Thursday, September 27, 2007
The new addition will soon be here
Tomorrow is the day Melissa will be induced. Perhaps before day's end tomorrow there will be a new life in this world--and doesn't she and all of us hope this won't be two days of labor! This is supposed to be a time of excitement and anticipation, and to some degree for me, it is. But it is an unusual mix of other emotions for me as well. Mark used the phrase "lack of spontaneity" tonight when I was trying to express how different this experience seemed. There's no surprise element of going into labor, though the big surprise will be to find out the sex of this child. I suppose the list-making Ed was always doing and the organizing gene I seem to have passed on to Melissa would say that it's appropriate to have the birth planned like this, right down to the list of who is going to call whom with the news. My excitement is tempered, however. I'm worried about Melissa and the baby, how she will bear up especially if it's a long labor, how the doctors will keep her blood sugar under control during labor and afterwards, whether there will be any ill effects on the baby from having a diabetic mother, how easily and quickly she and the baby will recover. Melissa has taken such good care of herself throughout her pregnancy and has had good medical care, so I shouldn't worry so much, but I have been and am still worrying. Then I think so much about Ed not being here to share this experience with me. Sure, he had many grandchildren, most of them born after we met. So I know his elation at each one's birth. But I think the birth of this baby would have been different for us. Perhaps that is self-centered thinking, but we talked so much about this baby in the first few months of this year, not just with each other but with Melissa, and that didn't happen while we awaited the births of his grandchildren. Back in the spring, I prayed so hard that medical intervention would stem Ed's cancer long enough for him to feel good and be able to be here in Iowa for this birth and to get to know this baby. I feel like we were cheated out of this happiness, and I'm sometimes angry about that as well as so sad about it. I'm sure this mix of emotions will still be within me as this child is born, but I hope the joy will take over so I can share in Melissa and Mark's happiness.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
College football season
Today is the start of the Big Ten college football season. As I heard all the hype the last two weeks, I thought that I couldn't bring myself to be interested in college football now. It was such a big deal to Ed, especially Ohio State football, and we literally planned our weekends around the televised games. We made a point of seeing every Ohio State and Penn State game on TV that we could, and since we moved to Columbus, we managed to see both teams in action in person a couple of times each season, both here in Columbus and in State College. Back in Iowa, our Penn State group was like family to us, and I've thought that if I had that closeness, then I could watch and enjoy a game. But I don't have that here.
I didn't really realize how much I was dreading the college football season until it hit me while at my support group Wednesday evening. There's no way to avoid Buckeye fanaticism around here, and I have lost my buffer. Any time I was in Penn State garb, Ed would be wearing Ohio State stuff--except when even he was showing his Penn State pride. I can't bring myself to decorate the living room windows with decals the way I used to, one window Ohio State and the other Penn State. The first year we moved here, that and the Go Bucks sign in the yard caught neighbors' attention as they walked by and usually they would comment. I wonder if anyone will notice the lack of school decor this season.
Neither the Penn State nor Ohio State games are on cable TV here, and I have no desire to go to the bar where the local Penn State alums are supposed to gather to watch via satellite. The place will undoubtedly be filled with Buckeyes because their game is at the same time as Penn State's and will be on most of the TVs at the bar. I guess I will force myself to watch at least some of the games that are on TV and see how it goes. Here's an odd thought: if someone cries over football, it's usually after a big loss, not before a game has started. Guess I'm an exception.
I didn't really realize how much I was dreading the college football season until it hit me while at my support group Wednesday evening. There's no way to avoid Buckeye fanaticism around here, and I have lost my buffer. Any time I was in Penn State garb, Ed would be wearing Ohio State stuff--except when even he was showing his Penn State pride. I can't bring myself to decorate the living room windows with decals the way I used to, one window Ohio State and the other Penn State. The first year we moved here, that and the Go Bucks sign in the yard caught neighbors' attention as they walked by and usually they would comment. I wonder if anyone will notice the lack of school decor this season.
