Tag: sadness

teeny tiny red cabin

Why you sometimes feel guilty about feeling good

Have you ever been there?

I mean feeling guilty about feeling good?

I’m kind of there now. My mom hasn’t even been gone a month and I have had some moments of well-being and peace this last week. I feel kind of guilty about it.

We were at “teeny tiny red cabin” over the weekend and I had a couple of hours when I truly enjoyed what I was doing. I planted some ground cover I had brought from home.

 

(The title of the blogs that appears in the lower right-hand corner was the name of my former blog.)

I started to strip our little deck of too many summers of neglect.

As you can see, I didn’t get it all done. But isn’t it going to look great when I am?

 

I scrubbed the little patch of kitchen linoleum with an eraser pad ( I love, love, love these things) I can’t believe I hadn’t cleaned the floor this way before. Here is a “before” and an “after”. Nice, huh?

Before

After

Hope you can see the difference. Kind of hard to tell from these pictures.

cabin floor after

I planted some plants I brought from home.

teeny tiny red cabin

 

Then I went over to the bunk house for my devotions here on my adorable porch at my adorable bunkhouse and promptly started crying.

We found this wonderful rattan loveseat at Goodwill plus two chairs. They had just brought them out of the backroom when I spotted them. Sixty dollars for all three pieces in mint condition. For a while, I only used the chairs inside dreaming the sofa would fit on the porch.

My husband insisted it would so we brought it back from where we had it stored in our shed back home, and sure enough, it fits perfectly. Since these pictures, I’ve brought the back cushions home to sew new covers, black and white check.

bunkhouse porch

We had talked about building it for a couple of years but I just couldn’t commit to spending the money. It’s kind of like my personal retreat. I relax more here than anywhere.

That same year, my mom decided she wanted to give her grandchildren a gift of money.  She asked me what I thought and I told her that was very sweet and if she wanted to, she should.

But I didn’t know she was going to include me as well. That gift gave us the impetus to get the ball rolling on the bunkhouse. With our money added to hers we started clearing the land and now I have my precious little house.

But just thinking of her generosity started the tears a flowin’.

She got to see it a few times but she could never understand why I liked it so much. I asked her to come up with a number of times but she never wanted to.

“What’s there to do?”, she would ask.

I’d reply, “Read, walk, and relax.”

But she was OK with how much I loved it. I would call her every day but if she wasn’t wearing her hearing aids, the conversations would be cut short.

I so missed calling and checking in on her this last visit, the first trip since she died.

God bless and have a good day.

 

 

 

 

lemons and lemonade

I was so excited but then……

The Excitement

Remember my post yesterday when I shared about this wonderful watercolor painting I found? It was painted by the artist, Ranulph Bye.

watercolor painting

I decided to check it out online and found out I was right to think this was painted by a professional artist. One whose paintings have some serious value. His paintings started selling at $800.00 to $1,000 dollars. I was so geeked. I had no intention of selling it anyway but I thought it would be so cool if I owned a painting that I paid $3.00 for but was worth a thousand.

The Disappointment

I was looking at it again more closely this morning, drooling over my newest treasure, and noticed a sharp line at the bottom of the page with some numbers. The sharp border probably means it’s only a print. But, of course, sometimes prints, especially first edition prints, can be valuable as well.

Now I’m afraid to take it out of the frame. I’m either going to be disappointed or I’m going to be elated and if I’m elated, (meaning it’s valuable), I will be really nervous that I might damage it in some way. Isn’t that the way it goes?

The Tears

Later that day I started to take out some things from my mom’s house. That was difficult. I almost convinced myself she was just in the hospital. I am selling the house to my brother and so I need to take what I want before it becomes his because once it’s his, I will be handing over the keys. We have already decided on who gets what so it’s not a problem. It’s just hard to do.

I decided to weed my mom’s garden as well. It’s tiny. My brother and I completely redesigned and restored her little garden last spring. She loved what we did and we were both really proud we had done this for her. Of course, I cried while I weeded but that’s OK.

Crying and grieving go hand in hand. At least they should.

Thinking about the picture and what I thought was my new-found treasure helped. Even it might turn out to be otherwise.

Life is kind of like that, isn’t it? It hands us lemons and lemonade all in the same day.

lemons and lemonade

God bless and I hope you have a good day.

 

doubting my ability to cope

doubting my ability to cope tomorrow

I’m sitting here watching my little five-year-old grandson play with his toys.

Everyone is gone but him and me. He’s oblivious to my pain. He’s absorbed in his own world, just like a five-year-old should be. He looks at me and giggles and I smile.

How can I smile the night before I look on my mother’s face one last time?

The funeral is tomorrow. How am I going to do this?

I’ve done really good today, too good maybe. Does that make me uncaring? Am I insulting her?

God promises peace in the worst of times and this is most definitely the worst of times. I’m glad my little guys are here. Maybe looking on their faces will help me keep it together.

I wonder how anyone does this. Says goodbye with such finality.

A dear friend of mine just lost her sister the day before my mother died. We’re both Christian women who know God will sustain us in this loss. But we both agreed we still want them with us.

