Jittery jerkiness

I went to pick up my car this morning, and the guy is remarkably sensitive to my grief. Mechanics, hair dressers, who else... Sandwich makers... Or maybe people innocently fall down a long hole when they ask me certain questions, such as the usually innocuous "how are you?" well, please let me respond that i'm all right. It so happened that i had to go to the mechanic on October 5, the day after the funeral. I had gone to Paul's that night and was still in my mourning clothes the next day. I opted to Resume Normalcy and change the oil... Well the mechanic knew my dad, so i filled him in. So, he knows. I can't fool him even tho he only works on my car. What chance do i have of fooling anyone else or myself.

I don't want to see this house go. Whatever respite from anxiety i have is being here. I worry less. I shouldn't (Oh really? Says my inner voice. Shouldn't you be?) worrying, but now that i recognize what it is, it's so intrusive. I'm so sick of it. But it doesn't stop. The Known Unknowns. For example, did you know you can open a Roth IRA todayyyyy and stick ten grand in? 5000 for 2010, which is behind us, and 5000 for 2011? April 15 is the cutoff for the 2010 contribution. What i don't know can cost me money and compound interest. If i don't know enough to formulate the questions, how can i hope to find out nuggets like that? I know i don't know plenty. It's like i'm 18 again, overwhelmed by all i don't know.

I feel like a 1 year old learning to walk. I feel jittery all day. I seek reassurance from people i shouldn't. What's any counselor's phone number. I feel exposed and vulnerable.

The Pain of April

We are almost at a year since All The Trouble In the World began in earnest.  I am feeling moody already, on schedule, on cue, as expected.  I am heartbroken, both because we are now just into April and because soon enough, we will be dealing with the house issue, and none of it sits well.  I feel unsettled, uncomfortable.. ish.  I have been tracking how often I feel anxiety and about what, and I realize that I need a counselor. Like, now.  Fuck trying to get T to go.  He'll go, or he won't.  I have to go regardless.  I feel like spinning in circles, and too much spinning means... I am going to fall.  I can't afford a fall.

I watched a movie tonight, Tarnation, ostensibly about a mother with schizophrenia.  It was really more about her son and his feelings of alienation from her, emotional disturbance in youth.  Precious little was about her.  I was somewhat disappointed in how much was about him, with little connection to her.  I understood his longing for her though, and his attempts to make sense of her life pre- and post-diagnosis.  I did cry a lot, but it was more one-eye crying.  He seems to have come out all right as an adult.  The verdict is still out on us.

I will be going to the cemetary April 8 & 9.  It beats hanging around Desert Springs, maybe the lobby.  If I never have to go to DS ever again.... my heart is in that building.  If I could talk to the me of one year ago, I'd say, Hang In There.. The Road is Very Bumpy, and This Road Trip Is No Fun At All, But Your Heart and Your Effort Are True and Good and All Will Be Tolerable Eventually.

We have to love ourselves through the darkest days and remember that God is here.  I did write there, but there is here.  Oh, how I miss my dad.  .......

Observance

I woke up this morning after dreaming of my father.  It's funny that he came through on a day I would've expected to dream of Mom or Grandma H., his mother.  I feel okay now, as I write this, mid-afternoon.  This morning I did experience some sadness.  I liked seeing my dad in the dream, in his old sleeping ensemble of sweatshirt and boxers.  I think missing seeing him padding around the house in socks or this getup is the source. 

I miss all three of them.  March 7th is and isn't a day of sadness.  Now it is more of a day of remembrance.  I do remember with a slightly heavier heart, but I loved GH and my mom so dearly that I'm glad Mom went on a family day.  March 7th was my grandmother's birthday, three days before my birthday.  I never stopped remembering her birthday over these last ten years, and with mom dying on that day, I know I will never forget it.

Dad died on September 22nd, and Tim's birthday is September 25, so we share our sorrows.  We maybe fulfill dad's vision that way, of being each other's life friend in remembering our parents before we celebrate our births.

Okay.  I raise a Busch beer to my grandmother, and something sweet to my mother.  You are both missed.

I realize it's a bad week

Most of this week has passed uneventfully, although I have been moody.

Let's see.  Today is the fourth of March, which means the funeral was five months ago today.  The anniversary of my mom's death is March 7th, aaaand my 35th birthday is March 10th. I have cried this week. The birthday is not a big deal as I always round my age up three months ahead of time when a big one is coming.  When I turned 30,  I packed up my sociopath lovahboy and headed to Hawaii for the weekend.  Five years later I'm staying home and hoping it passes kind of uneventfully.  I'm going to California in April for a weekend of baseball; it will have to do.  The WOB is falling the weekend after Coachella, so I am skipping Coachella.  Next year, next year.  I seem to be saying that every year now.

Holy shitsnacks, look at the time.  Well, so, I figured out why I am so moody.  The body knows even if the mind forgets.




 

The Last Vmail

So, before going to Paul's this morning I sat down on my bed, put my phone on speaker and listened to the last voicemail.

