Two minus one

The words have changed. And language is taking its toll once again. Or maybe it is math that is causing this mayhem.

Where there were two, it is now one. Where it was us, it is now I. We are no longer....oops there is no we. It is now me. Couple? Nope single. Together is now alone. Mr. & Mrs. is now, can you believe this? I was addressed as Miss while  at a store tonight.

From Wikipedia a glimmer of hope: "The singular 'they' is the use of this pronoun as a gender-neutral singular rather than as a plural pronoun." So I can still be a 'they'? The entry continues: "The correctness of this usage is disputed." Hope is dashed.

Went to lunch with a friend and we were seated at a cute little table for two. Do they have cute little tables at restaurants for one? Walking through the bar area on way to bathroom I noticed several women eating alone. And noted where they were sitting. At the bar, you have the illusion of a space for one. At one of the tiny raised tables—yes a table for one. Perfect. I'll keep that in mind.

I can no longer drive in the HOV lane. Where do I sit in the movie theater? Dare I go out to a fancy restaurant and be asked, "Are you waiting for someone?" Or "Will someone be joining you?" How do I visit a museum or go to a play or a concert? I've always shared these experiences. Can I enjoy them alone?

The bed has two sides, I occupy only one. Meals are single place settings. Only my phone rings. I sit on the couch alone. Go to the grocery store to buy food for only me. Do my own laundry. And come home to the cats.

Friends are still couples. I listen to what "they" did. Everywhere I look there are couples. Is this our natural state? I was mine for my entire adult life.

They say time heals everything—well I'm waiting.

Waiting

I've been waiting. Not sure for what but found that waiting has become my natural state. Waiting for diagnosis, waiting for treatment. Waiting for results, waiting for improvement. Waiting for doctors and answers. Waiting for drugs to work. Waiting to wait.

Hard to say this out loud but I waited for Robert to die. And I waited for the grief to really hit. I waited for his car to become mine. I waited for his ashes to be delivered to me. I waited for the life insurance check to come in the mail. I waited. Patiently.

Didn't know I was waiting 'til Sunday afternoon. As I was wandering around the house waiting for the day to pass, I stopped, "What was I waiting for?"

For Robert to come home? To wake up from this nightmare? For something to change my reality? What? Was? I? Waiting? For?

With sobs I realized "This is it." There is no more waiting. I am here. This is it.

Hot cold

I like a cool...okay make that cold house. I like to snuggle under a quilt. I like to wear fleece to keep warm. Shirts, jackets, vests, socks, pants....did I forget anything?

From the chemo Rob could just not get warm. So the heat was set up high, there were heaters in every room and we got an electric blanket for the bed. The monthly electric bill includes is a chart of how your energy consumption compares with your neighbors. We were out consuming our neighbors. Our usage was in the stratosphere.

One of the first things I did when I returned home from the hospital the last time was reset the thermostat to just above freezing. Disconnect all the heaters and put them in a closet. Strip the electric blanket with all its wires off the bed.

My cats anxiously watched. They loved the heaters, the hot house, the electric blanket. "What the hell are you doing? We will freeze!" I made a concession to my energy conservation activities and plugged in their heater bed.

They slept with me in the bed without the electric blanket for a while. And then the nights started to get cold and they abandoned me in favor of their heater bed. Hmmm.

I'll admit I was now sleeping in layers of fleece with layers of blankets and it was all getting a bit unmanageable. Decided to go out and buy a high lofting comforter. The bed would be so easy to make—top sheet and comforter.

And herein lies the quandary. While I've put pictures back up on the wall, and put Robert's books back onto the bookshelf, changing the bedding seemed a radical decision. Remember its the little things that catch you. The irrational things. The unexpected common things.

It became "A Mission". Learned that while you used to be able to buy just a comforter now everything is packaged in 6 to 8 piece sets. Shams, decorative pillows, bed skirt, comforter. All I wanted was a comforter!

Went to four stores. Found the Marimekko comforter in store two (just comforter alone, you would think I could take this as a sign). Smiled. It felt so happy. Brought back memories of the 70s and our early years together. And thought, What would Rob think? Could I do this? Why was I so indecisive? How could I feel happy and sad at the same moment?

Remember I said I went to four stores? I left the Marimekko comforter in store two, drove on to stores three and four. Looked a more and more comforter sets. Drove back to store two. There was a couple in the isle eyeing comforters. Mine was still there on the top shelf smiling at me.

