CATHARSIS

I can feel myself “becoming”.

Literally.

I like Jo Dee Messina ;-)

She reminds me of a younger me; and this song {fits} the me I am falling back on in my new {becoming} life status.

9 days ago, I was called to pack my duffel and “come to us tonight” … so, I did. I had been packing up the house for the move anyway
(https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/10/moving-into-future.html). 

Everything was going fine, until this past Friday morning, when things went south at turbo speed.

So.

I will not be moving after all.

My grandchildren have been traumatized & I have been emotionally abused and openly humiliated.

There was NO real reason for this to happen: none … except a twisted obsession to exact revenge for preconceived past “wrongs” she felt I had done to her. Out of the blue. One minute we are talking – the next, she is shouting at me and ordering me out of the house.

Out of the blue.

I WAS ASKED TO COME HELP THEM. I came. I do not need someone to put a roof over my head, food on my table, or clothes on my back … but I was willing to HELP WITH THOSE THINGS. For my grandchildren’s sake's. But neither of Bob’s children cannot get past themselves – they are obsessed with putting me “in your place”.

Bob’s son: and our daughter.

They are both intent on hurting me. Deeply.

Friday went above and beyond – she was cruel.

I was treated like I was incompetent (“You are in the city now”; “Old-school thinking doesn’t apply now”; “We believe in socialism: believing in a 2,000 years old deity is delusional”); I was told I could not talk (“YOU do NOT get to talk”); I was told to go to my room (“GO to your room!”): I was treated like a 3 year old. For no reason at all, except she could do it. It was a muscle flexing-power-trip on steroids.

Then, she started lying to my face about my husband - I had, in July, gone through the SAME situation with Bob's son. I said I did not believe what she was telling me – she said, “Get out of my house if you are calling me a liar.” I asked, “Can I at least get dressed?” She shouted, “You always have to get the last word in – get out of my house!” So, I grabbed my things and went to stand in the stairwell while I waited for my car to get back from downtown.

I refused to cry.

Other apartment tenants are walking through the stairwell breezeway. They see me standing there.

In my pajamas; surrounded by my things.

When my car gets back, I start loading my stuff into it.

I have to retrace and undo EVERYTHING WE HAD JUST SET N PLACE A FEW HOURS AGO, on Thursday: at the Social Security Office, and the Bank.

I start getting mad. I am literally in my fricking pajamas, running all over the place trying to right my life again so that when I get back home, I will have an income – and closing the new bank account so I won’t be thrown in jail for having 2 active bank accounts in 2 States (the plan was to come home Monday and close the account back home). All the while, my thoughts are centered on the lies our children boldly told me to destroy my life – they weren’t simply satisfied to hurt me … they had to spitefully go after my marriage, which was sacred to their father & me (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/10/for-him-for-me.html): neither one could leave that alone while they systematically cut me to ribbons.

I know they lied.

I KNEW my husband.

I was aware of every $ that came into our home, was deposited into our JOINT banking account – I knew every $ that went out of our home and our joint banking account: I WAS THE BOOKEEPER. Bob made sure of that before the ink was even dry on our Marriage License: every paycheck & CASH transaction that was deposited, I was present – and Bob HANDED ME THE TRANSCRIPT to note. There was not a single financial decision that I did not have the final word on. There was NO secret goings on behind my back between him and the kids. NONE.

There was NO {deathbed conversation} between them and their father. NEVER HAPPENED. Bob could not talk by the time they stood at his bedside in those final hours – BOB’S TONGUE WAS NOT USABLE. Bob had not been allowed (doctors’ orders) to drink water or even suck ice cubes for days in the hospital before he physically died: ALL HE WAS ALLOWED was the saline IV drip ... Bob was seriously dehydrated due to his medical condition. Dehydration had seriously cracked, peeled, and split his tongue: BOB COULD NOT TALK.

And YET they persisted that what was being shouted at me was what took place. Like I had not been in the hospital room when they were present – I NEVER LEFT THE HOSPITAL ROOM; I had been with Bob, on the spot 24/7.

