Christmas is in four days. It's cold outside. There was frost on the ground this morning. The plants on my porch are all dead. Some of them I could have saved I guess, but there were a few funeral plants out there. I think I didn't want to keep them, so I subconsciously "forgot" them. Isn't that horrible?
I'm at work. The office Christmas party is today. I dressed up - ish. Put makeup on my face. Am in a funk. We're doing a potluck. I brought nothing (isn't that horrible?). I need to go to the store and get some candy to share I guess. There were spontaneous tears today for some reason. Haven't done that in a while. Thankfully, I have people I talk to during the day that remind me that it's OK to have that happen every now and again. And to remind me that rescue meds are there for a reason haha. Countdown to sanity begins now. Gods bless pharmaceuticals. Now, to just get over this hill.
I have to get home and wrap presents, put away the detritus from painting, etc and do laundry. Oh, and perhaps start writing my research paper on mariology that's due on Sunday. You know, like a fully functional adult human. We'll see how that goes.
I did remember to bring my Christmas cards in - only now I'm afraid that some of my work people are going to be all offended by them. This is the month of feeling like I can't win. I know it will pass - but it certainly sucks while it's happening.
Distracting myself by discussing politics on FB isn't working very well - but hey, I gave it the old college try, right?? This is another one that I wasn't going to post. I made a promise though, in the beginning, that I would be honest. So it all needed to come out.
Honesty - dammit man. I'm enjoying getting gifts for other folks - though, I think I would rather just drop them off than do the whole gather 'round the tree stuff. It's Joey's first Christmas though, so we need to do that. I have people that are all stressed out about what to buy, or not being able to buy, etc. None of that matters. None of it. I don't *need* anything, and the things that *I* bought were neither extravagant nor expensive. I did it because it makes me feel good - so in a sense, it's totally selfish. You know what I want? Some quiet hours in your company. I want to relax with the people I care about - and just kind of BE. Maybe make some dinner. Or watch a ridiculous movie. Make me laugh.
I want to make sure that the people I surround myself with know, without a doubt, how much they are loved. Because you are. Even when I'm all jacked up and emotionally retarded - you are loved. Wholly, beautifully, illuminatingly loved.
Wednesday, December 21, 2016
Tuesday, December 6, 2016
Much more Krampus than Kringle
I haven't posted in a bit, and quite frankly, I wasn't going to. Then I had some folks ask me if I had blogged recently. Well... no, no I have not.
I've stopped myself because this is the season of joy, and family, and giving and ALL of that bullshit. Yep. Not feeling festive. Like at all.
Yet, I'm cognizant of the fact that everyone else is. So. I've just been quiet. Well - except for Christmas cards. I love my strange Christmas cards.
I'm not sure if things are falling apart because they ARE or if it just feels that way because it's December. Does that make sense? (Oh, and for you family people reading this - do not freak out on me and come swooping down on Georgia. Trust me when I say I need less crazy, not more. Love you though) My father is jacked up. I'm jacked up. My sisters are - wait for it - jacked up. Mom loved the holidays - she always over decorated for Christmas, and made things gaudy and bright.
I've had folks be like, "You need to keep up the tradition for her!" My response is always, "We'll see" when in my head I'm really saying, "Eff off." I know people mean well - I really do, which is why I keep those responses in my head. But really - unless and until you lose someone vitally important to you, and then less than six months later have to get through the holidays - please don't say you understand, or that you know what I need to do. You don't. Is it coming from a good place? Absolutely - and I know that. But a huge black coal filled part of me just doesn't give a fuck. Which sounds awful - but what the hell - it's honest. One thing I promised myself was that I would always be honest here.
Apathy, thy name is Dani. I'm psyching myself up by getting presents for people I care about. I love giving gifts. I just kind of want to drop them off on their porches though, instead of doing the whole "Fa-la-la-la" Christmas tree crap. Why? I can't bring myself to care. I don't particularly want to celebrate the birth of Jesus. I don't want to celebrate Yule. I don't want to praise and rejoice. That fucker stole my mom. Hell no.
And my religious friends (and family) - you don't get to freak out on me either, mmmmmkay? ;) I am absolutely allowed to feel how I feel.
I'm going to see my local family, the couple of people that I can tolerate (honesty again - and who can tolerate me right now), and call it done. I'm going to celebrate the people I have, not Christmas. I'll probably put out the tree, because Mom would have, but dammit - if I don't do anything else, don't tell me I have to, or I should. We'll be OK. Probably just not this particular holiday season.
