Survival Mode

For those of who are reading this and don't know me, my husband of 34 years died in June.  We had lived separately for more than a few years but were still married.  I moved home 3 years ago to help take care of him as his health was failing and, to quote a friend of ours who called me 3 years ago, "whoever that person is who is supposed to be taking care of him, she's not, so get your ass home."  I did.

By the time Shorty died, he was suffering from end stage renal failure, congestive heart failure, COPD, an enlarged prostate, hemocratic anemia, orthostatic hypostension, diabetes, and cancer.  He was also hard of hearing and had at least 3 eye surgeries.  I am not looking for sympathy or nominating myself for martyrdom.  I am just stating facts.

For the years that I helped take care of Shorty, I was the young, healthy one.  I am overweight but I am/was healthy and never needed any medical attention other than the normal seasonal stuff.

Today, I am at work, but I am going to the doctor when I get off work.  I am pretty sure that I have shingles, which, by the way, hurt like a bugger and itch and sting and are fiery little points of hell.  My ulcer, newly diagnosed, may be bleeding or at least leaking a little.

I have been in pain since Thursday night but had no other symptoms, like the rash, until this morning.

I cannot decide if this is a case of nurture (God) or nature(my own body.)

I am grateful that I was strong for as long I needed to be.  I am not grateful that it did not last forever.

Amazing what a little mind over matter will do for you.  Maybe I need to find another dying person to take care of...and yes, that WAS sarcasm.

How now?

I am not sure if I just used to have more to say or if I just got out of the habit of blurting every thought that crosses my mind. 

I was getting my oil changed the other day and attending to a myriad of "it'll wait till my days off" errands when it occurred to me how much my life had changed.

When I first got married the final time, my fingernails were so long that not only could I not button my own buttons, I typed one row down on the electric typewriter at work.  It was actually in my wedding vows that I did not have to do anything that would cause me to break a fingernail.

When my husband left on a trip, he filled both vehicles that he was leaving at home and, when their gas tanks were empty, he came home (from New Mexico to Nevada) to fill them up because "I didn't pump gas."

When he went back to New Mexico, he told me that I could quit my job when it quit being fun.  They promoted me at work to a position that I had not applied for and did not want.  He called me that night and I told him that it had quit being fun.  He came and got me.

I look back at those days now and wonder what the heck I was doing.  If you wonder where my kids are in this story, one was taken from me by her paternal grandparents and the other was in a residential school for children with emotional problems. 

I wonder now that I thought so little of my kids, and so little of myself, that I could be had for an unblemished manicure and a life of being "taken care of."

That life ended a long time ago but the marriage ended when death us did part.  It is time now to figure out who I want to be, how to get there, and how to let go.

October

In my world, October is the month of birthdays.  My brother's is the 2nd, my youngest grandson is the 24th and my youngest daughter is the 28th.

It is the month of homecoming games, football rivalries, mums, and Friday night lights.

It is the month of spiced apple cider, chili, casseroles, and hot cocoa.

It is the month when dogs, lethargic through the dog days of summer, pick up their pace on morning walks, shying at the falling leaves and avoiding the puddles left by isolated thunderstorms.

It is the month of layers - in clothing and bedding.

It is the month of open windows and closed screens when the nights are cool enough to sleep comfortably and the mornings warm enough to not freeze.

It is one of my favorite months.

Where did the week go?

No apologies.  It's been over a week since my last post.
No excuses.  It's been over a week since my last post.

No great feats have been accomplished.  No major hurdles have been leapt.  No great obstacles have been overcome.

I am well.  I got to dispatch my first pursuit since I came back to Hereford.  It went as smoothly as it possibly could have.  No one was hurt.  The bad guy went to jail.  The stolen vehicle went back to it's owner.  It lasted 40 some minutes and was really, really fast and I absolutely live for that stuff.  The adrenaline high is just now wearing off.  Some people have an adrenaline dump.  I just savor mine and try to make it last.