Bob could not talk: he had not been able to talk for at least a week. I almost vomited when I saw his tongue. My stomach STILL lurches when my mind goes there …

I realized then that there would never be a relationship with our children. Ever.

They lied about my husband. To my face. They lied about a man WHO HAS DIED AND CANNOT DEFEND HIMSELF against their spiteful & bitter angst's.

They went above and beyond – they weren’t content to simply hurt me, they want to destroy me. They are permanently excluded from my life.

I literally felt my heart break.

The hatred towards me was palpable; it was physical – it could be felt.

They live in their heads & can’t get past their self-serving narcissism. They have willingly trapped themselves in the past where their preconceived wrongs have become bigger than life and have taken on a life of their own, poisoning everything they now do and say in the present; and it is handicapping them from an enjoyable future. Reality has taken a back seat while they nurture the beast of bitterness.

Consequently, they have been cut from my life, never to enter it again; for the 1^st time in their lives, Bob’s children share something in common. Banishment – they can ride the crazy train together: I am getting off. They have nursed grievances they perceive as deep personal wrongs over the past 4 decades until the accusations no longer resemble the original instances: they are literally being eaten alive by the bitterness maggots; I cannot apologize for a past that no longer exists. And I refuse to listen to lies. This has been an ongoing angst for 44 years, and every year the grievance lists get more fantastical.

I feel like a fool for believing they loved me and wanted me near them. But, I WILL NEVER FEEL LIKE A FOOL AGAIN.

I am back home now, picking up the pieces of a shattered life and trying the best I can to build a new life. The Friday blowout with the kids has catapulted me into a fresh grieving cycle.

And I am finding myself distrusting anyone concerning anything; again.

My ‘Give a Damn’ is busted.

I am moving on.

Solo.

I blocked their numbers on my phone and deleted the contacts entirely: they can’t reach me ever again to hurt me with their poison tongues. In 10 months’ time I have literally lost my entire family. It is strange to suddenly be totally alone after 45 years … but I can learn to enjoy the peace; finally. This morning I woke up feeling myself “becoming” (the only word I can think of at the moment to describe the feeling) from my head to my toes. Catharsis is taking place. I am in the process of a complete healing, and in separating from them, I can begin a healthy grieving.

If they don’t give a damn about me … I don’t give a damn about them. I don’t need their pity-party bullshit pulling me down and making the process harder than it needs to be.

I can focus 100% ON ME and what I need to get on with life the way Bob would want me to. Seeking peace. Expecting, at some point, to feel happy again.

ALL my life I have been responsible for making sure everyone else was happy and taken care of: I have loved at the expense of my own happiness – and the kids have thrown that in my face and told me they think I am a worthless piece of shit.

I don’t need that – I don’t deserve it.

My ‘Give a Damn’ is busted.

It is a liberating concept.

So …

After I got back home last Friday night, I started unpacking the boxes I had packed up; and I started putting things back in place.

Again.

At least the house was cleared of clutter and deep cleaned ;-)

This morning, FB fed my newsfeed a flashback to this day last year: November 5^th, 2018. Every day since I was thrust into my new life after Bob’s leaving, reminders pop up.

Every day.

THIS IS REALITY. And I relive it. Every day.

Because there are reminders every day during these “1^st’s Anniversaries” following physical death.

{{LAST YEAR, November 5, 2018 (Posted to our FB Page: Bob was admitted to ER earlier this afternoon and is currently in ICU. Again.

At first they were going to transport him immediately to OHSU, but when they called OHSU, docs here were told that there is nothing that could be done there that could not be done here … in OHSU’s estimation based on what was fed to them from ER here, Bob is not {chronically ill enough}. The man is in MASS PAIN! He CANNOT EAT OR DRINK without throwing it back up!

So.

Docs here said all they can do is basically keep him alive with pain killers and IV fluids when the pain is unbearable and the dehydration is critical. Pancreatitis is a wasting disease … he is dying. And he will die by starvation. End of story. A Hospital Chaplain was paged and Bob was moved to ICU where the nurses have been told again that there is a DNR Order standing. If he makes it through the night and is released, he will be on serious narcotics until he does “go home”.

