You Don't Know Me

 

 The last year has been busy, chaotic, tumultuous, lonely...a time of assessment and (hopefully) growth. Who am I? Certainly not the woman I was two years ago. Grief and loss leave indelible marks on our souls. All widows/widowers change in the shift from a couple to a single. Depending on the length of time they've been together, the changes may be deep and far-ranging.

I've been in my 'new' apartment, in my 'new' state (New York) for a year now. I've negotiated all the adjustments such a move requires...new doctors, utilities, new license/registration, even new friends. This last week I finally unpacked my pictures. I guess I'm staying.

It's hard in the beginning to settle in a new place because you still have feelings of insecurity and displacement. You're not quite sure exactly what you should be doing. There are so many decisions to make. What now?

I deliberately decided to give myself this year to move into the new 'me'. That's involved new attitudes, new choices, new habits. I've evolved into someone different. I have issues to deal with that weren't part of my life in the before. In the spring I had covid. Due to medical issues I cannot have the vaccinations so every time I venture into the outer world, I'm at risk. I'm careful. I take precautions, but life is risky. In spite of that, I try to lead a full, interesting life.

I suspect all the changes will lead to differences in my writing. And inevitably some of my readers will say, "This isn't what she wrote before." Hence the blog title. You don't know me. So, this is just a heads-up. Hopefully, we'll get to know each other in the next year. 

Blessings!

The Widows Club

 Kicking and screaming all the way, I've joined the Widows Club. I can't tell you how many new members I've met in the last year. Perhaps I've just been unobservant, but it seems there are a lot more of us this year. Very few of us lost our spouses to Covid--at least the ones I know--so that leaves me to ponder where are all the ones who lost their spouse to that? Even without the horror of the virus, I feel like there are a greater number of us this year. Perhaps, like many things, we just notice it more when I personally affects us.

Some of the things I've noticed since the hunk died... It's hard being totally responsible for myself. I was quite spoiled since he took care of so many things. He managed the kitchen, did the shopping, paid the bills, made the bed, carried out the trash... I never asked him to do those things, but he knew how hard they were for me and just carried on. I've devised a schedule--yes, me, the free spirit--so my life is more organized. First thing in the morning, I dress, comb my hair, make the bed, and open the blinds. That signals my brain that I'm ready to face the day. Of course, that might all take over 30 minutes to accomplish, but that's the beginning. Then, it's on to meds, glucose test, coffee and breakfast. Another hour taken up. If I didn't clean the kitchen the night before, I find I can't face the coffee until I do so. I have a lot less patience with myself now.

Reading, watching television, all the other things I used to enjoy, aren't quite the same until my 'stuff' is all done. I've never, ever been a housekeeper, but now I'm finding myself turning into a picky old woman who needs things 'just so'. Weird. That was never me before. 

Thinking things through is my default. Define the problem/parameters. Research the options. Decide on a solution. Research can be a deep well you tumble down so you never reach a solution. I'm more indecisive and less likely to leap into something. The thing about having a partner is there is always someone to bounce your ideas off, even if they don't agree. My cousin told me this would happen. While personal freedom of choice is a heady thing, having that backup when you're uncertain is priceless. I've never in my life been on my own and having to make all my own decisions is daunting.

I try very hard to have a plan of action everyday...a to-do list. I might not accomplish everything on the list, but it prevents me from wandering around the apartment aimlessly, trying to settle on something to do. Even if it's just folding clothes--something I really hate to do--it's one more thing accomplished. Moving around, activity rather than sitting, is one of my new goals. I still tire easily and move slowly, but that's life. 

It feels weird to go out to the car and go places by myself. Yesterday, I went to get my hair trimmed--just enough to take off the dead ends--and I had plans to do other stuff since I was out, but suddenly I found I just wanted to go back to the security of home. Out there was too noisy, too crowded, too...just too much. In the past, I might have felt guilty about that, but in the last few weeks, I've learned to cut myself some slack. It's okay to decide when I've had enough. 

The other thing I'm facing is the ability to have a life. He's gone. I'm not. And life must continue. Plans must be made. And I'm the only one left to make the hard decisions. They don't all have to be done instantly, but eventually, my life will go on. That, more than anything, is one of the things the 'surviving spouse' faces. A vague type of guilt because you're still around, compounded with the decisions you make that your spouse is not around to add his input. He would have laughed at me. I know this. He was the most pragmatic person I ever met. I can hear him now, saying 'do what you want to do!' Every month (for years!) he would bring his statement from his IRA into my office and toss it on my desk and say, "There. That's what I'm worth this month. Make sure you enjoy every penny."

I will try. I will try.

Afterlife

Nearly a month ago, the hunk died in the early morning hours--suddenly and unexpectedly. He was doing well in his recovery from his stroke from ten weeks before. One moment he was talking to me, the next, he was gone. On the other side of loss, you learn things, unsuspected things you could never have imagined. Strangest, even though you might have read articles such as blogs or personal observations, you still don't understand until you're in the midst of the huge tsunami of events that threaten to drown you. 

