prolonged headache meant I was going to have another stroke?  I can only imagine the devastation to my family if I became incapacitated by another stroke.  So I went through with the procedure.

It was horrible.

I hope I never have to endure this again.  I was told the entire procedure would take 30 minutes, tops.  I was there for over two hours.  The meds made me sleepy at first, but that quickly turned to jitteriness.   My heart raced and literally, for nearly the entire time, my body shook uncontrollably as I laid in the recliner.  My emotions were on edge and I remember feeling like I just wanted to wail out loud about over Paul, which is something I haven't done since about day two on this widowhood journey - lots of tears, certainly, but no loud sobbing.

But - the procedure did shake the migraine that had such a ferocious grip on my skull.  I came home and dozed for the next three hours on the loveseat.  Why I picked that and not the couch where I could stretch out, I have no idea.  David and Will did a great job of keeping the Littles occupied downstairs.

I went to bed early and the next day I felt a little more back to normal but it wasn't until late afternoon of that day, a full 24 hours after the infusion, that I felt completely myself again.

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So, I'm already sick about the possibility my insurance may  not cover this treatment.  I had a dentist appointment the next day and went to that.  I've had a broken molar since late May and have known that it will have to be taken care of.  I've just been praying I could live with it until Jan. 1 when my dental insurance will start to cover things.  The dental office laid out my options.  I can attempt a crown which will be $1000, after insurance.  But they don't think that's going to work because there's not a whole lot of tooth left and it's broken right at the gum line.  They're really pushing for an implant which will be $3000, after insurance.  I'm leery about the idea of putting something artificial into my body, as well as spending that much money.  I could do a bridge, for the same money, but that's putting a lot of stress on teeth that already have fillings and could break, themselves, at some point.

The idea of spending all this money on my mouth just sickens me.  I think I'm going to visit another dentist and  seek a second opinion before committing to anything.  I like these people at my dental office and don't want to hurt their feelings, but $3000 is a LOT of money.

But, along those same lines I did have something encouraging happen the same day.  In June I had to go to endodentist for something - a root canal, maybe?  I can't remember but it was something my dentist didn't want to touch and since the waiting period on my insurance wasn't up, I'd be responsible for all of it.  But I was dying and couldn't not have the work done.  I got the bill in late summer, wrote the check, but just didn't feel a peace about mailing it.  Probably because it was over $800!  So it sat on my desk and it sat.  I finally called the office this fall and asked if they would give me a discount if I paid in cash (rather than make payments).  They said no.  So I let the bill sit some more, not really sure what to do.  I know I had a responsibility to pay, but at the same time I didn't want to pay the whole thing.  I finally received a letter a couple of weeks ago letting me know that my account was dangerously past due, which I knew, of course.  I thought some more.

And last week I finally sent them a letter.  I explained that I wanted to clear my account, but I was a bit baffled by their attitude of not wanting to accept less money.  I know how collection agencies work.  Typically, creditors lose 2/3 of the money owed to them in collection fees.  I pointed out to the office that I knew this and that it made not a whit of difference to me if I paid them directly or if I paid whatever collection agency they would eventually turn over my account to.  As a business owner, surely it would make more sense to accept a little bit less money up front. I offered to pay them 90% of the bill. I figured I didn't have anything to lose by sending the letter.

I had a voice mail on Thursday.  The office would be happy to accept the amount I offered.

I should have offered less!

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My attorney called Friday.  We have a court date on Jan. 9 for Ben's guardianship.  He is being appointed his own attorney by the court.  I am getting very nervous as to what this is all going to cost me in the end.  I envisioned a simple, quick, legal procedure and instead, it sounds like I have to go to court, armed with a doctor's statement, and prove that Ben is incapable of acting in his own best interests and that I should be allowed to do what I have been doing all along.

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I went to a dinner for single mothers last night with my friend, Sarah.  I arrived first so I sat in the parking lot and watched the other women exiting their cars and going into the church.  I thought to myself, "All these women are in the same boat I am in!" and it was both comforting and distressing. 

The dinner was nice and I enjoyed my time with Sarah.  I think the organization is called, "Single Parent Provision" and it seems like a really, really nice thing they've put together.  They just want to minister to the single mom.  We had the dinner, there were give-aways, and games, and a video, and at the end a group of ladies got up and led the attendees in a rousing version of "Overcomer" by Mandisa, which has been a strengthening song to me in the last year and a half.

But, still...there were things that bothered me.  I observed some of the women at the dinner.  Some looked downright cheap in their attitude and appearance and honestly, it wasn't a huge surprise to me that they were parenting solo.  I was the only widow at my table and I understand that.  Widowhood at my age is still pretty unusual.  All the women were talking about custody battles and visitation agreements and legal fees.  One turned to me and asked how many kids I had and I told her.  She gulped and exclaimed, "Well, is your ex a help at least with all of them?"  I was so startled by her question that blurted out, "Well, no - he's dead!"  That gal didn't have a whole lot else to say to me all night!  Later, one of the women at the table commented that I was "lucky" to not have all the stresses they had with their divorces and my friend, Sarah, was quick to point out that widowhood brought it's own share of stress and pain.  That was nice of her.

