At My Limit

How far can a baseball be thrown?  How long can a person tread water?  There are limits to my physically abilities and when I’m not feeling well, those limits become smaller.  There are mental limits too and when I’m not mentally feeling well, I can reach my limit quickly.  Multi-tasking, a modern term for having my hands full and therefore my mind, is something I brag about; look at me getting the kids and myself out the door!  Bragging, yes, but I’d rather have help.  My mind has a mind of its own when it decides to multi-task.  Trying to fall asleep, cure the world, plan tomorrow, or solve, strategize, decide.  Sometimes it’s easy to stop thinking, other times I fight it again and again, and then there was the one time, it shut down on its own, unable, maybe, unwilling, to go all the places it needed to go all at once.  Others can see physical illness, but most don’t see mental illness unless I show it to them.  There’s no shame in either, no matter the cause.  Showing others my grief admitted I’m at or beyond my limit.  There’s no weakness in asking for the help I need.

Didn’t Worry

I was considering the meaning of worry and asked myself, did I worry about my future after my husband died? My answer would have to be no.  To me worrying means dwelling on the possible terrible things that could happen during an event outside my control until the event has past.  Parents worry when they send their kids off to summer camp or drop them off at a party.  Lots of things will happen, but concentrating on all the terrible that could is worrying, which is foolish since worrying can’t change the outcome of any event.  I wondered about my future, I thought about it without finding solid answers, but I never imagined anything terrible happening to my life after his death.  Maybe it’s because the most terrible already happened and that was enough, and therefore, everything that would come after didn’t matter.  Lonely, no friends close by, inability to enjoy adventures alone, considerably less income, are all difficult, but they aren’t terrible in comparison to what happened, and these aren’t totally out of my control.  I faced his death and survived the greatest terrible that could, and did, happen, therefore, everything else that comes after will be survivable too.

Becoming an “er”

“We may encounter many defeats, but we must not be defeated.” (Maya Angelou) This made me think of, I may fail many times, but I don’t have to be a failure.  I may lose on a regular basis, but I don’t have to be a loser.  I may have doubts, but I don’t have to be a doubter.  Maya’s quote is about getting up each and every time you fall.  Applied to my statements it means one failure or many doesn’t make me a fail-er.  What makes me a fail-er is failing and never trying again; who knows I may just succeed.  One loss or many doesn’t make me a loser.  What makes me a loser is losing and never playing again; who knows I just might win.  Absolutely certain is the only way to not have doubts; something pretty impossible in a world full of uncertainly.  So what, I have doubts, that doesn’t make me a doubter.  What makes me a doubter is never believing in anything again.   It’s only when I fall down and stay down, stop and never start again, step back and never again step forward, that puts the “er” on that which I struggle with.

Used To Be

How I used to be.  More responsibility, less time.  Many demands on that time.  Less wrinkles.  Wanted above all else, then to a lesser degree.  On my own.  Cherished, desired, chosen.  Love at my fingertips.  A wife, a mom.  Without friends, then some great ones.  What used to be faded over time, with each decision, or with each major life event.  Some of what used to be has come back around, some just the opposite, and others probably never again.  Time changed from what seemed like none, to quite a bit to fill, and time has taken its toll on me physically and on being wanted.  I completed the single circle even though it wasn’t my choice. Unlike so many, I didn’t do, on my own, in the beginning, but in the middle, and now the end.  My husband took feeling valued and being a wife with him when he left, although he’s not to blame.  Where love comes from has changed, now a different kind of joy.  Being a mom squished lots of work with lots of wonderful – an interesting combination I don’t miss.  When is isn’t what you want, maybe you can turn it into used to be.

Freedom

I saw snowflakes dancing in the air; rising up and spinning in circles.  To dance is freedom.  I saw a stream meandering through a field, painting the brush along the way with frost.  To meander is freedom.  I saw a bird leave the safety of a tree and fly into the sun.  Flying is freedom.  I usually think of freedom as not being attached to anything that can tie me down, but the freedom found in dance, meandering, or flying isn’t free from, it’s free to.  It’s moving to the beat of my own drum, choosing my own style, having my own thoughts and opinions, and being my own judge.  It’s taking the road less traveled or not, trying what I’m willing to try, and always ready to change direction.  It’s discovering what I love and doing it, rising after every fall, looking ahead to where I’m going, not back to where I’ve been.  The snow, stream, and bird are free because they don’t let themselves be weighed down by all the difficulties life throws their way, and I must do the same, tossing aside the ones I can and picking up the others and gladly take them with me.