Neither the Penn State nor Ohio State games are on cable TV here, and I have no desire to go to the bar where the local Penn State alums are supposed to gather to watch via satellite. The place will undoubtedly be filled with Buckeyes because their game is at the same time as Penn State's and will be on most of the TVs at the bar. I guess I will force myself to watch at least some of the games that are on TV and see how it goes. Here's an odd thought: if someone cries over football, it's usually after a big loss, not before a game has started. Guess I'm an exception.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Our Anniversary
Today, August 9, is our 21st wedding anniversary. I am writing this from Melissa and Mark's computer because this afternoon I flew to Cedar Rapids. Melissa's baby shower is Saturday, and Friday (tomorrow) I will paint the baby's room. As I planned this trip, I deliberately chose to come to Cedar Rapids today so that I would not be alone the entire day of our anniversary. I figured I would have the morning and part of the afternoon to be alone with my thoughts and memories and tears, to visit the cemetery and take Ed's favorite flower, a red rose, and then be distracted by the travel to get through the rest of the day. All that did happen, but much more happened that caused more tears but also was very comforting.
This morning I had a phone call from my next-door neighbor Sherry who was recently widowed. She is spending 10 days in Florida with a friend and I have been looking after her house while she is gone. I thought she was calling just to see how everything was at her place, but she was also calling to see how I was. She remembered today is our anniversary. I was touched by her call and her concern, and she gave me words of encouragement that meant so much to me because of her own recent loss. Then I checked my e-mail and found a message of comfort and encouragement from Ed's daughter Sherry. Of course I cried even more all the way driving to the cemetery. When I got there, I found the most thoughtful, touching gesture that I never, ever expected. There was a bouquet of 21 beautiful red roses with ferns and baby's breath and a card that read "Thinking of you and Uncle Ed always." It was from Pat, Ed's niece. She knew I would be going to the cemetery, and she hoped finding the roses would be a comfort. I was so taken by this gift that I literally stopped crying. I was just that stunned. I called Pat when I got home, and she told me to think of those roses as coming from Ed because he would want me to have roses on our anniversary. It was just the most beautiful thing anyone could have done for me today. My neighbor Ann, who used to have her own floral business, gave me some special solution to dip the cut stems of the roses in that will help preserve them so they will still be beautiful when I get back Monday.
I had cried so much in the days leading up to today, just because I knew our anniversary was coming. I feel as though I've made it through this day the best I could. I'm determined to focus on the joys of the baby shower this weekend, just as my neighbor Sherry said I should.
I have now been to two support group sessions, called Steps Toward Healing, sponsored by the hospice that helped us. We meet Wednesday evenings for 8 weeks and can attend more sessions if we like. Those meetings seem to help even though only a few of the people have lost spouses; most have lost a parent, a few have lost a sibling. The issues that come up, though, have all been pertinent to me so far. It's helpful to hear how other people are dealing with their grief and loneliness as well as all the necessary things that have to be done to keep living life. I'm hopeful that I am taking the right steps to heal and be the person Ed wants me to be.
This morning I had a phone call from my next-door neighbor Sherry who was recently widowed. She is spending 10 days in Florida with a friend and I have been looking after her house while she is gone. I thought she was calling just to see how everything was at her place, but she was also calling to see how I was. She remembered today is our anniversary. I was touched by her call and her concern, and she gave me words of encouragement that meant so much to me because of her own recent loss. Then I checked my e-mail and found a message of comfort and encouragement from Ed's daughter Sherry. Of course I cried even more all the way driving to the cemetery. When I got there, I found the most thoughtful, touching gesture that I never, ever expected. There was a bouquet of 21 beautiful red roses with ferns and baby's breath and a card that read "Thinking of you and Uncle Ed always." It was from Pat, Ed's niece. She knew I would be going to the cemetery, and she hoped finding the roses would be a comfort. I was so taken by this gift that I literally stopped crying. I was just that stunned. I called Pat when I got home, and she told me to think of those roses as coming from Ed because he would want me to have roses on our anniversary. It was just the most beautiful thing anyone could have done for me today. My neighbor Ann, who used to have her own floral business, gave me some special solution to dip the cut stems of the roses in that will help preserve them so they will still be beautiful when I get back Monday.