I have loved this man since I was 10 years old. I married him when I was 17 years old. He has been in my life more than 2/3rd's of it. I am not even sure I remember how to breath or live without Bob being part of me.

This is extremely hard to go through. Bob is praying for a healing; or death. I am praying for a healing; or for a dignified death. We are both praying for Elohim’s expressed favor. We desperately need a miracle. Or a graceful exit.

Please pray as the Ruach Ha'Kodesh leads. Thank you.}}

Shay stopped in yesterday to talk for a bit (okay, a looooong bit), and ask what I have decided to do. I told her I will keep the house and stake my ground here. And, I am not going to change my mind this time.

The kids made the decision pretty easy for me. The house is paid for, and there is no longer any reason to take on a fresh debt.

And I do have friends here. Friends who really do WANT me in their lives. Friends who have MADE A PLACE for me in their lives. Aside from candy scott and ron cook, I really can carve a nice life for myself here. Bob gave me a good life, and he provided me a real nice home that suits me perfectly – there are LOTS of windows, and 2 skylights: I LIKE all the natural light that surrounds me. A new roof; new flooring; a totally remodeled kitchen with matching up-to-date appliances, a new washer/dryer set; I have recently had the house spackled/painted inside, and painted outside. I switched the old canned lights out and replaced them with energy efficient LED canned lights. Bob built me a gardening area on the lot outside, and Kerry will be bringing my rain barrels back after hunting season (I felt bad asking for them back, but he understood). I don’t have to have any face-to-face dealings with candy – and I haven’t since I recorded her bitchy meltdown the end of May (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/05/retirement-was-short-lived.html); and I can find entertainment venues outside the Park.

((((I)))) am responsible for my happiness.

ME.

Myself & I.

Those who should, have made it abundantly clear that they don’t give a damn if I am happy or not.

I am the only one reaching out – and shafted, or just outright ignored.

And with that final realization, something inside snapped; and MY ‘Give a Damn’ is busted.

Seriously.

I.A.M.D.O.N.E.

These past 14 months have been rough.

Bob physically died – and he is inaccessible to me.

My laptop died – and all my pictures of Bob are on it; they can be/will be retrieved, thank YOU, Yeshua! My sister, Iris, died 2 months ago: we found each other only a few short months ago – and then she was gone; our children & grandchildren have removed themselves from my life, making it abundantly clear that they want me out of their lives: and I can do that. I am 62 … soon to be 63 next month; I am tired of fighting to gain ground in a losing battle. Now, the phone and Bob’s laptop are not {communicating}, and there appears to be no help in that regard. I am seriously ready to stop the fucking world and step off.

AND THEN …

I run into old friends that make sticking around easier ;-)

This morning, bright and early, I took the laptop & phone to Charisma Computer Shop to see if they could fix it: 7 fricking hours it was worked on. While it was being worked on, I sat in the car working a ‘Word Search’ book for a couple hours. I went back into the shop to see what the issue was, and was told it would need more time and to come back around 4 p.m. So, I treated myself to lunch at Izzy’s … the first time I had been back there since Bob & I ate there 16 months ago. I have been avoiding going there. But this afternoon I went.

I was hungry; and I had to pee ;-)

As soon as I walked in the door, the girl that used to wait on Bob & I asked, “Are you okay?” I said, “Actually, no. But I am getting there.” And then I told her that Bob had graduated to a higher level of living. She hugged me and said, “I could tell right away that something wasn’t right: you two were always together when you came in here. Your eyes told me something was not okay with you.” I must still have that ‘deer-in-the-headlights-look about me. She hugged me again, and said, “It never gets better.” Hugged me tighter. Then apologized for being a poor comforter. And I told her, “Don’t apologize – I prefer honesty over social graces. You’re right … it doesn’t get better; it gets tolerable. But it never gets better.” The place wasn’t that busy, so she sat with me for a bit at my table and we talked like we always had: we are friends.

