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Jean's Blog of Life, Farms and Everything

Category Archives: Grief

Forget those stupid “Stages of Grief”. Ain’t no such thing. Mainly just thoughts and experiences regarding the process and the search for the new normal.

Memories from a happier time

05 Thursday Nov 2015

Posted by Jean in General Farm Stuff, Grief, Rural life, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

MVC-015SThat Facebook app “On this day…” hasn’t been happy lately. I’ve had to try to ignore the posts from this time in 2013. This morning I skipped over the sad memory from that day and landed on this from the year before. We used to have such fun and be able to laugh at the calamities.

So, from November 4, 2012 I give you the Great Pony Escape

The continuing saga of life on Jean and Billiam’s farm. With an unhappy goat constantly bleating for tree trimmings in the background, John dismantled the panels along the west side of the barn. I’d moved all the ponies to the back corral earlier. Billiam cranked up the old Ford tractor and scraped all the stalls down to dirt, then shoved dry dirt piles back into each stall. I chopped up hard packed dirt on the edges where the tractor couldn’t reach and then spread the fresh dirt around in the low spots with John helping. I scrubbed out the water buckets with steel wool while John and Billiam put the panels back up.

The little blind and deaf dog was barking incessantly inside because we were outside, the goat outside was still making our ears bleed with her incessant bleating. I got the leaf blower and blew out all the dirt and dust that had been kicked into the feed bins and Billiam and I came inside for Aleve and a NAP while John put the finishing touches on the panels. I woke up two hours later and my FIRST thought upon waking was “OMG did someone close the corral gate?? DID SOMEONE PUT THE PONIES BACK INTO THAT CORRAL BEFORE CLOSING THAT GATE?”

I grabbed shoes and went outside. All seemed normal. Goat was bleating bloody murder. Then I noticed that this time she was bleating bloody murder at a small herd of horses under the tree next to the goat pen, who were gorging themselves on dried mesquite bean pods. “John!!!!!” “JOHN!!” “SOMEBODY!!!!!!!!” I grabbed a bucket of feed and coerced Desi back into the corral but he kept following me in and out while I tried to attract the attention of the others. “JOHNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

At this point Billiam and John appeared. The village idiot horses, Blondie and her child Poppy, made a break for it and headed toward the barn. THAT gate, unfortunately was closed. They wheeled about and raced out into the open backyard. John decided to try and get them all in the corral gate, while I was trying to get them into the barn aisle. Billiam, thinking John’s plan was THE plan, herded them away from the barn at the same time I was trying to get them to go to the barn and our miscommunication caused ALL the horses but Lucy (still gorging on mesquite bean pods and not giving a hoot about the chaos around her) to charge off through the backyard and around the house into the front yard where one neighbor had JUST passed by riding his stallion and ponying another horse. After sucking all the oxygen out of the desert, I saw that he had safely crossed the dry wash and was on the opposite bank, well away from my rampaging fools.

John tried to herd them between the house and the barn but the ninnies broke out and went careening up the road and across the 5 acres between us and our nearest neighbors’ property. This caused the horses in the neighbors’ back yard to freak out which caused our horses to become even more gleeful in their wild escape. Ours were bucking, cavorting, pawing the air and having a GRAND old time, which convinced the neighbors’ horses that a pack of crazed hyenas was on the loose. The village idiot horses were the leaders in this escapade, with Desi charging along behind them egging them on by biting their butts. Blaze was running along just because she’s Blaze and is more than willing to do whatever the other horses are doing because they must know what they’re doing right?

Lucy finally looked up from her bean pod bonanza and walked over to me. I put a lead rope around her neck, kissed her forehead and led her into the barn. I sat in my wheelchair watching the rest of the hairy goofballs head off across the countryside and thought “Yanno, at this moment, if Desi weren’t among them I might just close all the gates, wave goodbye and go inside.”

