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Thursday, November 14, 2013
Greetings from the Land of the Walking Wounded
Kind readers,
I have neglected you horribly lo these many weeks as I adjust to this new normal, which oftentimes feels not much different from the old normal, except it doesn't involve daily treks to doctors and trying to keep a very ill person from becoming angry. I am doing better than I expected to, and far better than many people in my situation, largely because I have been the one who ran the household all these years and I had a pre-existing base of friends that were not part of couples who have stepped up to the plate to the point that my social life has been nothing short of ridiculous the last few weeks.
We had a lovely memorial party for Mr. Brilliant at our beloved Dog House Saloon and Grill, where the kitchen turned dish after dish after dish of ziti, chicken parmagiana, amazing meatballs, two kinds of chicken wings, potato skins with cheese, zucchini sticks, breaded mushrooms, salad, bread, and just when you thought it was over, sliders. About 40 people showed up and the whole thing left me so verklempt that I agreed when it was all over that yeah, a potluck party at my house to have people come over and help me paint the erstwhile man-cave was a swell idea. The guitar and bass have found a new home with Mike the Vet Tech Who Loves Our Maggie, just as Mr. B. had wanted. We had a garage sale last weekend that generated about $300 to donate to Weill-Cornell Brain and Spine Center. Unfortunately, there is not a whole lot of moyamoya research going on, because MMD is one of those "rare diseases" that get no attention and there are treatments that when patients ACTUALLY TAKE CARE OF THEMSELVES work very well.
I have been wrestling with that OTHER "W" word, which I have refused to adopt as something that defines me. I was my own person before and am still my own person. I have gone to groups of the Walking Wounded and so far I feel about as much like I have anything in common with some of these Very Sad People, some of whom are years into this process, as I did with most of my peers in high school, that is to say not much. Yes, I have the brain fog, and there are those nasty crying jags that happen every time I drive past the local hospital where they botched his care, or on the way to work, or in the middle of Trader Joe's. But I am usually able to control them. I wrestle daily with "woulda-shoulda-coulda", with continued rage at Mr. B. for his refusal to drink a fucking glass of water a few times a day, with survivor's guilt and second-guessing myself. But this too shall pass.
One result is that I have just not had the energy to care a whole lot about what's going on in the world. I have a lot of thoughts about the ACA debacle, but I'm still not coherent enough to speak intelligently. So please bear with me a while longer. Right now I am planning to come back.
We had a lovely memorial party for Mr. Brilliant at our beloved Dog House Saloon and Grill, where the kitchen turned dish after dish after dish of ziti, chicken parmagiana, amazing meatballs, two kinds of chicken wings, potato skins with cheese, zucchini sticks, breaded mushrooms, salad, bread, and just when you thought it was over, sliders. About 40 people showed up and the whole thing left me so verklempt that I agreed when it was all over that yeah, a potluck party at my house to have people come over and help me paint the erstwhile man-cave was a swell idea. The guitar and bass have found a new home with Mike the Vet Tech Who Loves Our Maggie, just as Mr. B. had wanted. We had a garage sale last weekend that generated about $300 to donate to Weill-Cornell Brain and Spine Center. Unfortunately, there is not a whole lot of moyamoya research going on, because MMD is one of those "rare diseases" that get no attention and there are treatments that when patients ACTUALLY TAKE CARE OF THEMSELVES work very well.
I have been wrestling with that OTHER "W" word, which I have refused to adopt as something that defines me. I was my own person before and am still my own person. I have gone to groups of the Walking Wounded and so far I feel about as much like I have anything in common with some of these Very Sad People, some of whom are years into this process, as I did with most of my peers in high school, that is to say not much. Yes, I have the brain fog, and there are those nasty crying jags that happen every time I drive past the local hospital where they botched his care, or on the way to work, or in the middle of Trader Joe's. But I am usually able to control them. I wrestle daily with "woulda-shoulda-coulda", with continued rage at Mr. B. for his refusal to drink a fucking glass of water a few times a day, with survivor's guilt and second-guessing myself. But this too shall pass.
One result is that I have just not had the energy to care a whole lot about what's going on in the world. I have a lot of thoughts about the ACA debacle, but I'm still not coherent enough to speak intelligently. So please bear with me a while longer. Right now I am planning to come back.
Labels: personal musings
11 Comments:
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I know you were thinking of creating a new place to post these writings of your loss, but I would like to say that reading these posts have been helpful to me and I imagine others as well. I am often in envy of writers like you, Driftglass and others who are able to post such amazing thoughts, feelings and insights. I can only hope that writing about Mr. B's passing is helping you as well. Funny thing about blogs, you get this emotional connection to the writers and their lives. I wish there were some words I could write that would help you in this process of grief, but all I can say is that we are thinking of you and you are in our prayers.
regards, mrs. jp