2019 Hogswatch Letter

December, 2019

Dear friends and family,

2019 has been a rough year for the Payton clan.  After struggling with a recurring infection, Robin succumbed to congestive heart failure on July 5th.  For some reading, this is the first you're hearing of it, and I apologize for that.  Kyrie did the best she could to notify people, with very little help from me.  None of us are completely recovered.  

In a frantic burst of obsessive energy, I gathered what I could find of Robin's creative writing and had it published.  If you don't yet have a copy, please inform me of my oversight.  It was a promise I'd made, and I couldn't rest until it was fulfilled.

We hosted a dinner in October in her memory.  It reminded me of the dinner we held for our 30th anniversary, and I wish we could have repeated for our 40th.  I tried to speak with everyone, but know that I failed – I hope we get more chances.  Some people even brought owl-themed gifts, which made me cry.  Some of them are on my Christmas tree.  

In an eerie stroke of serendipity, the manager of the venue (the Starlight Chateau) wants to retire, and there is a possibility that Arthur will take over the business.  We've spent a few hours in meetings, and it's all very tentative.  Still, one can almost feel a bit of spiritual intervention in how this has come about.

I put the books out again this Halloween, as I will do every year.  There were more visitors this year than I can recall ever having before, and I was ill-prepared for them.  Later I learned that a nearby neighbor, who runs a daycare and a community garden, had sent them over.  Robin has made small donations to that garden.  I may never know how many lives she's influenced.  

Arthur and Anita took me along with them on their Disney cruise.  They'd planned it a year beforehand, and by the time we lost Robin, nothing was refundable, so instead they expanded the package.  We wanted Kyrie and Rick to come too, but they couldn't take the time off.  Overall, it was a healing experience, though I did think a lot about those not present.  I appreciated the time spent surrounded by family.  We visited three countries, and I left a Bookcrossing book in each one.  Ellie petted a sea turtle.  We nearly got eaten by mosquitoes at a Mayan ruin.  I bought some Jamaican rum, and some touristy junk.  I also spent quite a bit of time watching the ocean.  It reminded me of the time spent fishing off the docks at Rockaway.

As it turns out Kyrie might have had time to go, if she had known.  She changed jobs this year, and now works at Nebraska Medicine.  It was a good move, professionally speaking, and puts her in a position for advancement.  She and Rick are happy together, and would be happier still if they had similar schedules.  

Kyrie had some trouble with a neighbor who built a fence right up against her house.  We finally got them to move it, but they sure weren't happy about it.  The expensive lawyer we retained didn't do any of that; all it took was a land surveyor and a complaint to the zoning dept.

Arthur is still substitute teaching and working front desk at a local motel in Missouri, accumulating just enough hours that he can't be classified as full-time.  He couldn't perform the Renaissance Faire circuit as usual this year, due to helping out so much here, but I did get to see him in October.  Performed with him, actually.  I hope to do more of that.  

As for my own career, I'm one of the UP survivors.  Or perhaps the term “hostage” might fit better.  The company's version of “precision scheduled railroading” seems to mostly consist of doing the same work with a third of the workforce.  I'm working second shift, and will do so for one more year – just to minimize change.  There has been too much change in my life lately, and I need it to settle down.  After that year, though, I will move to another shift.  The reason is simple:  I can't let myself turn into a hermit.  If I have not become more social after a year, then I will have to force myself out of the house.

Early this year, I entered a writing contract to adapt a webcomic to novel form.  I finished four chapters before July.  Hopefully I can get back into a regular writing schedule before he gives up on me completely.

I have two more cats now, thanks to Kyrie.  She rescued a kitten this year, who turned out to be a mama.  Too young for the role, but she performed flawlessly.  The kittens I agreed to adopt are already bigger than the original.  Orange troublemakers.  I spoil them shamelessly.  

I opened this letter with the worst news, and I'm sorry if I rained on your holiday.  The fact is, I wish everyone unbounded joy, this and every year.  Hug your loved ones.  Take all the time off work that you can.  Make happy memories.

I love you all,

John

Frozen

One of the things that I apparently can't deal with: the freezer.