John managed to turn them before they got halfway down the street and they came rampaging back around the front yard where they got side tracked by the mesquite pods on the ground by the garage. I planted myself just past the barn gate. John went around the house and surprised the ill behaved children by blocking their access back to the front yard. They stampeded toward me but between my airplane arms and the look on my face they decided to make a sliding 90 degree turn and go into the barn. I’m thinking the look on my face probably reminded them “I DO HAVE A FIRE PIT”.

We closed the gate behind them, had a chance to breathe ONE quick sigh of relief when we realized “OH hell the hay room door is open!” right about the time the village idiots and Blaze tried to cram themselves into a small hay area filled to the brim with 100 bales of hay. John managed to get the village idiots backed out, but Blaze suddenly forgot how to back out or just didn’t want to and leaped up on some of the lower bales. I was waiting for the sound of horse legs breaking as she jumped off the bales onto one of the empty pallets below, but thankfully she managed to extricate herself. She did make one feeble attempt (thank god it was feeble) to squeeze through the not even horse width space between the fence and the stacked hay, but thought better of it and scrambled over the freshly opened bale by the door, scattering it to hell and gone.
After the village idiots stopped gaily sprinting from one end of the barn aisle to the other, they were caught and everyone was locked up early for the evening.

We cooked out, sausages over the mesquite fire again, for supper. It was a peaceful evening, well, except for the little blind and deaf dog barking incessantly inside because we were outside. Billiam said “We could pretend he’s wild life.”

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10 Months have passed

11 Thursday Sep 2014

Posted by Jean in Grief

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

death of spouse, grief, how to handle grief

I suppose it’s better. I still don’t think straight most of the time. I’m still tired all of the time. I still have to make myself get up and get busy. I still can’t get through a day without screaming “I just can’t believe you’re gone!” in my mind. I still can’t get to sleep at night without my brain replaying those final moments together. Tears still pour unexpectedly several times a day and no matter how I try to bring color back into this life, everything is still mainly shades of grey. Sometimes, though, a pop of color will burst through and for a little while life seems, if not normal, peaceful and acceptable.

We’ve crossed many things off his unfinished to-do list. He’d be happy with the changes. Does that help? No. Not really, but it’s better than not having done those things for him. I want to slap myself most days and yell “Snap out of it! This isn’t who you are!”, it may not be who I was, it sure as hell is who I am today, and I’m not at all happy about that. It is amazing to me that 19 years ago I was self-sufficient, happy, courageous (well, except for flying), and content to be by myself. It is amazing to me that I fell so easily into the comforts of two, as opposed to the contentment of one. I haven’t even seen a glimmer, yet, of the woman who was once completely comfortable with only herself for company.

Many years ago I read a book that suggested that in order to become who we want to be or make a change in who we are or our perception of ourselves, we should pretend to be the person we want to be. The more we pretend, the more the positive actions become habit. When positive actions become so habitual we no longer have to remind ourselves to pretend, we have made the change. This has helped to make moments of the day happier. I tell myself “I should be happy about that.” Then I pretend to be happy. Soon, I’m smiling. One day, I hope this will work long term, but for now it’s good to have some happy moments.

My brain isn’t completely frozen any more. Just muddled. I am able to read and understand most instructions, but I can’t keep them in my head, so I have to constantly reread. I can attain absolute focus on a project for longer periods, but will still often find myself suddenly holding a piece of wood and wondering “Is this a leg or was I working on the apron?” A friend of mine came to visit yesterday. She said it took her about four years for her mind to clear enough that she could think straight after her husband passed away. Suddenly paranoid about the drastic changes in my face, body and hair over the past 10 months, I wonder if I have four years to recover.

I have, on the whole, found friends to be more accepting, or at least more tolerant and supportive, than most family. Most friends refuse to let me hurt alone if I dare make my pain public. Most family politely ignores, probably not knowing what to say. Some friends will do the same, some family members offer as much support as friends. You just never know until it happens to you, who will be there regardless of their comfort level and who will hide their eyes. People will hide their eyes and this can sometimes feel as if they’re kicking you when you’re down. This isn’t usually intentional on their parts and they don’t even realize the effect they have.  Let yourself drift toward those who offer you support, comfort and encouragement on your worst days. Those who can’t take it, will disappear, but those who are willing to stand by you and comfort you during your nightmare will be counted forever as your most worthy friends and family. They’ll be the knights at your round table.