I've stopped myself because this is the season of joy, and family, and giving and ALL of that bullshit. Yep. Not feeling festive. Like at all.
Yet, I'm cognizant of the fact that everyone else is. So. I've just been quiet. Well - except for Christmas cards. I love my strange Christmas cards.
I'm not sure if things are falling apart because they ARE or if it just feels that way because it's December. Does that make sense? (Oh, and for you family people reading this - do not freak out on me and come swooping down on Georgia. Trust me when I say I need less crazy, not more. Love you though) My father is jacked up. I'm jacked up. My sisters are - wait for it - jacked up. Mom loved the holidays - she always over decorated for Christmas, and made things gaudy and bright.
I've had folks be like, "You need to keep up the tradition for her!" My response is always, "We'll see" when in my head I'm really saying, "Eff off." I know people mean well - I really do, which is why I keep those responses in my head. But really - unless and until you lose someone vitally important to you, and then less than six months later have to get through the holidays - please don't say you understand, or that you know what I need to do. You don't. Is it coming from a good place? Absolutely - and I know that. But a huge black coal filled part of me just doesn't give a fuck. Which sounds awful - but what the hell - it's honest. One thing I promised myself was that I would always be honest here.
Apathy, thy name is Dani. I'm psyching myself up by getting presents for people I care about. I love giving gifts. I just kind of want to drop them off on their porches though, instead of doing the whole "Fa-la-la-la" Christmas tree crap. Why? I can't bring myself to care. I don't particularly want to celebrate the birth of Jesus. I don't want to celebrate Yule. I don't want to praise and rejoice. That fucker stole my mom. Hell no.
And my religious friends (and family) - you don't get to freak out on me either, mmmmmkay? ;) I am absolutely allowed to feel how I feel.
I'm going to see my local family, the couple of people that I can tolerate (honesty again - and who can tolerate me right now), and call it done. I'm going to celebrate the people I have, not Christmas. I'll probably put out the tree, because Mom would have, but dammit - if I don't do anything else, don't tell me I have to, or I should. We'll be OK. Probably just not this particular holiday season.
Sunday, November 20, 2016
You're goddamned right!
A couple weeks ago, when the new windows were being installed, I asked Dad if I could paint. I mean, we have to change some things. He said that I could. I got super excited and went out right away - got my colors, my brushes and pans, everything.
I still haven't painted.
Today, I finally got off my ass and started doing some of the prep work. You know, before you paint you have to clean the walls, make sure you get any cobwebs, etc. Especially if you have dogs. This also meant general cleaning. Which meant that I had to deal with the bags of clothes that have been sitting behind the couch since about a week after Mom died. Hrm.... I'm pretty dense sometimes, but that might be why I haven't painted.
Tacky, right? You would think that since they were RIGHT THERE that either Dad or I would have just dealt with them already. Nope. I am a master of ignoring something if I choose to. So I walked past those bags, every day, multiple times a day for a couple of months.
I managed to ignore them for the first part of the day. I've been attempting to push myself into doing things by thinking, "You *have* to do this" but that doesn't work, because immediately the other half of my brain is like, "Eff you, I do what I want!" It's a goddamned circus up in my head sometimes. Anyway, I worked around them. The washer was fixed, so I took the couch blankets down and started washing them. Which meant that the couches needed to be vacuumed, etc. I sorted a lot of my craft stuff that I had left laying about. Put the couch blankets in the dryer, came back upstairs.
First thing I see are those fucking bags. Well. I guess it's time to do this. I got a trash bag, and started going through everything. Saved a few fuzzy socks that I'll wear, and a couple of old t-shirts that I know either myself or my sisters will want later. Ran across several shirts with tags still on them - and so many pairs of sleeping pants. I mean, an insane amount of sleeping pants - at least as compared to the number of shirts.
See, when Mom first got sick, she would wear lounge clothes around the house. And if we got her anything to wear, we would get those cute sets. You know what I'm talking about - the ones with the matchy matchy tops and bottoms. As she started getting worse, she started losing movement. Further down the line, she had muscle contracture in both her arms and her legs. Dressing her in those pants was painful for her. With her legs bent all the time, they made her sweaty and uncomfortable. She hated them. Therefore, she did not wear them.
I had a fight about it once with a nurse. She copped an attitude with me about the fact that Mom didn't wear "diapers" (fuck you lady, we call them underwear, she can still hear you) regularly and that we didn't put pants on her. I had to remind her again that Mom wasn't stupid, deaf, or dumb. That the only reason Mom didn't talk to her is because she didn't like her. That Mom said she didn't want to wear the freaking pants, and we were NOT going to make her. I mean good christ on a crutch - leave the woman alone!
