More About Grief. Part II.

What I have learned over the past several years is that grief is as different as snowflakes. No one experiences it the same. And grief may strike the same person differently depending on who it is they’re grieving.

 

I know when my dad died in 2016, I felt overwhelmed and it took me a long while to start the grieving process. Dad’s heavy burden of being my mom’s caretaker and advocate suddenly fell to me. And I didn’t even have to take care of her daily needs – we entrusted the staff at Parkside Village to handle that responsibility. 

 

I had to clean out their house to get it ready to sell. Getting rid of fifty years (or more) of “things” and memories is one monumental task. And I kept more things than I might otherwise have because I didn’t want to “erase” my parents or our history of living in that house.

 

So losing a parent is hard. 

 

But losing the other parent is even harder. I’ve heard people say that they suddenly feel like an orphan – even if they’re middle-aged. 

 

The first person who ever said that to me was my mom after my grandmother died. Mom was in her 60s by then and she said it at her mother’s funeral. I thought it was a strange comment. But it was also a comment that resonated with me through the years. 

 

Because it made me realize that my mom, too, would get old and die some day – and I didn’t want to miss making memories with her. So I let go of the friction that sometimes happens between mothers and daughters. My mom was, after all, pretty opinionated. And I didn’t always agree with her opinions. 

 

It's a popular thing these days for mothers and daughters to say that the other is their best friend.

 

My mom was never of that mindset. She was the mother and I was the daughter – and “best friends” didn’t enter into it. 

 

But we grew pretty close. Whenever she’d state some opinion (that I didn’t agree with), and then say, “Don’t you agree, Jane?” I’d sometimes reply, “Yes, mom.” 

 

Because in that particular instance, I knew that an argument wasn’t worth it. I certainly wasn’t going to change her opinion – and she wasn’t going to change mine.

 

Sometimes I’d look over at dad and he’d have this wry little smile on his face. And I realized that he’d long ago learned that trick himself.

 

When Mom died in 2020, her words about feeling like an orphan came back to me. Oh, mom. I thought. Now I know what you meant.

 

Because now there is no one alive who knew what it felt like the first time I was placed in their arms as an infant. The person who dealt with my spit-up and fevers and who cheered me on as I took my first steps or won the grade school spelling bee or graduated from college.

 

So now I miss her – and dad – every time something happens to me that I want to share with them.

 

Like losing Vince so suddenly less than a year after mom passed.

 

Losing a spouse is even more devastating. For me, it was especially unbearable as I felt like Vince and I had only started on our journey together in this life. 

 

We didn’t marry until days before my 50^th birthday. I never thought I’d get married, but once I met Vince, I couldn’t imagine my life without him. I had never felt so loved. We were incredibly happy together. And we had so many more things we wanted to do together in this life. 

 

So I know firsthand that there are different kinds of grief, some of which I haven’t experienced.

 

I can’t imagine losing a sibling. Or a best friend. But if we live long enough, we’re likely to experience that kind of grief as well.

 

The type of grief I can’t even begin to comprehend is the loss of a child. I didn’t have children, so I’m not qualified to talk about it. But having known friends and family who have, I can only believe that it is a grief beyond description.

 

Since COVID, it seems as if so many people are grieving. And so many people are trying to comfort friends and family. They write, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” 

 

I’ve said it before myself. Mostly because I didn’t know what to say. 

 

But as a friend who lost her husband recently said, “It got to the point where I couldn’t stand hearing, ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’” 

 

I guess because that phrase has gotten so overused it’s like fingernails on a chalkboard to some people.

 

I get it now.

 

I just wish I had a magic phrase or – better yet – a magic potion that could make us all feel better. Make us not hurt as much. And make us come to the stage where talking or thinking about our loved one brings a smile to our face rather than a tear.

 

But I, for one, am not magical and I can’t take the pain away – for me or for anyone else. So I believe we just all try our best. And I try not to be too critical of whatever expression of condolence someone makes.

