VERBAL PROCESSING

I was up and out of the house early this morning for exercise with my friends in Castle Rock. There were some people there this week that I had not met last week – all friendly, funny, and companionable for the 45 minutes I was there. I am sore when I leave because I am stretching and toning muscles I have not used since I was hefting my grandson ... I have not held, or lifted him in a long time. But the muscle burn is good; and I have always felt balanced after a good workout. I am glad I am doing this :-D

After exercise, I left castle Rock …

Smelt dipping along the Cowlitz River.

… and headed to Keenager’s, where meeting with friends there, boosted my spirit even more. I arrived early, so I waiting in the car and did a Word Search until the doors opened:

Elohei is faithful.

Once the doors opened, and while waiting for others to arrive, I schmoozed with Judy and her husband Dave – today’s kitchen hosts; Alice, who is a lovely person, asked me how I am doing (she is a widow too; about 25-30 years older than me), and I told her I am doing a lot better now that a lot of stress has been eliminated from my life. I also said that I have been set free to pursue a new life that will have nothing to do with hate anymore; and that I have given my life totally into Elohei’s hands, open to whatever He has waiting for me in my new life – He sees the future, and He knows what I need in my life. Love comes in many forms. I will accept what He sends my way and be thankful. Alice said it sounds like I am doing great after such a short period of regrouping time, and she is praying for me … and “anxiously waiting to see what happens” with my new life. And shy Dave showed up with 2 plates of sliced ham; and a meaty ham bone, that is now in my ‘fridge ;-)

I was wishing for a ham bone the other day – I would have gotten one from Alyna’s workplace in Portland, if Bob were still here. Or from Yelm’s butcher shop. But Bob is not here: and Yelm is a long way off. This is a special gift and an answer to prayer :-D

The message at today’s Keenager Meet was taken from Psalm 77. The theme was verbal processing. I chuckled and nodded my head as the speaker explained verbal processing: that is something I have done all my life – that is how I work through a problem until a solution is found. Bob understood that about me: it always annoys the kids. But Bob knew that when I am facing a huge issue, I have to verbally work through every single issue surrounding the main issue until I find the answer that is hidden in the puzzling issue. I have to solve the issue by verbalizing it and hearing the process; eventually the solution manifests itself, and the problem gets solved and settled. Bob understood that my verbal processing was my soul asking for Elohei’s insight, guidance, and solution assessment.

And anyone reading my FB or Blog posts can see that I am verbally processing what is happening in my life – I am very transparent with my thoughts, and they may be all over the place: but that is how verbal processing happens. If I don’t see the solution – someone reading or listening to me, might. But the solution is always there somewhere.

When I got back home, I was informed that the tent city camping around City Hall ...

... will not be shifted to the proposed Willow Grove-Industrial Way junction area. There was too much red tape and controversy over the wetlands situation and methane gas issue. ((((THANK YOU, ELOHIM!)))) I was worried when I read Monday, in the Park Newsletter, that the City Council was thinking of making that area a tent city sanctuary – that would literally have been in the Park’s backyard. And I am a woman alone now – an old woman, alone, now. Most of the people in tent cities are maximum security felons, hard core druggies and drug dealers, rapists and pedophiles, serious mental cases, and other criminal elements. They are in tent cities because they refuse to adhere to Shelter rules and regulations … or they are too violently dangerous to be allowed entrance into a Shelter. It would not have been a good situation; we are already having homeless people troll the Park, and last year there was a break-in and a murder in the Park; one street over from mine.

The best place to place the tent city if the City of Longview wants to be a sanctuary city is to place it next to the Court House where actual police monitoring will really happen – the City said there would be “police monitoring” at the Willow Grove-Industrial Way junction … but the City is notorious for stating, “We do not have the man-power” when people in rural areas, and the City outskirts request the police make an appearance to settle criminal activity. The police will only show up if there has been a physical assault – or a death; and even then, they take their time getting out here because ‘there is not enough manpower’ and ‘that’s outside the city limits – we’ll let the highway patrol know: they’ll contact you’ … HOURS LATER if you are lucky they respond at all. If there is a break-in or a trespass … they won’t even bother to show up. Unless there is an actual physical assault, or a death.

I am just thankful, and praising Elohim that the thing will not be set up out here. MPO is that government, city, and county officials that embrace sanctuary lawlessness should open their homes and their back yards to the criminal riff-raff they are passing off onto rural communities and city outskirts where there is no present police protection for the lawful people that PAY FOR police protection, and expect it.