I know - sounds stupid and depressing - but a good memory came out of that one. I finished my somewhat polite rant, the nurse had this look on her face, and Mom says, a little slurred, but very clear, "Damn right!"
I'm still grinning from that memory. So now they're sorted. I'll drop off these bags, and as it's just getting cold someone who needs them will have some warm fuzzy sleeping pants. And a few Eddie Bauer shirts that still have the tags on them haha.
You're goddamned right!!
I still haven't painted.
Today, I finally got off my ass and started doing some of the prep work. You know, before you paint you have to clean the walls, make sure you get any cobwebs, etc. Especially if you have dogs. This also meant general cleaning. Which meant that I had to deal with the bags of clothes that have been sitting behind the couch since about a week after Mom died. Hrm.... I'm pretty dense sometimes, but that might be why I haven't painted.
Tacky, right? You would think that since they were RIGHT THERE that either Dad or I would have just dealt with them already. Nope. I am a master of ignoring something if I choose to. So I walked past those bags, every day, multiple times a day for a couple of months.
I managed to ignore them for the first part of the day. I've been attempting to push myself into doing things by thinking, "You *have* to do this" but that doesn't work, because immediately the other half of my brain is like, "Eff you, I do what I want!" It's a goddamned circus up in my head sometimes. Anyway, I worked around them. The washer was fixed, so I took the couch blankets down and started washing them. Which meant that the couches needed to be vacuumed, etc. I sorted a lot of my craft stuff that I had left laying about. Put the couch blankets in the dryer, came back upstairs.
First thing I see are those fucking bags. Well. I guess it's time to do this. I got a trash bag, and started going through everything. Saved a few fuzzy socks that I'll wear, and a couple of old t-shirts that I know either myself or my sisters will want later. Ran across several shirts with tags still on them - and so many pairs of sleeping pants. I mean, an insane amount of sleeping pants - at least as compared to the number of shirts.
See, when Mom first got sick, she would wear lounge clothes around the house. And if we got her anything to wear, we would get those cute sets. You know what I'm talking about - the ones with the matchy matchy tops and bottoms. As she started getting worse, she started losing movement. Further down the line, she had muscle contracture in both her arms and her legs. Dressing her in those pants was painful for her. With her legs bent all the time, they made her sweaty and uncomfortable. She hated them. Therefore, she did not wear them.
I had a fight about it once with a nurse. She copped an attitude with me about the fact that Mom didn't wear "diapers" (fuck you lady, we call them underwear, she can still hear you) regularly and that we didn't put pants on her. I had to remind her again that Mom wasn't stupid, deaf, or dumb. That the only reason Mom didn't talk to her is because she didn't like her. That Mom said she didn't want to wear the freaking pants, and we were NOT going to make her. I mean good christ on a crutch - leave the woman alone!
I know - sounds stupid and depressing - but a good memory came out of that one. I finished my somewhat polite rant, the nurse had this look on her face, and Mom says, a little slurred, but very clear, "Damn right!"
I'm still grinning from that memory. So now they're sorted. I'll drop off these bags, and as it's just getting cold someone who needs them will have some warm fuzzy sleeping pants. And a few Eddie Bauer shirts that still have the tags on them haha.
You're goddamned right!!
Thursday, November 17, 2016
Thank you, and fuck off.
This shit is bananas. Just for the record - in case anyone was wondering, anywhere in the world. Fuck. This. Noise.
The holidays are fast approaching. This will be the first Thanksgiving in years that I haven't cooked. We won't be at our house, we're going to my best friend's house. Which is best in the end. I don't know that Dad could handle being home. Hell, I don't think I could handle being home. Not without a giant bottle of wine. Or you know, vodka. But that's just one hurtle. Then we have to find a way to get through Christmas. Then New Year's. Then then then. It's never ending.
People ask me how I'm doing. I tell them I'm fine. I mean, I am really - as fine as I can be. Though some days? Some days I want to scream at them that my feelings are none of their business. That I don't owe them any of my emotions. I don't though because I can at least recognize that is an irrational reaction. Then something else comes up, and I calm down. And we start over.
There really have been many more good days than bad. It's just this time of year. "BE THANKFUL!" How about fuck you? I'm not feeling very thankful at the moment. Probably not gonna happen tomorrow either. Yeah, I'm sure I could wax poetic on the fact that I have my father, my sisters, and my friends. And I do. I don't ignore that. I just can't be thankful.