But it's true.  In many ways I am fortunate in the loss of my spouse.  Most single moms are dealing with a great deal of stress in dealing with their former husbands or boyfriends.  They don't have the cushion of a life insurance policy and they have children that have been terribly wounded by the break up of their family.

The woman who started this organization shared her story and hers was that she had a baby out of wedlock.  That pregnancy was what caused her to turn back to the Lord and she had a nice testimony.  Another woman shared how God used the pain of her two divorces to really bring her to Him.  I sat there and I thought, "I'm not like these people!"

I'm not.  I don't know that that fact makes me better than anyone, though.  I may have arrived at the road of Single Parenthood in a different and more unusual fashion, but I'm still traversing the same path they are.

And that makes for a commonality.  Like it or not, I'm here.  God has placed me on this road, even though I did nothing to get here myself.  And if He has me here, then I need to trust that there is something along this road that He needs me to learn.

And while I'm learning, He will be providing the strength, grace, comfort, and provision that I need.

I have to keep reminding myself of this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day 552

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

December 7, 2014

Day 552

Pearl Harbor Day...73 years ago today a whole lot of other women became sudden widows.  See - that's what I think of now.  My first thought is not the terrible loss of life that day, the parents who opened their doors to military personnel informing them that their sons had just been consigned to a murky graves in the Pacific Ocean, but for all the wives who were suddenly thrust into widowhood.

A friend at church was talking to me tonight.  She's older than me by probably twenty years.  Her brother-in-law succumbed to cancer three months ago.  His wife, my friend's sister, died yesterday morning after being diagnosed with cancer just three weeks ago.  I told my friend that I was sorry for the loss of her sister, but I couldn't find any reason to feel bad for her sister.  What a relief it  must have been to discover that she was going to get to rejoin her husband so quickly!  I'm envious. 

I've felt like I've been on the verge of tears all day.  Maybe it's the season.  Maybe I'm just tired.  Maybe it's my head.  Thursday I was awakened at 6 am with a terrible migraine.  I popped a prescription pill but it didn't do the trick.  That day I had the worst migraine I have had in years and years.  It's not  my sinuses like I had thought earlier that same week.    It was so terrible I was nauseated for most of the day and I had to forget my to-do list and crawl into my bed for awhile.

By evening it had lifted somewhat and I was able to keep my plans to go out with some ladies from church.  That was special.  The ladies treated three of us to supper in Des Moines and I was given a wonderful Christmas present that really touched me.  But that migraine was terrible. That morning I had to take David to the dermatologist and then I had to spend an hour and half at the bank with the mayor.  I thought I was just going to pass out, right in both offices.  It's four days later and the headache has not completely left yet.  I have taken way too many pills and I'm going to have to get a refill soon.  This morning I awoke kind of dizzy and that hasn't gone away, either, although it's not as bad.

Are these just hormone issues? Am I on the verge of menopause?  Or, should I call my neurologist?  But he'll want to see me and I do not have time for a visit.  And then he'll want to put me on a daily headache pill and I've tried those and I don't like them because they have some bothersome side effects.   But in the back of mind (the part that's not in pain) I am very cognizant of the fact that often migraines precede strokes.  I don't have time for that, either.  Maybe I'll feel better by tomorrow morning.

I need to feel better by tomorrow.  I have an absolutely insane week ahead.  Will and two, potentially, three, hunting buddies are spending the weekend here.  That means I have to cook and clean like a madwoman all week.  Hunters get awfully  hungry after traipsing through the woods all day long.  I was planning to get up at 4 to make them breakfast both mornings but Will told me he'd rather take care of that because he's not overly fond of my pancakes.  I'm so relieved that I don't have to get up that early that I'm not even going to be offended by the fact he doesn't want my pancakes!

I also have a city council meeting this week which will involve a full day up at City Hall.  Plus, I have to go to the dentist and I can't reschedule that because I already did one time already.  And I have a Bible study with Marcia. Tomorrow, Ben's new SCL worker is coming over for the first time so I need to write some things out for her and Ben has his school Christmas program tomorrow night.   Too, too much...

Plus, it's Christmas and I'm struggling.  I've probably mentioned that once before.  Or twice. 

But, I'm typing out all this emotion and recognizing that I sound like a real whiner.  Good things are still evident in my life, despite all the complaining I do.

I'm starting to develop some clarity on my life plans - what needs to happen to make the rest of my life tolerable and to be in a position to provide for my family.  That actually scares me a bit because it's going to involve huge life changes that I really don't want to make.  But it's an answer to prayer because I've been praying that God would show me what to do.   I need to seek some more counsel before totally committing to what I'm thinking, but the wheels are turning - mentally, anyway, at this point.  It's good.