I don’t even have the option of the protection of my children. My daughter’s response to my Monday concerns was, “You owe me an apology for the past 35 years; and if I don’t get it, you deserve whatever happens to you. I am not interested in rebuilding the burned bridge between us. And Alyna and Liam agree with me.” She said other things too, that drove the final nail home. So – there will be no help there, because there is no love there: it is scorched earth toxicity. And her response really settled the relationship question in both our minds: it’s over. Finished. I can move on and forward rebuilding my new life, with a clear conscience: and without worrying about ‘how my life choices may affect the family’. There is no immediate family anymore. Stacey ended that Monday morning.

I choose to be happy; I have always chosen to be happy.

There is no place anymore for unbridled hate in my life.

Today I was surrounded and cushioned by love all day long :-D

And verbal processing was flowing freely today ;-)

My friends understand me … and those who are only acquaintances are beginning to understand me.

Love embraces quirky weirdness.

Live for love is the motto for 2020.

I love You, Elohim.

I love you, Babe.

Always ~ OX

LIVE FOR LOVE

I’ve been posting the last few months about the necessity of getting on with the business of rebuilding my life. And I really am trying to do that. But it is not as easy – or as simple – as it seems it should be.

One of the reasons it is not simple is because for every step forward I make … someone or something sets me back 2; or 3 steps. With this constant occurrence happening, I am always losing ground.

After Monday morning's phone convo,
(https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2020/02/a-day-of-exercise.html) in which I was shouted at, and told (by my daughter!) that my husband was terrified of me because I am a dictator, and that whether I wanted to believe it or not, she and her brother did give Bob money because he said I was bankrupting him; that he shared secrets with her because he couldn’t talk to me; that she heard rumors he was cheating on me … and then she finally ended the call with, “and he said you were killing him”. She has finally lost all touch with reality! I know she hates me – she has had a 35-year-old vendetta against me; but I admit I was shakily dismayed that she would say those things to me – it went way beyond her normal vitriol. She tells everyone she knows horror stories about me, so much so, that when by chance, I actually meet people she is in close contact with, they say, "You are not at all like she said you were". It's sad. It has always been hard to bear, but Bob was always here to hug me and make things better.

Now, Bob is no longer here, and both kids think they can continue to harangue me. I can’t allow that; my support system has been seriously altered.

She is obsessed with trying to destroy me – she goes after me like the demoncrats go after Trump – but I KNOW everything she said was utter bullshit. She kept saying, "This is MY truth". And it may be 'her truth' ... but, it is NOT THE TRUTH.

Bob & I were together constantly – the only time we were ever apart was when he worked … and he left the house cutting it pretty close to make the truck yard at work: there was NO TIME for him to sneak off to bellyache to her about anything. If there was an issue with me, Bob had no problem at all letting me know – he’d do it in a calm manner, but he’d let me know: just like I would to him, if I had an issue with him; we always worked things out calmly and together. And we NEVER took our personal business outside our home. Bob made me household bookkeeper before the ink was dry on our Marriage License – I was with him when his paychecks were deposited (his choice – he wanted me involved), and we paid bills together, and went over the bank statement together. Sure, money got tight sometimes on slow months … but we were NEVER at a point where either of us had to ask ANYONE for monetary help: we just tightened our belt and did without the extra’s until things picked up at work again. I am very frugal: we even had a pretty cushy saving account and IRA – there was NO need to tap anyone for money. The kids – Alex and Stacey were the one’s asking us for money – and to raise their kids, for Pete’s sake! And there are plenty of witnesses to testify to that, on my behalf. Bob never cheated on me our entire married life. He always said I was more than he could keep up with; and he’d learned in his first marriage that sneaking around wasn’t worth it. He wouldn’t have cheated then, either, if Gloria hadn’t been sleeping around – Bob’s cheating then, was a spite thing. Plus, Bob knew I’d leave him and not look back if he ever stepped out on me: I wouldn’t tolerate that – that was one thing I couldn’t overlook, and he never did it. As to “killing” him … Bob had a standing DNR in place; I honored that. And Bob spoke directly TO THE DOCTORS himself concerning his wishes in that regard, telling them that if he couldn’t make that decision when the time came, they were to do what I told them to do. Bob was lucid enough on his final day on Earth to plainly and clearly state, himself, his final wishes and Comfort Care was started on his say so. I did not have to make that decision.

