Beyond Measure

Someone asked why I haven't written lately. I have. But I get into it and bog down with bleak musings. It feels like I'm lost in a dark, oppressive swamp. The only relief is to walk away from the screen. But I find that as long as I do that, I'm stuck in the swamp. So, let's try this again. I am going to start by putting the messy out there. Some of it was written weeks ago, so if you feel a discontinuity, that's why.

Grief Beyond Measure

February of last year I hoped I was emerging from the Valley of the Shadow of Death, but I was not. I had no idea what was coming. I still had a sense of foreboding that I passed off as residual trauma and lingering grief. But I resolutely picked myself up and marched forward. March hit us like a freight train with my mom's stroke. At first we thought we had dodged death, but the reaper had her scent and was patient and persistent. Stroke, bladder infections, neuralgia, perforated bowel, and finally covid. I lost her in November. 

I sit here staring at a computer screen without seeing the words. I'm back there. I'm back in her hospital room. I don't want to relive the final weeks again. Standing sentinel over her unconscious form, I implore the universe for some sign that there's hope. I wanted to be anywhere other than that stifling room. I want to be anywhere else now. I've relived it over and over already. 

For seven months I tried to save her. And I failed. We moved her to our house. We built her a Tiny Home next to ours. We brought therapists in and out for weeks. But it wasn't enough. She never got to live in her little house. Instead, she had to move to a nursing facility to recover from the perforated bowel. Covid was waiting for her there. Two shots and a booster offered no protection. She spent the final 6 weeks of her life unconscious, trached, intubated, and on a feeding tube.

Shall I share with you my deepest shame? Sure. Perhaps coming clean will give me a small measure of peace. I was so tired. And I was overwrought with distress over her condition. I lost hope. When she passed, I was relieved. There it is. When she passed, I was relieved. 

She's now with Clyde.  And I remain here in my perpetual trauma and grief. 

I promise this is the most maudlin I will be in this blog when recounting this past year. But I want to put it all out there. I want to tell you why I've been quiet. I vaguely remember a poem I read when I was in high school that said when people talk a great deal about their sadness, there's something in it that brings them pleasure. But when there's only sorrow, there's little cause to mention it. I feel that poem. Why talk about it? It's just pain. By the way, if any of my literature savvy friends know what poem I'm referencing, I'd be very grateful if you would tell me. It's bugged me for nearly 40 years. 

I'm currently reading Viktor Frankl's "Man's Search for Meaning" again. He is eloquent in his expression of the purpose of suffering. It gives life meaning. As a holocaust concentration camp survivor, he knew. He maintained that it's man's reaction to suffering that makes all the difference. To lose hope is to lose the will to live. I hear that loud and clear.

So let me tell you why I am hopeful.

Hope Beyond Measure

I am a grandmother. Baby Charlotte arrived in March and lives next door. I get to provide her daily care while Becca is working. I am beside myself with excitement. At 62 years old, I finally get to join the grandmother club. As you know we've already had some hiccups and scares. Her heartbeat is dicey. She's on medication to regulate it and we are hopeful she will outgrow the need for them. I am nervous over her health. I am hypervigilant. But, years of stress and anxiety will do that. However, I refuse to let it suck all the joy out of our lives. Really, who better to watch a child than a hyperaware MeMaw?

In addition, Sam is having some issues regulating his epilepsy lately. My heart hurts for him, as it interferes with his young adult life. But, we are in touch with a neurologist that we hope will aggressively help us find a fix. He is home for the summer so we are working on control. 

And all my babies are close. We have a summer of togetherness. I will not waste it.

Lastly, 

Love Beyond Measure

I am surrounded by love both in this world and beyond. I have been carried through some of the hardest days and nights by precious souls who saw my pain and encircled me with their support. I have not been easy to support these past couple of years as it's been a long slog. But we don't get to schedule life's highs and lows. And these loved ones have remained steadfast. 

I live in a constant state of apprehension, but I am coming to accept that some things are out of my control. I HATE that. I struggle to move to meaning rather than helplessness. 

But, I am going to embrace Dr. Frankl's observation. I am going to choose to live with hope. I am going to juxtapose my suffering with meaning and purpose. I accept that more sorrows await. But I mustn't entertain them before they manifest. I am picking myself up again and moving forward. I will not waste this time with continual dark musings. 

So, friends, pray for me and mine. As I will pray for you and yours. I will share my joy and my challenges. Expect future updates from the Salty Dog Homestead. And plenty of Charlotte Chronicles. And pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. 

I love you all.