Thanks, Wolf. You are very helpful, indeed. I'm printing this and keeping it. I've been going to a psychologist for a similar problem with my daughter and saw Dr. X last week. "Your daughter has suffered emotional trauma when she was growing up (presumably by me), or perceived it as such, and I could help her." "You don't know what your daughter is thinking. You're just filling in the blank spots." "Every time you point a finger at your daughter, your finger points back at you." I felt worse after I left than when I walked in.
Re: Age. People are just very different. You can have a whiny 50-year-old full of physical complaints and a negative philosophy of life who presents as far older than her stated age. You can have a 106-year-old like one of our patients who, when invited to a senior gathering, asked, "Will there be any men there?" And I still remember our 92-year-old neighbor in South Dakota, who had come up from Nebraska in a covered wagon as a baby. She shoveled her own snow every single time it snowed...South Dakota, mind you!...and became insulted if anybody came over and tried to do it for her.
I never dated an older guy in my life, but Larry was obviously a unique and special person. It didn't hurt that he was extremely handsome, and kept all his hair and his natural teeth until the day he died. He had modeled for extra money in the past--made an Ipana toothpaste commercial for TV, and was the "detective" on the book cover of one of Ed Mcbain's mysteries. (Larry was a patrolman for the NYPD--never was a detective.) He didn't like people to know he had done the acting and modeling--thought it was kind of embarrassing. His good looks scared me away at first--thought he might be narcissistic--I don't care what guys look like as long as they are neat and clean and in some kind of reasonable shape--I like nice, normal neighborhood guys who could help clean up puppy poop or go to the store for Nyquil if I don't feel good. But anyway, Larry's good looks were not (at first) a plus...although I realized very quickly that he was just your usual pasta-eating, TV-watching, good-to-his-friends-and-family neighborhood boy. Only that the "boy" was 70 years old. Still seems unbelievable to me, but what can I say. And it was kind of fun over the years to walk into a room all dressed up in cocktail dress (me) and tux (him) and turn heads. They were looking at him, of course, not me, but what the hey. He looked like a movie star, and nobody but me knew that probably two hours before he had been wearing workies and plunging a drain. Ha-ha. He truly was not an age, he was a person. It was a unique situation and a unique relationship...definitely an outlier as these things go...I always said that it didn't make any sense...but hey, it worked. He was a good old paisan, and I'm glad we found each other, played absolutely fair and put each other first...and had a great life together.
Regarding DD, both Myrtle and Wolf have summed it up perfectly. I couldn't add a thing, except to say that I realize the dangers to me in this situation. I've figured out exactly how I want to live down here-- what I want to do--where I want to go, and when. I have a certain flexibility in what I'll do for the family, but I'm putting together a life that, frankly, I am enjoying more and more...and I intend to carry on with enjoying it...and I think I can combine living my own good life with a certain amount of "Grandma" stuff. There is no way on God's green earth that my life is going to be secondary to their needs. If I find that avoiding exploitation is just not possible, yes, Bandit and I will be outta here and cruisin' up I-80 East faster than the speed of light. S-i-l is an hour away, in Pennsylvania and working, so is not always available for the day-to-day needs of the children. He gets them every other weekend and for a couple of hours every Wednesday night. The kids adore him, and he is a loving, attentive, and capable father, albeit very doting and permissive.
Just edited this to add that I think I'm telling some of my same old stories--thanks for indulging me--some of the memories are fun to go back to.
Mary, what garbage! I agree with the middle one: we don't know what someone else is thinking - we're just filling in the blanks.
The rest is moralizing on the assumption that all things parents do and don't do forms the child.
If that were true no child would exceed their parents in any single way or all accomplishments are the fault of the parents. Instead this litany is sick in that only the bad things are the parent's explicit fault. Garbage! Worse. Sick garbage.
Einstein, DaVinci, Newton, Mozart, Warren Buffett, Bill Gates, Barack Obama, and millions upon millions more have all put paid to such thoughts. So have all the deviants that come from normal families. Our own Homolka and what's his name, the scarborough rapist, are glaring proof. All his brothers and sisters were perfectly normal people. Homolka's family was perfectly normal. Yet those two went on a killing spree of innocent young girls. That, your doctors says, is the parents' fault. That is not correct. BLEEEP! Thanks for playing. BOOT!
Elizabeth, I think part of afterwards is exploring our stories. I wish more people would do it because I think it's very healthy to begin defining ourselves - or reminding ourselves. With all the emptiness that's unavoidable for some time, I find it's good to have some things which are new and have meaning.
The thoughts I have now and the things I do now are the memories I will have tomorrow. My thoughts these days are that I have to be very nice to me because I've been through an unspeakably cruel period which my mind wants to avoid but which forms the thoughts I have. Once in a while you plant some love from you to whatever - even yourself - and that stuff grows. Who wants ice cream? There's a lovely thought.
Here's a scene for you whenever you can see that 'someone' has new plans for you:
Pretend your daughter is a weather person on CNN. She's standing holding a mike looking into the camera. The wind is blowing hard and while she says into the microphone "storms are indicated" , her hat blows off and her hair is standing out sideways.
Whenever DD presents an "oh-oh" moment, it is mandatory that you play this scene in your mind.
So Elizabeth, I liked the way you said boo-hoo and it wasn't reasonable. You did it all by yourself with your kids etc... but I couldn't see if you agreed to the earlier time or not. Did you tell her that it just wouldn't work for you or are you going to do it?
No, Aunt B. I'm not going to do it. I told her that politely but firmly. She seems to have accepted it. And Wolf, I agree with your comments to Mary that parents are not responsible for how their children turn out. We can do our very best, but in the end, adult children have to pull up their bootstraps and make something of themselves...or not. I agree with the old saying that the same upbringing can turn one child to steel and the other child to butter.
I can't believe that psychologist's comment that every time Mary pointed a finger at her daughter, she was pointing it at herself. Give me a break. I'd personally get a new psychologist.
Wolf, that weather person with the hair going sideways in the wind is too funny. I am laughing as I'm posting this.
Agreed, Elizabeth. It's bad enough when someone is "breaking mutuality" (as Wolf puts it) without being made to feel guilty by the counsellor. I think, too, that I'm just plain tired. Again, as Wolf says, we pay a high price for what we've been through. Last Sunday , I went to the movie, "45 Years" and felt so refreshed after the 90 minutes of escapism that I'm going to go to another movie this Sunday. "Brooklyn" looks good.