Thankful for what? The ONLY thing I am thankful for right now is that mom isn't in pain anymore. Other than that? I say again, Fuck You, Universe. I am not thankful that one of the best women in the world was utterly destroyed by a freaking disease. I'm not thankful that myself, and my family, spent the last 13 years watching her waste away. I am not thankful that we had to watch her die. I refuse to be thankful for any of it. I don't give a damn about your cliche's - or your religious platitudes. I don't want to hear about god. I don't want to hear about how I should look at the positive things and BE FUCKING THANKFUL. I'm not thankful. I am angry, sad, and perhaps - a little belligerent.
Nope. Thanksgiving can suck it. The universe can suck it. This whole fucking season can suck it. At least for right now.
The holidays are fast approaching. This will be the first Thanksgiving in years that I haven't cooked. We won't be at our house, we're going to my best friend's house. Which is best in the end. I don't know that Dad could handle being home. Hell, I don't think I could handle being home. Not without a giant bottle of wine. Or you know, vodka. But that's just one hurtle. Then we have to find a way to get through Christmas. Then New Year's. Then then then. It's never ending.
People ask me how I'm doing. I tell them I'm fine. I mean, I am really - as fine as I can be. Though some days? Some days I want to scream at them that my feelings are none of their business. That I don't owe them any of my emotions. I don't though because I can at least recognize that is an irrational reaction. Then something else comes up, and I calm down. And we start over.
There really have been many more good days than bad. It's just this time of year. "BE THANKFUL!" How about fuck you? I'm not feeling very thankful at the moment. Probably not gonna happen tomorrow either. Yeah, I'm sure I could wax poetic on the fact that I have my father, my sisters, and my friends. And I do. I don't ignore that. I just can't be thankful.
Thankful for what? The ONLY thing I am thankful for right now is that mom isn't in pain anymore. Other than that? I say again, Fuck You, Universe. I am not thankful that one of the best women in the world was utterly destroyed by a freaking disease. I'm not thankful that myself, and my family, spent the last 13 years watching her waste away. I am not thankful that we had to watch her die. I refuse to be thankful for any of it. I don't give a damn about your cliche's - or your religious platitudes. I don't want to hear about god. I don't want to hear about how I should look at the positive things and BE FUCKING THANKFUL. I'm not thankful. I am angry, sad, and perhaps - a little belligerent.
Nope. Thanksgiving can suck it. The universe can suck it. This whole fucking season can suck it. At least for right now.
Tuesday, November 8, 2016
Plans
I've touched on the weird freedom issue I've been having. It's really hard to explain to other people. For so long it was imperative that I be close to home, so that if something happened I could be there in a trice. When I got out of work, I would immediately go home. I needed to relieve my Dad, who had been there all day. On the weekends, we had to take turns. If one was out, the other had to be home. One of us was always there with Mom, B.M.D. April helped us out as well - if Dad had appointments during the day, etc. She was a godsend. Still is really.
That was the norm. I would get frustrated by it, and then feel guilty for being frustrated by it. I would get into a mood where I was chafing at the bit - I was ready to be away from there. I had moments where all I could think was, "I don't want to take care of anyone, anymore". Then I would feel guilty about that. I would see the way my Dad cared for my Mom. I would remember the way she cared for us. That would be all it took. Now? I remember those feelings and get overwhelmingly sad, because I would do it all over again for another thirteen years to have her back.
When I get out of work... I nearly always immediately go home. Oh, I've not gone home right away a couple of times, to spend time with important folks. But my routine is almost the same. I want to change it, but I don't really have it in me to just go sit somewhere with a bunch of strangers. I don't want to go spend money at a bar. I don't want to be surrounded by a bunch of people even if I do know them, because my head and heart are still shaky, and my mood swings can be fairly epic.
There has to be some middle ground. Something I feel like I can work towards, but doesn't make me so extremely uncomfortable. Don't get all self-righteous on me either - I'm not planning on hermiting for the rest of my life, I promise. I just have to do this my own way.
My thought is this... I have *always* wanted to travel. Mom and I would talk about the places we wanted to go, see, and touch - but we never had the money for it. Of course she thought I was crazy for wanting to see some of the places on my lists, but it didn't matter. I think this will be what I work toward. I mean, I don't have piles of money just laying about to start spending on travel. I can start saving though, a little bit at a time, so that when my head and my heart are a little less shaky - I can go.