I had cried so much in the days leading up to today, just because I knew our anniversary was coming. I feel as though I've made it through this day the best I could. I'm determined to focus on the joys of the baby shower this weekend, just as my neighbor Sherry said I should.
I have now been to two support group sessions, called Steps Toward Healing, sponsored by the hospice that helped us. We meet Wednesday evenings for 8 weeks and can attend more sessions if we like. Those meetings seem to help even though only a few of the people have lost spouses; most have lost a parent, a few have lost a sibling. The issues that come up, though, have all been pertinent to me so far. It's helpful to hear how other people are dealing with their grief and loneliness as well as all the necessary things that have to be done to keep living life. I'm hopeful that I am taking the right steps to heal and be the person Ed wants me to be.
Friday, July 20, 2007
5 weeks tomorrow
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.
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.
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.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Tomorrow is one week
It's hard to believe that tomorrow will be one week since Ed died. I'm not sure everyone who would want to know of his death has even found out yet. However, cards are coming each day from all over the country, and the Dispatch.com guest book now includes messages from our Penn State friends who live far and wide. I even had a card and note today from Ed's secretary from probably more than 30 years ago; she said he was the best boss she ever had. Amazing how word does spread.
I started to write my thoughts about the viewing and funeral yesterday, but then I couldn't bring them together. So I'll give it a try now. The guest book at the funeral home has exactly 100 names in it. Ed would have liked the fact that I counted. It's something he would have done. We estimated there were 50 people at the house after the funeral, again estimating a crowd size was something he always did. I had carefully selected the music and readings for the Mass of Christian Burial, and for the most part the priest and choir followed through. The choir did a beautiful meditation, almost a Gregorian chant-like piece, after Communion that I didn't know about, but I appreciated the words and music. One thing I did not understand was the direction Father Brosmer's homily took. It started out fine in praising Ed's life and offering comfort to us, and I understood the ultimate message of encouraging us to do something good in memory of this good man, but when he launched into a litany of sorts of drastic sins and misdeeds that should be corrected, that I found out of place. My sister said maybe he has a standard funeral homily and he only adjusts the opening for each occasion. If that's true, I need to get on the Bereavement Committee at church and forewarn people! (That's an attempt at humor, meager though it is.) I asked my cousin Carole and her husband Ron Lapinsky to bring the gifts up to the altar during Mass. Besides the fact that Ed really enjoyed talking with Ron back in January at my Aunt Lou's funeral and that he knew how much I think of Carole as my big sister, Carole's frequent e-mails were comforting to both of us. I saw their participation at the Mass as a way of thanking them for their support and for traveling to be here. I'm also glad that I named honorary pall bearers. Ed decided he wanted six of his grandsons as pall bearers, and I'm very glad that Josh, Jeremy, Rob, Tommy, Kurt,and Kyle were willing, but I just knew, had we thought of it as we talked about what he wanted, that he would have wanted to show his honor and respect and love for his close friends, too: his life-long friends Larry Clements and Tom Gibbons from the Cincinnati area, and his closest friends from Norwalk, IA, Tom Greteman, Dave Hixenbaugh, Duane Frideres, and Joe Zerfas.
I really like the place at the cemetery that I chose for him, very near the tall flagpole and monument to veterans. Marie (my sister) and I went to the cemetery Thursday--she did not want me going there alone my first time. I was OK there. The gravesite was leveled out already and the flowers were still fresh-looking despite the heat of the day. We were lucky to have had a gorgeous, comfortable day for the funeral Wednesday.
Having everyone come to the house for a light lunch was exactly the kind of gathering Ed enjoyed--informal with good food. The informality at the viewing Tuesday evening was also the way he would have liked.
I read something online about the stages of grief, a different description than the Kubler Ross stages of grief that many people know. One I found seemed to fit me better: Numbness, Disorganization, Reorganization. I'm definitely in the numbness stage right now. I'm trying to go about the tasks of settling the estate in a methodical way, starting with preparing for my meeting with the estate attorney on Monday. I occasionally break down and ask no one in particular "Why" and "How do I go on." I can't stop thinking how unfair this is to Ed, to me, and to our family. The next stage is when someone completely loses herself to the grief, then the final stage is pulling yourself back together and finding your way in life. Although there are these stages, there is no timetable for when they hit or how long they take to get through.