It wasn't what I thought it would be.  I hadn't listened to it previously because I'd expected it to be angry, or hostile, or ... something unpleasant.  It was an ordinary message where he started off, "Erin... It's Tuesday at X time..." and on into the message.  He sounded 99% normal, his normal speech pattern, I just didn't really know what he was referring to.  He even said in it that it was no biggie and that we would talk about it at another time.  I feel confident in saying that we didn't.  (That week, last year, I had found a small bottle of hair spray in his refridgerator and was working very hard to get him to go to the doctor.) I believe that he was using an incorrect word although I really don't want to characterize it that way.  In Alzheimers, people can substitute one word for another as though they are synonyms, but they may not be.  In the message, he repeatedly advised me to watch for "debts" coming in the mail because the company they were coming from was doing things differently.  I believe he meant bills.  Whatevs.  No judgment.

Dear Brother was not home for this so I sent him a text about it.  When we get together to record it, I need to explain the context so he doesn't think it's about my debt from last year.  Context is so important.

Anyway.  I listened to it, felt satisfied when it was over, appreciate it, and after it's recorded I'm going to delete it.  I don't feel stressed now.  The last four days have been rough.  I'm going to attempt to relax again.

SuperBowl and Super Old Vmail

I have, just this moment, decided what to do with the voicemail still on my phone, unlistened to, from my dad on February 9, 2010.  I'm going to listen to it on the 9th, let dear brother record it, and then.... let it go.   

Today is the SuperBowl, and it too is an emotional day.  My dad loved football and the SuperBowl.  I like to think he would've rooted for the Packers, but he could have gone either way.  I personally hate the Steelers, and am glad my reverse psychology mindtrick worked on them again this year.  (Thank God.)  I just felt sad that Dad wasn't here to see the game.  When the horse races are held later in the year, I will feel the same way again.  I really enjoyed our rituals on these occasions.

Paul noticed my moodiness.  I'm always surprised when he notices; he catches these things more often that not.  I guess, being 35 now, my face probably gives away my emotions more than I realize.  I'm glad we have each other.

I'm glad I have this place to dump my emotions when reflection gives way to despair.  I have employed some positive coping skills, and have recognized some fallacious thoughts at times, and I know I am doing okay.  Sometimes I just really miss him.

I was thinking the other night about his clothes and shoes.  At some point, will we box them up?  Give them to Goodwill?  Put them in boxes?  If so I know we will keep the bear charm.  I wonder when we will do this.  I will be okay when we do.  He is not his clothes.  Maybe we will keep some things.  G Moss kept her hubby's clothing for a VERY long time, and never actually disposed of his cologne or other toiletries.

Oh hey.. Masterpiece Theatre is running a biographical show on Alistaire Cooke.  I remember riding in the car with dad, near the B Mall, when it was announced on the radio that Cooke had died.  I'm going to watch this... I would watch it anyway, but it appeals particularly in light of my mood.  Dad even made a reference to the Muppet, Alistaire Cookie.  Dad loved biography and always encouraged us to read the histories of great people.  Blah blah blah.... off to watch.  For dad and for me. Seems like a fitting thing to do after the SuperBowl.

I love you, Dad.  I miss you.

Sara..

I still have not been able to answer Sara's email.  I just.. can't.

I cannot imagine what it would be like to see your parent waste away for over twenty years.  Sara's dad has Parkinson's and has been in a nursing home for ages.  Her mother's house has stairs and she cannot physically manage his needs.  It must be breathtakingly painful for all of them.  Whenever I think about it, it makes me so sad.  I think about what we expected as a much-shortened life expectancy for my dad, maybe eight years tops.  (He had been diagnosed with dementia, thought to be Alzh.)  I can't imagine that dragged out over so many more years.  It just about breaks me in two.  Sara said her dad is a very different person now compared to when she was young.  I believe it.  She said he has no quality of life in the nursing home.  I absolutely believe that also.  I so desperately wanted to keep my dad out of a nursing home for that reason.  Fate came along and made sure he stayed out. ... Grrrr, fate... separating us... grrrr.  Enough of that.  It just nauseates me to think of their family situation with him.  A slow death is a cruel one.  That's why we're almost glad our dad went so damn fast.  It didn't have time to rob him of everything.  We didn't have to watch it after all.

Now that we are in mid-January, I am as expected having to confront the issues of last year at this time.  I feel my mind spinning, remembering how I was trying to get in front of the problem, my heart searching for alternative reasons for his fogginess.  I had forgotten about the conversation at DS with the electrical heart doc/technician, who said emphatically that his fogginess had nothing whatsoever to do with the cardiac arrthymia (sp?).  Irregular heartbeat + delirium would not not NOT warrant that kind of disorientation.  Delirium causes all kinds of chaos in elderly patients, but not to the degree we saw with him.  Dementia was underneath it.

Bottom line: we did the damned best we could with what we had.  He died of kidney failure post op, not from the dementia.  We HAD to do the surgery, otherwise he would have died most likely of the infection.  We had no choice.  We did the best for our patient that we could.  His kidneys crapped out and that was the fact.  Like Elizabeth Kubler Ross writes in On Grief and Grieving, getting him to the hospital sooner would not necessarily have changed the outcome.

Of course, I just miss him and wrestle with it.