Walk It Out.....change

Hey there-

Sorry for the late post.

I will be out of town this Sat. March 28th which would normally be the Walk It Out meeting time. The official meeting will be cancelled but I encourage all interested to walk on their own.

Practice some walking meditation, notice all the signs of new life around us at this time of the year.

The regular meeting time, the 4th Sat. of every month, will resume in April. April 25, 2009.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Crying

Hey there-

I cried last night.

I was watching a TV show (Private Practice) and I started to cry during a scene with a father showing his new baby to the mom, who was laying on a gurney, recently dead.

Sound a little over the top? It was. But I was apparently moved to tears.

I took it as a good sign.

I used to cry rather easily at movies and TV shows, even commercials. As a child I was a complete wreck after watching "Kramer vs. Kramer", and don't get me started about "Terms of Endearment" or "Beaches".

After Bob died I stopped crying at anything on a screen. None of it compared to my real emotions, nothing could move me to tears, I was all cried out.

So, a TV drama brought me to tears, I think it is so great that I am filled up again.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Gravity

Bob was like gravity for me. Without him I might go spinning off into the atmosphere amidst all the planning in my head. Without me Bob might have spun a web around himself and burrowed in. I kept us connected to people and he kept us connected to the earth.

When we would go hiking, I was the one studying the map at the fork in the trail. Lingering there with my wavy hair sticking out from under my brim hat that I purchased at a Grateful Dead concert years before. Needing to know where we were going and how long it would take to get there, did we have enough food?

Meanwhile, Bob would be gazing with awe and wonder at the banana slug inching its way across the trail, searching for a log or leaf, his own shaggy locks hidden by a colorful hat he had purchased recently at the Portland Saturday Market. No worries about the dwindling light or the lack of food.

“Bob, it is getting dusky. We need to get going if we want to get back to the trailhead before dark,” I would say, a slight edge to my voice.

“Hey Renie, did you see this Douglas fir? Look at this old growth tree, the sword fern growing out of it wouldn’t fit in our kitchen. Amazing,” he would respond, as if there was nothing else at this moment to focus on but this tree.

Glancing up from the map I would see Bob leaning up against the tree with his arms stretched out, as if trying to give the tree a big hug. His arms didn’t even make it half-way around the trunk. Those huge old growth trees were an amazing sight.

Thank goodness I had Bob to remind me to pay attention, to stop the fretting and enjoy the moment.

Together we had the forest and the trees.

Paperwork

Hey There,

Paperwork, it is unending. It seems the more we move towards a paperless society the more paperwork there is.

I took Henry and Arthur to the dentist this morning and I had to fill out a bunch of paperwork. Some of it was legitimate since we changed providers since our last visit and they always want to know about any health changes, but some of it seemed plain silly to me.

What is the name of his/her favorite pet? or What is his/her favorite toy?

I am assuming they want this information in case they have a child who is freaking out in the dentist chair and the staff can casually bring up his/her hamster or his/her tonka truck and attempt to divert the child from the sound of the drill.

Father's name?

This one always stumps me. Every piece of paperwork I do for my boys, whether it is for school or the doctor or an acitivity, the form always asks for the father's name.

It seems like an easy question, they simply want a name. I could write any name down, they wouldn't know. But I could sit and ponder this simple question for hours given the chance.

Should I write Bob's name? If you asked the boys what their father's name was I bet they would say Bob.

Should I write deceased? Even if I wrote deceased the man still had a name.

Should I write down Mike's name? After all, it is HIS insurance we are under, he deserves some credit. I could write "step" in front of the word father just to make it clear for everyone. Who am I trying to make it clear for?

I have the same problem when I do my own paperwork. What do I check for marital status? I am married, yes, but I was widowed. I am no longer a widow but I was widowed, it is still part of my indentity. Should I check both boxes?

Does any of this even matter? What important statistic is this information being gathered for?

These are just a few of the random thoughts that flow through my mind as I sit quietly with the clipboard on my lap. I look around at other people busy with their own paperwork and I wonder what boxes they sit and ponder before they check?