Elizabeth...for what it's worth..I am very proud of you for standing your ground. Perhaps she will think twice before she tries to take advantage of you again. Congrats on respecting your boundaries and not caving in to her. I think this is the way that you will have a more satisfying relationship with the kiddos because there will be less resentment festering on the inside. Enjoy those precious children on your own terms...not hers! She will be more acutely aware of what help you DO provide if you are not something that she can just abuse.
mary75*, When I read your original comment, I though I might be misinterpreting it but I see I was not. I agree with Wolf that this is garbage. The last thing you need is someone trying to lay a guilt trip on you. Maybe you should find another shrink.
Thanks, Myrtle. After much thought, I've decided that Dr. X sincerely believes that her way of looking at this is the correct one. I don't. I'm going to stop seeing her, but I'm not going to look for another shrink at this time. I'm tired of trying so hard. So I'm off to the movies, the swimming pool, walks, short trips and everything else that I find restorative. In the back of my mind is the growing conviction that I took so much garbage throughout the A-Z journey that I'm going to sidestep any more, at least, when I can.
I like Mary's plan to just try for things that are relaxing, nurturing, restorative, etc, and to avoid things that are not. I like that comment, "I'm tired of trying so hard." I had not really thought about it that way, but I've been trying too hard, too, I think. I don't care about other people's agendas...I don't have anything to prove...I'm in a position in life where I can pretty much spend my days doing whatever I like...not too many "musts" or "shoulds". That sounds a little lazy, even to me, but I don't care. A good cup of coffee, a bracing walk or two out in the woods with the dog,a little reading, writing, music... relaxing by the fire watching DVDs with the dog, a good night's sleep...all night...seven hours or so without interruption. This all still seems new to me, frankly, and I'm starting to love it. I think Bandit was a big turning point for me. Definitely a therapy dog--not for others, but just for me. I'm not sentimental and lovey-dovey about animals, but he is becoming a nice little companion. (My childhood years in 4-H with my dog Smokey are paying off with Bandit. It's been years since I trained a dog, but it's all coming back...like riding a bicycle.)
I've pretty much got the grocery shopping and cooking down to a science--don't mind doing it, as frankly, I eat better myself when I prepare the family meals 5 nights a week. DD is reliable in giving me her grocery money. And as we've discussed, my boundaries are set in terms of what childcare I'll do...or won't do. lol Sitting on the couch in the evening is all the more relaxing after a couple hours of mayhem with kids and dog. : D
Is it that we find? Or is it that we learn to look? Look for what?
That may sound odd until we take into account that there's a huge elephant in the room which seems invisible but takes up most of the air; specifically the years and the experiences in them and losing our life partner and finding ourselves in a massively changed world.
The arrow that hits a target moving in unknown ways is the exception. We don't know who we are or what we want or how to go ahead or what that means. How does someone find answers in such a state?
Finding involves one or both of two things: looking and noticing. If you are looking for your keys you only have to see them to find them. If you aren't looking for your keys, you might see them but not notice them.
We tend to notice the things we focus on. Our mind is us but it does all the systems work and while we can hide what is really on our minds to our friend, we can't get anything past our own mind because that's the thing we're using to be ourselves with. Just remember people aren't fooling themselves much; they just have their minds doing a bunch of gymnastics to keep them operating.
Grief is an example of that. The truth of grief is powerful and it dominates in bad ways for the person experiencing it. That's why the mind detaches and deflects and ignores and offers consolations because you are doing the systems work of helping yourself through this.
I can easily slide into the depression of where all this is and sob in very little time because that is one of the truths about life now. My mind quickly says "Wolf, that's not a good idea" and that's right because there is no end to that if I dwell there. I have told myself that if I cling to here, the marker of all those things, then I am committing the suicide of my soul. Perhaps more accurately I would have given up on my own life. I must turn.
We are recovering from very serious life experiences and that is a difficult elephant to try to balance. If we ignore it to keep going then we inherit clinical problems as though they were us. If we are honest in the devastation then wailing over the rubble is truth.
Most people deal with this with Immovable Object Theory. I know that's how I dealt with it. Think of it as just defence. You only play defence. Offense is things happening and in that we have been stung and stung and hurt and hurt and kicked and beaten and ignored. We're not interested in more things happening 'afterwards' generally. That remains true for several years in many cases I suspect.
What I try to do in all this is learn to look without expectation but with my own, private and genuine honesty. I learned to think in terms of helping myself which I explained on the resident thread using an insane asylum as a metaphor. I can't achieve genuine honesty just on my own because I don't treat others the way I treat myself. Someone who tells everyone else to do things they don't do is a charleton - a cheat. I'm serious here where patronage can be paid elsewhere because it has no currency in your own private truth. There is a you in there you know.
What you need is an island that is new like a fresh piece of paper and this new island was only conceived in the 'afterwards' and so it can only have the things we bring. Whether there are beach houses or a garden is entirely envisionable. We just have to want to and the game has already begun. It has begun because the instant we have the thought our mind knows what we want and trots off to help.
Now many are skeptics. I get that. So, walk now into the kitchen and say out loud "I want to change the kitchen around so it's better for me", then move on. Forget this post. I guarantee you that you will have a thought about something on that topic within fairly short order. It will be the instant your mind sees something that might help.
That's how it works. At first noticing things more if we look around more can hurt. Like seeing a romance movie or real life romance that touches too deeply. We need to overcome to accept the stings though, or we won't find the treasures. Treasures are not a stupid word. They are all around us and only your private true self knows what they are because they are always personal.
First there is a place (an island in my metaphor or a clean sheet of paper) and that place is my true self (which I discover and refine along the way). The rules are: my rules, I own everything, I run the place, I should treat the maid better, and whatever I want.
Here's a game. I target something I'm not supposed to have and costs way too much. If I lose I have to buy that. If I win, I find something else I notice I like. Can't lose. Exactly why those are the rules.
The strategy is to find things that help us to move along the way. The tactics are that smaller is better because smaller is easier and so can I find something smaller I can win at? Why? Because every last spec of what seems ok becomes the ground you eventually walk on.
Is it better to find? Or is it better to learn how to look? The answer is learn how to look because if we find something then that's good; but, if we learn how to look then we are going to find more.
I believe two basic things here. I'm not going to feel great for some time but every little thing I make my own adds up and becomes me. All I have to do is go out a few years and look back and I will see that's true. Learn how to look with the true private self.
