Here Comes Sandy

 

 


Since Friday we have been preparing for Sandy, the Frankenstorm. Thank goodness my sister has been here to help Karen get the more "physical" stuff done. I am better but still having trouble with my back and am not good at all with lifting. We would have been in quite a "fix" without Kathy. Here they are covering the wood piles with a heavy-duty tarp and tying it down so that the winds can't pick up the logs and toss them around the yard like missiles.

But, actually the biggest "help" has come directly from Jim.  Karen knows exactly what to do to get ready for storms because Jim taught her. He was determined that his girls would be able to take care of themselves in an emergency - and that has certainly proved to be borne out this week-end. Not only that - over the years he has gathered all the supplies we need to batten down the hatches here - rope, tarps etc. Our cabinets are loaded with lanterns, radios and batteries...all we have to do is get them out and test the batteries already loaded in the lanterns and radios.

 As a doctor, Jim was always classified "essential personnel" during storms and other emergencies and he liked it. He still is our "essential personnel."

I can't see that ever changing.

Hello, Leo here.

Its been a while since I spoke up so thought I would stick my two cents worth in.

How are we doing around here? Pretty good  - - except for some days--.  A few weeks ago she tried again to read Joan Didion's book, "The Year of Magical Thinking" and she just could not do it. She told a friend, " I am done with that. She is talking about how I feel - - so I have no doubts about the truth of what she is saying - but I don't need to read it from her - when I am feeling it for myself."

What is this "magical thinking?" she is talking about. As best I can see it - its thinking something will happen that can't - - like maybe Jim will be in the house when she comes home. Saturday night she went to hear storyteller Bobby Norfolk in his program for Telling Moments Theater and when she walked up to the house and pulled out her keys she started crying  - - she knew - again - that Jim would not be waiting inside to hear about the show.

During the evening three people came up to her, " We just heard, Ellouise. We did not know about Jim." Sweet, lovely really, but it brings her to tears and she has to turn away.  She says, "I hope they understand. I appreciate their caring but ---- it's hard to talk about."

She asked her bereavement counselor, "how long is this going to keep on?" and she says back, "its different for everybody - and 7 months is not much time, you know. You and Jim were together 57 years."

People compliment her - "you are so brave." or "you are doing so well." and I hear her telling her sister - "If they want to think I am OK  - let them.  I am not brave nor am I doing well - but I fake it and make people think I am. Sometimes even I think I am fine - and then pow - a tsunami of emotion knocks me over. I am perfecting my deep breathing."

This week-end she worked on getting together papers for the lawyer who is preparing the estate taxes - the deadline is approaching. I can tell you from what I hear and see Ellouise hates this kind of work. It doesn't say in the books that going back through those papers is like thumbing an album - - especially where she sees Jim's distinctive handwriting. He once told her how, as a kid, he practiced for hours to make his characteristic J when he signed James as his signature.

These are the tough spots.

A new kitten named Angel is a bright spot. She is funny and cuddly and brings joy to both Ellouise and Jim's dog Leia. Have you ever had a despondent dog? They are deeply grieving and they can't talk it through - but in Leia's case -  this kitten has brought back her spirit. Its a touching thing to watch. She is coming out so much that she even lets Ellouise pet her - and that is amazing.

Amazing is good.

Lessons

October 6 - marked 7 months since Jim died.
I can't keep from measuring time.
Some days it seems yesterday; other days much longer.
 Emotions continue to sweep through me with no warning.
Tears well or follow. On the other hand I do feel stronger.

My thinking is clearer than it has been. But I don't trust it. How long does this go on? There are no answers for that question. I was talking with a storytelling colleague last week who was telling me in detail about his medical situation. When I began to feel a tide of emotion rising in me I touched his shoulder gently: "I am sorry. I am not the right person for this conversation." He looked startled then nodded: "Oh, I guess that's still going on." It was an easy way for me to move on.

Recently I spent four days 400 miles from home at the National Storytelling Festival an event that Jim and I enjoyed together for eight years. I was afraid to go even though I was traveling with 3 friends who knew Jim and understood that I am not fully back to myself.

I knew going was a test - but I told myself that I could not dodge these tough challenges.  And, as a storyteller, I also wanted to make sure people saw me "out" and back at work. You know, the networking game.

It was harder than I expected. Memories of my happier times there with Jim hovered like a mist over the town and storytelling tents. There were some moments when I had to with-draw to give myself space to keep myself together. So I spent a lot of the week-end floating on-my-own.

After a 56 year marriage this on-your-own is new to me. Jim and I were together for 57 years  - I was 19 when we married and he was 24. We grew old together. That's wonderful - except there are not blueprints for how the one-left-behind builds a new life.  I am making it up one- day- at- a- time. Some days go better than others.

As I "floated" through Jonesborough and the Festival people who knew that Jim has died were sweet and greeted me warmly with "how are you?".  "Shush" was often on my lips.  "I can't talk about it." I hope it did not feel that I was cutting people out - that was not it - I was working hard to keep myself together.
So I focused more on striking up conversations with strangers. That was safer. And often interesting  - - and diverting. I took a lot of pictures, anything to keep my attention focused away from the sadness that would sweep over me.

Strangers were safer because they did not know there had ever been someone named Jim and I did not tell them. That tactic helped me "hang together" but it intensified my realization of my being on my own - alone.

