Thinking about changes

Today I was thinking about all the changes that have occurred in my life in 2007 so far. It's rather overwhelming. Some are minor changes, but obviously others were and are major and are influencing the course of my life.

Maybe I got to thinking about such things because I sold my car today. I loved my Buick from the first time I saw it and drove it--I especially loved the sun roof. But practicality said that keeping two cars was ridiculous from an expense standpoint, and mine was a 1999 versus Ed's 2006 Buick, so mine was the one to go. It was surprisingly easy to find a buyer--it's a guy from my support group. During one recent meeting we all started talking about our frustrations with so much paperwork involved in settling an estate, not feeling up to dealing with auto service and plumbers and other household things, not knowing what to do with excess cars. I jumped in and said that I had a car that I'd probably be selling, and people started asking me about it. The group facilitator wasn't too happy with the way the discussion was going and told us to take our swap meet to the lobby during the break. I had been putting off going to the Bureau of Motor Vehicles to change the titles on both cars from our two names to just my name. Then, I had motivation to get that done. The guy sitting next to me at group asked me about the car during the break. He looked at it last week before group and brought his daughter to see and drive it on Sunday. He thought my asking price was fair--I showed him the Kelly Blue Book and the NADA values for a private sale. (Undoubtedly, Ed would say I didn't ask enough since the sale went so easily, but he'd say it with a smile.) Then tonight the guy brought me the check, and his daughter drove off with a big smile on her face. So what Melissa referred to as my "old lady car" is now proudly driven by a rather young lady. Ironically, at last week's support group during the break, a woman asked me whether my car was still for sale. Her husband might be interested, she said. So I even had a backup possible sale.

Two weeks ago I had a new roof put on the house. I know some people say not to make major decisions for a year after you lose someone, but since May I have been dealing with the insurance company about probable hail damage to the roof from a storm last fall. All my surrounding neighbors had their roofs replaced, paid for by their insurance companies. In May, Ed wasn't well enough to meet with any contractors, so I did with some help from my next-door neighbor, Bill Morgan. Despite having two go-rounds with two different insurance adjusters, one in May and one in July, and having roofers try to make my case to them as well, State Farm would not budge from the opinion that yes, there was hail damage to all the window screens and the roof ridge vent and the air conditioner fins, but there was no hail damage to the roof shingles. Ed and I had talked about replacing the roof a while ago because there were actually two different shingles up there--the original on the upper roof and a newer shingle on the lower roof as a result of a leak the original owner had, except the lower shingles were a different color. So considering that all the roofers who inspected the roof said the old shingles should be replaced and that my neighbors all had roof damage, I decided to replace the roof. I looked at the whole thing as an investment in selling the house in the future. Never did I foresee that some day I would have to handle this kind of situation.

Another major change coming up is the birth of Melissa and Mark's baby. Back in January when Melissa first told me she was pretty sure she was pregnant, Ed and I talked about how much more often we would travel to Iowa once the baby was born. His wish after retiring was to get back to where most of his kids and grandkids were, and that was why we moved to Columbus. He promised I would see this grandbaby as often as I wanted despite the distance. When we got his diagnosis, we talked about his fighting the cancer so that he could see "our newest grandchild." Ed was going to be "PaPaw," the name his first grandchild bestowed on him. I never had Ed's grandchildren call me "Grandma" but rather "Joni." This new baby, however, means I can't escape being called grandmother, or "Grammy" as I told Melissa and Mark.

So many other things are different about my life now. I hate being in church alone. I tried once to eat out alone but was totally uncomfortable. I have new acquaintances from the support group, but our bond is our sorrow and loneliness--not the way I would prefer to make friends. I'm so conscious of leaning on Melissa and my neighbors, and I try not to overdo that from their perspective. I feel like I have to think in terms of backup plans all the time--for instance, what I'd do if I locked myself out of the car or the house, what I will do if I get sick. The worst change to adjust to is not having anyone to talk with spontaneously and when there is a decision to be made. A handout from a workshop I went to on loneliness asked questions about "Who is your personal team?" It was supposed to be helpful in making me figure out who I can go to for help in a variety of areas both personal and financial, but the questions mostly pointed out to me that it takes at least 10 people to replace that one person that I relied on so much, and even 10 couldn't fill all the roles Ed was to me.

Tomorrow at the support group, we are to bring something that represents what our relationship was like with our loved one. When that was announced, I knew instantly what I would bring: the Ohio State and Penn State mascots and the picture of the cake from our picnic celebrating our wedding. The cake was decorated with "OSU" in red intertwined with "PSU" in blue. It also read, "Eat your heart out. We're married!" That's what our matching T-shirts said, too. Ed always got a laugh from people by telling them we had a "mixed marriage," and I'm sure everyone tomorrow evening will get a kick out of hearing that since they are mostly Buckeyes and they know I'm a Nittany Lion.

All this deep thinking about changes probably suggests I'm pretty much down in the dumps, but really I think I have been doing better for a couple of weeks now. I still cry but not as often and not with such gut-wrenching intensity. I'm sleeping a little better at night, sometimes even straight through for 6 hours. Once in a while, I can look at a picture of Ed and smile. I still feel the loneliness intensely and I miss Ed beyond all words, but I know I'm not the only one going through stuff like this. I guess those are all good things.