I thought I still had some frozen pumpkin and went to look for it. Instead found some low-carb baked goods that we'd prepared together and stored for later.

Now I'm eating ice cream, because, fuck it.

Summer Memory - A Bully in Tulsa

"Johnny, come out here!"

Karen was agitated -- more so than usual, anyway.  I was just irritated.  I was on my summer vacation, too.  I was right in the middle of doing nothing in particular, and didn't appreciate the interruption.

"What?" I demanded of my kid sister.  I was eight years old, and had no time for her five-year-old nonsense.

"Sharon and me are our riding bikes and there's a kid that won't let us ride past his house."

I got to my feet.  Probably another little snarky kid bugging my sister and cousin.  I followed them down the street.

Less than a block away stood a monster.  He had to be at least ten years old, and was holding a broom handle, minus the broom.  I had severe second thoughts.

"What do you want?" he sneered.

"You won't let my sister and cousin ride their bikes here."

I don't know where I got the courage to follow through with this confrontation.  I didn't care whether Karen could ride past this bit of road.  But, I saw cousin Sharon only once a year at best, and harbored a sort of crush on her.  A bit inbred and creepy maybe, but we were kids, and Jeff Foxworthy was still in diapers.

Back to the behemoth, who was saying,  "What are you gonna do about it?"

"You're gonna let 'em ride," I challenged.  "I'll make you."

His sneer grew wider, and he stepped forward, swinging his makeshift staff at me.

I caught the it in mid-arc and wrested it from his grip.  Then I laughed defiantly.  "There!" I gloated.  "You ain't got your stick!"

"So what?"  The bully yelled.  "You won't do nothin' with it!"  And once again he advanced, this time raising a threatening fist.

Without thinking, I swung the broom handle like a broadsword, connecting with the ogre's head with a resounding THWACK!

He yelled!  Oh, how he shouted, clutching his temple and swearing, dancing in a little circle.  The three of us stood, transfixed by the performance.

The boy stopped shouting long enough to give me a hateful glare.  "You won't do that again!  I dare you to do that again!"

I carefully parsed his words and decided that they formed an invitation to take another whack at it.  That's exactly what I did, repeating the first swing precisely, since it had worked so well.

The youthful roadblock, unfortunately, hadn't learned to duck, and so was soon repeating his Indian Pain Dance.  Possibly with even more volume and vehemence than before.

At this point, Karen -- always alert for authority figures -- shouted, "Someone's coming!"

Emerging from the nearest house was a weather-worn giant of a woman who could only be the kid's mother.

All my courage fled.  I dropped the broom handle and together we sprinted down the street, heedless of sharp rocks on bare feet, toward the sanctuary of Sharon's house.

Though I fled from the larger foe, I still considered myself the hero of thge day.  Sister Karen and cousin Sharon rode their bicycles peacefully for the rest of the day, while I heroically picked gravel from the soles of my feet.

My Haiku Attempts

Another day, more cleanup.

Trying to straighten things around here.  Am easily distracted.  I found an old writing exercise notebook, which I'll hang onto, at least until I get everything in there transcribed.  

It contains the haiku I tried to write when Robin encouraged me to try my hand.

Honestly, I only remembered one of them -- the one that Robin preserved in her own poetry book:

Puppy in the grass

Bites my fingers gently, then

I capture her snout.

She liked that one. 

I already published the raccoon one.  The rest are below the cut.

He who steals my trash, steals trash

Black-maskéd bandit
Boldly invades sanctity
Of my garbage can.

Unpacking

I finished unpacking a box today.

One of the things I have decided to do is to (finally) get stuff straightened up around here.  Because, if I don't do this, then when my time comes to go, I will leave this unbelievably distressing task to my kids. 

There's just so much stuff.  And a lot of it is still in boxes, from one, two, or even three moves ago.

One of those boxes has been in the corner of the kitchen, for fifteen years.

You read that right.  And it's not the only one, sitting out in plain sight, waiting for me to set aside time for it, all the time we lived in this house.

The top layer was mostly mementos from our china cabinet.  Boy, was that layer hard to get through.