I find folks have no idea what to say to me--either in person or via electronic media. They're uncomfortable when I mention him, I suppose thinking it will make me sad, when the truth is sharing my memories is comforting instead. In the first two or three days after he died, several author friends reached out, sharing their own memories of meeting him at various conferences he attended with me and I found those memories so touching. As long as we remember him, he isn't really gone, is he?

Quite a few people have their own ideas about what 'normal' grief looks like. They expect tears and obvious mourning, I guess. I'm a private person (oh, I know it sounds weird since I'm addressing this in such a public forum), but who really knows what another person feels? No one. Not even when we live with someone, do we really know the heart of another person. Some feelings are too deep, too private to share. In the last six months I've lost five family members (father, brother, niece, nephew, and husband) and a very dear friend. Not one was due to Covid. Perhaps, I'm grieved out and numb.

Some things catch you off guard. I didn't expect how much survivor's guilt I feel every time I change something in our home. I still haven't touched his clothes. It took me three weeks to take all the towels from the bathroom and replace them with just one set. His toothbrush is still on the sink. Yesterday, I made a quick sweep through the bedroom, bagging up stuff that honestly needed to go out to the trash, but it was still hard to haul that bag out to the dumpster. I moved the dishes in the cabinet to places I could reach more easily as I'm quite short. And gave away all the food in the freezer that we had for him, only keeping those things I could eat.

I'm pretty sure most folks don't really understand the glacial pace of all the paperwork associated with a spouse's death. Everything takes forever. Everything. And every step requires careful thought because once done, it can't be undone. It's given me a clear picture of the reasons my dear friend Helen Woodall left a very long, very detailed list for her family. I remember when her daughter shared that with me, I wondered whatever could possibly require such a list? Well, now I know. And I'm compiling my own list for my children. That's in addition to my will. 

One of the shocking things I've discovered is all those things I didn't know about my husband. Hah. I bet that got your attention. He was a tool junkie. I always knew he had tools. And then my daughter came down one weekend to help me go through his closet...and we found TWELVE boxes/cases of tools. Apparently, he never met a tool he didn't love. Two days ago, I was clearing out some of the drawers in his desk. And found one drawer was crammed full with--more tools. People advise me not to be in a hurry to change things. If I work at a steady pace, I figure it will take me a couple years to go through his collections. Of course, I have no room to complain, what with my books, notebooks, pens, and art supplies. And then there's our shared yarn supply...

Friends and family ask me how I'm doing. I never know what to say when they ask. Life is irrevocably changed for me. Some days are lonely. Some are frustrating. And some are oddly uncomfortable. At seventy-one, for the first time in my life, I am single and answer to no one but myself. I'm learning how to live alone. It's a strange new afterlife. I still think of things I need to tell him, and then suddenly the grief hits because he's not here to tell, or ask, or quarrel with, or any other event you share with a spouse. Memories are only mine now. Responsibilities are only mine. Decisions are only mine. And that's part of that strange afterlife I live now. So forgive me if I share this journey with you. Who better than my friends and family?

 

Truth

Truth is in the eye/ear/mind of the beholder. Therefore, everyone's truth is different. Frustrated folks all over the country, angry folks, desperate folks, don't understand this simple fact and until they do, they'll continue to generate more anger and frustration.

My truth will never be the same as yours. We might agree on a few things, but never on everything. My truth is generated by my life experiences, pure and simple. If I rely only on them, then my truth will never change. However, I have the opportunity to enlarge my view. Almost everyone has the same opportunity, but few take it. It's harder, takes more effort to learn about the world outside our personal experiences. We would rather stay in our comfortable little personal view.

Dana Stabenow has a character in some of her books--Shitting Seagull--who has an elaborate inner life centered around ships from space who regularly visit the docks he's responsible for. All the other characters in the books understand he has his own reality and truth and they deal with it. His truth is obviously not their truth, but it hurts no one, so...let it be.

Much of the anger generated this year is our inability to simply let others be. We accomplish nothing by insisting everyone has the same truth we do. If those around us don't want to change their world view, our anger, our yelling, will do nothing except raise our blood pressure. 

Instead, we need to take time, quiet time, away from the chaos and reflect on the things we can do to effect the changes our truth demands. There are positive steps we can take. Leave the negative behind. Let those with differing truths deal with the consequences. After all, the most likely changes in truth will come when we learn from our actions.

Truth.

Grief

In the future, many words will be used to refer to the year 2020. Few will be positive, but I expect the number one word will be grief. As the year slogs to a close, most everybody has dealt with grief in some form or another. Some will have lost family members or friends or coworkers. But even the deaths of total strangers are taking an unusual toll this year...this unending year of anxiety and uncertainty and anger.

At times it seems there is no downtime, no break from the unrelenting reality surrounding us. Folks are belligerent and enraged at all the things they can't control. Days are filled with fear and stress from loss of jobs or security or the help of family members. Running beneath all of the other aggravations in life is the specter of the Virus.

Whether you believe or not, deep down within all of us is the fear of the unseen and the unknown. You can take the best advice of scientists and hope you'll be safe, but the truth? The truth is it's a crap shoot, a roll of the dice, a chance of infection you can't avoid. Like a child whistling in the dark, some deny it in the face of all the evidence. But underneath...yeah, they know.

