My House

My House

The moment I stepped foot in this place, I knew it was my house and would be my home.

Now that my circumstances have changed so dramatically, I'm beginning to understand that for my own good, I will need to let go of this beautiful place.

It's isolated and it's full of memories that sometimes make it hard to move forward.

I look at the downstairs closet door and remember how Dave had to kick that door open from the inside to save us.

All the doors in this place have a very old-fashioned latch instead of knobs. The closet door has a latch on the outside only. If you go into the closet and somehow the door closes and latches on the outside, you're locked in. Now, this would theoretically never happen, because

1. Most likely you'd never go into the closet and then want to close the door behind you.

2. Even if you wanted to try that move, it's difficult to close a door that has no knob or handle of any sort on that side.

Theory and reality. Two different things.

The trap door to the crawlspace is located in that closet. Dave had to go into the crawlspace to do something and enlisted my help. I was to keep the cat out of the closet while he worked. Rosco wanted nothing more than to explore that crawlspace and would try to push his way into the closet while I barred his entrance. I was facing the door, keeping the door open just enough to keep it from latching from the outside while not enough to admit the curious cat by putting my fingertips under the bottom of the door to control it.  Dave was standing with his torso sticking out of the trap door. Rosco stuck his  white paws under the door to play with my fingertips and I giggled and called out "Look at Rosco playing with my fingers!" Dave replied (Mr. Practical) "Don't let the door latch shut. We'll be locked in here," to which I replied "I won't do that, SHEESH, whattya think I am, stupid?". And that was when I accidentally shut and latched the door. There was a flurry of "I TOLD YOU!" and "I KNOW BUT I DIDN'T THINK IT'D ACTUALLY LATCH THAT EASILY!" and "OH MY GOD WE'RE GOING TO DIE IN HERE! WHAT DO WE DO NOW? NO ONE KNOWS WE'RE IN HERE!"

After resolutely declaring that we'd just die in that closet and someone would find our corpses and those of the cat when no one came looking for us soon enough, Dave calmly hoisted himself out of the crawlspace, moved me out of the way, and karate-kicked the door right where the latch would be on the other side, cracking the frame a little, but unlatching the latch and saving us before I could finish my sentence on how embarrassing it would be to die because I trapped us in our closet.

I can still see the tiny crack in the door frame.

I look at the staircase and remember the time I picked up a mouse on the landing.

A terrible high pitched squeaking almost too high pitched to hear woke us up one night. We found Rosco playing with a mouse in the stairwell. There is something about hearing a mouse squeak for its life while watching a cat play with it that makes me lose my mind, because after watching for a few seconds, I made up (lost) my mind. I ran past the cat and mouse on the landing to the first floor, grabbed some gardening gloves lying near the door and ran back to the landing. When the cat had that mouse cornered, I grabbed the terrified rodent by the tail, ran back down the stairs and tossed it outside, all before I realized what I'd just managed to do. I think Dave's jaw made a small thump when it hit the ground. I don't think he'd moved the entire time. I calmly removed the gloves and climbed back in bed while Dave still remained frozen and silent. I'm not sure he was even able to remark on that moment that night. I think he was literally speechless. I, on the other hand, managed to say something like "Did you SEE that?" while he just stared at me like he'd never seen me before and had no idea who I was.

I look at the dining area by the wood stove and think of the time Rosco projectile vomited the liquid from cooking corn onto the dining room table, chairs and floor.

He'd gotten onto the counter when we weren't looking and lapped up ALL the liquid the corn had been cooking in, jumped off the counter and jumped onto the dining room table. From the living room, we heard the sound all cat owners dread. It's the sound that alerts us to move the cat to a surface that is not carpeted or upholstered. We both couldn't get to the kitchen in time to make sure Rosco was barfing over a paper towel or something but instead got to witness him vomit all that liquid out like a firehouse. It forcefully sprayed out of his mouth, across the table, into the chair nearby, down the chair and onto the floor. It must have a been a full 20 seconds we stood there, mouths open in surprise, listening to the musical sound of the puke dripping from the table and chair. "I have no words," I finally whispered. "You don't see that everyday" he finally deadpanned. And I went to get the paper towels.