Bob was on very heavy narcotics those final months. If any of what she screamed at me was true, it would have come out in a deathbed confession of sorts – it would have slipped out in a drugged stupor where thoughts would have been uncontrolled. That happens under drug influences.

Instead, WHAT DID COME OUT, was his talking to his doctors and attendants about how much he loved and appreciated me in his life; and that he was sorry he was leaving me. He told them, every day, his 1981 salvation testimony; and how he appreciated I prayed for him before he got saved. I was in the room, and he would reach for my hand and hold it, smiling at me, when he told them these things.

His siblings, Merry and Kerry, have told me that Bob and I had the most loving and secure marriage they’ve ever seen. I didn’t have to make room for Alex in our life, but I did. He was Bob’s son, and our daughter’s brother. Alex’s daughter Krisa was our first grandchild – and I doted on her like a first grandchild. Bob’s siblings are flabbergasted at the things Alex and Stacey have shouted at me; and the way I have been used and abused. They understand that what is heard can’t be unheard, and both of them have said, “Bobby loved you, Val. There is no doubt – don’t let anyone make you doubt that.”

I have never doubted Bob’s love and devotion to me. I don’t doubt it now.

This is what I know – this, what I have written is factual.

Stacey and Alex live in their heads, with their fantastical hostilities – which they aim at me. Because they think they can.

CORRECTION: they could … they can’t anymore. I haven’t spoken to Alex since July 4^th, 2019 – and I won’t be speaking to Stacey anymore; she’s kicked me out of her life for 35 years, and finally yesterday for good. She left no doubt about that. They are both crazy with twisted angsts that have no conception in reality. Neither one of them take any personal responsibility for where they have taken their lives, and it is easier to blame someone else. Basically, me – because they think I am an easy target now that I am grieving, my defenses are down, and Bob is not here to shield me.

Well, neither of them know me; they never took the time to know me. Yes, I am grieving, but I am not going to allow myself to be taken advantage of, or be abused.

Instead, after that ridiculous phone convo, I took stock of my life; admitting to myself once and for all, that there will never be a relationship with Stacey. Ever. She won’t allow it - it wouldn't fit her victim script. And honestly, I think she can’t allow it: she continues to feed her irrational 35-year-vendetta and it has consumed her.

There will be no help there because there is no love there.

And I am tired of crying for something that will never be.

I am pretty sure half of my crying jags are missing my family members as well as missing Bob – but if they can throw me under the bus and step on the gas to mangle me, what’s the point of crying over their absence in my life? At least Bob loved me: that is worth grieving, and crying about.

So.

Earlier today I jotted down some notes to myself about how to forge ahead with rebuilding my new life. I know I am not the only widow who has to do that; I also know that I am not the only widow who is being treated horribly by her children, or who have been heartlessly abandoned. This is what I came up with:

Strengths: Elohei/myself/my past

Weaknesses: my children. They can wreck me if I let them.

Goal: peace and happiness in my new life.

Elohei is my foundational support; without Him, nothing I build with stand the tests of time or challenge. I – me – myself, is strong enough to move on: While holding my hand and facing death, Bob told me he knew I could do it; so, I will. For me, and to honor him. My past is my strength: before Bob, I was a pretty strong, kickass person. I will be again; I have to be. There is only me now, fighting for my survival and success.

My only real weakness is my love for my children. And they know it. But they have used, abused, and abandoned me; and shouted malicious things at me to deliberately hurt me – they have lost their minds to bitter hatefulness. I have to shelf my love for them, or they will wreck me. I can’t allow that if I am going to survive Bob’s absence in my life and move forward to build a new one.

My goal for 2020 … and hopefully, beyond … is to live my life saturated in love to obtain peace and happiness in my new life. I was able to do this before Bob – I am sure I can obtain it, sans Bob in my life, now.

There are many forms of love; living for love is easy-peasy. Peace and happiness just naturally follows ;-)

And I need to ferret out other widows and widowers to spend some time with.

I do have friends, but they are coupled and really have NO IDEA at all about what widows go through on a daily-minute to minute-spin. They have their own ideas about grieving and moving forward; they’d have it together in a year’s time and be making rational decisions to take their lives upward and onward. They know this because they watch oprah and dr. oz, and would “go to counseling” and “get the help they need” to right their lives again. They’d get a job – because a job would solve “the issues of” grief fog, loss of short-term memory, the sudden tears & fears, and the incapacitating sorrow that saps all your energy – even if you don’t particularly feel it, it is there, lurking and working at draining you.