Stripped the bed and remade it with the Marimekko comforter. It brought a smile to my face and peace to my heart. And most importantly it passed the cat test. They slept with me!

Widow

I was on the phone talking with a friend right after Rob died. She had lost her husband suddenly two years before. There was comfort in talking with her as she understood the loss. The going from two to one.

And then she said, "Now that you are a widow...." And in that nanosecond I felt like I had been hit in the chest by a huge fist. I could not catch my breath. I could not hear anything else she was saying. My mind was reeling.

One word: widow and immediate total complete unequivocal denial. I'm not a widow.

I've thought long and hard about death and dying. Had to. Never even once thought of that word. To have all that I had gone through be condensed into such a word just didn't seem right or just or fair or acceptable.

Type "widow" into Google images and look what comes up. And hearing widow I'll admit long black dress, veil and old old woman filled my mind's eye. I am not a widow. I could not fight death but I sure as hell can fight being labeled as such. Nothing I've been through prepared me for this. But then again, I can say that about everything I'm experiencing these days.

A month

Its been a month since Rob died. And it is getting harder.  When I wake up I miss him so and cry. I cry while I'll going about my morning routines. I cry when I get into bed alone at night. I cry while I’m driving the car.

Music reminds me of him. I hear lyrics I never heard before in songs I've listened to thousands of times. And I cry. I'm running out of kleenex. All the boxes that were full and all over the house are disappearing.

I thought it might, just might, get easier. Maybe at first it was too easy. And now its catching up with me. Maybe its just the way it is for me. Maybe.

Last weekend a friend called and asked me if I was getting out of the house much. I said when and where?  Last night - dinner and then a production of Oklahoma. Arranged to meet at a restaurant in town. It was all straight forward. A nice way to deal with an "anniversary". I seem to walk around with my eyes wide open and my mind on pause.

I parked in the garage that was one block for our very first apartment. We had dinner right across the street from the theater school Rob attended. We walked right past our old street, on streets whose names are achingly familiar.

My mind was offering all sorts of memories of the neighborhood as I knew it. Of antique shops, laundromats, a place where I bought my first floor easel, a great old hardware store with walls of drawers, the market where I bought "cracks" (cheap eggs).

I was walking two paths simultaneously. I was walking with my friend and walking with Rob. If only I could make it a three way conversation. I was young and excited and living in the city for the first time. I was older and visiting the city I know so well. That it was nighttime with street lights created the perfect milieu for the collision of my two worlds. Living and grieving.

Eulogy

We were soooo young when we met on the high school newspaper. He was an outgoing editor and I was an incoming one. I vividly remember that first meeting—sitting on the floor in front of him. I reached back and touched his knee and felt an electric current run though my body.

I knew in that instant that he was “the one”. And during the last several months as we have reminisced he told me that he had felt that same current. He quipped that we met editing copy all those years ago (45) and were still editing copy together.

We had a marketing and advertising business and at Robert’s urging we refocused it last year to align with MY passion—horses. We found and worked with passionate loving compassionate people. And I have new friends across the country from this reaching out to the equestrian community. The recent culmination of this was being contacted by Cavalia, headquartered in Canada, to be their equestrian representative during their engagement here. This was my nirvana.

He went back to school in his 50s for a PhD in Clinical Psychology. And he found his greatest meaning of life in his work as a therapist. His internship offered him the opportunity to begin the experience of working one on one with people. And it was his greatest disappointment when he had to fill out the forms ending this work due to cancer. “Robert was such a sweet man with a beautiful spirit and generous heart,” said his friend and supervisor.

I have watched in awe these last two years as Robert touched the hearts of everyone he met along his cancer journey. He never complained about the pain. Or the injustice of the NG tube. At each hospital admission he took the time to learn each and every person’s name, and remembered them. Such a seemingly small thing.

 

We had a constant stream of visitors the last three weeks at the hospital. And I don’t just mean old friends. Nurses who were not assigned to him stopped in to chat. Doctors who were no longer involved with his care, stopped by to visit. Palliative care, ministers, oncologists, rabbi, case manger, social workers, patient care assistants, surgeons, IV nurses. One would leave and someone else was right behind them. The case manager commented that he was harder to get in to see than the President!