The middle layer, and most of the bottom, was a set of stoneware dishes.  Our first set, if I recall correctly.  Unused for all those years, while we collected thrift shop Corel. I also found a huge ceramic stein that Robin painted for me for my birthday in 1981. 

And, inexplicably, a business sized envelope that contained...an owl pellet.

That one threw me for a loop.  It took several minutes just to figure out what the hell it was -- a few tiny bones, a small lump of fur, and unidentifiable clumps of...dried gunk.

Why an owl pellet?  Why would she save...

And then it hit me.  This was also from the early 80s.

We had been going to George Sarratt's house for D&D games for a while, and he'd told us about how he'd found his totem animal (Raccoon).  This was different from his chosen totem image, the Thunderbird, which he always wore around his neck.  He saw Raccoon looking back at him from the mirror one day.  Totem animals, he told us, choose you.  And that got Robin wondering what hers might be. 

One night, when we were visiting Natalie and illicitly spending the night in a reserved common room at her dormitory,  Robin awoke in the wee hours.  Where a lamp was sitting on an end table, she saw instead a large great horned owl.  Only for a few seconds.  When the vision passed, she managed to convince herself that it was a dream, or an hallucination.  Surely not a totem animal.  She couldn't possibly be associated with the Owl.  She'd done her reading; owls were stupid animals.

While we were driving back to Omaha from that visit, she noticed something and asked me to pull over.  When I did, and backed up to the right place, we found a dead owl by the side of the road.

I've been on a lot of roads, and seen a lot of roadkill.  Not once before, nor since, has any of it been an owl.

Robin still rejected this message.  I teased her, asking if she needed a live owl to come to her.  She acknowledged that, maybe, that would be a strong enough message.

Only a couple of weeks after that, I was walking home from collecting an unemployment check (at this time I was not very far from enlisting in the Army), when I saw a small owl in the snow.  It was alive, but did not seem well.  At least, it didn't attempt to fly away.  Other people were around; none of them knew anything about owls.  One of them did have a cardboard box, though.  I took it home. 

Once in the warmth of our house, the owl seemed to perk up a bit.  I learned to wear gloves when handling it.  We tried to identify its species, but with only an old encyclopedia set to work with (this was before the Internet), we didn't get very far.  We surmised that it could have been a very young great horned, but that was completely the wrong season for that.  Of course, with our lack of experience, and lack of complete resources, we were probably completely off the mark.

Of course, I did tease Robin about this whole thing.  She had to acknowledge that Owl had come to her.

We kept that bird in our house for about a week.  It got better, but it refused to eat anything I offered it.  Everything, that is, except for one dead mouse that George trapped and saved for us, assuring us that he had no poisons in his house.  The bird snapped that tidbit right up. 

And, not long afterward, yakked up an owl pellet.  Like they do.

And Robin saved the pellet. 

I wanted so badly to tease her about this tonight. 

Instead, I poured some scotch, and wrote about it. 

We released the owl that night, for a couple of reasons.  Mostly because it seemed to be doing much better, having warmed up and eaten, and the weather outside was warmer too.  And secondarily, we had learned that, as a raptor bird, the state required a license to keep them.  We didn't have the money nor the training to get a raptor license.  Kind of a pity.  We'd gotten used to each other.  It never tried to attack us, it would perch on my gloved hand when approached.  Robin held it a couple of times, too. 

But it did hang around our house.  We heard it, often. 

She collected owl imagery ever since that day.

I'd really like to hear owls around here.  

Cakes

Last night I baked cakes.

Erin invited me to her daughter's 2-year birthday party, and I volunteered to make the cake.  Then I volunteered to make more than one, because some of her family members are eating low-carb, and, well...I know a little bit about low-carb.

I used the NordicWare pans that I was buying for Robin, because she loved them.  The cake for the little girl was made in the castle, which I've used once before, on Robin's last birthday.  The low-carb cakes were baked in the 2-cottage pan, which I never used at all - that was to be used this Christmas, for gingerbread cakes.

