Written about 1986

I watched him pack up his books and I knew he was leaving for good this time.

He did that once before, when he was 18 and went away to college. I grieved then, too, not knowing he'd be back.

The taking of his books is an indication he means business. He didn't take all of them becaause he didn't have room. But the process has begun.

I watched, the tears stinging my eyes but determined not to let him see me cry. Somewhere inside I thought maybe I should let him see me cry. It's the only way he'll let me show him I care. And he has little patience with that.

This child of mine--correction, this man I gave birth to 21 years ago--hasn't been the easiest person to live with. We were on entirely different levels and therefore communicated rarely, if at all. He kept his emotions hidden and I didn't do that well at all. His brain was like a sponge soaking up all the knowledge it came in contact with; mine could barely function day to day.

I didn't realize it but the day he was born, I began to lose him. His mind was so full of the wonder of everything around him I couldn't keep up. Sometimes I used the excuse that I was too busy trying to keep up all clean, fed and clothed but that wasn't all of it. Maybe I was by nature incapable of being his friend so he left me behind. And maybe I didn't try hard enough.

When he was 18 I knew it was time for him to go, to search for his place in the world. The grief was unbearable. I cried almost constantly for days, weeks. Than, a kind of resignation set in. I let go, painful as it was.

A miracle happened. He moved his books back home, claiming he had no place to put them. Secretly I was glad, knowing where his books were, there his heart was. I got a reprieve. I tried to make it work and to some degree I was successful. Little by little we were able to have normal conversations, at least about some things. We laughed a little together and occasionally talked about the way things are. But a distinct line was drawn and I did my best not to cross it. My efforts seemed to pay off, a little.

I thought I had another year, or maybe three. He's a senior in college now and hasn't decided whether to get his master's. But he had a light semester and wants to get a job. Seems there's this expensive computer he wants and he'll need a job to pay for it. There's also need for a different apartment, one that isn't quite so cold in the winter and doesn't leak when it rains.

So now my little boy, who hasn't been really young for a long time, is taking his last steps toward independence. He'll be back to visit, of course, but he'll never live at home again, not like he once did. Some parents seem glad to get the kid out of the house. I don't understand that kind of thinking.

I'll get used to it, somehow. Even grief runs its course. Changes are part of life. So is the growing up of a child. It's the way things are and I wouldn't have it any other wayl Someday he may even present me with a daughter and some grandchildren.

And sometimes at night, when the only sounds are creaking walls and the thoughts inside my own head, I'll say a prayer of thanks for the privilege of watching and helping my child become a man.

Just when things start looking up...

Blam! There they go, all to h--- again.

On my last post I congratulated the return of warm weather and bragged about how well I felt. That was on a Monday. The very next day, I took my husband to the hospital where he died eight days later. Lung cancer, of all things, had invaded his body with no symptoms except a hurting right shoulder, which he thought was arthritis. He had been in pain a couple months, refusing to see a doctor. When he did, it was an orthopedic doctor. This doctor treated him for arthritis, looking no farther for the cause of his pain. Of course not. When all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. (I've heard that story for years and I finally know what it means, for real.) To sum it up, the cancer was a fast-moving kind and takes no prisoners. I was grateful that my life partner didn't have to suffer long. If that sounds strange, you haven't watched others waste away while your heart cried.

Things moved so fast I couldn't keep up. When the end for him came, I couldn't move, couldn't cry, could only be "busy" -- take care of things like funeral arrangements and such. I wondered if I was unnatural. After all, we had been married almost 51 yers and had been together almost 3 before that. It wasn't a wonderful marriage; we didn't hold hands and kiss each other hello and goodbye. But there was a trust, a knowing that the other would be there when needed, would take care of whatever came along. Neither would consciously destroy the other. We had grown old together. Now one of us has left the other, totally unintentionally but left nonetheless. It's a shock.

That was just over 8 weeks ago and life is finally coming back around. Now I'm alone and it's not exactly a thrill. I always knew I'd be okay, and I am. But I miss the little things, like someone to hang a curtain rod, mow the grass (a neighbor is doing it), clean out the utility room, bellow for me from another room...

I've started a campaign to improve the house. It's old, as am I, and it needs some cosmetic attention. It's sturdy but it isn't as pretty as it could be. A painter is coming this week to take down some old wallpaper and paint the walls, then put down a new kitchen/dining room floor. From there will be some new curtains and I'm not sure what else yet. If I'm going continue to live here, I want to have some improvements. Besides, when my time comes, my kids will need to sell the place and it will go easier when it looks better.

When I was young I used to say I was nice to little old ladies because someday I hope to be one. Now I'm finding out exactly what that means, too.

Coming back to life

It's spring! I say that with all reverence and gratitude. The winter has been very harsh in more ways than just weather. Mostly I dealt with the fallout of a-fib and congestive heart failure but a positive was my CPAP machine. This is a device that helps you deal with sleep apnea. I think it has probably helped with the fibromyalgia, too. With fibro, sleep problems were a major problem; most often I'd get an almost-headache similar to the ones I used to have but not as fierce. I've since learned it was related to sleep, or the lack of it.

Let me explain:
Back in the 70s, I developed these crazy headaches. I call them headaches but they were really neckaches, starting in my shoulders and radiating into the base of my skull and then to my head. The muscles got very tight and painful. My only relief was pain pills, sometimes more than was good for me. One doctor gave me a sleeping pills, which made me sleep but didn't stop the headaches. Years later friends told me I had done some crazy things while taking those pain pills, such as erratic driving.

In 2000, the same year of my breast cancer, I found a doctor who gave me medication for my fibro. It was the first time in 30 years that I could sleep all night without insomnia or headaches/neckaches. Yet as time went on the headaches returned, a little. My shoulders were no longer tight as drums but some muscles insisted on tightening up, again radiating into my head. Last fall the pain meds came to an end, an edict of the American Medical Assocation. My doc could give me pain pills but not that particular one. Just the other day one of my grown children told me that in the past 10 years (the duration of my fibro meds) I had sounded quite drunk at times on the phone.

So now I'm dealing with breathing problems and some fibro. Oddly enough, I feel better than ever. I'm working in my flowers again, just got through planting 24 petunias and helping a little boy develop some pride in himself. He dug holes, he and a friend decided on a design, and I taught them how to water the hole, then the plant, and pack dirt around it. Sounds like a small thing but he called his mother over the see what he had done and today showed a great-aunt. Oh, and the grandmother he lives with lent some encouragement and praise as well. He wanted to know if he could come over some this summer and see the flowers, even giving them some water sometimes.

The boy has an unfortunate family history but his grandparents are helping him overcome it. Lucky kid.

Hope I can hang around long enough to see what kind of man he becomes.