This… is Real. Meet my Grief.

I interrupt my ever-attempt at looking on the bright side of things for a Reality Check post. I am at a point where I just simply need to “spill my vent”.

This is not a post asking for pity. I'm asking for connection with other human beings. This is me, writing about a realization to which I've come. This is me being raw, open, and sharing what it's like to have finally reached the touchstone of overwhelming grief that has blossomed from tremendous loss.

Generally, I try not to talk about these things. I do so because I'm aware of the fact that nobody likes a whiner, and that hanging around folks who are depressed drags one down, and that's just not healthy. But then, I'm beginning to think not addressing these things also isn't healthy. The trouble is, my health is not good as it is… So it becomes very enigmatic to try and sort things out.

The above snapshot is a photo of my dad. I know a great many people say what I'm about to say, but I think the photo speaks 10,000 words, and thereby illuminates my stating that my Dad was the best Dad in the world. I sincerely mean that. He wasn't without fault, but he knew how to love, how to apologize, how to forgive, and how to teach. Those are just a few of his great points.

 

This is a photo of my uncle (the gent on the left) and most importantly, my Mum – and that's my Dad on the right. My Mum was camera shy, so finding photos of her are a rare treasure. However, once again I would share with you that, while many profess it, I fully believe my Mum was the greatest Mum in the world. Revisit my Dad's fine points, and you'll have a pretty good sketch of Mum, too.

Mum crossed over in autumn-time of 2011. I knew my Dad would never make it a year without her, and by Goddess, he didn't. Nine months after Mum died, my Dad was gone, too. Last August, Daddy was out for a motorcycle ride when he missed seeing a stop sign. He was headed due west, the sun in his eyes, and he just didn't see it. He was hit by a truck and instantly killed. (No, I do not believe it was suicide. Dad would never do such a thing. Seriously.)

I have no words to describe the total obliteration of my world when they died. Yes, perhaps I was too attached, too close (though we lived 60 miles apart, we spoke by phone every single day). They were my best friends, my cheerleaders, my ass-kickers (when needed), advice-givers (but only when asked)…. Family ALWAYS came first to Mum and Dad. ALWAYS.

My parents were anchor, buoy, and oar to my own stubborn rudder (for example, they really didn't like the idea of me becoming a paramedic – and definitely not a SAR team member [Search and Rescue] – they supported my career choice, but not without reminding me that they worried for my safety each day). But this tightly-woven relationship became even more treasured after I lost the ability to work due to a car accident that not only broke my back, but also triggered both fibromyalgia (something I once believed was a farce – I sure believe its truth NOW!) and, simultaneously, triggered the genetic disease that had been in remission for years – a genetic illness that wasn't even a known illness until I was a young adult. (So, to everyone else, I was just a “sickly kid”).

I wrote a post awhile ago that asked readers to discover themselves beyond their “job”, their career. I did so because I know how devastating it is to lose the ability to label yourself by the work that you do. It's nearly soul-shattering to come to the realization that you can no longer work to bring in income to support your family. Yes, Social Security helps… But it sure as hell doesn't make it any easier.

I feel so lost. I have a wonderful wife, but not even she can understand what it is to be chronically ill, unable to even tidy the house and run the Hoover each day. She cannot understand how I can sleep all night and still be so sick that some days, I need to sleep all day just so I can be awake with her and my daughter during the evenings. Sometimes, as wonderful as she is, she gets frustrated and angry, and she is entitled to become so. I get embarrassed and feel such shame. I grieve. I grieve the loss of the ability to do something so simple as even make supper.

I am lost in a sea of grief. This was Mother's Day #2 without Mum. This will be my first Father's Day without Dad. This August, it will be 10 long fucking years since the car accident that changed my life forever. Ten long years of not being able to support my family financially, not being able to keep up with the laundry, cleaning, cooking… the simple everyday things of life. I'm angry, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. I'm awash with grief over all the loss.

There are so many days when I have to remind myself of the reasons I must stay in this mortal realm. I have a daughter and a son who need me, even though I'm pathetically sick most of the time. I have a wife who loves me and, yes, needs me.

I have dogs to keep me sane. I knit, I crochet, I sew, I paint – when I'm well enough to do so. I water my little patio garden and talk with the Spirits, the Ancestors, Goddess every day. But I cannot get through the grief. I once enjoyed being outgoing, energetic, running Mach-1 with my hair on fire. I enjoyed accomplishing things. Now…

You know, I used to think the worst thing in the world was mediocrity, and so I was a striver. I became first seed on varsity tennis for all four years of high school. I was first chair, first violin in our orchestra throughout high school, and started playing with a Symphony Orchestra when I was 17. I used my paid violin gigs to put me through the Paramedic program. And now? Now, a cervical spine injury and arthritis in my left hand keeps me from playing even for enjoyment. Now, just getting out of bed is a victory some days. Now, I think the worst thing in the world is unrealized potential.