Sometimes it is hard not to get snippy and say, “You can’t fix me!” It is annoying to listen to well-meant suggestions that are not helpful at all. And then to sit through clueless minimalization of grief, while they are complaining about their husband not paying enough attention to them, is almost too much. It doesn’t do any good to get mad, they are clueless – they don’t know that there is a seriously real difference between frustrating ‘grief’ caused by supposed indifference, and the very real death grief of loss that can’t be talked out.

Even with family members, I get tired of trying to explain that.

And I can’t seem to make people understand that filling my life with someone … or something else … won’t erase the loss of Bob in my life. Yes, I am blessed to have a home, paid for, free and clear; but it is no longer “my happy place” since the person who made me happy no longer shares that home with me. That nearly all of my life has been spent loving one man; three quarters of my adult life identity was coupled with that one man … even though I am a strong, intelligent, independent woman in my own right. That the exhaustion of trying to function on skimpy sleep and foggy daytime brain can be overwhelming.

I get tired of trying to explain to my coupled friends, who still have intact families – that my best friend, lover, confident, and comforter is gone forever; and that no one else ever “got” or “will get me” like he did.

They are clueless. They won’t understand until it happens to them.

They don’t understand how hard it is to relearn everything as a solo lobo that I did as a couple for most of my life. They can’t understand the incredible feat of strength and fortitude it takes for me to get through every day. Every day. They don’t understand that the progress they saw me accomplish this week could be so easily wiped out, sending me into a tailspin that will set me back 2 weeks; by a single snarky phone convo. They can’t understand that I am helping myself – I am doing everything in my power to move forward: without love and support. They don’t understand that I am really doing pretty fricking good, all things considered.

Better jot down the need to make connections with widows and widowers, on that ‘note to self’ mentioned earlier.

Live for love.

2020’s motto and mantra.

There is no longer place for unwarranted and unbridled hate in my new life.

MOD DOGWOOD & CHERRY BLOSSOM DEHYDRATOR DUSTCOVER

Tonight, I finished the dehydrator dustcover I started a few days ago (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2020/02/memories-in-movie.html).

I am using scrap yarn to make these things and the larger countertop appliances take more yarn that the smaller ones, and my yarn cache is depleted of large skeins of yarn. I had this green, and this pink that was enough to make this cover, so though it is somewhat garish, I went with it because it is “Springy” in color.

The trims, was what had me stumped for a few days. But I eventually settled on Dogwood and Cherry blossoms:

MOD Dehydrator Dustcover Finished :-D

Dogwood & Cherry Blossoms trim.

It was a stressful morning this morning, but good friends … and crafting … relaxed me :-D (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2020/02/a-day-of-exercise.html).

While I was working on the trims and listening to music, I was thinking how much our home has changed in the past 437 days. There is not much now left of my husband in my home ... the home we bought and reworked to fit our life – the life Bob & I planned to enjoy together for many retirement years.

His clothes are gone from his side of the closet … and my clothing has been shifted from my side to his side. I noticed his youngest brother Kerry wearing one of his shirts at a family gathering a few days ago in Calimexarabia. I smiled when I saw Kerry wearing that shirt. Bob got it when his Dad passed, and Kerry got it when Bob passed from this life to the next. It looked good on all of them :-D

In December of 2018, I cleared the master bath of his toiletries immediately after returning home from the funeral home – I knew if I didn’t do it then, it wouldn’t get done for months. Possibly years. I couldn’t live a healthy life unless they were gone. I didn’t feel guilty: Bob and I discussed possible death for decades; he knew what I would need to do to survive his absence.

His tools were portioned out to family members – I kept some; things I knew I would need to use at some point around the house.

All these things are out of sight. But never out of mind.

By and large, people still speak his name: intimate friends speak lovingly and kindly of Bob, and of us as a couple.

I love hearing his Name spoken. I love hearing remembrance stories told about him – even if I occasionally cry. Tears are worth the sound of his Name being spoken and heard; it is music to my ears, and balm to my wounded heart.

How I wish it were more than just memories.

A few people speak disparagingly of his memory, dishonoring themselves and blatantly disrespecting me. Those people are no longer in my life; either by self-removal, or by culling. Their choice, either way.

