Posts (page 2)
Sorry for not answering your comments yet -- I'm behind again, everywhere. Will catch up, I promise.
Today I did some work outside. I hate doing it -- not a yard work person AT ALL - Mom used to watch me through the windows and was always happy that I did things, even if I screwed them up. That's what moms do, right? I miss being the person whom she looked at that way -- I miss knowing that I'm the center of someone's world. I don't know if it's possible to have that with anyone but a parent.
No one else has ever loved me at all, except my Dad, and I didn't realize that until it was too late, with him.
If I were still at my job with the Big Pharmaceutical Company, my three month leave for Death in Family (Mother) would be over, as of today. Today, the first day of the fourth month, I'd have to go back to work (if it were a work day, of course). We were allowed the same amount of time for close-relative deaths as we were for what used to be called Maternity Leave, When I was still working there, I thought that three months for either was a long time, but I was a little younger and a lot sillier. Now I know better.
Anyway, I'm getting ready to go to the supermarket (Acme!) so I'll keep this brief: today I get myself back under normal control. I've been letting myself off the hook for a lot of counterproductive behavior -- eating mindlessly, not cleaning often enough (and I'm very serious about that), letting my paperwork pile up, etc. -- because it felt right and calming. People do what feels good even if it hurts, you know?
The emotional "issues" will take the time they will take; I can't manage them too well, anyway, so I'm letting them progress as they need to. But these other things? The ARE controllable and my "death vacation" has to end.
Today's the day.
I'll be back later to reply to your sweet and supportive comments, and to talk about what I've been slogging through most recently: the funeral guys have screwed me again, so to speak. The f#*$ers.
There's been a lot going on, and soon I'll post about all that, but right now all I want to do is sit in a corner, hugging myself like a little girl, and cry for my Mommy. The feeling of stomach-wrenching grief comes to me now more often than the sudden weeping of guilt. I'm moving past the guilt, a little. But sometimes all I can do is sob for Mom.
I miss her so much. I want her to come home. Like a little kid.
Mommy!!
I've been doing things the past week that are kind of tough to go through, but I need to do them. The thing is, I'm not ready to "talk" about them yet. Instead, I want to share some beauty, in pixels: just some sunrises I shot last winter.
Everything begins and everything ends, even sunrises. All we can do is enjoy what we can. I hope you enjoy these. See you soon-- "b"
Had to post this, because I've been yelling it in the house since I came back from my walk. For years, and I mean a lot of years, Mom kept after the power company to help our neighborhood in maintaining the many old trees that grow over the power lines - ones the don't belong to anyone. She corresponded with the president of the company and had meetings with engineers and led them around the properties nearby, and was very successful in keeping things under control. But several years ago, the power dudes backed off a little (corporate and governmental changes, I guess; and $$$$) and we had problems with lines coming down: power outages!!
She went after the the power company again. And they did respond, but only a bit.
Our neighborhood power's been out a lot lately, due to this situation -- and I know she would be SOOO happy to hear me tell her that the Asplundh tree guys (who are the ones the power company uses to clear the utility areas) are here! Four BIG trucks-- on our street.
YAY!!!
"They're here, Mom!!! You did it!!"
This will be brief - I have a lot to do this morning, early. It's a day I've been resisting, delaying, avoiding, dreading. More than taking some of Mom's clothes out of her closet and putting them downstairs, which I two days ago. More than changing the way the kitchen is configured. More than moving my paperwork and files into her office. More than nearly anything. Today I have to decimate what's left of the money she protected for me, the few thousand dollars that are in her bank account - and prepare for paying all the &#*$ing taxes I owe. And the lawyer. Mom wouldn't mind about the clothes or the kitchen. Those things didn't matter as much to her as nurturing that bank account so I'd have something to "fall back on." It's much less than it was, years ago. We had air conditioning installed and a roof put on and gutters repaired, and the smaller things that life brings needed to be dealt with. But what is left was her gift to me, she believed; the one that she and Dad worked so hard to create and maintain. That and the house, of course. I've done everything I can, NOT to do this. Didn't realize how painful it would be until a day ago when I had to figure out the exact amount that I need to withdraw, to pay the taxes. When I saw how little would be left I nearly screamed -- not because I won't have money (although that's not fun) but because her -- THEIR - gift is almost gone. I didn't kill it. The funeral guys and the cemetery guys and the tax guys and the lawyer and all the other people who are ramming their hands under my nose for payment killed it. But it's nearly dead, anyway. I feel like she's died all over again. Protecting that little "nest egg" for me was what kept her alive, I realize now. I didn't before. So I guess this is it.