I got to go to Council Bluffs on Friday and spend the whole day with Kathy.  That's always a good thing!  I pulled off at the Underwood exit to program my GPS before driving into Council Bluffs.  Then, Will called me at the same time.  So I'm talking to him and backing out of my parking spot to get back on the interstate when two Subway employees come running out of the building and tell me my van is overheating and I need to not drive.  What?  I can see a little steam or something coming out of my hood, but my temperature guage isn't showing I'm overheating.  I know there's plenty of antifreeze and water in the thing.  I pop the hood and the one employee tells me my fan isn't going.  Of course, by this point my heart is hammering.  Being stranded - especially two hours from home - is right at the top of my Things to Worry About list.  I'm talking to Will and he's asking me questions and the employees are telling me to go to this mechanic place that's  not too far away.  Will has me drive around for a bit and says, "Mom, I don't know what those people were smoking, but you're not overheating!"

I wasn't.  So the whole thing made me later getting into town to meet with Kathy.  It also made me kind of paranoid.  All the way home that night I kept my eye on the temperature gauge which never went above what it was supposed to - to the point that I neglected to watch the gas guage.  I was 30 miles from empty when I suddenly realized that the needle was clear down in the red zone!  I had no idea when the next exit would be coming and if I could get gas.  Fortunately, about 5 miles down the road I was able to get off and a new Kum and Go was right off the interstate.  All was well.

Kathy and I enjoyed our day together, of course.  I found a beautiful big, red, wooden "H" for the front porch.  Well, actually, I bought that in Des Moines.  I found them at a Kirkland's in Omaha but they didn't have an H.  So I stopped at Jordan Creek on my way home and bought they only H they had.  It makes me happy.  I positioned it on the bench I bought 16 years ago with Kathy.  We still talk about that bench!  We went to a huge craft show that fall in Omaha.  Kathy had her 4 month old daughter with her that day.  I bought this bench made out of fence boards - it's probably 4 feet across and very, very solid.  I remember I paid $50 for it. This craft show was on the outskirts of Omaha and very, very well-attended.  Parking was at a premium  and we had to park blocks and blocks away.  It was so cold.  We had the stroller stuffed with all our other purchases and then we had to haul this bench and push the stroller for blocks.  And I was newly pregnant and very sick with the pregnancy.  A lot of memories are attached to that bench -  not all good ones!  But my H will look nice on it.

Yesterday I took the  Littles to the Amanda the Panda party.  The kids loved it.  They had a scavenger hunt for the kids and at each location the kids got nice presents.  Then, we won a brand new teddy bear that was a table decoration.  We got to make an ornament to honor Paul.  The kids had fun stuffing it with tinsel.  There was a dessert buffet, although, surprisingly, my kiddos were more interested in the fruit bowl carved out of a watermelon. They each got to light a candle to honor their dad's memory.  Amanda the Panda is such a neat organization.

We got home, picked up Ben and David, and headed out to Jordan Creek.  Will met us there and we saw Kirk Cameron's new movie, "Saving Christmas."  I thought this movie was about how saying "Christmas" is becoming more and more politically incorrect and how we're expected to honor ALL December holidays with the same amount of enthusiasm we typically and historically have reserved for Christmas.  But it wasn't.  This movie addressed something else and I was so pleased about it.

I have been homeschooling since 2003 and I've met tons and tons of homeschoolers along the way.  Most are normal people, but there are some real nut jobs that homeschool, too.  In recent years, I've met a number of these nuts that are anti-Christmas.  They spout on about how Christmas trees are "pagan" and how Christmas itself is just a fancified version of the pagan holiday honoring the winter solstice.  They talk about how the Bible doesn't tell us to celebrate Christmas and in doing so, we honor Satan.  Plus, if you think about it, S-A-T-A-N is just like S-A-N-T-A - coincidence?  Not to them, it's not.  Some of these people won't celebrate Easter, which I don't quite understand, either. 

And then there are some Christians that aren't quite so extreme in their anti-Christmas stance, but they draw a clear line between what is acceptable at Christmas and what is not.  Baby Jesus is good.  Santa is bad.  Wise men and shepherds are good.  Reindeer are bad.  One twinkling star is good.  Stockings stuffed with goodies are bad.  There's "Christian" Christmas and there's the "secular" Christmas.

I remember talking with Paul about this and he would always say that Christmas must be pretty important if Satan and the world have worked so hard to get rid of it.  How delighted he must be that some Christians are now getting rid of it voluntarily!