All the years together, the good times, the tough times, dropped away as we sat together in the hospital each time. Then it was only that moment that mattered. 

45 years is a long time to love someone. We always allowed each other to grow and change, and even challenged one another. He was my constant companion, my soul mate, best friend, lover, husband, teacher, student, business partner. I know our love will endure and that our souls will find one another again.

Just books

Robert was working on his dissertation and had accumulated a ton of books. He always loved books and rarely met one he didn't want to take home, or order online. His psychology library grew and grew and grew.

He put up shelves in his room/office and was quickly surrounded by all his books. It got to be overwhelming while he was battling cancer. So he began to organize and box them up. Then he put them in a storage unit. And that is where they've been sitting.

Robert told me to donate them to Jungian Institute as his dissertation was on dreams. That there was no rush to do this. However I decided to empty the storage unit now, not willing to continue to pay the monthly fee. And I started the process (look there is that word again) of filling up my car (my 4-door car, not my car that was his car) with said boxes of books. 14 boxes of books for Institute.

Books went from house to storage unit (Robert did this). From storage unit to garage (I did this) and today from garage to Institute (me again).

Went like clockwork. Director of Institute helped me move books from my car into her office. They will be added to their library. I even designed a bookplate in Robert's name.

All this time I've thought of these books as well...books. Boxes of books to be moved. I handled the boxes numerous times. And while I noted Rob's organization by topic and notation on the boxes, they were just books.

Just books. I mean I had no use for them. I would never read them. There was no room in the house. They were just books.

And then the Director thanked me for donating Robert's Library. Thanked me for our generosity. And they became Robert's books. And I was leaving them there. And the grief welled up. And I'm sobbing once again.

Bereavement Group

I decide I might benefit from a grief group. Promise myself that I have to connect with the leader or moderator, as well as the people in the group. If I don't feel a connection I'll go look for another group.

Get a referral from a friend of a friend about a great leader of a Bereavement Group. Hmm is that what they are called? Not Grief Groups? Bereavement? A whole new word to work into my vocabulary.

Major road construction and I drive by the address. My GPS tells me to "turn around when possible." I drive past again, "turn around when possible."

I begin to wonder if the Universe is testing me. How much do I really want to go to this Bereavement Group? It is so tempting to just give in and say I tried but could not find it. But to whom am I saying that? This is about me. I'm the one who decided to go. Complete my third U-turn.

Enter the meeting room. And I immediately realize I am the youngest person in the room. I'm panicking. Why I didn't see the road construction as a sign from the Universe "Do Not Enter."

Again the thought flits through my mind, How much do I really want this? I gather my evidence - I am the only one with color in their hair, with long hair, wearing jeans, with cute ankle boots, with an iPhone!

Okay everyone here is grieving a husband or wife. But.....they talk about year anniversaries of death (I'm at three weeks and counting). Of headstones and grave sites (Robert was cremated). Of visiting cemeteries and talking to their loved ones twice a week (Robert is currently sitting on top of the bookcase and we talk all the time). Of their adult children (no kids and I find myself relating to their children).

Oh I cry. The tears just start and pour down my face. There is something safe about crying in front of these people. But no one says anything. Or maybe no one says anything.

It ends, the room empties quickly, I'm searching for my car keys and look up and the two (older) men are waiting for me. And invite me to their Social Club at the Senior Center! I am not used to being a hot young thing. Grief? Bereavement?





 

Numbers, but no one is counting

I have all sorts of numbers dancing around in my head. I feel I use them to create a buffer or fence between me and people. Throw out my numbers and see if you can top that!

2, 10, 3, 71, 4, 7, 42, 45, 20, 62 ,5, 23, 24, 30, 13 2, 8, 6
2 years from original diagnosis of cancer. 7 months of chemotherapy, 5 weeks of daily radiation, 6 months of no treatments, 10 months after recurrence, 30 days clean CT scan, 3 weeks to live, 42 years married.

I use them like posts marking my journey. Some are pounded into the ground straight and will never move. Some are just stabbed into the hard ground and tilt a bit . A few are stuck into mud, and one is in quicksand.

I awoke this morning thinking of all the numbers I use and keep holding onto. Wondering what purpose they serve. All these numbers and imagery. Am I using them not only to distance myself from others, but to create a mental distraction for myself?