 

I have to take things day by day. And I understand that some days will be good and other days won’t be so good. But that’s okay. I know I have to give myself the time and the space to accept my grief and let it wash over me as it comes. Because denying it won’t make it go away.

 

I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I have been that friends and family continue to stay in touch with me and ask how I’m doing – and let me talk. About Vince. Or about nothing and everything. Just having that connection matters.

 

If I could share one hint to folks who want to show support for someone who has lost a loved one, it would be this: don’t tell them to call you if they need anything. They probably don’t have a clue what they need. So you make the call. It means much more than you can imagine. Sometimes a person grieving has a hard time asking for help. Or a shoulder to cry on. Or a willing ear to listen.

 

So to all those people in my life who have given me such support, I thank you. And I thank you for reading this – you help me more than you know. 

 

I can’t always promise my blogs from now on will be about the ditzy goings on in Jane’s Domain. Sometimes they may be a little more serious. Because life happens. And death happens. And we have to try to go on.

 

One step forward…

The Many Stages of Grief

Recently I was sitting in Vince’s old easy chair covered with a fluffy blanket as well as the fluffy dog (she’s way overdue for her grooming). I was drinking my morning coffee and watching the snow fall outside.

 

I was comfy and warm and I picked up a book on grief sent to me by a friend who lost her husband only a few short months ago. She said that it helped her and she thought maybe it would help me, too.

 

It does. But sometimes it feels like it doesn’t.

 

Every single time I read one of the passages, something resonates with me and I’ll start crying.

 

Sometimes the tears last only a moment or two – but sometimes I’ll find myself weepy on and off for the rest of the day.

 

I’d rather not cry if I can help it, but I mostly can’t help it.

 

Grief is a weird thing. I remember reading a long time ago about the “stages” of grief – denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. That a person goes through each stage until they finally accept that their loved one is gone, is not coming back and they need to move on with their life.

 

Yeah, I say that’s a bunch of hooey.

 

Plus, I think at some point they added a couple extra stages. And now the “experts” agree that we go through different stages at different times – and sometimes we flip and flop and go through them randomly.

 

I know that Vince is not coming back. I know I need to keep on keeping on – since I’m still here and my life is not yet over.

 

But I know for sure I haven’t come anywhere near reaching the “acceptance” phase.

 

There are moments I get gob-smacked in the face with the realization he’s gone – almost as if I’m realizing it the same way I did the day he died.

 

And there are other moments I find myself laughing over something silly a friend says – and I’ll feel momentarily guilty that I’m not shrouded in depression.

 

But then there are those moments of depression. I feel them – and I know I’m in the midst of something that could drag me down into its depths, but I make the choice to let myself feel what I’m feeling without allowing myself to get dragged under.

 

Maybe that is a skill set that comes with age. Or maybe it’s just that I know there isn’t anyone to take care of me – but me.

 

So I agree that we just bounce around from stage to stage and back again. It sometimes feels like we take one step forward and then ninety-nine steps back.

 

After Vince died, I wasn’t sure I ever would get to an “anger” phase. It’s not like Vince intentionally died to get out of cleaning the garage. But I have to admit that when I have had to deal with something that was his forte and not mine, I’ll get angry.

 

I never wanted to handle the plumbing issues or negotiate a handy-man’s rate for drywall repair. Nor do I want to deal with getting the tires rotated or the oil changed in the car.

 

After I get angry and frustrated over his leaving me to handle those tasks, I feel a twinge of guilt. But I kind of give myself a break for feeling that way. Because I know for sure that Vince would have been angry at me if I’d been the one to die first.

 

Oh, he wouldn’t have been mad that I wasn’t there to do the handy-man negotiating or the tire rotating – but he darn sure would’ve been mad that he had to deal with the mountain of shoes and purses I would’ve left behind. Or the task of bill paying and figuring out what password went with what sign-on.

