When someone in your household dies, there's huge hole in your life. But what is still there - is all the stuff. The clothes, the car, the broken toaster that he saved for God knows what reason. And in the end, the house we shared together is now my house and needs to start to reflect me and not we.
Well in all the years we lived together, the house was still Karl's house – far more his domain than mine. I never liked the house or the furniture or even the way the kitchen was arranged. And well, to be honest, neither one of use was a great housekeeper. The house needed repairs, painting and a general getting rid of junk and cleaning.
Since he had been retired for more than 20 years (and I was not), it was especially Karl's house; he spent far more time there than I did. The master bedroom closet was his closet, the master bath was his bath. He thought walls should be white (well dingy white) and his furniture could be described as early yard sale. He had been a Navy brat and then a Naval officer. When he retired, he never intended to move again and, by damn, none of the furniture was ever going to be moved again either.
Now with him gone, it was time to clean out and reclaim the space as mine. But Karl was such a pack rat, he still had clothes in his closet from high school (and he was 72 when he died) and where to start was the question.
Plus in a quirk of fate, while I inherited a life estate in the house, I didn't inherit his household goods, so they weren't mine to do with as I pleased. Well everyone at least agreed that no one wanted his clothes. Of course his son and daughter and executor of the estate didn't want to do the work of getting rid of them either. But it seemed like the easiest place to start. So I took a huge dose of allergy pills and Marty and I waded into the closet, filling bag after bag after bag with clothes that we eventually donated to charity. Karl's cousin was his best friend and it wasn't any easier for her than for me, so it took weeks to get the dressers and the closet cleaned out.
Then I had a messy bedroom full of bags of old clothes, but an empty closet and two empty dressers. It was a start. We painted the closet before I started to put my stuff in it. There's something renewing about painting. It's a fresh start and I needed a fresh start. Well the closet was painted and my stuff moved into it. One thing down, 5 million to go.
Next the clothes had to go to make room to clean up the bedroom. It took some weeks to get up the energy, but eventually the clothes were gone.
Each tiny step was a lightening for me; I felt weighed down with all this stuff I didn't want, didn't need and didn't yet have the right to get rid of.
The cleaning, painting and rearranging continued. With each room cleaned out, I felt lighter. I painted the bedroom and, gasp, moved the furniture. I got rid of the carpet and my allergies got immensely better. I painted the living room, put the furniture in the garage (still didn't have permission to get rid of it even though no one wanted that furniture) and when my part of the estate was settled, I bought new living room furniture. The walls were now pink instead of white, the furniture was comfortable and pretty and I had a great place to display art glass pieces. The living room was now mine. It felt good.
I rearranged the kitchen cupboards and threw out all the old canned goods that Karl would never get rid of (there was stuff expired in 1986 in the back!). Oh yes, Karl was a child of the Depression all right. I got rid of the brown dishes and bought individual dishes I liked in all kinds of bright colors. Karl would have never understood a mismatched set of dishes, they were supposed to come in a set. But I love my cheery dishes and the few times I've had company over for dinner, everyone else seems to get a kick out of them too.
There's still a lot of work to go and I still have a lot of junk I don't want. But I'm making progress in cleaning out the old and creating a new home. It's all part of going on.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Kindnesses
One of the paradoxes about grieving is that you encounter so much kindness. People seem to instinctively know that that they need to be extra kind to you. You think of grieving as just a dark experience, but truly I've blessed with many kindnesses that made me smile or eased the pain for a little time.
One of the kindnesses I remember best was from a co-worker. The week I was off on bereavement leave, I had a deliverable for a client. Obviously it was going to be late. When my co-worker who was the client liaison told them it would be late and they started to get annoyed, he told them to chill out, the person assigned to the task was on bereavement leave. I treasure that moment when, for once, the workplace acknowleged that my right to a personal life was more important than the work.
Other memorable things include:
Someone leaving a bag of her favorite chocolates at my desk
A gift card to a local restaurant that was left anonymously on my desk (very nice when you are low on funds after losing half your family income!)
Friends inviting me their home for dinner and a movie on their wide-screen TV (Death at a Funeral which is hysterically funny and was just the right thing for my mood)
Another friend who grabbed her kids and took me out to lunch and then to the beach for my birthday.
Hugs from the clerk at the local Wawa when I broke down crying.
My neighbor taking over the care of my lawn
My coworkers who are helping fix my fence
The sympathy card from the lady I used to share an office with 20 years ago that I last saw in 1992.
The Internet friends who called me to check on how I was doing
My former boss making the trip back for the funeral from out-of town
My sister doing duty as the “guard sister” to protect me when Karl's daughter wanted to come cry all over me at 3 am
My sister's college roommate coming to the burial at Arlington
The many sympathy cards
The people who came to the funeral who didn't know Karl at all but wanted to support me.
The people (especially Karl's cousin who lived with me) who listened when I needed to talk and left me alone when I needed to be alone.