Looking out the LV window as I worked to complete the dustcover, I wonder if he is watching me – he always liked to watch me design and create. He always encouraged me. Does he know my thoughts; can he feel how much I miss him? Or … is he sitting/standing next to me, as I work? Is he trying to find a way to answer my anguished questions concerning our wayward children?

Where is he? What is he doing?

Perhaps he is riding on the clouds high in the evening sky …

Bob has been physically gone from this Earth for 437 days – but he has constantly been on my mind and in my thoughts. And though this humble home is my castle – my sole domain … Bob’s Name still represents {home} to me.

A DAY OF EXERCISE

The day started out great.

It quickly went downhill by noon.

And was salvaged before Suppertime.

I woke up energized, so decided to drive into Castle Rock for an exercise class at the Senior Center there. There were 8 of us that were getting a 45-minute full-body workout – nothing too strenuous, just slow and steady for toning and strength building. I used weights when I went through the paces. I like exercise, I always have. A workout releases tension, burns away stress, and tones my body: I like that. The program was fantastic, the people were fun and welcoming, and I’m thinking this program will be permanently penciled in for Monday mornings ;-)

The Castle Rock exercise activity was the great part of my day.

The downhill part was an 11 AM phone convo that went south quickly. The call started out friendly and then morphed into a message of fantastical bullshit. When the call was blessedly cut off, I was so stressed out by what had been said to me, I was physically shaking and nauseous. The cruelty was premeditated and administered with gleeful gusto. One thing we both agree on … the bridge burned may not be worth rebuilding. It’s a spiritual thing fueled by hatred. I don’t know where people get off telling me I killed my husband, but that seems to be a recurring accusation from immature bitches trying to act badass. I don’t think I will be able to overlook that – I certainly will never forget that it was said.

It was an exercise in malice. It was said to deliberately hurt me. Nothing short of my death will satisfy this person’s need for revenge.

I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.

Around 1:15 PM, I met with my SIL, Merry at her house. The Park Office is updating their records and had Merry listed as the Emergency Contact – Bob always listed Merry as primary contact on anything requiring immediate contact. So, I drove over to her house to ask her if I should leave that in place now that Bob is no longer here; or would she prefer I find someone else. She  said, “Of course, Val - leave it like it is. We are sisters, you & I. I haven’t been bugging you much because I wanted to give you space; but I am here for you.” I cried with relief. I told her that my self-imposed 1 year of grieving was officially over, and I am spreading my wings in trying to rebuild my life … and I am glad she wants to be included in my life. I gave her Bob’s spare house key & key fob – in case the Park ever needs to contact her: she knows my personal wishes. I plan on living a few more years, but life winds up when it winds up. We talked, shared, laughed, and remembered Bob; for 2 hours. Future chit chats are on the docket – not revolving around death per se. Where there was no solid family tie these past 437 days … there is now a confirmed 1. Merry is a fun person to know, and she has good memories of Bob to share. The memories she shared this afternoon were of Bob and me together. My heart sang when she said, “It was obvious he loved you, Val. You two went everywhere together – you did everything together. Don’t let anyone cast doubt on that.” When we hugged goodbye, I felt the day had been salvaged from its savaging.

Cheryl had called while I was visiting with Merry, so I returned her call when I got back home. Another 2 hours of friendship that further salvaged the day.

These 2 exercises of open-handed friendship soothed my frayed nerves,  and backed the battle-weary nausea off sufficiently enough for me to enjoy my Supper.

14 months; 437 days – that’s how long I have been widowed. 1 year & 2 months without my husband in my life, in my arms, in our home, in our bed. Emotionally, it doesn’t seem like Bob has been in Heaven that long … physically, it seems longer. Sometimes it seems like only yesterday that I rushed Bob to the local ER against his objections. He was angry with me for taking him there – but I was scared. I made him go. He forgave me, telling me he knew I was scared; and he still insisted on a DNR: I honored that. He was even angry with me when he was taken to OHSU … he did not want to be in hospitals. I knew that. But I was scared as we faced his impending death together. My husband was dying and though he had a standing DNR, I wanted him to have every opportunity available ... and still honor his wishes ... if there was the slightest possibility of real hope. When the procedure at OHSU was a failure, all hope was abandoned – Bob made the final decision that led to his being placed on Comfort Care. That people would maliciously accuse me of killing my husband, and say that to my face, is wickedly evil.

Like I said, it’s a spiritual thing. And it’s obvious which type of spirit is speaking.