This is what Kirk Cameron addresses.  The movie features his actual real-life sister (not the famous one, another one) and her husband.  The brother-in-law is a bah humbug type of guy, spouting all the reasons he thinks celebrating Christmas is just wrong for Christians - everything from how Christmas trees are just a form of idolatry to the fact that all the money we spend would be better used if given to the poor.  Methodically, Kirk addresses each objection.  The movie is both funny and very informative.  I learned things about Saint Nicholas I didn't know and I thought I knew that story.  His main point is that everything we do at Christmas - the lights, tree, gifts, Santa, stockings - ALL point back to Christ.  Granted, the unsaved and even many saved don't understand this. 

Anyway, I really appreciated the film.  Even though this particular holiday season is harder on me because of Paul's death, watching it made me want to embrace the holiday more than I have, typically.  It makes me want to be like my Grandma Daniels, who was crazy about Christmas when I was little.   She didn't even understand what she was celebrating.  I want to enter into it with her enthusiasm and desire to create magic for my children and future grandchildren.  But I can do it with the ability to teach them how each and everything we do at Christmas points to a tiny baby in a manger.

All week long, even before we saw the movie, Sam has been commenting to me that "we give gifts at Christmas because God gave us the best Gift!"  He picked that up somewhere and has been pretty excited to repeat it over and over.  He's right.  As Christians, we have the best reason of all to totally celebrate Christmas, to the best extent of our abilities and resources.

Sam has  also started adding two digit numbers in head, for no reason at all, other than he figured out how to do it.  So when he wasn't talking about gifts, he was saying things like, "Hey, Mom, want to know what 17 plus 32 is?"  He is definitely Paul's boy.

Afterwards, we went to Chik-fil-A, which was a treat.  They can get a little pricey, but we managed to get out of there for less than $30, which was really good.  My appetite hasn't been the greatest since Thursday, so Will and Sam got most of my chicken sandwich, but that was fine.

It was a good family night.

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As we were driving home today, I was appalled to see a police car and ambulance at my friends, James and Charlotte's house.  I stopped my van and ran into their house to see what was going on.  Of course, seeing the rescue vehicles brought back memories.  As I watched the paramedics work, I found myself wondering if they were the same ones who came to my house 18 months ago.  Charlotte had called an ambulance because she was fearful James was having a heart attack.  They took him away.  I texted their son tonight and it's just pneumonia, which is a relief.  But all that is a bit disconcerting.

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Last week I wrote on thankfulness.  I completely forgot about a quote from my pastor I wanted to sum up my thoughts with.  This is what he said last week:

"Anything that causes us to need God more is a blessing."

That really resonated with me, to the point that I wrote it in the flyleaf of my Bible.  There's so much truth to that statement.  Losing Paul has caused me to need God more than I have ever felt like I needed Him in my entire life.  That means that his death is a good thing.

It's something I've been chewing on all week.  I'm still not thankful he died.  But, without reservation, I am very, very thankful for the things I have learned the past year and a half.

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Well, I am sitting here, shaking.  I'm not sure if it's because my house is cold (Will is determined to make me save money and keeps the thermostat at a ridiculously low number.  I usually crank it up when he's not home, but he was home today so it's probably back down in the sub-arctic range) or if it has to do with this headache.  I've been kind of shaky since Thursday. I just found some Excedrine migraine in the medicine cabinet and popped one to give my brain a break from my Butabital pills.  It could be that, too.   I think I need to take a warm (boiling) bath and crawl under my electric blanket.  Some extra sleep wouldn't hurt, either.

Goodnight, World.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eighteen Months

December 6, 2014

Eighteen Months

One and a half years, exactly, today.  Compared to the many, many probable years that I have yet to live without Paul, eighteen months is merely a dribble in time, a drop in the bucket.  But right now - it's big. 

I've had a year and a half of living with a broken, bleeding heart.  For 18 months I've stumbled out of bed every day, determined to do what must be done, but without any real desire to do anything at all.  I've floundered in the darkness of my soul wondering at times just how it is I can be so broken, but yet, so capable - I still mother, I still cook, I clean, I educate children,  I pay bills, I write, I run a small city.  I guess you just do what you have to do.

Babies born about the time Paul died are now toddling about, babbling, drooling, and getting into things they shouldn't.  Maybe they have siblings on the way already.  My new life started eighteen months, ago, too.  But I don't think I have changed and developed as quickly as little humans do in the same period of time.  My growth - there, I know - has seemed incredibly slow and marked by many backward steps and falls.

But yes, I am growing.  I am changing.  I am not the same person I was 18 months ago today.  I wanted to keep her.  She had a somewhat comfortable life and I would have never chosen this rocky road I've been traversing for a year and a half.

But we don't get to always choose our roads.  I guess we can sit down and just cry and refuse to  move on our chosen path.  But where's the good in that?  Our road is our road.  We don't get to choose another. 

We only get to choose our response.

I haven't been any sort of heroine, though, the last year and a half.  There are still times I'm mad.  I'm sad.  I'm frustrated.  I'm ungrateful.  I'm envious of others.  I feel sorry for myself.  It's all there, mixed in with the better sides of new, personal,  development.

