March 30

 It's almost 10:00 a.m.  By now Bob has stopped breathing, I have stopped screaming, the Chaplin has talked with me.  I've packed up our stuff from the room, and walked away from the body that once held Bob.

And suddenly "we" became "I."

Six years in, and I'm still figuring that out.  My father had a very dominant personality, and Mike was an extraordinary person, so for my first 18 years I was "Chalifoux's daughter" or "Chalifoux's sister."  I was just Ann for my first term of college, and then I became Bob and Ann.  So it's understandable that Ann, as a singular person, is still working things out.

I feel myself coalescing back into one person.  Starting in February, I felt myself splitting up, somehow.  Simultaneously living in those 48 years.  It got harder as this day grew nearer.  Last week I went to the periodontist, then stopped for a sandwich and coffee on the way home.  I read my book and listened to conversation all around me, but could sense the ghost of another me, sitting across from him.  On the way home I drove past Momo's pizza, and my chest hurt as I knew that in there was a different Ann, with Bob, laughing over our famous "slices as big as your head."

Now she's just somebody that I used to know.  And the ghosts of Ann are fading away now, leaving the new, now six-year-old Ann to live her new life.

And, once again, the reward for surviving year six - is that I get to go on to year seven.

As always, my love

I love you

I miss you

Thank you.

March 29

 Well, this day has come.  I spent it rather quietly.  Mostly, I've been sorting that mountain of alpaca that I was given.  It's a quiet and meditative task, a good thing to be doing.

I've found myself thinking of a woman who was on the Roads Scholar trip a few years ago.  I thought of her as bird-like, petite and perky.  When we were talking, I mentioned that Bob and I had been a bit scandalous because we moved in together a couple of weeks before we got married, which was still a shocking thing in the early 1970s.  She got a mischievous look on her face and said she moved in with her husband on their first date.  Her husband is still alive - in a care facility, because his Alzheimer's got bad enough that he was sometimes violent and she couldn't handle him anymore.  So he's there, and doesn't know her, and she travels.

I can't imagine losing someone that way.  But maybe I can, just a little.  In previous years, I said this was the day that Bob and I said goodbye.  That's the way I would have wanted it to be.  I wish we would have looked each other deep in the eyes, said "I love you" and said goodbye.  But it wasn't like that.  I kept trying to get his attention, to get him to look at me, but he sort of brushed me aside and was focusing on the nurse, asking him to get on with it, get the morphine drip going,  I know that he was afraid, and that he wanted to get it over with, and that the toxins in his system were messing up his mind - but I wish he had said goodbye.

Today is the day I lost him.  Tomorrow he will stop breathing.

Countdown

 It's almost here - the time that all the timelines I've been living for the last month or so converge onto that moment of March 30 when Bob quit breathing.

I can relax now.  I give myself these days.  March 27 was the last day that we were going ahead, doing everything, hoping that something would happen.  On March 28, he sat up and yelled "It's over.  Let it be over."  He would have gone on morphine that night, but I begged him to give me one more day - one day for both of us to think it over, to not do this impulsively, to realize that this was the ultimate permanent decision.  On the 29th we said goodbye and they started the morphine drip, and on the 30th he quit breathing.

I have found, over the 6 years now, that I can deal with anything, as long as I know that I'll have these two days to fully mourn.  I don't know what I'll do - maybe continue to sort and wash that mountain of alpaca.  Maybe mostly sleep.  Or read.  It doesn't matter.  I have wine and rum and carrot cake.  As long as the cats and chickens and squirrels get fed, I don't push myself to do anything else.  In the past, I've sometimes even covered up the clocks.  I just simply quit and rest for a couple of days.  I mourn the 6 years that I should have had with him, and feel gratitude for the 48 years that he gave me.

Look! A Baby Wolf!

 You never know when it will hit.

I was at work at the museum today, inside a building called The Discover Center, with stuff in it for kids.

There were a few books on the table, with this one on top.

And suddenly I heard Bob's voice:  "Look!  A baby wolf!"

That was a shtick he had for years.  When he wanted to distract me from something, he would point and go "Look - a baby wolf!"  And, of course, I would play along and look.

For example:  Say we had gone out for a hamburger.  He would look past me, go "look!  A baby wolf!"  I would turn around and look - and, of course see nothing,  Then I would turn back, and some of my fries would be missing and he would sit there with a totally innocent look on his face.

I miss those moments.

Plan C Day, Ring, Spinning Wheel, Renaissance Faire

 March 23 will always, I fear, be Plan C day.  This was the day that the doctor was firmly non-committal when it was becoming obvious that Bob's second transplant had not taken, and I asked her what the next step would be.  After she left, I looked at Bob and said "I don't think there's a Plan C."  And there wasn't.

I found a jewelry store that would talk to me about my ring.  Melting and recasting isn't recommended - because there is also solder involved in the setting, it could contaminate and weaken the gold, especially since it is a small ring.  They could put a new setting and diamond in it - but I don't want that; it simply would not be *my* diamond, the one that 19-year-old me squealed when they chose it.  So what they are going to do is cut off the setting and file and smooth the ring.  I should get it back in a couple of weeks.

