There is a time in everyone’s life where you learn who you are and transform into the person you were always meant to be. Welcome to my time.
I am struggling. It has snuck up on me during a period I assumed would be easier and I would be stronger and more prepared. It seems I am never sufficiently equipped anymore. Jim is no longer living in our home which means I am besieged with new emotions I didn’t see coming. There is a new level of grief. When Jim first moved out, there was relief. The kids and I felt like we could breathe and relax a little. But over the course of the two and a half months Jim has been gone, I have started grieving his absence. As with each loss of him over the past few years, I grieve all over again. Although we no longer have to worry about constantly watching him or finding the things he put in strange places or something taken apart to never be put back together again, there is an absence that is felt and is suffocating. He is gone from our daily lives. There is no Jim with us unless we visit him. We cannot call or text. Even the dog is missing him and the many walks they had daily. Yes, Jim is still “alive” as far as a living and breathing person, but he is not alive in our home. He is alive in my heart, but even that hurts because it is not the same love or the same relationship it once was. I grieve, but it is a grief that will continue without any closure for an undisclosed amount of time. Stop and re-read that sentence.
Over the course of the past two weeks Jim has been to the ER three times and to the urologist 3 times. Three days ago, he was admitted to the hospital for a two night stay while they fed him an intravenous antibiotic. It seems UTI’s are very common when you have a catheter put in and taken out and then put back in. He is unable to tell us what is wrong, so we must constantly guess. Finally, with a high temp, it was time to head back to the hospital. But I wasn’t able to go when they were taking him. I was working and then I had commitments that could not be changed. For the first time, I did not drop everything and run to be with him. I did not sit with him in the ER. I was not there to explain to him what was going on and tell him where he was. I made a decision and cut the cord. Guilt isn’t really the correct word. Sadness at recognizing this life is becoming so commonplace for us the kids weren’t even surprised when I told them he was in the hospital. I told few people. It seems after you do this a few times, it becomes redundant and is there really a reason to let everyone you know in on the latest medical crisis when so many more seem to be headed our way?
Yep. I’m depressed. My house is a mess. My engine light came on and I have yet to be able to take it by to figure out what is wrong. Hopefully I get it by the shop before I end up by the side of the road. I have a stack of paperwork to sort through that may or may not get done in the next few days. I have 3 Halloween decorations up and no costume for Brad let alone a pumpkin to carve. But I do have candy. And I do have a plethora of friends who love us and care about us and if I should come to my senses and ask them for help they will do whatever they can. That is a most difficult thing to do. But, when you are in the depths of grieving a person who is still alive, nothing makes sense and you don’t always do the thing that should be done. Sometimes you can’t put enough energy into a full congruous thought process to know what you need or when you need it. So you just do the best you can at that very moment. There is no extra space in my emotional realm to plan ahead or be a good friend right now. I am struggling to be a decent Mom and a rational, thoughtful caregiver from a separate space. A separate mindset.
I think I am halfway ok. I think recognizing I am not doing so hot is a huge sign of a healthy mind. I think knowing I am down and knowing I have a valid reason for being down is also part of this healing process. I think learning to live in the exact moment I am living in takes a strength and maturity I haven’t possessed before. I am not the “I can do it all” person anymore. Maybe one day I will be again but for now, I must learn to accept my shortcomings in comparison to my previous self. It’s ok to celebrate accomplishing something as simple as fixing dinner AND doing a load of laundry in the same day. It’s a bonus if I also put away the laundry or possibly pay a bill. I cannot even fathom being the multi-tasker, over-achiever I once was. I cannot expect to live a life as if nothing catastrophic is happening. I am losing my spouse. I have lost my spouse. My children are losing their father. An AMAZING father. They have lost their father. I am a single parent. I am morphing and changing and it takes time and understanding.
Understanding. I used to worry about my friends disappearing. I still do but I also can’t take someone being my friend for the wrong reasons. If they are tired of our constant tragedy, it’s ok to walk away. I get it. I am tired too. Don’t stay to save face. I have come to realize I actually only want and need those who truly are able to be present for this heartbreaking journey. The others can do the best they can with whatever situation they have going on and it’s all right. I understand. We all have a story and sometimes we can deal with one better than another. Right at this juncture in my life, I must re-direct myself to whittle down my priorities.
It has been a long time coming but I think I have gotten out my big girl panties and have at least thought about putting them on. It isn’t easy, but I am starting to be good to myself and love myself. I haven’t for a long time and that is where I must begin. I am going to plan a break, a time away, by myself, to re-cover and rejuvenate my mind and my spirit. And then I will come back and continue on with the hurt and the heartache and the daily dilemmas. I will get through this awfulness, only with the help of so many wonderful friends and my parents. They are my saving grace….the smallest gestures quickly add up to a net that catches me and throws me back on my feet. I won’t like it but I will keep moving forward, albeit slowly and without as much pizazz. And one day I will look back and be amazed at the love and support our family was given and wonder how I ever survived.