Saturday, March 5, 2011

plodding on

Got a job offer at Prudential yesterday.  I met with my financial guys, who I've worked with for several years, who know my 'financial' story.  They told me about a meeting with young business women the night before, advising them on investing early and consistently.  I said if they ever needed a live testimonial, let me know because I'm passionate about 'what not to do.'  That's when he said he'd like to hire me to talk to women especially, and would I like to see the desk I would have if I took the job.  Part time while I continued teaching; etc.
food for thought

My first grief counseling session came next.  What is it that as soon as she starts talking, I melt?  In a puddle?  But in a very good, needed way.  There are things I'm already doing well.  I need to stay open to the idea that if I go back to school and then decide I can't finish, it's ok.  She said I'm not ready for group counseling because at group, you hear others' stories and problems, and right now, I need to focus on mine.  She's right.  When people I don't know very well start in on their experiences, I glaze over. 
The reason I slept SO well the first week or so was from exhaustion, but now the major exhaustion is over and my body still thinks it needs to wake up every hour or so to give medicine, which is why I wake up a lot in the night.  This, too, shall pass.  I do need to get on a sleep pattern close to what I have when I work.  As it is now, I can hardly stay up until 11 p.m. because of not getting good sleep the night before.  When I try to nap during the day, I usually can't.  I rest but not sleep.
It's good I blog at night to empty my mind before sleeping.
While I'm out of school, I'm going to counseling every week.  It was very good.

Georgena and Dana want to go to Daytona next weekend. 

Worked in the yard three days this week and it felt wonderful.  The bradford pears, camilias, fuscia, and spirea are blooming spectacularly. 

Wednesday, March 2, 2011


Thank you notes are like rabbits.  They multiply uncontrollably.  As soon as I think I've made a dent in them, the list mocks me. 

Got the ten copies of John's death certificate. 

Called my roofer to make an appointment for an estimate on getting the roof redone.  First time since the original.  Almost 60 years is a great record.  And I need them to patch the gunshot puncture in the flat roof they redid a couple of years ago.  Yea, a bullet was there when I went up to take pictures of the beautifully blooming tree tops.  A 308.  My favorite caliber.  Who knows.......................................Yes, it's been fired, probably into the air and happened to land on my roof.

A person's handwriting is so important, especially after they're gone.  It is the essence of them left behind.  Like a piece of clothing still holding their smell.  It makes it seem as though they're still around.  Like they haven't left.  Their mark on the world.  Proof of their existence.  

A couple of days ago, while getting the riding mower ready for another season, I remembered last summer.  John was working, slowly, but regularly.  When I would mow, even if I had my cell with me in my pocket, I couldn't feel it vibrating because of the mower's motion, nor could I hear it because of the noise.  To be able to get John's call should he need me, I taped a ziplok bag to the steering wheel and put my cell in it to be able to see the face light up.   There was a little lurch of the heart when I realized I didn't need to do that anymore.

One night during the time John used the shower chair to bathe, I set it by the tub while I took a bubble bath.  He came in and sat on it, wiggled his fingers in the water looking for the wash cloth.  I handed it to him and he washed my back like I did his.  When he started to put the rag back in the water, I stuck my foot up for him to wash, too.  And the other one.  He got a kick out of it.  He didn't have a lot of words that night, but I knew he was "paying me back" for all the times I'd bathed him. 
It's little happenings such as this that I'm remembering lately.  Something I do or see in the house brings back memories of goofy things we did together while I've been off work, or as the seasons change now, I think of how it was a year ago.

Starting grief counseling with Hospice this Friday. 

Friends are still coming to visit. 
great friends

Sunday, February 27, 2011

it's not about me; it's not about you

John's memorial was absolutely perfect.  The soundman was able to get the videos to work, everyone who spoke honored John's humor, zest for life, and love of Christ.  There were so many people from each aspect of his life: childhood, school, business colleagues and property owners, church.  It was a great tribute to a great life.  The message resounded:  it's not about John or his illness or even his life.  It's about God and Christ's redemption available to us as fallen, sinful creatures.  Therein lies our hope.

The other night I stared at the stars and wondered where heaven really is.  Having seen the documentary on the Hubble Space Telescope and the eons of universes out there, it makes heaven seem almost impossible to find.  How can a person take one breath on earth and their next be in heaven?  These are questions I've pondered before, but now that John is there it is more urgent to me to find answers.  Of course there is a whole lot of trust needed in these concepts.  After the memorial service I voiced my 'where is heaven' question to a very good friend with whom John enjoyed talking about God.  My friend thinks heaven is another dimension.  I can wrap my mind around that.  good answer

The Whataburgers at the reception were a hit, especially with the guys.  And talk about grown men was touching to see the expression of emotion for how deeply John touched others.  My school went above and wayyyyyyy beyond in supplying food for the reception.  Even the church ladies were surprised.

I'm sure I'll be processing the memorial for a while.  It was amazing once again how God orchestrates events to perfection.

remembrance table