This house is so full of memories like that. Memories that feel just as close and as current as the moment I'm living in now even though some of them are up to 11 years old.

There is some sort of disconcerting mismatch between the reality of my situation and the memories this house traps inside it. The mismatch makes me feel stuck in the past.

I can also picture a family filling this house with love and noise and life. It's a house for a family, not a single 35 year old woman. At least not THIS 35 year old single woman.

I wish I were in a position to better pick the family that moves in when this place eventually sells. I definitely feel like they're adoptive parents more than potential home buyers. I want to make them go through an application process to prove they're worthy.

They'd have to be willing to feed my hummingbirds who come back every March. There would be a stipulation that they'd HAVE to have the feeders out no later than the first week of March or the hummies might come back early and search for their feeder. This would NOT be acceptable.

They'd have to promise to never harass or hurt the deer, even when they eat the shrubs. And they will.

They'd need to promise to grow veggies in the massive veggie garden Dave and I labored over for years and to use the greenhouse we built ourselves. 

They'd have to promise to look at the sky on a clear night and note that the milky way is visible out here in the middle of nowhere.

They'd need to promise to never fill this house with ugliness or violence. It's a house of peace and quiet and love and always should be.

They'd need to promise to love this house as much as I've loved it for the past 11 years.

I can't imagine that's possible, but it would be nice.

A Talk of Death

I just returned from visiting with my parents and aunt. I take the two hour drive every other weekend, as I know that my folks, and their generation of family members, won't be around forever. Of course none of us will be around forever, will we? It's just that my parents are in their late 70's, and with many health problems. My aunt is in the final stage of her cancer, and I'm all too aware of how precious time becomes when you know someone is leaving sooner rather than later.

Each time I take this trip, my car is loaded with my kids, my daughter's boyfriend, and on a few occasions, Abel, my new boyfriend. Today's trip felt quite intense. We visited with my folks first, then had them join us for a visit with my aunt. While at the visit my cousins were sharing with me that my aunt has chosen to end her chemotherapy. She has decided that her last days will be healthier and happier days without the misery that chemo can bring. It was kind of a sobering occasion.

On the long drive home Abel and I had a long conversation about health, death and aging. We talked about the various diseases that have affected our family's of origin, and how illness and death have touched each of our lives. At one point there was a pause, and Abel turned to me to ask, have you had a physical lately?

Funny timing. I do have a physical scheduled for this Monday. My health is definitely not something I take for granted. Although my kids are now teenagers, and young adults, I know that they still need me. I know that I still have much more parenting to do, and want to be sure that I am around for a long time. Remember, I will become a grandfather in less than two months. Last time that I met with my doctor, he told me that he was concerned about my blood pressure. It has always been borderline high, but now it is looking problematic. He reviewed my medical chart, and asked how long I have been on my anti-depressant.

Too long.

Like Janine, I have struggled with depression for many years. My depression has not been helped by the mental health problems that my two sons suffer from, nor has it been aided by the death of my husband. In the past two years I have tried twice to go off my medication, each time without much success. I usually do well for a couple months, then find myself sinking deeper and deeper.

I told my doctor that while I was not sure about going completely off the medication, I preferred to try going off the anti-depressant rather than adding another medication for high blood pressure. I'm worried, because I'm not sure I am making the right decision, but once again I feel that it is worth a try. I suppose that if there was an optimum time to try it would be when I am happily in a new relationship and looking forward to the arrival of new life. Is that enough? Is anything enough?

All I know is that I do feel a deep sense of responsibility to not die. Well, just not right now at least. One pill? Two pills? I will make that decision on Monday. Suddenly I have someone holding my hand, reminding me that he is quite invested in my being around for quite some time.

Worth

It's 2012.

I'm here in Tennessee with group of widows and all feels right.