All I know is, one day we are happily going about our life … and the next we are shadow dancing with The Grim Reaper.

I am left, alone, to deal with The Grim Reaper’s imp, Grief.

It is an exercise that wearies me.

I am too soul-tired to deal with fantastical malicious bullshit.

I am past being hurt by the maliciousness. I cry for what was loooong ago, in an innocent and carefree past … and what will never be again because of bitter, vengeful angsts far removed from realities.

Bob was a good man. His memory deserves better. He would want his wife - the woman he loved - treated better.

A small bit of his cremains rest in a small Remembrance Urn that sits on the fireplace mantle when I am in the front of the house … and rests next to my head, on my nightstand when I go to bed. That small Remembrance Urn is my reality check: just like when Bob was physically present with me, and kept me grounded … the presence of the small bit of him in the Urn, present with me, keeps me grounded still. Even so, knowing that a small bit of him is still with me is sorrowful, painful – I want all of him with me: full of life and laughter, not in ash residue. I long for him in the flesh. I want the warmth of him next to me; in our bed, side by side on a walk, side by side in the car. Instead of his warmth, I have the cold reality of the small blue & turquoise Remembrance Urn. And although it brings me a painful peace, I do not feel so alone when this small bit of my lover is with me.

When I need comfort, my eyes … no matter which room I am in, in the front of the house … find their way to that blue & turquoise Urn, that matches perfectly the color of Bob’s eyes. When I feel afraid, stressed, worried, or overwhelmingly lonesome; the small Urn is wrapped with my fingers. And every night/every morning, I kiss that small bit of my husband and tell him how much I love and miss him.

The Remembrance Urn with its bony bits of my husband’s body is both comforting and kinda depressing.

14 months.

437 days.

I wonder how many solo breaths I’ve taken where Bob’s breath was not mingled with mine in a lover’s kiss, a private moment with heads together sharing the same breath – and an intimate chuckle; sharing the same breath in my husband’s final breaths as I pressed my head closer to his mouth while he struggled to speak before he could no longer speak.

I wonder how I’ve managed to keep breathing at all this past year & 2 months.

I do not need hateful hecklers in my life making it more difficult.

My new ‘normal’ now is anything but normal. 437 days into widowhood, and I still wake up wondering where he could be, before my mind fully catches up to my wakening eyes. My focusing eyes then shift to the small Urn alongside my head, on my nightstand. Some mornings I smile as I kiss it – some mornings I cry as I kiss it.

Each day unfolds sporadically; I never know what to expect anymore. 1 minute I’m thinking ‘I’m doing real good today’ – the next minute, a sneaker wave hits; wiping out any progress I thought I’d made. Whole days can pass where I appear to be stuck in a grieving rut after a particularly upsetting upset; this can lead to weeks of recovery. Sometimes I wonder if perpetual grieving will become my new normal.

Everyone expects me to be ‘put together’ by now. I have become adept at managing my grief for the public, for the most part. It must be working like a charm, because I keep hearing people tell me, “You are doing so well!” or, “You are such a strong woman.” They are not looking very closely. I am on an uncharted journey; I am adapting, but I still have a long way to go. It is a solo journey, where bystanders gawk, and the mean-spirited squawk.

There are days of clear-sightedness where hopes and dreams are conceived. Then there are days where a fog clouds my mind – a fog of memories where I get lost for a few minutes, getting used to the grip of grief; becoming accustomed to it’s ebbs and flows, living over and over again the emotions that were present the day our life was altered … and the day Bob’s time on earth stopped.

Days of learning that tears do not change anything. Tears do not solve anything; and tears shed in front of people just make people uncomfortable, and they pull away.

So, I am learning to live life with a mask on.

Me – who hates dishonesty of any caliber, is learning to play at the game of masquerade when I engage in conversations with the public at large. Sometimes the mask slips and I watch their lips because I am only really hearing every other word they utter. My attention span is nearly non-existent when the fog rolls in and floods my mind with thoughts of my husband.

When I am alone and the fog rolls in, tears begin to well and roll down my cheeks. And my eyes go to his handsome face in the picture frame behind the small Urn on the fireplace mantle. I stare at his beautiful face, almost as if he were here, in the now, standing in front of me smiling that sexy smile – eyes twinkling, happy to see me.

I swallow salty tears, and whisper, “I love you, Babe. I miss you.”