I try to share with people the challenge of living the life of a Spoonie. I refer people to the brilliant and greatly appreciated website, http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/ and tell them about the “Spoon Theory” (which can be found here: http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/wpress/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/ ). But I feel lost. I am grief-stricken. And all the incense in the world, all the photos and mementos and candles lit within my Ancestor's Altar doesn't make me hear Mum and Dad any clearer. And none of it gets rid of the thoughts that implore me to consider moving on from the mortal realm.

I have the strength to remind myself, via reciting litany of people who need me to stay here, that I cannot quit. But between the pain, the fevers, the illness, the lack of ability to accomplish something… anything… The frustration I cause my wife, and sometimes having her be angry with my lack of accomplishment around the house (which I don't blame her for, but I really need understanding and I'm a human, you know? It hurts.) With the short-term memory loss I deal with, the word aphasia I've had since the accident….

(Word aphasia – what a freakin' trip… With word aphasia, I know the word I want to say in my mind… But a completely different word comes out. For example, “garage” has become the 'outside voice' term for refrigerator. For some reason, my mind knows that I might want to say the word “stove”, but the word “microwave” comes out instead.)

Having lost both Mum and Dad within a year's time… I'm undone. I'm frustrated, I grieve. I so deeply grieve… What else is there to say at the end of such a post? I'm not sure, so I'll just end with:

Thanks for letting me bend your virtual ears, dear readers.

 

Posted with Blogsy

More on Cats and Dogs

My apologies for my lack of blogging as of late. I have been completely taken down by my genetic disease, TNF Receptor Associated Periodic Syndrome. I'm back on the up and go, though, and have several observations to chronicle in my ever-quest to gain a greater understanding of the illusive mind of the cat.

One day last week while I actually had a few hours of gusto, I decided that it was time to rearrange the living room. Its layout at the time really didn't work with me energetically, and having pondered potential arrangements filled me with determination to make a serious change the moment I felt well enough to do so.

Enter cats and dogs. Please allow me to take a moment to remind any readers who may have forgotten that I am a die-hard dog fan who diligently studies the three cats who live with us. Rearranging furniture certainly gave me a whole new environment in which to study the mind of felines.

I admit to having a somewhat stubborn streak, liking to do things myself as a matter of pride. Having gone from being a paramedic and member of a search and rescue team to suddenly being incapacitated by a debilitating disease leaves me with “something to prove” – if only to myself. So my daughter was sleeping in, my wife was at work, and I was gung-ho. The cats were sleeping with Dear Daughter and the dogs were excitedly “helping” me move the Goddess hutch and other furniture.

Now, dogs are most enthusiastic little “helpers”. Their eyes are happy, they wag their tails, they pant (and sometimes drool a little bit) all agog about what's happening. The only time they are devastated is when they are excluded. So with great gusto, they rode happily on the sofa, as if it were a giant bob-sled, while I scooted it about. They ran circles around the recliners while I moved them. They boof-ed and barked encouragement to me while I moved the tv, the cat tree… And the whole while, I was so focused, I didn't realize the cats weren't present.

Oh. My. Goodness.

When I let the cats out of Dear Daughter's room, there is no other word for their expression upon entering the living room than… Sacred-Litter-Box-What-the-Heck-Happened-Here?! Yes, I'm aware that's more than one word. You'd have thought someone de-feathered their feather toy. You'd have thought I'd dismembered their catnip balls… Taken the bells out of their jingly toys, put some inferior box-store cat food in their ceramic food bowl… Capri and Mushi came trotting out to the edge of the living room where they suddenly froze – and their tails…. Oh my Goddess, POUF!!! Both cats went into instant “G.I. Joe” mode, shrinking down into a deep army crawl, (or what I now recognize now as slinking-stealth-stalking mode). Generally, cats going into G.I. Joe mode means it's time for me to sit somewhere with my feet up and protected by a blanket. I recognize also that it is a time to enforce the “keep all fingers, hands and arms within the armchair”, lest they become targets of attack. So, as I jumped up onto the sofa, keeping my feet underneath me and resting my head on my knees, all I could think was exactly what the dogs appeared to be expressing themselves… “What the heck is their problem?” (Secondarily, “how am I supposed to go get a glass of water without being sushi for two cuckoo cats?”)

Lancelot made an unwise choice… To investigate the cats. This resulted in a paw swipe across the muzzle, and then blessed Queen of Fire…

Well, anyway… The remainder of the day, the cats were freaked out. Suddenly, they had to be… all the way over there!! And then, it would seem that they would realize – again, rather suddenly – that they really belonged all the way over here!!

Okay, so the dogs and I are wondering what's brought the freak-on out in the cats. So I tried giving them catnip, because I figured it was something like kitty mary-jane – only legal everywhere in the U.S. (and safe for cats). BAD IDEA, because apparently they get far more hyper FIRST – as in, before they mellow. Oh dear.

So here we are with swishy tails, crouched attack positions, kitty rips all around the house (including OVER furniture, under furniture, up the cat tree, back down again)….

WOW. All I can say is I sure am glad they both can see. I'd have hated to see what the freak-out would have been like, moving furniture with cats who couldn't see. Holy cow. Kitties 101. Whew. Who knew??

Posted with Blogsy