As Walter said in Grumpy Old Men betting that the dumb swede couldn't get it up the entire honeymoon "I got a sure winner here".
Wolf, I like the way you self-analyze and come up with some really good points. It's probably true of all of us that, as you said, we're not going to feel great for some time. And also, I can really relate to your quest for the real you...without Dianne...because I'm on the same quest without Larry. I think we all are, to some extent or the other. We all--no matter how autonomous within our relationships--were part of a couple. And now we're not.
I would re-read Mary's simple post about not trying too hard...doing everything that is restorative (and that will be different for each one of us)...and just sidestepping any garbage these days. As she says...we all dealt with too much garbage during the Alzheimer years.
And we're all trying to shoo the elephant out of the room. He's hard to get rid of!
Yesterday Bandit and I chatted at some length with one of my neighbors outside on the road. Then later another neighbor asked me in for a cup of tea, and she, her husband, and I had a long chat. (Bandit was home in the kitchen.) Walking Bandit back down the road on our last walk before dark, another neighbor hollered out and asked if I'd like to come in for a cup of coffee. I thanked him, and said another time for sure. (Because I had wiggly pup with me--not fully house-trained and chews everything.) So now that the word is out up and down our road that I'm staying, I am starting to feel a lot of warmth. And maybe it's me, too...just feeling less like crawling into a hole and dying--and Bandit is a good little ice-breaker. I'm not mushy about animals, but he is undeniably cute. Looks like a dynamic powderpuff on legs.
I think that might be relatable to noticing things. I know the fact that you have a new pet is noticeable to your neighbours. I know you said you take walks but I wonder if where you are walking or when or something - is actually a change and has put you more in that path. I wonder how much more you are looking around rather than just walking. I don't think all things need analysis. I just think analysis provides more information to choose from.
New beginnings. New adventures. Possibilities. All in the memory of a full life so far. Not the worst of all possible worlds.
Well, usually I walk on the park's walking trails, but the vet really doesn't want Bandit out there until after he has his last booster shots, which will be next week. So I walk him up and down the road...not so much exposure to other dogs...and that is why the neighbors see me more than usual.
What is it about spring that makes me nostalgic for Larry? Today walking down the road with the dog, there was one very early daffodil just starting to come into bloom--barely out yet. I just kept thinking about that flower all day. The weather is warming up, spring flowers are just starting to bloom, life is pretty much taken up with trying to keep up with a warm, wiggly puppy...I'm thinking that I must look for some Easter egg dye. And Larry is gone. I can't really analyze it too closely, but my mind and emotions are on the circle of life, the wheel of the turning seasons...a time to live and a time to die, a time for every purpose under heaven. I should probably look up the verse in Ecclesiastes.
All those years when it seemed like we had all the time in the world.
What a never ending thing this experience turns out to be. Dianne has been blissfully free of all this for over a year and I'm still struggling my way back to some reasonable normality. As I get more accepting of what happened and my situation, I become aware of entire new ways in which I am a fish out of water flopping around and there isn't much else happening yet.
I can't go out and make new friends because I've spent the year moving from ten years of an absolute nightmare existence like a bobblehead forced to watch his wife/life decay slowly and then I suffered anxiety attacks when she went into and out of palliative care and died, then I spent much of the year sending death certificates and facing the changes some of which still have to be made, then I spent months throwing out all her things and discovering how badly I'd let the house deteriorate and what an absolute mess it was, and as the months passed and it started sinking in that it was over - I looked around and saw that it didn't make any difference that I had no life because I didn't know who I was anyway.
It's impossible for me to express how sick and tired I am of all this. I know I have to keep going because those ten years of horror were really my life and without a net I was catapulted out of any support structure and into grieving on my own. There isn't anywhere that cares about the likes of us in the afterwards - unless we ourselves do. That's why I can never let down and can never stop. There is only me that will help me now and so there has to be a me helping me.
It's a real strain at times. And there are times I want to throttle my own will (that's fairly reasonable to be honest), but never takes a break. My computer just glitched an hour ago. I had an anxiety attack when that happened to both my computers on the same night the same night that Dianne went into palliative care just over a year ago. This time my hands shook but I worked through the recovery. I don't know why I can't bear to let go of this desktop but then I don't know why I feel this way or how I really did used to feel or what I'm going to do with myself. I don't need reasons for everything. I need understanding of what's really going on.
I've got a great memory and professional analytical skills. I can't tell what's going on. I'm like Tom Sawyer and Becky in the cave. I glance out the window and see it's a nice day and then turn to put the kettle on catching myself skewering somebody who hurt me or could hurt me. I pumped up my tires with a hand pump for months before it occurred to me that I could just buy new tires. I spent years getting myself out the house. If feelings like I used to have were water, I would be a desert. I can have nice, safe little feelings and then sometimes they go spinning off - instead I operate in life now by method acting and memory checks. My thoughts talk to me all day long. "I can do this. Relax. Just pick up the phone. Look how dirty that is. Why am I so glum? Oh right. Whey don't I feel any spontaneous enthusiasm? Oh right. What happened to everyone I know? Oh right. How the heck am I ever going to be happy again?"
I'm so bloody tired. Chin up. Why? Is someone else lined up to swing at me? Oh right, that ended. I got all the money, the house, the cats, and a suprisingly low mileage car - but I'm also suddenly old, everybody left, and I have to scale a cliff to get out of this seriously unhealthy emotional hole.
I get Einstein. Without the provable equations it's philosophy. I don't get philosophy. At some point you're exactly like the jogger who needs the endorphene high more than the function of fitness. Thought isn't supposed to be a fetish. It's supposed to be a tool. I don't need equations to figure out something that provably works.
Am I getting better? My life used to be endless storms and torrents of storms to the point I literally had to just hang on sometimes. Then Dianne died which was a huge storm. That was the end of the energy cell that created the storms though and without new horrors coming at me the storms started dying out and I started looking around at all the damage. There are almost no storms now and when the crisis that really got to me last year happened again tonight, my hands shook but I just went through the steps and dealt with it. Am I getting better? There is no doubt.
It's a negative scale because I think it takes a couple of years even when it's moving along for us, to come to a truly neutral state which some call normal. It doesn't cover everything because there are hurts and resentments and shocks and horrors that may or may not be festering within us. Poop was one of my horror moments. Poop is a game changer the pros told me. I barely managed it and I still have chlorine gas burning parts of my brain. The shock of her death face where I saw her and her skeleton together. That shock stunned me. Her whimpering when she was confused and I was a stranger and absolutely powerless to really help.