And slowly, with great irregularity, I am sensing  newer developments.

Last night I was in a home decor store.  I found what I was looking for, which was something for my front porch.  But, because I had no children with me, and nothing immediately pressing me for my time, I wandered around. I had a vague sense of wanting to find something else, but not knowing what it was.  Finally, near the check out counter, I found it.    I picked up  a little $3 ornament.  It's a red bird wearing a whimsical stocking hat sitting on a bed of snow.  The base reads, "peace." 

This is what's developing.  A peace is beginning to envelope my soul.  A peace that recognizes that Paul is forever gone until I die, myself, someday.  Oh, I'll see flashes of him in my boys from time to time, but he, himself, is gone.  He lived out his days and they finished.  I am finding that I can be peaceful about that.  I don't necessarily like the fact, but I'm not angry about it or even as upset as I have been.

I have a peace that comes from a year and a half of being carried in a way I can only describe as supernatural.  I can talk about it and explain it to others but until a Believer has felt themselves carried over the roughest parts of their journey, they can only understand so much of what I say.

It's not a perfect peace yet, but it's growing.

I bought the ornament and then left the store.  I had found what I was looking for.  I drove towards home and as I turned into our little town, I swung through the dark cemetery.  I stopped my van, scooped up the little resin bird, and walked over to Paul's headstone.  I placed the little figurine of peace right in front of his etched name.  It made me smile.

A lot can happen in a year and a half.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day 547

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

Dec. 2, 2014

Day 547

I think I'm fighting some sort of mild germ invasion.  I woke up at 5:45 this morning with a migraine-like headache, although I think it was my sinuses.  I didn't think I'd be able to sleep any more, but after popping a butabital pill I did fall back asleep.  I'm kind of sniffly and achy today, too, but it's not all that bad.  The headache keeps coming back, too.

But, I've had a couple of good things happen to me already today (it's only early afternoon).  The first was that I received a call from Learning RX - David is DONE!  Oh, my goodness.  It feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders to know we are finished running out there twice a week and spending an hour at home every day working on it and feeling guilty when I can't do that. 

David wasn't sure what to think.  I suspect he thought he'd be a little smarter at the end of this.  But I think he is.  No, he's not spouting algebraic algorithms but he has come a long way.  Maybe I just want to think that since I spent so much money on the program!  We do have to go back for him to take an assessment test to compare beginning and ending progress and then they want me to come back one more time to meet with me.  I am sure that will be where they put the screws on for me to sign up and pay for more sessions.  I'm not doing that, though.  I can't afford it, money or time wise.

The other thing that happened is that my friend, Sarah, who I mentioned in my last post, sent me an invitation to a Christmas dinner for single moms at Point of Grace church in Waukee in a couple of weeks.  I'm kind of excited about it.  The event sounds special and it will be so wonderful to be able to meet and talk with other moms who are trying to figure out how to do this parenting thing alone, as well.

At first, I wasn't quite sure how to make it work and I almost turned her down because that same day a sweet teenager from church is coming over to my house to wrap Christmas gifts for me. I wasn't sure how to make both work.  I thought about it, though, and in the end, this friend agreed to stay through the evening in order to take some of the load off David for babysitting.  So that is a real blessing.

I also just found out that this church offers monthly times where they will watch the children of single mothers so the moms can go out for up to four hours and get things done child-free.  I'm definitely going to look into that.  Waukee is a bit of a drive but I don't think it's all that much farther than W. Des Moines and I am out there all the time, anyway.  What a neat ministry this church has!

Oh and one more nice thing happened to us over the weekend: I was at Menards with Will on Friday and when I got home David motioned to me and said, "You need to come in the living room, Mom."  My first thought was, "What did somebody break now?"  To my surprise, there was this huge wrapped box.  Inside the box were 25 wrapped gifts.  David said that someone from Amanda the Panda had brought them out.  That is the grief services organization we went to group sessions with last winter.  The gifts are all labeled by person and date, so that someone is opening a gift every day up until Christmas.  I about cried.  What thoughtfulness!

The first gift was for yesterday and it was addressed "Family."  Inside, I found a kit for growing an amaryllis.  That makes me a little nervous because I have a 100% failure rate growing things.  But I may try this anyway, especially because of the note on top of the box:

This amaryllis plant was specially chosen for you for its symbolism.  It has only one stalk which makes it look very lonely.  It appears to have little or no life to it.  But with care and water, a beautiful flower WILL eventually bloom.  May this amaryllis plant be a visible reminder to you that YOU, TOO, WILL BLOOM AGAIN!  Like the amaryllis plant, take good care of yourself and remember that water, even tears, is important to its growth.

I sure hope I don't kill it!