I woke up this morning and walked in the mountains. The fresh, cold air on my face. The sound of nothing but wind through pine needles. The necessity to do nothing but listen to the thoughts in my mind. To say nothing but my feelings to my heart and him.

I know that 2013 and 2014 and 2015 will come. I don't know what each year will hold, or if I'll even be in them, but I do know that living is the only answer to each day that passes...each month that passes...each year.

He is my reason for living, and through that reasoning, I have even found reason to live for myself.

He was always someone who I planned or would have died for, but when cards dealt something unexpectedly, I knew I had to live for him, and in doing so, I found not only a reason to live for myself, but for others like me.

I love that I have that knowledge...I love knowing what I am alive for...and what I know I would and will die for.

That knowledge, undoubtedly, will make 2012 and beyond a year and lifetime worth living.

Keep Your Head Up

The weather here in Texas has been gorgeous the last few days. A bit too cool for a convertible, but perfect for sitting on a patio in the sun and drinking a margarita. These kind of days made me very sad in the days, months, and years after Daniel died. They reminded me so much of him and how much I missed him. Now, I feel like he sends me these days, just when I need them. A little "hello" from heaven. I had the sunroof open in the car on the way to work this morning, and a song came on the radio that put a smile on my face and a skip in my step. Grayson loves this song, and he was singing it out loud as we drove to school. Hope it cheers you up the way it did us. Happy Friday!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wq7edbqi9n0

sex, death and Santa

Photo from here...

There are some topics taboo in childhood. Topics which we attempt to ignore and gloss over for children. We feel they don't need to know....yet.

But when a child has had to bear witness to the truth, then what?

"I told Ryan all about how Daddy died," my five year old son, Briar, proudly told me as he sat on the toilet behind me. "That way, he'll know how it feels when his daddy dies."

I froze, mid-mascara stroke, attempting to come up with an appropriate reply. I was pleased that he was so comfortable communicating about such an emotion-filled topic. But I was also worried that his actions would concern Ryan's family when the little boy had multiple sleepless nights filled with angst imagining the death of his own father.

"Wow, honey," I answered after a long pause, "that was very.... thoughtful of you.....What did Ryan say when you told him about it?"

By now, Briar was absentmindedly staring at the pattern in the lino on the bathroom floor. "He just listened and didn't say anything much."

I was struck with the thought that, much like sex and Santa, death or mortality is a topic that parents want to have with their own children. They don't want some kid announcing it nonchalantly on the school bus or while playing Lego. It's hinted at in our culture...But rarely stated so bluntly as my sweet little boy did.

I can and will assure Ryan's parents that Briar's topic of conversation came from a kind and innocent place. And I know from knowing Ryan's parents that they will most likely be completely fine with this....But what about next time?

Will other parents shift in their chairs and glance at each other uncomfortably across the dinner table when their son or daughter comes home from school with questions about the imminence of their death? Will they be upset that the cat is out of the bag? Or will they be pleased that the topic has come up? Should I explain to Briar that this is something that parents want to talk to their little ones about when they are ready? Or should I just let Briar's well-meant lessons on life show others that families come in all shapes and sizes and backgrounds?

At First I Was Really Ticked ....

                                                 picture from here


.... but now I'm feeling "normal" (I wanted to write that I was feeling "Pissed", but I didn't want to offend some of you by putting that in the title.  If it offends you in parenthesis .... I apologize).

A few months after Jim died it became clear to me that I needed to see my doctor, and I needed to see her quickly ..... about starting antidepressants.
I had never been on them before in my life.
I didn't know anything about them.
The one thing that I did know is that if I didn't see her soon, and get some help, I might not live another week.

And so I went.
And it became clear to her that I needed to be on them.
And so I started taking them.
And soon started feeling much more "balanced".
Not happy.  Still grieving.  But able to handle it.

That was almost 4 years ago.
This past fall I weaned off of those meds back in August/September.
And did really well.
For a while.

And then I did not.
I started sliding downhill around Thanksgiving.
But I knew that holiday .... and all of December, were going to be difficult and so I dug in my heels and decided that I'd just wait it out.
Because surely I'd be much better after New Year's.

