One Last Time

 

Mom Summer 2023
age 91

My Mom has been in home hospice since Saturday.  She had been in the hospital for a week while they tried to figure out why she had suddenly started choking and then aspirating while attempting to swallow.  They never figured it out definitively other than to suspect it was neurological; possibly a mini stroke that went unnoticed or another degenerative condition.  She's almost 93 now and has been in a slow decline since her fall last Thanksgiving week when her bones announced they would no longer bear her weight and her foot nearly broke off her ankle.  She has been completely bedridden ever since.

They had to give up trying to help her last Wednesday because everything they tried to treat one condition created or worsened another.  The aspirating created pneumonia, then she went into a-fib because lack of nutrition caused potassium deficiency but she couldn't tolerate the potassium infusion.  Then her oxygen levels started dropping.  All the testing was also hard on her.  So my sister and the doctors in consultation with Mom decided it was time to switch to palliative care and home hospice.

Yesterday she was pressing her lips together to refuse all but ice chips.  Today she became nearly completely unresponsive and her breathing sounded like gurgles.  Half an hour ago I got a text from my sister that her breathing has started going into long pauses.  I am beside myself with sadness and feeling more than usually trapped by being a shut-in separated from her by a river and maybe two miles by bird flight but at least six by car.

Then it crossed my mind that what I needed to do was write.  But journaling was not going to cut it.  I remembered how I used to be able to take moments like this to my blog as easy as breathing.  So I decided to repost the Mother's Day Musing poem one last time under whatever musing I need to do about what is happening right now.  At first I balked thinking 'Don't make this about you.'  Yet even tho it is about her it is also about our Mother/Daughter relationship and thus about my grief.

I got to visit her in the hospital last Thursday when she was still alert part of the time.  She's been aphasiac since her stroke in 2008 but she had a few words and phrases.  For the last couple years she seems to have enjoyed listening to me talk about my crochet.  We bonded around crochet because she taught me.  Twice. The first time my senior year of high school when I made two afghans for Home Ec.  But I didn't really take to it then.  The second time was in 2009 about six months after her stroke when she didn't yet have much of her language back.

When my Dad died in 2005 I'd found a crocheted bookmark in one of his books and I asked Mom if she'd made it.  But she said no and thought it had probably been Grandma Thelma.  She told me I could have it.  I asked if she could teach me to make one.  She said yes.  But I was packing to go back home to the Rogue Valley Oregon so we promised we would on the next visit.  But we had not done it yet before her stroke.  She still had nearly zero words tho.  So she took the hook and thread and had me watch her make the chain and put the first stitch in and then complete the row.  Each row was twelve double crochet creating a single shell stitch.  Then she took it out and handed it to me and watched me try.  And try and try.  She shook her head no if I wasn't doing it right and nodded when I finally did.

So I got to see her at her house again on Monday and she was still responsive enough to know I was there and managed to stay awake as I chattered on about my crochet WIPS.  Whenever I paused too long she would say 'Uh huh'  until I started up again.  I ran out of things to say about my current crochet and then hit on the Jimmy Carter memoirs I've been reading since January.  So many.  But it wasn't the memoirs I wanted to tell her about.  I asked if she remembered President Jimmy Carter and she said 'Yes!'  very emphatic and I swear there was an actual smile in her tone.  So I told her he had just had his 100th birthday October 1st and had been in home hospice for over a year. She said several times, 'Oh My!  Oh My!'  Then I said 'He was a Sunday school teacher before he ran for office.  And she said, 'Yes!'  In a way I knew she was all there and remembering the Carter years clearly.

That was probably my last true conversation with my Mama.  Tuesday she barely acknowledged she understood I was there and could not stay awake.  There were no 'Uh huh' only 'Mmm hmmm'

Today I asked my sister not to try to get a response.  Forcing her to consciousness meant forcing her to suffer the pain.  I just wanted to sit with her and the family that was there.  To give and receive support form each other.

______________________________________
At just after 9:30pm, half an hour after the message that her breathing had gone into long pauses, I got the message that she is gone.  And that my brother and his wife are on the way from Portland.  My sister asked if I'd like to come sit with them and I said yes.  So now I need to get ready to go.  So I can't take time to edit this now.  Maybe I will later tonight when I get back home and add a postscript while I'm at it.

Meanwhile enjoy my Mother's Day poem photo essay honoring Mom.  It's a repost from way back.

A Mother's Day Musing

by Joy Renee

Have you ever noticed,
while flipping the pages
in a family photo album,
how often
mothers seem to not be
in the picture?

Even though we all know,
if we consider for just
one moment,
that every breath

every bite

every step

and every bright
smile

depends on her
involvement.