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I put in four hours up at City Hall today.  I sorted the mail when I got there because it had been a few weeks since I'd been up there.  One letter was addressed to "City of Swan, care of Sarah Hollywood."  That made me laugh.  It was a vendor that I'd ordered a classified ad through - apparently a vendor with rather poor hearing.  But "Sarah Hollywood"  has a distinctive ring to it, don't you think?

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I received a Christmas card over the weekend addressed to "Paul and Sarah Heywood."  That was upsetting.  On the inside, it read, "Merry Christmas to Paul and family."  It was a hand-written, hand-addressed personal card from one of Paul's siblings.  My first thought had been well, maybe she'd been in a "zone" when addressing cards and wasn't thinking straight.  But Will saw this and said, "Oh, no, Mom - this was intentional.  She's making sure you know she doesn't consider you the head of this family."  Maybe.  I don't know.  I don't want to assume the worst when it could be explained as a momentary brain lapse.  On the other hand, I'm not even sure why we got a Christmas card, since this particular individual has been very vitriolic to me.  If it was meant to hurt, then it succeeded.  I didn't hang it with my other cards that are slowly trickling in.

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Yesterday Lizzie accompanied me while I shopped.  Her birthday money has been burning a hole in her pocket and she begged to bring it.  I've put her off as long as I can so I let her.  She eventually found what she wanted at a Frozen toy display at Younkers.  I was there because both Will and Sam needed jeans and I had a $20 off a $50 purchase coupon.  Plus, the jeans were already on sale, so I got a pretty good deal, I thought.  The clerk was very accommodating of Lizzie as she paid for her toy herself.  Lizzie had all kinds of questions about the check-out process and the  clerk took her time answering every one.  At one point Lizzie wanted to know what the credit card machine was for.  The clerk explained what it was but then told Lizzie she should avoid getting a credit card for a long time until she "had a job."  Lizzie replied, "Well, my mom has a credit card and she doesn't have a job!"  Thanks, Lizzie.  The clerk said, "Well, your dad probably has a job, right?"  To which Lizzie replied, "No - he's dead."  That poor clerk!  Of course, she was tripping all over herself apologizing for what she had no way of knowing.  She went on to tell me that she was a single mom, too.  She said hers was a divorce situation but it happened all at once and she never saw it coming.  It felt kind of nice to have that camaraderie even with a stranger.

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There's a commercial for a local window company airing right now.  I think it is the dumbest commercial.  It features a group of kids playing ball in a backyard.  A ball goes flying upward and the mom looks hopefully toward the arcing ball and then as the ball stops short of shattering her very new and nice-looking  window, she looks crestfallen.  In a moment of inspiration, she grabs a decorative ball thingy from inside the house and pitches it straight through the window on the inside.  Then she hollers out, "Oh, Honey - the window got broken - guess we'll have to call Window World!"  Give me a break!

But I felt so encouraged the other day after this aired.  Ellie watched the commerical and then, eyes wide, she turned to me and exclaimed, "That mom lying!  Bad!"  Yes!!!  She's understanding!  Actually, I'm pretty impressed that she was able to observe the commercial and gather her own opinion of what was happening without any of us saying anything.  This is a child who is quick to blame her sister for all her own misdeeds and I haven't known how much she has understood when I've punished her for lying.  But I've figured I have to start somewhere.

And I remember two years ago Lizzie was seeing a therapist who tried to tell me that children are incapable of differentiating truth from non-truth until at least 12 years of age!  As I recall, that was our last session with that therapist...

**********************************

So, this whole Ferguson thing has been on my mind.  I don't have any definite conclusions yet, but it continues to gnaw at me.  We watched the verdict read last week and I was honestly relieved to see that Officer Wilson was cleared on all charges.  But as the camera panned the gathered mobs and they began to gather steam in their anger and began shaking their fists Lizzie burst into tears.  She cried, "Why are all black people so bad?"  It hurt my heart.  I hastened to assure her that it wasn't a race problem, but a heart problem.  She agreed and dried her tears.

But here's the thing: it does seem like a race problem.  For the first time, I am more attuned to the complaints of black people because I now have black children.  It bothers me that someday I will probably have black grandsons who will have to be  more careful than their white friends when going out in public.  They must not appear too threatening.  They will be more likely to be pulled over while driving and suspicion will more quickly land on them than on their white counterparts.

But is this really racism?  Could it be that blacks, as a collective whole, have earned this?  After all, as a white woman I do tend to hold my purse tighter to my body and lock more vehicle doors more quickly when seeing a black man nearby.  Is that because I don't like black people?  No, of course not.  Obviously, if I had a problem with black people I would never have adopted black children!  Why is it then that I feel more threatened by black people than white people?  After all white people are just as capable of committing crimes against me.