 

Personally, I wouldn’t have blamed him if he got angry because he suddenly had been tasked with every single one of Maggie’s walks – or making the decision about what to do with my 9,000 photo albums and scrapbooks that were stored in every nook and cranny in our house (some of which were actually my parents…).

He always said I wasn’t allowed to die first. I didn’t…but I thought that if he did die first, it would have been many years in the future.

 

In re-reading this blog, I realize that it’s just too long. People don’t want to read a book unless they’re actually reading a book. So I’m going to split this one up into two parts.  

Stay tuned for Part II…

Bah Humbug. (Yes, I AM using this for Valentine’s Day!)

 

Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s Valentine’s Day 2022.

 

If you are in love and giddy with excitement this February 14^th, I am happy for you. Really I am.

 

It’s an amazing thing to have that special someone to celebrate with. I loved getting showered with flowers and jewelry and dinners at fancy restaurants (or dinners at home where I didn’t have to lift a finger).

 

But this year I am choosing to ignore the hearts and flowers and chocolate holiday. You understand.

 

I know there are single women who schedule “Galentine” gatherings, which is a great idea. But the name really just makes me think of my friend Peni since that was her birth surname.

 

Besides, when I was happily ensconced in my little red-hearted romance with Vince, I didn’t try to make plans with my girlfriends who were single or divorced or widowed.

 

Hey, I’d spent many a Valentine’s Day on my own as a single woman. And I certainly managed to get through the day.

 

So I figure I can get through this one just fine.

 

But to make sure I stay busy and keep myself from buying and eating an entire heart-shaped box of chocolates, I made a “To Do” list of tasks I can accomplish. Wanna hear ‘em? (Why, thank you for saying “Absolutely, Jane’s Domain! What’s on your list?”)

 

Alphabetize my Spices. Sure, I’ve done this before. Even put little labels on each of the jars and lined them up precisely equidistant from one another in the cabinet expressly dedicated to spices. Only to have Vince annihilate my beautifully organized spice cabinet with the preparation of a single pot roast.

 

Besides, I’ve moved. And I use maybe 1/10^th of the spices we had. So I have an entire box of spices that I haven’t even unpacked. Perhaps I should just chuck the whole thing without opening it? Yeah, there’s an idea. Let’s move on to the next item.

 

Color code my sock drawer. This will be simple. All my socks are black. Some are shorter, thinner socks for warmer weather and some are longer, thicker winter socks. But they’re all black. Come to think of it, I can pretty much cross this item off my list now. Maybe I should move to my underwear drawer…but, no…they’re mostly black, too.  What can I say? Life is much simpler when you stick to a single palette.

 

Donate all my unused, mis-matched Tupperware-wannabe containers. But that’s silly – because I did a lot of that purging before I moved. Bowls with no matching lids? Gone. Pre-21^st century plastic containers that looked gross (that Vince wouldn’t let me toss unless I did it “by accident” wink-wink?) Gone. I even donated perfectly good containers with matching lids because I used to have two kitchens. And ain’t nobody be needing fifty-three containers for leftovers.

 

Weedwack the hair on my legs. This has not been done since Labor Day and I am heading to Florida soon. I wouldn’t want the Sunshine State to mistake me for Bigfoot and haul me to a secret government lab to study me before I’ve soaked up at least a little Vitamin D.

 

Schedule my 2021 tax preparation and my 2022 oil change/tire rotation. Neither thing is remotely interesting to me and I can easily tack on an extra hour to this chore when a nap is required to recover from the tediousness of it all.

 

Delete most of the 5,197 emails in my Gmail account that I’ve been ignoring for the better part of two years. Sure, I could just do a global delete and be done with it, but you know the second that happens, I’ll need that one email from 2020 that will inexplicably become critical to life as we know it. I don’t have a clue what that could possibly be – but it will rear its ugly head the second I hit “delete.”

 

Hmmm. Upon further consideration, I should probably work on this list some more as it took only the morning to complete. Maggie’s six or seven walks will take up another coupla hours. Which leaves me with plenty of time to purchase and devour an entire heart-shaped box of chocolates.