I used almond flour in a recipe made for coconut flour, and nearly made a mess of it, but remembered what Robin taught me and just added more dry ingredients, guessing correctly because we've done this before.

Tonight I frosted them.  I made sugar-free buttercream for the low-carb cakes, just the way she taught me.  Probably sweeter than she would have liked.  The frosting is really a hack job, and covers up the beautiful detail of the cake, but I expect the 2-year-old will forgive me, especially since there are 11 Disney princess figures standing around the cakes.

I made sure to thank Robin for every lesson I used.

Afterward, I put together my meds.  This is the first time I've needed to do that since...since.  We always did that at the same time, each of us with a tray in front, silently counting out pills, occasionally asking each other for spares.  "Do you have any multivitamins?  I'm out."  That kind of thing.  I ran out of D3 and couldn't ask.  Instead, I went to the closet where I had put away her box of meds, and found her bottle of D supplements. 

I thanked her.

Tomorrow or Monday I'll be fixing some clothing.  I'll be using sewing techniques she taught me, and I'll thank her then, too.

I'm remembering the good things.  That's progress, right?  But these memories make me sad, too, because we won't me making more of them.

An Old Belt

I've been telling myself for weeks that I need a new belt.  Maybe months.

When Robin switched from the "regular" low carb diet, to ketogenic, it was always for health reasons.  It got her blood sugars and blood pressure under control.  When I joined her in that way of eating, it worked so well for me that I was able to stop taking Metformin completely.  My most recent A1C was 5.5, and my doctor was asking me for keto tips.

But, for quite a while, even though it worked for health, she despaired that it didn't seem to help her weight.  Even following the strictest keto plan, limiting to 20 whole carbs a day, no more than seven per meal, her weight was stubborn.

To be honest, I think I started to lose weight before she did -- she mentioned it a couple of times -- but I didn't want to get on the scale, because I thought she'd get more frustrated if I confirmed that I was dropping pounds and she wasn't.  When she finally did start to lose weight, in 2018, she got absolutely giddy about it.  She started ordering clothes in the next size down, for both of us.

I think that this is why, after her death, one of the first things I wanted to do was clear out her clothing.  There's so much in this house, projects that she had put aside -- maybe temporarily, or maybe permanently abandoned -- that she never got to finish, but the clothing was what she was excited about most recently.  So, that's what hurts the most to see.

And that's why I've put off buying a new belt.  My pants are dropping off me, and the most recent belt purchase doesn't keep them tight enough.  But buying clothes for myself, even a belt ... that's not something I feel up to doing right now.

Today, when grabbing briefs from my underwear drawer, I noticed a coil of leather.  It was an old belt, one I hadn't worn in so long I can't even remember when.  I must have expanded past its limits and replaced it, but being a hoarder, I put it up and forgot about it.

At least, I'm pretty sure that's what happened.

On a related note, one of the pocket zippers on my vest has been broken for a while.  I realized recently that I was going to have to fix it, or get a new vest, before a trip coming up.  Something else I've been putting off, for the same reason.

Last night, I remembered that there is a box full of zippers in the basement.  Robin inherited it from her mom, who had been saving it for years, and we in turn have been saving it (along with a bunch of other stuff) for years.  I found a perfect fit, almost a perfect color match, and fixed the vest.

At some level, I'd like to believe that she's still taking care of me.

A Bluebird Cries

While running the vacuum today, I saw an index card booklet had fallen from Robin's desk near her chair.  I don't go near that area often.  I use her computer once in a while to register books for the Halloween giveaway, but haven't done much straightening there.

This was a reminder of why.

Today was Rough

Seems like anything set me off today. 

I cut grass, and felt sad. 

The neighbors were outside.  I finally got the chance to ask if it was okay to cut down the bushes/trees on the property line (it is), and felt an intense need to apologize for not doing it sooner.  And explain.  And that set me off.

I cooked a dinner for myself, and that got me crying.  I always cooked dinner for the both of us; it seems so damned selfish of me to cook just for me.

I searched for my birth certificate and passport, because I'm going along with the kids on a cruise this November.  And I couldn't find my passport, and that made me so damned angry with myself, because I can't seem to take care of anything.  And what the hell was I feeling sorry for myself for?  She's the one who suffered for it!