My tears are streaming down my face as I sort through my thoughts to write. As much as I hate the word process guess I am processing. And much as I love to get caught up in intellectual pursuits my emotions are right on the surface. As the Borg say, "Resistance is futile."

My car

Boy I didn't think I'd be able to do that. But when I went to pick up Robert's car from having it serviced—and after driving a loaner car for two days—guess I was ready.

One of the helpful guys said, "Is this your car?" And I said, "No, my car is the little Z3." MY CAR!!!! The words just fell out of my mouth. Holy shit!

Dropped the top and headed for home. Even though the day was grey and overcast. It was top down driving weather. Highway driving. Secondary roads. Curvy fun filled roads where I pushed me and the car. Trying to find "the line" thru the turns to straighten out the road and go faster faster faster.

The sun came out. Rob was smiling down at me in my silver roadster. I've been wondering when I would stop referring to it as Robert's car. Yup its the little things. They work both ways. 

Its the little things

Life goes on. One moment at a time. One foot in front of the other. I'm sure there are other homilies. I go thru the list continually. I feel things getting better, I keep myself busy, and then when I least expect it Wham!

I was going through some of boxes and I came across a small velvet pouch. Of course I had to see what was inside. Just a small traveling picture frame. Oh no!

Rob had been traveling to California for his psychology degrees, Masters and then PhD in Clinical Psychology. He'd spend one week a month out there. I remembered when he bought frame, he said he wanted to put it on the night table by the bed in the hotel room.

I now opened the hinged frame and there is a picture of me on one side and our two cats on the other.

Boy did I lose it.

See its the small stuff that sneaks up on you.

Sleep blessed sleep

I slept for 12 hours last night! Hallelujah! Yippee Kiyah! Its been a   l o n g   time coming. I've been waiting for my sleep, blessed sleep of my own. Now will it repeat? One night down.

Actually closer to 11-1/2 hours but who is counting?!?! At 8:30 PM I was in bed, and took an assist from Ambien. Those little pills have only been giving me 4 hours if I'm lucky. But not last night. I remember waking up at 4:30 AM thinking it was way too early to start the day. Lets see if I can fall back to sleep for maybe an hour or so. And then it was 8:00 AM.

The reason this is such an event—make that Event—is that every time, especially in the last 10 months, that Robert had to go back to the hospital, I checked in as well. We were lucky in that lately we were given a private room with a firm foam couch where I slept each and every night he was there.

I mention the firm foam of the couch as I have also slept at the hospital in reclining chairs, fold out chairs, cots, all sorts of bed-like contraptions that fold. Folding is the common theme. The reclining chairs never reclined enough, and you are stuck in one position—on your back. Once one would not lock in the recline position so I had to stay braced all night, otherwise the chair would spring back into the upright position—almost catapulting me across the room. The cots had thin mattress and crossbar supports that are ergonomically designed to cause the most pain and discomfort to one's hips and back.

That describes the sleep accommodations. But the real issue was that I was on Robert's sleep cycle. I mean I was there for him. And if he was awake so was I. And I am not saying this to come across as a saint. It was just that way it was for me. Moment by moment. I mean who wants to be awake alone at night in a hospital room? He once joked that he'd open his eyes and look over at me and I'd already be out of bed and on my way to him. That's my love.

During his last three weeks in the hospital sleep was elusive for him. An hour and a half to two hours at a time at most. Then he'd be awake for anywhere from thirty minutes to two hours before getting back to sleep. This was agony for me. I just wanted to sleep. I just wanted to sleep. I just wanted to sleep.

Robert's car

Robert was passionate about his car. I mean amidst the turmoil of those last few days he was clear minded enough to instruct me to never sell it. And sign the title over to me.

This photo hangs in our bedroom. It is a panoramic print that is over 5 feet long. BMW Roadster Homecoming 2006 with 500 other crazy about their car owners. Spartanburg, South Carolina.

His car, a 2000 Z3 has clearly not been driven much in the last 10 months. The inspection sticker expired February 2013. Of course Robert also told me where to get it serviced and who to specifically call (his service adviser).

I dutifully made an appointment - for today. Get a new state inspection sticker, change the oil, safety check—all so I can go screaming down the highways with the top down and my hair streaming out behind me.

Up bright and early, moved my car out of the driveway, grabbed my sunglasses. Right foot on brake, left foot on clutch, key in ignition and start it up. Dashboard lights flashing but no engine engagement. No deep throated exhaust. Nothing.