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Billiam’s Backyard and Patio Reveal!

01 Monday Sep 2014

Posted by Jean in General Farm Stuff, Grief, Home and other Repairs, Rural life, Uncategorized, Wood Crafts

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Tags

DIY, diy chair, do it yourself, garden, garden bed, hanging bed, home decor, home furniture, homemade furniture, how to handle grief, landscaping, outdoor furniture, pallet, patio, patio chair, patio furniture, storage bench, swinging bed, wood chair, wood craft, wood furniture, yard

First of all, I need to thank John. Without his help some of these things could never have been accomplished and the rest would have taken me two years instead of 6 months. Secondly, I want to thank Ana White for the inspiration to Do It Ourselves, and the little family at More Like Home for adjusting some of the plans on Ana’s page so that the projects could be built with 2x4s and for their other 2×4 projects. Thank you to the Apartment Therapy and Houzz sites for their daily decorating inspirations. Thank you to the guys at Articulate Motion for keeping us in pallets, donating a chunk of fabric, and adjusting the metal fire inserts so that they could be used in the dining table. I want to thank the DIYers out there who showed us how to make Beer Bottle Tiki Torches and inspired our hanging bed. Speaking of that hanging bed, I want to thank the wood gurus at Home Depot for putting us on a safe path on that journey. Finally, thanks to all the friends and family who cheered us on and helped us through this traumatic year.

So, here we go! This is what the patio looked like before when we were in the first week of the redo:

patiosouthendbeforepationorthendbeforeBleak wasn’t it?

INSERT FANFARE HERE!

patiotriumphpatioreflectionpatioatnightpatiodiningareapatiogardenconversationareabeerbottletorchespatiobeerbottletorches1patiotablefireinsertshangingbeddressedup

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Being Awesome

01 Tuesday Jul 2014

Posted by Jean in Grief, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

death of spouse, grief, how to handle grief

awesomecup

I know I am the least awesome person I know or have ever heard of, but today as I was reading Facebook posts from friends I saw a photo of a coffee cup with the inscription “I’m trying to be awesome today, but I’m exhausted from being so freakin’ awesome yesterday.” and instead of making me laugh, it made me shed tears. Tears for remembering the times I was exhausted and still called on to be “awesome”, called upon to exhibit real world super powers, 18-24 hours a day 7 days a week for a year, and again later in the three months before William died. I tried desperately to be awesome and no matter how awesome I managed to be it was never going to be awesome enough. There was no imaginable level of  awesome that would have been enough to save him, yet I still find myself screaming aloud “I’m so sorry!” to him.

When someone we well and truly love is desperately sick, we don’t have a choice other than to develop super powers. We have to rise to the level of utterly awesome. It’s a small thing really, to be awesome for your business meeting so please don’t wave your brief case around and bellow about how “awesome” you were and how you’re some sort of business “superman/superwoman”. You might have been cool, knowledgeable, and confident, but that meeting lasted what? Ten minutes? Thirty minutes? Get over it. People who are out there caring for those they love have to maintain superhuman awesome for weeks, months or years. They will never, not ever, puff up and brag over drinks nor will they ever feel like doing so because they know that even though some may think they not only hit but sustained the upper heights of awesome, they know it wasn’t and could never be awesome enough. It’s great to feel good about yourself and proud of your business or artistic accomplishments, just know you’ll at some point in your life need to reach levels of awesome that make your spread sheet presentation feel like a vacation in the Bahamas.

There’s a mother out there who has a child with Rett Syndrome who is running a house, a business and taking care of her other two children all while taking constant care of the daughter who has been having back to back seizures all day for days. She doesn’t feel awesome at all. She feels rather helpless most days, but it’s a job and a level of strength she can’t and wouldn’t even think of quitting. People like this aren’t doctors or nurses. These people are the true front line of health care. They don’t get to leave after a rough 12 hour shift. They don’t get days off, vacation time, or a salary. In many instances these people can barely take off ten minutes to take their own shower, much less a lunch hour. If they can find someone to come sit with their loved one for an hour, they can’t use it to nap, they have to go to the grocery, the attorney, the bank, or the post office. Doctors and nurses can be awesome, but they can also punch a clock and be gone.

