Coinkydink of the Highest Order

The WEIRDEST thing happened today. I had a doctor's appointment (to see about getting my cyst removed--that'll be Jan. 5) and was running late. I just couldn't get my A in G. I finally got on the road when I realized I didn't have the fax of my test results that I would probably need. I remembered distinctly telling myself not to take them into the house when I'd gotten out of the care the night before. What had I done with them?! I drove back home and found them in a bag I'd taken inside. So I got on my way again. By the time I got there, I was about half an hour late. As I was going into the building, I passed someone and knew I recognized her from somewhere. We both did a double-take and turned back. We shook hands and said hi. I asked what she was doing there--the cancer center, after all. She said she'd just gotten a mammogram and asked about me. I said I had a cyst that needed to come out. She said, "Oh, good," to which I replied, "Well, it will be once it comes out!" Then we said goodbye and moved on. It took me another half a minute at least to get my mind around who it had been: KH, the wife of the son of the aunt who I'm taking to court over the house! So in other words, a sort of arch-enemy if you look at things in a black and white way. The Powers that Be made that meeting fall into place this morning. I just wonder why. I may never even know...

PS--Just so you know, I had genetic testing done. I'm negative for the BRCA 2 mutation for certian. I have to find out about the BRCA 1. I'm going to have my right ovary removed and while I'm still asleep they'll look at it to see if it's malignant. If not, they'll just close me up. If so, they'll take everything else out. Get this: if you only have one ovary, it eventually takes over as if there were two, so you have regular periods. I'd've thought you'd only have one every other month! Darn! Oh, I'll be so glad to get this thing out! It's a bit like having a toothache where my appendix used to be. I think I insulted the doc. He was kind of bragging about this robot, the DaVinci something or other, that he'll be using, but I didn't know what he was talking about! He seemed a bit put out ;-) I asked him if he'd be able to see if there was some endometriosis going on since my hip seems so affected by this cyst and I knew that not having any children put you at higher risk for endometriosis. He said yes, he'd be able to see that. Then he said that not having children also put you at higher risk for ovarian cancer. I said, yeah, that sucks doesn't? And he agreed, yeah, it did. He seems to have a sense of humor and I'm glad about that. He didn't have to agree quite so readily, though, that he might as well take my ovary since I probably wouldn't be needing it at my age!

Dreaming Helpful Nonsense

I had the strangest dream the other morning. I was in the kitchen with Gina, my sister who died, and Mary. I wanted to bake something and Mary wanted to help. She was sitting in her wheelchair in front of the sink and grabbed hold of the edge of the sink to pull herself up. I helped her sit back down saying, "Mary, honey, you're 98 years old! You can't do things like you used to be able to." I thought, " Wow! I forgot how hard this was!" Then at some point I was holding her, sort of like a baby, and I noticed one of her toes. It had a very healthy--looking nail growing back but the top part was missing and I remembered that the doctor had removed the toenail--just a part of the dream. The sign of this healthy toenail growing back made me think that Mary was healthy and I said to Gina, "I guess God decided to give Mary back to me!" Gina answered, "Yeah! It looks like he did!" Then I woke up.

I know this dream is complete nonsense, but I feel oddly comforted by it. I have felt so abandoned by Mary. When Eddie died, I could still feel his presence--maybe because he lived so far away that his death didn't seem real. When Gina died, I dreamt about her so often, that she seemed to still be with me. But I haven't dreamt much about Mary and since she was with me all the time, I feel her absence quite acutely.

Someone told me once that they think when you dream about someone who's dead, they're visiting you. So I was equally blessed to be visited by Gina and Mary at the same time!

My Heart Still Aches...

I still miss Mary so much! In fact, I tear up all the time. I'm starting to wonder if something's wrong with me. Should I have kept taking that OCD medicine? Am I abnormal? I cry for so many different reasons anymore. Maybe that's just part of getting older. I cried buckets when I saw a video called "Dancing Wedding." I cry when I hear about something bad on the radio. When I see upsetting pictures in the paper. When I think about Mary. I realized today that her medminder is still on her dresser--with pills in it. I haven't gone through her things. I can't bear the thought of giving her underwear to anyone. Isn't that crazy?

