Ken, my son who lived with me, killed himself the day after Christmas. I’m still in shock and disbelief. I’ll write more later..
February was a difficult month, physically. Had some setbacks, saw a lot of professionals in the medical community. No one knows what is causing my problems, so they don’t deal with it. In the meantime, I just sort of ‘exist.’ Since I don’t get out, except to keep appointments, my life is rather dull.
I’ve lost a couple more friends. Each time this happens, I’m filled with fear and dread. Don’t think I need explain.
The brightness in my life has come from reading and writing. I’ve joined an eight week writing class on Writers On the Nert called ‘Shadow Writing,’ which is digging deeper to help us get in touch with our authentic selves. We’re in the sixth week. I find the classes help motivate me to write. I haven’t posted here for a while, but if it wasn’t for the class, I wouldn’t have written anything at all. At least I have produced something for the class.
But the big news is that my last name is once again officially that of my husband of 51 years. My lawyer called me today. Now I just need to get a new social security card with my ‘new’ (old) name. Hooray! I can’t say how relieved I am. It’s like coming home. The other name felt so foreign and uncomfortable. I can rest easy now.
Oh, Forrest, my love, now everything is as it should be.
I walked forty steps with my walker today. Breathless afterwards and had to rest, but it’s a beginning.
The past few weeks have been brutal, physically. Today was more of the same but I decided I can’t go on like this. I have to do something! So I pushed through discomfort and fear, clenched my teeth and just DID it! Jenny walking beside me. The sun is shining, the weather is mild. I’m alive again!
I started the process today of having my last name changed. This is the story behind such an action:
I was married to Forrest for 51 years. He died in 2007. I was lonely, met Richard and married him in 2011. Just weeks after our wedding, Richard fell ill and he died six months later of pancreatic cancer. We spent a lot of time with hospice health care givers and Richard’s family and friends. The circumstances prevented us from developing the give and take of a real marriage.
I was able to keep Richard at home, which was his greatest wish. He died in his favorite chair in the living room with his family and friends around him and me holding his hand.
I knew that Richard’s first wife had been the love of his life; I placed her photo on the mantel where he could see it and just be with her as he watched TV.
I’m glad I was there for him and able to help him die at home, but now I want to finish my life with the name of the husband I grew up and shared my love and most of my life with. I spoke with a lawyer today and the process has begun. I feel as if I’ve taken the first step of coming back home.
Just want to wish everyone a healthy and happy new year. May 2013 bring peace and safety to all parts of the world. Thank you, my blogging friends, for your interest and support in me and my imperfect blog. I’m amazed by the warmth and caring I’ve found here. I can’t tell you how I’ve benefited from knowing you. I hope to have more to give to you in 2013. Love and hugs. XO Mary
This morning I ordered the 2013 Poet’s Market from Amazon. I’ve made a promise to myself to send out at least one poem a month. I haven’t tried to publish in literary magazines or small presses in years. I hate the business end of it and would rather spend the time creating but it IS nice, once in awhile, to see my poems in print along with other poets. Also, at this time in my life, sending out the poems gives me a purpose, something to look forward to, whether the poems are published or not. My life has become so humdrum, so void of freshness or excitement. This will be an adventure.
Happy holidays to my fellow bloggers and other friends who stop by. I wish you peace and many blessings now and always.
“It’s a Wonderful Life” is on the TV tonight. Scott loved that movie. He watched it every year. I’m surprised at how just knowing its on fills me with dread. It’s been 13 years since Scott killed himself and I still can’t watch his favorite programs, look at his photos, his handwriting, anything that reminds me of him. He loved sizzlers, Seinfeld, Star Wars, roast, rice and gravy.
I often wonder what he would look like now, if he’d be married, if he’d have children. I loved him so much. I still can’t believe he’s gone. And I miss him.
I’ll be glad when Christmas is over. Next, I have to get through his birthday, January 9th. He’d be 49. The hurt never goes away.
