Movement

 It has been a few days since I posted anything.  I guess that is a good sign, indicating nothing is such a problem that I have to get it out.  I'm trying to decide if I will continue this blog. No one is reading it anyway.  I have so much ahead of me....

Eureka!

 After two and a half months, many unanswered phone calls, and the frustration of not knowing when (or how much) my annuity would provide, it finally came through!  This is a huge relief!  I feel a lightness and joy knowing that my financial future is secure.  It came as a total surprise.  I log into my banking account every morning, and yesterday I had a big surprise.  All the back pay amounts were deposited.  It is not lost to me that it is a huge blessing that MH was able to provide me with this security.

Sobbing Tuesday

 Well, Tuesday was a pretty useless day unless you count sobbing from frustration as accomplishing something.  Today should be better since my sister is coming and spending a week with me.

I'm still trying to get someone to talk to me about my annuity.  No one can get through the phone line, and they do not return calls. I've been trying for weeks. I can't get through online either.  So frustrating!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Small Changes

 I am not the type of person who likes to show many private emotions, or worse, cry in public.  So, the past few months, I have really been out of my comfort zone.  The tears come as an unwelcome surprise. There are a few subjects where I know tears (eye leakage) will come, and one subject (MH's suffering) where it will be an ugly, blubbering cry.  It has improved, but I still have a ways to go.

*****

Yesterday, I mentioned something about my sewing room.  I love spending time in my sewing room. Sewing truly is therapy. A while back, nearly 2 years, I found MH at the point where he really had nothing to do all day.  It was sad to see, and he resisted every suggestion.  Finally, I got (tricked) him into sewing.  It worked. He enjoyed it and was doing really well. 

Once it became apparent that this new hobby was sticking around, we bought him a nice sewing machine and an Arrow sewing table (Arrow Kangaroo & Joey with Kiwi. If that sounds unusual, Google it - it's $2,000 worth of nice!). So going into the sewing room after he died was sad, very sad.  There were memories all over it, and the sewing table reminded me that he will never be back.  It was the one room where I said MH had to control his negative emotions or else he had to leave the room.  I think it was good therapy for him because I only had to order him out twice.  Anyway,  it was better once I removed his sewing machine, but there was still too much sadness in the room.  

Now, back to yesterday's post.  I reorganized my embroidery thread by using both Kiwi units.  I thought it might feel weird using his, but it was OK.  Then I decided that instead of having his sewing table fully open (it has a fold-down leaf that was usually up, and the tables faced each other), I would not only drop his table, but I would also move it against the wall.  This opened a large space in the middle of a small room.  And it no longer looks like he's going to walk in, sit down, and sew.  Because I know he will not.

The kiwis aren't visible in this photo.

#Kangaroo and Joey
#Sewing as therapy

#Small change big difference

Waiting

 While I was working in my sewing room, I was doing some machine embroidery.  As I was looking for the spool of thread I wanted to use, I had to go through many that were all jumbled up because I have more thread than I have drawer space.  Suddenly, it occurred to me that the rolling cabinet that MH had, which was identical to mine, was just sitting there empty.  In that instance, I realized that I was giving myself permission to use it.  Yes, I had cleared out his possessions over 2 months ago, but the few things I kept were just sitting there, as if he was going to come back and use them.  I realized I was in a "waiting" mindset. That mindset will be easier to push aside once I start receiving my monthly annuity.  Because, really, that is the last thing (and biggest thing) I am waiting for.

I Promised

Soon after MH died, my sister asked if I had ever lived alone before.  I reminded her that I had lived alone (in between marriages) for about 5 years.  I am fine with my own company.  I'm not lonely insofar as being alone.  But I do miss MH.  The weird thing is, I do not miss the person that the meningioma and its complications created.  I miss the person he was before all that happened.  We were married for almost 34 years.  All but the last 5 were really good years.  The last five years were varying degrees (days/hours) of difficult (that's probably not a strong enough word).  The last 2 months were a nightmare.  Thinking of how much he suffered during that time shatters my heart.  And that is something I will never recover from.  Never.

In sickness and health

I kept my promise.

Guess What!

Something that really bugs me is the many times I see or hear something, and my first thought is that MH would like to know about this.  At one time, I had to make a list because I just could not get it out of my mind.  They're not really big things, but things I know he would be interested in hearing about.  They are things that for 34 years I said to him, "Guess what...."

Can I Help?

