Hold On Just a Little Longer

Yesterday, while people were going to the KU game, others were shopping for Thanksgiving or Christmas, I was in the basement of a downtown church with 30 or so other people. We were not hanging lights on our houses or shopping for holiday dessert ingredients. We were sharing the fact that all of us had had this strange, tragic event in our lives that drastically changed the course our lives would take.

All of us had had 'that moment', when a police officer, or someone from the coroner's office, or a sheriff's deputy, notifed us of the sudden death of a loved one to suicide.

"Is he at the hospital? Is he ok?" I asked.

"No, I am sorry, he has expired." I was told.

Yesterday was a day of remembrance for those who have lost a loved one to suicide. Seeing these people find their way into the room, leaving all of the green and red and glitter to come and share their pain with others was the only place I felt I belonged.

I heard many stories and saw the faces of those left behind. I am tired of hearing from those who have not lost a loved one to suicide, how the act of suicide is a selfish act. If it were only that simple. Then, there would be no need for support groups and events like the one on November 20.

Suicide is much worse than selishness. It is not cowardice. Suicide is pain that feels infinite. The pain ends at the moment the person dies by suicide, but begins for the survivors the following moment. We are left to pick up the pieces and try and figure out, first what purpose the death served the one who died by their own hand, and then, what takes even more time, and requires much more soulsearching, what it means for US.

I am convinced that when people say things like 'suicide is the ultimate act of cowardice' they are comfortable with questions with answers. What makes them wobbly and off-center, a place no one wants to be, is that there are questions and lots of them, with either lots of answers or, no answers. That is what life and death are all about. It's how you decide to respond to this truth that makes you who you are.

I have to daily figure out a way to divvy up what my husband was trying to accomplish in his final act on earth. Was he leaving us? I have to ask this question, because there are times when it sure feels like he was. When I am with our daughter, driving in the car, helping her with homework, doing her laundry, making her dinner, I wonder if he was leaving all of THIS. Some of it is humdrum, the daily grind of life, but, I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Then I have to ask, was he leaving ME? My dreams are peppered with nightmares of him leaving this relationship, and finding love in another's arms, and turning his back on me. I wake up, sweaty and convinced this feeling is based in truth.

Then I ask, what if he was leaving HIMSELF? What if the pain of being him was awful and more exhausting than any chore or relationship, even the precious ones? I don't know if this is the answer, but suspect that it is as close to an answer as I will ever get.

Tomorrow night, our son arrives home from college for Thanksgiving. I can hardly wait. I want to see him and kiss his cheek and squeeze him hard. I want him with me, safe in our home. I want to stuff him with food and love and make sure he knows how very very much I love him. I want our daughter to awkwardly hug him, and feel like we are all together again. Is this for him? I could say that it is, but, really, it's what makes ME feel better.

And so, yesterday, I felt I belonged and was heard. I felt as though, not understanding, not having all of the answers, was the best answer of all. It's as good as it will ever get.

I know for certain of those who died by their own hand and were not mentally ill. I know for certain of those who died by their own hand to escape real physical pain. I know for certain of those who died by their own hand and were mentally ill. But what I know for certain in all of these cases is that each person who died by suicide leaves a big ass mess. I don't think they anticipate a big ass mess, and perhaps the mess they imagine is still small in comparison to the mess they believe their own lives to be.

I just wish for all of them, that they could have held on, long enough for someone to answer their call for help. It's the teenager who is teased and bullied at school for being 'different'; it's the man who has tried 15 diifferent medications for depression with no lasting results; it is the man who struggles with intense physical pain that drains him of energy; it's the mother who finds herself unable to care for her young children... I just wish all of them could have held on a little bit longer... so we could throw them a lifejacket and help them make it to shore.

The Gangrene Years

Interesting week. Thanks to a lousy immune system (but, at least I still have one, I guess!) and being familiar with a large number of yucky bathrooms, kitchens and the like, I developed a bad ass infection on my leg. Considering I could not walk on Thursday morning, I am very happy today with the low grade ouch that I feel today.

MRSA, that is what it is called. Basically it is an unusually resistant strain of infection that is hip/hopping its' way around the world. It is very common in nursing homes, college dorms and gyms. The problem with it is that your standard antibiotics can't destroy it. In fact, very few antibiotics can. So, then, it just keeps on going, and going and going. It makes you feel really rotten, too.

