How Do I Feel? Let Me Name the Ways, 28 June 2012

Today I plunked down on my therapist's couch and said, "Tell me how I feel."  We laughed at the absurdity that she could simply unscramble the crazy cocktail of emotions built up inside me, write it down, and hand it to me on a piece of paper; but really, that is kind of what I was hoping for.

In the last two weeks, I ran my youngest sister's wedding (sorry Em, but that's basically the truth); said hello and goodbye to close family from across the Pacific; coordinated a week of meals for over a dozen (and cooked a little too); managed transporting and coralling my kids with Jay; socialized with friends and family through my dad's wedding, which was also attended by my widowed father-in-law and his new gal; and received word that the homicide trial for my MIL is being delayed by an insanity plea (not surprising, but annoying and disappointing).

To experience all this at once has been...not easy.  And weird.  And sad and happy and confusing and tiring and--help!  During my appointment this morning, I related these activities to the therapist and told her I really haven't known how I've felt in the wake of all this.  People have been kind-heartedly asking me, "How are you doing?" to which I answer, "Uhhh..." and try to change the subject.

But I like things to have labels and I'd like to be able to tell people how I'm doing, so between my therapist and me we worked out some descriptions to use.

I'm confused.

Disorented.

Experiencing "complicated grief" (an actual clinical term).

I'm completely exhausted.

Convalescing from a difficult time.

Growing.

Yes, she said that the greatest times of growth often come after a period of significant disorientation, when life as we understand it is challenged.  That's nice to hear, but what do I do?? I wanted to know.  Her answer?  "Take care of you and recover."  Oh.  I don't have to cry or journal or do some sort of worksheet?  No, I just need to do what's best for me in the moment.

Since Jay's got my back (and the boys for about 28 hours), that's what I'm setting out to do today. Taking care of oneself looks different for each person, but here's what my Take Care of Me campaign has looked like today:

1. Didn't get out of bed before I was ready this morning.  (Jay made me French toast as a bonus.  He's a keeper.)
2. Chatted with Clare on the phone.
3. Spent a valuable hour with my invaluable therapist.
4. Grabbed a book (Putting a Face on America, about a walk from coast-to-coast) and had lunch at an Indian buffet.  Naan and chicken marsala are great healers, by the way.
5. Started laundry.  Oddly enough, that does takes care of me!  It eliminates a nagging chore, and as I hang things to dry on racks outside, I remember packing this clothing article or sweating in that one, and I feel a relieved sense of "reset" as I see them washed and airing out.
6. Sat on the couch with the book.
7. Sat on the couch with the blog.

Pretty soon, I think I'll be lying on the couch with a nap.  Maybe ice cream is in my future, or perhaps a travel show, or maybe a library visit.  But the beautiful thing is, I'm not making any plans for the rest of the day because I don't have to.

I don't have to figure out what I'm feeling or what I'm going to do or what I'm going to say.  Today, I'm taking care of me by taking the day one hour at a time.

Or maybe two hours, if I sleep that long.

Steamy Clean, 10 June 2012

Today started for me last night at 11:30 p.m. when I got the idea to steam clean my carpets today.  Jay and the boys are staying with his dad for a couple days, so this did seem like an ideal opportunity.  Unable to sleep, I popped out of bed to look over The Machine which sat, dusty and neglected, in a corner of my garage.

This steam cleaning Machine was a gift from my MIL a couple years ago.  She had used it in her own home for several years and passed it on to me when she decided to upgrade, but it still worked perfectly fine.  Or so I assumed, being that until today I had never turned it on.

There was a problem, however.  I had no idea how to use the thing and didn't have a user's manual.  When Mom gave it to me, I simply figured I'd call her and ask how to use it when I got around to it, and last night as I bent over the cleaner in my dim garage, I felt so sad that Mom isn't here to call anymore.

But I was increasingly determined to carry on her tradition of using this thing, so I Binged around until I found a manual I could download.  Now I was in business!  Terribly excited about the idea of steam cleaning my house--don't ask me why--I stayed up until 1 a.m. cleaning the machine and figuring out its mechanisms.

After church this morning, I ran to Target to get the proper cleaning solution and then began the exciting task of moving furniture and clutter off the floor.  When I say moving, I don't mean putting away.  I mean moving to higher surfaces.  In piles.  Many piles.

