Shoulder woe

...otherwise known as me documenting this problem.

The starting point was scrubbing the back deck this summer.  But I did plenty of other things in my burst of summer energy.

The pain progressed as I did more and more around the house.  Mowing, painting, lifting heavy things...all did me no favors.  I saw the ortho doc for a Kenalog shot and got referral for physical therapy in July, followed by PT for a month, then chiropractic and massage care.  At this point, I think I will need to scale back on activities until my shoulder pain settles down.  Maybe use my non-dominant arm more, as suggested by the masseuse.  The pain from this is awful - feels like bone on bone.  My entire arm and lower neck hurts - the aching going all the way down my arm, which I assume is referred pain.  My neck muscles on the right side ache.

My plan:

*take it easy on home painting projects for awhile,

*use tylenol and motrin,

*use cold and heat packs,

*get back into home PT exercises

I'm going to drop the chiropractor because pain = inflammation.

  I would love to avoid a surgical solution, but I'm not sure that's possible.

This getting old thing....its not for the weak.

 

Hi, I miss you

Do you miss me, too?

what was he contemplating, I wonder?

Tomorrow would have been our 40th wedding anniversary, and almost 44 years together.  Its weird to me that we began so long ago, because I remember it well.  It somehow seems more recent than 44 years, and I feel like I do a better job of recalling those memories than I can of last week!  I wonder if Mark ever thought about everything we had weathered and marveled at it.  We hit year 35 and I thought we would be in it for The Long Haul, death do us part and all that.  Just not at age 60.  That plot twist snuck up on me.

I treasure the independent life I have built, but would gladly give that up to have him back.  No amount of closet space is worth it.

I think about him often, and I'm just now to the point where it doesn't make me yell or cry.  That wasn't doing me any good anyway.

I'm not mad at him anymore, but I often think how tragic it is that he was so obstinate at the end to the point that he would delay seeking medical care.  Didn't want me nagging him.  And it is 100% not my fault, but I shouldn't have backed down.

If there is a heaven (and I do think there is *something*), is he there, waiting for me?  Will he come right up to me, kiss my cheek, and welcome me?  Is he there now, waiting?  All philosophical questions, with no answers - I get that.

But how I would love to get a message to him:

I love and miss you, and so do your kids.  And we hope to see you again someday.

Happy Anniversary, Honey.

 

Dream feelings #17

 We are coming up on the 2nd anniversary of Mom's death - tomorrow.  What a terrible time that was in  September of 2023.  My sister and I talk about it every now and then - still processing and debriefing.  And I'm sure that's where this latest dream came from.

I was standing in a shabby house with wooden floors, trying to tie the string on my scrub pants, which were very faded, just like my scrub top.  I really need new scrubs, I thought.  I stepped away from the front door, just in case someone came in while I was tying them.  Immediately, my sister and mother (wearing a nightgown) burst into the house.  My sister said nothing, just stood there with her keys.  Mother rushed from room to room checking it all out, and it was then that I recognized it as her house.  I offered to show her the back yard.  The door to it was through the kitchen which was filthy and had stacks of garbage and recycles sitting by the door.   Mixed in with empty containers of something was also trash.  I said, "I'll take care of those", and cleared it all away to open the door.  Then Mother stepped out from the house and braced herself against the doorway and the side of her house on a small ledge.  I was horrified at how dangerous that seemed.  To the right of the backdoor, in the yard, there was an excavated square of dirt that had tarps laying across it and some broken posts or planks of wood.  She said "oh, I did that".  It was almost like she had to assure herself that this was really her house.  Then the dream ended.

*****

Mother's house was always so dirty, so cluttered, so full of trash or recycles that needed attending to, and dirt everywhere from where she tracked it in after being in the garden.  I used to tell my kids not to take their shoes off at Grandma's.  She lived like she was out in the country, though her house was smack dab in the middle of town.   Even though Brenham had trash and recycle services, Mom regularly left things right where she set them - plastic soil bags and pots, broken furniture, empty Bluebell ice cream containers.

It never didn't stress me out, and I was always trying to help her put order to it, only to discover it was back to being a mess the next time I visited.  It seemed like she should have or would have wanted her home to be clean and tidy, but that was never the actual case.  For someone like me, that made visits stressful and confusing.  I'm going to file this one in the nightmare category.

My independent life

Looks like I'm on a roll with blog posts.  Who knew I had so much to say?

(pretty much everyone, Gina)

Instead of a "happy things" post I made a list of how life has improved for me over the last four years.  I bet few widows can process that while they are in the throes of grieving.  It has certainly taken me awhile to realize it for myself.  But there are some things that I can say are better in 2025:

*My home is no longer stuffed and cluttered with crap I don't want or use.  This includes the outside spaces, too.  I have done much work on it.  Sadly, Mark was waiting on putting the house on the market and had lost interest in spiffing it up for us.

*I don't have a hangover every Monday from drinking all weekend.  And I don't feel resentful that the weekend actually created more work for me to catch up on before Monday began.  I don't have the added burden of taking care of planning/cleaning/organizing/food prep/laundry from weekends at Highlands.

*I decide what to cook and what time to eat.  My grocery list is shorter, so it's faster and easier to shop.

*My chore list is much smaller.  I do laundry for me only, and I don't iron for anyone.  I'm not changing sheets on two beds. The house pretty much stays neat and clean, without stacks of things sitting there waiting to be dealt with. The kitchen stays clean.

*I am no longer exhausted daily because I only answer to myself and I make sure I have time to rest.  I realize that I have limits and I am OK saying no to things that zap my peace and energy.

