Today is a holiday. Not usually a day I’d choose to write sad stuff. But it’s what’s on my mind. If you don’t want to know the details about my grieving process, skip this post!
Later today I’ll be with friends, thankfully. I’ve had a few emails, and a few comments this week from some of you, my readers, asking about how I’m doing. With the grief thing. Three days ago I would have said I’m doing really, really well. Today, not so much. There’s simply no predicting. Last week at my grief class I said I was a 5 on the scale of 1-10. I was really proud of myself. Too proud, probably. Then a bunch of little things happened.
(1) First, I’m still buried in paperwork. We had/have a living trust. And although trusts are designed to protect some of the assets couples own (they do and it will for me), they also carry with them a “burden” of paperwork after the death of the first spouse. My Quicken program just wasn’t cooperating in trying to do the online handshake with my bank. It took me 2 weeks to sort that out with my bank. Way too long. Now I’m starting with the monthly reporting the estate attorney needs, and I must backtrack them, date wise, to when my husband passed away. None of it is difficult. It’s just that every check I write, or arrange to pay online through a new account I was required to open, must be categorized and accounted for. Like many of us, I pay a lot of my bills online and many are automatic. All those have to be changed to this new account. Tedious work. Never the same from one firm or utility to the next. Time consuming. Frustrating. I’m continuing to work on it, but it’s just a whole lot of work and none of it is any fun. I am/was the financial person in our marriage – I paid 99% of the bills, did the tax preparation, etc. My darling husband would have been dumbfounded by all this work. He wouldn’t have known where to begin. He’d have just sent all the bank statements to the attorney and let them charge their $165/hour paralegal and $650/hour attorney fees that would have accompanied that work.
(2) Next, a couple of days ago I had a little phone snit with an insurance company about a very old bill. From 2012. The bill I just received was from our pharmacy – claiming that our insurance hadn’t paid what was owed on this small monitoring equipment Dave used for measuring his blood sugar. All the way back that long ago. Right after Dave died, I paid it just to get it out of my hair ($142), but then got billed again for it. So I started digging. The pharmacy said our secondary insurance company didn’t pay. So I called the insurance company, only to find out that their files don’t go back to 2012. Really? They claim they never received the initial bill from the pharmacy or notice from Medicare. However, to go back that long ago (even though this is a new bill) I’d have to go through some kind of written claim to get the ball rolling to re-bill them. The pharmacy won’t give me my money back. I explained to the kind lady (she really was kind, but couldn’t really help me much) that my husband had recently died and that I’d paid it in error. Well, sorry. No, we can’t give the money back. I hung up and burst into tears. It just was overwhelming. That one thing should not have overwhelmed me, but it did. It became my tipping point, the edge of the precipice. Or the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’m detail oriented. I keep notes and records. But Dave’s not here to ask. He probably knew all about it. And would have had a ready answer. And probably would have told me NOT to pay the bill. But I had, just because right after he died I wasn’t coping very well with anything. After I had a good cry, I just said “oh well,” it’s over and done with, and I’m simply not going to fight the insurance company over $142. I’m going to let it go. But it put my emotions into turmoil. After working frantically the night before on balancing the new checking account and laying awake half the night, I was tired and cranky. I don’t cope well when I haven’t slept well.
(3) In the process of calling this insurance company I had to go find Dave’s secondary health insurance card. I went to the “Dave box” I have and found his wallet that I had put there right after he passed away. And memories came flooding into my consciousness. I’d handled his wallet before – it had been on his bureau for the week he was in the hospital, but after he died I put it in a safe place. I hadn’t touched it during that time. The wallet itself wasn’t myundoing – it was looking at his driver’s license (and the picture on it) and handling the few plastic cards (I’d already cut up the credit cards in there), but also a couple of little notes in his handwriting. A couple of receipts from when he’d been to the grocery store for me a couple of days before his stroke. My mind and senses were filled with memories, and tears came afresh to my eyes. In the back was $32 in cash. I’ve left the bills there. I simple can’t take them out yet. Maybe next year. These are silly things – and some spouses would find my actions peculiar, perhaps. Some widows or widowers will identify mightily with my emotions and actions or lack of. For every grieving spouse, the actions and reactions will be different. And that’s okay. But my tears were very real and quick to spring from my eyes.
(4) Then, lastly, the other night my griefshare class had it’s final gathering – week 13. Each person talked, as we always do, and when it was my turn to share about how I am this week, I said “last week I was a 5, but this week I’m a 3.” Not very good. I explained in brief about the accounting stuff I’m doing and the frustration of it all. And about fighting with an insurance company. But also, I said, I need to say that I’m blessed to have a lovely home to live in, that’s paid for, and hopefully, enough money to live on for my remaining days, however many there are. I didn’t go into any further detail. I do thank God for those blessings. We watched a 30-minute video about heaven. About what scripture tells us heaven will be like. Among many other things we were told that we won’t be married in heaven. Our loved ones will be there, but it won’t be anything like our earthly life.