It seems, though, that black community has a embraced a large percentage of negativism in many different areas.  For decades they've had the highest illigitimacy rate (although all other races are quickly catching up).  Those are the babies they haven't destroyed at Planned Parenthood's abortion mills.  More black babies are murdered by abortion than other race's.  I'm sure Margaret Sanger smiles to know this.  As a result of many different factors, blacks experience higher poverty rates which in turn, creates higher crime and drug involvement.  As a result of fewer fathers in homes and churches black youth are lacking needed direction and role models. Two thirds of all children in foster care in America are black.   All this, coupled with sins against them in past generations, creates an anger in the black community that is seen in rap music (a very angry type of music, if you think about it) and in demonstrations like we're seeing in Missouri. The cycle perpetuates itself in increasing degree with each generation.

On one hand, I get it - well, I think I do, anyway.  I'm sure the black people of the world would scoff that a 43 year old white woman who's never experienced a shred of racism in her life, would make that claim.  Blacks have historically not been treated well in our country, starting with, of course, slavery.  It took another hundred years after the Emancipation Proclamation for them to even begin to have the same opportunities that were given to whites as part of their birth right.  This is why the Civil Rights movement was so important.

But Civil Rights happened.  Nobody has to look very far to see successful black people today.  They're everywhere - even in the White House.  That's how it should be.  Not one race is superior to the other.  Ever.  It took a long time for our country to figure that out.

However, there is that anger I was talking about.  Many blacks today seem to have embraced an attitude of entitlement (and honestly, there are probably just as many whites with the same attitude of feeling they deserve all kinds of government handouts simply because they breathe).  Because in the past blacks were abused and treated unfairly they want whites to pay for that today and they look at us with the same suspicion that I may view a lone black male in a parking lot. 

Here's the thing: violence solves nothing.  Well, unless there's a war going on.  Ruthless leaders have to be quashed and the only way to do that is to obliterate them and their territory.  That's a biblical principle and we saw it in both world wars most recently.  But when a group of people turns to thuggery because they have a "point" to make they are nullifying their complaint.  Nobody is going to listen to you when you start burning businesses and overturning police cars and even murdering innocent people because you feel disenfranchised. 

Playing the race card serves no purpose either.  Does racism still happen?  Yes.  I will be saddened and upset, but  not be surprised if our own family encounters it at some point because of the girls.  It's an ugly fact that in a fallen world one group of people is always going to try to retain a false sense of superiority.  It's human nature.  Does racism happen like it did it sixty plus years ago?  Not very often.  What happened to Michael Brown was not a matter of the color of skin.  It was the color of his heart and the fact that he was threatening a police officer who only wanted to return home that night. 

Anyway, this is just a collection of incomplete thoughts rattling around in my head.  It's stuff I have to think about now because I have created a mixed race family.  I'm still pretty new to all this and my thoughts will probably evolve further with time.  But this I know: I am teaching my daughters that they are beautiful.  As I tell them, God "colored" them exactly the way He wanted them to be.  We talk about skin color all the time.  That's not my doing.  They've made it abundantly clear this is something they want to discuss.  It's obviously important to them at this juncture in their lives so I oblige.  But do you know what we talk about most of all? 

The color of their hearts.  Heaven is going to be filled with all different shades of people - God's personal paintbox.  But what we will all have in common is our hearts - once black with sin but washed white by the red of Jesus' blood.  I can talk ad nauseum to the girls about racism and race relations but it pales to the importance of what happens inside us.

I don't have all the answers for what's going on Ferguson.  The situation there is being debated upside down and sideways by all sorts of pundits and people with letters after their names.  None of them agree with eachother.  I'm just a mom.  But I do understand something human hearts.  I can't fix Ferguson.  But I can point my girls - and my boys - to the One who can fix their hearts.

********************************

I had to go pick up Ben from basketball practice.  Lizzie was anxious to be of help in supper preparation so I told her she could help with browning the burger for tacos and if she wanted, she could put the tater tots on a greased pan.  I got home and discovered that everything was ready.  The tater tots had been cooked, the meat was chopped into very small pieces and a bowl of lettuce and cheese was neatly set out on the counter.  I praised David for his initiative in getting supper ready and he told me Lizzie had done it all.  I am in shock.  She is barely six years old!  I am suddenly seeing a much brighter future waiting for me...at least one where my presence won't be so needed in the kitchen!

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I walked into Sunday School Sunday and began to carefully choose where to sit.  It's my second week back to this class and I'm remembering now the difficulty that singleness presents to choosing seats.  I had forgotten for the few months I sat upstairs in a pew during class.  But I have to be careful.  I can't just plop down beside a friend because her husband might still be coming in and I don't want to take his spot.  If there are three spots available then I can take one and there will still be room for another couple who might come in later. But I can't take the middle seat.  It has to be on the end so that two seats will be together.  But if there are four spots then that's really unfair for me to take one because then two couples can't sit there.  I'll either have an empty chair beside me, which is ok, if a bit lonely, or I'll end up potentially breaking up another couple that might come in.  Am I thinking too much?  Probably.  But that's what I do.

