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.