The Medicine Cabinet

Never thought that something so innocuous could have the power to cause so much pain. I’m finally beginning to see some progress on the house-cleaning project. The other day I cleaned both bathrooms. I thought I’d empty out his side of the medicine cabinet. One whiff of his Old Spice aftershave, and I was done. Guess his stuff will stay there a bit longer. It’s not like I need the space anyway.

I’ve been spending the last week wondering what in the hell I came back up here for. Yeah, there’s the legal crap, but now that my part of it is done, I’m looking at a very long, cold winter. I think it will be my last one here. I’ve lived that challenge of Alaska, and while it was a great challenge for many years, I’m ready for a different challenge. I think also that I’d like to live closer to family. My brother has been fussing at me for years to move to his corner of the world, and I do like it there. Close to the ocean, plus I’d get to be a part of my niece and nephews lives, which sounds very appealing to me at this point in my life.

The day before…

Sometimes I can be such a dumbass -

A friend that had won tickets for the Denali Park Lottery offered me one of them. I had the chance to get out of MC for the weekend and go camping with friends and spend tomorrow with the person that married us. I turned him down; gave him some foolish excuse about having stuff to do this weekend. Like sitting around alternating between tears and extreme anger is really something to do…

I swear that if I get one more phone call from debt collectors requesting that Jim return their call, I’m going to throw the damn phone out in the front yard. Maybe his ashes will stir and come together enough for him to return their call. I know that his social security number has been flagged; the funeral home makes the call and reports the person as deceased. So why the hell are they calling? Do they have any idea how painful it is to have a message on the machine asking for your dead husband to return a phone call? No, obviously not, nor do they care. Thank God I don’t live in a community property state, else I would be responsible for his debt, one of which is the hospital bill from Providence last year when we meddi-vacced out. It seems that neither one of his insurances wish to pay it. Oh well, I don’t care; they can duke it out and then swallow the bill.

As crazy as it may seem, I’ve actually been thinking about trying out some church to see if it’s as bad as it was years ago when I quit attending. I don’t know; the last time I tried church, it was all about how people were dressed and what they did for a living, and nothing about what it should be about – people coming together to help others.

So, today I have to get the kitchen cleaned. Tomorrow my new furniture is being delivered. That will be something to look forward to, I suppose.

Should have just gone camping instead -

God, Please not again!

This Saturday marks six months since he passed away. Although to a lot of people I look like I’m handling it pretty well, I’m really not. Yesterday I was working on the upstairs trying to get it ready for the furniture I bought when I ran across the last picture that was taken of us together. It was taken minutes before he went in for his surgery that ultimately turned out to be a complete waste of time and effort. I just keep thinking that instead of wasting what precious little time we had left on useless surgeries, why didn’t we just go to Mexico? That’s all my head is filled with these days – why? Why did he have to go before the 20 years he promised me were over? Why did God have to take two of the most important men in my life so close in time to each other? Why do I have to keep going on when I can’t find a reason or purpose for it? Why does it hurt more at six months than it did before? That one, at least, I know the answer to. The shock has worn off, and my new reality is staring me right in the face. This will be my winter of firsts – first winter without Jim, first Thanksgiving/Christmas without him, his first birthday without him to help celebrate. I don’t want to do this, especially alone. Friends have gone back to their lives, which is fine, but it just underscores my reality that I am alone in this grief journey.

I hate it, hate it, hate it. I want the pain to go away and stay away. I want to be whatever the definition of ‘normal’ is…

In Jail

Finally went back to the doctor yesterday. Call me the biggest chickenshit in the world, but when I had my hypochondriac attack back in April and requested all these different kinds of tests done to make sure I was healthy, I chickened out when it came time to get the results. After the last two years of my life being defined by the death of loved ones, I just knew that I had something wrong. Ever since the time before Jim went in the hospital, when I had to lift him off the floor back onto the couch 20-30 times a day, I’ve had strange tingling/numbness in my hands. That’s the biggest reason why I went to the dr. yesterday. If it feels and acts like Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, it most likely is. He did the tests and confirmed it and ordered splints for me to wear. It’s worse in my left hand (dominant), but both are affected. Even typing this small amount that I have here is bringing on the symptoms. Then I finally got the nerve to ask him the results from my tests. Turns out that all of them came back normal!!! Really surprising on the chest x-ray, as I’ve been a smoker for 30 years. But I’ll take the results and run with them; work on a better lifestyle so maybe I can make it past the age of 55. Still not real sure why I need to -

So last night I put the splints on when I went to bed. Ever try to put hand splints on both hands alone? Interesting project. Immediately I felt as if my hands were ‘in jail.’ It was the strangest feeling to have both hands immobilized all night, but this morning neither one was numb or tingly. Achy, yes. But I think that may be because I tried to curl my hands up in spite of the splints. Hopefully this will work, as I can’t imagine having surgery with no one around to help me wipe my ass afterwards. Cross that road when/if it becomes necessary.

