Digging Out
I spent the past weekend at the beach with friends and it was a much needed reprieve. I sat around, read a book, drank Sangria and even got a Mom's night out to watch the new Sex & the City 2 movie (way over the top, by the way). On the way to the beach, I checked my voicemail at home and there was actually some good news for a very nice change.
My surgery requires no pre-certifications. It's covered by insurance. Apparently, they realize I'm not interested in having solely a "pretty" knee. Now I'm waiting for the orthopaedic surgeon and the plastic surgeon to sync up their schedules and get me in. I'll need to have the surgery at the hospital and I am hoping that it is quick, and as painless as possible. The screw in my tibia will be coming out and then I'm going to be fixed up by the plastic surgeon to eliminate the Franken-knee I'm currently sporting. He told me he'll be cutting out the scar itself, putting a layer of bio-fabric or something (the stuff they normally use during breast reconstruction surgery on the sides to connect everything) over my tibia and then sewing me up from the inside out. You don't know how happy I'll be to have the screw officially out of my knee. I can not wait. As much as I hate the idea of going into yet another surgery, I'm hoping this will be the very last and that my knee will no longer be stare-worthy.
I came home from the beach, after seeing the movie preview for "Eat, Pray, Love" and decided I had to read it. I borrowed it from a neighbor and I am plowing through it quickly and enjoying it immensely. If you don't know the premise, it's basically about a woman who puts her life back together through a year of traveling to Italy, India and Indonesia. Just reading about her, rejuvenating herself, is helping me to do the same. I need to write more, work out more, and start making an effort to enjoy myself more.
Soon, you may all be able to leave comments and write me emails about things other than loss and me feeling miserable. I know you're excited. So am I.
Restoration
I don't think I've ever gone this long without writing. It's not like me. I always have a lot to say. Lately though, I don't. I'm in a holding pattern in several ways and it's been frustrating to say the least.
When I went to see my new orthopaedic surgeon back in April, he sent me for a series of tests including an MRI and a nuclear bone scan. The MRI scan revealed a partial PCL sprain and the bone scan revealed that when I slammed my little toe on a barstool in my kitchen a couple months ago, I broke it.
He also sent me to a plastic surgeon. I wanted the surgery done in May so I could get on with my life, but that hasn't happened. Yesterday I found out why. Apparently, my file has been sitting on the plastic surgeon's desk for weeks, untouched. The woman at his office who finally figured out where my file was apologized profusely and now the process begins again.
Apparently, the surgeon thinks that the insurance company will deem my surgery "cosmetic," not "reconstructive." The fact that these words even crossed his lips is ludicrous. Anyone who knows me knows that I am much less concerned about having a pretty knee and much more concerned with having a functional knee that doesn't cause me pain. So now the phone calls to the insurance company begin and I wait. . . again.
Something tells me that I'm not at the top of his priority list. Women wanting injections of botox and boob jobs pay cash or with a credit card. Mine won't exactly be like that. I think it puts me at the bottom of the priority pile and that is annoying and maddening.
In the meantime, while unable to do karate or any impact exercises (including walking on a treadmill), I've been keeping myself busy and occupied to try to lift my mood.
I've realized that moving the two tons of delivered river rocks isn't exactly restoring my soul. The spa day that my Mom purchased for me for Christmas, that I finally used last Friday definitely helped. I've also been keeping myself busy with good friends. Although I've been in a total cooking rut, I'm trying to force myself to do things I used to like doing before all this knee business and before my Grammom passed away.
I've had good days and bad days in the month since she's died. Some days, I don't even feel like getting out of bed. It's especially hard after spending a couple hours going through her things. I haven't been visiting my Pop-Pop nearly as much as I should be, because it is so damn hard to be there, without her there.
I have friends who are worried about me. I'm definitely not myself lately, but I am working at dragging myself back. It's just a very gradual process. Packing up all my sympathy cards and my Grammom's obituary was something I got around to doing last week and it was helpful. But it's weird how certain things can set you off, when you least expect them. . . the song that was on when I was racing to the hospital on the morning she died can make me cry instantly. . . seeing a piece of her jewelry or catching the scent of her body lotion. These are things that send me reeling still. I know it's just going to take more time; and in the meantime, I'm so grateful for my very supportive and extremely patient friends.
In Need of Some Good
I used to hate reading depressing blogs. It seemed to me that some writers were just followed around by a big giant dark cloud and I didn't want to be one of them. And here I am. You might as well just start calling me "Debbie" as in "Downer."
On Christmas night of this past year, when we had to put our 13 year old cat to sleep, I kept one positive thought in my head. Clearly, if this is the way I was going to end 2009, then 2010 would surely have to be better.
Yet here I sit, on Mother's Day, the most difficult one ever, because my Grammom isn't here anymore. I never saw that coming at Christmas, despite the fact that she told us it would be her last Christmas. As a present, she gave my Mom a bunch of her favorite photographs of her parents and grand-parents. I should have seen it coming. I just refused.