It's still bothering me so much not to have it, psychologically of course, but also physically.  I didn't realize how much I fiddled with it, just touching it with my thumb.  And my fingers on either side were used to feeling it there.  My hand just feels weird.  Before I took it in (and leaving it there was so hard) I would sometimes put it on in the evening just to de-stress and be able to feel it again.)

In other news, I came home with a spinning wheel last week.

 A Rick Reeves (one of the iconic names in spinning wheels). Handmade, red oak (weighs a ton), double table Norwegian style.  But I don't particularly want it, and don't plan on keeping it.

Here's the story.  A woman who used to be a neighbor (about 30 years ago) tracked me down.  They're moving out of town, and she had some fiber (alpaca) that she wanted to give me.  She also wanted to know if I knew anyone who wanted a spinning wheel - she got this beauty, but doesn't use it much.  I said I knew someone in the weaving guild who might be interested, but their budget was around $500, and this wheel is worth about three times that much.  When I got to her place, and we were talking, she said they were moving in three days and she really didn't want to take it with her, so would part with it for $500.   At that price, I know that I can pass it on at some point, so home with me it came.

Also, "some alpaca" turned out to be about 30 pounds.  Guess I'll be busy sorting/washing for awhile.

The Renaissance Faire was this weekend.  I got my outfit finished - I took it as a challenge to use only stuff that I had on hand.  I had a beige sheet - so that got dyed green and made into a skirt.  Some paprika linen became a bodice, and brown linen for a witch's hat and belt pouch.  I needed a belt - so I strung up the loom and wove one (in the background of the picture with the hand.

OK - I did buy one thing, but it's to go with my puppet and not specifically for this outfit.  The dragon uses the "fake arm" illusion.  Normally I just use a stuffed glove, but I wanted to upgrade.  I bought a poseable hand (normally used for manicurists to practice on).  It was, of course, a dead pale "flesh" tone, but I did some painting and texturing on it.  I also covered most of it with a fingerless mitts (and wore the matching mitt on my real hand).  It was surprisingly effective.

  Here's the whole ensemble, with dragon.

It was a lot of fun - after I finally got there.  They weren't expecting the turnout that happened.  When I got close to the Fairground (at a point that I would normally be about 5 minutes away) I sat in a traffic jam for one and a half hours.  I had made the outfit, rigged the arm, gotten dressed, bought my tickets online - so what the heck, somehow I was going to get there.

I think the three months of living in the hospital room, just sitting and waiting and sitting and waiting  rewired me.  I *never* used to be able to sit still, or wait for anything, and if a line was going to be more than 15 minutes long I would strongly question how much I wanted something.  Now, if a long wait comes up, I just sort of shut down.

I also immediately gave up my plan of eating fair food.  There wasn't a single line less than 30 people long, and I had done enough waiting for one day.

It was a smallish Faire (it's an organization that does Faires, but this was their test one in Tallahassee) but fun.  There was jousting (guys in real armor on real horses) live music, jugglers, fire eaters, circus acts, storytelling, and dancing.

I had my dragon.  She was important.  Without her, I would have been there by myself.  Walking around, looking and enjoying stuff, but also being aware that everyone else seemed to be in couples or groups.  With her - there were *lots* of interactions.  Lots of photographs taken.  Lots of compliments, of course.  A chance to talk to other makers.  I got to feel like I was part of something.  It was fun.

I needed that - to get out, talk to people, get outside of my own head.  For the last month I've been feeling myself shutting down, being disoriented (when it gets dark and cool outside, I sometimes think it's fall and forget what time of year it is).  I just want to sit and wait things out - without really having anything to wait for.

In a week, 2020 self will get up, take a last longing look at the empty shell that use to hold Bob, walk out of the room and come home.

End of an Era

 I got engaged on August 3, 1972.  I wrote about it in a 2022 blog post: https://returntotheswamp.blogspot.com/2022/08/august-3-ring.html

That was the first day that I put on this ring.

Almost 54 years ago.  I was 19 years old.

Last night I looked down, and noticed the lack of a familiar sparkle: the diamond was gone.  Funny how the mind works; the first thing I did was look more closely, and even stick my pinky fingernail in to make sure that it wasn't there.

Yes, I looked for it.  I put on my head lamp and retraced all my steps outside that I had taken that afternoon.  There is a thick layer of leaves everywhere; the chances of finding it were pretty much nil (I did startle a lot of little spiders because I had to get a close look every time I saw their glittery little eyes).

I don't want to replace the diamond.  It would *a* diamond, but not *my* diamond -not the one that our teenage selves scraped for coin to buy it.  But I hate not wearing my ring (the wedding band had a raised notch to hold the engagement ring, and the two were soldered together after we got married, so I can't wear the wedding band separately).

What I want to do is have the ring melted down and recast into a plain band.  It would probably be less expensive to just buy a plain band and sell the ring for scrap - after all, it's just a piece of metal - but I can't.

