I have tried several times since Ed's birthday to write again in the blog. Each time I gave up because I didn't want to depress anybody who might read it. I wish I could say I'm doing well, but too often it doesn't feel that way. I chat with the neighbors and smile, but as soon as I step back inside the house--and sometimes before I make it in the door--the grief becomes overwhelming again. I went to the Getcy family reunion last weekend (my mother's side) and managed not to break down in front of anybody except in the wee hours of the morning in the hotel room Melissa and I shared. Ed didn't go with me to the last Getcy reunion 6 years ago because he had his own Runk family reunion to attend in Ohio on the same day. As I looked around at everybody, I realized that some of my relatives Ed never met in person, yet we looked at pictures together and talked about everyone in both our families so much that we both felt like we knew them all. Gathering with family was his favorite thing to do--even beyond going to an Ohio State football game, and that's saying a lot! So I went to the reunion just as we had planned to go, and I was glad to see everybody. Since getting back, though, I don't have as good a rein on my emotions as I did the past few weeks. I don't like to admit it because I know friends and family who read this will end up worrying about me, and I don't want to cause that worry.
I was just interrupted by the doorbell, and frankly I wasn't going to answer because I know my eyes must look awful right now. But I did force myself to answer, and I just received a delivery of the most beautiful rose bouquet from Tim and Becky Sheehan, cousins of mine (on my Dad's side) in Elmhurst, IL--a "thinking of you" bouquet. While I wrote the paragraph above, I could barely manage to write through my tears and sobs, but these flowers and the note have helped to quiet me, so maybe there's hope for a better rest of the day.
Each day I plan to take care of at least one and sometimes two or three major tasks related to our estate and finances, etc., but every time I think I'm making some headway, something more piles on. For a break each day, I try to do some outdoor activity to take care of the lawn and gardens, but sometimes that just makes me miss Ed even more because those are things we always did together. Yesterday, I found out that an acquaintance, the wife of one of Ed's Household work friends, died on May 21. This friend is a little farther along in handling the grief and loss than I am, so having him say the grief is a little more tolerable for him now is encouraging for me, but having to send him condolences in response to his sending me condolences just does not seem fair.
I guess there is some good news to report: Finally, after all these weeks of going to the chiropractor frequently, my back is in pretty good shape and the residual numbness I have had especially in my left leg has subsided to the point where I can now go back on my once-a-month-checkup chiropractic routine. Also, I made plane reservations to go to Cedar Rapids August 9-13 to attend Melissa's baby shower on August 11, with plans to also paint the baby's room while I'm there. So that is something to look forward to. At least I am able to end this entry on a more positive note and without tears.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
July 3, Ed's birthday
Today is Ed's 72nd birthday. From the very first day I met him, no one ever guessed his real age; everyone always thought he was younger, probably because of his zest for life, his ready smile, and the bounce in his step. Even when we had his 70th birthday party/family reunion two years ago, people couldn't believe he was really 70. Ed always said the Independence Day fireworks that were held on July 3 were really a celebration of his birthday. So, fittingly, I'm going with Debbie and Tom tonight to see Red, White, and Boom, the Columbus fireworks. We all went together last year to see them. In fact, I always suspected that Ed put off buying his new Buick until July 6 last year so that we still had the Buick that could hold six people, so that he and I and Debbie, Tom, Tommy and Annie could all go to the fireworks in one car.
I remember Ed bringing me and Melissa to Columbus for the July 4 holiday back in 1985. That was the first time we saw fireworks here. He really wanted to impress me, so he took us to the Upper Arlington 4th of July parade--with Woody Hayes as the Parade Marshall! It became a standing joke with us that I was supposed to be really impressed by seeing Woody in person, except I wasn't really. Attending that parade whenever we could was important to Ed, a tie back to happy times with his kids, some of whom now take their own kids (and grandkids in Judi's case) to the parade each year. I don't think I can handle going to that parade tomorrow, however.
I have had a rough time, almost non-stop, since Friday of last week. Everything little thing seems to trigger tears. I thought maybe writing in the blog again would help. I don't really want to spend Ed's whole birthday crying. I went to the cemetery this morning and left Ed's favorite flower, red roses, and one of the small flags he used to put in our garden on national holidays. His veteran's grave marker won't come for several weeks yet, so I thought this was a way to commemorate his birthday and the holiday he loved and mark his gravesite the way other veterans' sites are marked. I also spent some time this morning looking at old pictures. I don't know what else I can do to feel close to him, but I feel like I have to keep trying. I guess I've moved to that next stage where the grief is all-consuming.
