Chapter 100: Tiny Tiny Step Forward

I am ready to put away some of the stuff now that the Dallas Distraction is over.  

I re-read the mountain of condolence cards, one by one.  After arranging them in meticulous order and tying them in two stacks, I tucked them away in Eric's dresser, with his glasses and his iPhone.  I still haven't touched a thing in his dresser.  What's the rush.  

I rearranged the furniture in the living room.  That took all of 18 minutes, give or take a few more with the vacuuming.  

Then, I threw away a few bottles of pills that have been sitting on the kitchen counter, left undisturbed since February 15.

That was all I could handle today - doing three things.  I guess that beats doing only two things.  See?  Glass half full. 

Water Rabbit greeting me at the Dallas Arboretum

Tornados, FlavorLock™, Lucchese Boots

What do tornados, FlavorLock™, and Lucchese Boots (Lou-KAY-see) have in common?  Big D, Texas. 

My recent business trip to Dallas, Texas was like no other trips.  Timing made it particularly difficult.  It is unnecessary to regurgitate the obvious.

It is also not very interesting to detail what I was doing in Dallas.  Unless you were actually living through it like I was, they were just a bunch of mundane details.  I can summarize that it was not fit for whiners.  Or the brain-deads.  It was "shit or get off the pot."  It was deathly exhausting.  Highly stressful.  Dreadful.  But I am really good at what I do, so I choose to be in Big D with all the other good peeps.

I have couple colleagues who are now my great friends for life.  You see a person's true character when faced with adversities.  

# # #

Tornados.  I have never been within 2000 miles of a tornado.  Big D graced me with two warnings in six days.  

"Oh, don't worry, huuunny!  It's just a warning!  If the sky turns green, run to Del Taco next door and take cover."  
"Do they have a safe room?"  
"No, but they have a walk-in freezer."  
"Isn't it cold in the freezer?"  
"Yeah, but it's solid." 

What if the entire walk-in freezer got blown to Kansas?  I would be cold AND across state line.  That was not comforting.  

Lightning was showing Thunder who's boss, and Thunder would have nothing of it. So they argued like an old couple who's been married for fifty years:  Loud, nonstop, and about nothing.  Then came the horizontal sheets of rain.  Flash flood warnings.  My tiny rental Chevrolet Sonic was hydroplaning on the highway, and I imagined cars being washed away, "as seen on TV."  I waited for Moses to part the water on I-75 so I can drive to the hotel safely.  Apparently he bumped a ride on Noah's ark.  Go figure.

# # #

FlavorLock™.  A FlavorLock™ is a one-way valve on a sealed coffee bag. Coffee continues to release CO2 after it's roasted, a process called de-gassing.  A sealed coffee bag would burst if there is not a way to release its trapped CO2.  A FlavorLock™ valve releases CO2 without letting air (oxygen) to enter and oxidize the coffee.  It's pretty magical.  

Here's my buddy's story.  

Buddy enthusiastically explained the functions of a FlavorLock™ valve, how it would prevent CO2 build-up and burst the bag. That's how we keep our coffee fresh. 
"Person A" enthusiastically made an analogy:  "You mean burst like a dead body?"  
Now Buddy has been around the blocks a few times. Unfazed, Buddy replied, "yeeeeahhhh, like the Texas roadkill..."  
"Person A" replied, "yeah, sure, whatever.  That'll work."  

No, "Person A" meant a dead body.  

The analogy made me cackled.  I find it colorful, expressive, and hilarious, probably because I don't have a story like that of my own.  

# # #

Lucchese Boots   I can't stand shopping for clothes.  I find trying on clothing that looks better on the hangers than on my body deflating.  The hunt for the right sizes, the anticipation, the disappointment.  The getting in and out of the pieces and adjusting everything underneath without messing up your hair.  God, it's exhausting.  