After the holidays, I may get a second job - I have time now. And that little bit of money can go right into my travel savings. I think Mom would approve. She may not physically be able to see and experience things with me, but she'll be there. I'm going to update my passport this month - that will be my first concrete step.
Speaking of lists - these are a few of the places I want to see
Russia
Czech Republic
England
Scotland
Norway
Finland
Iceland
Croatia
Hungary
Syria
Iran
Morocco
Namibia
Columbia
South Africa
Alaska
The Black Hills
Wisconsin - shush, House on the Rock and the Dells
The west coast
Arizona again
New Mexico
Vancouver
New Zealand
So many more. Maybe I'll just work as much as I can in order to travel for the rest of my life.
That was the norm. I would get frustrated by it, and then feel guilty for being frustrated by it. I would get into a mood where I was chafing at the bit - I was ready to be away from there. I had moments where all I could think was, "I don't want to take care of anyone, anymore". Then I would feel guilty about that. I would see the way my Dad cared for my Mom. I would remember the way she cared for us. That would be all it took. Now? I remember those feelings and get overwhelmingly sad, because I would do it all over again for another thirteen years to have her back.
When I get out of work... I nearly always immediately go home. Oh, I've not gone home right away a couple of times, to spend time with important folks. But my routine is almost the same. I want to change it, but I don't really have it in me to just go sit somewhere with a bunch of strangers. I don't want to go spend money at a bar. I don't want to be surrounded by a bunch of people even if I do know them, because my head and heart are still shaky, and my mood swings can be fairly epic.
There has to be some middle ground. Something I feel like I can work towards, but doesn't make me so extremely uncomfortable. Don't get all self-righteous on me either - I'm not planning on hermiting for the rest of my life, I promise. I just have to do this my own way.
My thought is this... I have *always* wanted to travel. Mom and I would talk about the places we wanted to go, see, and touch - but we never had the money for it. Of course she thought I was crazy for wanting to see some of the places on my lists, but it didn't matter. I think this will be what I work toward. I mean, I don't have piles of money just laying about to start spending on travel. I can start saving though, a little bit at a time, so that when my head and my heart are a little less shaky - I can go.
After the holidays, I may get a second job - I have time now. And that little bit of money can go right into my travel savings. I think Mom would approve. She may not physically be able to see and experience things with me, but she'll be there. I'm going to update my passport this month - that will be my first concrete step.
Speaking of lists - these are a few of the places I want to see
Russia
Czech Republic
England
Scotland
Norway
Finland
Iceland
Croatia
Hungary
Syria
Iran
Morocco
Namibia
Columbia
South Africa
Alaska
The Black Hills
Wisconsin - shush, House on the Rock and the Dells
The west coast
Arizona again
New Mexico
Vancouver
New Zealand
So many more. Maybe I'll just work as much as I can in order to travel for the rest of my life.
Sunday, November 6, 2016
One, singular sensation...
I'm already bad at keeping up with this. Go figure. We're having some improvements made to the house. New windows in front, new fans, and I'll be painting. Which is all awesome, and it needs it. I just hate how we got here.
Part of that required my Dad to clear out his room. Particularly the stuff right by the windows. I helped him move the organ, polished it up, went through the music books. That was hard. So so many memories of Mom playing that organ, and singing old show tunes or old time songs. My Aunts joining in, lyrics being changed just because.
Six foot two, eyes of blue
Oh what that six foot could do!
Has anybody seen my guy?
That will always be the way I remember that song. Never in its original state. Or Mom randomly belting out at the top of her lungs in the store with:
ONE! Singular sensation, every little step she takes!
ONE! Thrilling combination, every move that she makes
One smile and suddenly no-body else will do...
I need to learn to play that organ. Those books, the ridiculous songs, all of it were so much a part of a happier time for us.
My house needs music again. I think I'll be on a silly music binge for a while. If you dig that kind of thing, belt out a tune sometime in public. Do it for the memory of a true show stopper, the one, the only, Barbara Lynn Gerke Longamore!
Liza had jack on my Mom. Anything from Cabaret to Oklahoma to Guys and Dolls.
Or singing competitions on base, with 8 year old me, in front of the PX on St. Patty's Day. We did "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling". We won something, I couldn't tell you what. I just remember her looking at me with a big grin and saying, "Let them hear you munchkin, we're gonna have a blast!"
"Mom! People are going to stare at us!"
"Munchkin, they're going to look anyway, may as well give them a show!"
So we did.
Thursday, October 27, 2016
Rethink, Revisit, Reformulate, Reevaluate, Reinvent.