It's finally over.
No wonder I resisted it.
Got a lot of stuff accomplished yesterday, in spite of my eye -- which I WILL post about -- soon -- did 2 washes, walked (tripped twice; not good), repotted some plants. But the big thing was that I began to move files and paperwork upstairs. OMGosh. That deserves a post of its own, because it's a dirty little secret of mine. I'll talk about it later. But it'll be enough, now, to say that moving things brought back a lot of feelings. Wow.
So what happened? I "heard" Mom cough, upstairs. Not really, of course; just a noise outside. But it sounded that way. I used to listen for her, couldn't have TV too loud or music or anything that would stop my hearing her if she needed help - and that started nearly ten years ago. I'm still not playing music in the house and I think that's why. Silly; didn't realize it until yesterday.
Then early this morning, I woke from a dream, to the awful sound of the intercom that isn't there anymore -- I dreamed it, I know. But that BUZZZZZZZZZ! It made me jump awake. Mom and I had intercoms in our bedrooms beginning in the 1980's when she first began to fear for her safety. The units occasionally reacted to other signals and buzzed on their own. Sometimes she would set off the alarm (if she was nauseated) even in the early 1990's. More recently, she buzzed for me when she couldn't work her remote control or needed to go to the bathroom, or was confused, or having a TIE (transient eschemic episode) -- I always had that buzzzzzzz in the night; it was always in my mind. Many nights I'd be wakened and have to run upstairs, because she'd be too upset to use the "talk" feature. I'd be frightened, because she always said she wouldn't use the intercom unless she was in real trouble. My heart would pound and I'd race to get to her.
When she could no longer use the buzzer, I slept upstairs - this was a few weeks before she died.
And the night she died I threw out the intercoms. Fast.
Last night was the first time I "heard" that phantom buzz. After the initial scare I relaxed, quickly. And felt some peace knowing that all the times I had to go to her I did, even though I was annoyed or aggravated, or even impatient.
Progress. :)
OK, so I'm 56 -- and maybe 10 or 11 times in my life, maybe 20 -- someone I know, someone I've been close to -- even Mom - has said to me: "You're so full of shit." I guess everyone's been told this. Well, maybe not. I think I've heard it because I have a tendency to just jump in and feel things, and then back-pedal, when the water goes up my nose, to mangle a metaphor. Plus, I also tend to sound politician-y and insincere, even when I mean things from way down deep in my heart.
My previous post was one of upbeat looking-ahead-edness. And it was premature. Very.
Before I go farther explaining, let me say how I plan to change this site a tiny bit -- less details of the everyday things. No need for them, unless they mean something. Other than that, I'll be here for a while. I need to.
And here's one reason why: I was such a bad person, in tiny moments.
Mom had gorgeous handwriting. Really lovely. But very small. I mean very very small. And with my eyes, very hard to read. When I went online again a year and a half ago, we reconnected with relatives and friends, and she would write her notes to them, longhand, and I'd type them in emails. Then I'd print the reply and she'd answer, etc. It worked OK, but became increasingly difficult for me, as my eyes passed my glasses' capability to correct the vision. I eventually tried to memorize the notes, so that I could type them. And sometimes I delayed sending them. I even tried scanning her handwritten pages (didn't work well enough). And it became an "ISSUE." You know?
Around Labor Day, when she began to fail so very quickly, I walked down a terrible path. She worked hard to write those notes. Each movement of her hand was difficult with the swelling. And she was depressed. I think she was trying to say goodbye and share some of herself, with her family, before it was too late. Did I send them immediately? Was I grateful for her efforts? No. I was pissy and miserable. Sometimes I put them aside, rationalizing that she wouldn't know - I could tell her that the people just didn't answer.