And then on this past Tuesday night, Mr. BBM felt a small lump on the back of my cat "Bear." Bear has always been MY cat. He adores me. Despite the fact that I'm allergic to him, he follows me around the house much like a dog. The other night I wanted to see how far he would go and I kept moving where I was sitting to see what he would do. He followed me three separate times. There is no doubt about who his favorite person is in this house. He was truly my first baby.
Saturday, Mr. BBM took him to the vet and they aspirated the lump. The vet is fairly certain it's a sarcoma. She said words to my husband like "tenacious" and "radical surgery" and "frequently comes back." She also said that he has a level three heart murmur, an enlarged kidney and thyroid and that based on these things and that he's 14, she doesn't even know if surgery would be an option for him because she doesn't know that he would make it. He has spent his whole life with medical issues: something called mega-colon and cataracts that restrict his vision. Yet he is the most gentle and loving cat I have ever known. He calls me "Mom," literally. He is this super talkative cat with incredible personality and Mr. BBM swears he actually speaks.
I got the call while I was standing in an animal shelter with the girls, helping my sister's boyfriend pick a new cat. Big I instantly knew something was wrong and I couldn't lie to her. I told her he's getting older and that he now has even more problems than he had before. She started to cry and told me she needed to go sit down outside and that she wanted to come home right away.
Because the shelter was an hour away from home, we stopped for a quick bite to eat at a roadside ice cream place/deli. She took one bite of her sandwich, looked at me with tears in her eyes, and asked, "Why is this happening to us? First Colby, then Grammom, and now Bear."
I told her I felt the exact same way and that I just didn't know. I know this isn't happening to us. It's just happening. It's called life, but it seems like we're getting a particularly cruel slice of it during these past few months. It has been one thing after another after another.
We all spent the weekend with good friends and family and tried to distract ourselves in any way possible. With all the knee issues still lingering over me in addition to all of this, I am just completely spent. I feel like someone has tied us up like heavy bags and is just beating us over and over again. I can barely get myself through this; getting the girls through yet another death so close to the last two is going to be no small feat.
I reached out to social workers and hospice people for help with my Grammom. I've talked to my Pastor about how to get the girls through all this death and heartache. But there just doesn't seem to be anything to make the horrible hurt go away for them or for me.
For now, Bear is happy and running around like a kitten; but I know how quickly Colby went downhill and how hard it was to see him like that. I won't let Bear suffer. He's been too good of a cat, but I can't tell you how much I wish, that when it's his time, he just curls up and falls asleep for one final time. I am tired of being the person who makes decisions about whether people and pets stay or go. I can't do it one more time, not now.
I need a nice big dose of good and I need it now. We so need it now.
There is No New Normal
Since my grandmother died, I've been having trouble falling asleep and staying asleep. Our family made so many decisions during her last week and it's nearly impossible to not question things, feel guilty, and want things to be different.
The other day, Big I told me that she was having dreams about Grammom. I can't even tell you how jealous I felt of the fact that she can still see her at night. Each night, I pray that I'll have a dream about her, just so I can see her alive, hear her laugh and see her smile. I want to see her the way I knew her before her stroke and I guess I'm having a hard time because my most recent days with her are not the way I'd like to remember her.
On Monday, Lil C and I stopped over at my pop-pop's house for a visit. It felt so strange and awful without her there, knowing she wouldn't be coming back home. My Grammom was always so welcoming but my pop-pop is much more of a loner. We stood awkwardly in the kitchen while every thought in my head was that I would do just about anything to have more time with her. When I couldn't take the awkward conversation in the kitchen anymore, Lil C and I decided we would clean my Grammom's bird baths out back.
In the one bird bath, we found a robin's egg, perfect except for the fact that it was under water with no nest or parent anywhere in site.
Abandoned.
That's how it felt being there without her there too, laughing at Lil C trying to get the right pressure on the hose without blowing all the water right back out of the clean bird baths.
Everyone is expecting me to just get back to normal, but there is no normal anymore. A world without her presence is so different, so quiet, so hollow. I know she wouldn't want me feeling like this, that she would want me to move on and just remember the good times we had, but it is so hard going anywhere without her.
This weekend is going to be particularly difficult for my Mom and I've been trying desperately to come up with a way to make it even a tiny bit easier. I just don't think a way exists.
Goodbye
Today was my grammom's funeral. It felt surreal. . .
I was so touched that so many of my friends came to the viewing this morning and a few even stayed for the service. I can't thank them enough. It meant a lot to me. I've also had so many friends drop off trays of food for me and my family. I have felt truly supported and surrounded by love. I have a wonderful group of friends and family.
At my Grammom's services today, I had a little something to say. Since I don't have many other words today as I am completely exhausted from the last two weeks events, I'm posting it here for all of you. I know she heard me. . .
“The
most healing thing one can do for another is listen to their
stories.”-Anonymous
This
is the quote that was posted on the bulletin board in Grammom’s hospital room
last week. It was no coincidence that she ended up in that very room at the
about almost everything. She told the same stories countless times, but I never
tired of hearing them. It’s because of this that I’m able to remember them so
well. Sometimes, after a long conversation with her, she would apologize to me
for taking up so much of my time, and I would tell her that I always had time
to listen to her stories and talk with her. I liked hearing them and because I
heard them so many times, I’m able to share some of them with you today.