 Are there drawbacks to this level of independence?  No one is coming to rescue me, so I have to do those things for myself, anyway.  The "empty nest" thing is real, though.

A lot of times I am worried about a particular home repair, or how I will manage a health issue in the future, loneliness of course, and managing my money.  But I am doing my best to live in the present moment and enjoy my life, making the smartest choices I can. 

I didn't choose this life, it chose me.

Is it that way for most widows, I wonder?

Something I have gained in grief

 This is a journal prompt that I was given in a recent grief webinar and I thought it interesting as it has occurred to me before.  Something I have gained: the strength to persevere.

I never felt particularly strong.  My mother told me shortly after Mark died that I was a "strong woman".  But I didn't ask for that and I resented having to be strong about something I had no choice in.  I wanted to crumble, but there was much at stake so I really didn't have that choice.  I have heard stories of grievers who had a hard time getting out of bed, feeding themselves, not leaving their house, letting laundry and bills and dirty things pile up.  I would say I was the opposite of that.  I became laser-focused on getting my house in order, managing my bills, following through with all of my appointments, maintaining self-care as best I could, and trying to keep the lines of communication open with family and friends.  At times it seemed like an unreasonable amount of work for someone who was grieving.  And I had my full share of anxiety attacks, meltdowns, and loss of appetite.  Plus, depression hit me rather hard.  So its not like I've been a role model on How to Widow Peacefully.

For the 40 years previously, Mark was by my side for whatever trouble I was facing.

A partner to help figure out solutions to problems.

Someone I could lean on when I felt unable to stand alone.

And now I've had to figure out to keep going and draw on new inner strength. 

So, yay for me in doing so?

But what a shitty way to discover a new life skill.

What it was like where I grew up

 One of the blogs I read has a series of prompts called 99 Questions to Ask Your Grandparents and this  question hit home for me, pun intended.  What was like where you grew up? Can you describe the neighborhood in detail?

the house I grew up in until age 10, pictured in 2007

     My sister claims that my memory is poor for our childhood, but I think its truer to say that I have managed to forget a lot of negative things. However, I do remember our house in Lubbock and probably could navigate it to this day.  As a child, I thought the house and yards to be quite big.  The back yard was divided into two halves by a wire fence  - one side had a big Mimosa tree, a clothesline, and irises planted against the house. My father had nailed an armchair up into the tree, with steps leading up, as a sort of makeshift treehouse where we would sit and read.  Around the base of the tree was a built in picnic table where we enjoyed watermelon in the summer, throwing the seeds and rims over the fence into the alley where they became a watermelon patch.   Grapevines were planted against the gated wire fence.  The other side of the yard had a built-in sandbox, a swing set, two dogs with a doghouse, and the backdoor to the house which was in constant motion.

     We had no garage, but a carport for shade.  There was a built in brick planter near the front door where we regularly tried our hand at growing marigolds.  Three trees planted in a circle in the front yard represented my sister, brother, and myself.  For the longest time, the lot next to us was vacant and we rode our bikes all through it.  We would cross the road to the neighboring cotton field and have dirt clod wars.  Someone was always getting injured (sometimes in a terrible way) and my mother had Mercurochrome on hand for everything. The yards, driveways, and sidewalks in our neighborhood were always full of kids of all ages - on bikes or on foot, playing various games until dark when we were all called in for the day.  We drank from the yard hose, ran in briefly to eat lunch or use the potty, and basically wore ourselves out.  Summers were hot as hell, winters brought snow.  We were outside constantly, mostly barefoot. Catching horned toads and running the neighborhood. 

     The house had 3 bedrooms and two bathrooms, and my father had finished out the garage into a living space where he slept and had a desk.  Previous to that, there were bunkbeds in there where several of my older siblings slept.  We had a very small eat-in kitchen and a small living room. Although there was no fireplace, I remember there being a cut out space in the wall connecting the kitchen to the living room, and a small child could have crawled into it, and did.  My mother did all of the cooking and laundry and cleaning.  She also sewed our clothes.  We rarely ate out. 

     We knew our neighbors and they knew us.  The Hadaways, the Lassaters, the Prichards, the Fosters, Mr. Haney.  We were within walking distance of our school and church. We had one TV and watched the evening news, Gunsmoke, Gilligan's Island, Captain Kangaroo, and Saturday cartoons. We listened to records on my father's stereo system that had a speaker in each room.

     My childhood home is with me and part of me always, of course.  Not all of my childhood was joyous, but our house in Lubbock was a formative place in my life that shaped me for everything to come, including raising my children and creating my home.  

Dream feelings #16 - Grayson moving out

this sat in the hallway for 2 weeks

In the dream, I have a very big house with very big yards that seemed to be inside of the house.  Another adult was observing me as I disciplined Grayson over breaking something in my bedroom a year ago and not telling me - and why was he even in there to begin with?  It was a sort of blue thermostat/light switch on the wall.  I told him that if he had told me it was broken I could have fixed it already.  Dylan and Chloe were also nearby, but not saying anything.  They all became young children.  I started yelling at all of them, but they were not really paying attention and getting further away.  Grayson hopped on his bike and started riding off and I had to call him back to continue discussing with him.  That's where the dream ended.

I fully expect that I will have some sadness over the last one leaving home.  I have a lot of angst over how the last couple of years have played out, particularly with Grayson.  I'm not sure I was able to really help him, but I did provide a safe place for him to be while he figured out what he wanted and was ready to leave.  All while doing my best at living my own adult life, with all of its struggles.  None of them are "kids" anymore and its time for all of us to move on.

Just a dream - but this empty nest thing - its so real.