In all this I have to rescue her memory from just being an alzheimers patient. I can't do that or accept what happened unless I somehow comb through the underbrush of all those years where that jungle is full of painsticks and tripwires. Or it's a ten year hole in my life I don't think about. I tend to do a bit of both. I can't spend time being in the now when I think about all the bad things I have to assimilate and it's not healthy to dwell there either. I just need a strategy about how to deal with those years that fits me and I only know what that is if I can both ask and answer the question: how do I judge I should try and think about that time?
One thing I believe is that it's almost a waste of time thinking about what your new life might be like. I walked around that block a few times and decided that going out to meet the world while I was depressed and grieving, didn't understand myself, and had zero idea what I wanted because I didn't have the emotional equipment to want - was not the world's greatest idea. I was right because everything's changing because I'm changing, and I'm changing because the war ended and my friend didn't make it, but I did, and in the second year after the bombs stopped exploding even time is changing. I used to get through a whole month without being aware of it. Now the days go by one at a time. And because I've calmed down, they've slowed down, and I need to fill them preferably with positive things.
That's almost like a completely separate story. The positives. It's easier in the afterwards to reduce negatives than it is to add positives. At least, that's what I find because my overall state isn't positive or neutral. I sigh a lot and I have to push myself to keep going and to be honest life has been bleak for a long time to say the least. Nothing surprising about not generally feeling positive for some time except for moments. Don't need Einstein there either. More moments please is a provable theory.
wolf, thank you for your honesty and willingness to share your grief. It is coming up a year for me and while I do have "good days" I still oftentimes am plagued with the gray grief cloud that still hangs over me. I read something a while back about how to get yourself out of depression and I have to say it does help. Sadness comes when we focus on the past or future and we are not in the present. They gave 2 suggestions. One was to stop and ask yourself, what am I seeing, hearing, feeling, tasting, smelling at this moment. The next was when the negative thoughts come, place your hand on your heart and start saying things you are grateful for to God or whatever one calls God. I guess I am learning that it is all about learning to control our thoughts. As I look back I realize that now at almost 11 months out I have made a couple new friends where 6 months ago I could not have said that. For me that is progress. I am in a bearevement group at my church and I have to say I do get something out of it. Tonight we have to share something that we are most proud on that we did for our loved one. I made a huge decision last week and purchased a new car. My old one was costing me money and as I reflect I think the car was associated so much with sadness as I got it 5 years ago in the midst of my care taking. This car will be my last car. I know that. But it is my car and has nothing to do with him. Somehow I needed that. Keep sharing your grief because we all hear you and definitely get it. One day at a time.
You have really given me some new things to try. I bought a new home, in my name, he has not lived here so no memories just visits but it is mine. He calls it " your home". I am going to have to buy a newer car soon . Mine, no memories of all our travels. Next I am going to try your method of thinking in the now. No past no future. Thanks. God bless
Hi CO2. Good to hear from you. I agree that focusing on the past makes it hard to be in the moment and that our beliefs help us. I also think ideas like your church are suggesting are the kinds of questions we need to resolve within ourselves. All the best.
I've just been pondering on the last few posts...Wolf, C02, Jazzy...so much of what Wolf writes is similar to my own feelings. And C02's suggestions are similar to what I do--live in the moments, feel gratitude for what I do have--and while my house overall is filled with memories, I've found that making it "mine" instead of "ours" really is helpful. Yesterday the new beds for the second bedroom arrived and the delivery guys set them up--bunk beds with a trundle under the bottom bunk--they are solid and sturdy, built like a Sherman tank--American-made in Minnesota--meant for anyone to sleep on, not just kids. There is a comfortable chair to sit on in there, and a work table that can be used either as a desk or as a table for sewing or other crafts. So, a comfortable little room that can be a retreat, a work room, a guest room, whatever. As I've said a time or two, I feel much better with "our" bedroom set being out of the house. It is a nice bedroom set, and works very well in DD's guest room--I just don't want to have to look at it every day.
I'm getting some of those inexpensive packs of Easter cards and sending them out to my closest NY friends with a letter letting everyone know that I'm staying in the Heartland. My friend Phyllis already knows, but there are six or eight people that I really need to make aware. My life here is simple and solitary (other than the family chores), but becoming happier and more peaceful all the time. It's hard to explain, but after years of being tuned in to the needs of everyone around me--Larry, my patients, my family--I am doing a better job of being tuned in to my own needs. It would sound boring to an outsider--there is a lot going on internally with my emotions--but I am more "me" than I've probably ever been--nothing to prove, no particular agenda, no feeling that I have to accomplish something every day--just enjoying the moments, whether it be the first morning coffee, petting the dog, seeing an interesting bird in the park--the cool, damp morning air...I think I'm going kind of Zen here. I always thought that in my older years it would be nice to retreat to a nunnery the way women did in medieval times...just to meditate and stroll peacefully through the convent herb gardens and beehives...ha, ha--I'm sort of doing that now.
I can use an example you gave to show what I mean by doing the work. I would imagine having written all the cards and having sent them and then have a sleep and see how I feel in the morning about having sent them. I know you said your friend already knows, and if I don't need such an exercise, I move on to making a point that one of my own markers of how I'm doing is that I feel pretty comfortable that I've resolved something that I've been deciding for some time now. Originally New York sounded like the choice.
That doesn't mean anything. What's important is that I understand that if I feel OK about what I have chosen then I have a clear sign that I'm getting somewhere. On days or in moments when the ground doesn't feel that solid - it's clear markers like that which help us understand we're moving forwards.
For me it takes work to keep myself grounded where I used the metaphor of how many storms there are. My own experience is that it's harder to feel good after Dianne died than it was in the three years I was home alone. Back then maybe I earned the relief while still in the world of my old reality - now there isn't any definition in the emptiness except those things I can give meaning to. Finding meaning in things isn't an antidote to grief or depression. It's part of the process. Learning to relax. Learning to want. Learning to let your guard down. Allowing ourselves to feel again.
I'm learning that with my cats. I'm learning to hug them more and let my love flow through my fingers when I pat them. Nobody else has to think that way but that's me - or it used to be. Every animal loves me and every animal is happy to see me again. But it's the wholesomeness of the authenticity that is missing. It's what I called method acting before. I can still do it like riding a bike - but I'm not really living it. Not yet.