Tick Tock

From the moment I emerged from my mother’s womb, the clock started ticking.  Tick, tock, tick, tock.  She handed me time, but it’s for me to spend.  At first there’s no concept of time, only what is.  Time slips by and all I care about is having my needs met – warmth, food, sleep, whatever satisfies me.  Lots of minutes tick by while others tell me what to do, teach me things, and while I discover wants are more satisfying than needs.  Hopefully, at some point, I ask, what are you going to do with your life; drawing my attention to figuring out how to purposely spend the time I’ve been given because living is more than just life.  To arrive at how, ask why.  Is it important – money, family, knowledge?  Meaningful – adventures, success, friends?  Fun – sky diving, concerts, shopping?  Necessary – sleep, work, exercise?  Relaxing – fishing, watching TV, reading?  It’s not spending time on one of these things, but the right combination.  It’s not spending time on just the opposites – not meaningful, etc., like anger or worry, because the opposites are ravenous when it comes to time.  My choice: spend it, waste it, let it slip by.  Tick tock, tick tock!

Have Nothing?

I can make a face indicating I’m sad, happy, or scared, but I don’t know how to  make a lonely face.  I can be in a crowd, at my full time job, or even in the presence of family or friends, and still be lonely.  If lonely isn’t related to the absence of others, than what is it?  Alone equals one – it’s not a feeling, it’s a fact.  Lonely can equal one or more – it’s not a fact, it’s a feeling.  (1) Feeling deserted – left with nothing.  Right away I felt I had nothing left.  It wasn’t true, but he’s gone was so powerful it was the only thing I saw.  (2) Feeling abandoned – left behind.  He left, but I stayed, no one to share meals with, or the couch, or every day conversations.  (3) Feeling forsaken –  left without continual support and care.  I’m sometimes consumed with the absence of support, including the absence of touch, of connecting with someone else about all that’s normal and ordinary about living, of the acknowledgment from someone else that I’m real, important, lovable.  Lonely is a feeling that can come for a visit, but can’t stay because having nothing, left behind, and without support aren’t true.

Single?

There have been times, after telling someone I was single, when they assumed I was divorced, not widowed.  It’s because the death-is-inevitable thought is buried deep.  We’re consumed with life, not death.  It’s common for marriages to end in divorce, and it’s sad, but thought to be survivable.  Marriages that end by death are also common, and it’s sad, but seems not survivable, which is probably why the divorce assumption is the better choice.  In the first few years after his death, I freely told people my husband died.  Why?  His death was an overwhelming presence so I carried it close to the surface, easily accessible.  In an odd kind of way, it made me feel unique, an oddity, deserving, not of pity, but additional attention.  It was really the opposite; bringing the death-is-inevitable thought to the surface, but without the capability of knowing what to do with it, makes the choice to circumvent very easy.  I no longer offer, but sometimes wonder why I’m not asked.  Maybe I should ask why do I want them to ask?  I don’t know, because although it’s still a part of who I am, it does not define me.

Places in the Past

Sometimes I find my mind taking me to unpleasant, disappointing, damaging, and/or hurtful places in the past.  In those places I find pain and anger and since these relate to something unchangeable, I must change their impact.  One of these places is the financial loss from the sale of our home after my husband died.  I won’t let it mess with me for long because it’s foolish to spend time on anything whose only purpose is to drag me down or stop me in my tracks.  So I put it behind me time after time, because I don’t know how to get rid of it once and for all.  Another place is my husband’s death.  I will let this mess with me for as long it takes to arrive back in the present.  This place takes me, not just to anger, but also to sadness, wants, and the need to feel deeply.  It’s like the pressure of his leaving builds to the point of release or be crushed.  I’ll choose release, which is needed less often now as the acceptance of my reality grows and as my desire grows to never be rid of it once and for all.

Sharing Me

Usually quotes don’t upset me, but this one got under my skin: “A man is a success if he gets up in the morning and gets to bed at night, and in between he does what he wants to do.”  Really?  If success is based on doing what you want to do, then most of us are, more often than not, unsuccessful.  My in between consists of what I want to do and need to do, enjoy and not enjoy doing, taking care of myself and others, and working for others and for myself.  Now it’s more me, but years ago, more others, but the others factor has always been more fulfilling than the me factor.  My husband was more a me person, and me, mostly others.  One isn’t worse than the other, but they both require an awareness of the other.  It took effort for my husband to consider others, while I struggled to consider me first.  He could have benefited by an OTHERS sticky note on the wall to remind him, and me, one that says ME.  Successful isn’t all about what I need, what I want, or just taking care of me, but sharing me with others.