 

Guess I’d better hope the weedwacking chore takes more time than I anticipate. The hair on my legs is very light and hard to see and it could very well be braid-able by now. Who knew this task could be the highlight of my Valentine’s Day??

 

But whatever.

 

And, on that note, wherever you are and whatever you do, I wish you all lots of love. And a Happy Valentine’s Day!

A Walking Comedy of Errors

The other evening I was happily tapping away at the computer keys working on a blog when Maggie Minx started whining to go on her umpteenth walk of the day.

 

I have had people tell me the dog has me completely snookered and she doesn’t need to go out that often – but I really don’t want to find any “surprises” on the floor. And she really does go every time I walk her.

 

My friend Suzy tells me that if we humans sat on the toilet every two hours, we could probably “go,” too – even if we didn’t really have to go when we first sat down.

 

Maybe that’s true. But I’m still erring on the side of caution. And, besides, all this walking has to be doing something good for me. Doesn’t it?

 

So I have this walking-in-the-dead-of-winter-thing down pat. Or so I thought.

 

If you read one of my previous blogs, you know that I locked us out of the apartment early in the morning on one of those 18 degree days. So, since that time, I make sure I put the bungee cord key holder over my wrist. Every time.

 

I have my ear muffs and scarf hung up on this cute wall hook rack along with Maggie’s leash, so I’m always prepared for the cold weather.

 

I check my Apple watch to see what the outside temperature is, which will determine the jacket or coat I wear. I don’t want to freeze in my lightweight winter jacket when it’s in the single digits and I don’t want to sweat in my heavy winter coat if it’s a balmy 40 degrees.

 

Currently, I have two pairs of boots in the tray by the entryway – one for when there is no ice and the other with the little spikey things on the bottom that keep me from slipping on the ice.

 

I have a glass container that holds a flashlight for early morning or later evening walks so I can see to pick up Maggie’s, uh, deposits as I don’t want to accidentally step into anything. In that container is also a roll of doggie bags so I always have one in my pocket.

 

You’re either rolling your eyes at my “over-preparedness” – or thinking I’ve got it all together, aren’t you?

 

Yeah, not so much.

 

When Maggie’s whining turned into a sharp bark, I finally got up from my computer with a heavy sigh and I stomped across the room to the front hallway.

 

(I didn’t say I LOVED going on umpteen walks a day.)

 

I managed to grab my Apple watch from its charger (so I’d get credit for all those steps) and saw it was 25 degrees out. Heavy winter coat? That’d be a firm “yes!”

 

I put on my regular boots without the spikes because it had been warmer and the sidewalks were mostly clear. (“Mostly” being the operative word.)

 

The bungee key cord went around my wrist, the doggie bag and flashlight went in my pockets, I clipped the leash onto Maggie’s vest and out the door we went.

 

The first thing I noticed was that I couldn’t see very well. Oops. Forgot to take off my computer glasses and put on my regular glasses before stomping toward the front door. But, okay. I just needed to be careful since computer glasses are really good for working on the computer a foot away from my face, but not so good for blind-as-a-bat me to see long distances.

 

The next thing I noticed was that even though a lot of the snow and ice had melted, what was left was a little slick. Oops. Should’ve worn my spikey boots to be completely safe.

 

Vince and my #1 rule when walking the dog? Do. Not. Fall! We knew we didn’t want to risk broken bones at our advanced age. And now, since it’s just me, who would walk Maggie Minx were I to end up sporting a cast?

 

We walked past the street lights toward the darker part of the neighborhood when I suddenly smelled skunk. Uh oh. I’ve noticed a skunk waddling across the yards a couple of times in the last month and I’m hyper-vigilant because I do NOT want to deal with de-skunking either me or the dog. I don’t know the process and I don’t have the proper equipment – so I’m darn sure not going to be caught in any potential spray.

