Holy Cow!

Today I had an “Ah-Ha” moment.

I have been putting a great deal of pressure on myself to get moving and living a life for myself and all I’ve been able to do is sit on the couch and watch TV, go to work, take care of the absolute basics, and attempt to sleep.  I can’t focus on anything.  I can’t remember anything.  I can’t figure out what the hell I’m supposed to be doing.  For God’s sake – I used to be a highly functioning, responsible adult and now I feel like I am an idiot.  And instead of any of this getting better, it seems to be getting worse.

Everyone keeps telling me to relax, to take my time, and to give myself a chance to rest and recover from the ordeal I’ve been through.  That’s been good advice.  Now I understand why so many organizations advise us to not make any major decisions until at least 6 months to a year after an ordeal such as this.  I’m almost 8 months into this widow-thing and I still can’t seem to figure out how to live a life for myself.  WTF?  My thoughts and ideas have bounced around like a rubber ball.  Nothing has seemed to make much sense.

Two weeks ago I finally broke down and saw a Psychiatrist to get some help with the fact that I have not been sleeping.  The idea was that if I could get some sleep then maybe some of these other issues might start taking care of themselves.  I got some meds.  I’ve remembered to take them.  And I am now sleeping at least 6 hours a night, uninterrupted (the uninterrupted part is key).

For the past week or so I’ve been waking up in the morning and feeling cheerful.  Of course, that doesn’t last very long … until I start getting tired again … around lunch … or even within ten minutes of waking up … depends on what demon thought runs through my mind.  But despite my mood, I am beginning to feel rested when I wake up.  What a relief!

So today I was, yet again, puzzling over my inability to get a grip on myself and my life and wondering why I just can’t seem to figure out what to do with, and for, myself.

And then it hit me!  DUH!

I have spent the past TWO years focused on caretaking my dying husband and taking care of everything and everyone BUT MYSELF.  I was married for 7 yrs and 7 months during which time I had to focus on meeting the high-maintenance, demanding needs of a selfish husband, his train-wreck older daughters, and his sociopath of a son.  No wonder I don’t know what the hell to do with myself – I haven’t been able to really focus on MYSELF for 9+ yrs.

Well, shit.

I started dating my husband when I was 32.  I was an independent and whole person when I met him.  I used to have a life.  Then I got married.  I used to know what to do with myself.  Now I just need to figure out how to kick-start it back into gear again.

So, today, I figured I would start small with a “daily schedule”.  It’s been over 2 years since I had a “routine”.  Up to this point everything revolved around whatever my husband, the cancer, and my step-son needed.  Now all I need to worry about is myself and my doggies.  And we need a routine.

I need time to sleep, time to work on “projects”, time to do chores, time to pay bills, time to eat, time to meditate/read/pray/write, etc.  I don’t need to train for a marathon.  But I can fit one hour into my routine to walk the doggies.  I don’t need to write a novel, but I can fit an hour into my life to write in my blog(s).  And here’s the crazy part – I need to write this shit down and make myself a schedule or I’ll never remember what I am attempting to do or be able to figure out how to make it happen.  Used to be, I could keep all this shit in my head and just do it.  That’s just a pisser.  But it takes what it takes.

So this evening I am starting my “new routine” and I created a schedule of what a good, rewarding day may be for me.  And starting tomorrow, I’m going to do my best to follow it.  Progress – not perfection.  It will probably need some tweaking.  But if I’m going to re-gain a routine, I need to start practicing.

Wow.

Sloppy, Wet, and Kinda Scared

I used to have everything managed quite well.  I knew what was going on.  I knew when things needed to be done.  I had my finger on the pulse of everything going on around me and my little group.

When my husband developed cancer, I thanked God that I was as organized and methodical as I was.  Finally, being borderline OCD was a plus!  And I maintained a heightened awareness of everything throughout his illness and never missed a thing despite how complicated it got or if I was tired or even if I was sick, myself.  I hauled everything around in a fantastic boat with seemingly effortless skill and consistency.  I was like a high-powered ski-boat, zipping along atop the water and managing to keep everything dry inside the boat.

And then my husband died.  He fell out of the boat.  And it was like my engine started down-shifting.  And my ability to maintain control of the boat and it’s contents was compromised.  I was managing to go to work and keep up with my 18 yr old Step-son who was just months away from graduating high-school.  But I was struggling with details like trying to make a grocery list and being able to focus on things.  I was still motoring along, but my engine was definitely sputtering.