I had a cousin just a few months younger than me. Her name was Terry. We met 27 years ago when we both were 58. It’s a long story, but briefly, she lived in Kansas and had been looking for her mother for years; finally found us in Missouri, but her mother had passed away. I was thrilled to have her in my life.
She and her husband visited us a couple of times, and my husband and I drove to Kansas to see her. We talked on the phone and exchanged letters.
She was such a gift; we both lamented the fact that we lived so far from each other. I felt we had been cheated (she much more than I) for not knowing each other when we were younger. My dad’s family all lived close, within walking distance of one another. If we had known each other then, we would have been playmates, probably best friends. And then, after finally meeting, we still couldn’t see each other that often because of the distance, and, later, due to the fact that we both had physical problems that made traveling difficult.
Our contact has been less frequent the past few years, and I’ve been the one to call. Terry had been quite ill and on medication that left her drowsy, with slurred speech; I did most of the talking. Not a very rewarding exchange.
I was thinking about her today and realized it had been quite awhile since we talked. I decided to call her and was looking forward to hearing her voice. Her husband answered, told me she died last April. And now I regret that I didn’t call her sooner.
I’ve had that experience before. I called my best friend after my husband died and learned she had died months before. You’d think I would have learned by now to live as if today is the only day. To not let time grow between us.
But time seems to go so fast. And I think….tomorrow. Then tomorrow comes, and I let it slide by too And before I know it, weeks, months have passed. Nothing in life is so certain that we can take anything for granted.
I’m glad, and grateful, that my cousin and I were able to enjoy each other, if only briefly. If she hadn’t found us, I would never have known I had a cousin in Kansas. She enriched my life and she’s a part of me now.
I love you Terry. Thank you for the gift of you.
About the only thing that motivates me these days is my girl, JennyPenny. I’m lucky to have her. Otherwise I’d probably just sit here and rot. But she has to be fed twice a day, watered, let out about every hour or two and get her medicine twice a day. Which means I have to get off my duff, if only to transfer from bed to wheelchair, and move myself around. Yes, that’s right. Bed! Embarrassing as it is, I spend most of my day on my bed. Reclining, with legs stretched out, back supported by pillows.
And that has got to change. The longer I stay here in my bedroom, the more strength I lose and the weaker I get. I notice my legs aren’t as sturdy as they used to be. I’m losing muscle. Just a small amount of exercise leaves me weak and breathless. If I stand longer than a few minutes, my blood pressure goes up too high. Then I feel light headed and faint. It’s a viscous circle. The longer I stay on my bed, the worse I feel and the worse I feel, the more I want to operate from my bedhome.
What’s operating most in this viscous circle is fear. The physical problems, along with the consequences of not pushing myself, are real. And scary.
I know I could do better. I’ve got to just DO it! Start slow and build up. I don’t know what I can regain of what I’ve lost, but something, I’m sure. Yesterday I walked back and forth in the sun room about four or five times holding onto a walker and felt no ill effects. I’ve got to do this every day. And I’ve got to move out of my bedroom into the sunroom.
It’s bright and pleasant there, with a view of the yard, my neighbors, and vehicles going down Luster. There’s a world out there I don’t want to lose contact with.
My love for the bedroom started when I was a small child and sick. I spent much time in bed reading, writing, dreaming. Even when I wasn’t sick, I could hide out in my room from my brothers, who loved to tease me. I was the only girl in the family until after I graduated from high school. After I had Rheumatic Fever and a mitral valve prolapse, Mother became very protective of me. She wouldn’t let me do heavy chores or go for long walks. Once, in high school, when my classmates went on a hike, I sat in the back of a pickup which was transporting the picnic supplies to our destination. The message was: I was different from everyone else, weaker, not quite up to snuff. It’s a concept I’ve had to fight all my life and am still having problems with in my old age.
But now, I have to find the strength and courage to change my concept of myself and to be more active, to live a normal life.