 As I mentioned yesterday, lots of people ask if they can help.  It is actually more helpful if, instead of asking the generic question, you are specific in your offer to help.  In the early days, I had so much on my mind that anything extra was just too much.  I had so much to do. But my friend MJ did something that I so deeply appreciated, and it was a lot of help.  She told me that if I needed to sell anything that she could do it for me.   I told her right away that I would take her up on the offer.  She was standing by, just waiting for her orders.

I think the first thing she did was haul off our landscaping trailer. She sold that rather quickly.  Another thing she did was to research the value of MH's car.  I sold that right away.  She sold 3 bicycles, bike racks, etc.  As I was going through the house, she was either selling something or taking it to be donated.  That was a HUGE help to me!  To be able to get this accomplished without having to worry about it was such a blessing.  I had total confidence and trust in her.  As she sold things, she would deposit the money into my savings account.  Not having that hassle was a tremendous help!

#what can I do to help?
#helping clear out a house

#selling things for friends

I'm Sorry

 I'm sure this doesn't surprise anyone, but I really hate it when people say, "I'm sorry" in response to hearing MH died.  However, to be fair, what else can they say?  There just aren't many options for the "correct" response.  I just get tired of hearing it, especially when they give me the look when they say it.  And it isn't one or two sentences later that they add, "If there's anything I can do....".  I know, they are just trying to be helpful.  It's not their fault, I just hate it.  I guess it's part of the death sequence.  Someone dies, everyone says they're sorry and gives a compassionate expression to show they really are sorry, eyes leak, and it's over, and everyone is depressed, feeling awkward, or both.

The first social gathering I went to shortly after MH died, I knew this would likely happen.  I really considered giving the host instructions to advise everyone that if they are really compelled to express their sorrow, they should do it in code.  And the code I thought of was, "My weiner has really been itchy lately".  I thought it was perfect. It would eliminate the look and finally elicit a response that does not turn the room into a funeral home.  In fact, I think it is nearly guaranteed to give everyone a good laugh.  Unfortunately, I knew children would be present.  So, the host told everyone to just act normal and not say it.  It was easier on everyone.

#sorry

#what can I do to help

#response to death

Time's Up

 I'm reading this book, an autobiography, about a woman who lost her husband and later formed a group with 5 other widows to chronicle their changes over a year.  Each woman was in a different phase of grief and rebuilding her life.  I think this book is depressing me because I have no idea what changes I'm going to make.  I did join a Quilting Guild.  The second meeting is today.  I signed up for 2 Pickleball leagues, but that isn't really new or different because MH and I did that last fall/winter.

I'm also thinking a lot about the finality of death.  Or maybe I am just feeling it more.  It reminds me of Star Trek where Kirk says, "Beam me up Scotty".  One minute the person is breathing before you and the next they no longer exist.  Sure, the shell is still there, but that person is gone.

I know all about the different beliefs of what happens after death.  I was a front row Lutheran for decades.  But now I believe that when someone dies, their shell is sanitarily removed and the energy, soul, call it what you will, is absorbed into some forever unknown entity or dimension.  I don't believe in heaven, or hell for that matter.  I think we just cease to exist.  When our time is up, our time is really up.

#time is up

#death

#what happens when we die

Removing Possessions

 Some people might be shocked to know how quickly I removed MH's personal possessions from the house.  My first thought was that it won't get any easier if I wait. My second thought was that I cannot create a new life for myself if I'm holding onto things that no longer serve a purpose, other than to remind me that MH is gone.  I don't need reminding. 

I used to joke with MH that if he goes first, the hearse won't be out of the driveway before I start pitching his shoes.  He used up all the space on multiple shoe racks, and I was still tripping over shoes that were left in the walking path.  He had so many shoes that people would joke about them.  And it isn't like he was a snappy dresser or anything.  Most of the shoes were old running shoes, sandals, and comfortable shoes from Costco that were a good deal.

The good thing about getting this task done right away was that it needed to be done eventually; it kept me busy, and at the end of the day, I was tired enough to sleep well.  

Here & Now

Currently, I am still waiting for my monthly annuity to take effect.  I took a Gerontology class in University, and the one thing I remember from it was something that was very scary.  The professor said, "Many women are one husband away from poverty".  That really stuck with me.

I suspect that this will change, or at least improve, over time, but right now there are a lot of women depending on their husbands for their retirement income.  I'm in that group.  I have some retirement income of my own, but it is not even close to MH's retirement income.  Luckily, he took care of me. He took a smaller monthly payout in order to provide me with a higher survivor's annuity.  I filed the claim over 2 months ago and am still waiting for it to be processed.  The last deposit MH received was the day he died.  It didn't take any time at all before the deposit was called back and returned to his employer.   I am fortunate in that I am able to get along for however long it takes for my annuity to start.  I am so aware that many women would be financially devastated while waiting for their survivor benefits to start.  I think women need to be aware of this and prepare for that possibility.