 

No black and white striped critter was in the visible vicinity – but, remember, I couldn’t see very well and it was dark out with lots of remnants of snow. How would I have seen a skunk? Yet we fortunately walked on unscathed.

 

We quickly crossed the street and started walking in the opposite direction away from the skunk smell. Whew. But it suddenly got way colder and way windier. My eyes started watering and I realized I’d forgotten my ear muffs.

 

I used to scoff when my mother insisted I wear a hat in the winter as I didn’t want it to mess up my hair. I still don’t like the static electricity situation a hat causes, so I’ve compromised with ear muffs. And I have noticed how much warmer I am when my ears are not left unprotected against the elements.

 

So I was feeling frozen and completely put out by this entire fiasco. By this point, I felt like I should just go home and start over, but I knew Maggie would feel gypped and we’d have to add yet another walk to the schedule.

 

So we continued on. One moment I was walking along at a brisk pace – and the next moment? Well, I was sliding on a patch of ice. My heart was slamming in my chest and I was wondering which broken bone would do the least amount of damage.

 

Luckily, Maggie was straining against the leash to get to a piece of cardboard that was blowing in the wind and, I swear, that 10-pound dog slid me across the ice and kept me upright until I could regain my footing.

 

It probably wasn’t a pretty sight and it certainly wasn’t graceful – but I didn’t care. I Did. Not. Fall. Yay me.

 

By this point, I realized I didn’t want to tempt the gods of fate any longer, so I started heading for the relative safety of home.

 

But just then Maggie decided it was a good time to let me use the poo bag in my pocket. She usually does her thing nearer the sidewalk, only this time she walked right up near a neighbor’s kitchen window and squatted. A neighbor I have not yet met.

 

So there I am, fumbling to simultaneously remove my glove, open the bag and turn on the flashlight. Maggie, who was now finished and exploring new areas, runs into some metal bell ornament in the neighbor’s yard. I’m horrified at the noise it’s making and I’m trying to scoop up her deposit and keep hold of the leash and the flashlight.

 

Just then the front door opened because the neighbor wanted to know who was causing such a ruckus and was lurking in her front yard with a flashlight.

 

Ack! I apologized profusely and said we were on our way and we turned and got the heck outta Dodge.

 

But once I returned home, I realized I’d lost one of my hot pink gloves. Could this evening get any worse?

 

So I brought Maggie inside and unclipped her – and then went back out in search of my glove.

 

Sure enough, there it was – in Neighbor X’s front yard. Fortunately, she must have decided we were harmless and her lights were out. Either that – or she was sitting in wait in the dark, phone in hand poised over 9-1-1 in case the miscreant and her yappy little dog returned.

 

But I didn’t hang around long enough to find out. I grabbed the glove, hustled back home and vowed that it was Maggie’s final walk of the night.

 

And I thought tomorrow is another day. Let’s hope it’s not nearly as “exciting.”

Down the Rabbit Hole

Is it me - or do we seem to get more easily distracted these days?

I was giving myself five minutes to scroll Facebook before tackling my to-do list. I saw an old friend’s cute hairstyle and wanted to make a comment. Done. So then, because I had a few more minutes on my self-imposed timer, I continued to scroll.

The next thing in my feed was a video of a guy on the street with a guitar who started to sing a song. People gathered around and some were singing along with him. But then his speaker went out. As he bent down to try to fix it, the crowd continued singing. It was pretty great!

I’d heard the song before, but I couldn’t place the title or the artist.

Before I even finished watching the video, I Googled some of the lyrics. I wanted to add the song to one of my playlists.

This, as you can guess, is when I first started down the rabbit hole.

Once I had Title and Artist in hand (metaphorically speaking), I accessed my music library.

Neither the song nor the artist popped up, which was curious as I believe I had it in my library.

So I downloaded it (again) and added it to a specific playlist. 

Meanwhile, the song from the artist himself continued to play on my phone, which brought me to tears with a memory…that I now have to share with you.