I met a cousin today and gave her the hand-painted china Mary had from this cousin's grandmother. I felt guilty because many of the things had Mary's name painted on them. What happens when there's nothing else left to prove a person's existence? Well, prior existence?

The dogs are out in the car and won't come in, and this is making me cry. I hit my head the other day and that made me cry.

I'm tired of working for my brother and sister-in-law. It's not getting me anywhere. I'm tired of doing cakes. That's not getting me anywhere, either. Where do I want to go? Won't any job be boring? All I can imagine is teaching (and I can tell you a thousand reasons why I don't want to do that) or being a librarian (and the boringness of that prospect scares me stiff). And what if I can't find a job doing either here in Louisville?! I've been neglecting Mom.

I feel scared a paralyzed and tired and lonely and in pain--sometimes literally from my cyst or feet. At least I'm not having migraines like I used to. But I just want the past back. I want it back now! It was there and everything was going along and then, boom, it was gone, all gone. I felt her slip between my fingers and then she was gone. I want her back. I want things to be like they used to be. That was my life. This is not my life. This life makes no sense. How can the meaning of my life have become synonymous with Mary? She was my rock and now I have no foundation. It's like Nikki said--Mary was the dock that I had anchored my boat to. I do things. I mean, hell, winning seven ribbons at the fair is doing something! But nothing has any meaning if it's not shared with this woman who didn't even know who I was sometimes! Does that make any sense? Humans find over and over again that it's never worth doing something for ourselves. We were meant to be part of a pair, at least.

I don't want this loneliness! I used to tell Mary when she was lonely when I'd be gone to school or something that maybe loneliness was really the devil tricking us, because if we really believed in God, we'd know that we're never truly alone. But when I think about that my heart aches for her having felt lonely. My heart aches so much for Mary. Why didn't I spend more time with her? I was in the kitchen too much! I didn't talk to her enough. I left her alone so much...

I guess I'll go see if the dogs want to come inside. Maybe if I take them for a walk, I'll feel better. (But I know I won't really.) Well, I've got two cakes to decorate for tomorrow, so I'll just have to get over all of this anyway...

Home

For Mary's funeral I downloaded some songs that I felt were particularly representative of her and my memory of her. One of these was Love's Old Sweet Song. The version I liked best was by Deanna Durbin. Mom always raved about her, so I downloaded a complete album from her--there was also a beautiful version of the Ave Maria, which Mary loved, on that album. I listened to this often in the first couple of months and it occurred to me that there were two songs on the album about home, which was such a constant theme for Mary toward the end of her life. I can't help but think that Mary, or some guardian angel, led me to those songs. I'll put the lyrics below.

Oh, this is a funny thing--in the song Beneath the Lights of Home there's a line that I heard wrong. The actual line is: Turn the hands of time for me. I thought she was singing: Send the hounds of time for me, which I personally think is much more poetic! In looking for the lyrics, I found that others have often misheard this line. According to the following link http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mondegreen, many people have thought she was singing: Tell the Huns it's time for me! Apparently, this mishearing of a lyric is called a Mondegreen!

Home Sweet Home

'Mid pleasures and palaces
Though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble,
There's no place like home.
A charm from the skies
Seems to hallow us there,
Which seek thro' the world,
Is ne'er met with elsewhere.
Home, home, sweet sweet home,
There's no place like home,
There's no place like home.

I gaze on the moon
As I tread the drear wild,
And feel that my mother
Now thinks of her child;
As she looks on that moon
From our own cottage door,
Thro' the woodbine whose fragrance
Shall cheer me no more.
Home, home, sweet sweet home,
There's no place like home,
There's no place like home.

An exile from home,
Splendor dazzles in vain,
Oh, give me my lowly
Thatched cottage again;
The birds singing gaily,
That came at my call:
Give me them and that
Peace of mind, dearer than all.
Home, home, sweet sweet home,
There's no place like home,
There's no place like home.

Beneath the Light of Home

I can see the lights of home
Shining brightly o'er the foam;
Beckon to me while I roam
Away from the lights of home.

In that little old sleepy town
Nothing happens after the sun goes down;
Noting but moonbeams roam around
Beneath the lights of home.

Turn the hands of time for me,
Let me live in my memory.
Once again I long to be
Beneath the lights of home.