Maybe it's because
she was the one
taking the picture
or so busy making
stuff happen
or just
making stuff--
from matching outfits

to fully outfitted
snowmen


from flapper dresses

to wedding dresses


from birthday cakes


to wedding cakes;

picnics,

stage props,

rag curls,

curly tops,

smart bow ties

and...

matching eyes.

There needs to be,
don't you agree,
more than one day
each year when
the one who makes
it all happen,
who makes home
feel like home,
who frames all the pictures
of our earliest
memories,
is given her rightful
place
right in the middle
of the picture?

Read more...

Taming My Stella and Rising From Her Mudd

 500 Stellas Can Put Anyone In the Mud

In a discussion with my sister-friend Jamie several months ago, I was ragging on myself and refusing to see what Jamie saw as positives instead of just further proof of my failures and deficiencies. I kept insisting that what was done did not outweigh what was undone and even so it wasn't done right or wasn't done quickly enough or wasn't done often enough or wasn't done on time or wasn't done with a good attitude etc etc etc.

Jamie asked me whose voice was I hearing in my head when I took these thoughts to heart.  I said primarily my Mom's from childhood but also my Dad's, my brother's and my sister's and of course my husband's and my mother-in-law's.  Then she told me that another close friend of hers had a similar problem and she had found it helpful to name her haranguer so she could talk back to her.  I promised I would think about that and see if I could come up with a name meaningful to me.

After several days of contemplation I had zeroed in on the finger shaken at my face as was my Mom's practice.  And although her tone was much different it put me in mind of the Stella Mudd character from the classic Star Trek series.  My mom never yelled let alone screeched like Stella nor did she name-call.  She barely raised her voice.  But her words dripped with shame and disappointment.  Here are some of her favorite phrases that still haunt me today:

• Shame on you
• Mama's so disappointed
• How could you be so _______?
• Why can't Mama depend on you?
• Why can't you be more _____?
• When are you going to _____?
• How do you expect to ______ when you can't even ______?
• Are you ever going to finish that?
• Do I always have to remind you?
• No, no not that way, here let me show you (as she takes the tool out of my hands)
• That was nice but next time don't you think you could try______?
• How many times do I have to say _______?
• But don't you think a better way would be ______?
• But don't you think _______? (constantly on every topic under the sun and for which the only acceptable answer was 'yes' even if that was a lie)

Recently Jamie and I were talking about how it was working out for me talking back to Stella or telling her to shut up.  I was having minimal success and would often find myself experiencing waves of guilt and shame afterwards.  Jamie was insistent that i needed to get cross with her, defiant, even violent.  "Punch her out" she suggested.  Treat her like the bully she is.  But I am, by nature and training, very averse to violence and have never found that the response to a bully needs to be becoming a bully.  So I let it percolate for a bit and it wasn't long before I came up with a tactic that fit my personality and values.

I can't remember the source but not long ago I heard someone refer to the Southern Lady's FU and demonstrated with a honey-toned "Bless your heart"  Now that could work If I could get that refined tone of faux sincerity down.  And since one of my superpowers is story I was soon developing related lines along with gestures.  I see them as mini-movies in my head.

"Bless your heart." I say when Stella starts harping.  And if she doesn't hush immediately I reach out and smooth her hair back and say. "Don't fash yourself dear."  Or, "Hush now dear, you are overwrought."  Then if she is especially persistent I hold out a cup of hot chamomile tea saying, "There, there dear, I do believe someone needs a nap."  Or I will reach out and lay the back of my hand on her forehead and say, "Are you fevered dear?  How about a nice little chill pill?"

I've only been trying this for a bit under two weeks now but it does seem to be helping.

I wish I'd found it in time to help me thru the dark month of September that contained the death anniversaries of my dad, my husband and my MIL along with Ed's birthday and the second anniversary of the fire in Southern Oregon that burned out the trailer park we had lived in for over a decade near Phoenix.

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Sunday Serenity - More Story Joy

 

My DVD Shelves

The read-a-thon was supposed to end at 5am for me but I read on until 7:30 trying to finish that novel I spent more than twelve hours with during the thon.  I woke up after only four hours of sleep and after coffee picked up the book again--and fell asleep over it waking at 9pm after another 4 hours of sleep.  I finally finished it around 10:20 PM.  

That story is going to haunt me for many more years to come as it had haunted me since the first time I read it in the early 90s.  It was a miracle finding it again as it had gone out of print and I had lost my reading records and could not remember the title or author only snippets of plot and flickers of scenes and the fact it was about rescuing books for the future after a civilization ending event.  I've about talked myself into believing I need to post a review but meanwhile my thoughts on M K Wren's A Gift Upon the Shore as I read yesterday are part of yesterday's thon post.