The folks I've lost this year have all been non-Covid deaths. Strange, isn't it? In any other year, we would gather to send them off with memories and songs. We'd take food and flowers and offer hugs and comfort. But not this year. This year we share our thoughts and memories via the Internet. That's our new reality so it's not surprising there's a rebellion in the works. 

We're spoiled. In the last fifty years, we've had access to fast transport so we can travel anywhere we want or need within hours. All it takes is a plane or train, heck even a bus or car, and boom there we are, gathering with friends and family, whether to celebrate holidays or grieve for loved ones. It wasn't like that in the past. Before that, once you moved on to a new place you likely wouldn't ever see your family and friends again. If a family member died, depending on how far away, the family generally sent one person to represent them and that was it. Life went on. The practicalities of life were more important.

This year we're getting a small taste of what if was like in the past. And we don't like it. Surely, someone must be to blame. We're tired of adulting and want to go back to those times when our parents fixed everything. My dear, dear ones. I fear it isn't gonna happen. I suspect we're going to have to grow a pair, pull up our big girl panties, and forge onward. 

This week a dear friend of mine died most unexpectedly. She lived on the other side of the world in Australia. She lived life to the fullest, going out there, experiencing everything she could while she could. She was the most practical of women. When we talked about all the stuff going on around the world, she would say, "Keep moving. Live life while you have it. Learn something new everyday."

The first thing I did when her lovely gracious children messaged me with the news was smile. Not because I wasn't saddened and grief-stricken, but because that was her legacy. Whenever I thought about her, or talked to her, I smiled. I hope when I'm gone, my family and friends will do the same.

 

Deadlines and Stress

 I believe deadlines contribute more stress than any other events in our lives simply because they're so common. Some are internal, imposed by our own will. Others are external, imposed by someone outside our control.

I am currently under a deadline set by an outside entity. Every morning I wake with a feeling of dread and an upset stomach. Some of the stress is...wondering if we will be able to finish in time. We are older, not in good health, and have much to accomplish. And in the end, will it be enough?

Deadlines come in many forms. Writers--many of them--face deadlines. Those who write with a contract for a big publisher, may have a deadline set by the publisher. Indie writers (those who self-publish) write to self-imposed deadlines. I'm not very good with writing deadlines because there are so many outside events that interfere. Life happens at an increasing pace as you get older. Frequently, you have to make choices you aren't happy with.

In the day and age of Covid 19, deadlines are all around us. When will unemployment or stimulus or income tax checks show up? Will it be in time to cover the rent or food or other essentials? What if it doesn't? How will we manage? In the wider picture, how will we manage life?

Folks talk about depression and isolation and all sorts of other things we deal with daily, but I suspect those are mostly generated by the ever-present plethora of deadlines. We live by an internal calendar, always afraid we won't be able to accomplish whatever we need by our end-date.

And the stress...the stress is killing us.

The Downsizing Battle

At our place, we've been cleaning/tossing out stuff. At the beginning of the year, we decided we would make a concerted effort to downsize and then Covid 19 sauntered into the picture and we were soon derailed in our quest for clean closets.

Last week, after needing to empty all our closets for a blitz on the mice we share this building with, we made a new resolution to start again. We've lived here seventeen years. It's amazing how much junk you can accumulate without really trying. 

Paper! Piles and piles of files I suspect we will never look at again. Story starts. Genealogy info nobody wants. Recipes I'll never make. Research I'll never use again. And contracts for books from publishers long gone out of business. The thing about paper is it's heavy. So the hunk is hauling it down to the dumpster a bit at a time. 

Kitchen stuff. Pans, pots, Pampered Chef, roasting pans (who am I gonna cook for?), and big serving platters. When am I gonna use them? We cook for two, not ten. What am I saving them for? All my children live across the country. The truth my generation has discovered is this--our children don't want or need the stuff we accumulated.

Clothes. Nope, we're never gonna fit in that suit we saved from ten years ago. I'm never gonna wear that dress that was expensive, but hideously uncomfortable. I don't own appropriate shoes to wear with anything dressy. And the awful truth is most of the stuff is stained because I cannot for my life eat without dropping something on my bazzooms...

Some things are borderline. The Christmas Tree we bought and used...three or four years. It's in perfect shape, but man, I'm not up to setting it up and we have no place to put it when we do. That corner was taken when the apartment complex installed a washer/dryer closet, and I have to admit I wouldn't change a thing. The washer/dryer wins every time.

Craft stuff. Keep? Toss? As I grow more infirm, the craft stuff becomes more attractive. Calligraphy, beading, knitting, are all activities I can still do. So...maybe those will survive for a while longer. Maybe.

Every day, we try to throw five things out. Big. Little. But something has to go. It's a slow process, slower for us because things have value for us, but if our children had to go through this stuff, I'm sure it would be faster. Get some hauler specialists, and instruct them to haul it away. It might come to that eventually, but the hunk and I will make a start on it first. Onward.

Anny