Category: Uncategorized

Another Saturday

When I was in Ft Myers with my grandson taking keel boat sailing lessons, I told him, now that Meredith had passed, I was now able to attend his football games. I told him I would be at everyone of them. Yesterday, it almost felt like he was playing in Douglas County. To travel forth and back was only one hundred and twenty miles. I leave the office around three, no later then 30 minutes after as my trip takes me through the heart of Atlanta and DeKalb County. During the drive, the expressway will fluctuate between four lanes and at one point seven lanes wide. Trust me. If I left any later, I would still be trying to get to the game. I arrived early enough to get something to eat. It has been years, but I broke from my diet and sat down at the counter of the Georgia iconic restaurant, Waffle House. I ordered my favorite meal, The All Star, over light, wheat toast, scattered, sausage and the waffle. Due to lateness of the day I declined the coffee and had water. For my Northern friends who have not had the sheer pleasure of the All Star, I will inform the uninformed, this is the greatest balance of sweet, salty, spicy, and just fantastic overpowering flavor of a meal that has no beneficial food value any way look at it. Well the glass of water is good for you.

For the third week in a row, I arrive before the stadium gates open. I wait patiently. I watch all the booster members getting the stadium ready for the game. At six the gate opens and with ninety minutes of time to pass until kick off, I grab a seat and wait. The good guys come out and start to warm up. Grandson has told his mama, “It’s cool to come out and the only person in the stands is grandpa. He is real easy to see.” We give each other thumbs up. It gives me a warm fuzzy. The good guys won in a romp. I got home earlier then usual but was very tired. Fed the fish, the dogs did their circle dance and we were lights out by eleven.

We have now arrived at the namesake part of this rant. Weekends were difficult when Meredith was alive. Here was a strong woman reduced to a brain with sight and hearing but no control over voluntary movement. I had to sit with her for everything. Frustrating, spirit killing. I am glad she has left this body. But damn, it is empty. I ran an errand to pick up stuff. At least I put the salad stuff in the fridge. And now it is almost midnight. It will get better people say. Time to take the walk upstairs to the bedroom. It will get easier they say.

Time it was And what a time it was
It was a time of innocence A time of confidences Long ago, it must be I have a photograph preserve your memories they’re all that’s left you.

Alone vs Lonely

Meredith and I had a seminary student staying with us briefly during her journey through this disease. She was describing a project she was formulating to share with one of her classes on outreach. She shared this plan with me. Two or three students would go out at lunch time and cruise the fast food places and every time they noticed an elderly person sitting at a table dining alone, they would approach, identify themselves as seminary students and sit with this person to share some company. All this to share to the warmth of friendship and companionship to a lonely person. I told her if I was that old man, sitting by myself, eating my lunch, I would be polite, because I have been raised in the South and politeness is ingrained in one’s bones, and open my table to them. But I then explained to her, I was doing so because it is the polite course to take. If upon approaching my table they had inquired if I would like some company, I would thank them but decline the request. She looked some what confused with this answer so I further explained. There is a differance between being lonely and being alone. All of my working career I have had very stressful work conditions. Thirty and forty mile commutes each way in Atlanta traffic. Sales targets to hit, lost freight etc etc etc. Lunch time was and is today my refuge. I leave my cell phone in the car. When the AJC Urinal and Constipation, Meredith’s name not mine, had decent crossword puzzles, I would do these at lunch. In ink of course. When Meredith became home bound, lunch was my only refuge from watching her die. I had my local restaurants where I take my break. The servers knew me, and they knew Meredith and what we were going through. Conversations were minimal, the mental decompression was great and the tip was always generous.

So this brings me to the topic at hand. After July 7th, this became a total different alone. This being alone has merged and morphed into a type of lonely which is off the charts. This is physically painful. This is motivation killing. This is being able to sit on the side of the bed, getting up at 6AM, look down at the floor and look at the clock again and it is 9AM mind numbing pain. Six plus years I watched the “progression” of the disease rob Meredith of all strength and control. Now Meredith’s battle is over. And I am left behind. Attempting to find the pieces in a desolate and quiet abstract picture of how I see my life. And the questions come from people I meet while picking out green beans, or grabbing some butter in the store. “How are you doing?, no how are you really doing” It only has taken two or three times until I have been able to formulate an answer they can ingest and accept. “I am not at all good. My problem is I draw on past experiences to plan the future and as I have never traveled a path as this, I do not know how I am supposed to be doing. So considering the shape I am in, Iam in pretty good shape.” If the Ministry of Truth ever needs a writer have them give me a call. I believe I can do the job. I thank you Mr. Orwell.