Lawsuit Update

• A's deposition was taken today, so my lawyer grilled her (very nicely) for 1 1/2 hours. Luckily they agreed to not have Mike present.
  
• A contradicted herself quit a bit, and I think she got frustrated when my lawyer seemed to be asking the same question again, for clarification.
• Interestingly enough, A said she had never seen the deed to the house which supposedly had her signature on it. She said it didn't look like her signature and she didn't remember signing it.
• My lawyer was pleased that she agreed that I had taken wonderful care of Mary and done everything for her.
• A agreed that Mary thought of me as a daughter.
• A said that she had known that Mary was leaving her the house in her will of 2002 and had not known anything about the will of 2005 and that in her opinion, Mary was not of sound mind enough to change her will in 2005, that I had coerced her and that in her opinion the will was invalid. She said that both I and Mom knew that Mary was not of sound mind in 2005. That will be very interesting if they have to prove that in court!
• My lawyer said that he'd be in contact with me in about 2 months, unless A's lawyer asks to deposition me before then. He said that he felt better about the case after A's deposition but that a lawsuit is always a crap-shoot. He told me to consider whether I'd be willing to give the matter over to a mediator and settle out of court so as to maintain some control instead of completely being at the mercy of the jury's decision and to consider how much I'd be willing to pay A to drop her claim on the house. Personally, I'm not inclined to settle. Perhaps I'm just being stubborn, but I'd rather not give A the satisfaction of my appearing to say that she was right. I never asked Mary for her house or her money or tried to influence her in any way to leave anything to me, I didn't bring a lawyer in to have her make a new will, and Mary knew exactly what she was doing when she made her last will. I was not even in the house when she signed it.

I Love to Be Loved

I was just listening to a CD by Peter Gabriel, and when I heard this song, it suddenly hit me, well, I guess I've had inklings, why I find it so hard to let go of Mary. She made me feel so loved. I guess that's why we all have problems letting go of our babies and pets.

Love to Be Loved

So, you know how people are
When it's all gone much too far
The way their minds are made
Still, there's something you should know
That I could not let show
That fear of letting go

And in this moment, I need to be needed
With this darkness all around me, I like to be liked
In this emptiness and fear, I want to be wanted
'Cause I love to be loved
I love to be loved [x2]
Yes, I love to be loved

I cry the way that babies cry
The way they can't deny
The way they feel
Words, they climb all over you
'Til they uncover you
From where you hide

And in this moment, I need to be needed
When my self-esteem is sinking, I like to be liked
In this emptiness and fear,
I want to be wanted
'Cause I love to be loved
I love to be loved [x2]
Oh I love to be loved

This old familiar craving
I've been here before, this way of behaving
Don't know who the hell I'm saving anymore
Let it pass let it go let it leave
From the deepest place I grieve
This time I believe

And I let go [x2]
I can let go of it
Though it takes all the strength in me
And all the world can see
I'm losing such a central part of me
I can let go of it
You know I mean it
You know that I mean it
I recognize how much I've lost
But I cannot face the cost
'Cause I love to be loved

Yes I love to be loved
I love to be loved
[x3]

I love to be loved

I love to be loved
Yes I love to be loved

Rationalizing and Other Survival Tactics

How do people make it to old age? How did people get through the Holocaust or Hiroshima? Emotionally, I mean. Do you get used to your loved ones dying? I remember Mary's reactions to Rita's death (short physical break-down) and Angie's (started to cry but then tucked it away and never let it out again). How did she deal with Bill's death? Did she ever think she'd marry someone else about eight years later?

Oh, I know grief is such a fickle thing. It varies depending on who died and under what circumstances and how close you were to them... and I guess your own mental and emotional state. But it's so hard to really understand what emotional pain feels like until you've experienced it--and even then, it's hard to bring that feeling back to your emotional consciousness. Too dangerous, I suppose. A survival tactic. I mean, we can say, "Oh, I know how you feel," but at that moment we don't really feel that pain again. We know. It's an intellectual thing. Even when people say, "I feel your pain," or "I really feel for you," they may not really be feeling it. Maybe if someone said, "My heart just aches for so-and-so," they might actually be feeling some sort of discomfort in the chest area. Of course, I'm really just talking about myself. I can't speak for others, really.