It was the worst wave of the day.

I thought I was on the mend, and then I ran across a small 2018 calendar.  A fucking calendar.  She'd marked the birthdays and anniversaries, with names and exclamation points.  She always got so excited over everyone else's special days.

Earlier today, I read a journal entry where she talked about how she really wasn't a good person, she just suppressed all her evil thoughts and tried to be good.

Sure fooled me, hon.  You were a damn sight better than I ever was.

The 5 Stages of Grief Are Bullshit

My grief comes in waves.  I can be fine for a while, and then something sets it off.

I got hit by a big one tonight.  Worse than I've felt in at least a week.  I don't even know what started it this time.  I think I was telling one of the cats that she just had to deal with me for a while.  Next thing I knew, I was bawling.

And here's the thing:  The whole "five stages thing" -- denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance -- it doesn't work like that.  I don't have any clear emotions or stages going on here.  It's all a big maelstrom, all swirled together.

And nobody ever mentions the guilt.

What hurts me the most is the absolute certainty that everything could have been different, if only I'd acted sooner.  Insisted that she just get to a follow-up appointments sooner, even if it meant going to a cardiologist when she didn't think she needed one.

So, yeah.  I blame myself.  She didn't deserve this.  She started last year in a positive direction, her diabetes and blood pressure under control, her weight coming under control, her energy level rising.  She didn't deserve a slow deterioration of health, only to spend the last few months of her life in and out of the hospital.  To die away from home.

I failed her.  She deserved better.

Is this depression?  Anger?  It can't be denial, because I sure as hell know what happened.  I was in the goddamn room.  There's no one for me to bargain with, unless I go off the rails and start believing that Doctor Who is real.  What can I do but accept what is?  Yet, how on Earth can I accept a future without my center?

If there's any one word that comes close to describing how I feel, it's "lost."

I know I'm not tired.  I have a bad habit if saying to myself, "I'm tired."  It's from years of being actually tired, but also I'd say it when I was just unhappy.  I catch myself saying "I'm tired" now, and I know better.  I'm not tired.  I wasn't tired nearly as often as I told myself I was.  I'm just very, very unhappy,  and don't know what to do about it.

That was me tonight.

Next wave, who knows?  I might start tearing up at happy memories.  I might get stuck searching old chat logs.  I might go on a cleaning frenzy, trying to get rid of things that have no use but to bring on more waves.

Or I might successfully distract myself for another couple of weeks.

The kids have been so good to me.  Much better than I deserve.  Robin raised them very well.  They're my purpose now, and I've no intention of doing anything stupid that would cause them more grief.  I may not be as strong as I thought I was, but I will be stronger than that.  That's not what any of this is about.

When I do figure out what it's about, I'll write about that.

Easter Egg

I've been rummaging around, looking for Robin's journals.  She started many, but rarely finished them. and they are all secreted around the house.  So far, thanks to the disorganized nature of my search, I've only dented three areas:  her bedside, her computer desk, and her bookshelf.

A lot of found...stuff...ends up in her chair or on her side of the bed.  If her ghost is hanging around, she must be a little miffed over not having a place to rest here.

Last night, I hit the bookshelf again.  I noticed that one of the thicker volumes, The McGraw-Hill Introduction to Literature, had a scrap of pink paper in it.  Of course I had to take a look.

Between pages 342 and 343, I found her message.  She'd marked Anne Bradstreet's poem, "To My Dear And Loving Husband."

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were lov'd by his wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me ye women if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold.
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee, give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay,
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love lets so persever,
That when we live no more, we may live ever.

I held this book for several minutes, getting my robe dusty.  No idea when she marked this for me to find.  No idea how many other such "easter eggs" may be hidden around here.

I shall have to be mindful how I clean up.

I think this healed me quite a bit.  I actually had a couple of dreams overnight.