Silence, stillness, emptiness

The long holiday weekend.

This labor day weekend started with a quiet birthday celebration of sorts at the office. Meredith and I worked together for thirty plus years. I know of few married couples who work together. Not for a large company or are employed by someone and happen to have their spouse at the same company, but own and operate their own small business with one full time employee and shop pets. So, in honor of the birthday she will never celebrate, this past Friday everyone at the shop had a milkshake from Steak and Shake. This was her favorite place for a milk shake. Dairy Queen Blizzard was right up there, but the holiday special shakes from S & S were the bomb. We laughed about this secret love of her’s. And then everybody went home. I drove forth 99.5 miles for a Friday Night Lights event. The game was good. The good guy’s won in a cliff hanger. The road trip back of 99.5 miles uneventful.

Friday night was followed by Saturday, then Sunday becomes Today. There are thousands of things I need to be doing. It is amazing to me how the silence has become deafening, the stillness is overwhelming but it is the emptiness which is completely draining. Someone said “Do not let the walls close you in.” The house is my refuge and my prison. I have not found a place where there is freedom from the silence, from the stillness in my heart and the emptiness in my soul.

Sometimes I used to sit and think.

Now I just sit. Scared to think.

Cue the music https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EEzyrpfrPEI

Happy Birthday

August 30.

An event which occurred around noon, in a hot hospital room in Macon, Georgia. This event predated the invention of air conditioning. An event predating my arrival on this blue marble by 5 years, 11 months and 2 weeks. An event which I have celebrated with Meredith for these past 34 years. We have had milestone celebrations. Thirty two years ago, after church we stopped for a snack and upon arrival home, there was a keg of beer, a fired up grill and about thirty five friends present to celebrate her safe passage of forty laps around the sun. Even Officer Goodbody stopped by to add to the celebration with a song and dance routine to the delight of all the ladies. Life was large.

Time went by, as it always does. With three milestone events in the same month, we decided to not exchange gifts but put the money toward vacations. Several trips to Keystone and Breckenridge for winter vacations. For ten years, we traveled to Lutherridge Retreat Center for Music Week. Six days of choir singing, bell ringing and new music reading sessions. We always stayed in the “campground”. A place away from all the dorms and meeting halls. Our place of solitude and togetherness. Some years we pitched a tent. Some years we borrowed a pop up camper. Life was still large.

Out of time and starting to have vision problems. Meredith, I never anticipated the loneliness. How all consuming and heavy. Attempting to accept that your leaving is final. No take backs. Even the final days, your presence in the house was so great. Now the house is almost as empty as my heart.

God speed and:

Happy Birthday Meredith.

Friday Night Lights

High School Football. Marching Bands. One third of the attendees are involved in the game. Players, band, coaching, referees, concessions and a host of paid and volunteer positions. One third of the attendees are watching the game. And the final third are watching who is attending. Greeting friends with enthusiasm reserved for long lost loved ones who have not seen each other in at least four hours. Friday Night Lights in rural Georgia. Same game as played in half the stadiums on Friday Night in the state but vastly different from the big city. In Morgan County, it is THE event for Friday. Home games dominate the social schedule. Everyone is either related, a neighbor, a coworker of just about everybody on the home side of the field. My youngest daughter has purchased for me a season pass for every MOCO (Morgan County) home game. The pass entitles me to admittance in to the stadium and a reserved seat on the fifty yard line. Ninety miles forth with ninety miles back. Grandson played a good game and pretty much man handled his opponent on every play. Game started forty five minutes late due to “lightening within three miles” rule and was again stopped with ten minutes left in the first half for the same reason. We were now at nine thirty, Baby Merriam was cranky so I caught the baby bedtime bus back to the house with Son in Law, hopped in the Smart, set the sails for due West, caught a good wind and made it back to the house by eleven PM.