That this "alone" is my new life.

I have to work out ways to deal with it.

No matter how much I look for him or expect him to be around the corner - its not going to happen.

I tried to read Joan Didion's book The Year of Magical Thinking several weeks ago and I couldn't - -
because too much of it hits too close to my own magical thinking.




     

Legacies

When ever I step outside my house I take a chance that I will bump into something or someone that will upset my delicate balance.

Today I took art work to American University to be part of an exhibition in the Katzen Art Center Rotunda. Using a rolling crate I was able to handle moving the art work without the help that Jim always gave me.  For the last ten years in his semi-retirement he worked with me to deliver art work and hang shows. When I walked into the gallery I began to feel his absence. Jim was part of the "regulars" for me. Something was amiss. I hurried through chats and unpacking so that I could get out of there as fast as possible. When the elevator reached my floor in the parking garage I moved quickly to the car - - with tears streaming down my cheeks. Once inside the car, in indoor parking lot low-light,  the sobs erupted.

By the time I reached the bank I had stopped crying and pulled myself together.  I sat across from the youngish bank manager and asked my questions telling him that I was a recent widow. "He looked at the paper I had handed him. " Doctor Schoettler. Are you talking about Doctor Schoettler?" his face softened. " I knew him. Madam, I knew him. I am very sorry for your loss." I felt the tears pushing against my eyelids so I talked faster with my questions. We finished just as the first tears slipped out.

"I liked him."
" He was easy to like. "
"He liked doing business here."
He smiled and nodded mouthing a soundless thank you.

At that I felt a flood threatening so I fled.

Another of Jim's legacies.
He made friends.
And, they pass his kindness back to me.

But you see, the flip side is that it makes the world a difficult place for me to be sometimes.

The Mama Dream

I woke up this morning from a dream where I heard my mother's voice telling me she would be arriving on a train. "How's that for you?"

This is the first time I have heard my mother's voice since she died five years ago. But I recognized it absolutely. And, I welcomed it. Although not with the same fan fare I would have given it seven months ago.

Mama's is not the voice I yearn to hear.

Yearn - that's quite a word isn't it? Says more than any other about the hurting of missing, wanting, and loss.

As I woke from hearing Mama's voice I wanted to turn over and tell Jim about the dream. We often shared our dreams in the mornings. We would have talked about it and wondered about "why now" and looked for clues that would help explain it or learn from it. "Take a look at the dreams" - that was part of Jim's business as a Psychiatrist and Psychoanalyst. "See what you are telling yourself."

Now I have to figure out the "Mama" dream on my own.

Add that to the list  - the list of things I now do on my own.

Truth be told that list is one of the most difficult things about this new life as a widow.

And, its hard to get used to.

Paper Work

Realizing more and more how much paperwork Jim had to do - on top of all his medical reports and insurance forms - especially the Medicare claims. No wonder he was fed up with all of that. It was endless.

Now I have to do all the paper work - which is ridiculous - putting an "essence" person to take care of matters that require attention to detail. 

This week a Montgomery County computer sent me a form about Jim's will that really gave me heart-burn and then turned out to be an automated sending. Nothing out of order with my files at all. I will not be called in. Let me tell you  it is the unexpected things like this one that give me a fit. 

I feel like everything in my world is already tipsy so adding another tipping factor feels much more important than it actually is. 

I am hoping that with time this work will feel more manageable.

And while I am hoping for change lets add the amount of mail that drops through our front door. Since I seem to look like a prospect these days, I receive mailings from bereavement groups, reverse mortage offers, and other various services a new widow might need. Sorry they are wasting their paper and postage.

I am tough on trolling mail - toss it right out.  Jim was much easier on them - he actually read some. Not me. Comes from what I learned when I was managing a  direct mail fundraising effort for a large non-for-profit. That experience made me heart-hearted about uninvited mail - even though I often have to turn to it myself to promote storytelling programs. Just saying.

Unpredictable days

This has been a hard week.

Emotional unpredictability is my new normal. I go along doing what I have to, laughing and smiling and then - wham - the mask falls off.  The charade is over. The grieving widow emerges. Often its not a pretty sight - so I try to keep it behind my own door. Not even showing my family how it feels if I can help it.

As much crying as I have been doing its too bad that I don't look good when I cry. My face and eyes are red and swollen. Lately I sometimes make unfamiliar primal animal noises without warning. Only remember that happening when our daughter died.

Jim was a wonderful hugger - using those great long arms of his to circle me close. I miss his hugs.

I shy away when anyone else hugs me... almost cannot tolerate that touch because it makes me miss his touch all the more.

That's one snapshot of what it is like to be wearing grief around your shoulders like a cold shawl.

I realized last week that I have to carefully watch out for myself. When I accepted an invitation to a pot luck supper I was delighted by the thought of being with a small group of friends - couples - that Jim and I had known for a long time and felt close to. That afternoon as I thought about preparing something to take to add to the dinner - I knew I had made a painful mistake. I was not ready to do this - to go to a small group where I would have been with Jim - where I would feel his absence more sharply because if he was not dead he would have been there too. I called and cancelled. "Sorry"

Several days later my bereavement counselor congratulated me for "taking care of yourself.  Advising me, Always be sure you have a back door. You need a way out to protect yourself.