In the end, however eager to get away or to get ahead, I need patience because I need time.
Right, it takes time. That is such a cliche--"Time is the great healer" and all that. But I'm finding it's absolutely true. And it's unbelievable how your life can change. I can't think of the title, but there is a Dr. Seuss book that is often given to new graduates. It is about starting new journeys, if I remember right. The funny characters say things like, "Oh, the places you'll go! Oh, the things that you'll do!" Yup, I think that could relate to an Alzheimer spousal survivor, too.
I feel like I definitely have a foot in both places--the Heartland and NY. It is extremely common to retire out of NY because of the property taxes and general high cost of living. I am just going to be one more NY retiree who goes back and forth--and I am fortunately much closer to my NY home area than some. I think financially my strategy is very sound, and I have found just the perfect little retirement house and location here. Two nights ago as I shooed the kids into DD's car, four deer came leaping out of the park and ran across the yard next door--so pretty, and interesting to watch. Listen, you're not going to get that in Manhattan. And up in NY, Phyllis is working on trying to get us tickets to "Hamilton." (Yeah, good luck with that.) So my goal is to enjoy the best of both places--and as I've said before, it's an easy one-day drive to get back. I have friends who regularly go back and forth from South Carolina to the Mid-Hudson valley, and it's a 15 hour drive. Yikes.
I've come far enough to know that at least in my case, as I get better, I also hurt more. Some of that is how far away I pushed my own feelings during those years where I had no choice but to keep going. Those walls were reinforced and reinforced where every time we were coming apart and found ways to keep going (read were forced to keep going), we walled up and detached and accepted completely outrageous things just to keep supporting them (read change your name and move to Duluth or force yourself).
The very thing we watched them lose which is the extremely developed nuance of a human personality (and especially in long term situations), is the thing we are trying to evolve now. In long term situations the participants are often in a world of nuance others may not even be aware of because it's all the crinkly edges that hold the meaning when so much is known about each other.
Belonging. We might ask what that means. There is no doubt you belong when you share an entire world with one other person where the evidence of that belonging is that almost no one else knows that relationship because you are one half of it's existence.
The human need for this level of connectivity is evidenced in jobs. We might become deeply integrated in the nuances of the people where we work. We might spend more waking hours at work than we do in our nuanced relationship. When we get a job somewhere else, all of that is cut off. Some people deal with that better than others although most people do move on fine.
Some people when they retire do not move on fine. Their nuanced relationship with the place they spent a massive chunk of their life might be very hard to stop and seperately, it might be very hard to make the change and pick up new interests with some time.
In my opinion, it's that very nuanced relationship with meaning that is both the richness of life and the thing I am missing. All the metaphors about planting and tending and blow torched stumps and gardening and healing are the fact that what we experienced damaged us in serious ways, and that inescapably evidenced truth is virtually unspoken of as the central hinge - which must move before we have a serious chance of adjusting to our new relationship. You are in a new relationship with someone you hardly know. It's your so called life.
As my own nuances as a person (which have taken my lifetime to develop) come back out gradually, so do the nuances of the experiences I've been through. Those are the same experiences which caused me to change in the first place. Now it is the memory of them but a much clearer and more nuanced memory.
It's not just that. As I become more myself and look around, I can see more poignantly and with more emotion and with more nuanced realism - what I now face and face ahead.
.....
It's right here that I and my best friend part company. He will struggle hard against things he can't conceive about himself and has his own pharmacy to prove it. That's harsh and I love him. But I really am in this predicament and I have no choice but to face it and work my way through and when I pass Robert Frost there pondering, I will wave, because I really do have miles to go.
Start picking your route through the Hudson Valley. Start finding places you might stop on Google Earth or Google Maps. Flip between map and satellite and zoom in close and shop names pop up. Start imagining yourself going. Allow the reactions. Ride the waves. They pass. Plan to buy them all lunch. You can do this. Live in both worlds.
There isn't anything that's going to stop me from letting it all go by absorbing it. There isn't anything that's going to stop me from owning my life. There isn't anything that's going to stop me from opening the windows wide and letting the air and light do what they do. I am not stopped by how empty it is, or how hard it is, or how tired I am, or how terrified I am that I will mis-step and be swept away, that my terrible lonliness will never end. I am all those things. And I will mail a postcard when I get there.
That is what I miss the most--the connections, the feeling of belonging. I am still connected to Larry, really. I'm not saying this in a sad or negative sense, but he is constantly in my mind and heart...constantly with me. I think in all honesty it is a good thing, not a bad thing. It isn't weird or unhealthy, but he is just There.Someone said on another thread that they wondered if people made their LO into a saint after they died. Ha-ha. I remember Larry's little quirks and idiosyncrasies--the occasional times when he was so irritating I could have thrown him off a bridge. No, not a saint. But boy, do I wonder if I could ever possibly have that kind of special relationship with anybody else--like I had with him, and also the close friendship I had with my maternal grandmother. When I was younger, and had a huge social network, I never understood the comment you hear that true friends are very rare. Now I "get it" and understand perfectly.
I miss that "connectivity" as Wolf calls it so much in the reality of the nuts and bolts world. It was just nice to have somebody to live with,to do the ordinary everyday activities of daily life with, and now that's gone. I've said it before, but Bandit is a real little therapist for me. Somebody to talk to, to care for, to laugh with...even if "only" a dog. A little alien creature, probably born on the planet Mars, with a lot of empathy in some ways. A living being to sit on the couch or walk in the park with, to give structure to my days as I re-build myself. As I try to own my life, open the windows and let air and light in, as Wolf would say.
I can imagine a story that is altogether different from mine but strangely similar. I imagine a sailor shipwrecked long ago after a long storm who finds himself on a beach and is taken in by kind strangers who speak a different language and have strange customs. I imagine the sailor doesn't have funds to return home and sees no connection to shipping at any rate. He does have some gold and secures a place to reside but now has to reinvent himself in this new world. It's not an inhospitable world; but, what that person faces and what I face are similar.
My first reaction to such a story is "what are you talking about Wolf?" but my second reaction is that I like to deny just how much I sigh and push myself and talk to myself and how much the real, honest truth is that it's dreadful to have it in my face every day how much I don't really belong anywhere.
The real dramatization isn't how I'm talking now but how much we cover over and displace what the moments largely are made up of. If I take struggling to keep trying and feeling the weight of it, I pretty much sum up most peoples' year or two 'afterwards'. That makes perfect sense too. It's hard to go through but it does make sense because we are steadily coming away from a long nightmare. This is what that does and that's why we feel these things for some time.
