Warning - could be very random - I seem to have lost my map!
Over the past week and a half I have had so many moments where I couldn't sit down to write, but thought, oh my, I want to remember to write about that! This from the woman who can often no longer tell you what the date is, what I had for lunch yesterday, or if I'm coming or going. I need to keep a little note pad with me at all times so I don't lose the wonderful instances in the midst of the sadness. My analogy this week is that this journey is like being at the amusement park - you don't necessarily know what's around the next corner; whether the next attraction will delight or terrify you. You just have to try them all to figure it out. There are rushes, there are moments of terror, and there is fun and laughter, not necessarily in any order.
I have been trying to make progress in taking care of me. Not to sound selfish, but it really is important as I don't have anyone at home to look out for me, know if something's wrong, help if I have a problem. Therefore I need to work on being healthier physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. When Adam deployed, Dave, Adam, Jessica and I talked about the fact that our jobs were for each of us to take care of ourselves to the best extent possible. By doing that, we took care of each other, as no one would have to worry about the other and could concentrate on what all of us needed to do to survive that period. If you can do it, I believe it works wonderfully. I have found a new therapist, enrolled in a grief group for parents who have lost children, scheduled a weekend grief seminar to attend, gone back to church, seen a doctor and acupuncturist and have begun to change my diet. Whew! That was a mouthful and seems like a lot in a week and a half, however, I feel this journey could correlate well to AA's 20 step program. One week, one day, one hour, one minute, one second at a time. Don't look too far ahead.
I purchased a planner as I find myself confused about when I'm going to do what and have often found myself really in a pickle after I've double booked myself. I think in addition to this blog, rather than use my phone to schedule, this will provide a mini-diary to look back upon to remember what I so often forget these days and also to keep me from embarrassing myself by double booking or not showing up somewhere I need to be.
It seems though, that I am experiencing some of the darkest times yet on this grief journey. I don't mind being alone. I actually often enjoy my own company. However, about a month ago I was in Indy watching Adam's children for 2 days before they went back to school. I pulled into the driveway to see Camden at the door bouncing up and down and calling my name. I entered the house with him hanging on to me and the girls not far behind. As I cared for them while their mother worked those two days, it struck me how much I missed being touched. Those three children can be the most loving little people you have ever met and like to cuddle and snuggle and I realized that I do too and have been sorely missing having hugs or someone to hold my hand. Even in the midst of the joy of receiving that love from those sweet children, I began to almost physically ache for I knew it would be short lived and I would go home to the "desert" again. It's strange, because I receive hugs from many friends and treasure them all, but coming from my family, from the extension of my son somehow satisfies a need, that until then I didn't know I had. Now I crave it often. This is like getting off your favorite ride and you see the line is so long that you're going to have to wait a long time before you can experience that joy again. Disappointing.
Last Friday I woke to a horrible "roaring" noise in my kitchen. My refrigerator sounded as if it was about to take off. All I could see were huge $$$$ signs. My life requires frugality in order to maintain what I have and what I enjoy. That was a little like going through the Haunted House. Fortunately, I lucked upon a local repairman NOT from a big box store, who was extremely kind. He warned me that it may be more expensive than he had hoped. As I held my breath, he quoted $250 to $300. That was like when it's pitch black in that haunted house, something jumps out at you, scaring you to death, and you turn the corner and see the light at the end of the ride. It's all going to be okay. Whew!
I've had the opportunity to spend time with my grandson here in Fort Wayne. He is hilarious. We pulled into a gas station and I complained that gas was so expensive. Tyler, in his 4 year old wisdom, from his booster seat, replied, "I know, crazy isn't it?" Or having my son Chad and his wife Ashley surprise me out of the blue by taking me out to dinner as a thank you for helping pick Tyler up, which is a gift in and of itself to me. That's the joy and the laughter. Time spent with family fills and warms my heart and makes me want to come back to that part of the park as often as I can. It's like being on the "It's A Small World" ride. Safe and comfortable. Sit back and relax and sing along. Soothing to the soul.
This may sound really crazy, but Sunday Adam's dog, Kona, had to be put down. She could no longer walk, was losing weight like crazy and was miserable. It was the right thing to do yet it broke my heart again. Adam got her when he lived in Seattle and was single. She came from Fort Wayne and when she was old enough, Dave and I picked her up. She lived with us for a week before we flew her out to him in Seattle. He adored that dog. And I did too. I imagine it was a wonderful reunion between the two and I bet they went for a long run together, something neither had been able to do in a long time. To me this was like watching one of the shows, that may have very tender, sad moments, but ends on a happy note. You walk away feeling as if life is just as it should be, even though it was hard getting to that point.
In this week I have realized finally, in capital letters, that losing my husband, son and even Kona are the best things that could have happened to each one of them. They are out of pain, they no longer suffer. In their new existence they can do things that they couldn't on earth. I believe they still love those that they loved on earth but that their "world" has opened up exponentially beyond our comprehension. My grief should not be focused on what they are missing, what they can no longer do, because my belief system says that there is no longer anything they CAN'T do. Grief is about me. It's about his wife and children, my sisters and their families. It's totally about those left behind. Losing my parents broke my heart in that my true safety net and well from which I drew wisdom was no longer available to me. However, through their guidance, teaching and just loving me they had prepared me to go on without my even realizing it. I still miss them terribly but can manage. Losing my husband was that second safety net, and he provided the warmth and comfort every human being should have in their life. He was my cheering section and soft place to land and often my voice of reason when I worry too much or get my feelings hurt too easily. But if I stop, when I'm having one of those hard times, I can hear his voice as I did for 10 years telling me just what I need to hear. He also prepared me to go forward on this journey. Losing my son - I know he would want me to be happy. Sometimes he was my best critic, calling me out when I needed it. But he had also needed me. And I'm realizing that I'm unprepared to go forward in this life alone, without being needed. That is as foreign to me as speaking Swahili. It doesn't mean I can't. It just means I'm lost. Terribly lost without a compass or map. I do have a light and that is my faith, which I'm leaning heavily on now. Losing all the people that I have that I have loved so dearly has come at a cost. However, I'm learning there is a big difference between losing those you expect to apart from your child, who is supposed to outlive you by a mile. I will hurt everyday I'm on this earth without him, but I will learn how to go on. I've lost my map and don't know how to get out of this park.
Right now I'm stuck in the "Deliverance" part of the park that's a little scary, but I'm determined to find my way over the rainbow to where the wizard may have what I need, but I need to understand it may not come in the form that I had before or quite what I wanted. I feel sure it will be what I need to find my way down the road and may actually turn into more than I could have imagined. But I have to buy the ticket and be willing to try. So I'll get back in line and do it all again. Maybe this time it will feel a little more familiar and I won't get lost as often. Maybe I won't get locked in at night when it's dark and scary and all you can do is cry. Maybe I'll make a new friend, dance in the rain while the ride is down, or while waiting for the fireworks, see a shooting star. Ticket for one, so very expensive. I'm up for the ride. Until next time, make it your best day!
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