Inevitable Decline....

I began this post in 1/09. I'm editing in 8/10....

Ok, I'm in the mood to beat a dead horse.

I am 52 years old. When I look in the mirror, I am not surprised. My eyelids drop, I'm forming jowls, I was inordinately pleased when I saw a picture of myself in profile and realized I didn't have a wattle. I assumed I did! My hair sparkles, my waist is thickening, I'm twenty pounds heavier than I used to be.

My knees hurt, they actually crunch when I go up the steps, the sound itself is enough to make me sit down. I have cramps all the time. I'm starting to understand the allure of "unnecessary hysterectomy". I haven't run all winter. I used to run in the snow. I remember parking at the grocery store and running around the residential streets because the roads were clearer. Now, it's difficult to get off my chair, go out to the garage, get in my car with heated seats and drive to the gym. It takes me a week to recover from a session at the gym. And, they aren't what they used to be when I would run 4 miles, workout with a sadistic trainer for an hour, and run home again. I remember running when I was sick, I thought it was good for me, "If I can run five miles with a fever, imagine how good I'll feel running when I'm better!".

I sleep a lot, 8 or nine hours at night, and a nap in the afternoon most days. I didn't sleep for twenty five years. First there were babies, and then there was Wheeler. Sleep was the enemy, robbing me of productivity. Three hours was a "good nap"! I felt rejuvenated. Now, even on nap days I drag around like the living dead. Losing sleep makes me physically ill, really, I get nauseated. There are days that I HAVE to lie down. It's physically impossible not to sleep.

All the time I wasn't sleeping, I wasn't eating. I didn't have to eat. I'd drink coffee, black coffee, the stronger the better. I could go all day. And, when I did eat, my food choices were horrendous! A couple of pieces of candy for breakfast, ice cream for dinner. I was hungry, but I was B-U-S-Y! Very, very busy. Tall One learned to cook. He subscribed to a recipe-card club, out of self-preservation. He kept our sons alive.

Now, I never miss a meal. 95% of the time I'm making informed nutritious food choices; low fat, fruit and salads, chicken, fish. I drink wine, which I never did before. And, my coffee, in the morning now contains no-fat half and half.

But, in spite of my new "commitment" to food, I sometimes FORGET to eat. Really, it's not self denial, I feel that gnawing, growling stomach churn and think, "oh my, I didn't eat breakfast". "What are you doing that preoccupies your time and thoughts to such an extent?", you may ask. I'm trying to wake up!!

She Lives!

Morning All.....She lives!

I'm feeling ever so much better today. I anticipate a return to productivity. And now that I can think again, I'm wondering....Why does being sick make me feel so guilty. Really, it will take me weeks to recover my equilibrium. This is encouraging, I'm obviously NOT a sociopath, but, it's also very, very troubling. Does anyone like to feel guilty? Well, ok, maybe masochists...but, obviously I'm not one of those, either.

I let people down when I'm sick. I couldn't make a very important board meeting. Well, I would have, but I called to see if they really, really needed me there. I could barely talk that day, and probably sounded really contagious, and they said, "No, we'll be ok, take care." What they probably meant was, "Dear God, shoot yourself, save the rest of us!". I didn't even want to be in the same room with me.

I couldn't take care of my grandsons. Daughter had to work, Dude had to work, Tall One had to work....I had to sit in my chair, with my box of tissues, and be ill. The three of them, Daughter seven months pregnant, had to rearrange their schedules, give up their free time, and accommodate my cold (ok, it was the mother-of-all-colds, but STILL...).

Tall One has been eating the same meal of "macaroni and meat" all week long. He made it for himself on Saturday. It's now Thursday. He sent the last of it home with Dude last evening. Now, it's take-out or soup.

Tall One, Daughter, and even Dude have been very supportive and understanding and caring. I can probably get past my culpability in their inconveniences...but, Nana goes much deeper.

Let the psychoanalysis begin:

When I was a child, Nana gloried in my infirmities. She would ensconce me on the sofa with bed pillows and afghans. I was supplied with fluids, treats and daytime TV. All was forgiven when in the throes of a terrible disease. This wasn't Munchausen by proxy, nothing so dramatic, I just think that Nana really, really likes to be in control and revels in the neediness of others - even as it annoys the crap out of her. (Nana is a dichotomy.) As I got older, I used this propensity for coddling to great advantage. My weaknesses endeared me to my mother. I stayed home from school because I was tired - with Nana's full approval.

