Chapter 96: Stuckness

I have begun to grief again.  Not just about Eric's death, but how stuck and unhappy we were for the last eight months of his life, leading up to his death.

I did not mean we were unhappy with each other.  In fact, I don't think we could be more loving to and with each other.  I meant how stuck I was with the situation, without actually knowing or verbalizing I was stuck.  Despite me not feeling or verbalizing my stuck-ness, Eric saw and felt everything.  He could not have a clearer mind.  He has always been the clear-minded and perceptive one.  He has felt and known our stuckness for a long time.  There was no medical or non-medical way of unstucking his condition.  Undiagnosed, intense, nagging, unpredictable chronic pain had a death grip on my husband for years.  It was a mental anguish because he could no longer live the kind of life he considers meaningful and worthwhile. 

My husband's suicide was not due to sickness of his mind.  He could not have been in a clearer state of mind.  The fact is, he got dealt a crappy hand of cards, and his physical body could no longer sustain him and his preferred lifestyle.  He stayed in the game for as long as he could, and played it magnificently well.  Along the way, he used his crappy hand of cards to benefit many.  When he was done playing, he took care of everything he could.  And he folded. 

Some people can pop pills, eat Cheetos, and watch TV on the couch all day long.  That is not and will never be an option for him. 

Eric always liked to keep things painfully simple.  That's my husband.

Any persons who remotely tried to compare Eric's pain - physical, mental, or emotional - to their own would still immediately anger me.  I find it disrespectful and insensitive to compre their situations to what Eric dendured for seven years, and worked EVERY SINGLE DAY to improve.  I am filled with internal conflicts.  I am conflicted with feeling compassionate towards what I consider insensitive and irrelevant, and to see the good intentions of the persons.  I struggle to accept their attempts to find the common ground.  I struggle to see the likeness of a death resulted from a car accident to a suicide.  I refuse  comparisions such as the loss of a relationship - a break up or a divorce - to the death of my husband.  I could not accept stories of "similar" back pain.  I ought to be grateful to all those well-intended well wishes, but I am not willing to diminish and compare Eric's death to someone else's.  Ever.  And so, I still toil over it internally because I am a naturally grateful person. 

My senses are hyper-ultra-sensitive.  I do not want to hear others "understand."  I do not want anyone to "know" how I feel.  They couldn't.  I need my feelings be mine and mine alone.  I want to suffer the loss of my husband myself.  I don't want anyone to take my sufferings away.  It is my loss of my husband.  Let me have it.

I recognize I may be self-centered, eccentric, and alienating.  I am completely at peace with it.

My close friends understand what I need. Survivors of suicides understand what I need.  They let me be angry, eccentric, and self-centered without offering unsolicited advice or flowery commentary to anything. 

I feel sad that we are no longer the unique Husband and Wife team that we were, making small differences in our friends' lives, together.  I am grateful, of course, for all that we were.  That is not the point.  The point is that we can no longer be that Husband and Wife team ever again.  That IS the fact.  I can and will make different impacts through other involvements, of course, but there is no more Eric and Daisy team.  That is also a fact. We were a very special, loving team, and we were very powerful.  We could do so much more good, yet our chance is over and our time is up.  The disappearance of the Eric and Daisy team makes me exceedingly sad.  Let me have that fact, and that sadness, without pointing out my cup being half full.  I know how to see the cup half full and I don't need it right now.  Right now, today, at this very moment, I don't give a shit about any cup.  It'll probably be different tomorrow, because naturally, I am a cup-half-full kind of person. 

The fact that I used the word suicide on is magnificent progress.  Just let me be.

This is my stuck-ness, until I un-stuck myself.  And I will do so when I am ready.



"Travelers, there is no path.  Paths are made by walking."  -Antonio Machado

Blankety Blank Blank

I have been on a business trip in Dallas, TX for 12 days, with 5 more to go.  It seems that we are doing good and important work here.  Launching a new business model, creating jobs, brewing good coffee, raising the Bar of Deliciousness.  It is an exciting new chapter for the business unit. 