So I went through all this mental figuring Sunday, finally slumped into my seat, and thought, "I am so tired of this."  I am tired of being single.  I'm tired of feeling like a third wheel. I'm just  tired, period.  Then, talk began of the class Christmas party this coming Saturday, for which I signed up.  I thought to myself, "I can't do this.  I'm NOT going to do this!"  And so I erased my name from the list.  Only, of course, the eraser had dried up and some bright-brain had attempted to erase ink with it at some point so rather than quietly erase my name from the list it is now smeared out with a bright blue smudge that screams, "Sarah changed her mind!  She's such an emotional wreck.  Why would you want to be friends with her?  She doesn't even have the emotional maturity to hang out with a few married couples for one evening! No wonder her husband died on her!"  Uh, huh.  That's exactly what it says.

Any other time of the year, I'd probably go.  These are my friends.  They haven't stopped being my friends because I'm no longer married.  In fact, most of them have bent over backwards in the last 18 months, trying to soothe my hurt.  But right now, at Christmastime, I can't do it.  I'm trying to convince myself that's ok.

Instead, I'm taking the Littles to an Amanda the Panda Christmas party that afternoon.  I got the invitation weeks ago and have waffled continually on whether or not to go.  I responded by email yesterday, at the last possible minute before the deadline.  Now we're committed.  No smudging my name out of this one.  Then, that evening we're going to meet Will after work and go see Kirk Cameron's new movie, "Saving Christmas."  And then we're going to eat at Chik-fil-A which will probably sit like a rock in my stomach because all fast food stubbornly refuses to digest any more.  But that's ok.  I'll be with who I want to be instead of trying to smile with a bunch of married people and pretend that I'm doing ok and try not to cry in front of them because you're not supposed to be a Debby Downer at the holidays.

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So, with the recent occurrence of Thanksgiving, I've been doing a lot of thinking on the subject of being thankful.  Specifically, I've been thinking about what it should mean in regards to being thankful for Paul's death.  I've listened to a number of people lately, read some articles all pontificating on the subject.  I even came very close to asking my pastor a couple of weeks ago if I was required to be thankful for Paul's death.  But just as I was about to ask, someone else came up to talk to him and I backed away.

I think I have figured it out, though, on my own.  1 Thess. 5:18 tells us "In everything give thanks..."  Some take this to mean that we need to be praising God for every bothersome, rotten, horrific experience that creeps into our life. 

I don't think so.  At least, not right away. 

We are told to give thanks IN everything, not necessarily FOR everything.  Semantics?  Not necessarily.  I believe we are to have a spirit of thankfulness in every circumstance that we find ourselves.  The apostle Paul talked about this very thing.  In regards to Paul's death, I have found many, many things for which to be thankful from day 1.  I'm thankful for many of the circumstances surrounding the death itself.  I'm thankful for the overabundance of help, care, and concern we still continue to receive today.  I am thankful that we live in country that has a safety net in place to care for families suddenly thrust into these kind of circumstances.  I am thankful for the Holy Spirit's comforting presence and for the wisdom God has continued to endow me with the last 18 months.

But I am not thankful Paul died.

I miss him so much at times my entire body aches.  Although the future is gradually becoming a bit brighter, I still have a hard time envisioning it without Paul's presence.  I want him back.  I would give anything for the circumstances of June 6, 2013 to be anything other than what they were.

Last week I wrote about Ben and how I was realizing that I was thankful that he was handicapped.  This is a new realization and if you had asked me even a year ago if I was thankful that he had been brain injured at birth I would have probably answered, "no."  Sure, I could rattle off a list of things I was thankful for in the circumstance of what happened in his life, both at the time of his birth and in the ensuing years.  But being thankful for the hardship and heartache of having a disabled child?  No, thank you!

But yet, somehow, I find that I AM thankful now for having Ben just the way he is.  Over time, my heart has softened and I have gradually come to realize the incredible blessing that having a handicapped child has been in my life.

I am thinking that thankfulness is a process, not a "do or die" now endeavor.  All things are passed through God's hands and for our growth and His glory.  But a lot of those things are incredibly painful and involve loss.  It takes time to process.  It takes time to develop thankfulness.  Feeling that we must be thankful when we're a big mess of hurt is putting an awful lot of pressure on ourselves.  Ecclesiastes 3 tells us that there are different times in life for different activities. 

I suspect that there is a select time for thankfulness, as well.  As long we don't allow bitterness to spring up in our hearts (bitterness will choke out the tender plant of thanksgiving) and we continue to look for things we can be thankful for in any circumstance, we will eventually reach a point where we are thankful for even the horrible, heartbreaking things.

Perhaps a theologian will tell me I'm wrong on this.  But I don't think so.  There's a whole lot of new knowledge that comes from the school of disappointment and pain.