As an adult, I gained control over my use of illness as an "excuse". At some point, I realized what I was doing: Using "not feeling well" to get out of responsibility and garner sympathy. I also had a few fairly serious debilitating physical issues; 1) three pregnancies, I was hospitalised three times for uncontrollable vomiting; 2) two or three awful bouts with the flu that scared me by the sheer brutality of sickness. I also began to realize how tedious it sounds to always complain about "not feeling well". Somewhere along the line I began to accept that "good enough" was just that, and that I didn't need an excuse for imperfection.

But, the flip side of this, now, is blame. From Nana: I don't rest enough, I go without a hat, I don't "take care of myself", I "do too much". Once Nana lost control of the "cure", she tried to gain control of the "cause". And it vexes me beyond endurance - especially when I'm not up to par, which is when the nagging begins. My illnesses now, are a direct result of my incapability. So mostly I don't tell her...but I couldn't hide this one. You can hear the annoyance in her voice. The shortness, the irritability on the phone. Some of it could be self-preservation. When I am sick, now, Nana is directly threatened. At 78, illness is more than an inconvenience, it's life threatening. She is dependent on me for her mobility. When I'm down-and-out, she could suffer. But I do take heroic steps to make sure she doesn't. The morning of the board meeting, that I "blew off", I did Nana's grocery shopping. She didn't "make me". I do feel more relaxed when her needs are met. But, somehow that gets turned into HER martyrdom. I don't know how she does it, but I find myself reassuring HER, ad nauseam. And, do you know what? I do feel guilty, stupid, inept. I do feel like I've let her down, put her at risk, compromised her safety and happiness. I do feel like IT'S ALL MY FAULT, I DID IT ON PURPOSE!!

Dr. Freud, where are when I need you?

Status Update

I am in the grip of a terrible disease. Ok, it's only a cold but it's been brutal. I felt so awful yesterday, I couldn't even read. I played games on my computer. I couldn't even think of a "status update" for my Facebook account. My throat was clogged with the thick mucus draining from my head. It hurt to cough, and cough I did; horrible, wracking, phlegm-filled croupish coughing, so intense it made me dizzy and incontinent. It's been building in intensity and increasing it's discomfort for over a week. This morning I woke with a sinus headache, if you've ever had one you know what I mean. It's pressure filled pain. You want to shove your fist up your nose and pull out the problem, not unlike cleaning out the inside of a jack-o-lantern, and then you'd need to go in through your mouth with a grapefruit spoon and scrape out your Eustachian tubes to alleviate the ringing and itching in your ears. I'd like to throw-up, to get rid of the garbage that ran down to my throat and was swallowed overnight. There is no relief for the discomfort. Day time cold medicine is only marginally effective. Actually, all it does is dry out your membranes, and add "burning rawness" to the list of indignities. I'm not sure Ibuprofen knows what to do, where to run. I can't taste, swallowing is out of the question, my eyes itch, my nose is an oozing abrasion, and my attitude needs a major adjustment. I know this is unpleasant, but you need to know.

I'm not sure why.

Logical Rationalizations

I belong to a support group. I joined a bit ago. It's for mothers with estranged children. It's been helpful. It's been interesting. I think we, the mothers, have a lot in common. I've found our situations to be uncannily similar.

But, there's been a thread of correspondence lately that I can't relate with, so I've been largely silent. I think it is a legitimate emotional feed. I just have no experience. Or, perhaps I have the experience and have moved beyond. I'm sensing that the mothers are searching for the logical, rational, seed that has propelled their offspring to cut off all contact. I have come to the conclusion that seed doesn't exist in my scenario - I'm wondering if it exists at all.

The moms are talking with a great deal of bitterness. Accusations of immaturity, selfishness, self-centered entitlement, unthinking, unfeeling, ungrateful offspring abound - which may be the case. But, in my experience, none of these adjectives apply. O.S. is cleaving to his wife, leaving his mother and father behind. D.I.L.ly is ill, with a warped perspective and incongruous expectations. I don't expect O.S. to act any differently. He is defending, in the only course open to him, his family, his life, his love.

This doesn't make our separation any less painful. Tall One put it so succinctly in counseling, and I paraphrase: Participation in our adult children's lives is our reward, it's not our right. I miss O.S. I miss D.I.L.ly as I knew her in the "before time". I wish I knew about their lives in the northern wilderness. I want to ask about O.S.'s job. He always took such pride in his machined parts. His was truly an act of artistic creation. Is the new shop a supportive work environment? Does he feel fulfilled? Does he like living in a rustic environment? How's the fishing? Is he hiking? Is he cold? Is he well? Is D.I.L.ly painting? Is she happy? Is she well? Are they happy together? What does he look forward to when he wakes up in the morning? What does he look forward to in life? Does he look forward? Does he look back? How's the dog?