I truly care about what I do, but I care about the people I work with and their well-being more. That becomes my sole reason to return to Crazy Town.  I strive to claim as little attachment as possible to the work I do, and I think it is healthy and wise to reduce it further to a new low.  Ironically, I believe one reaches greater and longer lasting outcome without any attachment to the preconceived notion of "success." 

I miss being home.  Being away from my protected fortress is hard, but perhaps relying on being home to find comfort is my crutch.  I realize I can't fully start my new life if I do not remove my crutches, if I do not find comfort on my own.  And so, I joined my project team who has been slogging through this hellish project for a full year and headed to Dallas.  This trip is for me, as much as it is for the project team. 

My mind has been blank because I have been doing nothing but work.  By definition, working is doing something in exchange for payment.  No matter how I justify applying creativity towards work, it is, still, a justification.  Once I exchange creativity with a paycheck, the recipient has just purchased a bunch of expectations.  I'm not sure exactly what my point is here.  Perhaps bringing up the awareness for consideration that "creating in exchange for a paycheck" will almost always, eventually, hamper true "creating." 

This incohesive writing is a direct result of my scattered brain.  My body needs rest, and my brain needs nourishment.

But today, May 20, my project team has reached a new milestone.  And I am going to take a moment and celebrate our heroic efforts with the good people.  We have been slogging through hell together for a long time.  For those who were truly involved, and rolled up their sleeves to get shit done - you are the sole reasons coffee is brewed today.

Godspeed, my good friends.

Is this new or new normal!?

Delicious new normal, strawberry cream cheese braid

I get hung up on trivial details sometimes.  Detail such as what does new normal feel like? 

I have a thought what my new normal may be:  it is doing everything I used to normally do with Eric, only now without him.  It may not be an epiphany, but it is helpful to acknowledge that. 

I would not normally travel to visit Eric's friends by myself.  If I were to do that now and visit Alex and Mike and Kathy in Pocatello, ID, it is not a "new normal."  It is just new.  

Examples of my new normal would be tending to the vegetable garden by myself - weeding, preparing the soil, sowing seeds, watering, etc.  Another new normal would be practicing archery or going to the gun range by myself.  Yet another would be cooking for two instead of three on any given day.  One of the truest new normals would mean sleeping through the night with the right side of my bed empty.  

It appears there are many new normals, not just one.  

I established couple new normals this week:  I smothered weeds.  They have grown out of control in my garden; a small part of this new normal is due to not wanting to feel like I live in an abandoned home.  A much bigger part is my desire to keep our tradition of planting our veggies garden.  

Everywhere I turned, crab-grass pulled, seed packet sowed, Eric was there.  It comforted me yet saddened me, for obvious reasons.  I worked on each patch meticulously, quietly, methodically, enjoying my husband's presence.  Then I stepped back and appreciated the fruit of my manual labor.  I long for solitude in the garden.  My time with the soil, with the weeds, with Eric.  

Some of my new normals have sprouted.  After all, it is spring.  Let them grow. 

Eric would work on the patch meticulously and
get it ready for the carrots.  I would then sow the seeds.   

Following that tradition, I pulled all the weeds, and
sifted the rocks from the soil.  Some traditions
are worth following.  

This is one of many reasons manual labor
is good for the soul, not to mention
taste buds.
(picture from July, 2011)

Invasive fruitless strawberries are pulled from
the prized raspberries.  Nature will do her part now.  

 

a delicious new normal just got more delicious

  
  

Chapter 71. A lesson on kindness

I stumbled upon a blog about kindness, written by Andy Smallman, co-founder of Puget Sound Community School.  PSCS is an independent private school in Seattle, WA.  Eric volunteered at PSCS for several terms in the past years.  I cannot say it was pure coincidence that I discovered Andy's blog.  What seemed serendipitous was my uncovering of one particular blog entry Finding the Positive in Andy's online classes on Kindness.  

The article is relevant and poignant.  I find myself drawn to the assignment, yet many times unable to finish reading it.  I read to almost the end, and my eyes became blurry.  "...(the movie) does serve to illustrate the point...which involved reviewing an experience in your life that caused you pain in order to find the blessing(s) in it.  This can be an extremely difficult thing to do, finding the positive in something that might have been tragic for you at the time.  And not only that, but to acknowledge that even with gratitude."    