I miss her presence. We never talked very much on these long drives in the car. Just her presence was enough. Each day is a little easier, nights are not. No lyrics tonight.

A New Direction?

Night time is the hardest. Very hard. Very quiet. Very still. Very lonely. The later it gets, the more alert and awake I get. Sunday was the first time I have left the house on a mission. Went to my brother’s house which is about an hours drive from my house. I have tried to leave the house on other weekends. Made it about a mile, forgot what I was after or where I was going so I turned around and went home. No way to do it this past Sunday. That brings us up to Thursday (today). I have committed myself to going to Grandson’s high school football game. Friday Night Lights. He is a starter, a junior and has already received one offer from a college and looks like he will be able to play in division 1 in two years. Six five and two seventy five on the hoof. He is a one man stampede on the field. I willl have two trips under my belt so, with Meredith gone, some one has to do the planning for Thanksgiving. Meredith’s mother died unexpectedly ten years ago right before the Thanksgiving holiday. Ever since then, we would travel on the holiday. Camping. Europe. Beach. Anywhere as long as it was not here. Meredith would spend months looking for deals, planning and making reservations for the trip. So this time around it is all on me.

Iceland it is. Details to follow. “

On the road again. Goin’ places that I’ve never been
Seein’ things that I may never see again And I can’t wait to get on the road again

An Unexpected Milestone



I was over at a friends house the other day. I sat down on the front porch where one of his neighbors was already sitting. Over the last three or four years, I had seen him maybe a half dozen times. Meredith was with me on most of those trips and he was aware of her disease. I had not seen this gentleman in almost a year as Meredith and I did not get out very much. We exchanged how-to-does and as I was pulling up a stool, he asked “Well are you about over it?” I did not respond, just looked as him with a puzzled face. He continued with “Sorry about Meredith, I was just wondering how you were doing and if you were about over her death.” I nodded my head and said “Pretty much so.” He rambled on about how he was still mourning his wife’s passing and etc, etc etc. I was stunned and amazed.

That was three days ago.

The life insurance check came in the mail along with the final deposit by social security posting today. And it was time to renew my driver’s license. I had put off to the point if I waited any longer I would have to take the test. So I picked a renewal post about twenty-five miles of back road driving away. Thirty five minutes forth, five minutes to renew and forty five minutes back (I had the good fortune to find some dirt roads back). I have been playing Sunday’s conversation in my head pretty much on a loop since the conversation occurred. I finally realized that maybe I was a lot further in my journey than I realized. It was January 2013 when preliminary notification arrived informing us Meredith’s pilgrimage was going to start getting rough. I was the caregiver for the first three years. As for the next three and a half years, I was able to use the long term care insurance to pay for a daytime caregiver. I would stay late in the morning to be with Meredith and come home in mid-afternoon to be with her. During those three plus years, I would talk with Natalya about events, travel and fun Meredith and I had. For the last eighteen months Meredith had lost her ability to speak, so when I would tell what Natalya thought was not totally correct, she would ask Meredith if it was true and Meredith would nod her head and smile. She smiled quite often during those chats. I feel those times spent with her was our way of helping each other to ease this pathway she did not ask to take, knowing the time was coming when she was going to take leave and helping me to accepting her eventual departure . When people say to me they are sorry to hear about Meredith’s passing, I tell them I am not. She had long passed the point of “quality of life”. I am sad because I am alone with out her, but I am glad for her to have escaped the prison of Multiple Systems Atrophy.



Good Grief it’s the Grief Ccounselors

Skip to content

New Norms

Just another WordPress site

Good Grief it’s the Grief Doctors

Here they come! Out of the blue on the eve of our anniversary, the grief guidance counselor called. Okay, she is paid by Hospice to do a call at one week, one month, six months and one year of date of death. She started with the worst question, the one everyone asks, everyone wants to know, but nobody wants to hear the answer. “How are you doing?”