Did he hear that 11 AM phone convo today? Were his eyes sparking flames at what was shouted at me? Did he see me so soul-tired, and tired of the same bullshit stories; and stricken with the new accusation? I do not think he was very proud of his princess’s tirade today.

Will this exercise in assumption eventually give my life realistic peace?

I do not want to question Elohim, but I do not want Bob gone from my life. For 3/4^th’s of my life, Bob has been a part of my life … actively IN my life for 44 years of my 63 years of life: my anchor in life – he has only been absent for 14 months: 437 days. And though I am thankful for the buoyant floats (friends) that have kept me afloat in the stormy waters of grief, and given me a friendly berth; I miss my anchor.

Since December 14^th, 2018, I have been adrift on this river called grief, with no firm footing in sight. Floating with no sense of direction away from a life that was filled with love, hope, and dreams. Blindly moving forward through the fog, struggling just to breath. This turbulent river seems as though it will never meet with calm waters. Periodically I am catapulted into treacherous rapids, and the thought of drowning seems like a real possibility. But at every crucial moment of the journey through the Shute, Yeshua calmly places His hands on mine wrapped around the oars; and safely gets me through the furious currants.

This is how I have lived my life the past 14 months.

Every day has been an exercise to rise above sorrow’s punishing assaults & accusations’ blinding stings. I still long to run into his arms and feel him wrap his long arms around me, holding me close to his chest where I can feel and hear his heart beat a comforting steadiness that soothes me.

In moments of exercises of futility, I long for his touch. His voice. His smile. His advice. His smell. His love.

The way he had of righting a tilted world.

I long for the good and loving life we had.

I long for him.

I love you, Babe.

Always ~ OX

STORMY

Stormy morning - the gusty winds and pounding rain woke me up. Bob immediately came to mind ... Bob liked stormy weather; that may be a result of ocean storms that fascinated him. He and his family lived in Ilwaco for awhile; his father had a boat I think they took people out fishing with (as well as family fishing). And Bob worked on a Charter Boat as a teen before the family moved to Cathlamet.

High winds and heavy rain woke me up this morning, so I opened the shade; if Bob were still here, he'd have been up and watching it play out through the LV windows while drinking his morning coffee. I believe Bob rides the clouds – maybe he was watching it. Up close & personal ;-)

1964; Ilwaco, WA. Bob (in the stocking hat) & Bob, Sr. (white hat) on the family boat, ‘The Booby’. His middle sister, Bonnie, name it: she was a toddler and couldn’t pronounce Bob’s name right. His family called him “Bobby” all of his natural life. He hated that name after he was a full-grown man, but what’re you gonna do when it’s family?

MAN! I miss Bob!

He always had that innocent expression – he chose to see the good in life, no matter how ugly it got. And that casual way of sitting … he was always totally at peace in his surroundings.

He was my anchor.

Longbeach Peninsula Map - Longbeach-Ilwaco-Oysterville

Bob; around 1965-66. He would have been around 16 – after he got his driver's license. He was a good-looking guy even then ... but he would be sinfully handsome a year later: and steal my heart forever ;-)

Bob – 1967. Naselle, WA

Bob - Mar. '67. Cathlamet, WA

Bob was one of the first people to cross the Astoria-Megler Bridge after it was completed. Bob said after he got his driver's license, and before he worked on the Charter Boat, he had a job hauling fish guts across that bridge to a place along the Oregon Coast where it was used to make fertilizer.

Bob was an excellent driver. The cross-winds that assault that bridge are legendary. One time, when he was crossing the bridge driving a 16-wheeler, the winds turned him sideways and he said he managed to keep the truck from toppling over, but he drove it the length of the bridge with one bumper on one side - and the other bumper on the opposite side. He was thankful there was no other traffic on the bridge because there was no other way to get that truck across, than criss-cross.

I hate that bridge and won't cross it alone. It takes forever to get from shore to shore, and it's a death-trap bridge. I hate it.

Astoria-Megler Bridge seen from Astoria, OR. Washington is across the Columbia River.

When I met him - and even a while after we were married, he hated eating fish. He would eat some fried sturgeon, and a little smoked salmon ... but he said he was turned off fish growing up; I understood that, but fish is important to a healthy diet. He eventually ate some fish Suppers I made. But he never did really enjoy eating fish.