As an example of how much the nature of our experience comes to bear on our outlook - the sailor in my story might feel a strong relief that he survived a storm at sea and has his life. Alzheimer's spouses have no such reactions that I can spot. I've struggled to try and feel more than just relief that that absolute worst period of my life ended. I'm certain Dianne was tired of it. There is no reason not to feel real comfort in that. I do think feelings get blowtorched pretty badly in many cases and over a long time though; and that's part of the reason.
...
When I sit in my room staring and don't know what to do with myself I always know the problem is me. There is no fault but I am the problem. I cannot have books, televisions, computers, games, clubs, organizations of every manner, a car, and legs - and I don't have anything to do. It simply has to be that I am my own problem.
I would love to believe I just need the motivation but that's garbage. I would love to believe I've been through so much and I need to heal but that's garbage for me now too. I go at it or I'm flapping my gums and there isn't much in between.
I always said this was the hard part. When most of the truly hard things we went through get enough distance and have enough time that we are largely left with ourselves. Not just our boring selves finely tuned to a life no longer here, but our limited selves who may have done quite well really but know nothing much about this.
Throw in another unspoken. Old age. It's creeping up and the only sensible response to that is to be creeped out about it. There are numerous elephants in the room.
In this witches brew what we want is for you to open your arms wide, shut your eyes, and fall back into the safety net of the support around you. Wait. That's you. I mean jump forward with your eyes open and not like Thelma and Louise.
When I'm bored and sit there the problem is that I'm not bored enough. Normal people with unblowtorched and unabused feelings might get that sooner, but that's hard when the dominant thing in your life is the honest reality that you've been hurt a lot.
I'm not sure it matters what type we are. I'm pretty sure everybody has their own burnt bridges and grand canyons and so on. The blockages each of us face, I believe are as varied as the caregiving experiences we faced. For myself, I couldn't tell you whether I now have a higher level of sincerity or I'm just scared deep down.
I know one thing for sure. As I get better time is slowing down and that means the big empty appears to be growing even though that's not true. My life was my life minute one - it's me changing but the effect is that I have more time to fill and more me to see that with.
This is the hard part. I've endured and I've healed and I got through all that. Now I have to change voluntarily and by myself. That is far more aggravating, annoying, unwanted, resisted, and mis-identified than anything I've been through so far.
Grief: "But I'm still healing." Wolf: "No. We've done that. Now we're going to grow." Grief: "I want a new owner." Wolf: "Don't run away! I need you to carry stuff."
I agree that a really bad part of all of this is not really belonging anywhere. I'm wrestling with that one myself, but I think I'm just going to carve myself a little niche of space (my house and yard), and that will be where I belong, more or less. That secure, comfortable feeling of belonging with a person is gone forever, I think. Oddly, Myrtle had mentioned the song "Four Strong Winds" on another thread somewhere, and that song runs through my mind a lot. "But our good times are all gone, and I'm bound for moving on..." Yes, just yes.
I have become a lot less linear, a lot less intellectual, a lot less accomplishment-oriented. I think I'm far more emotional these days than I ever was before in my life. After what I've been through, where my world almost literally turned upside-down, my left brain seems to have shrunk, and my right brain--the crazy, emotional, creative side--seems to be taking over. Oh, I don't mean that I'm irresponsible--I maintain the SUV, lock my house at night, do my taxes--but I have just eliminated so many "shoulds" in my life. To a large extent, I just do what I want, as the spirit moves me, and that mostly just means moving through a satisfying 24 hours of sleep, get up, care for dog, work on screenplay, try to fit in a little music (dog barks at Johann Sebastien Bach--good Lord--a dog who hates classical music...I have to keep my foot on the soft pedal) but anyway...And I knock off the family chores as efficiently and quickly as possible, so I have more time for me. So I'm rambling here, but what I'm trying to say is that I don't care about lists, goals, accomplishments...I just try to enjoy the days, and to some extent, I do. But that loneliness just doesn't go away, and it hits at odd times. Like last night as I put Bandit in his bed and went to walk over to mine, I stopped and just touched Larry's picture--stroked his hair and cheek, kind of reached out my arms to hug him where his body would have been if he had been standing there for real instead of just a picture on the dresser. Yeah, weird-o-rama.
I do think that we don't have anything to prove at this point in our lives, and I don't necessarily think we have to "do" anything. Just enjoy the moments. If anybody has earned it, we have.
And in terms of old age, that is a scary one. I think the thing to do is to plan and figure out how we're going to take care of ourselves--plan early and plan wisely, because if we don't take charge of our own futures, somebody else is going to do it for us, and it may not be pretty. For myself, I am already researching senior living places, as I do not want DD having one iota of control over my future. I want to move into one sooner rather than later, and have a cocoon of care around me so DD not only doesn't have to do it, but so she couldn't do it if she wanted to. I am reasonably family-oriented, but not a complete idiot, and I know that there is simply no one around who has my best interests at heart and who would help me if I needed it--so I'm going to be careful now, as 66-year-old me, to plan for 76 and 86-year-old me to have as good, safe, and secure life as possible. I like the sound of something like where Marsh lives--there are nice places like that both in OH and NY-- although I tentatively plan on another ten years or so in this little house by the woods. I'm coming to terms with the fact that, as scary and lonely as it is, it's likely that I'll never again have anyone who will love me and care for me...who will breathe out when I breathe in and vice versa--and I'm pretty much gritting my teeth, pulling up my socks, and figuring out how to move forward alone. I guess we all are.
That was very succinct and profound, elizabeth*. Although my husband is still in LTC, I, too, am doing what you are doing. Ironically, I just live day to day because at this point there is no future that I can see, and yet, I too am thinking about controlling my own destiny at age 76 and 86 (I also am 66).
Please keep posting. Because you are a writer, your musings are clear and ring true. We seem to be traveling similar paths, although I am a few steps behind, and it is so helpful to have experiential wisdom scattered along the path ahead.
The biggest joy of my life right now is my dog. At this stage I find that family is fine but dogs are better. They are never too busy, have total and unconditional love, and are never judgmental. They seem to sense when I need a nudge or a snuggle, but most of all they remind me about living and living in the moment.
