The Holidays

I seem to be in a cycle of crying at least once, twice, or more a day. I used to be able to skip a day here and there. Now are so many memories leaping in front of me. Like deer who jump out in front of your car and then get caught in your headlights.

Holiday season and lights are going up on houses. Robert and I always took one night and drove around admiring the bright colorful cheerful lights. One of our recent favorite streets to patrol was the one I travel on to and from the barn. When I saw the lights begin to appear I seriously considered changing my route.

Rob made a tape (shows you how long we've been doing this) and then a CD with selected Cowboy songs, to play as we drove along. Songs we grew up on like Roy Rogers' Happy Trails to You (particularly poignant as the next line is "Until we meet again). The theme song from Rawhide. Tex Ritter, Rex Allen, Gene Autry. I found the CD, but am not ready to listen to it yet.

Then there is the Fatima shrine just down the road from home where they have—oh I don't know—maybe 5-7 acres of paths all lit up with wonderful lights and decorations. Hanging in the trees, across the paths, a fabulous Nativity scene with a camel and donkey set in a field. Lighted stations of the cross. What else could good Jews do but enjoy the lights and wonderful holiday and religious music blaring from speakers.

We used to invite our Christian friends! But we always had our own special night to walk through this wonderland together. Another place I drive by frequently, and you can see the lights from the street. Last year when Rob could not go out in the cold I parked at the very edge so he could soak in the colors. Did not even think that that would be his last time.

And what would the holidays be without snow. A storm is coming and I got thinking how Robert made sure my car was prepped. He always filled my washer fluid. Reminded me to fill my gas tank. Who is going to do that now? You mean I have to take care of all this myself?

I am crying as I type. It is all the little things piling up. How will I ever be able to move on. At times like these it just feels so overwhelming. And like the future is going to be a cold empty place. See winter is here. And the snow is starting to fall. And where I usually am all happy about snow, right now I'm in despair.

The forecast hysteria from weather reporters are driving me to distraction. Remember last year when we had a big storm Rob was very anxious because our neighbor hadn't dug us out immediately. He was feeling trapped. I was having a blast with the snow. Time to put some music on and move my energy from stuck in the past to at least maybe this moment.

Oh, almost forgot, went to get a flu shot. Another thing Rob was diligent about. And friends have been telling me I don't want to be sick at home alone. Okay how could that set me off? Well lets see - watching the nurse open the drawer to all the lavender colored gloves (I had my own boxes of lavender gloves while dealing with all the medical issues at home), the needles (I had my own supply while dealing with the medical issues at home), the wipes, the hand cleaner, the syringes. The procedure. Yet another mine field. Actually wrote mind field. And that is what it is. A mind field.

Breathing

I just noticed I don't think I have been breathing. Really breathing. I am just rushing around, and don't take the time for a breath, 'cause breathing can lead to thinking. And we where know where thinking leads us.

With my retail websites in full swing for the  Holiday Season I'm in super crush mode. As the orders come in I am immediately caught up in processing them. I feel frantic and anxious and panicky. And for the first time I stop and ask myself why?

I mean I want the orders—income. I want the orders—keep me busy. I want the orders—define who I am. And then it hits me. Another of these slamming into the wall insights.

Last year I was doing the exact same things. Working with the same people. Filling out the same shipping labels. Wrapping up items. Putting them in Priority Mail boxes. But it was always against the clock while I was at home. Because when I was done I would leap into my car and rush back to the hospital where Rob was waiting.

How do I adjust to the fact that I don't have to be anywhere? How do I break my mind set of pressure? And its my pressure, no external drivers. I feel my heart pounding in my chest just from writing this. Deja vu—all over again, the Time post. Deja vu—all over again, its all about me.

I do try to stop and catch my breath. Thought—breathing—tai chi. Rob and I learned tai chi together, practiced together and even taught together. We did our forms on the top of Mount Washington in New Hampshire, on the beaches in Maine, Massachusetts, California and many places in between. Maybe just maybe I can slow down enough to learn to breathe again.

I go to see my horses. Notice my energy is completely different, and I am breathing. The barn and my horses have always been a sanctuary for me. And now I find it is a place where I can and do indeed breathe.

I'm reading Pema Chodron's When Things Fall Apart and Michael A. Singer's The Untethered Soul and trying to put into practice what they write. To acknowledge thoughts and feelings, to separate from them and to let them go. To be more aware of what I'm feeling. I have to breathe to do this.

So when I get off the phone with a client and walk into the living room, as I was wont to do to discuss the call with Robert, I notice all the swirling energy that I bring with me. I notice my breath is up around my ears and I am positively vibrating. And this is from an enjoyable phone call! And I also acknowledge that I wander the house still expecting him to be in his usual places.

