Saturday, October 22, 2011
Yesterday I am counting as a good day, even though I didn't get very much done. I got the first good night's sleep I've had since mom passed, and I relaxed most of the day for the first time since I don't know when. Even while working there was a peaceful aspect to my being, which was welcome and very much needed. My biggest stressor right now is finances. I am still waiting on the insurance money to come in, once it does I will be good to go until I find a job, but for now I'm strapped tight and grounded. I still have a small pile of boxes to work with but I will have to buy more when I can. This morning I'm in sort of a fog. I slept well again but I'm not really functioning yet. Tried to do a bit with the studio but I can't find my tape . . . so I'm at a standstill until I do. It's frustrating. I want to just work my butt off until it's all done but I can't seem to keep moving. More later . . .
Friday, October 21, 2011
I've decided to keep this blog going for a while at least, so that I can write here about how I'm doing for those who want to know. I also need to write. I've been avoiding it in my depression, but I know that now is when I most need to do it, so I'm going to try to post here more often.
Yesterday was one month since mom's death. Last night I finally took the sleeping pill prescribed by my psychiatrist. I got a good, full night's sleep for the first time since she passed. I survived the first month. That's about the best thing I can say about it. It's not that there haven't been some good things that have happened in the past four weeks; there have been a few. But it has been very hard. Harder than I ever imagined. I always imagined that I would just fall apart when she was gone, but I haven't -- and that seems even harder.The hardest part of all is just trying to keep going. I have spent these days in a fog most of the time, doing a little bit here, a little bit there, knowing logically that I have to move at the end of October, but not really being able to accept it.
I know the stages of grief, and I know that I have been going through them. What I didn't expect is how they come all mixed up together, shifting in and out of my days like someone is shuffling them for me like cards. One minute I'll be fine and the next I'll be so angry I can't function. Then by turns I'll be confused, going through shock and disbelief mixed with acceptance. I'm not sure how much my own mental conditions impact my ability to process the grief, but I'm thinking it's quite a lot. I have support. I have tons of friends who still check in on me and are keeping an ear to the ground in case I need them. I have my therapist, psychiatrist, and case worker. I have my medications. What I don't have that I need is mom's moral support for getting through each day a bit at a time.
The upshot of my having to prepare to move while going through all of this is that I haven't done a very good job preparing to move. Some things have gotten done, and my cousin has helped a lot. So has my friend Ruby. But I haven't been functional enough to go at it in an organized way, so right now the house is a big disorganized mess and I only have six days to go until the Salvation Army pickup, and only ten days to go until I need to be out of here. My landlord is a gem. He is willing to work with me, give me an extra month week by week if I need it. But what I really want is not to need it, but to just get it done. I'm also struggling financially with no income, waiting on the insurance money to come in so that I can pay bills and buy moving supplies. I know that God will help me get through it, I know that I can get through it, I just need to motivate myself to do what can be done until it is all done. Prayers and help are welcome. If you think you might be able to help in some way, please call me or email me. I will update again tomorrow.
Yesterday was one month since mom's death. Last night I finally took the sleeping pill prescribed by my psychiatrist. I got a good, full night's sleep for the first time since she passed. I survived the first month. That's about the best thing I can say about it. It's not that there haven't been some good things that have happened in the past four weeks; there have been a few. But it has been very hard. Harder than I ever imagined. I always imagined that I would just fall apart when she was gone, but I haven't -- and that seems even harder.The hardest part of all is just trying to keep going. I have spent these days in a fog most of the time, doing a little bit here, a little bit there, knowing logically that I have to move at the end of October, but not really being able to accept it.
I know the stages of grief, and I know that I have been going through them. What I didn't expect is how they come all mixed up together, shifting in and out of my days like someone is shuffling them for me like cards. One minute I'll be fine and the next I'll be so angry I can't function. Then by turns I'll be confused, going through shock and disbelief mixed with acceptance. I'm not sure how much my own mental conditions impact my ability to process the grief, but I'm thinking it's quite a lot. I have support. I have tons of friends who still check in on me and are keeping an ear to the ground in case I need them. I have my therapist, psychiatrist, and case worker. I have my medications. What I don't have that I need is mom's moral support for getting through each day a bit at a time.
The upshot of my having to prepare to move while going through all of this is that I haven't done a very good job preparing to move. Some things have gotten done, and my cousin has helped a lot. So has my friend Ruby. But I haven't been functional enough to go at it in an organized way, so right now the house is a big disorganized mess and I only have six days to go until the Salvation Army pickup, and only ten days to go until I need to be out of here. My landlord is a gem. He is willing to work with me, give me an extra month week by week if I need it. But what I really want is not to need it, but to just get it done. I'm also struggling financially with no income, waiting on the insurance money to come in so that I can pay bills and buy moving supplies. I know that God will help me get through it, I know that I can get through it, I just need to motivate myself to do what can be done until it is all done. Prayers and help are welcome. If you think you might be able to help in some way, please call me or email me. I will update again tomorrow.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
It has never been so hard to begin to write, but I know I must.
Mom passed away September 20, 2011, in the afternoon. She was surrounded by loved ones and went very peacefully. I am thankful for her peaceful death, that she is not suffering anymore, and for all those who helped to ease her transition.