I was in town today to get the stitches out of my mouth, so I went to a jeweler's.  I was embarrassed when I got out of the car and looked at the ring in the sunlight; like my working hands and permanently stained fingernails - I realized it was dirty.  Dark in the little nooks and crannies.  I polished it as best I could with my shirt.

Yes the jewelry store could do it. $300 and 5-6 week wait (which says to me that it would be shipped off somewhere instead of being made in-house).  But to sound very new-agey - the vibe was off.  I showed them my heartache - and it may as well have been the pull tab off of a soda can.  I told them I had worn it for 54 years - it was acknowledged that the settings can get worn down.  I don't know what I was expecting, but I wanted something that acknowledged that this little piece of scrap metal was important.  

There was another jeweler's about 5 miles away that I thought about checking out, but I didn't want to once again hand over my dirty little broken ring.  I decided to come home and give it a good cleaning and polishing and check out a few more possibilities.

I didn't realize how many times a day I touched that ring, or fiddled with it, or just glanced at the little sparkle on my hand that said once upon a time someone deeply loved me.   A few times today I have either felt it missing, or looked down, and had a quick panic attack. 

Wish me luck.

Dear 2027 Self

 Dear 2027 Self,

A shout out from 2026 self:  Hang in there, girl.  You got this.
I know what you're going through.  For one - you thought by now you wouldn't be.  That you could handle March all right.  Maybe you are - but I suspect that you've having issues.

You have one foot in 2027.  But also one in 2020.  And a third foot (awkward, I know) in the 48 years between 1972 and 2020, with it all swirling around you like confetti in a tornado.  You're not sure exactly where you are or when you are.

You're making stupid mistakes.  Dropping things.  Forgetting what you're doing.  Setting timers for everything so you don't forget something 10 minutes later.  Crying at odd moments.

At the same time - you're fine.  Singing and getting jiggy while doing the dishes.  Maybe working on a project.  Reading a good book.  Loving on the cats, walking in the woods, laughing with people at work.  Scratching Otis the Pig on his tummy.

You're not alone.  2026 Self is going through all that right now.  And we have backup.  Poor 2020 Self, who had to sit there in that hospital room 24/7, starting to realize what was going to happen and not being able to do anything about it except watch and try to be positive and comforting.  2021 Self - she's not much help.  I think she was shell-shocked and didn't say much.  2022 Self - there's our girl.  She gutted herself, committed emotional seppuku, felt all the feeling - and survived.  Those of us after her don't have to lean in as hard.  We should be grateful.

The rest of us just sort of fall apart in March, living the double (triple?) life.  Needing timers, and reminders, and checking the phone or calendar to see what day it is.  But we always cope, right?  We know how to handle this.

Are you sometimes sleeping on the couch, because having that solidity at your back helps keep the 3:00 a.m. panic away?  That doesn't hurt anyone, so why not?

Cats, chickens, and squirrel fed? (Is Dingo squirrel still around - he's over 11 years old now)

Showered?

Eating?  Cut yourself some slack if you want to.  Still eat your veggies and healthy stuff, but some junk food for a short time won't hurt anything.  Have some Easter candy, or buy some pastry.  Yesterday, I bought a loaf of white bread - which I haven't done for years (Gill gives me a couple of slices when I go visit her).  But I was making the medication for the Roger the Goat at work yesterday, which is mixed with peanut butter and put of bread, and suddenly I was "I Must Have A Peanut Butter Jelly Sandwich."  And that just isn't the same on my homemade multigrain seedy bread.  Now I'm excited - I even bought some American cheese (which in theory I dislike, but it's the cheese of my childhood) so I can have a grilled cheese sandwich.  Cinnamon toast.  Sugar sandwiches (another childhood treat - butter and a heavy sprinkle of sugar, so crunchy when you eat it).

I'm getting worked up over a loaf of white bread - sigh.

Still admiring the azaleas?  Enjoying the pink skies of sunset, with the chorus of spring peepers?  Strolling in the woods?

Still going in to the museum?

Still moving?  You won't be doing the endless slog of the 1084 mile walking challenge because I'll be through with that by mid-April, but still move.  I did finally go to the senior exercise class at the community center on Monday.  It was not too strenuous, but it was fun, and I'd been inside my own head too much, so getting active with other people was good.

It's OK to go back onto the antidepressants.

March is hard.  Acknowledge that, and let it be hard.  You'll carve out those last two days to really mourn, and then pick up those bootstraps and keep going.

One last thought.  You often read essays on grief, and there is the old "people think I'm fine, but inside I'm weeping."  What I want you to realize is that the outside person isn't masking.  She's not faking.  The person who can laugh, dance, sing, enjoy this beautiful world of ours and so far has handled everything the world has thrown at her, is just as real and authentic as the person who is lonely, often fearful, and clutches a pillow like a teddy bear.  There's nothing fake about either of them.

So good luck, 2027 self.  It might not feel like it some days, but you'll get through this.  Be gentle to yourself - and we're all behind you.