Rob used to tell me not bring this disruptive energy to him.To take a breath before I was going to talk about work. And I honestly didn't have a clue what he meant.

He wanted me to join him on a spiritual journey and to meditate more. Why could I not do this then? Now I look through his books on spirituality and meditation and take them off the bookshelf to read. To be closer to him? Searching for unanswerable answers?

I want to believe he knows I am on that journey now. I want to believe he is guiding me. I want to share his breath.

They used to wear black

I know the world does not stop when someone dies. It didn't stop when Robert died. Though it certainly should have. Life goes on as usual for everyone else. I am in the world with them and try and understand how they could not feel the pain, my pain.

I find the supermarket deadly, I can't go back to the discount warehouse, and the drug store is a mine field. All around me are people doing normal things. Maybe they too have this hole, this emptiness but it is not allowed to show. They certainly don't see mine.

You used to wear black when in mourning. Announcing to the world your fragile state. But black has lost its meaning, and become just another fashion color. It is such a fashion staple that colors are described as "the new black."

I want to walk around with a big sign that says I am in mourning, handle with care. I lost my husband, my best friend, my soul mate—all rolled into one.

With friends who know and understand its a bit easier. But recently I've been in social situations with people who do not know. And inevitably dinner conversations drift to someone they know who is sick. Been in the hospital. Has cancer. Is receiving treatment and then the details.

Or talk tends toward death. The other night it was about pets who died. And how painful it was. I was thinking I could relate—I too have had a recent loss. Your pet of 13 years. My husband of 42.

I hear the expression, "I just can't imagine what you are going through." Okay I can get that. I couldn't imagine it either. Even when I knew it was coming. I'm now wondering if by saying this it then gives the person permission to not go any further. Can't imagine, so not going to try.

I am raw. Every time I think the passage of time will help, I'm reminded of how long it been since I last saw him. Touched him. Heard his voice. And that won't change. Ever.

Mindfulness

I am working on mindfulness. Can you work on mindfulness? Focus on it? Study it? Practice it? I am sorting through thoughts, acknowledging them and trying to let them go. I am observing how I feel. But thoughts keep coming up and then I get hooked by a conundrum.

Holidays. I've been trying to ascertain holidays, anniversaries and dates of importance. Loosing my mindfulness here. Holidays like Thanksgiving that move around on the calendar are causing havoc. Do I anticipate the holiday or the date?

Last year Thanksgiving was on November 22nd. That day we were in the big city hospital. On November 28th they were talking of finally sending Robert home. Which happened on the 29th.

But this year Thanksgiving is on the 28th. And while I will be home on the 29th he still will not. I know I'm driving myself to distraction. But that is the point. Thinking about dates and anniversaries distracts me from feeling. Distracts me from mindfulness. Distracts me from sitting with my feelings.

What I have been able to observe is that my feelings are coming and going with great speed and incredible intensity. They appear full blown, stay for a while. Then like a huge wind that comes through and leaves, everything is wiped clean.

Had an incidence with my bank where I was in a full yelling rage. Wow! It was like taking a deep sniff of Wasabi to clear your sinuses. The rage was there and then it was gone. And I felt cleansed. Not so sure the person on the other end of the phone had a similar experience.

Just became a blogger for the Huffington Post! This blog. Blogging about my grief and dealing with being alone. When I got the email that they had posted my first submission I was elated! Such euphoria, happiness and delight. And such confusion and guilt about how could the most devastating event in my life produce such jubilation?

As I was driving over the metal grating on a bridge in town I was overwhelmed with grief. This particular road surface brought back a memory with Rob that is over 41 years old about our first car together. Tears flowed down my face.

Last night I was sitting in bed reading about mindfulness with my cats lying on me. My spiritual cat rested his head on the hand holding the book. I felt his warm breath on my hand, and knew I had to put the book aside. He just looked into my eyes. He reached out his paw to touch me as he continued to gaze deep into my soul. My mind was furiously trying to make sense of what this meant.

When I let go of all thought I was flooded with deep feelings of compassion and love. Love from and for this furry being physically sitting on me, love from and for other cats in my life that are now gone, deep love from and for Robert.

Thanksgiving

Seems everyone is warning me about the holidays. The first ones I will be experiencing? celebrating? living through? without Robert.

To forewarn myself I have been trying to remember last Thanksgiving. Nothing comes to mind. I know all the things we didn't do. I didn't cook a mighty bird. We didn't do it at home. Nope to visiting friends. Ditto for going out to a restaurant. I have images of past years but last year is a blank. What on Earth did we do last Thanksgiving?

I will admit, right here and now that the mind can be wonderful at times. Amnesia is bliss. Amnesia protects. Amnesia insulates. Amnesia is absolutely my best friend. Until.