There were experiences in my life that caused me pain, of course.  Events that seemed like major hurricanes at the time were eventually soothed and in time, I was able to acknowledge them with gratitude.  Now, naturally, my attention turned to my husband's death.  How do I ever acknowledge Eric's death with gratitude? How do I find the positive to his death?  That sounds entirely too impossible, and cold.  I am the perfect student to find out how.  I must learn this, impossible as it seems. 

I meditate on this assignment everyday for a week.  I worked really hard to make sure I don't take the lesson out of context, or became defensive.  I still have not acknowledged any gratitude or found the positive in Eric's death, but I have managed to switch the focus of the word(s).  I have somehow managed to switch the focus from my loss, or Eric's death, to the love and relationship we have created together that is lasting.  


My introspection concluded that the love Eric and I have for each other is amazing and incredible.  It is not unconditional.  It is unconditioned.  Big difference. And in my opinion, more meaningful.  I have not realized how strong our love is, until now.  I have not adequately appreciated the strength of our bond, until now.  The second half of my life will be even more fruitful and meaningful, because of what Eric and I have created together during my first half.  I will not only be fine; I will triumph.  My introspection was clear, confident, vivid.
I stand  10-feet tall, with my spine straight up.  I am one incredibly, incredibly lucky woman.  How does this not deserve gratitude? 

Suddenly, I realized, I just may have learned the lesson on Finding the Positive, simply by switching my focus.  It is not avoiding the cold fact - my husband's death - or burying my head in the sand like an ostrich.  It is not the blind will of positive thinking.  It is the power of our mind and our thoughts.  It is meditating on the right stuff.  It is using the power of our brain to focus on the stuff that matters; the stuff that deserves our mind and energy.  Is the loss of Eric and his death more deserving of my daily focus?  Or is it what we have created together - something that is lasting?    

Just because I choose not to focus on the end of Eric's physical life on Earth does not make me think of my husband any less.  In fact, there is no more capacity in my whole being to long for our reunion, and for him to hold my hands ever so tightly again.  

I am immensely grateful to have stumbled upon Andy's website.  It is one great introspective discovery, and one hell of a lesson on kindness.  

Chapter 70. That's ten weeks.

Sometimes I wonder whether it is unhealthy to still count the number of days since Eric's death.  I didn't draw a conclusion.  If I ask Eric, chances are he would say, "it depends." 

I no longer count the days.  It is not important to benchmark against it anymore. Some may call this progress.  I am more pragmatic - I don't do it because it no longer holds a purpose, and it doesn't help me heal.  I only count the days when I blog.  I like referring to my changed life as the number of new chapters I have written.  I consider each day since Eric's death a new chapter.

I wrote five chapters in the last five days, feeling strong and human each day.  I have almost forgotten how extraordinary that feels. Frankly, few could truly empathize, and that's a good thing.  Knowing that feeling is nothing to brag about, and definitely nothing pleasant.  I am all too grateful for friends who could empathize with my loss.  I am seriously grateful for the return of my humanness, and hope that the strength will stay for a while.  

I almost feel sheepish admitting that I feel human, as if it would only be proper if I were in mourning, or if I were to sob continuously for an indefinite period of time, lest it means I no longer long for Eric's warm embrace.  I am fully aware that the sheepishness is completely flawed and unnecessary, and so I refuse to dignify it by giving it another thought.  Feeling human requires no justification.  I miss everything about my husband today, more so than I did yesterday.  And the day before.  

I have fully accepted that tears are now a part of my normal life.  They don't linger, but they always pay an unannounced visit.  I find that I am much better off if I simply accept them as what is, instead of guarding against them like some intrusive distant relatives.  Perhaps my grief and my life is evolving again.  In time, acceptance is within reach and a changed life fully emerges.    

My new-chapter-a-day continues.  I care about lots of things deeply, but only a few are important.  I am still attached to a few things though.  To attach is to be human; the life-long training is to recognize what I am attached to and how it affects me, then learn how to become unattached.  Eric is a phenomenal teacher on that subject.  Now, I am to put that into practice myself.  

When we care deeply about something, yet doing it solely out of love and passion with no attachment to the outcome, that's where magic happens.  

