The Last Vacation

I'm just back from a mini-vacation to Lake George with my girls and granddaughters.  We drove up to Lake George, NY on Friday morning and came back on Sunday afternoon.  The last time I was there was with Mike...on the weekend after Thanksgiving...maybe 2006.   Odd that it would be Thanksgiving weekend.  Odder still that I didn't feel emotional at all.  Oh, I thought about stuff...like here is the hotel we stayed at...here is where I walked in the morning...here is where we ate dinner.  Without sadness.

  

What I felt instead was complete and utter joy.  I was so happy to be with my girls and my "littles."  I woke up every morning to the sound of the water lapping at the shore and the birds at the feeder outside my window.  We went boating, and shopping, and suntanning.  We ate fantastic meals and watched the sunset.

I felt joy!  Happiness!  Serenity!  Peace!  I'm living again.  Finally.

Kevin Ambrose

Today is the funeral for Kevin Ambrose.  I didn't know him, but my heart is sad.

Kevin was 55 years old - the same age Mike was when he died.  Kevin was also a police officer in the City of Springfield, MA...killed by an enraged ex-boyfriend of a woman he was sent to protect.  She was also shot, but as of today's date, will probably live.  Lives somehow linked in a moment and changed forever, thereby changing those who loved them.

Kevin's wife, children, and grandchildren will live with the knowledge that he was a hero.  I'm sure it will offer some consolation, but I'm thinking....not much.   He may have died a public hero, but he was so much more than that to his family.  It's the little things that will matter to them...family dinners, the grandkids birthdays, the holiday gatherings, having someone to talk to about your day, the morning routine.

Maybe I feel his death so much more because it is the same profession my daughter works in.  Or maybe it's because, in spite of his hero status, he left behind a family who loved him and will miss him every day of their lives.  And, I know what that feels like.

Hot, Cold, and Lack of Sleep

Mom is always cold.  She wants the electric heater in her bedroom.  It's June.  I tell her "When pigs or snow fly."  She says she's awake at night because of the cold, so we've compromised.  The electric blanket is my concession, 'cause one thing I know about is how "uncomfortable" lack of sleep can be.  

After Mike died, it was months (like 24 of them) before I was able to sleep through the night.  Over the last few months, I've made a few changes so the 2 a.m. wake up calls happen less often.  Things like not eating after 7 p.m., no television or computer 1 hour before bed, and keeping my bedroom cool and dark all work pretty well.  One thing that does not work well is having my little heat generator sleeping in my bed.

My daughter is a cop on the night shift.  Her life partner sometimes works an overnight shift as well.  This leaves my 8 year old granddaughter in my care...sleeping soundly next to me...while I write this blog at 4 a.m.  The kid is a bed hogging furnace.  What I should do is put her in bed with mom and shut off the electric blanket.  Then maybe we'd all get some sleep.



 

 

The Family (in the house)

Did I mention that mom is back with me?  There is some kind of wierd logic in this world, but I can't imagine what it is.  Mike is gone.  Mom is not.  Linda says she is pickled and smoked from years of drinking wine and smoking cigarettes.  I have to agree.  She keeps me amused and frustrated.  I'm finding it harder to understand what she wants.  She knows what she wants, but can't get the words out.  A heater is a cushion and the waste basket is a book.  Mike was her best friend.  I wish he'd get his ass back here and help me out with this.

But, he won't be here any time soon.  What I do have right now is another son and his family living here now.  It's more than a full house with 4 adults and a 3-year old.  I mean 3 adults and 2 children.  Somehow, in this wierd, twisted life I live, the Universe knew I needed help.  Dan is the oldest son...the one who took responsibility for staying with his sister after her accident and getting her back home.  Having him here to help with this old house has been a real blessing.  But what I really like is having 2 adults in the house that I can have a normal conversation with.  And bitch to.  I wonder what they say to each other about these 2 old ladies they are living with...the one who can't get the words out, and the one who has developed quite the potty mouth.

Just another Valentine's Day

Yesterday, on Facebook, a widowed friend of mine posted that she will be thinking of all of her widowed friends today.  After that initial post, the widowed friends jumped on board wishing each other well, encouraging each other in ways that no one else could.  Now, that's love.

Another friend of mine posted this:  "Remember this: Saint Valentine's legend is that he encouraged his Christian brothers and sisters while they were being persecuted by sending a message of love to them, even while imprisoned. Valentine's day should be remembered as a day of caring and encouraging one another, not worrying about being single or with a lover. I challenge you today to reach out to that person you know is struggling in life and encourage them today in the Spirit of St. Valentine.... ♥"

On this Valentine's Day, I'm remembering the love I shared with Mike.  I'm also reminding myself that there's still a lot of that left over for others.  

The Notebook

No, not the movie. 

I carried one around for months.  I just found it tucked away in a drawer, and I must say...it's a good thing I had it at the very beginning because I didn't know my own name...never mind who I talked to about the life insurance.

I do remember thinking that I just couldn't hold onto any information.  Nothing.  Nada.  That notebook went with me everywhere and seemed, at times, to be an extension of my arm.

In that notebook, I wrote down a couple of things:

Sam e
Vitamin B
Vitamin D

These were the things my counselor thought would be a good addition to my depleted body.  When I look back on that time, these few little "natural" pills made a lot of sense.   They certainly weren't a cure-all for that intense pain, but they were more of a support for my brain.  And let's face it, when you're dealing with that kind of pain, you need all the support you can get.

 

Grief as a Mental Disorder

I will probably take some flack for this, but give me a break, ok?

According to the NBC Nightly News, psychiatrists would like to term grief as a mental disorder.  What a great way to get 100% of the population on medication! 

Oh, I will admit...I would have done almost anything to stop the pain in those first few months, but chose not to go the drug route.  First of all, I'm just way too pissed off thinking that medication was a good part of the reason for Mike's death.  But it's more than that. 

When do you come off the medication?  And what happens when you do?  Not all doctors will monitor their patients.  Mike's doctor never monitored him.  I don't have a lot of faith.  Is it possible that, once medicated, you won't really be able to grieve?  Grief is supposed to be felt.  It is supposed to cut you to the core.  And then, you are supposed to move into this new life, like it or not.  How does that happen if you are medicated?  Do you get to grieve later, when all of the support you had at the beginning wants you to "get over it?"

I will tell you...I did think I was going insane back then.  And I drank wine.  Is that better than the medication?  Well, at least it was red.  I hear there are health benefits to that.