But for right now I'm going to finally give myself the reward I promised myself for the dedication to writing my story for Camp NaNo thru April and the dedication to reading stories for the thon all day yesterday.  I'm going to watch DVD sitcoms until I fall asleep again.

My DVD Player

There's my DVE player and the little box of DVD taken from their cases.  I call it my line-up.  There 9 of them.  Eight sitcoms and The Twilight Zone. I watch on average one to four episodes per day, working my way through the line-up around six times until all episodes are watched and then switch out for the next-up disc in each series. Very occassionaly and usually because I'm sick, I'll watch through the entire line-up in a single day.

It takes me ten to fourteen days to work through the pile.  As one series finishes I add a new series into the mix.  That happened several times since Christmas but as it sits now it will be months before another series finishes.

The line up: 

• Twilight Zone
• MASH
• Gomer Pyle
• Green Acres
• Mork and Mindy
• Laverne and Shirly
• I Love Lucy
• Mary Tyler Moore
• All in the Family

The common theme: series from my youth that I was discouraged or forbidden to watch at the time.  

Series I finished since I began this foray into comedy and closing cultural gaps:

• Bewitched
• I Dream of Jeanie
• Keeping Up Appearances
• Petticoat Junction

Series waiting in the wings:

• The Big Bang Theory
• Seinfeld
• Beverly Hillbillies
• Third Rock From the Sun

That's just the comedies.  I leave the Dramas, Sci-fi/fantasy and such for another post and the movies and musicals from recent to classical I've just started collecting to yet another.

I used to favor the dramas and sci/fant--the hour long episodes and the movies.  But during the early acute phase of my grieving process after loosing Ed I was watching a MASH episode because it was something we used to do together and he had introduced me to the series after we married.  As I watched one episode I was surprised by laughter in spite of the fresh grief.  

Discussing it with my counselor she assured me it was normal and nothing to be ashamed of and encouraged me to continue exposing myself to the possibility of laughter so that I would not forget that it too was part of life.  It was the most valuable advice I got about how to endure and process grief.  And it became almost like a mission for me to explore these kinds of stories.  It has been an interesting experience and I hope to muse on it some more in future posts

But next up tonight: MTM and All in the Family.  And if I'm still awake the line-up starts over with the Twilight Zone...

Read more...

Book Review: Odyssey of Ashes by Cheryl Krauter -- Includes Author Interview

 

Odyssey of Ashes: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Letting Go by Cheryl Krauter 

 Publisher: She Writes Press, (July 20, 2021) 

Category: Memoir, Grief, Loss, Healing 

Tour dates: August-September, 2021 

ISBN: 978-1647421328 

Available in Print and ebook, 168 pages

 

Joy Renee's Review of Odyssey of Ashes by Cheryl Krauter

What a raw and intimate story of loss and grief, of letting go of what must move on while holding on to the essential self and discovering a resilience rooted in vulnerability.  Reading this memoir of widowhood as a recent widow myself my emotions are still riding the turbulent currents of her story as I try to sort out the mix and mingle of my own emotions from hers.

She answered one of my burning questions tho.  How long?  Forever.  Grieving is not a task that has a definitive end like making a meal or writing a book.  It is as much a lifetime commitment as the marriage itself was.  Grief is transformative and as it transforms you and your life the experience of grief itself will transform.  Grief is like the weather and rivers--wind and water rushing over landscapes at times turbulent and stormy and other times placid but always a part of the landscape of your soul.  And never the same two minutes in a row let alone two days.

Cheryl Kruater plays with the extended metaphors of the River and the Weather throughout Odyssey of Ashes.  Having lived the life of a student of fly fishing for the duration of her marriage to an avid fly fisherman, she has a visceral understanding of both rivers and weather.  She knows in her pores and her bones what it feels like to be buffeted by the wind or the waters of the stream while standing beside or in it.  Now she takes that understanding and imbues her memoir of sudden widowhood with images and emotions evoked by her intimate relationship to river landscapes as she stands in her new personal landscape buffeted by the brutal winds of grief.

And then as she went in her husband's place on the guided tour of Montana rivers he won in a raffle half a year after his death, the interplay between that metaphor and the actual rivers and weather began to work healing magic on her grief, transmuting it into something she could carry into her future instead of fearing being carried off by currents of consuming loss. 

In having the courage to share this intimate memoir, Cheryl Krauter has contributed no small gift to fellow grievers.  I can testify to that having found comfort and hope in reading it as I approach the end of my first year of widowhood. 

Don't miss my Interview with Cheryl Krauter below the author photo.

Don't miss the book giveaway via the Rafflecopter link found near the end of this post.