So, this summer, I got it. Very painful and a bit scary. Same kinda thing. Too many gross germs that I am hanging out with. I do not live in filth, though. But, I have been in some hygenically challenged homes in the last few months.

First, a shout out to the people working at Watkins Health Center at KU. Now I know what the student health fee is really for. I have been seen by a doctor, not a nurse or a nurse practitioner, 3 times in the last 3 days. And, one of the docs was a wound healing specialist. I have medication, too. I have spent out of pocket $23. I am sure a larger bill will make its' way into my mailbox sometime soon, but, regardless, substantially less than what I would have spent at the e.r.

Today I was seen by a really funny doctor. She was asking me what I did, wondering how I got this, and after I told her I was a cleaning lady she said, "Ahhh, that's why!" and then I told her that I shared a bathroom with a 16-year old girl. "Oh, I am sorry, been there, done that!" she said. She said that she and her friends refer to the years 15 - 18 years of age as 'The Gangrene Years'. She said that she remembers wishing that she could just 'cut out' some of the nasty experiences she had with her now adult-aged daughter. I thought that was pretty funny. She assured me, that, there will come a day when my daughter will extend kindness my way. And, help clean up the bathroom she completely destroys when she is putting on makeup.

So, onto bathrooms. The doctor suggested getting a spray bottle, mixing bleach and water in it and misting the shower and sink after every use. So, that is what I am going to do. Isn't this just a fascinating blog post?

And, here is another weird addendum to my cleaning ritual: knee pads. Yep, knee pads. Went to Home Depot, glanced or smiled at several orange-aproned employees, one of which finally asked if I needed help, and was pointed in the direction of the land of knee pads. Well, bought a pair and put them on, looked in the mirror, and am convinced that I will never hae another date in my lifetime, at least not wearing knee pads!

Regardless of the infection, bottle of bleach and water, and knee pads, things are looking up. Dad is doing better. Georgia and I are speaking. Lily Pushkins, our older cat came home after a mysterious trip in the neighborhood for 4 days (reminded me of Don Draper on 'Mad Men' when he went to California and had a mysterious adventure) Sam will be home soon and I am doing ok now. That's all that matters, I guess.

Grace

Saturday night used to be a night in which I had to have something to do. A night at home, with nowhere to go, seemed really pitiful. Before I was married, I wanted to have a date scheduled on a Saturday night or, a night out with friends. When I was married, Gordon and I wanted to have a romantic evening together on a Saturday night or a family night, watching movies, fixing dinner together, whatever.

All those days are over. Sam is far away in school, probably just getting ready to go out now. Georgia usually isn't home on a Saturday night. But, tonight, it is different. Georgia and I put a new shower head on our shower. The baby kitty is snuggled up next to me, the dog is snuggled up to the kitty. Dad is watching movies. And, I am grateful.

It was a rough week. Had the interview, didn't do well on the interview on a couple of questions. The more I tried to figure out how I could possibly do the job, and a practicum and care for my daughter and help with dad, I realized there was no way. No way. And, oh, how I love this job. I love working with the clients to whom I am assigned. I learn so much from them. It is humbling to work with such amazing people. But, it isn't going to work. And, I can't figure out how to make it work.

But, that's work, and, this is home, and this is family time.

Through the ordeal of this interview stuff, I have had the privilege of being able to talk with dad and get his take on my situation. I have been able to turn to friends and sisters, too. I even had Georgia give me her take on things. And, the bottom line is, everything will work out, however it is supposed to. And, what a blessing I have been given, to have a dad, and some friends, and two sisters and a daughter to turn to for support. What a blessing. Thank you, God.

Lovely Saturday. Sunny. Cool breeze. And, only one house to clean, and then I can devote myself to cleaning up my own house! Yay, me!

Our little kitten, Tiny is a hoot. She attacks our dog, Cinnamon and they wrestle all over the floor. It is great fun to watch. Our other cat, Lily, is becoming more tolerant of this little whipper snapper. But, only tolerant. I don't see them snuggling anytime soon.

