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