Description Odyssey of Ashes by Cheryl Krauter

Odyssey of Ashes: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Letting Go begins with the sudden death of Cheryl Krauter's spouse. Five months later, in a stroke of irony and magic, her husband wins a long-desired guided fly-fishing trip in a raffle and Cheryl decides to go in his place, fulfilling a promise to scatter his ashes by a trout stream. Part I of this memoir is an account of the first year after Cheryl's husband's death, where she becomes an explorer in the infinite stream of grief and loss, a time traveler between the darkness of sorrow and the light of daily life. Part II concludes with stories of the poignant and humorous adventures she had during the ensuing year. Tying it all together and woven throughout is Cheryl's account of the creation of an altar assembled during the three-day ritual of Los Das de los Muertos. Poetic and mythological, Odyssey of Ashes is a raw story of loss and the deep transformation that traveling through darkness and returning to light can bring.

 

Advance Praise Odyssey of Ashes by Cheryl Krauter

Cheryl Krauter's latest memoir, Odyssey of Ashes, is both a moving tribute to her late husband John and the celebration of an emergent woman who finds herself "being carried on great winds across the sky" in a cradle of intermittent sorrow and enlightenment. Written in an enjoyable flowing format with chapters divided between two main sections, Krauter's book will break your heart while channeling habits of self pity toward doing a greater good.. You'll find good examples of ways to carry on.. Krauter shares personal, interesting anecdotes. I highly recommend this book for those who've lost a spouse and want to understand how one woman is working through it  - Shawn LaTorre, Story Circle Book Reviews 

 In this engrossing memoir, Krauter shares her journey through the deep waters of grief. Her graceful writing reminds us that the cycle of love and loss is as natural as the river current, and it is only through fully embracing the force of the waters that dry land can eventually be found.  -Allison J. Applebaum, PhD, director of the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center Caregivers Clinic and editor of Cancer Caregivers

What a moving book about loss and mourning. Cheryl finds solace in, among other things, trout fishing, rituals, Buddhist wisdom and, luckily for us, writing about her experiences.  -A.J. Jacobs, editor-at-large of Esquire magazine and author of Thanks a Thousand: A Gratitude Journey 

With profound insight, Cheryl explores the spiritual nature of life and death, the sacred connection between love and loss, life and death. A work of depth and infinite caring, this book is ultimately a gift of love, hope, and survival.  -Cindy Rasicot, author of Finding Venerable Mother: A Daughter's Spiritual Quest to Thailand

Cheryl Krauter
(c) Nan Phelps

Interview with Cheryl Krauter and Joy Renee

Joy Renee: Let me begin by saying I'm so honored to have read your story and to now be asking you questions.

You mention that you were raised in Washington State as was I so I'm curious if either you or John ever fished any of the rivers I've lived near.  I was born and raised in Longview which is where the Cowlitz river meets the Columbia.  I also lived for more than a decade in the Rogue Valley Oregon where my husband was born and raised.

Cheryl: I was born in Bellingham, Washington in 1951 and, of course, have no memory of my short infancy there. My father was in the FBI and was transferred to Richland where he must have been involved with the Hanford Project in some capacity. I have wondered if the aggressive breast cancer I was diagnosed with in 2007 was in some way impacted by my life as a toddler in this area, playing outside in the dirt, drinking the water, and so on. Richland was known in the 1950’s as “The Atomic City of the West” and held festivals celebrating nuclear energy with pride. We moved to Mercer Island, Washington when I was about four years old where I lived until I was eleven years old when my family moved to Los Angeles, California. I have a great affinity for the Pacific Northwest and my oldest friend, Bill who still lives in Seattle, shows up in many pages of Odyssey of Ashes: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Letting Go. 

We have fished the Hoh River on the Olympic Peninsula. I know that John fished the area of Rogue Valley. We fished small streams in the Dunsmuir area of Northern California as well as the Sacramento River, and streams in the Lake Tahoe area of California.  Odyssey of Ashes features fishing adventures in Montana, together in 1988, and then my solo journey in 2017 to scatter John’s ashes by the Madison River. 

Joy Renee: You noted on your visit to the mortuary that there were no sacred symbols.  Seen through the lens of a business model catering to a community with multiple traditions this seems obviously sensible.  Let the griever bring their own tradition and narrative to a blank slate.  But it is also becoming more common in our culture for people to have become disconnected from their sacred traditions of origin without replacing them and thus their encounter with the blank slate mortuary becomes their experience of the rituals surrounding the death.  Do you think the presence or lack thereof of a sacred tradition, narrative and symbolism plays a significant role in a griever's ability to process what is happening to them?