Such is the selfishness that plagues us all.

And yet it occurs to me, it’s a good thing to feel this pain. Wouldn’t it be awful to lose a mother and feel nothing? I should add my mother loved me with her whole heart. I told her once years ago, that I would never desert her, no matter what and that I would be with her to the end.

I was. To the very end.

 

 

I can and I will

How God exceeds our expectations

(You are reading this post on Monday, May 15.  I’m writing it on Friday, May 12.)

My mom passed away yesterday and I haven’t stopped crying. I just know I’m going to wake up tomorrow morning and instead of a funeral to attend I am going to go over and have some morning coffee with her. I have to imagine that if I’m going to sleep tonight.

I’m going to share this grieving process on and off for the next few days and then I’m done except for the occasional reference.

When this journey with my mom began escalating last October, I prayed for three things.

First of all, wisdom. If I told you all the decisions I’ve made along the way you wouldn’t believe it. I look back and feel good because I believe I made all the right decisions. There were big ones like taking her out of rehab at a nursing home and bringing her home. It was a disastrous experience. We had no intention of letting her stay there anyway but another day would have completely put her over the edge. Within a few days, she was back to where she had been before we took her in.

There were little ones like….Come to think of it, they were no little decisions.

Secondly, I prayed we’d be able to keep her at home until the end. My brother and I had a few moments when we thought we might not be able to accomplish it, but, by golly we did. My brother lives with her so up until a couple of months before her death, he was able to handle the evenings. Then it came to a point where I felt he needed to sleep better so I hired nighttime help. Eventually, she had round-the-clock care except for a couple of hours in the morning and a couple of hours in the late afternoon.

After my mom died and we could finally quit crying, my brother and I hugged, and said, “We did it,”

Third, I wanted to be there when she breathed her last breath. Maybe I should have re-thought that one. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I did it for her. My husband and I slept at my mom’s last week because I just had a hunch that things would move fast. They did.  If we’d spent the nights in our own home, we would never have made it on time. I should add here that my husband considered my mom his mom. They truly loved each other.

So all three prayers were answered but God took it a step further and blessed me in unexpected ways.

  • As my niece and I were bathing my mom, she opened both her eyes and made contact with me. It had been days since she had opened her eyes. I was the last person she saw before she died.

 

  • It turned out that she died shortly after that which meant that the Hospice didn’t need to bathe her which they usually do. I and my niece prepared her body. Do you know how good that makes me feel do know that a stranger didn’t have to it? I massaged her frail little body with lotion and I like to believe she felt it.

I went to the Funeral Home website and there were pictures of two other women who died last week. They were older as well. While I grieve my loss, their children are grieving their loss. While this is my mother and my pain, I know I’m not alone.  It was a reminder to me that other people lost their mothers this week. I share their grief.

Earlier today, we ordered some sandwich trays today at our local grocer and the woman waiting on us asked us what occasion we ordering for.  In the course of our conversation, she told me she had lost her mother a few years back and then her son. She told me I was strong and that, like her, I would get through this. Her words were particularly comforting. She “got” my tears.

I hope she’s right because I seriously question how I’m going to get through this. But I would imagine I’m not the first person to feel this way.

My grandson asked me last week how I was doing. I told him I’m pretty much crying all the time. I told him that’s what grieving looks like, that I’m supposed to cry.

Having just now thought of that conversation, I guess I am going to get through this.

I hope your day goes well and God bless you.

(Obviously, I won’t be posting for a couple of days but I may schedule some older posts.)

 

 

 

 

breeze blowing through the window

My mom’s final moments and the beginning of my pain

breeze blowing through the window(I wrote this within about an hour after my mom died on May eleventh while I was waiting for Hospice to come. I wrote it because I want a written account of how I felt in the hopes that it will prove helpful to someone else going through this.)

The breeze is blowing the curtain, cooling you as only a perfect spring breeze can.

You opened your eyes for me this morning as we were bathing you.

You looked right at me and I was thrilled. I had so hoped to have you awake again for even a minute.

“Hi, mom. It’s so good to see your eyes open.”

Quickly, they closed.

Were you telling me to get ready?

I sat on your deck for a few minutes.

I came back in and when I walked into your bedroom, I immediately knew you were leaving me.

In a matter of minutes, you were gone. I kept kissing you and told you how much I loved you as you breathed your last breath.

I thought I was prepared.

I wasn’t.

I thought I was strong.

I’m not.

There aren’t words to describe the pain.

The Crabtree outside your window is in full bloom.

Somehow, that seems wrong to me.

I think, that like Jesus cursed the fig tree,  I should curse it and make it die. It shouldn’t be in bloom when you’re not.

I have been on so many journeys with you, Mom, but I don’t like this one. After four days of sitting by your bedside, I had convinced myself you were going to wake up. So now it’s even harder.

I know you are in heaven.

I know I should be happy for you but I’m just selfish enough to be sad.

The angels are clapping.

You are seeing your beautiful new home.

You are healed and you can walk again and no one is going to nag you about using your walker.

I’m happy for you, Mom, but I hate this. I really, really hate this.

Bye, Mom. I will love you forever.

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