A lot of these things aren't big things; they aren't expensive things. But the grieving experience taught me a lot about how important small gestures can be when you are in need. I try to do more of them myself now because I understand how much they mean.
One of the kindnesses I remember best was from a co-worker. The week I was off on bereavement leave, I had a deliverable for a client. Obviously it was going to be late. When my co-worker who was the client liaison told them it would be late and they started to get annoyed, he told them to chill out, the person assigned to the task was on bereavement leave. I treasure that moment when, for once, the workplace acknowleged that my right to a personal life was more important than the work.
Other memorable things include:
Someone leaving a bag of her favorite chocolates at my desk
A gift card to a local restaurant that was left anonymously on my desk (very nice when you are low on funds after losing half your family income!)
Friends inviting me their home for dinner and a movie on their wide-screen TV (Death at a Funeral which is hysterically funny and was just the right thing for my mood)
Another friend who grabbed her kids and took me out to lunch and then to the beach for my birthday.
Hugs from the clerk at the local Wawa when I broke down crying.
My neighbor taking over the care of my lawn
My coworkers who are helping fix my fence
The sympathy card from the lady I used to share an office with 20 years ago that I last saw in 1992.
The Internet friends who called me to check on how I was doing
My former boss making the trip back for the funeral from out-of town
My sister doing duty as the “guard sister” to protect me when Karl's daughter wanted to come cry all over me at 3 am
My sister's college roommate coming to the burial at Arlington
The many sympathy cards
The people who came to the funeral who didn't know Karl at all but wanted to support me.
The people (especially Karl's cousin who lived with me) who listened when I needed to talk and left me alone when I needed to be alone.
A lot of these things aren't big things; they aren't expensive things. But the grieving experience taught me a lot about how important small gestures can be when you are in need. I try to do more of them myself now because I understand how much they mean.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
The world didn't end
One thing that I found most difficult to deal with in trying to get over the death of the person I loved most in the world was that the world didn't end. Now intellectually I knew that it wouldn't, but I wasn't emotionally prepared for it. The worst thing that could have happened in my life happened and the sun still came up, people still gossiped about American Idol, and the electric bill still came. Part of me wanted the world to end (I now understand why couples married a long time often don't survive each other for long). But it didn't. There was a huge hole in my life, but I still had a life. I had no idea what to do with that life or where I was supposed to go from here, but life did go on.
One of the biggest problems for me was that from the perspective of the people around me, life hadn't even come close to ending. There was a little hiccup; it was too bad for Judy, but "What's for dinner tonight?" People who have never been through the death of someone who is their whole world have no idea that it was an event that didn't end with the funeral. They thought it was strange that I was upset more than a year later and that casual references to some things could make me start crying. I could often see the annoyed, patronizing, or irritated expressions on their faces as they wordlessly let me know that they thought I should be over this by now. After all, Karl and I hadn't even been married, so what was the big deal?
One of the biggest problems for me was that from the perspective of the people around me, life hadn't even come close to ending. There was a little hiccup; it was too bad for Judy, but "What's for dinner tonight?" People who have never been through the death of someone who is their whole world have no idea that it was an event that didn't end with the funeral. They thought it was strange that I was upset more than a year later and that casual references to some things could make me start crying. I could often see the annoyed, patronizing, or irritated expressions on their faces as they wordlessly let me know that they thought I should be over this by now. After all, Karl and I hadn't even been married, so what was the big deal?
Friday, April 16, 2010
Getting the news
Your whole life can change in the blink of an eye or the span of a phone call. Karl's cousin called me at work to tell me that Karl had died while visiting his brother in Arizona. Life as I knew it had changed and no matter how much I wanted it to be back to the way it was, it never could be again.
I still remember sitting there for a minute in shock. It was a Friday afternoon and I was 90% finished with a task I had promised to the client by the end of the day. I debated with myself as to what to do. Then I got up and walked over to my boss and told him that Karl had died and I needed to leave, but that I would finish the import first. Then I went to HR and told Steph I needed to take bereavement leave. I asked her and my boss both to let everyone else know (so I wouldn't have to) and to give my phone number to anyone who asked for it. Then I went back to my desk, stopping at my co-worker's desk to ask her to do some things for me while I was gone. Even though Janee was a very private person, she gave me her cell phone number and told me to call. As it turned out she was the only co-worker who talked to me that weekend, because the people I told to tell everyone didn't do so until Tuesday. I'll never forget the hurt of that, spending the weekend expecting that at least some of my co-workers would care and not hearing from them.
I cried all the way home. Luckily I managed to not get into an accident which in some ways amazes me as I certainly wasn't paying attention. When I got home Karl's cousin (who was living with us when Karl died) and I cried together and then set about calling all the people who needed to know. As bad as it is to get one of those calls, making a whole string of them is worse. One of the people I called was a friend who was expecting that the call was to wish her Happy Birthday. How I wish it had been.