Until. Quite an interesting word until. I prefer to linger a bit before until hits. And hit it does. Like a sucker punch. No wonder my mind kept offering up amnesia.

Last year I had my Thanksgiving dinner of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, some sort of green vegetable and apple pie in the cafeteria of the big city hospital. Alone. While Rob was lying upstairs in a hospital bed recovering from surgery. The surgery that sealed our fate. Where the doctors leaned over the bed afterwards and said, "We can treat you, but we can't cure you this time."

To put this into context....Remember my post "Numbers, but no one is counting" a while back? The number 10? It stood for 10 months. The last 10 months we had together. The clock started ticking just before Thanksgiving. Turns out my post "A Broken Heart" was the one year anniversary of this surgery.

Seems while the conscious mind can offer up amnesia, the unconscious never forgets. I am awakening to time marching on. Understand now that I was stuck. In the abstract 10 can still be an important number, but now I am at 12 and apparently counting once again. Moving forward. I choose to take thanks in this.

Amusement Park

My support system includes the chaplain/rabbi "M" from the hospital. She offered continuity at the hospital during the numerous stays, admissions, treatments. According to her she first met Robert when I wasn't there. I still puzzle over how he could have met anyone when I wasn't there because I was always there, but I digress (see previous post).

I talk with her to help me process the grief that has overwhelmed me recently. Someone to explore thoughts and check my reality, maybe I should say sanity. It is really hard to do this on one's own.

We talk about the roller coaster. And I share a friend's comment that "the good thing about them is that the ride ends and you get off."

Whoa right there! I never ever in my wildest dreams, fantasies or plain old thoughts considered that it would stop and I could get off. This ride has been going for two years and counting. Get off?!?!?!!? I can not even comprehend the concept.

As I try to explain this to "M" I realize the idea of getting off is terrifying. As out of control the roller coaster may be, it is a known quantity. Okay I don't know when it will do its thing—it goes up, it goes down, it goes loop-de-loop. But I do know that it will always be changing, and I just hang on tight.

My original visual was that I am hanging on to the bar with legs flying out behind. Holding on for dear life. As we talk I realize that the imagery had changed at some point. Because now I find I am sitting inside the car and the seat wraps around me, and holds me while it does its thing. I may have no control but we are one the roller coaster and I.

"M" asks me to visualize standing on a platform next to the roller coaster. I have to see the platform first. Individual planks of wood in a natural coloring, with spaces between the boards. There is no railing. Just this platform somehow suspended in space next to the cars of the roller coaster. I do notice that the roller coaster has stopped next to the platform.

After what feels like an eon I hesitantly step onto the platform. This is in no way comforting. I feel myself sway and battle vertigo. The roller coaster beckons reassuringly. When I share with "M" what I'm feeling she suggests I build stairs down to the ground, and even add a railing.

I look at the stairs and realize they lead down down down to the ground where there is a Ferris Wheel. Oh boy I can now go around in upward circles. She laughs and says I am building my own amusement park! So I quickly add a Carousel filled with horses going up and down. And I can ride the Carousel. But the roller coaster is beckoning again.

Attention span?

I am packing up a box and run out of packing tape. So I walk to basement where I keep my supplies and pick up a roll of tape. I notice the cats' litter box needs to be cleaned, and knowing I will probably forget if I don't deal with it now head to the kitchen to get a garbage bag.

While in the kitchen I see the broom leaning against the counter with a pile of dirt neatly swept up. But not picked up. I don't even remember doing this. So I go into the garage to get the dust pan. My eyes fall on a bin filled with all the items I took out of my car, a month ago when I brought it in for service. The thought was that I would go through each item and see if I really needed it in the trunk. But that was a month ago.

I pause. Think about dealing with this now. Realize I better continue on my errand. If I can only remember what it is. Oh yes the dust pan. Back to kitchen and sweep up the pile of dirt and put it into the garbage. Which reminds me of the garbage bag I need for the litter box. Get one from under the sink and return the dust pan to the garage.

Where I notice that the small garbage can in the corner is missing a garbage bag. And look I have one in my hand! As I turn to go back into the house I see on the steps a container of new kitty litter. Great I'm on the path toward completing a task.

Pick up litter container, stop and get a new garbage bag from under the sink. Walk through the living room on my way......oh the music has stopped. I walk over to the couch and fiddle with the iPhone to get it working with the AppleTV on the big screen over the fireplace. As I try and figure out HDM1 or HDM2 I vaguely remember I was doing something when I got distracted.

As I get up from the couch I trip over the litter container. Ah that's what I was doing. And head for the basement. I clean the litter box! Yippe Ki Yay! But what is with this roll of packing tape that I'm wearing as a bracelet? Grief rots your brain.