I don't even know why I'm carrying on about this. Well, I mean, I do know. I'm trying to work things out. Why do I feel so much more pain in connection to Mary's death than to Gina's? I mean, Gina was like my mother growing up. But Mary was my baby. I lived with Mary. Every time I get in the shower, I have a hundred memories flooding into my head. Every time I fold the towels or put away the silverware... when I'm driving along in the car and her absence from the seat next to me is as much like a physical presence as her living body had been. But why was I so better able to deal with the death of my sister who was only two days away from being 42, the age I'll be turning this summer? Why do I still have tears not only spring to my eyes so often when I start thinking about Mary, but they come in torrents with all of those sobbing sounds you associate with, with... real and immediate and unbearable pain? How can I miss Mary so much?

A part of my brain that's somehow not participating in the emotional business pipes up and says, "Well, you're probably not just grieving for Mary. It's for all the people you've lost. All the chances and hopes and, well, everything you've ever lost. You're just grieving. And you've probably got some self-pity mixed in there along with fear. It's all very natural." So I say, "Thank you, Dr. K," but I'm a bit miffed that this emotional reaction I'm experiencing can so easily be rationalized away. I prefer the other response that I get from people like JA or S in Germany, "Healing takes time! You're in the middle of a process--you took care of her night and day! You've lost your purpose in life! Of course, you're still upset!" When I was visiting my friend in KC, MO, recently, it seemed like every other sentence out of my mouth had the name "Mary" in it, and she was so understanding. (She also understood my desire to stay near Mom now since her own parents are the same age. But that's a whole nuther kettle of fish...)

I haven't gone through Mary 's clothes. I just can't bear it. I took something out the other day. Oh, it was a pajama top. The cloth is like a flannel-y jersey, so I'd put it away in the closet for her to wear in the summer, but I'd kept the bottoms in her pajama drawer. I'd come home early from a concert (my brother G and his wife P bought the tickets and took me with them--Chris Issac--very enjoyable evening), and I felt like putting on some pajamas so I'd feel more relaxed. I don't wear pajamas, so that's why I had to pilfer some from Mary. When I took the top out of the closet, I smelled her. Isn't it funny how we each have our own smell? Perhaps there's some man-made smell mixed in (aftershave or perfume or laundry detergent), but people still have their own smell. One of my brothers and his family always smelled like hamster chips to me. You know, those wood shavings you put in hamster cages.

It was such a shock to me, that I could still smell Mary, even though she'd been buried about three months earlier. I think the sense of smell is more visceral than that of sight or even touch (probably because we tune out the latter so very much--survival tactic). It was a real shock. When I saw her hair in the hairbrush, I'd already experienced that with Gina, so I was sort of prepared for that physical evidence of her existence. But it was like Mary's ghost stepped out of the closet.

Well, while I was standing there, I realized that there were some gowns hanging there that I'd never even liked putting on her (sometimes things got dirty so fast, I needed a large number of easily washable items just to have something to put on her), so I quickly took them out, along with the pajama top I'd wanted, and put them in a bag to give to the Goodwill. The rest, I cannot deal with. I tell myself that I need time. Surely I will know when the right time has come to be able to do something with her clothes. Am I just being a baby? Doesn't matter. No one else needs the space.

But I got another shock when I was waiting for my laptop to restart the other night and glanced over at the side table. It slowly dawned on my that I was looking at a baggie of Andes mints I'd given her to nibble on. How long ago had that been? My initial reaction was to grab the bag and toss it in the waste basket, but I left it there. Don't touch it. Don't deal with it at all. Then I saw her Pretty Birdie Baby lying in her Silver Swan dish next to the mints. I picked it up and turned it on. "She'd pretty much forgotten you, hadn't she?" I mentally ask it. It chirps and moves its head back and forth. I find myself saying out loud, "Talk! Talk!" just like Mary did. Should I give this to Mom? She loves birds. But, no, she wouldn't appreciate it like I do. She's think it was just a thing. But it's more than that for me. Just like Mary's wheelchair is much more than a wheelchair for me. And that's really silly, isn't it? I mean, Mary only had that wheelchair for about the last six years of her life. That's 92 years without it--longer than most people even live!