Georgia did an outstanding job keeping this kitten alive. She and her best friend found a litter of new little kitties about 6 weeks ago and they were nearly dead. Mama cat was gone. So, with a little prodding, they convinced me to turn her room into a feline nursery, complete with baby bottles to feed the tiny kittens. She assured me that she would find homes for all four of the babies. But, gosh, what a coincidence, she could only find homes for three and, what about the runt, Tiny? And then Georgia would hand me Tiny to hold, and I fell in love, too. So, there you go.

What is funny about Tiny is that Mr. Sour Puss, Dad, who barely tolerates pets, likes Tiny. And, Tiny likes dad. And, they snuggle together. Just don't tell dad, as the snuggling occurs when dad is snoozing in his chair, watching Law and Order. Ha ha.

I have a job interview next week. It would mean stability in my unstable life. It would mean health insurance for the uninsured (me). It would give me some peace. Oh, I hope I get it. Prayers appreciated. I sooooo love what I do. I mean, I really, honestly love it. It does not feel like work. And, being able to help others is like the best thing, ever. I cannot describe how much I love it.

Georgia goes driving with her driving instructor this weekend. She is nervous. I am a little nervous, but, actually somewhat relieved. I am a nervous nelly when I take her out. And, with only one car, and one that is not in great shape, I am protective of it. Go, Georgia!

Well, this isn't the most interesting of posts. I am hoping to break my recent losing streak, cooking-wise. I have made some truly awful dinners the last few weeks. Poor dad and Georgia! But, they try and eat them. Don't know what is going on. Need to put my heart more in my cooking. I think I have just had too much going on, in my head and out of my head. Big papers. Lotsa work. That would do it.

So, the focus this weekend, is on taking it easy and paying attention!

Have a wonderful weekend!

And, if you are in Lawrence this afternoon, driving, Beware of Georgia!

:)

It is All about Communication

Ahhhhh, the end of the weekend. I usually have way too many things on my to do list to complete by the end of the day on Sunday. It seems that I could use just one more day on the weekend and I bet I could get everything done.

Here is a shout out to all service people. I know I have written about this before, but, once again, someone at Walmart was being a butt to the check out person. Two bags of candy that even Walmart wouldn't have marked to $2.50 were being disputed by the chickie in front of me. This all happened after I had put all my crap up on the check out counter. She was "Certain" that the candy was $2.50. So, a nice young man was sent to candy land at Walmart to see if her complaints were justified. He returned, a bit red-faced as he knew he had to tell her she was wrong. "No, it was some other candy. This candy is $5.88 but there was candy that was on sale for $2.50."

Oh, this pissed her off. She had already talked quite loudly about how she "rarely" goes to Walmart. The check out person told her to go to Customer Service. And, she left in a huff, not having even paid for her groceries! What the heck?

"Ma'am, you didn't pay for your groceries." the check out person said, nicely.

She stormed back to check out, and never bothered to go to Customer Service. Jeesh.

Some people.

Of course I had to talk with the check out person about the previous transaction. We agreed that it all could have been handled better, especially when she saw that two customers had all of their shit up on the counter, ready to check out.

I don't know why this kind of thing chaps my hide, but, it sure does. Rudeness. My god, I hate it when people are rude.

Laziness.... that is another one I have a problem with. And, I know I have written about that previously. I have decided to take care of my own laundry, dishes, pets. Had a heart to heart with the daughter today. She said she'd help more and apologized for not helping more. So, we will see how things go.

It is all about communication, isn't it?

Next week I have a hum dinger of a meeting to mediate. All I can say is, I could never write about a more volatile, interesting, strange situation than this one. No social work textbook would have THIS case study, altho it would be helpful if more case studies were like this. Wowee. I have rehearsed how I am going to mediate in many different shapes and forms in my brain all weekend. The goal is that everyone will be 'heard' and that a compromise will be reached. It could also go straight to hell, too. We shall see.

So, no new 'Mad Men' or 'Breaking Bad'. Crap. This changes Sunday nights. I'll make it work. I'm bound to find something that needs to be done!

Have a great week!

Where's the Helping Hand?