I am still me. I always thought that after losing mom I would fall apart completely and stop functioning. I haven't. In fact, for the two weeks after her death, I was super high-functioning, more functional than I've ever been. I chalk it up to the fact that there were things to do. I still have things to do . . . so much that it overwhelms me. But I've taken the past couple of days to stop, rest, and think. I just wish I knew what to think about what to do next. In the first days after mom's death, I always had a list of things to do. I still do. I'm just not sure what direction to move in. I feel lost, like a sailor without a compass, abandoned at sea and becalmed.
I, too, am surrounded by loved ones. They are everywhere. Every day I get phone calls, texts, emails, asking me how I am doing. I appreciate the love and support, but I honestly am not sure how I'm doing. It's a moment by moment process trying to deal with this much grief. I feel like a pressure valve on a massive tank, holding back tons of pressure but able to release only a little at a time. I guess it's good that I'm only able to process it in small amounts . . . if it all came at once they might lock me up for not being able to stop crying.
When I do cry, it's usually for mom. As though I thought she might still be here somewhere, just hiding around a corner. But she isn't able to come to me in the same comforting way anymore. Instead, I get a dog. A big black dog. :) He always rushes to me when he hears me beginning to cry out, sticking his snuffly nose in my face and licking away my tears. What a great blessing this beast has been in all days, but especially now.
In the days ahead I am facing a move and a purging of most of my belongings and hers (out of sheer necessity). It is this purge which I believe has me emotionally and physically stalled at the moment. Part of me wants to save every little thing that might have some significance in the future even if it doesn't now, but it's truly time to tame the pack rat in me. I will be moving from a six room house with a full basement to one room. I don't have a choice. It's frightening and exciting at the same time. It will be a benture of discovery and faith.
I cannot write more now, but I will. Tonight or tomorrow. Be at peace.
Mom passed away September 20, 2011, in the afternoon. She was surrounded by loved ones and went very peacefully. I am thankful for her peaceful death, that she is not suffering anymore, and for all those who helped to ease her transition.
I am still me. I always thought that after losing mom I would fall apart completely and stop functioning. I haven't. In fact, for the two weeks after her death, I was super high-functioning, more functional than I've ever been. I chalk it up to the fact that there were things to do. I still have things to do . . . so much that it overwhelms me. But I've taken the past couple of days to stop, rest, and think. I just wish I knew what to think about what to do next. In the first days after mom's death, I always had a list of things to do. I still do. I'm just not sure what direction to move in. I feel lost, like a sailor without a compass, abandoned at sea and becalmed.
I, too, am surrounded by loved ones. They are everywhere. Every day I get phone calls, texts, emails, asking me how I am doing. I appreciate the love and support, but I honestly am not sure how I'm doing. It's a moment by moment process trying to deal with this much grief. I feel like a pressure valve on a massive tank, holding back tons of pressure but able to release only a little at a time. I guess it's good that I'm only able to process it in small amounts . . . if it all came at once they might lock me up for not being able to stop crying.
When I do cry, it's usually for mom. As though I thought she might still be here somewhere, just hiding around a corner. But she isn't able to come to me in the same comforting way anymore. Instead, I get a dog. A big black dog. :) He always rushes to me when he hears me beginning to cry out, sticking his snuffly nose in my face and licking away my tears. What a great blessing this beast has been in all days, but especially now.
In the days ahead I am facing a move and a purging of most of my belongings and hers (out of sheer necessity). It is this purge which I believe has me emotionally and physically stalled at the moment. Part of me wants to save every little thing that might have some significance in the future even if it doesn't now, but it's truly time to tame the pack rat in me. I will be moving from a six room house with a full basement to one room. I don't have a choice. It's frightening and exciting at the same time. It will be a benture of discovery and faith.
I cannot write more now, but I will. Tonight or tomorrow. Be at peace.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Every Poem I Ever Write
Insects serenading the end of summer's glory
the fall colors seeping into the leaves
and these small changes remind me
that you are now gone.
I know they say that all poems
are about sex, or death
or sex and death,
and writing about death is a big cliche.
But somehow, in some small part
every poem I ever write
from this point forward
will be about losing you.
The pain is unspeakable
and private
and I wait until I am alone
to court its savage invasion of my heart.
I know, oh how I know, that I am loved
because you taught me to love
and love comes back
and so they check on me
and handle me carefully
because I am so fragile without you.
Even I am careful with me
because the pain is so deep
I cannot help but think of ways
to break myself
into a million tiny parts
and float away.
But instead I will find a way
to turn away from this point
and keep moving. I will
carry the pain with me,
because I cannot walk away from it.
It, and you, are part of me.
We will somehow go on
with and without you.
the fall colors seeping into the leaves
and these small changes remind me
that you are now gone.
I know they say that all poems
are about sex, or death
or sex and death,
and writing about death is a big cliche.
But somehow, in some small part
every poem I ever write
from this point forward
will be about losing you.
The pain is unspeakable
and private
and I wait until I am alone
to court its savage invasion of my heart.
I know, oh how I know, that I am loved
because you taught me to love
and love comes back
and so they check on me
and handle me carefully
because I am so fragile without you.
Even I am careful with me
because the pain is so deep
I cannot help but think of ways
to break myself
into a million tiny parts
and float away.
But instead I will find a way
to turn away from this point
and keep moving. I will
carry the pain with me,
because I cannot walk away from it.
It, and you, are part of me.
We will somehow go on
with and without you.
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