Alone (not alone)

Arthur and Anita (A2) have gone back to Missouri.  They put their lives on hold for us, for months.  As Anita put it, it feels like they came for Easter just last week.  But they stayed, and helped through Robin's entire illness and recovery cycle, three hospital stays, and finally sat shiva with me after her death.  (No, we're not Jewish, it just ended up being seven days.)  They were going to split up again, leaving Arthur here with me, but I told them that they have to get some balance back into their lives, be with each other.  In about a week, they'll be back for the rest of their things.

I've been alone before; I know how to do it.  The Army sent me to Korea for a whole year.  Various business trips, lasting from one week to four.  I've just never felt alone, not since we first became engaged.  I always knew it was temporary.

And I'm not really alone, even now.  Kyrie is literally only blocks away, walking distance, and I'll see her again on Monday. 

It's that hole-in-the-heart thing, again.  With constant company, it's a little easier to distract myself from it, but hasn't left me. 

I know this will improve.  No, scratch that.  I know that I can do this.  I don't know that it will get any better.

Deep breath.

Wave has passed.

We're all planning to do more together.  Possibly a Branson trip in late August.  The remembering in late September.  Kyrie suggested that she and Rick go with me on a karaoke night (side note: she doesn't really like karaoke), which would have to wait until after the next shift change.  Maybe even accompany A2 on their cruise if a larger cabin opens up. 

You know.  All the things that Robin would have done, if her health permitted.

No, that's not fair.  She did do some of these things, when she felt better in the past.  Still, I have a right to rant and rail against the universe for denying her more of them.  And a little bit against myself, if I'm being honest.

She deserved more.

She's still the glue that holds us all together.  I like to think she'd be happy about that.  I certainly still feel her love all around me, through the kids, and I hope they can feel it from me, too.  That's why I know I can do this.

Hang on, another wave.

This, more than anything, makes me want to believe in something beyond this life. 

Okay, time to stop this, and go to sleep.  

Recovery

I experienced my first auditory hallucination since Robin's death.

I used to hear her calling me all the time, even when she had not done so.  But since Friday, I have not heard her once.  Except for this morning, when I awoke (too early, again) and turned over, trying to go back to sleep.  Then I heard her, calling my name sharply, as if she needed me urgently.  Or perhaps not so urgently, but just impatient that I hadn't heard the first two times.

It was actually comforting.

I may have been able to sleep some more, but got a call from the Arbor Society, that her cremains were ready for pickup, and they were open til 1:00 today.  I decided to take care of that, alone.

Kyrie came to visit; I made bacon-wrapped chicken, and we had a quiet re-watch of An American Tail with A2 and the grandkids.  Then Kyrie had to go home, and I spent the rest of the daylight fixing one (1!) van window.  A frustrating, but therapeutic activity.

I already wrote about the stupid UHC letter, but if that doesn't take care of itself, well, I can call down wrath another day.

Tomorrow, I'll arrange for an engraved nameplate for the wooden urn.

I think we are healing.

Not Medically Necessary

Today Robin received a letter from United Health Care stating that the insurance claim for her recent hospital admission was denied.

"The clinical reason for our determination is: Your doctor admitted you to the hospital on 6/26/19.  You had trouble breathing. We reviewed the medical information made available to us. We reviewed the health plan's criteria for admission to the hospital. We have determined that this stay does mot meet those criteria. The reason is that  you were stable. Your breathing got better. You did not have pneumonia. Your heart was not getting worse. You could have received the care you needed in an observation level at the hospital. Your admission is not covered. Observation may be covered for the admission beginning 6/26/19 in this case, if ordered by your doctor."

I've called the hospital.  The nice lady in billing says that they have these battles all the time and of course they automatically appeal rejections.  Call back in a week if there are any problems.

The goddamned audacity.  "Your breathing got better."  When I am sitting here crying over her box of ashes.

Still Not Sleeping

I've spent the last few months taking care of her needs, as she became increasingly ill, and less able to take care of herself.  The last month, she couldn't even sleep in her own bed, finding that the recliner was easier to breathe in.

With Arthur (Spooky) taking a shift overnight, I'd get between four and six hours bed rest, and nap on the couch between doing whatever she needed.  When he couldn't be there, which was rare, I'd just sleep on the couch the whole night.