Ok, so, Martha Stewart won't be knocking on my door anytime soon for recipes, fashion advice or decorating advice. But, I am doing the best I can. Hamburger Pie. Sounds gross, but, in a pinch, a few ingredients will feed a fam. And, tonight, I had to do what I had to do.

I need to vent a little here. If you are not interested in reading a vent, move on.

I worked at my part time job (which I love) until 1:00; drove to my second job (cleaning) and cleaned a three-level house (3 bathrooms included). Then, to the store, home, mail, most of which was for dad as he is being hounded by every nonprofit in the free world, all asking for money. Put groceries away, cleaned up tiny dog poop, washed hands of course, fixed dinner, did two loads of dishes, took out all of the trash, took out all of the recycling, cleaned up the kitchen, ran two loads of wash and then finished a 10 page research paper due tomorrow.

And, all the while, my roommate (read, dad) sat and watched television.

It's safe to say that dad isn't going to change his behavior. He's nearly 80 years old. I know it is more likely that I could change my behavior. But, it is frustrating just the same.

And, you ask, what was my daughter doing all the while? Well, braiding her hair, of course and doing her nails!

I know, this smacks of martyrdom. And, I sure don't like that. But, man oh man, a helping hand would be nice right about now. It is 11:45, and the television is a'blarin downstairs. Dad sits and watches t.v. for hours and hours and hours. I will ask him if he is ok and he grouchily responds, 'yes, Rose, I am fine'. Errrrrr.....

I am tired and ready for bed. Work and school all day tomorrow. God I hope he will turn off the t.v. so I can sleep now!

Too Much of This and Not Nearly Enough of That.

I've spent the last week in a big, old, thick, clumpy funk.

Yesterday, while mopping with a purpose (during my cleaning job), I just got more and more upset. No, it wasn't that dirty of a floor. Nice floor, nicer clients who own the floor. So, no, wasn't that. But, what I couldn't get out of my mind was all of the people who I work with in my social work-y job, who have so very little, who need so much and then, all of the stuff that is available, all the extra.

All the extra.

But, there is all of the need.

I was thinking about how, when you run out of gas, you don't think to yourself, 'Oh, I need to be more careful and plan ahead next time so this never happens again!' You think, instead, that 'Aw, shit, I ran out of gas and need to find some, fast!'

For alot of clients I work with, older men and women who find themselves needing this or that, they ran out of gas so to speak, and they need someone to come along with a gas can of sorts and help 'em out.

I used to get pissy about this sort of thing. "Why don't they plan, so this doesn't happen?" I would think to myself. But, life doesn't work that way. Life happens and sometimes, it makes a big, old, lumpy-ass mess.

It just seems so lop sided. As I toss out countless empty shampoo bottles from showers that I am cleaning, throw out bags and bags of trash, I realize how there are clients out there wishing that they had a bottle of shampoo, or that they had enough shit to throw away! I guess what I am saying is:

We Have Too Much Shit and Need to Share our Shit With Others!

There, I feel better. So, this weekend, I am going to clean out the garage. I have an overabundance of this and that, and it is going to go to people that need a this or a half dozen of that. I sure as hell don't need all that I have.

Later, I found myself watching 'Hoarders'. Oh, how revolting. People living in mountains of trash and fecal matter, usually of the feline variety. Mountains of shit, literally. And, their bizarre attachment to all their stuff, is even stranger still.

Our society is just really messed up, when it comes to stuff. We have either wayyyy too much, or not nearly enough.

See? This is why I mopped with such purpose. It just made me mad.

So, could it possibly be that, Sunday would mark my 22nd wedding anniversary? That the smell of fall makes me think of when I met Gordon, in the fall? Or, that I see the color of leaves and think of the Ozarks, where we honeymooned? Or, that no one seems to even remember this, this important aspect of my life, that I loved a man for 23 years and I will never see him again? Could THAT be where this weird thought process is coming from?

Uh, I think so. Not sure, but, probably. Crap.

I heard someone tonight describe this as a 'Grief Burst'. Yep. That is what this is. A momentary lapse in rational thought and longing for our loved one who has died flattens us.

God, I miss Gordon. I imagine that were he alive, he'd be listening to me go on and on, or, at least pretending to, and then he'd kiss me and say, "I'm sorry, hon". And, I'd feel better.

I miss getting better, that way.