I get the impression, from some of the mothers in our group, that, in their minds, the proper course of action on their sons part, would have been to leave their needy, conniving, manipulative, angry, abusive, evil spouses and choose their mothers instead. If the sons had, I believe this would have supported the immature, needy, selfish interpretation of their character. I KNOW how unpleasant these woman (the wives) can be. I KNOW how unreasonable, demonic their actions and reactions are. There is no rational explanation. Imagine, if we mothers are so unnerved, what our sons are dealing with - and they LOVE these women. They've made a life with them. They've taken vows and invested resources. One of them has a child. Can you imagine their anguish? Can you imagine the harping, nagging, screaming, negative innuendos, outright lies that these men have endured constantly. I don't believe that our sons believe the accusations, I believe that they are taking the steps they need to, in order to survive. They have acquiesced. They have learned not to argue, cajole, or disagree.

It takes superhuman strength and incredible external resources to stand strong against the onslaught of negativity and vile allegations of our disturbed daughters-in-law. I barely accomplished it. It takes superhuman strength and incredible internal resources not to run home to the relatively sane, safety and acceptance of mom and hearth. And think of the loss. Our sons are adults. They have moved beyond our kisses and bandaids. I would expect the same support from Tall One. I would expect him to stay no matter how sick, sad or unreasonable I could be. I would expect him to support me. I would applaud his dedication. Can I do any less for my son as he deals with the mental illness of the woman he's chosen to be his mate? Wouldn't I want him to do everything that he could to save himself - even if it meant sacrificing me?

I despair that O.S. is cut off, separated and secluded from a calm center and our support. I fear he's isolated from all rational insight. But, I bore and raised him to move on. I've equipped him to the best of my ability to survive and thrive. I trust my Older Son. He owes me nothing. I have his young lifetime of wonderful, positive memories that haven't been compromised by the holocaust of our estrangement.

I can't convey this emotional information directly to the mother's of estranged sons. I'm not sure it even applies. And my heart bleeds for the mother's of estranged daughters, that's something I can only imagine, and then, those grandmother's estranged from their grandchildren - that I can only anticipate with horror and trepidation.

Facebook

Ok, just because I haven't blogged, doesn't mean that nothing bad is happening....

I've joined Facebook.

I really don't have oodles of free time. I don't have a job with lots of downtime that affords me the luxury of unlimited access and the occasion to fritter it away on the Internet, AND get paid for it. I don't need friends. I have friends that I like and social outlets (not virtual) to meet more friends, should I desire them. I don't, won't ever, don't ask me to....network. So what in the world have I done?

I wasn't bored. No body under any circumstances, except for prisoner-of-war or jury duty and neither of those are applicable, could be THAT bored. I wasn't compelled. No one was bothering, nagging at me, coercing, or even urging me to participate...in fact one really good friend wasn't even sure he wanted to confirm me as his "friend" - what is he hiding? I'm quite sure my children and their spouses don't want me prying into their accounts. Most of the people I know aren't interesting in receiving "flare" or participating in questionnaires to find out who they were in a former life, or being friends with everyone I'm friends with or...networking.

So what is it with this web site? It's strangely intriguing. I get to answer the question in real time, "What am I doing right now?" It's voyeuristic. I get to "see" what other people are doing. I look at their pictures, read their profiles. It's communicative and artistic. I write on walls, send messages, comment, and read pithy sayings on "bumper stickers". I could create bumper stickers if I'm so inclined.

I have a pathetic cell phone, a digital camera, and my very own laptop. We have wireless Internet access and in-house computer/printer networking (which is acceptable, it's not the "other" kind of networking). Our business is fully automated, except for the Tall One who programs the automation. We have a DVR, which I'm not sure how we lived without. What we don't have is a GPS device, really good cell phones with all the bells and whistles, iPods and/or MP3 players, or blackberries.

And that my friend (virtual or real), is bogus.

Dinner and a Song

I had dinner with Song, at my house. I made quinoa pie, and Christmas cookies. We opened a bottle of Grapeful Red. She told me where she's at...

She's been pretty depressed...and she has good reason. Dead husband, no insurance money, lack of security. She lost, or forfeited, her vocation. But, she's not defeated. The thing I like about Song, well one of the things, is that she will ask for help. She's been feeling badly. She went to the doctor and got a prescription for, not an antidepressant, but anti-anxiety, the new emotional challenge. But, she's doing everything she can for herself. I love that. She has every reason to give up and give in. But she won't.

She's going to contact the local rescue mission, to see if they need help on Christmas day. She thinks that'll be good for her. I do too.