You know, when I first realized that's essentially what I had to do, I was absolutely terrified. I'm sure I'll have more moments where I feel the same.
Today though, I feel kind of like Mom gave me a gift. I know that probably sounds horrible and weird - but I don't mean it that way. How many people do you know that are able to take a step back from the life they knew, and go "Huh. Time to do something new with myself."? Not many.
Thankfully, I was given the tools while growing up to be able to do that. While yes, I suffer from pretty bad social anxiety, I have a pretty full tool box at my disposal. I'm confident, I'm intelligent, I have a good sense of humor and I was taught that being able to adapt is very important. I love deeply, and fight valiantly when I need to. Those things are there - I have a solid base - I just need to rearrange some things.
A interwebs kick with my Google-Fu showed me some guidelines for redefining. I kind of cobbled them together from several different lists, but I think this is what's going to work best for me.
1. List new qualities
2. Break one bad habit
3. Reinforce friendships, make new friends
4. Decide what defines you
5. Follow one old passion
6. List what you love
7. Be realistic
8. Be positive
9. Make a visual
10. Ignore what others think
New qualities.. that's something I was actually working on BMD, so it makes sense to continue it AMD. I have been a "weird walled off version of human" for several years now (thanks, sister). Walls though, while great at keeping things in, also keep a lot out. In the spirit of breaking down, or at least making those walls smaller - I've been more open about my feelings with people, good and bad. I've taken risks emotionally, and while I could get hurt, it's worth it. So if I've told you I love you, in any form or fashion, know that I mean it. I know there should be more qualities in that list, but damned if I know them all right now.
I have ideas for each of them, but they need to be fleshed out. So maybe 1 A will be... work on the damned list, Danielle.
Today though, I feel kind of like Mom gave me a gift. I know that probably sounds horrible and weird - but I don't mean it that way. How many people do you know that are able to take a step back from the life they knew, and go "Huh. Time to do something new with myself."? Not many.
Thankfully, I was given the tools while growing up to be able to do that. While yes, I suffer from pretty bad social anxiety, I have a pretty full tool box at my disposal. I'm confident, I'm intelligent, I have a good sense of humor and I was taught that being able to adapt is very important. I love deeply, and fight valiantly when I need to. Those things are there - I have a solid base - I just need to rearrange some things.
A interwebs kick with my Google-Fu showed me some guidelines for redefining. I kind of cobbled them together from several different lists, but I think this is what's going to work best for me.
1. List new qualities
2. Break one bad habit
3. Reinforce friendships, make new friends
4. Decide what defines you
5. Follow one old passion
6. List what you love
7. Be realistic
8. Be positive
9. Make a visual
10. Ignore what others think
New qualities.. that's something I was actually working on BMD, so it makes sense to continue it AMD. I have been a "weird walled off version of human" for several years now (thanks, sister). Walls though, while great at keeping things in, also keep a lot out. In the spirit of breaking down, or at least making those walls smaller - I've been more open about my feelings with people, good and bad. I've taken risks emotionally, and while I could get hurt, it's worth it. So if I've told you I love you, in any form or fashion, know that I mean it. I know there should be more qualities in that list, but damned if I know them all right now.
I have ideas for each of them, but they need to be fleshed out. So maybe 1 A will be... work on the damned list, Danielle.
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
The Beginning: Grief is fucking weird.
This poor blog. It's been deleted and restarted over and over. Ah, well. It's mostly for me anyway, right?
I recently lost my mother. Which makes it sound like she's missing, or that I misplaced her, when in fact she is simply gone. She had primary progressive multiple sclerosis, and by the end she had been bed bound for years. Muscle contracture, spasms, all manner of awfulness. I helped to take care of her for thirteen years. I would move out, then move back in. I'm still here at the moment.
August 29, 2016 is when it happened. Mom had been in hospice care at home for a little over a year. The entire family was able to be here, which was good. My sister and her husband came in on emergency leave from Japan. My other sisters and their significant others were here. One of mom's sisters was here, and the other came down shortly after. I have odd memories from that day. I remember watching her, and having to time her respirations and figure out the dosage of morphine she needed. I remember that Nicole went in to do the same, and called out for us to call the nurses right away. I remember walking in and seeing her lying there, so still. Mom had not been truly still in years. I remember thinking how peaceful she looked, and kissing her. My next memory is of my Aunt making me leave the house. I know I called the hospice nurses, but I don't remember it. I know they showed up to take care of Mom, but I don't remember seeing them. After that it was madness about funeral preparations. Was there going to be a viewing? I was absolutely vehement about the fact that there would NOT be a viewing. Were we going to wait to have it? Why? We had been watching her slowly waste away for years. Why would we wait?