When she entered the hospital for the last time, four hours became nearly the maximum I could manage.

Now that I have no demands on my time, not even work, I still can't sleep more than five hours a night.  I may fall asleep in my chair, fitfully, when I can't keep myself occupied.  Doing stuff helps, for a little while, but then I reach a point where I feel too empty to work and come back to my chair, with this screen waiting, and her journals.

Last night I did dream, but I don't remember what it was.

This can't be healthy.

Arrangements

The kids and I arranged for cremation today.  We chose the Arbor Society; they don't have a hard sell, and there were no surprise charges. 

We have decided to postpone any sort of memorial for much later.  Maybe around her birthday.  And it shall be invitation only. 

For the immediate family, I'm purchasing glass pendants with an owl emblem, to be infused with some of her remains.  The picture looks beautiful, almost like her "Tondo Ule" etching.  It shall be engraved with:

I Am

RLP

61-19

Three days in.  I'm not weeping quite so hard, but the sadness still comes in waves that I cannot predict.  

I've found a few more of her journals.  She had a habit of starting them, but then leaving most of the pages blank.  Were they mislaid?  Not sure.  Everything is cluttered, so maybe.  The poetry book / memory book projects will certainly take a long time to finish.

Tomorrow we attend a family counselling session.

Things I've Noticed

I promised her that I would outlive her, because she knew long ago that she couldn't bear it if she lost me.  I thought I could handle it better.  I was wrong.  I don't regret not making her go through what I'm feeling.

I do regret that she had to suffer.  I regret she had to go in a hospital, surrounded by strangers.  I was in the room, but several feet away, because they were trying to save her life, and the best thing I could do was stay out of it, not interfere, and stare in horror as they pushed her into the bed, over and over.

The sadness comes in waves.  My daughter pointed this out, and I had to agree.  I can be fine for a while, and some stupid thing sets me off.  Like seeing the lidded tumbler that she used for a waterglass for the last month, so she could reach it in bed and not spill it.

I put on one of her old, pitted rings this morning, and then without thinking, I went out back to put the seat of the van back in -- I'd removed it a couple of weeks ago in case I had to get her to a doctor's appointment in her brand-new wheelchair.  But I forgot to remove the ring, and now it's lost.

My brain used to play tricks on me with sound.  I'd hear her calling my name, when she'd done no such thing.  I figured this would continue.  So far, it hasn't.

The light by her chair came unplugged last night.  It used to do that all the time, because the plug was loose in the extension.  Thing is, I didn't notice until this morning.  I had to get it turned back on.  Then I had to re-set her clock, which is on the same cord, even though the only reason that clock was over there was so that she could see what time it was.  She couldn't see well since she fell on April 10.

We had installed two toilet seat risers, and a safety frame, so she could get up by herself.  I took them down, and now it seems way too low.

I'm forgetting to take my meds, because I was timing them from having to prepare hers.

I alternate between wanting everything gone, and wanting nothing to change.

When does this get easier?

She's Gone

Early July 5, I lost my love and best friend of 39 years.

Mother of our children - both the two born to us, and the next generation, and everyone she "adopted." She was kind and generous to a fault. Complete strangers who admired a crochet project would sometimes find themselves the new owner of that same scarf, hat, or baby blanket. Neighborhood children knew her as "the book lady" at Halloween.

Constant companion and confidant - we rarely chose to do anything apart from one another. She shared all my secrets, goals, dreams, and helped me achieve many of the same.

Creative and intelligent - she mastered many crafts, played many musical instruments, and wrote beautifully. She inspired our son to music, our daughter to art, and me to be a better writer. She ran most of our family games.

A tough advocate - she would fight for those she loved. Though she lost her last fight, she never surrendered. May she find peace, if that is what she seeks, or at least a worthy adventure.

Robin, you left a hole in my life and my heart that I don't know can ever be filled again. I don't know that I would ever want to.

Her path went higher than the summit,
And she is one with the gods today.

https://pluckingmyself.blogspot.com/2010/08/quill-27-mountain-song-1991.html