Cheryl: American culture has a profound absence of ritual around death. I suspect some of this relates to our insistence on praising a culture of youth above recognizing the wisdom of the elders. The historical foundation in America of Judeo- Christian traditions promises entry into Heaven or a deep fall through the Gates of Hell and personal stories or beliefs are seen as a rebellion against traditional religious doctrine. Throughout history any waft of a pagan spell could mean ostracism or death. Women who practiced rituals were labeled witches and suffered the flames of fire. I also think that a pervasive denial of death creates a sterile, hasty attitude that sanitizes memorial services. The oppressive attitude to quickly get through a period of mourning and move on is cruel to those who are grieving. People feel ashamed to weep, to be “out of control” when grief arises. There is an odd pressure to be stoic as if that symbolizes strength and courage in the face of loss. I was instructed prior to one memorial I attended that it would not be sad occasion but a celebration, a party where we wouldn’t have to feel bad about the death. Native traditions allow for more of a journey and speak of visitations or visions of the dead. Western culture tells us to look away from our mortality and to shield younger people from this reality, robbing them of the experience of being with loss and learning resilience.  When personal beliefs are not encouraged mourning becomes a “rush job”, something to “get through” rather than to authentically experience. 

In Part II of Odyssey of Ashes, scenes are woven between the creation of an altar during Los dias de los Muertos and, in this way, shows how ritual can offer a way to acknowledge and honor the dead while giving those of us still living an opportunity to be present with our own thoughts and feelings. Throughout the memoir, there are meditations, myths, and rituals that speak to the deep expression of grief as personally transformative.  

Joy Renee:   As you were describing the role of the River Guides in flyfishing tradition and the importance of the etiquette developed by their enclave over the centuries, it occurred to me that the terrain of grief is also a wilderness of mysterious shoals and treacherous weather in need of rules of etiquette and River Guides and I was trying to formulate a question as to whether you had found such help on your journey but then it occurred to me that it is memoirs like yours that have become my River Guides.  This extended metaphor opens up so many questions and caveats I'm not quite sure how to ask.  I am sure that though it has been of great help the memoirs haven't been enough and that is probably because text on a page can go only so far. So maybe it is truer to see the memoir writers as the Izaak Waltons which would give the 'River Guide' role to something more hands on.  

This privilege of reaching out with my questions to the author does add something helpful to the experience but I'm aware that it is a rare privilege and it is still text on a page.

Could you riff a bit on that extended metaphor of grief being a terrain in need of rules of etiquette and guides and whether you found such help and if so, was it enough and whether you think our culture could do a better job of providing it.

Cheryl: As a therapist, I am a River Guide, a Sherpa, a companion who travels the terrain of grief, the caverns of darkness in which the soul can get lost without being accompanied by someone who knows how to hold the light.  Sometimes I see myself as a minor with one of those headlamps around my head leading the way. Sometimes I am only a breath ahead, sometimes I am walking alongside, occasionally I am behind, but always with my eyes on the person who I am guiding along their way. The River Guide knows the river, where the fish lie, how the currents are running and, most essential, studies the hatch that the fish are feeding on so that the flies used in casting the line will match the tasty treats a trout will devour. A River Guide has lived with the river, is familiar with its waters, its twists and turns, yet also knows that the river is constantly changing and will not be the same one she waded yesterday. 

I do not believe that is enough to read a book about grief, yet I feel that memoir, as well as other books on grief, may help the reader feel less alone in their pain. Sometimes the reader feels less “crazy” in hearing about the experiences of another. We are talking about take-away from the written word as a possibility to soothe heartache or maybe even evoke it as a way to connect within the aching heart and find a deeper, meaningful expression of grief. The landscape of loss is explored and discovered by each of us in our own time and in our own unique way. I do not have a formula, I have no map, no GPS.  Those techniques are better left to those who guide people who need that type of structure. In the end, there is no right or wrong way to travel the terrain of grief and loss. 

Those who read Odyssey of Ashes: A Memoir of Love, Loss and Letting Go will travel with me on my own journey from the moment of my husband’s sudden death to the rivers of Montana, through storms and tears, live with me in my daily urban life, and, hopefully, gain some solace and peace for themselves.

Joy Renee: OK This question isn't inspired by your story but rather personal from one griever to another and I keep going back and forth on whether it is appropriate to even include it.  So, I'm going to leave it up to you whether you wish to answer and if you do whether you prefer, I left if off the published interview:  Either before or during your own grief journey have you noticed that our culture treats some grief as more legitimate than other grief?  I can think of two categories but there may be more.  Infants not carried to term or born too sick to thrive is one.  Another is those who passed due to either intentional or negligent self-harm.  I witnessed the first in the past and am living the second as my husband was an alcoholic.  I'm wondering if the experience of feeling pressured to move on quicker, to feel relieved or even grateful rather than devastated and shamed if you persist is common to our culture or unique to my family and/or faith tradition.