When someone close to you dies, especially when you share living quarters with them and see them everyday, the world becomes sort of surreal. First so many things that seemed so very important just an hour earlier were irrelevant. Did that work deadline really matter? Did eating dinner? Even sleep was hard in that king-sized bed that we had shared for 26 years. Somehow it seemed bigger and more lonely that it ever had when I was home and he was out of town. Karl had been out of town since Monday, the house wasn't any different really, but somehow it seemed quieter and less secure. Almost frightening. My Rusty dog knew something was wrong but not what. Still he clung to me knowing I need his comfort.
Karl and I were not married, so there was a measure of fear, too, that first weekend. I didn't know if I would have a place to live once the will was opened. I didn't know how I was going to make it financially even if he did leave me the house as he had paid many of the bills from his income. The income was gone, but not the bills. I didn't even know how I was going to make it through the weekend.
Before that day, I had always thought that a broken heart was just a phrase, Now I knew it was a very real, physical feeling. I wondered if I was going to have a heart attack, it hurt so much. Of course, at that point, I would have gone gratefully if I had a heart attack and not even bothered to call 911.
We had been together for almost half my life; I couldn't really remember what it was like to not have Karl there. He had been there for every other awful thing that had happened for almost all of my adult life. He was my rock, the secure underpinning of my life. He was exactly the person I needed to go to in my grief, but he wasn't there. Would never be there again. I couldn't even wrap my mind around the concept.
What lessons did the first days of grief teach me? Well, first it reaffirmed how important love is and how very glad I was to have shared Karl's life even though I had to go through grief at the end. It also showed me how unimportant some much of the minutia of our lives can be. Finally it taught me that you can go on even while your heart is breaking.
I still remember sitting there for a minute in shock. It was a Friday afternoon and I was 90% finished with a task I had promised to the client by the end of the day. I debated with myself as to what to do. Then I got up and walked over to my boss and told him that Karl had died and I needed to leave, but that I would finish the import first. Then I went to HR and told Steph I needed to take bereavement leave. I asked her and my boss both to let everyone else know (so I wouldn't have to) and to give my phone number to anyone who asked for it. Then I went back to my desk, stopping at my co-worker's desk to ask her to do some things for me while I was gone. Even though Janee was a very private person, she gave me her cell phone number and told me to call. As it turned out she was the only co-worker who talked to me that weekend, because the people I told to tell everyone didn't do so until Tuesday. I'll never forget the hurt of that, spending the weekend expecting that at least some of my co-workers would care and not hearing from them.
I cried all the way home. Luckily I managed to not get into an accident which in some ways amazes me as I certainly wasn't paying attention. When I got home Karl's cousin (who was living with us when Karl died) and I cried together and then set about calling all the people who needed to know. As bad as it is to get one of those calls, making a whole string of them is worse. One of the people I called was a friend who was expecting that the call was to wish her Happy Birthday. How I wish it had been.
When someone close to you dies, especially when you share living quarters with them and see them everyday, the world becomes sort of surreal. First so many things that seemed so very important just an hour earlier were irrelevant. Did that work deadline really matter? Did eating dinner? Even sleep was hard in that king-sized bed that we had shared for 26 years. Somehow it seemed bigger and more lonely that it ever had when I was home and he was out of town. Karl had been out of town since Monday, the house wasn't any different really, but somehow it seemed quieter and less secure. Almost frightening. My Rusty dog knew something was wrong but not what. Still he clung to me knowing I need his comfort.
Karl and I were not married, so there was a measure of fear, too, that first weekend. I didn't know if I would have a place to live once the will was opened. I didn't know how I was going to make it financially even if he did leave me the house as he had paid many of the bills from his income. The income was gone, but not the bills. I didn't even know how I was going to make it through the weekend.
Before that day, I had always thought that a broken heart was just a phrase, Now I knew it was a very real, physical feeling. I wondered if I was going to have a heart attack, it hurt so much. Of course, at that point, I would have gone gratefully if I had a heart attack and not even bothered to call 911.
We had been together for almost half my life; I couldn't really remember what it was like to not have Karl there. He had been there for every other awful thing that had happened for almost all of my adult life. He was my rock, the secure underpinning of my life. He was exactly the person I needed to go to in my grief, but he wasn't there. Would never be there again. I couldn't even wrap my mind around the concept.
What lessons did the first days of grief teach me? Well, first it reaffirmed how important love is and how very glad I was to have shared Karl's life even though I had to go through grief at the end. It also showed me how unimportant some much of the minutia of our lives can be. Finally it taught me that you can go on even while your heart is breaking.
How do you go on after you lose the one you love?
I'm not sure exactly how to go on even now, two years after Karl died, but I am sure that other people are going though the same thing and need suppport and words from someone who has walked in their shoes. So I'm starting this blog to talk about grief and the process of rebuilding your life when it all falls apart. Maybe what I've gone through and how I deal with it can help someone else. Maybe someone else can help me. Maybe just putting it down in writing will help clarify my way. And maybe I'd better publish this first post now since the dog wants out. Be back later.
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