Puzzled?

Years ago, I took a quality picture (my opinion) and gave it to my kids as a gift.  The thing was, they had to put it together.  You see, I sent that print to a place where it was stamped into a jigsaw puzzle.  They were young, so I only had it made into 50 or so pieces.  The box I gave it to them in, was just an ordinary box so they had no idea what was inside and once opened, they didn’t have a clue to what the finished puzzle would look like. 

Grief, has now made my life a jigsaw puzzle.  And like the puzzle I gave the kids, I have absolutely no idea what the picture God has in store for me.  All I know is that my life seems to be chunked up into a gazillion pieces and none of them seem to fit together.   Bruce passed away October 1, 2012.  My Dad passed away March 5, 2013.  Did I mention a gazillion pieces?

This is not a-whoa-is-me, blog.  This is just my attempt to try and sort my pieces, aka my thoughts, out to see where the edges are and then once found, to then fill in the middle.  I know that the outside edge is surrounded by God.  He has every corner and every straight edge clearly defined, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still have to put the pieces together. 

In grief, we are initially numb to the on goings around us.  This is a protective element in that even if we are aware that the thing we most dread is about to happen, we still can’t really comprehend how big of a hit we are about to take.  There are a host of other elements that can complicate this situation and emotionally we are just Lost In Space.  Danger Danger Will Robinson.  Sorry, I digressed back to a show I watched as a youngster. 

I’ve read articles, attended Griefshare classes, gone to Hospice coffees and even have met with a Grief Counselor.  All concur on the numbness element as being normal.  All have mentioned about finding a “new” normal.  Well, I wasn’t unhappy with the old normal and all I can say is that finding something I never wanted in the first place is beyond my capacity at the moment. 

I get up, I go through the motions, I even laugh, but for some unspoken reason, the two steps forward I take always winds up with a slap that sends me back three steps.  I could give up, but that isn’t an option either.  Why?  Because I know way too many people who are fighting the same battle Bruce did…the cancer battle, and I know they are looking at life as the precious gift it was meant to be and they long to hear the words, cancer free and then live with the specter of it with each sniffle, cough, ache or pain.  There are other illnesses that fit this bill, but since cancer is what struck us, it is what I choose to illustrate with. 

So where does one start finding the middle of the puzzle when the border has been interlocked?  When one is able to view the cover of the box, you might look for all the pieces of similar colors that when once grouped you slowly try to find the matching shape.  I am not trying to oversimplify here.  Because I can tell you right now, I can’t even seem to find anything that matches.  There have been days when the best I was able to do was to get up, get a cup of coffee and plunk down and stare at the television.  I remarked to the Grief Counselor the other day about a phenomenon called Chemo brain which affects your memory.  She came back with the quip about there being a grief brain and let me tell you the number of things I can’t seem to find, the most recent is a tub of peanut butter.  This is frustrating.  Grief makes your energy level go splat and then you lose things and have to expend energy trying to find them.  I gave up on the peanut butter.  I can say that it is not in my underwear drawer, but neither seems to be my underwear?  I’m not kidding.  I use to keep a pretty immaculate house, although eating off the floor is always questionable when one has two dogs! 

My sense of humor is intact, it just now has the added benefit of having tears sliding down my cheeks at the same time.  I asked the other day if my humor was a coping mechanism, although I’ve often used this same technique prior to my widowhood.  And just so you know, I also have spider veins.  I was getting too serious, for my own good!

This is never where I thought I would be, especially at this age.  My husband and I planned for it, but neither of us ever expected it to happen to us.  It isn’t why me, because he and I never considered ourselves to be that outstanding that life shouldn’t happen to us; the question as I see it, is What do I do now?   

I have options, but all require me to spend time allowing myself time.   One involves going back to school and pursuing my masters, which scares the ever living crap out of me.  So I put that off until I can focus and instead signed up to run a half-marathon, which literally has me in the bathroom every 2 or so miles.  The thing is, besides being bored some of the time, I find myself being exhausted most of the time?  This phenomenon is also “normal”, but as a friend has been reminding me, normal is a setting on a washing machine.  Although now I would have to beg to differ on that, since just getting new front loaders, there is every imaginable setting and then some, but nothing that says normal. 

Writing has always afforded me a window, or maybe it’s a mirror and so I start here.  I welcome thoughts, comments, and suggestions.  I am not unique, and whether I’m the first, the middle or the last to share an experience, I believe that it is the sharing that will allow each of us to move forward and grow. 

Looking up! 

 

Barb