The song was Perfect by Ed Sheeran. It sounds like one of those first wedding dance kind of songs. All sweet and loving.

And then I remembered when I first heard it.

Vince and I were flying back from Maui in January, 2018. It is one L-O-N-G flippin’ flight and we had several babies and small children who also thought it was one L-O-N-G flippin’ flight. Their response? Crying, whining and fussing.

Vince, who thankfully restrained himself from crying, whining and fussing, was nevertheless getting a little stressed.

He vowed then and there that as soon as the plane touched down in Columbus, he was making tracks to the nearest Best Buy to purchase some noise cancelling head phones.

(Which he did, by the way.)

I, on the other hand, am a voracious reader and can happily tear through a novel from start to finish on a long flight. I can ignore chatter, crying and even the flight attendant’s query as to what beverage I might like to drink. 

But Vince? Not so much. I think he’d already watched a movie, flipped through the Skymall magazine and was now restless to find something else to keep him distracted from the whining, crying and fussing.

So I handed him my phone and earbuds and told him to listen to some music.

He seemed content, but after I’d gone through several more chapters of my book, he suddenly reached over, grabbed my hand, kissed it and held on tightly.

That was curious. As far as I knew, he wasn’t an anxious flyer and we didn’t have any turbulence making the plane rock and roll at that particular moment, so I wasn’t sure what was happening. I looked over at him, and he had a tear making a track down his cheek.

(Truthfully, he’d hate that I’m telling you this as he wanted to be thought of as Mr. Manly…so, uh, “sorry, honey…”)

But, anyway, I leaned over and asked him what was wrong.

He pulled out one of the earbuds. “Nothing,” he said. “I was just listening to a song that reminded me of you.”  And then he kissed me and told me how much he loved me.

He started to put the earbud back in his ear as if to go back to what he had been doing and I was like, “Uh, no way mister! You now have to tell me what prompted that little display!”

So he put the earbud in my ear and pressed Play.

And, yes, it was Perfect by Ed Sheeran.

I didn’t even know I had a playlist by Ed Sheeran in my music library.

Sometime after that, I did listen to Ed Sheeran. He has a great voice and some good songs, but they’re not the kind of songs I tend to put on the sound system to get myself motivated to exercise or clean the house. So it’s not like I play this kind of music on a regular basis.

But it’s a sweet memory that of course brought me to tears. Because now it’s a bittersweet memory. But it’s one of those memories that I’m so grateful to have.

There are so many times in our lives where we hear a song that makes us cry and think of someone special. Or we catch a fleeting glimpse of a stranger who reminds us of a long-lost friend. Or we laugh over a memory that we know we should share with a friend who could also use a laugh.

But we don’t because we’re busy. Or we’re distracted. Or we think our friend, who hasn’t heard from us in months or years, would think it really weird that we’re suddenly reaching out to them.

So we don’t make that connection.

But I’ve decided that when I see or hear something – and it reminds me of someone – I’m going to make an effort to connect with that person.

Because if Vince had put the earbud back in his ear and hadn’t shared with me that song, I never would have known the rest of the story. And I don’t have him here anymore – so these memories are the things I cherish.

By the way, I went back to Facebook because I thought I should watch the rest of that video. Did the entertainer ever fix his speaker? Did the crowd sing the song in its entirety? What did he do? Stop fiddling with the speaker and sing, too, since he was the one who started it?

And, most importantly, did people toss some coins in his guitar case – or did he have to pay all of them for doing the singing?

Yeah, no. That’s not really the most important thing.

Anyway, I spent another 20 minutes scrolling trying to find that same video.

No dice.

This means that my “5 minute” allowance to scroll Facebook has morphed into an hour and a half downloading a song, writing a blog about it and searching Facebook for something specific, which I never did find.

Sigh.

At any rate, I hope I haven’t distracted you too much. Maybe reading this blog is in your “5 minute” scrolling allowance?

Either way, I am thankful that you’re reading it. It’s a memory I’m happy to share.