To anyone who is reading this, I apologize if this seems overly sentimental or excessive in any way. Hospice sent me some materials about how to live with grief, and I'm trying to follow the suggestions. The first is acknowledging that you don't get over grief but learn to live with it. Writing this journal is supposed to be helpful, as is being with family and friends. The crying they say is a normal reaction and a healthy emotional release. The loneliness and depression have become more intense, just as the booklet said it would. They warn against using alcohol or drugs to cope because they tend to mask or prolong the grieving process; I never did fill the prescriptions my doctor gave me after Ed's diagnosis and I still won't. Talking with grief counselors is another suggestion. The next grief support group sponsored by Hospice starts August 1 and goes into mid-September, and I will probably participate. There are more suggestions that I'm not quite ready for yet. I am trying to be helpful, however, to my next-door neighbor. Butch has been battling pancreatic cancer for years, and he has finally made the decision not to have chemo anymore as his body has been so worn down by his past years of treatments, complicated by the fact that having his pancreas removed 6 years ago made him a diabetic. He and Sherry arranged for the same hospice group that Ed and I had. I am trying to give them the benefit of Ed's and my experience and trying to be supportive of them. While at first I thought this would only make me sadder, instead I do feel like I'm returning the favor of Butch's support of Ed from Ed's diagnosis on. I think helping Butch and Sherry and their family is what Ed would want me to do.
When I started writing this, I didn't think I'd have so much to say. I guess it is therapeutic to write. I just noticed that the blog site automatically adds a signature of "Posted by Ed/Joan" at the end of the message. I can't see where to change this to just my name, but maybe having Ed's name still on the blog is OK, another way to remember him.
I remember Ed bringing me and Melissa to Columbus for the July 4 holiday back in 1985. That was the first time we saw fireworks here. He really wanted to impress me, so he took us to the Upper Arlington 4th of July parade--with Woody Hayes as the Parade Marshall! It became a standing joke with us that I was supposed to be really impressed by seeing Woody in person, except I wasn't really. Attending that parade whenever we could was important to Ed, a tie back to happy times with his kids, some of whom now take their own kids (and grandkids in Judi's case) to the parade each year. I don't think I can handle going to that parade tomorrow, however.
I have had a rough time, almost non-stop, since Friday of last week. Everything little thing seems to trigger tears. I thought maybe writing in the blog again would help. I don't really want to spend Ed's whole birthday crying. I went to the cemetery this morning and left Ed's favorite flower, red roses, and one of the small flags he used to put in our garden on national holidays. His veteran's grave marker won't come for several weeks yet, so I thought this was a way to commemorate his birthday and the holiday he loved and mark his gravesite the way other veterans' sites are marked. I also spent some time this morning looking at old pictures. I don't know what else I can do to feel close to him, but I feel like I have to keep trying. I guess I've moved to that next stage where the grief is all-consuming.
To anyone who is reading this, I apologize if this seems overly sentimental or excessive in any way. Hospice sent me some materials about how to live with grief, and I'm trying to follow the suggestions. The first is acknowledging that you don't get over grief but learn to live with it. Writing this journal is supposed to be helpful, as is being with family and friends. The crying they say is a normal reaction and a healthy emotional release. The loneliness and depression have become more intense, just as the booklet said it would. They warn against using alcohol or drugs to cope because they tend to mask or prolong the grieving process; I never did fill the prescriptions my doctor gave me after Ed's diagnosis and I still won't. Talking with grief counselors is another suggestion. The next grief support group sponsored by Hospice starts August 1 and goes into mid-September, and I will probably participate. There are more suggestions that I'm not quite ready for yet. I am trying to be helpful, however, to my next-door neighbor. Butch has been battling pancreatic cancer for years, and he has finally made the decision not to have chemo anymore as his body has been so worn down by his past years of treatments, complicated by the fact that having his pancreas removed 6 years ago made him a diabetic. He and Sherry arranged for the same hospice group that Ed and I had. I am trying to give them the benefit of Ed's and my experience and trying to be supportive of them. While at first I thought this would only make me sadder, instead I do feel like I'm returning the favor of Butch's support of Ed from Ed's diagnosis on. I think helping Butch and Sherry and their family is what Ed would want me to do.
When I started writing this, I didn't think I'd have so much to say. I guess it is therapeutic to write. I just noticed that the blog site automatically adds a signature of "Posted by Ed/Joan" at the end of the message. I can't see where to change this to just my name, but maybe having Ed's name still on the blog is OK, another way to remember him.
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