Single Girl Chronicles - Mowing

So last night I decided that I would (finally) mow. I hate mowing. Hate it. And while I am a liberated gal who believes in the fair and equal distribution of labor without regard to gender, mowing is a BOY job. Like taking out the trash and killing things. BOY jobs, all of them.

But there are no boys in my house. And there will not be any boys in my house... unless I get a boy dog, but I'm pretty sure that he will not see mowing as one of his duties.

So I got home from class and cleared the larger tree droppings from my yard (seriously, my trees shed enough that if I had a fireplace I could be warm all winter) and then went around back to get the mower. In the front yard there are two large trees that provide lovely shade... and apparently keep the grass under control. It was scruffy but not obscene.

Since I'm not smoking anymore I haven't really been out in the back yard for a long time and it was quite a shock to be standing in it.

I had to wade through knee-high grass to get to the shed. No lie. There was grass up to my knees.

So I decided to mow the back yard first.

It took and hour. Just the back yard. Took an hour.
Then I was red-faced (with green legs) and sweating like a... well... like a boy. So I decided that the front could wait. No sense in stroking out in the front yard in front of all the neighbors.

I drank a hundred gallons of water, rinsed off in the shower, turned the a/c down nice and low and collapsed on the bed until my heart was beating at a nice, normal pace and the ringing in my ears stopped.

Maybe I should hire a boy. Just for the grass. Or I could get a boy llama. They're just big dogs that eat grass, right?!?

Therapy Schmerapy

So I was at the bookstore yesterday afternoon and I ran into my therapist. Well I ran into the guy who is a therapist who I saw twice and then cancelled my next appointment and have been avoiding ever since. He was, of course, an absolute professional. We made eye contact, he raised an eyebrow, and then he said nothing and made no other indication that he knew me. I said nothing and walked out of the bookstore and then realized that I was sweating. Big rivers of sweat. I also was not breathing very well.

Running into my therapist on a particularly fragile day and then having a little panic attack about it is not an accident.

There are no accidents.

I sometimes think I should go back to see him (or at least someone). But the truth is I can't want to. I think I am processing things fairly well and I think that a little fragility is called for some days. I am watching for signs of a larger breakdown and things are looking pretty good on that front.

I was having a conversation about therapy with some friends just this past weekend... and we sort of came to the conclusion that we are intelligent women (and two of us are reformed English Majors whose ENTIRE JOB in school was to identify and track thematic significance) and we can certainly try to process the things in our lives without much intervention from the outside (professional) world.

OK. Yes. In the not so distant future I do aspire to be a therapist... but hear me out.

If you are a relatively healthy person and you have a cold you do not go to the doctor. You drink plenty of fluids and get lots of rest and you deal with it.
If you are a relatively healthy person and you have the flu you do not go to the doctor. You take a few days off work, get plenty of fluids, lots of rest and you deal with it.
If, on the other hand, you are a relatively healthy person and you have had flu-like symptoms for a month and you have been resting and getting lots of fluids and you don't feel any better at all then you might seek the opinion of a professional who is trained to deal with stuff like that.
AND EVEN THEN there might be no clear-cut answers.

So if you are a relatively healthy, self-actualized person who is depressed and you are taking your prescribed medication and you hit a rough patch you might just want to take care of yourself a little and see what happens. If it gets better, great! If it gets worse or intrudes on your life you might want to seek the opinion of a professional who is trained to deal with stuff like that.
And I can absolutely guarantee there will be no clear-cut answers there.

I am a relatively healthy self-actualized person. I am taking my medication. I have the love and support of my family, my friends and my employer... even my ex-husband asks me from time to time how things are going.

In my grief group there were people who honestly did not know that bottling up your emotions is counterproductive and generally leads to more problems.
At my other job there was a client who was going through a divorce, his mother had just died and his lover had just left him... and he couldn't figure out why he was so sad.

So in this - as with all things - know yourself. Know your signs and habits. Know when you need to ask for help and when you can heal your own wounds.

Am I saying, "Hey all of you! Fire your therapists and deal with your own shit!!"
Nope.
I am saying that for me, right now, therapy is not something I want. That may change. For my friend quitting therapy might be a great idea - and it may not. She will have to try it and see how it goes.

Or I could totally be in denial.

Overwhelming

I still want to cry... Good crying, though.
I was presented with this on Saturday: My knitting (and crocheting) friends from Twist got together and knitted (and crocheted) these squares and then Shelly put them together. It's a "big hug" for when I am sad. Good timing y'all. I have been pretty sad.