Cheryl: To devalue and delegitimize any grief is inhuman. Unfortunately, it does happen but I am seeing this start to change as people are more open to expressing types of losses that may previously have been invalidated. The loss of a child through miscarriage was often overlooked in the past but now is recognized as a painful experience. The loss of a child at any stage of life is unbearable for many people to acknowledge and the grief from that type of death may remain a silent wound. The stigma of mental health fuels the difficulty of acknowledging a suicide. People tend to be terrified of this type of death and, indeed, often are judgmental due to that fear. Again, this bias has begun to slowly shift as more people are willing to courageously come out with their stories. I have also counseled people who felt shame that they were, in fact, relieved, when someone who has been difficult dies. The death of a beloved pet can also be minimized even when that pet may have been the most important companion to the person who is grieving.  As grief work is moving out of the shadows, I believe some of these previously “unspeakable” losses can come to light. 

Comments I find particularly insensitive have to do with elderly people dying. “Oh, it was their time.” “They had good life.” Those who mourn that person are then expected to shut up and not feel their grief. 

I have spoken to the culture pressures of “getting on with it” in response to the other questions. Individual family cultures and particular faith-based cultures have their own restrictions on personal expression but that would be unique to each person. 

(You are welcome to share these thoughts on your blog if you want.)

Joy Renee: Thank you so much for your story and for giving attention to my questions.  I hope the blog tour has really given your story wings.

Cheryl: Thank you, Joy Renee. I appreciate your questions and the opportunity to write something for you. 

About Cheryl Krauter

CHERYL KRAUTER is a San Francisco bay area psychotherapist with more than forty years of experience in the field of depth psychology and human consciousness. A cancer survivor, she is the author of Surviving the Storm: A Workbook for Telling Your Cancer Story (Oxford University Press, 2017) and Psychosocial Care of Cancer Survivors: A Clinician's Guide and Workbook for Providing Wholehearted Care (Oxford University Press, 2018). She lives with her personal assistant, a cat named Amie. 

 Website: http://www.cherylkrauter.com/ 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/tellingcancerstories 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/CherylKrauter

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Sunday Serenity: Wallowing in Gratitude

 

My Happy Place Became My Wallowing Place

After encountering some grief grenades last week followed up by heat whammies and exacerbated by incipient blisters across the bottoms of both feet forcing me to stay off them for several days, I've spent the last ten or more days in a wallow.  With the lights out and the windows and blinds shut tight to lessen the heat impact, it would still top 90 degrees by late afternoon with the fan on high.  I could never open up the windows until after sundown and most nights the air outside did not start to feel cooler than the air inside until midnight.  So after several weeks of go, go, go related to the move, I was suddenly forced to put the brakes on and wait for the red light to change.

The books I read for the read-a-thon last weekend provided the grief grenades and without the distraction of the physical labor of the moving tasks, I had to sit with the feelings in the dark.  Those feelings started to taint the feelings of joy the move and been generating with the sadness of missing Ed and not being able to share my joy with him.

I tried and for the most part succeeded in distracting myself from the grief for periods of time with videos, video games, or ebooks and audio books on devices that did not generate heat. Or even sleeping.  But several times at seemingly random intervals when I was completely entranced by what I was doing--or even asleep--I would be slammed by a sudden vivid memory that transported me into a 3D movie with soundtrack of a moment in time that took place in Ed's apartment during one of our sleepovers. 

This happened at least half a dozen times before I realized the train was always blowing its whistle and rumbling past as it often did when I spent time at Ed's whose apartment was just a few blocks from where I now live.  

After I figured out the trigger, the memories continued to be delivered by the train's passing but they started feeling like gifts rather than gut punches.  They were all from the time before things fell apart again, during the height of the hope in late 2019 and early 2020 when he had been sober for months.  I realized I had been burying those memories as if what had happened later had invalidated them and thus they generated feelings of shame in myself for 'falling for false hope' yet again.

I've decided that is the wrong attitude because it has me second guessing hope on principle and hope is a necessary component of serenity, faith and joy.  And once my thoughts started down this path I eventually stepped into gratitude and regained a healthier perspective on several of the dark thoughts I'd been wallowing in. 

Like:

The Shelves I Built with my Britanica Great Books Set in Place

So what if 95% of my books are still over at Mom's.  I built those shelves and they are still here and my favorite set of books is showing off their glittery spines.  

Don't look at what isn't there yet but rather at what is.