Fortunately, I have been able to recognize when I am about to jump off of a cliff.
It was almost too late this time, because I kept thinking I just had to get past December.
I made it to Christmas Eve.
Barely.
And then the meds came back out.
Just in time.
I would not have made it past New Year's.

I had been spiraling downwards, further and further, the entire month of December.
I finally knew that I couldn't wait it out.
And so I threw in the towel.
And .... not only was I incredibly depressed .... I was hugely pissed.
I still am .... a little.

I'm pissed that, not only did I have to lose half of my heart when Jim died, but I had to physically and emotionally lose at least half of who I was.
I'm pissed that not only did grief exist in my life, but it physically changed my body ..... and the chemical makeup of my brain.
I think having a dead husband should be enough to suffer through .... enough of a change to have to endure.
But I guess my thinking isn't what always happens.

So now I am back on my meds .... and as of about one week ago, I'm feeling normal. Well, normal for me, that is.
One week ago today, was the first day that I didn't cry.  Not once, let alone most of the day.
And I haven't cried since ..... not from that cold, enveloping blackness anyway.
And I'm feeling happy again.
And seeing things through much clearer lenses.

And I'm thankful.
Thankful that we have these kinds of medications available and thankful that I finally gave in and took them.
And I'm thankful to feel happy again.
And normal.

But I'm still angry.
Angry that I have to take them, and probably always will, when the "before Janine" never needed them.
Ever.
And I'm angry that our society doesn't always recognize the chemical need that a brain has to stay balanced.
But mostly?  Mostly I'm angry that most people don't realize that they need help .... that their loved ones don't notice, or don't know what to do even if they notice .... until it's too late.
It angers me that our society doesn't know as much about depression ..... and how to recognize it, or what to do about it ..... as much as we know about the iPhone.

And it angers me that some factions of our society claim that depression doesn't really exist, that there's no need for antidepressants, and that it's all a sham.
That angers me a lot.

And though I know that I'm going out on a limb here .... it angers me that people who commit suicide are labeled as "incredibly selfish".
Because I don't agree.  I know that most of them were just unable to live one more minute with the pain inside of them.  And most of them probably thought that their loved ones would be much better off if they didn't have to deal with someone who not only is in constant pain, who couldn't see an end to the pain and the "blackness", but who was also dragging everyone down with them.

We need to know more.
Much more.
And I hope that one day soon ..... we will.

As for me, I'm a lot more happy than I am angry or sad now.
I'm back to feeling more like me.
And this was the first time that I looked forward to New Year's since 2006/2007.
And that's too damn long.

I won't' say "Happy New Year" to you .... because I remember how much I hated hearing "Happy" anything ..... for quite a while.
But I will wish you comfort and peace and wonderful memories to treasure.
And I will remind you that you are NOT alone.
And that your grief will get easier to carry.
One day at a time.

looking backwards - looking forwards

This is a mash-up of two blogs I posted on my personal blog on December 31 and January 1....

Goodbye 2011

Goodbye gripping sadness

Goodbye anger

Goodbye fear

Goodbye bad habits

Goodbye worry

Goodbye self-doubt

Goodbye hurt

Goodbye pain

Goodbye tiredness

Goodbye nastiness

Goodbye negativity and negative people

Goodbye self-loathing

Goodbye depression

Goodbye financial stress

Goodbye guilt

Goodbye caring what others think

Goodbye uncertainty

Goodbye bad luck

Goodbye deep grief

Goodbye 2011

Hello 2012

Hello love

Hello kindness

Hello grace

Hello better health

Hello better fitness

Hello new friends

Hello feeling safe

Hello good things for the kids

Hello confidence

Hello new wealth

Hello increased strength

Hello empathy

Hello good luck

Hello stable career

Hello permanent job

Hello fun

Hello good memories

Hello positivity

Hello learning new things

Hello old love

Hello new love

Hello 2012

Photo from here