People caring for seriously ill husbands, wives or children are dragging themselves into bed for what probably amount to no more than cat naps. They may never have lifted more than 50-100 lbs and suddenly they’re lifting up to 300 or more every hour. They may not remember where they left their keys, but they’re keeping track of 5 to 15 serious medications with varying dose times so that it is impossible to sleep more than a couple of hours at a time. They’re running around juggling thermometers, medications, washcloths, heating pads, fresh sheets, food, drinks, mops, Lysol spray and Clorox wipes, bank statements, multiple medical appointments, bills, insurance forms, financial forms, and legal forms as well as trying to be good, uplifting company for the person they care most about. They’re out there trying to figure out ways to get over, under or through obstacles the disease, the treatments, the multiple medical offices, the financial institutions, insurance companies and the bureaucracy erect solidly in their paths. Just as soon as they leap, climb, dig under or plow through those hurdles, the disease, illness or red tape changes the game and they have to start all over. They are Sisyphus.

If you’re a decent human being caring for someone you love who is desperately ill, no matter how tired you are you’ll will yourself be awesome today, you’ll exert that same will tomorrow, and you’ll claw your way to a whole new level of awesome later if it’s needed. You’ll be awesome when there’s hope and you’ll be awesome if there’s no hope left. It just won’t ever feel like it no matter what anyone says or how many coffee cups you own to remind you.

 

 

 

 

 

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Remember that silly thing

26 Thursday Jun 2014

Posted by Jean in Grief, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

death of spouse, grief, how to handle grief

billiampool

Remember that silly thing we used to do, keeping time to the point of outright conducting the Star Trek Next Generation theme with our feet, getting more and more raucous with the musical crescendos until the finale when we’d send our feet crashing into each other and giggling uproariously at our child play. Yeah, I still do that, just without the chorus of giggles at the end, and I see your feet.

We finally have Netflix. When you said you thought we’d like Star Trek Enterprise, you were right. You’d have loved it. They took the opening sequence straight out of your head. Long after you might have gotten bored with the episodes, you’d have still tuned in to see the opening. All the things you loved about the history of the space program and your dreams for the future are all there except one. I can hear you complaining “And WHERE is the X-15??” Thanks to you, I noticed that glaring omission by myself on the very first episode I watched.

I finally started getting back in the pool, but I find it’s about deadly dull in there now. I pretty much just do my exercises and cool off. I haven’t gotten out any of the pool toys and the noodles are still in the hall closet where we left them the end of last summer. It’s kind of pointless to have a seahorse race with just one entrant, or torpedo battles with no one to sink or be sunk by. The stealthy ninja tiger shark is still hibernating in the patio cabinet because there’s no one to sneak up on. Even the pretty pool disco lights haven’t been out this year because there’s no big back to swim under them to provide wide screen kaleidoscope viewing.

I finally started reading a little again. Remember how we used to fantasize about 24 hour book stores? Remember how I had a massive migraine one night while living in Montana and you read “Long Dark Teatime of the Soul” to me long distance? Yeah, AT&T loved us. Their stock probably dipped significantly when I moved down here. I haven’t been able to sit still long enough to read more than recipe or project instructions. I can get through a whole chapter, sometimes two, without the sudden urge to get up and wander. I still plug myself into my iPod at night to listen to Harry Potter books, but now it’s not because I want to be told a bedtime story, it’s to drown out my own internal screaming.

Did I just hear you say “Blattner”? I still call them Home Despot, Dead Robin and Ten Minute. You’re still in everything, every day and when I’m alone I find my outside voice saying “Oh god I love you so much!” to the dashboard, the ceiling, the walls and the sky.

billiampoolmonster

 

 

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