I'm trying to figure out what my life will be like moving forward.  What do I want it to be like?  I feel like I can't move forward until this annuity thing is resolved.  Many women who find themselves widowed are trying to figure out who they are, independent of a husband.  I'm at the point that I'm asking myself if I need to figure out who I am.  I know that sounds kind of ridiculous, but seriously, do I know who I am, or do I need to find out? Just asking the question might actually answer it.

#survivor's annuity

#who am I 

#prepare for widowhood

The First Day

 As of this writing, it has been 72 days, 10 hours and 26 minutes since I officially became a widow. I'm not counting, but my phone is. Besides, I don't like that word.  After all, I don't look like a widow.  Whatever a widow looks like, I am sure I'm not that.  But that doesn't change the fact that I am a widow.

Twelve days prior to the time MH died, I had no idea he would have such a short time left in his life.  I think about that a lot. I knew the day would come.  MH was 11 years older than me.  So the odds were I would outlive him.   I was aware of that fact, and it whispered into my ear every now and again.  I tried to prepare myself for the inevitability of it so that whenever it happened, I could just enact a plan to deal with it.  My feelings about the plan (that never really existed) changed as I became a caregiver and then lived with the damage that was done to MH. 

Several years before my initiation into widowhood, I took over some responsibilities because MH was no longer able to do them.  I assumed responsibility for the business end of being married.  When we downsized and built a home that would be easier to "age in place", I handled everything from selling our existing home, building a new home, finding temporary housing between the selling and buying, and finally moving (twice). The only pressure he had was to heal, and I was OK with that.  I was happy to be confident enough to assume those responsibilities.  It's not like there were any other options anyway.

So I thought I was ahead of the game, and likely was, because I  already knew how to manage our lives. Two years prior, we took care of all the legal things that come into play with the death of either of us.  We had a trust set up, a living will, etc.  I was glad we had the conversation we did when we set up the living will because I knew exactly how he felt about living something that wasn't a quality life.  

I didn't have an initial panic.  I had a complex range of emotions. But I put them on the back burner because I had some things that needed to be taken care of first.  Our final arrangements had been taken care of quite a while ago.  So when MH died, I told the assisted living center which mortuary to call so there was little to do there.  I couldn't imagine if I had had to start deciding what to do at that point.  It would have been quite overwhelming.  

Neither one of us wanted a service so I didn't have that to deal with.  I really feel fortunate to not have to do these things at such a difficult time.  My main focus was "now what?" and what does my remaining life look like?

My strongest emotion at the time was how badly I felt for MH. He didn't deserve for his life to end the way it did.  It felt so cruel.  There was no dignity.  The delusions left him with such a distorted and false reality that he was truly tortured.  I will never be able to think about his last days without it tearing my heart to pieces.  The witnessing of his pain and his inability to control his actions, because he knew what he was doing, continues to be my strongest emotion.  I question whether I will ever be able to manage it. Death always feels unfair, but to have so much suffering beforehand is a hell of a thing to deal with.  I mourn the MH who used to be, not the one who caused me pain.  In the days before he died, I was able to tell him that I forgive him for all the bad things, because I knew it wasn't him.  It was a disease that was controlling him.  I think we both needed that conversation, so I'm glad the opportunity arose, however brief it was.  

#Living will
#Final Arrangements
#Preplanning
#Forgiveness

#Unfair death

#Suffering

#Delusions

Meet The Deceased

My husband was a good man . . .  until he wasn't.  This statement is true.  We were married ALMOST 34 years.  For most of that time, he was a really good man.  Not a perfect man by any means, but he was definitely a good man.  He always had my back and supported me in everything I did or wanted to do.  He was my #1 cheerleader.  He loved taking me places I had never been.  He was up for any adventure, including dancing lessons.  Just for the record, he was miserable every minute of those lessons. But he did it.  After the last lesson, we agreed that we weren't really "dance people".

His career was in a scientific field. He was widely respected in his field.  So many people would comment that he was the smartest person they had ever met.  This fact made what eventually happened even sadder than it already was.

What happened was, about 5 years ago, he started showing signs of something that looked like early dementia.  He was exhibiting mood swings and having trouble with memory and cognition.  Of course, he tried to hide all of this from me, but I probably realized it way before he did.  It progressed to where he struggled to dress himself.  Then it manifested itself in physical issues.  

