All this stuff...

All this stuff. I look around and there is a house full of possessions. Twenty two years worth of accumulation. When it was the two of us it didn't seem too unreasonable to have the amount of things we had. His, mine, and ours. Now it seems overwhelming, extravagant.

All this stuff...for one person? Pairing down seems impossible. I have sorted through some stuff - all the medical equipment and supplies are gone, and all of Mike's clothes (except for a few of my favorite shirts). I went through the linen closet - so much I didn't need anymore. Still so much remains.

Then there is his music, CDs, DVDs, blu-ray, audio DVDs, concerts, and documentaries, his headphones... It is mine now. It was always ours, but now that it is just me, it seems that these things were always his. I can't imagine keeping all this stuff, but I can't see getting rid of it either. And that is ok. I'll keep it until I don't. For now that will have to do.

Merry Christmas...

As I sit here listening to Christmas music, looking at the tree, I reflect on the last week. It's been a busy time of holiday gatherings punctuated with moments of quiet solitude. The gift of Christmas for me this year is realizing the beauty of those quiet moments.

The holiday music station has been playing jazzy Christmas music - Etta James, Dave Brubeck, etc... And I can't help but think of Mike sitting in his spot enjoying the music.

It's been a different Christmas, but strangely the same. What changed, besides the obvious, was me and the way I chose to perceive the Christmas season. A time of nostalgia, gifts given, opportunities to help strangers, and dark nights punctuated with holiday lights everywhere I go.

To tree or not to tree...

So I have been torn about putting up holiday decorations. Everyone seems to have their own theory on the matter, though I didn't ask anyone directly. A bereavement counselor thinks it is perfectly acceptable and understandable to scale back on holiday decorations. Some relish the idea of skipping Christmas. And yet others can't imagine a Christmas without cramming in every tradition possible. Me?

I used to love Christmas. Then, somewhere between Mike's distaste of an enforced holiday, depressed economic times, Mike's advanced level of disability, and a strict adherence of reciprocity, Christmas lost its joy.

There is one small part of Christmas that I had reclaimed a few years ago - decorating a small pre-lit, artificial tree with ornaments. I enjoyed going through the ornaments. Remembering when I got them, or made them. Each year it seems I added an ornament for some memory - The twins 1st Christmas, an ornament for each pet (newly added or recently departed), an ornament from a joyous child, or holiday excursion.

This is the first Christmas without Mike; but Christmas has been changing and evolving since I was a child. It occurs to me that it is all about perception. And although Mike isn't here physically I can hear him directing me to read one of his prints in the hallway.

Reality is not solid. The world is unique to each of us in the way we perceive, process,
and respond to it. You have a choice.

It is a small nod to the part of Mike that lives within me. This doesn't really feel like another "first" to add to my string of firsts or a new beginning, but a growing wiser. So, to answer my post's title - Yes, I will tree.

The art of expression

So after sharing my last blog post "the holiday spirit..." I felt such a release of emotion. Sharing my thoughts is such an intimate exercise that it is frightening. And truthfully at this point I have not really been sharing. There are two souls, three if you count Mike, that I have been sharing with. Alexis, my sister and life long friend; and Lorri Marie, my kindred spirit. I write, I post, they read. It is as simple as that or is it?

Yesterday, I read a quote by C. Jung. I didn't write it down at the time because I knew I could find it again easily - but it has eluded me. The idea behind the quote was this - once you put your ideas/feelings/creations out "there" you have been heard/listened to/understood.

Exactly. I knew that is what I have been doing. This blog is not private with restrictive access, anyone who comes across it can read it. But at this point it seems too scary to have a public unveiling. Someday I hope to be ready - ready to share this emotional journey with everyone and anyone.

The holiday spirit...

I just don't have it. And honestly I lost it sometime ago. I don't know where or when, but at some point the joy of the season turned into something to get through as quickly as possible. I realize that the last few years I put up the holiday decorations for Mike. It seems strange to pull out a box of decorations and place them about the living room; only to put them away again in a few weeks.

I was told that the holiday season is a difficult time to get through after someone you loves dies. I don't feel like I miss Mike and more than I do already. There are no holiday traditions that we had. In all honesty what few holiday traditions we had faded away, not unlike Mike's muscles.

Christmas began to feel like a series of obligations. Get togethers with family and friends that we saw infrequently, was as much a shock for them as it was for us. A logistic exercise for a few brief moments of warmth, followed by the uncomfortable silences. Although Mike's disease progressed slow, it was a shock to those who hadn't seen him in a year. These occasions always reminded me how different our lives were from most everyone else - we were so different.

And as strange as it may sound - Mike was the outgoing one. So in grief I find an excuse to just sit. As hard as it is to acknowledge I rarely feel like I fit in. I dread the holidays without the comfort of Mike's presence.

As I type, I cry. I haven't cried for sometime, but I have felt the undercurrent of sadness for a week or so. I have been lingering over a flu of sorts. Maybe by not acknowledging my holiday blues I incurred an illness.

Joint checking...

The last few days there have been new situations in which Mike has been removed from my new life. This new life without his physical presence.

The first was in the form of a holiday wreath. Each year we would receive a wreath from mikes brother and sister-in-law. This year the wreath came and I was all to aware that the wreath was sent to just me, and when I signed the thank you card it was cemented - it's just me. Nope, still not used to it.

If the first situation was "cemented" this next one was set in stone. I was told at some point the bank would require Mike's name removed from our joint checking account. The letter came and I was asked to submit a new signature card. There was no "card" to sign, just another condolence letter and several unclear forms with a postage paid envelope. I made a trip to the local branch to confirm what box I was to check and where I was to sign. I put the envelope in the mail and two days later "our" online bank profile was gone. I had created a separate one months ago in anticipation of this day, but it was still disconcerting to see it gone.

Mike's name is still on the checks and I am told that is ok. The thought of new checks with just my name, for the first time in 20 years seems too strange. I wonder if I can add Tehya's name? And who knows, maybe before I need new checks; checks will have gone the way of corded phones and VHS tapes.

It has been a long time, and it hasn't...

I was asked today if it felt like a long time. A long time since mike passed. It feels like a lifetime ago. And it feels like it was yesterday. I can't really explain how time has felt lately. Time is slow moving, and the days pile up behind me before I realize that Mike has been gone for 5 months.

I still miss him and I am beginning to think I always will.

The last few days I have began to feel an echo of panic. I do not know where it is coming from or why I feel it now. It is quiet in the house, the animals are curled up in their respective beds and I am anxious.

Maybe because I am now noticing how much time has past and that at some point I will have to "do" something. And that thought is paralyzing.

This busy season...

It is ironic that the busy holiday season happens at a time our bodies feel an instinctive need to hibernate. The rain has been steadily falling, it's damp, cold, and it will be dark soon; but holiday parties, family get-togethers, craft fairs, gathering presents, cooking, baking, and card making crowd our to do list.

I haven't started any of it but I am exhausted.

Even though Mike won't be here - I don't feel any extra pressure or holiday depression. I am a little apathetic. There are few holiday activities I would like to participate in. Sitting here at home with the animals sounds like the perfect holiday season. Though, gifts would be nice. I do love a nicely wrapped gift - to give and receive.

While bustling around pre-holiday season I got overwhelmed. Overwhelmed and caught up in all the energy around me. I was visiting, shopping, and arranging my schedule like a puzzle - getting every piece to fit. It was impressive.

However, there was one thing I forgot to consider in the schedule. Me. I see that now. So my goal this week is to make several appointments for me.