The Blue Shelf Unit I Built Displaying My Crafts

So what if the beautiful blue shelf unit I built out of the parts of two units and then spent hours lovingly organizing, is now going to have to be broken down into two smaller units to make room for the couch being delivered later this week.  

The couch is necessary and beautiful too and once I have it I won't have to sleep on the floor anymore.

My Desk with a Mr. Roger's Neighborhood View

So what if my desk is still jerry--rigged with boards across cardboard boxes.  It has the beautiful and serene view I've always dreamed of having for my writing station.

So what if I have to keep the blinds and window tight shut on hot days.  That is temporary.

Pantry Cupboard 1

So what if it is too hot to cook my favorite meals this week.  I have a full pantry, fridge and freezer because I have a caregiver that took me shopping and a sister who did a Cosco stock up for me and a community that provided food stamps and commodities.

Fridge and Freezer

So I have plenty of food available that doesn't need cooking....

Pantry Cupboard 2

...and plenty more available just waiting for the cooler days when anything is possible.

My Aqua Baking Pan Set

And meanwhile I have the toaster oven and microwave.  And four of the pans in my beautiful new bakeware set fit in the toaster oven for those nights it cools down enough well before midnight to wake up my ambitions along with my appetite.

So what if most of the work I put into making my wallow comfortable and functional for the duration of the heat and blistered feet will have to be undone or reworked.  It was not wasted effort as I had begun to bemoan but rather lessons in what works for a specific set of circumstances and proof that I can create cozy and functional spaces designed to see me safely through a specific episode.

I'm going to miss this cozy nest as it now exists but what happens next is not loss...just change. 

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My Brain On Books XXIX

 

 

I am reading for The Office of Letters and Lights the folks who bring us NaNoWriMo today as I love what they are doing for literacy with their Young Writer's Programs and because I've participated in NaNo every year since 2004.  I have been blessed to have it in my life and would like to give something back if only kudos and link love.  I'm putting this plug at the top in hopes some who stop by will check out their site and see all the great things they do to foster love of reading and writing and story in kids. 

This post will be organized like a blog inside a blog with recent updates stacked atop previous ones. I may be posting some updates on Twitter @Joystory and the Joystory fb fanpage. But this is where I do anything more than a line or two.  Including mini-challenges that don't require a separate post..   

Be sure and see my tribute poem to Dewey and the Thon she birthed at the bottom of this post

5:05 PM Saturday - Wrapup

I stuck with Saturday Night Widows for the duration.  Why.  Why did it take me so long to engage with this book?  Because finally I'm finding one of the things--maybe the one thing--I've missed in my own widowhood experience: validation for a grief over the loss of someone some have judged as less worthy than others.  In Becky Aikman's support group there is one loss to suicide and one loss to alcoholism.  Yet the group rallied around these two without hesitation or judgment.  No implying that their grief must be easier or must be over sooner or suffered in silence and secret like a guilty vice since after all their loved one was begging for it, was making poor choices, was not a good person, did not treat you right, maybe deserved it and isn't it a relief really aren't you glad to be free of all that?  Nope none of that.  Those two women and their grief are embraced by the group with equal compassion and their loss given equal consideration.

3:03 PM Saturday - Now I'm going to run out the clock on the novel I mentioned in the opening meme:

Saturday Night Widows

The Adventures of Six Friends Remaking Their Lives 

by Becky Aikman

Six marriages, six heartbreaks, one shared beginning.

In her forties – a widow, too young, too modern to accept the role – Becky Aikman struggled to make sense of her place in an altered world. In this transcendent and infectiously wise memoir, she explores surprising new discoveries about how people experience grief and transcend loss and, following her own remarriage, forms a group with five other young widows to test these unconventional ideas. Together, these friends summon the humor, resilience, and striving spirit essential for anyone overcoming adversity.

Hmm.  Somehow along the way I either missed that this was a memoir not a novel or forgot.  Well, it is just as well as I already have too many novels in the works.  So I'm still going to spend at least an hour with this and then decide whether I want to move on to one of those novels-in-progress to close out the thon.

2:44 PM Saturday - Started reading soon as coffee in hand 9:30ish haven't stopped to update or explore the thon activity

I have several items in my Libby library on my Nexus 7 that are coming up due and/or very close to finished and that is where I put my focus this morning:

Rage by Bob Woodward

It's OK That You're Not OK by Megan Devine (about grief)

27 Essential Principles of Story by Daniel Joshua Rubin

Conversations With the Divine by Caroline Myss

I finished Rage.  Finally after starting it 42 weeks ago.  But I just read at least half in one sitting.  The last half of course.

2:44 AM Saturday - Can't keep my eyes open.