I remember having to buy clothes for the funeral and refusing to wear black. Mom hated the fact that I wore black all the time. I bought a deep teal blouse, and dark burgundy pants. It worked. I looked like a grown up. My family and I supported each other, I had amazing friends that supported me.
I guess I expected it to be different. When you spend so long taking care of someone that you know is going to die, you think you're ready. You've talked to the hospice nurses, you've done the research. You know exactly what's happening to her body, what each facial expression means, how to handle little things that come up. You can change her, help bathe her, feed her, sit with her, and just talk to her about your day - because the illness has defined everything about her life, and to an extent it has also defined yours. I had been a caretaker for so long, that if I wasn't THAT - then what and who the hell was I?
I didn't really process everything while family was here. I'm a solitary creature. I have to ponder things, I'm guilty of overthinking things, and I need to be alone from time to time. I'm not good with strong emotions - not because I don't have them - but because they are too much typically. So when the shock wore off, I broke a little bit. I felt guilty. I was angry. I was lost. I kept a lot of it in - that's what I do - and then just kind of explode on myself and whoever happens to be nearby.
I'm rambling, I know. I'd apologize, but I think I need this.
I was so worried about my father. I'm not exaggerating when I say that my parents are the example I always had for a relationship. Oh they had issues, sometimes major ones, but they truly deeply loved each other. Their 38th wedding anniversary would have been September 16, 2016. Then I became paranoid that he wouldn't come home, and I would lose them both.
I mean, frankly, I went a little crazy for a minute.
I had to get my shit together though, I had things that I needed to do. I was doing the flowers for two weddings in October. That was something I could focus on, it was something to get me through. Well, that and a handful of amazing people who let me cry on their shoulders from time to time. So I did. I buckled down. But guess what? That's over.
I figured I was OK. In my thoughts regarding mom's death prior, I always just kind of bounced back.
I'm discovering that grief is fucking weird. I'm OK for a couple weeks, then bam! I have a meltdown in my car about Halloween of all things. It's my favorite holiday. FAVORITE. I have plans to go to a concert, then possibly a party. Yet all I could think was, "You're going to go out and party and your mother is dead". Bring on the tears. Because really, what kind of horrible fucking human being can work two weddings, have a blast at them because you love the people involved, then go out and party stupidly when YOUR MOTHER IS DEAD. That was my brain. On repeat.
I had a lovely conversation with a friend, and logic slowly returned. I'm still a little down, but not as bad as I was. I think I'm going to go to that concert, because Mom would have said, "Don't be dumb, Danielle! Go have fun!". I'll probably pass on the party because frankly, there are only a handful of people I can handle right now. I just keep having to remind myself that it's OK.
I thought it would be different. Instead grief is an emotional fucking ninja that just pops up whenever it feels like it. I have no control over it. I can't anticipate it. It's frustrating, and makes me feel weak. Calm down, I know I'm really not - but that's how it makes me feel. I'm golden one moment - a godsdamned wreck the next.
I know I'll still struggle. I'm basically having to redefine myself at the age of 37. I don't have to be home anymore, I don't have to stay close to home anymore. I don't have to worry about keeping bleach around to help kill the smell of urine. I don't have to only cook mushy foods. I don't have to constantly be prepared for a phone call saying something is wrong. I have this bizarre freedom that honestly freaks me the fuck out. And as weird as it sounds, I miss those things.
I'm not one to really talk about super personal stuff on such an open forum. I thought this might help. Might help me - and might help some other poor soul who has no idea what's coming for them. I shamelessly stole the idea from a brave and beautiful friend who talked about her own grief.
So that's it. The beginning. From here on out, everything will be AMD (after mom died). I'm going to do my best to keep up here. Maybe talk about the new me that has to come out now. We'll see. It's a start.
I recently lost my mother. Which makes it sound like she's missing, or that I misplaced her, when in fact she is simply gone. She had primary progressive multiple sclerosis, and by the end she had been bed bound for years. Muscle contracture, spasms, all manner of awfulness. I helped to take care of her for thirteen years. I would move out, then move back in. I'm still here at the moment.