It's so beautiful and warm and it reminds me that I am loved and cared for by so many people. And also cats.

The night Jeff died I felt so completely alone. Standing in my den with the body, waiting for the paramedics, not knowing what my life was going to look like anymore. What would this do to Bean? Would I finish school? Would they arrest me? Would we ever be able to come home again? Would I be able to make it through that day? And the next? And the next?

All through that day my friends came and called and held me and brought me water and reminded me to eat and sleep. All through that week I was never alone. I had never felt that kind of absolute dedication and care before that week and now I feel it again.

It is one thing for one person to do something small and sweet to make you feel loved and cared for. It's another thing entirely when a lot of people work together to make something amazing just for you.

Sally said I looked "horrified" when Shelly gave the blanket to me. I was not horrified. I was overwhelmed with love and genuine feelings of unworthiness.

Who am I that so many people wanted to do something to make me feel better?

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Grief

Oh there has been so much time since my last post... but really? There has been nothing interesting going on. I have been down and tired and it's still migraine season apparently. None of that makes for interesting writing.

My Family Therapy class is over. I have one more thing to write, but that's due next week. There is plenty of time for me to procrastinate. One interesting thing: yesterday in class we covered "special topics" and had 4 guest speakers. One of the speakers covered grief and the family. After my stunning performance the last time we discussed grief in class I was overjoyed. This time I took half a Xanax and focused on breathing... but I did still learn some stuff.
Apparently, in the first year following the death there are typically four or five separate peaks of sadness... and the 3-month point is one of them. So this weird funk that I've been in and the way that I have been mentally retreating from everything is all totally normal.

I hate normal.

Yesterday when I got home (after what had been a long but relatively good day) there was an envelope from my mother-in-law in the mail. I knew right away what it was and I froze for a minute... the world did that tilt thing. Bean went into caretaker mode, but I said, "No, I'm OK. And this is just going to hurt." So she sat next to me as I opened the envelope that contained my copies of the death certificate. And I cried. A lot. Again.

This is going to sound dumb...
I know he is dead. I mean, I was there and I touched him and I KNOW he is dead. But now he is officially, unconditionally and completely dead. Now there is proof.

I guess it's sort of the equivalent of receiving your divorce papers in the mail... you know it's coming, but when you get them it's hard all over again. Even when Bean's dad and I got divorced - we had been separated for years before we actually divorced. We were both with other people and we had figured out how to be friends... We even held hands as we walked into the lawyer's office to start the process. Even then when I got the final papers I was sad.

So I am sad. And in a "typical grief" emotional peak. I am still standing, though. Still getting out of bed. Still moving forward.

Thoughtful Friday

... joy and sorrow are inseparable. . . together they come and when one sits alone with you . . . remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

-Kahlil Gibran

Family Fun (!)

Soooooo.... yeah.

By the time I left work yesterday I was dreading spending time with the entire-damn-family. I mean, my sister and I get along in theory, but I just mostly wanted to take a nap, eat some food and swim. I got to mom and dad's and nobody was there. Nobody.

Mom called my cell phone and said that my sister wasn't coming because her friend Sherri (white-trash whore) didn't have anywhere to go for the 4th so they were going to stay home and cook out with her. (I would just like to point out that in that situation I would so TOTALLY have just invited my friends to come, too. MY friends are well-behaved enough to spend time with my parents).

ANYWAY, mom and dad had gone to another cookout for a few hours and then my uncle was going to come over and the four of us would eat steak.

So I took a long nap, ate some steak, watched a movie while we waited for it to get dark, and then we got into our suits and floated in the pool while the neighbors put on a fantastic firework show. It was honestly the best 4th of July I've had in a long time. Floating in the water in the dark with green and purple and orange and white sparkly exploding overhead.

I think my mom was hurt that nobody else came, but dad seemed relieved... I think for him (and, frankly, the rest of us as well) the grand kids are great one at a time, but all at once can be overwhelming.

The sucky thing is that I'm working both jobs today and I feel like hammered shit. I didn't sleep well last night (quelle surprise) and now I have badbadbad heartburn. The reflux kind that makes you feel like you have been drinking battery acid. Good times.

Hope your 4th was fun!

Thoughtful Friday - Strength

You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, "I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along." . . . You must do the thing you think you cannot do.
-Eleanor Roosevelt