How sick and disgusting was that? I didn't know yet that she was dying, and I don't think she did either, but it shouldn't have mattered. I should have been kinder. More loving. As it was, I felt guilty and got even more miserable about it all.
Right after she died I found a few of those notes -- just a few weren't sent -- most were. But I couldn't look at them and I couldn't throw them away, so I shoved them all in a drawer.
I thought I did. But yesterday I found one, a stray, just a short one from Thanksgiving Day, that was missed, not scooped up with the others. I read a few words, and remembered trying to read it to type. I think I paraphrased it and sent something; I'm not sure. I know that her words horrified me at the time.
I felt terrible seeing it, yesterday. But not quite as shocked and upset as I would have felt a month ago. Still, as I type this I'm crying. Hard. She poured her strength and love into those notes and I ignored that gift.
Last month I couldn't have shared this. I probably would have screamed for the pain of remembering it. Today I'm "just" crying. I'm trying to forgive me for being such a rat. Mom would, but she can't, so it's up to me.
Anyway, it looks like this site is still up and running and necessary, in spite of what I said the other day.
I'm so full of shit.
I'm feeling like this stream-of-posting may have run its course. The mundane is increasing and the breakthroughs are getting repetitive. Which is good for me, but boring to read, I think.
I found a blank manuscript book - a lovely one - that my Father gave Mom for her birthday in 1978. She always wanted to write a recipe book and was a poet and did lovely and sweet cartoons, so I guess he figured she'd use it. She never did. I started jotting down the minutiae of the days a couple of days ago; it's much easier than typing and proofing. No one will ever read it, but that's OK, because it's of no consequence. And I'm getting used to either not being able to tell Mom things, or to telling her anyway (depends on what frame of mind I'm in), which was one of my purposes here: to have a place to tell what I couldn't "tell."
I'm beginning to consider what life will be like, and have decided to go back to TRYING to write. I may want to set up "blogs" for a couple of the characters I created (where the characters themselves will post - like real people!), to get me back into the swing of things; maybe not. Anyway, if I do, I may use this site for that and also for progress with the process. I've set up another site for rants -- DeclarativeMe - and I've started using that one, at a couple of different privacy levels. If anyone is reading this and wants to read everything there (only 3 right now), let me know and I'll "Friend" you. I'm going to do "anyone" rants, mostly, but occasionally ones that are controversial (there's some stuff there, now, like that) and I haven't the courage to be too public yet. However, the rants are all cross-posted to my Wordpress site: Robpixaday. No one "knows" me there, and I don't know if anything's being read, so it's not as scary. Maybe it should be?
The other thing I'll be doing, for $$$$$$, and for continuity, will be to catalogue and research the small things here that can be sold. I found an item on eBay -- on that huge sight, there's only one!! - that I have here, from my Grandfather - that is being bid on for $125. Wow. Of, course, most things are far far less, but still. They'll add up. I know practically nothing, though. I need to learn eBay and much about the antiques. I'm figuring that will take some time.
Yesterday and the day before were different -- my eye was bad and then leveled off so it's just as bad. But I'm adjusting to it. I will do all I can to stay away from the hospital while the flu is travelling around!! I stubbed a toe on my right foot and bashed the nail bed. Blood...swelling.
Made some decisions about where to put things, closet-wise, in Mom's room. Took the newspapers to the neighbors, took a shower, changed my bed. Moped around. It was dark and cold. Ugh.
Anyway, if anyone is reading, let me know if you want to keep reading and I'll do this a while longer. You've all be so wonderful and supportive and I'm not going away; I'm just making progress, which is good. I'll fall back, though, and stumble and cry and be pissy. That's how it goes.
BTW -- Here are my other current Vox sites: Hemiolamee - for cartoons, blogbeams - for "art" (heh, heh), fiwerds - for fiction, and of course, the SingingTuna. I expect to be making some changes in some of those, But not yet.