Then we adjourned to another room for a potluck dinner, which was very, very nice. Lots of good food brought by all the class attendees and the two leaders. During that, we were asked to share a funny story about our loved one. I talked about Dave’s proclivity to never let a few facts get in the way of a good story. He was famous for that. Next we were asked to share something we gained from our relationship with our loved one (two women in the class had lost a father, the remaining are widows or widowers), but not something material. Like many others around the table, I said that Dave gave me the joy of laughter. I’m a more serious person – he was full of jokes and smiles! The leader read 4-5 poems about losing a loved one. Then, the part that these two paragraphs are leading up to, she lit a taper candle and lit a votive in front of her and said “I light this candle in the memory of my husband, Doug.” Then she passed the candle. When it got to me and I struggled to get the words out, “I light this candle in the memory of my darling husband, Dave,” I burst into tears. Lighting the candle was so very symbolic. It was wrenching. After everyone had lit their votive, the leader prayed, then she asked each of us to – in silence – blow out the candle. That was my undoing. I sobbed. And they handed me the Kleenex box that makes its way around the table sometimes. This was my week to need the tissues.
I’m better today, but far from okay. As I keep telling myself, this is a process, and I can’t expect every day to be better than the last. It’s up and down, cyclical, but generally in an improving direction. Three months isn’t all that long and I need to give myself plenty of opportunity to grieve and cry. As my close friends know, I cry easily and I do. They’ve been kind to let me and not tell me things like “buckle up” or “it’s time to get over this.” Grief lasts as long as it needs to and can’t be rushed or predicted. So today is a better day and I’ll hope to have more of them. Thank you, dear readers, for listening to me. I hope that what I’m experiencing will help some other widow or widower who goes through the same feelings.
Sandy Gabor
said on July 4th, 2014:
Carolyn, Look forward to seeing you tomorrow and giving you a hug. I read your blog, as you know I rarely write a comment, but know you are always in my thoughts and I am sorry for not telling you.
Thank you, Sandy. I’d forgotten that you’re a reader of my blog. Thanks! Yes, see you today hopefully. . . carolyn
Toffeeapple
said on July 4th, 2014:
Dear girl, it must have taken a lot of thought to write this post and I have been in tears for most of it. I wish that I could help in some way. I don’t live with my partner but we see each other most days and when he is not there I fret.
Sending virtual hugs. xx
Thank you, Toni. Yes, it took a bucket of tears to write that post. But my hope and prayer is that they’re healing tears. Some days are just better than others and as someone wrote me, it’s a journey I’m on, and the road is bumpy. . . carolyn
hddonna
said on July 4th, 2014:
I was thinking of you today, though I didn’t have a chance to read your post until after midnight. Nothing you’ve said about your feelings or actions seems odd to me. Those little everyday things our loved ones have left behind have a lot of power to touch our emotions. I don’t think it’s silly at all.
Just wanted to let you know I care–
Donna
Thank you so much, Donna. I do appreciate all the kind words left in comments or the emails people have sent me. They boost my spirits. I just never know from one day to the next what life will bring to me in ways of happiness or sadness. More of them are happier, fortunately. Maybe happiness is the wrong word. I’m not happy. I’m not even content. Can’t use those words yet. I’m surviving, and that’s an accomplishment. These last 4-5 days have just been more emotional than some, that’s all. I wake up each morning hoping that my day will be better than the last. . . carolyn t
Jennie
said on July 5th, 2014:
I am so sorry you are having a hard time. It is completely natural and understandable. I think your post helps people in the same situation and also helps people who are not understand and be more sympathetic towards those they know who are. It was written so nicely and thoughtfully and I appreciate you having shared this.
Thank you, Jennie. I do pour my heart into those posts and I’ve re-read this one about 5 times and still dissolve in tears all over again. I’m just in a sad place right now. . . carolyn t
Melynda
said on July 5th, 2014:
Hello Carolyn, I have not left you a message most of the days when stopping by, as I did not want to add any more burden to your day. But today I stopped in and could not leave without saying how touching it is for you to share these deep and personal emotions and the process with all of us here. You are brave and strong, a lesser woman would not even try. I hope your troubling times do come to a close and that loving Dave will bring a new smile each day. I am very glad you have a large circle of friends to help you along the way. Until next time, Melynda
Thank you, Melynda. I’m still in this down-spell, for some reason. Postponed grief, I guess. Every day it seems like something happens to drag me back into a sad place. Hope this week will provide an improvement. I’m going camping (from a nearby motel, that is, while the rest of the family is in tents) with our son and his wife’s family to a National Park in central California. Am taking books, my Bible, and mosquito repellant! No internet service at all, period. I hope it will be enjoyable, albeit very hot. . . carolyn t