Grammom could tell you stories about visiting
out windows on the boardwalk at night. She could tell you stories about having
her children, Becky and my Mom, in just two hours time because in her time, you slept through it. She
could also go on long tirades about dogs that lick themselves too much,
politics, and even how important it is to have pulp in your juice.
A couple years ago, my
grandmother was telling us how you just never know what's going to happen these
days, and because of that she told us she stored jugs of water in her
basement. She used old milk containers, wine bottles, whatever she can
come up with. My pop-pop patiently waited for her to finish her story and
then said, "Yeah, she's got so many jugs of water in the basement that if
I trip and fall down there, I'm liable to drown."
She was the storyteller;
he, her accompanying one-liner. The funny conversations between Pop-Pop and
Grammom are something I know I will really miss.
Another story I’ll never
forget is about how my grandparents met.
While
other women her age were settled down long before, my Grammom waited until the
age of 27, and my pop-pop didn’t pick her
up. She picked him up at a bar by
telling the bartender “get the sailor a drink.” Three months later they were
married, and they spent 65 years of their lives together.
……
When
all of this happened, I knew I wanted to say something about my Grammom and I
figured I would be able to find some interesting or funny things on my blog,
where I write frequently and have done so for the past four years. When I did a
search to see all the different times I mentioned her, I was surprised to find
that I had over four pages worth of things I had written about her. I knew I
wrote about her a couple times, but I didn’t realize how very much she impacted
my everyday life, even when I wasn’t with her.
My
Grammom was my biggest cheerleader. She was always telling me how much she
loved my hair, clothes or jewelry and that she thought I was a good mom. She
would brag about me right in front of me to her friends and lately, to the
nurses in the hospital. She could instantly lift my mood and make me feel good
like no other person has ever been able to do.
She taught me many things throughout the 35 years that I had with her.
Some of my favorite more light-hearted things are that classy girls drink their
beer from a glass, not a bottle, and that you can never have too many bird
baths, dish towels or body lotions.
Even
though she’s no longer here with me, to tell me her stories or listen to mine,
I know she’ll always be with me because I see her in each of my daughters.
Grammom
never came to a family get-together without gifts in hand for me, my sister, my
Mom and my girls. Even though she didn’t have much, she truly took great joy in
giving and always had bags full of dish towels for us and coloring books for my
girls. She was so generous and thoughtful and was always thinking about others.
During a week-long hospital stay last month after she had fallen and broken a
rib, I went to visit her often and on one night, talked to her about some
things in my life that were bothering me. She gave me some great advice (as
usual), a huge hug and kiss, and told me that she liked it when I really talked to her. The day she went
home from the hospital, a dozen red roses were delivered to my house with a
card that read, “For our grand-daughter who needed a hug.” She must have called
as soon as she walked in the door to order them for me.
When
we were going through some of her things and looking for pictures to use today,
my sister and I found bags of Hallmark cards. In them, we found a father’s day
card for pop-pop, a birthday card for my dad, and Halloween cards for my girls
for next year, among others. She was always
thinking about others and I see her thoughtfulness in my "I," who was very
special to Grammom.
In addition to being
exceptionally thoughtful, she was always the type of gal who just put it all
out there. When I was younger, we were walking into the mall and there was a girl
in front of us whose butt was completely visible through large intentional
holes in her jeans. My grandmother clicked her tongue, pointed at the girl and
exclaimed, "Well, look at that! Her entire a$$ is hanging out of her
jeans! Will you look at that! What is WRONG with her?"
I remember my Mom being
horrified, but I actually thought it was pretty funny, because I thought there
was something seriously wrong with the girl too. My Grammom was always a very
classy dresser and she simply could not allow a barren butt to go unaddressed.
. . I see my Grammom’s outspokenness in
my "C" which is probably why she could always crack her Great-Grammom up so
easily.
……
On
Sunday, April 19th, when my Grammom had her stroke, my life was
turned completely upside down. During those difficult eight days that she spent
in the hospital, I did a lot of thinking and a lot of praying. I also asked a
lot of questions to God, my main one being “why?” “Why did this have to happen
to her?" and "Why, if it was her time to go, did God make her wait all those
days?" Over the last couple days, I think I came up with an answer that makes
sense and I’d like to share it with you. . .
Grammom
spent a lifetime telling her family and friends her stories, but a funny thing
happened last week at the hospital. Instead of her telling us stories, we sat around her bedside and told her stories. We told her about our favorite foods she made for us
(macaroni & cheese and those amazing chicken fingers), and the fun things
we remember doing with her (like going through lipstick samples from the Avon
lady and cleaning bird baths with a crazy hose nozzle that kept spraying us in
the face). We told her how much we loved spending time with her and talking to
her, and most importantly, we told
her how very much we all loved her and the wonderful ways that she had impacted
our lives. It was our turn to heal
her with the stories and it took all
those days for us to tell her how much she meant to us and all the ways she
impacted our lives and shaped who we are.
……
“The most healing thing one can do for another
is listen to their stories.” But today, the most healing thing we can do for
ourselves and each other is to continue to tell hers. Let’s keep telling hers,
because in those stories she still lives.
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