Molly is well.  She is not happy but she is physically well.  She is pouting because I won't let her eat the cat.

Clyde is well.  He is not happy but he is physically well.  He is pouting because Molly keeps trying to eat him every time he comes near me.

Bonnie is well.  Bonnie is a Chihuahua and doesn't care about anyone but herself.

Previously Unknown Tradition

My brother, Richard, served in the US Army during the VietNam War.  On his first trip back home after basic, he unloaded his duffel bag.  Now, my brother is a very tall man.  Very tall.  My mother told the story for years about how he brought home a good half dozen uniforms, none of them the same size and none of them his size.

Fast forward 50 years, give or take.  My grandson, CJ, recently completed Infantry School at Fort Benning, GA.  On his first trip back home after graduation, he unloaded his duffel bag.  My grandson is now taller than I am but not as tall as my brother.  His mother can now tell the story for years about how he brought home a good half dozen uniforms, none of them the same size and none of them (with the exception of his dress uniform) his size.

Don't even get me started on the boots.

Writers write

I worked today and I worked yesterday.  12 hour shifts do not leave much time in my day or room in my brain to blog.  I used to could and I might could again, but I don't seem to be able to now.

I am off tomorrow and then Julie and I are flying to Fort Benning to watch the boy - he will always be the boy - "turn blue" and graduate Infantry School.  I could not be more proud if he was my own.  He knows that he is not college material and he has always intended to be military.  I always wanted him in the Navy.  It's harder to hit those targets far out at sea.  He declined to join the same branch of the military that his father was in.  Either way, it's an honorable calling and I am proud.

His maternal grandfather (that would be my ex-husband) will also be there.  Manners, civility, and cordiality will prevail - or Julie will beat us both.

I hope to write more when my brain recovers but in the meantime, just know that I am back.

Bonnie goes to work

Bonnie came to work with me today.  There are new tenants moving into Shorty's apartment and every time the door opens, she loses her frickin' mind.  She will adapt.  We will all adapt.  But for today, the new neighbors will not be unnecessarily annoyed and Bonnie will not be unnecessarily stressed.  Me and my officers?  Well, there is that.  I am stressed and they will undoubtedly be annoyed before the day is over.  She is an annoying little dog.  But so far, so good.

No longer a go-alonger

" No, Daisy came from a favorite movie character forgotten by all but a few gray-haired Streisand fans: the goofy, sweetly innocent, chain-smoking go-alonger Daisy Gamble in Vincente Minnelli’s 1970 On a Clear Day You Can See Forever."  from an article about pet names

I am one of the few "gray-haired Streisand fans" who remember and love this movie.  I was unable to find a video clip of the go-alonger scene from the movie.  I was looking for it because, in the last few months, I have determined that I am, in fact, a "go-alonger."

Since Shorty died, I have been contemplating who I am now.  For 34 years, I have been half of "Shorty and Sandy."  Now, I am just Sandy.  I just have to figure out who that is.

Things I know.

I am Julie and John's mom.  I have two other kiddoes, one of whom I don't claim and one who does not claim me.

I am grandmother to a gaggle of grandkids.  I am close to some and not close to others.

I am a Catholic.

I am a "Licensed Telecommunicator" or, as I prefer to think of it, a pretty darn good 911 dispatcher.  My daughter has promised to tell me when I cease to be pretty darn good.

Things I have realized.

The first Harley I ever got on was Shorty's.
The only Harley I ever got on was Shorty's.
I got my motorcycle license so that Shorty could still ride, even if he couldn't drive.
I have not been on the Harley since my kids and grandkids left after Shorty's funeral.
I have several tattoos, none of them Harley Davidson inspired.
Anyone besides me noticing a pattern here?

Yep.  I loved Shorty and I like Harleys.  I do not love Harleys.  I do not need to own a Harley.

I need to cushion my bank account, learn a new language, see the ponies swim at Chincoteague, and blog consistently.

Talk to y'all soon.  I think I'm back - or at least on the way.