On the windows of the Orison Boutique in Old Town McKinney says "We Dress Texas."  That should be my first warning, but I'm not sure what for.  A pair of distressed leather cowgirl boots with cute daisies caught my eyes.  So I entered the rabbit hole.  I wanted to take a picture of the boots and post for my friends on Facebook.  It was Alice in Wonderland... 

Three hours later, I bought myself enough goodies and gifts that the staff has to box them up so I can check in as checked-luggage.  I wanted "a little something" to remember Texas by, like a pair of socks; instead, I got a Texas experience that turned around my deathly exhausting and stressful business trip.  

Wendy loves what she does.  It was obvious.  She has her own photography studio down the street, and works at the Boutique for fun.  We exchanged stories. Laughed.  I tried on all kinds of clothes.  Wendy offered to make me lunch in the boutique kitchen because it was 2:00 pm and my blood sugar was dropping fast. 

I was grateful for Wendy, not only because she spent 3 hours picking me clothes and accessories and Lucchese custom handcrafted boots that are all "uniquely me," but because she reminded me of something important:  Everybody has a story.  

It reminds me that I may never know the impact, positive or negative, of my interaction with another person.  Each human interaction is unique.  Given the opportunity, choose to interact in an useful way that just *may* result in a positive impact. The choice is mine, and mine alone. 

I left the Orison Boutique with more than my gorgeous oxblood cowgirl boots.  I bought more than just great gifts for me and my girl friends.  I got a loving experience to remember Big D, Texas, and it turned around my deathly exhausting, dreadful, and highly stressful business trip.  

Now, if only I have a celebratory event to wear my pretty little black dress.  

  

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.  On the contrary, I don't think we could be more loving to and with each other.  I meant how stuck I was with the situation, without admitting or verbalizing I was stuck.  Despite 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 way of unstucking his condition.  Undiagnosed, intense, nagging, unpredictable chronic pain had a death grip on my husband for years; literally and figuratively.  It was a mental anguish. Eric 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.  His mind was completely clear.  The fact was, he got dealt a crappy hand of cards, and his physical body could no longer sustain his drive 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. Not my husband.  That will never be acceptable for him.  I respect and accept that.

My husband always liked to keep things painfully simple.

Any persons who remotely tried to compare Eric's pain - physical, mental, or emotional - to their own would still instantly anger me.  I find it unbearable to listen to people comparing their situations to what Eric endured for seven years, and worked EVERY SINGLE DAY to improve.  I am filled with internal conflicts.  I am conflicted with feeling compassionate towards good but irrelevant intentions.  I struggle to accept people's attempts to find the common ground with me; to try to relate.  I struggle to see the likeness of a death resulted from a car accident to a suicide.  I refuse to listen to 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 good wishes, but I am not.  And I struggle with my seemingly ungrateful behaviors.  Yet, I cannot fake gratitude.  I am not willing to diminish and compare Eric's death to someone else's.  Ever.  

And so, I toil over it quietly.     

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 possibly.  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 feel self-centered, eccentric, and alienating.  I feel unnatural, yet, I seem completely at peace with it.  

My close friends understand what I need.  They leave me alone.  They don't offer unsolicited advice or flowery commentary.  In fact, they don't even try to make me feel better.  Because they know - nobody can make me feel better.  

I feel sad that we are no longer the unique Husband and Wife team that we once were, making a difference in our friends' lives, together.  I am grateful for all that we were, but we can no longer be that team ever again.  That IS the fact.  We were a very special, loving team, and packed with gentle power.  We could do so much good, yet our time is up.  The disappearance of the Eric and Daisy team makes me exceedingly, exceedingly sad.  I could not comprehend the purpose of this wastefulness.  I despise the deity that would claim responsibility; the deity that would claim it knows best.  The deity that would claim it is in total control.  I will hear nothing of it.   

I am stuck, until I decide to un-stuck myself.  And I will do so when I am ready.  

Eric and his favorite girl Kida
Many moons ago, Boise, ID

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