The kids think I just sit in the house all the time mouring. I don't mourn ... and I do have friends here; friends who really do want me in their lives. Friends who have made a place for me in their lives. I appreciate that, and am eternally grateful.

After lunch, I had lots more hours to waste, so I parked in Joanne’s parking lot to wait out the remaining time (didn"t want to waste gas running back home and then back into town again), and did more pages in the Word Search book. At 4:12 p.m., I walked into the shop and spent another hour watching the tech trying to figure out what the heck was wrong: my phone was torn apart and the screen damaged trying to figure it out – nothing. Nada. Consensus is that the issue is connected to the newest IOS update that just happened: a glitch in the software.

I go to AT/T and repeat what the tech told me … that my phone is under warranty and AT/T should replace it since it is their fault it is messed up – the guy at AT/T tells me that the phone has to be broken to be replaced; and it won’t be an in-store replacement: I have to go online and order a new phone & wait for it to be delivered. And it can only be replaced IF I have the ORIGINAL box it came in, as well as the phone’s serial number (don’t have either). But he was willing to sell me a NEW phone! Basically, what he was telling me was that Apple had screwed me without my permission and I just had to suck it up. I am still under contract ON THIS PHONE – the phone Apple fucked with; I am paying $128/mo. On a phone that I cannot utilize all the features. I am seriously pissed.

I wish Bob were still here. I REALLY MISS him at times like this. I desperately need a hug. I want to hear his voice telling me everything will be alright – I want to feel his touch, making everything alright. The missing of my husband is hard at the best of times; the relentless missing is unbearable on days like today.

Bob’s physical absence is pronounced every day; Friday was no exception: today was no exception. I did TRY with the kids – and I AM trying, today and each day moving forward, to live the life I have right in front of me. Without Bob’s hug. Without Bob’s soothing voice. Without Bob’s comforting touch. I know that there is a lot of life to be lived while I am “becoming”. I am trying to live life boldly and confidently. With a tear-stained face. And a kick-ass badassery attitude. I realize those terms are contradictory, but they will ultimately lead to joy in my life.

I choose joy in the new life that is being birthed while I am living in the “in between” twilight zone of my present life circumstances. The current twilight zone of widowhood may be where I live now, but it is not the place I will inhabit when my “becoming” matures. The twilight zone of my life is not the ending chapter of my life story. The new chapters of my new life since Bob’s spirit was freed from his earthen vessel show me to be an unsettled soul being tossed about in the wild frenzy that followed Bob’s physical death. And I agree that right this moment, the story of my life has been radically shaken, and lies strewn around me: there are pieces everywhere. And I have been needy – which is so NOT the old me … yet SO much the new me while picking up the pieces of my shattered life and attempting to make something whole and acceptable from what is left of the old.

This is a big job, and I am doing the best I can with the strength I can muster.

Alone.

Because those who said they would be there … are suspiciously absent; when they are not using and abusing me, and the situation.

“We’re here for you; you are still family.”

“We love you – we can’t help you if you don’t tell us what you need.”

“We will help: call us.”

Phone calls are not returned.

Texts are ignored.

That is on them …

I am becoming more comfortable with the uncertainty. I am learning to embrace it and roll with it. Uncertainty is scary – but it can usher in exciting possibilities as I “become”.

I am learning to enjoy the beauty of “becoming.”

I am remembering that before Bob came into my life, I was always alone. I grew up fast because I had to – and I was a strong and self-reliant woman because there was no one I could ever depend on to be there for me. I was always a solo lobo, and some of the most memorable chapters of my life were written during those solo lobo years. Those chapters led to the 44 years where Bob became a prominent part of the most beautiful chapters of my life, when “becoming” during that era, involved being lavished with Bob’s unconditional love.

Remembering the beauty of “becoming” during those chapters filled with so much passion and exclusive love makes me appreciative of the unpredictability of the nature of life.

And I remember, too, that heavy hearts can lighten and soar given the right environment …

I love you, Babe.

And I feel your love all around me.

Always.

OX