I guess I've nattered on enough. Just an update on my big "after Mary" plans--S in NZ has asked me to stay 2 months! That means I'll probably be traveling for 4-5 months. That's a long time to be away and leave my dogs and cat, much less Mom and the innumerable doctors' appointments she could have in that time-span. Is it the right thing to do? And as if that's not a crazy enough prospect, I've got this other idea in my head. What I'd really like to do before I die: go to Paris and do the Patisserie Diploma at the Cordon Bleu. It's basically the same tuition price as here. And I'd be getting language training! It's always irked me that I never mastered French, considering it was my first foreign language and that I have a BA in it. There's a part of me that feels a real desire to do something... daring or adventurous. A lot of people would consider traveling around the world for 4 or 5 months to be adventurous, I'm sure, but I'm looking for something else. A part of me wants to do this thing that seems slightly insane and would require a fair amount of courage so that afterwards, I can say, "I did it!" and smile to myself and know that no one can take that away from me. Oh, I should know better. I should know that I'll look back and say, "I can't believe that was really me." But, you know, there's also this really, really odd thought coming to me so often that I can't deny it. I want to be an enabler. I want to enable people in my family (or friends) to come to Paris because I'm there. Maybe I'm just trying to justify my own plans, but it would please me to no end if by my doing this thing, I made it possible for other people to do something equally wild for them. Does that make any sense? The program lasts about eight months, by the way--long enough but not too long. Well, I don't have to decide about it tomorrow.

Really Home Alone

This is the first night I've spent alone in the house. Jo is in Cincinnati. She and Devin are walking a mini-marathon tomorrow.

I keep thinking about Mary and how it must have been for her before I moved in, how lonely she must have been. I wonder a lot about what it was like for her when she was having all those problems with Uncle Harry and then after he died... I don't know if this makes any sense, but my heart aches for her. Isn' that crazy? She's not even alive anymore and yet I feel pain for her for the times in her life when she felt pain. Why didn't I care more then? I know, I was a teenager, but I remember hearing the stories and Dad and Mom talking to her on the phone, but it wasn't my problem. Well, I guess it didn't damage her too much because she always said she had had three good husbands. I think she must have blocked it out, all the trouble she had with Harry. (He was a very quiet man when they got married and then at some point she discovered that he had a chemical imbalance. He quit taking his medicine and was never right again till he died. He tried to strangle Mary at one point, but she always said she wasn't afraid of him. I think he eventually checked himself into a Little Sisters of the Poor home and died there.

I'm dreading May 4. That will be one month. I can't stand the thought. Saturday nights are hard, too. I hate them! I can't get that last evening, the last 15 minutes, out of my head. It pains me so. I'm sure the dogs think I'm crazy.

I have the whole day free tomorrow. I thought about going for a walk with the Kentuckiana Single Hikers and Walkers, but I'm not ready. I need more time alone. There's so much to do around here! I still have papers to sort, tax info to get together, my to do list to rewrite, flowers and seeds to plant, my friend Susanne in Germany to call, and spring cleaning to start (before summer gets here). I've been going to G&P's shop to help out like it's my job! I'd better watch it or I'm going to find myself employed there. I haven't been taking any time to deal with things here. I've been spending a lot of time at Mom's, too.

Oh, I heard from the lawyer. He's still writing up the... I don't know what he called it--the grievance??? He wanted to read it to me and said he'd mail it yesterday or today, which he hasn't, of course. He wants me to write up a summary of my involvement with Mary so that he can see our history and the responsibilities I accumulated. That will take some thinking, but it will be good for me.

I'm tired and I've got a headache from my Mint Julep. I may be crazy (my word for the day, apparently), but I think I can feel this tumor on my right ovary. It bothers me a lot in the mornings. I take Tylenol extra strength and that usually helps it go away. It might turn out to be bad and then it will be a blessing that I don't have to take care of Mary and deal with it, too. I worried about the possibility of my getting ovarian cancer like Gina had and then not being able to take care of her. I worried so much! I guess it never helped me much, so you'd think I'd quit doing it. I need to make myself a big poster: Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy. (Wouldn't you know that Leo Buscaglia said that?)

Oh, on a positive note, my personal hygiene has improved since I don't have Mary to tend to. I've taken more showers in the past month than I had in the last few months before that. I remember so many problems I had... and they seem so... unreal. In the blink of an eye they disappeared. In the blink of an eye everything changed.