Not surprising since I began the thon with nine hours awake behind me.  I spent the last six hours browsing in the ebooks in my Libby, leaving comments on the Dewey thon hour posts and on some reader blogs.  My eyes are rebelling big time.  I must sleep as I've been rereading the same sentences over and over for the last thirty minutes.

11:11 PM - Here's the biblio scoop on the audio I spent the last hour or so with:

The Essential T.S. Eliot by T.S. Eliot

A selection of the most significant and enduring poems from one of the twentieth century's major writers, chosen and introduced by Vijay Seshadri, performed by T.S. Eliot, Vijay Seshadri, Daniel Halpern, Willem Dafoe, Natasha Trethewey, Meghan O'Rourke, Natalie Diaz, Frank Bidart, Joy Harjo, Rosanna Warren, Emily Jungmin Yoon, Tracy K. Smith, Nicole Sealey, Jorie Graham, Kevin Young, Louise Glück, Eileen Myles, Carol Muske-Dukes, Campbell McGrath, Robert Hass, and Monica Youn.

This audio book was supplied by Libby via my local library.  It's about 4 hours long and I just listened to the second hour.

9:33PM - Going to fix a snack and return to my beanbag chair

I think I will give my eyes a break with some audio.  Probably a T. S. Elliot collection I've got checked out from Libby in which the selections are being read by renowned poets of our era.  I'll add the correct bib info later.

8:55 PM - First Finish

Just finished Odyssey of Ashes by Cheryl Krauter. What a raw and intimate story of loss and grief, of letting go of what must move on while holding on to the essential self and discovering a resilience rooted in vulnerability.  Reading this memoir of widowhood as a recent widow myself my emotions are still riding the turbulent currents of her story as I try to sort out the mix and mingle of my own emotions from hers.

She answered one of my burning questions tho.  How long?  Forever.  Grieving is not a task that has a definitive end like making a meal or writing a book.  It is as much a lifetime commitment as the marriage itself was.  Grief is transformative and as it transforms you and your life the experience of it itself will transform.  Grief is like the weather and rivers--wind and water rushing over landscapes at times turbulent and stormy and other times placid but always a part of the landscape of your soul.

4:44 PM - Intro Meme I'm setting this to go live at 4:44 PM but it may be well into hour 1 before I check in again.  I'll be reading my first pick sitting in my beanbag chair.

1) What fine part of the world are you reading from today?

Kelso Washington USA.  Across the Cowlitz river from Longview where I grew up and had been living with my elderly mother since 2013.  I moved into my 400 square foot efficiency unit less than a month ago.  The last several posts have been about the move.  This will be my first read-a-thon in my new place.  This is also the first time I've ever lived alone.  Takes some getting used to.

2) Which book in your stack are you most looking forward to?

Non-Fiction: Odyssey of Ashes by Cheryl Krauter #OdysseyofAshes #NetGalley.  An ARC I'm reading for a blog tour for which my review and interview day is September 3.

It is the memoir of a widow whose husband won a coveted Montana rivers fly fishing trip nearly a year after he died.  She decided to go on the trip in his place and spread his ashes in the places he loved.  The account is a meditation on grief and loss and starting anew.

It's been five years since I participated in a blog tour.  As a recent widow myself I could not pass this one up.

Fiction Memoir:  Saturday Night Widows by Becky Aikman  a fun chcklit novel a memoir that I keep checking out on Libby but then never getting to.  I think I have been resistant to a light-hearted take on widowhood before now and might be ready for it.  (edited later: oops.  somehow I got the wrong idea about this book and mistook a memoir for chcklit fiction and wrenching emotional depth for lighthearted?  Don't know how that happened.  But I may have remembered the parts of the blurb that emphasized the humor.  And there is plenty of that.  Humor and heartbreak go together like cheese and crackers.)

3) Which snack are you most looking forward to?

Watermelon

4) Tell us a little something about yourself!

Widowed last September

Legally blind with RP aka tunnel vision

Diagnosed with high functioning autism six years ago this month

Have a caregiver who comes in twice a week to help with chores and errands I can't do alone.

I proved during this move that I have more volume in fiber art supplies than in clothes by at least thee times.

5) If you participated in the last read-a-thon, what’s one thing you’ll do different today? If this is your first read-a-thon, what are you most looking forward to?

The fact that I'm living alone in my own place for the first time in my life has already been covered.  So I'll add that I'll be spending the majority of reading time for books that need eyes on my new beanbag chair atop my new mini-tramp.  When I have to be up and about doing unavoidable tasks or I want to exercise on the mini-tramp I'll switch to audio.

Ode to Dewey

by Joy Renee

vote, fav and share for Dewey

We Miss You Dewey

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