From my side of the question, There are so many responses which explode like a Fourth of July starburst. And just as quick, they are smoke in the air. Over six years ago, Meredith started the transition from soul mate and wife to patient to making me guardian. How am I doing? How am I supposed to be doing? All those who were the caregiver for at least six years to their soulmate suffering from MSA or similar affliction, who have an intimate knowledge of Meredith’s and my psychological work up please send me your resume. Otherwise do not expect me to unload whatever it is you are looking for because the answer is real easy. I do not have a clue and I am not going to talk about how I am while standing in the parking lot, hardware aisle, etc. Ever since childhood, whatever “thing” scared us, hurt us emotionally or confused us become our fall back foundation for all reactions through out our life. Scary things and confusion can be overcome with learning what they are and how to deal with or figure out why they do these things to us. But the emotional one is a lot tougher, I have been dumped, divorced, and fired. But losing your soulmate. That is a different ball game. No past experience to draw from for guidance. With the exception of a couple of hours a day, Meredith and I were together. Same house, same work place, same vacations. I have arrived to become the “Stranger with the Melody”, I gave her the music son. She gave me the words together we’d write the kind of songs the angels must have heard.

So the real answer is “Considering the shape I am in, I am in damn good shape.” Edit Good Grief it’s the Grief Doctors

Leave a comment

Comment Search for:

Recent Posts

Recent Comments

Archives

Categories

Meta

New Norms, Proudly powered by WordPress. Skip to toolbar

Log Out

Suck it Up Buttercup

August 16th My birthday shares some footnotes in history. On this day Mr Pemberton, inventor of Coca Cola, Margaret Mitchell, author of “Gone With the Wind” and Elvis Presley all died on this date. For my friends who. like me. enjoy putting a literal slant on things, they died in different years. But for the most part the only significant event which comes to mind, this is the day I made my entrance onto this blue marble we call Earth. Now at the completion of my sixty-sixth revolution around the sun I begin my sixty-seventh journey. For the first time since I was 16, I have no plans. Not a one year, nor five year, nor 10 year “what if” plan. I had over six years to be planning. Those long nights of watching Meredith sleep, those mornings when Natalya was bathing and dressing her in the mornings, waiting for her to wake up again to have breakfast. Watching her succumb to this disease by slowly “progressing”, (how I have hated that phrase”), getting weaker, loss of voluntary motor control, unable to swallow or talk. Knowing her pilgrimage on this planet was going to end before mine. Knowing this transition from care giver to widower was going to be difficult. But I had no clue as to how empty my life would become. So at the close of my first birthday as a widower, a single person who has garnered close to a hundred “Facebook click here to send greeting”, two cards, no phone calls, I am again in front of the computer. Tired of everybody I run into singing Carol King to me, “You just call out my name, anything you need just call me…..” Before Meredith passed, people would say “Is there anything you need let me know” and I started responding with my favorite Stephen Wright punch line “I need to paint my house.” Suck it up Buttercup, pity party is over.

Pita (Pain in the A**) Girl

Time for group therapy of one again. I have never been one to discuss my feelings with anybody. There is no crying in baseball. There is no open crying allowed by the manly man, son of a military warrior father, grandson of a Survivor of the Great Depression in rural South. Not allowed. There were times during the day when Meredith would have a cry. There are many different reasons for tears. Joy, happiness, laughter all can bring tears. Meredith and I shared tears of laughter during these last six and half years. There was the night many years ago when I was the sole care giver….I had finished changing her into her night shirt, brushed her teeth, put lotion on her face and body, wheeled her into the bedroom, transferred her into her recliner, tucked her in, hooked up the oxygen and gave her the night time dosage of pills. I was sitting at the foot of the chair and started massaging her feet because there was some discomfort in her ankles as the muscles were atrophying and turning her feet in. She started crying. Tears and sobs so hard she had trouble catching her breath. I had to ask several times why she was so upset. Between sobs she was able to work out the statement “I am such a burden to you”. I stopped massaging and moved my chair next to her, gave her a hug, she was still sobbing and I told her she was using the wrong word. She sobbed again. I said Meredith, you are using the wrong word. She turned her head in mid sob and had this incredibly confused look. I said “You are not a burden to me, you can be pain in the ass but I knew that before we got married.” And that was the night we started labeling things Pre-MSA and Post-MSA. When I fell asleep thirty minutes later she was still giggling.

Enough tears for tonight. It is very difficult to go upstairs. Even Stephen King, with all his mastery of the written word, can not describe the emptiness of this house. If I wasn’t already crazy, it would drive me insane. (Sorry Jimmy B. it just popped out)