I'm suddenly very tired--perhaps from the muscle relaxer I took 2 hours ago because my back has flared up again pretty badly. Thanks to all of you who came to the viewing and/or funeral. It means a lot to all of Ed's family to know how much you care. Thank you all for reading the blog. Even though I'm not necessarily writing about Ed now, this blog still makes me feel closer to him. I hope it does for you, too.
I started to write my thoughts about the viewing and funeral yesterday, but then I couldn't bring them together. So I'll give it a try now. The guest book at the funeral home has exactly 100 names in it. Ed would have liked the fact that I counted. It's something he would have done. We estimated there were 50 people at the house after the funeral, again estimating a crowd size was something he always did. I had carefully selected the music and readings for the Mass of Christian Burial, and for the most part the priest and choir followed through. The choir did a beautiful meditation, almost a Gregorian chant-like piece, after Communion that I didn't know about, but I appreciated the words and music. One thing I did not understand was the direction Father Brosmer's homily took. It started out fine in praising Ed's life and offering comfort to us, and I understood the ultimate message of encouraging us to do something good in memory of this good man, but when he launched into a litany of sorts of drastic sins and misdeeds that should be corrected, that I found out of place. My sister said maybe he has a standard funeral homily and he only adjusts the opening for each occasion. If that's true, I need to get on the Bereavement Committee at church and forewarn people! (That's an attempt at humor, meager though it is.) I asked my cousin Carole and her husband Ron Lapinsky to bring the gifts up to the altar during Mass. Besides the fact that Ed really enjoyed talking with Ron back in January at my Aunt Lou's funeral and that he knew how much I think of Carole as my big sister, Carole's frequent e-mails were comforting to both of us. I saw their participation at the Mass as a way of thanking them for their support and for traveling to be here. I'm also glad that I named honorary pall bearers. Ed decided he wanted six of his grandsons as pall bearers, and I'm very glad that Josh, Jeremy, Rob, Tommy, Kurt,and Kyle were willing, but I just knew, had we thought of it as we talked about what he wanted, that he would have wanted to show his honor and respect and love for his close friends, too: his life-long friends Larry Clements and Tom Gibbons from the Cincinnati area, and his closest friends from Norwalk, IA, Tom Greteman, Dave Hixenbaugh, Duane Frideres, and Joe Zerfas.
I really like the place at the cemetery that I chose for him, very near the tall flagpole and monument to veterans. Marie (my sister) and I went to the cemetery Thursday--she did not want me going there alone my first time. I was OK there. The gravesite was leveled out already and the flowers were still fresh-looking despite the heat of the day. We were lucky to have had a gorgeous, comfortable day for the funeral Wednesday.
Having everyone come to the house for a light lunch was exactly the kind of gathering Ed enjoyed--informal with good food. The informality at the viewing Tuesday evening was also the way he would have liked.
I read something online about the stages of grief, a different description than the Kubler Ross stages of grief that many people know. One I found seemed to fit me better: Numbness, Disorganization, Reorganization. I'm definitely in the numbness stage right now. I'm trying to go about the tasks of settling the estate in a methodical way, starting with preparing for my meeting with the estate attorney on Monday. I occasionally break down and ask no one in particular "Why" and "How do I go on." I can't stop thinking how unfair this is to Ed, to me, and to our family. The next stage is when someone completely loses herself to the grief, then the final stage is pulling yourself back together and finding your way in life. Although there are these stages, there is no timetable for when they hit or how long they take to get through.
I'm suddenly very tired--perhaps from the muscle relaxer I took 2 hours ago because my back has flared up again pretty badly. Thanks to all of you who came to the viewing and/or funeral. It means a lot to all of Ed's family to know how much you care. Thank you all for reading the blog. Even though I'm not necessarily writing about Ed now, this blog still makes me feel closer to him. I hope it does for you, too.
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