I have to send her an email. She was supposed to go, with her sister and brother-in-law, to the place where she and her deceased husband spent their first date. I hope she had a lovely time. She deserves to have a lovely time.

She's made reservations at her husband's favorite natural resource. That's where she and her family will scatter his ashes. She has the most practical, thought-out plan you can surmise. She has put effort into her life.

She's cutting back her work hours. She needs time. She should have time. Isn't that a truly remarkable revelation? I hope we get to take walks together. I need her perspective.

Survive the holidays, Song, you should be able to breathe a little real, real soon.

Holiday Fun Begins

Yesterday, as the FIRST of the two twenty pound turkeys was cooking, and I was doing some last minute cleaning and rearranging, I was fairly certain that I wasn't going to make it this year. I wasn't concerned about the preparations. I've been hostessing the BIG family Thanksgiving celebration since we moved to this home twelve years ago. I was bothered, and a little surprised, by my emotional state. If I would have had the time, I think I may have indulged in a good pity cry.

Things have been hitting me sideways, with melancholy thoughts of O.S. and D.I.L.ly. As I readied the Christmas Tree in our Library, a heaviness began settling on my heart. I top this tree with a wooden star that O.S. created one Christmas time about 10 years ago. I had been grumbling about not having an appropriate tree topper. I'd tried bows, angels, lighted aluminum stars, but nothing ever worked to MY satisfaction. O.S. disappeared into our shop, and emerged later with the gift. It's a wonderful thing. It's five points are perfect. The shaft is hand tooled and fits perfectly over the highest artificial branch. O.S. stained it a distressed gold. I keep it out all year long. It perches on a bookshelf until called into service as the crowning glory on the most traditional evergreen.

Since I notice it often, and admire it regularly, I was startled by the sadness that griped by heart as I placed it this year. I never, never think of O.S. apart from D.I.L.ly. They have been friends and then more for most of the years of their youth and young adulthood. I know that to be without her would injure my son in all the ways that could never be made well again. And yet, unbidden, the fantasy came with crystal clarity. I am adept at turning my mind from unpleasant thoughts and inappropriate, harmful ruminations, but this one ran it's course. O.S. came home alone, and broken, but not destroyed...and I felt happy.

I saw him as he always was. Sad but intact. I saw his melancholy smile, I felt his hug, mine matched the tears in his eyes. A wash of HOPE poured over me. And I've been undone ever since. I'm ashamed that I value my joy over D.I.L.ly's, although I despair that love is beyond her understanding. I'm wary of feeling an emotion for a scenario that I'd never imagined before, let alone entertained. A scenario that I'm convinced will never play out. And yet, this is the one, above all others that I long for.

I don't wish D.I.L.ly ill. She's deeply troubled, damaged in a fundamental, unreachable area of her mind and heart. If anyone can reach her, save her, it is O.S. A large portion of my motivation in separating from, and distancing myself was to protect O.S. from ever having to choose between his wife and his mother. Tall One and I worked to instill the importance of connubial commitment. We value that attribute, and have striven to exemplify it in our own marriage.

So, I am sad. Sad to know that hope has been stirred. Sad to realize I'm not the realist I strive to be, but more the emotional, needy sot that I've expected all along.

And, today, Happy Thanksgiving, will bring challenges I'm not up to. I've no more strength to comfort or cajole. I wonder about my resources to remain civil. My sister-in-law, I imagine is facing similar trials. Her son, my favorite nephew, was arrested for an offense that we wish was drug related, it's that much worse. And, actually, the thoughts of her difficulties, her dilemma in dealing with family en mass, is the only calming, strengthen, motivating factor in my involuntary resolve to stay and not flee to a little known tropical island and begin drowning all memories in copious amounts of adult beverages.

So, my goals for this most festive of holiday seasons will be:
1). To not offend my mother's limited emotional resources. I WILL NOT tell her to "fuck off"...no matter how many times I have to stifle the impulse. It's like a poison ivy itch...It would only feel good for a moment, and then I risk infection.
2). Not to alienate further, my already emotionally stunted mother-in-law. It's not her fault. She tries her best. She's just hopelessly mired in her desire to present a socially pleasing fiction. I will stifle my overwhelming urge to yell, "get a clue"! It's too late, she wouldn't understand. There would be no satisfaction. I'd look like a lunatic.
3). To concentrate on the good stuff, the fine things, the circumstances that will buoy my dwindling reserves...and when I start to "count my blessings", I am encouraged. I CAN do this. I WILL survive...

Happy fucking Thanksgiving...I'm eating two desserts....