Free thyself from attachment. 

It is all love

I have the most generous friends.  They happen to be the coolest people I know. When I reflect on the past 65 days, which I do very frequently, a few things always bring me to tears.  One of them is my circle of friends who, individually and collectively, are committed and determined to take the absolute best care of me during my times of greatest needs.  

How does that not bring anyone to tears?  

I dedicate this blog entry to all my friends near and afar. Young and Younger. New friends, old friends, best friends.  I don't know why my friends share so much of themselves with me, or why they love me so much.  But they do.  It's  who they are naturally.  It's not me; it's them.  That's what makes it cool.  Any chance I can get my favorite people together, I do so with joy and excitement.  I always become the recipient of their love.  




Twelve beautiful friends joined me for fresh pasta last Saturday.  The fact that I was able to openly thank and express my gratitude for their big help with Eric's Remembrance - and that my sentiments were understood and appreciated by these grateful recipients - should never be taken for granted.  I take nothing for granted these days.

Gratitude is only meaningful if there is a grateful and willing recipient.  Otherwise, the Gratitude Circle breaks.  And it all just becomes meaningless.  

Four bottles of wine.  Prosecco.  Bowls of pasta. Potato gnocchi with dungeness crab.  Bruschetta.  Salumi board.  Short ribs. Rapini.  Grilled carrots.  Oh, and lemon donuts... Suddenly I am hungry again, and thirsty for another glass of Pinot Bianco.

My friends are the most generous people.  They open their hearts to me.  They open their arms for me.  They are committed, determined, persistent.  They let me just be, at the toughest time of my life, without indulging the needs to offer unsolicited sage advice.  They understand the most important character I cherish is expressing sincere gratitude.  And so, they accept my gratefulness, and my Gratitude Circle does not break.  

Namaste.  

The hummus amongst us!

Finally, a light-hearted afternoon.  I seized the moment and captured it on electronic paper. Before long, well, I simply cannot predict what happens next, before long. 

Division of labor is great.  It worked magically well in the kitchen for me and Eric for all our years together.  We did not enjoy having too many cooks in the kitchen.  "Too many" meant "more than one."  We understood and respected that spoken rule all too well.  And harmony has been achieved and maintained for over a decade.  We are not smart enough to mess with what works - let the sleeping dogs lie.  

As far as the kitchen went, Eric was responsible for his famous hummus, crispy quesadilla, sausage making, all kinds of soup including my favorite - chicken soup with matzo balls, any kinds of fish, potato salad olivier (Russian potato salad), borscht, creamy oatmeal and grain cereal, creative fridge-gourmet, and all healthy and obscure grains procured from the bulk section at PCC.  I must emphasize, except for the matzo meal, my husband made nothing from a box or a can.    

I am responsible for all other domestic and international cuisines not mentioned above.  I am also the grill-master. The bread baker.  The party planner.  And the turkey gal, if we so desire to roast one of those obligatory birds on that fateful November Thursday.  

Now, unless I decide to abruptly stop eating some of my favorite items from the Eric Menu, I'd better learn how to make those dishes myself:  the potato salad olivier.  The matzo balls.  The poached fish.  Even the healthy grains that loosely resemble coarse sand.  I thought I would start with the simple one:  hummus.  

Lucky for me, he actually scribbled down his hummus recipe and taped it on the cabinet.  And so today, I got brave and took out a jar of chickpeas from the freezer, attempting to replicate.  No, we don't use the canned stuff.  We cook our own dried garbanzo beans, portion them into peanut-butter jars, and send them to the freezer...!  One would think we still live in the 30's. 

What typically took Eric 15 minutes from start to finish ended up a 2-hour project for me.  At one point I vividly remember his five-minutes-to-perfection warning call would always include this question:  "curry or no curry?"  If I happened to be home when he made hummus, he would always make it the Daisy special:  Extra creamy.  


Today's curry-hummus was edible.  Not terrible, but not great.  It was definitely missing Eric's special touch.  What do you know; even garbanzo beans feel the void.

I cannot imagine what my hockey-pucks-matzo-balls would taste like.  I sure miss my husband, in all things big and small.  




"Change the way you look at things, and those things will change." ~Wayne Dyer