Apparently the battery is dead. I don't waste the energy thinking is this synchronicity? more symmetry? coincidence? or just a dead battery? Call AAA to get car jump started and only an hour later than planned I'm on my way to the dealer.

As I am driving along I realize just how well this car fits me. It envelopes me in a hug. I feel an overwhelming connection with Robert, and feel his passion for this car, and for me.

Feeling the anger

Finally! My blood is boiling. I am so sick of being told what I "should" be doing, how I "should" be acting, what I "should" be feeling. They are not asking me. They are just telling me!

Where do they come off telling me?!?!? They haven't gone through the last two years, the last ten months, the last three weeks of my life.

Grief, grieving, sorrow, loss is an immensely personal experience. No two people go through it exactly the same I am learning.

After all this time focused so intently on taking care of Robert, I want the time to focus solely intently on me. How I'm feeling. How I'm doing. How I'm acting. How now it is all about me and no one else. I want to feel totally self absorbed.

I want to wallow in my grief. Feel every bit of pain. Yearn for Robert with every molecule of my being.

And I don't care what they say. $%(?!?!?#?$?%^?^

So why am I sobbing?

A nurse named Liz

It's late and Robert is very restless and feeling the effects of all the medications. I ring for a PCA for help. A young woman answers the bell and tells me it is shift change, the next PCA will help. And she leaves! Then she comes back with someone else.

They assess the situation and say they will be right back and walk out. This has never ever happened before. It is like evil gremlins have taken over for the night.

I am feeling panicky. Robert has insisted on getting out of bed and he is unstable on his feet and I know I cannot manage the situation on my own. I'm trying to support him and look for the call button. It is on the other side of the bed. As I struggle to hold him and reach across the bed I am seething with rage. I ring the bell again.

A nurse calmly walks in and asks me what I need. I quickly explain the situation and she says not a problem. With Liz's help we strip the bed, remake it and get Robert back in and settled.

Liz then looks at the clock and says, (I love this part of the story and I am not making it up)  "Oh it's midnight, I have to go. I am taking another patient down to radiology." And out the door she flys.

A short time later our night shift nurse comes to check in and make sure everything is okay. I tell her what happened and ask her to thank Liz again for me.

"Liz? I don't know any nurse named Liz." In the morning I check with the charge nurse to express my appreciation for Liz. No one knows a nurse named Liz.

No chronology

There is no chronology. Just a ribbon of time that stretches forward and backwards. It has been folded and looped over and over onto itself to create layers and points of intersection. I touch one place and slip into a memory that catches me by surprise.

I was driving home from an errand yesterday. I am aware that I am doing a lot of errands. Maybe its pend-up needs from spending so much time taking care of Robert and not being able to  going out. Or maybe it is just part of my dancing about to keep busy. The illusion being that busy will keep the emotions at bay.

It was early morning and that thought resonated with me. I started thinking about the early morning time that Robert died. And realized that just three weeks earlier, at that very time, we were on our way to the ER. He never came home. Symmetry?

Tears stream down my face, as once again and again and again grief overwhelms me.

Thougths and ramblings of a beginning

Where to begin? Random thoughts, musings, stories, feelings. A chance to express what I am feeling in words as opposed to tears. A chance to put down "on paper" what has happened, what is happening and possibly what will happen. A chance to figure out, or at least think about who I am and who I will become.

This blog is about an ending and a beginning—all at the same time. Robert, my soul mate, lover, best friend, business partner, husband, did I mention best friend? teacher, and oh so much more died on September 26, 2013 after a two year battle with cancer. We thought we were winning. We were wrong.

I tend to think in weeks, seems safer in weeks— a bit more distance than to count days. That means its two weeks and a bit more. Facing week three. And its seems to be time to start writing.

We met in high school, on the school paper. He was an outgoing editor I was incoming and the last issue of the paper was put out by both editorial teams. We knew each other for 45 years. We've been married for 42.

Today I decided I wanted to put back up all the artwork, photos, prints, paintings that Robert had taken down over the last couple of years. I was thinking that I was making the house mine, reclaiming it. But as I was lying in the paddock with my horses grazing around me, I let my mind wander, and I realized I was putting the house back to where it was in happier times.

Before the cancer diagnosis and all its cascading effects. Before.