“…and the beat goes on…”

“The good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and the evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart. For out of the overflow of his heart his mouth speaks” (Luke 6:45)

There is this male human person (I won’t even give him the respect to call him a man) that keeps attacking me verbally. Before Jim, he did so on a regular basis. The six years that Jim and I were together, he spent the entire time apologizing to Jim (never me) for the way he treated me. It really irks me that I’m wasting space on my blog writing about him, but I can’t let last nights’ incident go until I do.

Now that Jim’s gone, he’s started his shit again. Last night was the second or third time he attacked me without provocation. And I’m not sure which hurts more; him, or the fact that the bar owner was bartending, yet instead of throwing him out, she watched me walk out in tears. This guy spends his money freely whenever he’s in there, so perhaps that’s the reason why she just let me go as he kept calling me names. I know I shouldn’t let stuff/people that get to me, but when you’re vulnerable and grieving inside still, it’s easy for them to sneak in sideways and knock you over. And the excuse that “he’s just drunk; he’s just J*%” really doesn’t wash with me anymore (never really did). I am tired of being attacked in that place while the owner stands by and does nothing more than ask him to stop. What would I like to see? His worthless, oxygen-thieving self shown the door permanently. I know that I’m not the only one he attacks. The advice to just ignore him? Tried that last night; didn’t even acknowledge his sorry old ass, yet he just had to attack me.

The scary part? He knows where I live, and that I live alone. He also is well-known around the community for doing, shall I say, ‘destructive’ things in retaliation to people that have pissed him off.

Of course, there is a good side to this (there always is); instead of hanging out down there until midnight or later drinking, I came home. Part of my trip to town yesterday was the search for Zoo Tycoon 2: Zookeeper Collection. Got that installed in the computer, and had fun for a couple of hours. Even got to play with my new cell phone for a bit before I just got too tired and went to bed. Where I slept like crap all night, waiting for the jerk to show up at the house looking for ‘more conversation.’

Ugh. Ok, can I be done with this person taking up space in my head and my blog now? Thank you

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Amazing how owning a house obligates a person to doing all kinds of things, and the list is never-ending. How much easier it is when there are two to get it all done. At least I’m finally doing something more than just sitting around staring at the walls.

This month will mark six months since I lost my husband. Funny phrase, that. I didn’t really “lose him,” I know where he is, but I just can’t bring myself to say the ‘D’ word yet. It’s also interesting how even though it will be six months, in many ways it feels closer to a year. Perhaps because October will mark a year since he was diagnosed, and me being the research addict that I am, by the time he was out of the hospital, I already knew the odds of him beating the cancer. I think I started grieving his loss then, while at the same time helping him to fight, to beat the monster in his head. Feels like living in two worlds at the same time. Am I a six-month widow, or a one-year widow? Both, I guess.

“Are you glad to be home?”

This is the question that I keep hearing over and over. I don’t have an answer. I don’t know if I’m glad to be ‘home.’ I’m not even sure that this is home anymore. Am I glad to be done with the road-trip? I think so. It is good to not have to get up and drive 300-400 miles, but on the other hand, now I’m back to looking at the same old boring scenery. Doing the same old boring things. Hanging out a the same old boring bar every day…

For six weeks, I really didn’t drink much. Couple beers at night just to settle down after a day of driving. Of course, there were the party nights while in Vermont, but for the most part, not much drinking. Then I get home, and it seems as if there is some switch in my head that insists that I must go to the bar every day or else! Not sure what the ‘or else’ is all about, but I think it’s well past time to get over that mentality. I have outside projects to get done before the snow flies, and projects in the house to keep me entertained for most of the winter. Perhaps it’s the loneliness. I’m fine all day until it’s time to relax and get ready for bed. Like most widows, bedtime is the worst time. It’s when your reality rears its’ ugly head and reminds you, once again, that you are alone. Alone is not necessarily a bad thing, but loneliness is a truly awful place. I want to get to a place where I am ok with being alone without the gut-wrenching feeling of loneliness. I know, time….