A gully washer of a storm happening. WOW

Last year, today, Bob’s older sister Merry, came by to help reopen Bob’s Cremains Box and retrieve 2 teaspoons of cremains to put into my little Remembrance Urn; so now when I kiss it goodnight, his essence is actually IN it, and I am comforted. I was very upset last year when I opened my little Urn and saw that t was empty. (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/02/i-dont-know-how-much-more-i-can-stand.html).

Merry, Kerry & Bonnie - February 21, 2020

This year, my life is empty – completely bereft of family. I am still a wife: yet, not; I am still a sister: yet, not; I am still a SIL: yet, not; I am still a mother & grandmother: yet, not. Everything is so surreal. I can understand why the mortality rate of widows and widowers is so high following the loss of a spouse. A broken heart and loneliness can kill; loneliness (the loss of close companionship, daily conversation – even a phone call, and the absence of physical touch) is the hardest hurdle to clear.

It is strange how the absence of 1 person in the world can change the dynamics of an entire lifetime.

But, I refuse to lie down and die – if Elohim wants me Home, He can have me; and He knows that … but I will not willingly allow the Grim Reaper to make a claim before my time. Elohei is still the Ticket Master.

Old friends are becoming temporary docking berths while I try to navigate these unfamiliar, choppy waters, of widowhood – and I am smart enough to understand that I can’t park in those berths indefinitely.

Keenager’s, Christmas Party 2019. Bob’s doppelganger is the bald fella wearing glasses, a blue shirt and dark windbreaker, standing by the potluck table. He's not as tall as Bob was, but he really resembles Bob is a startling way. It's unnerving.

So, Wednesday, I went back to Keenager’s and enjoyed a good time of small-talk-chit-chat, laughter, and lunch … and Bob’s doppelganger was not there; thank You, Elohim! I did warn everyone that I might break out crying, and the response was, “So what? If you do, we understand; and you are among friends.” That meant a lot! Aside from their unwavering compassion and open-handed friendship to me, they really are a great group of people. The problem is me; I have never been comfortable in large groups of people, and I’ve never ever really needed to be around people: but now, I need to be around people – the total lack of inactivity at my house is really working my nerves. All my life I have been surrounded by activity, even if I have watched most of it from the sidelines. But now, there is nothing. Nada. No husband to smile at from across the room, or snuggle through the night. No kids racing through the house. No TV blaring from the back room. Nothing.

I joined 2 Senior Centers a few months ago, but I am only going to be active in 1 – and that, only on Bingo Saturdays. Nothing else happening at either Center interests me: I don’t square dance, and have no desire to learn. Ditto for line dancing. I play Mahjong online … but would be bored stiff if I had to sit through a game table mahjong game. I don’t understand Pinnacle or Cribbage: Bob tried to teach me several times through out our marriage, and I was a lousy partner – it’s the mathematical concept of the games that does me in and frustrates my partner. Poker, I am good at; but for whatever reason, there are no poker games happening at the Senior Centers. I’m not interested in writing my Life Story days … I do that on FB and on my Blog. And I like what I prepare for my lunches at home (except for Keenager Wednesdays); I see no reason whatsoever to go to the Centers and pay $5 for a Cinnamon Roll or $8 for a cafeteria type luncheons prepared with canned meats and potato flakes. The Castle Rock Senior Center had daytime activities, but I only enjoy the Bingo Saturdays, which end at 4 PM.: no night driving. I like that. There is a pool table there too, and maybe I'll give that a whirl. I do enjoy playing pool. Bob was very good and was in several Pool Tournaments that he won - I think Alex has Bob's pool stick now. The Kelso Senior Center does all those things above I have no interest in – plus they do out-of town activities with a charted Bus line that does do interesting things … but they don’t get home until 7 or 9 PM; which means night driving. I don’t like that. So, Keenager’s and the Castle Rock Senior Center are my out-of-house weekly excursions: 2 days a week at roughly 1-1/2 to 3 hours’ time killed. But, I am not ready to be old yet.

And of course, my monthly 4 hours with Cheryl & Pam.

Cheryl and Pam: we played a board game Thursday while we chatted. This is a friendly & familiar berth.

I can’t wait for the weather to stabilize so I can get out more and do more things out of town. Right now, there are floods in various places – and landslides brought on by the saturations. There really isn’t anywhere I want to go, that is safe to travel to or through yet.

So.

That is where my life is today.

Still messy, uncertain, and frustrating.

Stormy weather.

I have been talking to Elohim about that … we'll see what He does ;-)