And then my Step-Son moved out – he decided there was no reason to stay with the Wicked Step-Mother if he could, instead, go live with one of his sisters.  And without the requirement of having to maintain control and management over him, my boat engine seemed to sputter to a halt.  I could hear it’s last gasps of trying to run.  I could feel it shuddering and struggling.  And I looked at the shore line, so very far away where my family and friends were waving at me, and felt fear that I was going to be stranded out in the middle of the water.

And as the law of physics took over, the fact that my boat engine stopped did not hold back the massive tidal wave that had been created in the wake of my boat.  And I was swamped.  My boat started filling with water and is desperately in danger of sinking.  I have been left in confusion as to my inability to get myself moving again.

I keep waking up each morning and slowly bailing the water out of my boat.  Somehow it stays afloat.  But I am more tired now than I ever was – in spirit and in the ability to gather the gumption to give a shit and really get the water bailed out of my boat so I can work towards re-building it.  I can’t remember what I’m supposed to be doing.  I show up for appointments on the wrong day.  I can’t remember if I ate lunch or when I watered the plants last.  Weeks have passed since I vacuumed and dusted.  I don’t know how many rolls of toilet paper I have.

I am living a sloppy life.

I used to feel disdain for people who lived sloppy lives.

Now I feel empathy for them, whether they created their own sloppiness or whether it was handed to them in a package of crap they never asked for.

Living sloppy is not comforting and doesn’t feel safe.  Everyone on the shoreline is waving at me and shouting out their support.  But I am alone in this boat out here in the middle of the water.  I continue to bail out the water.  I don’t know the answer yet.  I don’t know how to fix the motor or how to get rid of all the water.  I seem stuck and in danger of sinking.

I am sloppy, wet, and kinda scared.

The Art of Surrender

I am new to this widowhood thing.  I never planned to be here.  Who does?  It never occurred to me that this was an option.  It’s another example of how my plan is so totally different from God’s plan.  My daily devotion today reminded me that I’m not really supposed to have any plans.  I’m supposed to be open and willing to follow God’s plan.  I’m supposed to surrender in the face of adversity – not lay down like a weak or cowardly ninny – but surrender to the fact that I am not in control and I am not in charge of the rules of the game, and I am not making the final decisions.

Surrender.

I hate that word.  It’s so hard to do.

Surrender carries negative connotations and implies weakness.  Surrender equals failure, in my mind.  Surrender means that I am probably not going to get what I want.  Surrender means that I am going to have to accept something that I probably don’t want to accept.  Surrender means that I’m going to have to bend in a different direction.  Surrender means that my plans and ideas are absolutely not going to work out.  Surrender means that I am going to have to swallow the fact that I lost whatever challenge I was attempting to achieve or overcome.  Surrender means that I am weak and useless, in my mind.  Surrender just damn sucks and is embarrassing, shameful, and means I am being a sissy, in my mind.  And surrendering makes me furious.

I hate having to surrender.  Damn it.  Shit shit shit to hell and back!

When my husband was diagnosed with Stage 3 Esophageal Cancer, we didn’t really understand what we were facing.  We went home and talked about what the DR had said.  We held hands.  We discussed the possibilities of what this diagnosis meant.  He promptly buried his head in the sand whereas I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and prepared for battle.  Eight months later I came to my own conclusion that this was not something we were going to be able to “beat”.  This was not a battle to “win”.  This was going to be an epic attempt to “cope”.  And right then I realized that I had a choice in what I was going to do.  I could either continue to “fight” and go down with the ship; or I could surrender to whatever fate God had planned for both of us.

To be honest with you, surrender was the only choice at the time because I was so exhausted, worn out, drained, and tied in a knot trying to take care of EVERYTHING that I just didn’t even have a moment to contemplate what I was going to do.  In my mind I yelled at God:

Yooo-Hooo.  Dude!  Well shit.  What the hell.  This just damn sucks.  What the hell am I supposed to do now?  Just how in the hell am I supposed to cope with this?  I have no fucking idea what is going on and I sure as hell have no fucking idea why YOU are putting this into our lives.  This is too big for me to fix or manage.  This is too big for me.  Well shit.  Ok.  YOU created this mess.  YOU can manage this mess.  I am laying this at YOUR feet.  YOU just show me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.  And if it means that he’s got to die, well then that just fucking sucks and I really don’t fucking want that to happen – but I will obey and do what YOU want.  And right now, YOU suck too, by the way.  Amen.