You might dismiss this, but you are a good role model for all of us in setting boundary limits with family, pushing yourself to exercise and add art to your day, and thinking ahead about the rest of your life while cherishing the special bond you had with Larry. I wish I could wave you in for tea as you pass the house walking Bandit.
Elizabeth, I so enjoy your posts because it echoes so much of my grieving experience. I too seem to be much less driven to accomplish things or lists to be done. I feel safe and secure in my little house and relish having things the way I want them. I am 69 and alto I do not feel old the calendar says otherwise. The years I spent caregiving seem as a blur now in retrospect. I am much more focused on each day and not so much on the future. I still seem to have a fair amount of anxiety and fears that arise but a friend from my bereavement group says it is normal. I have considered a dog as we always had dogs. I had to put the last one down when her care became too much for me in addition to caring for my husband. I hated doing it because she was really his dog and he loved dogs. I guess time will tell. Right now I just do not want anything to take care of. My mother just had surgery and I am focused on helping with her but my sister is POA as I knew I could not possibly take on another major caretaker role so soon. I realized today that I am just not in a celebratory mood this year to celebrate Easter. usually have a brunch for the family but decided to forego that. The one year anniversary is coming up soon. I am not holding any expectations and just hope the depression is not too bad as the day approaches.
Just took Bandit out and had a cup of coffee. I was thinking about what Marche said about dogs reminding us to live in the moment. It's true if you think about it--Eat, sleep, poop, play with toys, get affection from pleasant people, give lots of affection, keep it simple--not a bad way to live. lol Marche, I'm ready for that cup of tea. Come on, C02, hospitality check at Marche's!
What a wonderful day!, I suddenly felt, and shot up from my exciting new computer game looking out over the winter wonderland of an ice storm (I don't need a single thing because I'm a genius and also because my friend phoned to warn me since he knows I never look at weather reports), so I shot up out of my chair crying out with my fist in the air because my fearless squad of minor gods held on and defeated the nefarious Kobold's - and I felt such a rush I made an extra trip to look out of a different window and sweeping around the corner, I noticed my almost gleaming hardwood and how good it looked against the winter snowstorm out there while I was in here in my bedroom in Rivendale (actually it's Rivendell, a more affordable part of middle earth).
Oh look. There's Robert Frost out there. I opened the window hearing the ice coating crack sharply. "Hey Bob!", I yelled, and he looked up. "Miles to go!" I yelled and gave him a grinning two thumbs up. He looked away. I couldn't care less. I'm not out there staring at a tree in a snowstorm while even my horse is wondering what turnip truck I fell off of. I run downstairs to make coffee and realize what I felt just a moment ago. I felt so great I let out a whoop and when I turned from the escape fantasy that was making me whoop - I didn't have any letdown or any thought that it was hard to be me or in my life.
I like the kitchen. The counter was full of dishes and I didn't care and instead remembered the ham I baked last night with the brown sugar-ketchup-yellow mustard coating and how happy the three of us were watching the basketball game chomping on maple baked ham. I ate the last of the home made banana loaf I'd bought. And as I waited for the water to boil because I drip my coffee, it really did sink in that this is the first day I feel happy and I don't need any qualifier. That has been 401 days since Feb 18 2015. And that was the shortest leg of any of this ten plus years that Alzheimer's has run my life.
That was somewhere around 2pm. Now it's 7:30 and I had some leftover ham cut up with fine cut onions in a 4 cheese alfredo sauce with pasta. I've got the NCAA tournament on and I've been doing stuff like this for many, many months - but I've never had an entire day where I'm not just fine - I'm having a good time all day.
How long did it take me to walk out of the valley of death? Four hundred and one days. How long did I struggle in the valley of death in total? Eleven hundred and fifty four days. Am I done? Not a chance. But here I plunk down a seismic marker (which poor Grief got to carry) because I will be back until all the markers giving off their signals becomes the symphony I live in.
I've worked hard and long for this and I'm proud to achieve it. Ok, enough basking.
Jump into the afterwards feet first yelling "take no prisoners" and torment all the usual suspects there. Check.
Scream your way to a great life because that makes as much sense as anything I've read anywhere. Check.
Do something really good with yourself. Hmmm.
I need an alternative ending. Afterall, it's my cloud and I can do what I want. So I need a re-write:
Do something really good with yourself. *Or* Put your feet up because you have earned it.
There. Perfect.
.............
Wolf's lesser known version of that poem.
Miles to go before I sleep So I'm going to take the jeep. It's not that I'm in a hurry I just don't want to be a worry. Staring into the frozen waste Isn't to my personal taste. I've been down that hard road Littered with friends I knowed Marked until we meet again. Don't know how. Don't know when. But when it tries to draw me in That is just not happening.
I don't think I've had full days of pure happiness, but I've come pretty close, and when the joy starts to hit, it is like golden sunlight after the gray, shadowy, miserable darkness. I've had a couple nights when it was hard to get to sleep...just kind of anxious and fretful...missing him and the old life...wanting to be up in NY...but that's really been it so far since I decided to stay in OH: two nights. Most of the time it is cosy, restful, all-night sleep. Days filled with things I like to do...no particular agenda...am writing more...pretty much play easy things that I like on the harp or piano...the woods...the dog...the kids. Miles to go before I sleep.
Never mind the jeep--I'll take the Cadillac! Hahahahahahahahahahahahaa.
Wolf...WOW! So happy that you experienced real joy in your day! I have 2 little grandsons that I care for every day. They are a great source of pure joy for me. It feels so good to let those happy feelings wash over me. I get them a lot. Then, Satan tries to sneak in and throw guilt arrows at me. For having the nerve to go forward in peace and joy. To try to move beyond the pain and loss. I am getting stronger everyday at deflecting those assaults. I am doing well at post day 433.
I can help you. Satan is bad. Therefore satan's guilt is bad. Since satan's guilt is bad, feeling peace and joy must be good. As evidence that this is true, in real life guilt feels bad and joy feels good. Therefore, satan can go fork himself. Pardon my language. You're welcome.
As further evidence it's this straightforward, when I do something bad and feel guilt and go and make good, then I feel joy that I did that.
Don't need logic really. What would your husband want for you?
As the newest member of this group please let me say hello. I am going to spend much time here to learn how to navigate now. Thanking you in advance. I seem to just be putting one foot in front of the other and dream of staying in my pajamas for a week. Such a profound sense of mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion. I know that is normal with this disease. Whew it has been quite the ride.