The left part of his body wasn't working properly.  He continued to be in denial that anything was wrong until the day he fell off his e-bike 3 times on one ride.  On the third fall, he was unable to get up until a passing motorist stopped to offer assistance.  At that point, I stopped listening to his excuses and protests.  I contacted our doctor and she ordered an MRI.  On the drive home from the MRI, his cell phone rang, but he struggled to answer it and lost the call.  Once we got home, another call came through, and he was told he had a very large tumor on his brain, and he was directed to immediately go to the ER with the expectation of surgery.

It was a quiet drive that took about 20 minutes,  We were mostly lost in our own thoughts, but he made sure to instruct me on how to open the valve to the secondary water.  I told him he was just going to have to keep taking care of those things.

When we reached the ER, they were expecting us.  They did a thorough examination and had a neurosurgeon look at the MRI.  Long story short, he had a large meningioma on his brain and it had pushed the brain over the midpoint (which is what caused the left side of his body to not function properly).  However, they were quick to proclaim that it was not malignant.  That was a relief.  The next week, he had a craniotomy to remove the meningioma.  We thought we were home free!

After the surgery, he immediately started to regain many of the abilities he had lost.  He was left with a few "defects" (that is what the doctors called it).  His short-term memory was impacted, and he had a noticeable lack of emotional control.  After about 3 years, his ability to control his emotions had improved quite a bit.  All this time, he had been getting regular MRIs because there was a little piece of the tumor that they couldn't remove due to the proximity of an artery.  Despite radiation, every MRI showed continued growth.  We were steadily reassured that this very likely was because a slow-growing tumor was also a slow-dying tumor.  Finally, the radiology doctor consulted the neurosurgeon, and they decided my husband needed to see the neurosurgeon again.  

At that office call, the doctor explained that he could operate again, but the tumor didn't HAVE to be removed.  The assumption was that it wouldn't get big enough to cause a problem within my husband's expected lifetime.  But he said he wanted it out of his head and elected to have it removed.  That turned out to be a bad decision.

The surgery went well, and this time the whole tumor was removed.  My husband rebounded amazingly.  At 79 years old, he was in great physical shape, and he tolerated the surgery very well.   We were told that the defects from the prior surgery shouldn't be impacted by the second surgery, but it could.  By the next month, I was seeing issues that indicated to me that the emotional control issue was definitely impacted.  Things were getting pretty rough.  By the following month, it was a nightmare. He was no longer the man I knew.  Even though I was in a dangerous position, I hung in there, if for no other reason than I made the "sickness and health" promise.  The doctors were unsuccessfully trying to figure it out by treating the behavior.  One Sunday evening in May, he lost the strength in his legs.  He refused to see a doctor.  The following day, I said he was going to Instacare.  They checked him for a stroke and, not having an indication he had one, sent him to the ER for further evaluation.  He seemed to decline during the 6 hours we were in the ER.  They decided to admit him.  When I kissed him goodbye, I told him, "I'm sorry, babe, I never saw this coming".  

That night, he became unresponsive, and Rescue was called.  (I never was notified of this; I read it in his record after he died.)  Monday, they continued to monitor him, but I suspect they pretty much had figured it out.  The next day was Tuesday, and they told me he had hydrocephalus.  It was set in motion by the surgery 2 months prior.  I had to make a decision as to what should happen.  Initially, I thought they should go in (for a 3rd time) to drain the fluid.  That wouldn't necessarily be a permanent fix for the problem, and likely some brain damage had already occurred.  The behavior issues we were dealing with were caused by the delusions he had been having for at least a month.  A quiet, loving man had turned into someone who was delusional, angry, and a physical risk to me (I won't go into detail but it was very bad). At this point, the doctor said my husband was not going to have a quality of life even with surgery.  

The decision was made that he would be discharged into Hospice.  The following day, my 69th birthday, he was moved to an assisted living center.  Assisted living was a misnomer.  He was totally unable to care for himself, and I was not able to care for him at home.  

 I tried to get an idea from the doctors as to how long he had.  They wouldn't give me any kind of an answer, but when I met with the Hospice nurse, she said they told her he didn't have long.  It turned out that he had 9 days.  And during those last 9 days, he was tortured by more and worse delusions.  On the eighth day, when I went to see him (my sister was with me), he was unconscious and was struggling to breathe.  At 4:35am on the 9th day, we were with him when he drew his last breath.  His suffering was over.  

My husband. I will refer to him as MH.

 

#Meningioma

#Hydrocephalous

#Delusions

The First Step

 OK, this is going to be my first post.  Will it also be my last post? I'm not sure.  Years ago, I had a very active blog, but now I can't figure out how to do the simplest thing to make it look like a blog. Bear with me while I get up the courage to write the post I know I need to write.