And in that rebellious moment, with anger and fear in my heart and shaking my fist at God, I surrendered.  I had no other choice.  The whole thing was just too big for me to figure out, manage, control, etc.  And I didn’t have the luxury to go down with the ship fighting this turn of events because my husband needed me to help walk him to his death.  So I couldn’t be pre-occupied with “winning” a losing battle – I had to set what I wanted aside and provide what my husband needed.

Surprise.  I chose to surrender BEFORE I was at the end of my rope (I was close, but not at the actual end at that point).  This was a new strategy I had never used before.  Letting go BEFORE I completely ran out of options.  Giving in, accepting, bending, letting go of what I wanted, and willing to suffer whatever shame, failure, or seeming uselessness that surrender might bring.  When the Lord calls you to serve, He damn means for you to SERVE.

This turning point of surrender brought me smack to the threshold of self-less service … to everyone involved.  I jumped in with both feet.  Suddenly my mind opened to include a wider circumference that contained not only my husband but his kids and his family and his friends.  My mind cleared of all the cancer confusion and became laser-fixed on providing SERVICE to all of us affected by this pending disaster.  In surrendering I found service … a discovery of what God wanted and expected of me in this event … not to accomplish His Will … but to be of Service while HE performed His Will (whether I liked it or not).

Surrender brought me strength.  I did things and said things that were not of my own self.  I have no doubt but that God provided me with the resources I needed in every moment, whether they were mental, physical, emotional, financial, or spiritual.  I gave everything over to God.  I stopped worrying about whether I was going to get fired from my job, whether we were going to have enough money to sustain ourselves, whether we were going to have enough food for the week, whether the clothes were going to get washed or the kitchen floor mopped.  I completely handed the reins of my life over to God.  And I concentrated on serving to the best of my ability.

God is still holding the reins of my life.  I have not been able to take them back.  I haven’t been strong enough.  I don’t know if I will ever be strong enough to live the way I did before all this happened.  Now I have learned that there is relief in surrender.  There is strength in surrender.  There is peace in surrender.  Life is not about winning or losing.  Life is about living.  And surrendering has brought me peace and relief.  I have absolutely no regret, no doubt, no “what-ifs”, no would haves, no should haves, etc. in anything I did during that horrid event.  I am at peace.  I have a clear conscience.  And I am proud of myself.

Now my conversation with God goes something like this:

Hey.  It’s me.  You know how exhausted and empty I am.  Please give me the strength to have a decent day so that I can be of service to You.  The welfare of my life is at Your feet.  I trust You to take care of me.  I could really use a break.  Please don’t send me some kind of crazy ass project.  I need peace and rest right now if at all possible.  But I am listening for You.  Show me what You want me to do.  I will do it, whether I like it or not.  Thank You for carrying me.  Amen.

Attempting Progress – Not Perfection

Two steps forward, one step back … so hard to make progress at this pace. I’m trying to find an acceptable middle-ground between the happiness and unhappiness of my marriage prior to husband’s death. Good memories, bad memories, nightmare memories … all pooled together. Reminds me of when a wave has already lapped upon the sand and is drawing backwards just as another wave is lapping over it and pushing forward … the two … meeting in the middle … both being pushed/pulled in opposite directions at the same time. How am I to balance the grief and relief his death brought me?

And I had this sudden awakening that my marriage really didn’t have much to do with me … it was about ME providing service to HIM … by raising his son to the best of my ability, providing a stable and safe environment where he was unable to do so, and by helping him find the Lord – helping him embrace faith in the Lord – helping him be Baptized before he died (and helping his son be batptized along with his father so they BOTH were saved in the eyes of the Lord).

If you look at my life from beginning to end over the past 12 yrs, I have traveled back to the same place where I started … living in my little house I love, alone (but not lonely), and being independent and free like I was before meeting him. I am right back where I started. The past 12 yrs wasn’t about ME. It was about HIM and HIS KIDS … and me providing service … financial, mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual service. It was a high price to pay for companionship that never really met the one thing I needed most from him … emotional support. He was a selfish and self-serving man who put himself above everyone, including his kids. Only God knows why I loved him so self-less-ly. But I did, no matter what.

I can’t begin to fathom God’s plan and why this has happened and what it may have to do with me. But what I do know is that I have an opportunity to start over .. to have a new beginning … to have a new future full of possibilities … (if only I could get enough damn sleep grumble grumble). Sometimes I feel so crazy.