I'll spare you the blow-by-blow account of the next 10 hours.  Yes, between vacuuming everything first and having two years of accumulated grime on the floors and upholstery, I worked for 10 hours.  Did you ever see "Lady in the Water"?  There's this guy who only exercises one arm, and I'm pretty sure that when I look in the mirror tomorrow my right arm will look something like this:

I'm just talking about the arm, not the beard or sideburns.

During those 10 hours shoving the steam cleaner around the house by myself, I had lots of time to think, and the first things I thought about were memories of my MIL using the machine.

The earliest memory of The Thing I have is when Jay and I were moving out of our college apartment.  In an effort to get our precious rental deposit back, we scoured that place up and down, and Mom brought over the steam cleaner.  I remember she wore a loose white T-shirt, baggy denim shorts, and white tennis shoes.  She wielded the cleaner masterfully, and when the management came to check us out, they asked in awe, "Did you repaint??"  No, but we steam-cleaned the carpets.  I logged that nugget away.  Clean carpets = impressed management.

Another thing I remember is that whenever Mom was anticipating some event-or-other she was going to host, she'd remark with a little urgency, "I need to steam-clean the carpets."  I loved how her light-beige carpets looked every time she steamed them!

When I cleaned the machine up last night before using it, something else reminded me of Mom.  Dog hair.  Don't take that the wrong way; I am referring to the fact that my MIL and FIL had an indoor dog, and Mom was always fighting a battle against dog hair, dog poo, and dog vomit.  Eew.  (All I saw evidence of on the machine last night was the hair, thank goodness.)  She would get so frustrated at the dog, but she didn't spend much--if any--time complaining.  She'd get out her steam cleaner, fill it with carpet solution, and clean up the mess.  Again and again.

That's one thing I really like to remember about Mom:  When there was a job to do, she knuckled down and did it, most likely with a smile.

I don't have any photographs of Mom using The Machine, but I took one of it today.  The steam cleaner's in the foreground and my trusty vac (also a hand-me-down from my in-laws!) is in the background next to a pile of couch cushions about to be attacked.

I did the cushions outside while the rugs dried inside.

The attacked cushions.  Or are they mechanized toadstools?

Although my arm is sore and my fingers are raw and every flat surface has piles, I feel very satisfied that I have sucessfully carried on the legacy of the steam cleaner.  At least, I hope it's successful.  Jay, if you read this before you get home tomorrow, please be sure that when you walk in the door you say, "Wow!!  It looks amazing in here!  Did you repaint?"

Holding On, 06 June 2012

In an unexpected life, by definition unexpected things happen. Like one of your children getting what appears to be salmonella. But that can be dealt with by fluids, rest, and doctors appointments (we have one scheduled for the morning, poor G).

What is more unexpected and more difficult for me to grasp is having a friend cry on my shoulder today and ask for advice in dealing with the news of her friend's son and mother who were just murdered by another family member. I never thought I'd be someone to come to for that.

But I guess I am, seeing as that is what happened in my husband's family six months ago. Heh. I doubt any of my college friends who viewed me as an innocent, angelic creature ever imagined that a decade later I'd be talking about murder and victim-witness organizations and prison health care.

The difficult thing is that the more grief I experience and the more suffering and evil I see, the less I know what to say. I tried to pray for my friend and her grieving friends today, and I didn't even know how to do that. Oh how I want to have magic words that give comfort, or profound wisdom to ease the confusion of "How could this happen???" but I don't.

What I have are hugs for her, tears in my heart, and a scream against the evil in the world, "MAKE IT STOP!"

Playing in my ears right now is Soundgarden's "Live to Rise" (from the Avenger's soundtrack--yes, I broke down and bought the song for $1.29) and there's a line that really resonates with me:

We're insane but not alone

We hold on and let go

That just about sums it up for me. Things don't make sense and the world spins out of control around us, but we are not alone. We hold on to the One that is anchored in place as we let go of everything else, releasing our attempts at control to His loving care.

Of course, then I hear the question, "Where was His loving care when that young man was shot to death?" and there is nothing to say to ease the pain of that gut-cry of anguish. But I'm back to Soundgarden's song again:

Like the sun we will live to rise

Like the sun we will live and die and then

ignite again

God has eternal plans for us and these poor bodies are going to rise again to no more pain, no more tears, no more loss. Eventually.

But for now, I'm just holding on tight and letting the tears flow.