Realizations

I'd been having these "realization moments" the past year or year and a half or so when I would know that something had changed forever. I remember when I knew that I'd given Mary her last shower. There was the moment when I knew she wouldn't be wearing regular panties anymore. It was a relief and yet also a sad time when I realized that I wasn't going to take Mary into the bathroom anymore but only use the potty chair. These changes always had a ripple effect on our routine. I liked to find the best way to do something and then stick with it, so I didn't have to rethink things repeatedly. So I'd find myself thinking, "OK, this is the way we're going to do this now." Those were moments when I knew that we'd entered a new phase of some sort.

Now I'm having these "realization moments" about my new phase in life. These moments all have one thing in common, though--they're all realizations that Mary won't be doing, seeing, eating, experiencing something with me anymore. The first banana I ate, sitting on the swing, the new penuche frosting recipe I tried, the flowers I'm planting in the yard... It was a relief to be able to cut the grass when I wanted and not have to stop every half hour or so, but I just kept remembering her sitting up there on the porch and how I'd wave to her and she'd be so tickled to be out there seeing everything.

I wasn't sure if I should get flowers for the back yard. I've been getting them for so long... but they were always for Mary. I knew I should spend the money. But I did it for Mary. I can look at them and know she'd love them.

I was working in the kitchen this evening when I heard the latch on the gate rattle. I let Rudi out but he didn't bark and then just came back in. I heard the rattle a bit later, like someone wanted to come in, so I went out to look. There was Max, the huge chocolate lab from then next street over. I'd taken him in a few times and even called the pound twice because his owner wasn't home and he was just too big for our house. I had something in the oven, so when Jo came home, I took him over and, luckily, they were home. I think they keep him in the backyard and didn't know he's gotten out. It was so weird to realize that if I hadn't had something in the oven, I could have taken him over. I can run to the store if I need something. I can take the dogs for a walk whenever I want...

Speaking of dogs, Bella didn't want to come home! She stayed at Mom's! This is the second time that she didn't want to come with me. I have to admit that my feelings are hurt. Am I going to lose my dog? Rudi still seems like Mary's dog.

I still haven't heard anything from Anna or Mike about the house. That's so strange. Well, they probably expect me to go to them since I'm executrix, but my lawyer said I didn't have to, and I think he'd rather I didn't talk to them because I'm liable to say something I shouldn't. It just seems like they'd say something to me since my lawyer has talked to them and they know that this is now their house. I haven't heard anything from the lawyer, either, but he was supposed to file the suit on Monday.

Oh, on a completely different note--I talked to a friend in Wuppertal, where I used to live in Germany. I got onto Skype and told him about it, so that's how he called me. That meant I didn't get to go over to G&P to work since we talked for almost an hour, but that's alright--especially as it was free! He said there's a position open at Inlingua, where I used to work. I just laughed but I should have asked him how much it paid! I asked him if there was still dog poop everywhere and if the druggies still hung out around the train station and he said it was all worse than ever! No, seriously, I can't imagine living there again. As I told him, I left because there was nothing keeping me there. I never got into a serious relationship, you know? I mean, friends are great, but they're not necessarily a reason to stay someplace.

I keep hearing this odd sound--like my alarm clock beeping. I don't hear it all the time but quite often. It's very annoying. I guess it's tinnitus and must mean I'm not getting enough blood flow to my brain.

Speaking of blood flow, I came closer today than I ever have to participating in a charity walk! I chickened out in the end, though. Saving $20 was a big incentive! There's a group I'd be interested in joining. It's called Kentuckiana Singles Walkers and Hikers. They walk ca. 8 miles every Sunday. It just seems weird, though, to belong to a group that you'd have to leave if you weren't single anymore. I guess they mean single as opposed to married, but maybe they mean as opposed to dating! Odd, odd. Oh, I'd also thought about founding a Stammtisch (German conversation group) since I can't find one here, especially if I have to stay put for the next six to nine months. It's hard to learn to go out again. I was supposed to go out with this woman I met through another friend. We were both going to work on knitting/crocheting projects, but she was running late and then had to cancel. I'm just relieved to be able to stay home--just like with the charity walk. Mm, mm, mm. I've got to get a life...outside this house, that is.