Ethnicity? Age? Marital status? Sex?

Does an X in a box really explain who we are? I am reminded of a skit from the album Free to Be You and Me (for anyone not familiar it came out in the 70s and was the brain child of Marlo Thomas--just ask my brother Mike about my obsession with this album, he probably still has nightmares)

Anyway, one baby says to the other baby as they lay in their bassinet and try to figure out what sex they are; "You can't judge a book by it's cover."

So true, and you definitely can't know a person by an X in a box.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Essential Oils

Hey there-

Most of you know by now that I am writing a book.

Many of you know by now that I have been working with essential oils for about 12 years.

Few of you know that I am developing a website that will offer my therapeutic grief oil blend, a concoction of 5 different essential oils specifically chosen for their benefits for those people who have experienced a great loss. I call it Embrace......Embrace bath oil, body lotion and body oil.

I started working with essential oils when I lived in Portland. I use them at home for both mental and physical health reasons and I helped start an aromatherapy program at the Adult Day Center where I was the social worker.

My boys believe that gargling with tea tree oil is the best treatment for a sore throat, lavender is the only treatment for cuts/scrapes, and have never known a bath that didn't include essential oils specific for their current situation. (lavender, marjoram, chamomile or eucalyptus to name a few)

Essential oils are the pure oil extracted from the plant and their chemical make up can assist the body physically as well as psychologically. (the olfactory nerve is connected to the limbic system in the brain which controls our emotions). They can be absorbed through the skin or inhaled through the nose. (yes, I inhale.........does that mean I can't run for president?)

Essential oils are a simple and beautiful way to assist a person to embrace the process of grieving. I believe embracing grief (being grateful for it?) is the only way to be able to fully purge it and live beyond it. I don't know what I would have done without my essential oils after Bob died.

I will let you know once the website is fully functional. It better be before April when I will be going to Dallas to give a presentation on the use of essential oils with grief and loss at the Association of Death Education and Counseling conference. Ahhhhh!

I will keep you posted.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Walk It Out Reminder

Hey there-

For anyone local (Milwaukee area) and interested in my support group, Walk It Out, we are meeting this Saturday at 9:30 in the morning at the Hart Park Senior Center. We will walk along the river.

For more information check out the December blog titled "Walk It Out".

We walk snow or shine so dress accordingly. Brrrrrrrr.....

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Bragging Rights

Hey there-

Love is a many splendored thing.

Loss is a many layered thing.

Not as catchy I know, but true all the same.

Bragging rights, not an issue that makes it on many sympathy cards. But a loss that I still struggle with.

When Bob died I lost my bragging rights.

Gone are the days of excitedly sharing each milestone as if our child were the only one in the world to have accomplished this miraculous event. (OK, I know every child gets teeth) There is no more full out, guilt free, no comparison, bragging about what the instructor said about our talented child. (OK, most kids learn to swim)

Every parent thinks their child is the most amazing person to ever grace the earth, and every parent deserves another person who completely and totally agrees with them. Grandparents can be a close substitute but there is always the other grandchildren that are equally amazing (according to the grandparent anyway).

Friends and step-parents can try to listen valiantly but there is always the opportunity to sneak in the "I remember when mine......." comment that takes the wind out of any bragging moment.

Bragging about one's children is a self absorbed event and a right every parent should be able to do freely in the privacy of their own home. There are so many things I want to brag about regarding my children. (who are the best and brightest children ever to walk the earth-obviously)

But with Bob gone does anyone else really believe me?

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Questions

Hey there-

How is the book coming? The most frequently asked question.

What does Mike think of all this? Close second.

The answer to the first question is the book is falling into place. I think I might see the light at the end of the tunnel.

The answer to the second question is my second book will be called; "My Sainted Live Husband".


Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Hospital Scene

That doctor obviously didn’t know about our plan.

Someone get her back in here and tell her our plan.