Actually, this is a supportive and helpful thread--like many other threads on this website it is a place where others who have been through it can throw you the knotted rope to hold on to. I don't know if it would be helpful or just depressing, but there are a lot of insightful posts on here if you go back through the pages. Just go with the flow with the exhaustion. I found it really, really debilitating, and as you said, staying in sweats or grubs and making a major accomplishment if you get your teeth brushed does seem to go with the territory.
It's just as clear to me now how to spot my experience damage as it was invisible back then.
In our main bathroom, Dianne ripped one of the doors off the cabinet below the sink. That would have been in 2011. I never gave it a thought because I was up above my neck in way too much happening. That's not the only cupboard door she ripped off.
In order to survive, we steadily allow things we normally wouldn't have and as the years pass and the stress piles on, we move further and further away from what our normal reactions would have been to things.
It's clearly quite common to look up after the funeral somewhere and realize we hardly recognize ourselves or our friends and family or our lives. That's one insight into the power of the disease. How drastically it changed so much. It's also one insight into our power to heal when we start noticing those changes. It feels bad but it is part of healing.
I started noticing that half the bathroom cupboard door was missing some time when I was home alone in 2012-2014. I started registering that I needed to do something about it last year but it never bothered me. It still doesn't 'bother' me today. But this year as I've been throwing out her things and cleaning long neglected things and even ripping up carpets - it started having some meaning to me. I know that because it was crossing my mind.
I also know that cleaning and fixing my 'home' are necessary and healthy. I've talked about getting that in cleaning I have to learn to accept it's constancy and develop a decent relationship with that. That's working because I allow myself to leave dishes or pots piled up for a few days (everything is rinsed because I had to learn cleaning is 10 times harder if you don't rinse and 10 times easier if you do).
I'm not handy. But when I pay attention and figure things out, I can fix them. After being oppressed by the new toilet I bought for Dianne with a higher seat - I finally lifted the lid and figured it out.
And now, I've got that cupboard door in the bathroom and the post that came off with it and I'm figuring out how I'm going to reset that so the cupboard door will go on matching the other one. That's the normal me. I'm not having reactions - it's just something I have to figure out and get done.
Are these gradual changes good? Yes, that's clear. Do they make me happy? No. They're all signs that I'm gradually coming back to my normal operational personality. There is one you know. Ask your kids what you're normally like. Suspend disbelief though.
....
You can't see what's happening in the emotional state and in the mental health state the way you can by observing these real-world kinds of things. It's a likely barometer in most of us though that they are moving in the same direction.
It's also true that developing a relationship with your space promotes well being. Not as much as having some fun with your time does, but they both also tend to move in the same direction.
In so many ways it's like swimming. Especially when you're at risk like when you're swimming across a small lake. The trick is always to slow down and not speed up because you're just wasting energy. I could never do that in scuba gear. I sucked those tanks dry fast because the truth is I could never relax down there. Yet I could snorkel down there for two minutes and feel fine.
You don't just have to know yourself. You have to help yourself. Well, you don't have to think about any of this. But then nobody is fixing that door and the thing is, I now want that door fixed.
I believe you come out of a depression by finding a wide variety of things that all are proven not to be depressing to you and you do that calmly and honestly as you can. You change the nature of reality by noticing specifics within reality and changing those.
We can do that like robots, but the ultimate prize here is to learn how to change things for the better no matter how small a thing that is.
We are all our own prisoners. Everyone is close minded and boring. Everyone is harder on themselves than anyone else and that is human wiring. No one wants to have to change while everyone says they would like to happier please. No one can tell you precisely what that is. It's over there somewhere.
Yet if you pull your eyes out of your self absorbed bum and get up from this screen and walk around your place with an open mind, you will find something you could change for 24 hours. Put something new out on the table. Move the vase to where it doesn't belong. Sit in a place you rarely do and try and look around. Find some shoes in the closet you never wear and wear them next time. Wear the other jacket. Go through your clothes and find something and then actually try it on. Put something new in the bathroom. Find something you rarely notice and have a memory about it. Just sit there and go way back and find one good day you rarely think about. Have a feeling.
But always remember, we are healing for some time, and your self absorbed bum is a safe place to be because you know the territory and can manage in it.
....
Years ago some friends of mine spent their vacation going to africa to help a village build a school. When they got back, Dave told an interesting story. The school was being built at one end of the village but the bricks and supplies were dropped off at the other side of the village. When their group talked to the natives in charge, they couldn't comprehend what the foreigners where saying.
The things are put here, they explained. Yes, but if we put them over here we don't have to carry everything so far. The things are put here, they explained. There was no other conception of reality they could grasp other than what is done. The things are put here, they tried to explain.
I challenge anyone here to step outside now and really look around and take longer than two minutes to notice something they never noticed before. Now what do you suppose that means??
These are the things that are here, they tried to explain. No they're not. You're closed for business.
Hey Wolf, I like your take on getting the house in order. It does help and is a sure sign of "moving in the right direction." For all of those who have passed the 1 year mark, how did you handle the anniversary of their death? Did you make plans, take a trip, or just let it happen.
I tried to keep the day as simple and commitment-free as possible--wanted a peaceful day of quiet reflection. Twenty minutes or so before the time he died, I just went and sat quietly in the chair in the corner of the bedroom where he died and thought about him--stayed there for a half-hour or so. It was soul-nurturing and I just still felt our connection...didn't have any weird ESP psycho experiences or anything like that--just a pleasant interlude thinking about him and our life together. It had always been "us" together through thick and thin, no matter what. At the one-year, six months, and 24-day point, it still sometimes feels very strange to be so alone.
I am doing much better, but still sometimes feel like the walking wounded. Getting the house in order, traveling, trying valiantly to build a new identity as a person alone, and spending a lot of time with my dog has been helpful.
I guess because it's Easter weekend (life, death, etc.) I'm reflecting a bit on our final weeks and on the time shortly after he died. My feelings for the first week or so--getting the medical supplies out of the house--pulling paperwork together--getting through the funeral services in OH and NY--were like being in a strange limbo--of numbness--with flashes of extreme pain and loneliness. I think it was after that that all the apathy and lethargy started--burying myself online for hours at a time--reading, watching DVDs--spending the day in leggings and Uggs--well, I guess it's all recorded somewhere on this thread. But joy does start coming in, very gradually and in fits and starts--it takes a while, but it increases over time. Going back and reading my posts for the last month of his life and the day he died, I cannot believe I survived that. It is like reading about somebody in a war zone.