August 29, 2016 is when it happened. Mom had been in hospice care at home for a little over a year. The entire family was able to be here, which was good. My sister and her husband came in on emergency leave from Japan. My other sisters and their significant others were here. One of mom's sisters was here, and the other came down shortly after. I have odd memories from that day. I remember watching her, and having to time her respirations and figure out the dosage of morphine she needed. I remember that Nicole went in to do the same, and called out for us to call the nurses right away. I remember walking in and seeing her lying there, so still. Mom had not been truly still in years. I remember thinking how peaceful she looked, and kissing her. My next memory is of my Aunt making me leave the house. I know I called the hospice nurses, but I don't remember it. I know they showed up to take care of Mom, but I don't remember seeing them. After that it was madness about funeral preparations. Was there going to be a viewing? I was absolutely vehement about the fact that there would NOT be a viewing. Were we going to wait to have it? Why? We had been watching her slowly waste away for years. Why would we wait?
I remember having to buy clothes for the funeral and refusing to wear black. Mom hated the fact that I wore black all the time. I bought a deep teal blouse, and dark burgundy pants. It worked. I looked like a grown up. My family and I supported each other, I had amazing friends that supported me.
I guess I expected it to be different. When you spend so long taking care of someone that you know is going to die, you think you're ready. You've talked to the hospice nurses, you've done the research. You know exactly what's happening to her body, what each facial expression means, how to handle little things that come up. You can change her, help bathe her, feed her, sit with her, and just talk to her about your day - because the illness has defined everything about her life, and to an extent it has also defined yours. I had been a caretaker for so long, that if I wasn't THAT - then what and who the hell was I?
I didn't really process everything while family was here. I'm a solitary creature. I have to ponder things, I'm guilty of overthinking things, and I need to be alone from time to time. I'm not good with strong emotions - not because I don't have them - but because they are too much typically. So when the shock wore off, I broke a little bit. I felt guilty. I was angry. I was lost. I kept a lot of it in - that's what I do - and then just kind of explode on myself and whoever happens to be nearby.
I'm rambling, I know. I'd apologize, but I think I need this.
I was so worried about my father. I'm not exaggerating when I say that my parents are the example I always had for a relationship. Oh they had issues, sometimes major ones, but they truly deeply loved each other. Their 38th wedding anniversary would have been September 16, 2016. Then I became paranoid that he wouldn't come home, and I would lose them both.
I mean, frankly, I went a little crazy for a minute.
I had to get my shit together though, I had things that I needed to do. I was doing the flowers for two weddings in October. That was something I could focus on, it was something to get me through. Well, that and a handful of amazing people who let me cry on their shoulders from time to time. So I did. I buckled down. But guess what? That's over.
I figured I was OK. In my thoughts regarding mom's death prior, I always just kind of bounced back.
I'm discovering that grief is fucking weird. I'm OK for a couple weeks, then bam! I have a meltdown in my car about Halloween of all things. It's my favorite holiday. FAVORITE. I have plans to go to a concert, then possibly a party. Yet all I could think was, "You're going to go out and party and your mother is dead". Bring on the tears. Because really, what kind of horrible fucking human being can work two weddings, have a blast at them because you love the people involved, then go out and party stupidly when YOUR MOTHER IS DEAD. That was my brain. On repeat.
I had a lovely conversation with a friend, and logic slowly returned. I'm still a little down, but not as bad as I was. I think I'm going to go to that concert, because Mom would have said, "Don't be dumb, Danielle! Go have fun!". I'll probably pass on the party because frankly, there are only a handful of people I can handle right now. I just keep having to remind myself that it's OK.
I thought it would be different. Instead grief is an emotional fucking ninja that just pops up whenever it feels like it. I have no control over it. I can't anticipate it. It's frustrating, and makes me feel weak. Calm down, I know I'm really not - but that's how it makes me feel. I'm golden one moment - a godsdamned wreck the next.
I know I'll still struggle. I'm basically having to redefine myself at the age of 37. I don't have to be home anymore, I don't have to stay close to home anymore. I don't have to worry about keeping bleach around to help kill the smell of urine. I don't have to only cook mushy foods. I don't have to constantly be prepared for a phone call saying something is wrong. I have this bizarre freedom that honestly freaks me the fuck out. And as weird as it sounds, I miss those things.
I'm not one to really talk about super personal stuff on such an open forum. I thought this might help. Might help me - and might help some other poor soul who has no idea what's coming for them. I shamelessly stole the idea from a brave and beautiful friend who talked about her own grief.
So that's it. The beginning. From here on out, everything will be AMD (after mom died). I'm going to do my best to keep up here. Maybe talk about the new me that has to come out now. We'll see. It's a start.
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