Where did she go now? Could we stop her? Take back Bob’s chart. Just forget the whole thing.

Bob and I sat on that hospital bed surrounded by blood pressure cuffs and IV poles. There were sounds of people scurrying about just outside the door. At any minute one of those scurrying people could barge in unannounced and poke or prod Bob with something. Tell us something else we didn’t want to hear.

We sat there like that for a time, like kids who had been scolded and handed a punishment that is way too harsh for the infraction. Our legs dangled off the sides of the hospital bed. I absently kicked at the mud and dead grass stuck on my shoes from our excursion to the park earlier, Bob was back in his hospital slippers.

“So, we are hoping for lymphoma?” I eventually asked Bob.

I had come to the conclusion that lymphoma was the least offensive option for us.

“Well, we’re hoping it’s benign,” Bob said thoughtfully.

I inhaled quickly, trying to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest. It was currently somewhere in the region of my throat.

That was the beginning of our two different journeys.

Re-upholstered?

Hey there-

There is a plant in the sunroom that is dying.

It is not the only plant in the sunroom, but it was given to Bob and me from some good friends when he was first diagnosed. A nice arrangement with a purple african violet and some philodendron. I am surprised it has lasted this long, but that african violet had the most gorgeous blooms and it just kept on blooming.

The african violet petered out a few months ago and the philodendron is now on it's last legs. It is sad watching something alive die, even a plant. Why don't I just throw it out and put it out of it's misery I wonder? Why do I continue to pick off the browning leaves and water it?

The other night I was on Arthur's bunk bed reading him a story. Looking over at Henry's bunk I noticed that the quilt that Bob's sister, Kathy, made for the each of the boys out of Bob's T-shirts was beginning to show serious wear. The "Freddy Jones Band" T-shirt was in threads and the "Paws Down the Best Beer in Town" is illegible, all that is left is a tattered paw print. Are there enought T-shirts to make another quilt? Can I ask that of Kathy?

Then I went in the kitchen to unload the dishwasher and I found one of Bob's All Clad Ltd. pots in there. I tried not to think about Bob, sifting in his urn once again, at the thought of one of his beloved pans being washed in the harsh detergent and agitating water of the dishwasher. The once clear black finish looks mottled and gray.

Then our dryer broke which led to the purchase of a new washer and dryer which led to memories of the last washer and drier I bought when Bob and I were living in Portland. We bought the pair used for $200. Without talking specifics let's just say Mike and I spent more than $200 on the new set.

To make matters worse, one of the new kittens has torn a hole in the arm of the big chair with it's tiny claws as it frantically jumps to the window to watch the children walk to school. Bob proudly brought that chair home from a second hand store one day soon after Henry was born. The big chair played a big part in the life of our old house and continues to play a big part in the life of my new house, even the step-children affectionately call it the Big Chair, and it holds a coveted spot in the sunroom across from the dying plant.

Mike casually mentioned at dinner last night that getting the chair reupholstered would probably cost more than buying a new chair.

"I can't emotionally handle getting a new chair at this point," I blurted as tears sprung up in my eyes.

Everything from my life with Bob is looking old and worn and breaking.

One of the hardest things for me to reconcile after he died was that one day I would talk about Bob as if he were just someone I knew once. One day I would be able to talk about him the same way I talk about a roommate I once had in college. This person who had been the most important person in my life, my best friend, the father of my children, and the person who I was to grow old with would seem demoted somehow.

Intellectually I know this phenomenon is required. One can't function for an extended period of time with the kind of heightened state of emotion I felt initially every time his name was brought up or every time the boys and I sat in the big chair for bedtime stories.

But it's sad. Call me foolishly sentimental.

I know that these items are just things and that the real memories live in my heart and mind. (while these things may be aging too they are not likely to be replaced) That being said, I am so grateful for the boys and the tangible evidence of Bob and my relationship.

Sometimes, if not for Henry and Arthur, I am afraid I might think our entire relationship was merely a dream.

A wonderful dream.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene