When I got home, I showered. First, I put the bathmat and the doormat that Elsa peed on in the wash; then I did MELT for my feet. Yeah, for me. The idea of doing after I take a shower is working.
I sat down to edit last Friday’s entry for clarity and resolving major boo-boos. I intend to get two of these done a day until I’ve caught up. So far, it’s not working. I’m only doing one a day. I started working on Saturday’s entry; that was the day of the funeral. I got fatigued doing it. Instead, I did a little straightening. I put Mike’s plaques for work at the Josephinum, the award he got for recognition of his work at NADD, his ordination certificate, and pictures of his ordination class back in the library. I don’t know what I will do with that stuff eventually, but I don’t have to make that decision for now. I can simply put it back where it was and leave those decisions for another day. In the meantime, the house isn’t a scene of total disorder. I keep thinking of how Mike would like it. I’m neater now that’s he’s gone and not here to keep the place ordered or ask me to straighten up an area. I suppose this is a common reaction.
Then I surrendered to my need for a nap. I lay down on the couch, my usual nap spot, and could feel Mike sleeping in his lounge chair. I know if there is any way for him to be here for me, he will. If not, my imagination seems to suffice.
I keep having this feeling of pressure on the left side of my head. It is familiar. It was only when I got that visual pattern before my eyes that left blind spots and asked Sandor about it that I learned it was a migraine. My mom spoke about having silent migraines. I can feel the pressure, but there’s no pain, and I don’t feel nauseous or overly sensitive to light, the usual symptoms of migraines. All they do is make me tired.
I talked to Mike as I went along. I assured him I’m doing all right, and I heard him saying how proud he is of me. But I miss the hugs and kisses. Nothing can make up for that. The hugs of all the wonderful people in Hawaii are good, but they’re not like Mike’s. We were puzzle pieces that matched so well energetically as well as physically. I loved kissing the man. Hall and Oates have a great song, “Your kiss is on my list as one of the best things in life,” Mike’s was on my list. I loved loving this man. It’s what I miss the most. It was one of my conditions for him if we faced a long recovery. He had to continue to let me love him, he couldn’t abuse me when he got frustrated, and he had to continue to find me funny. Those were my only terms. I was good for everything else. I was looking forward to it. I saw it as an adventure. I was concerned that he wouldn’t be as thrilled with the process. He would feel that he wanted to be his old self NOW!
I have proof that I’m good for what I promised. Fourteen or fifteen years ago, I suffered a bad leg injury. Mike caused it. Now, it was an injury waiting to happen, but what Mike did was the bale that broke the camel’s back rather than a mere straw. I couldn’t walk to the end of the driveway without being in pain; I couldn’t sleep more than 15 minutes at a time without being awakened. Mike wouldn’t hurt me deliberately on a bet. But he was a clutz. He said he didn’t know how he wound up with someone with such a highly developed body awareness. Right back at you, Mike. It was a way in which I duplicated my mother and father’s relationship. My mother was a force of nature. My father was a rabbinical scholar. Despite Mike’s being the cause of my injury, I was never angry with him. However, it did cause some of the worst fights in our marriage. He wanted me to go the AMA way; I wanted to solve it on my own, and I have. I have found the process interesting. I anticipated that I would have the same attitude toward Mike’s recovery, which would be a long and arduous affair.
In terms of my hip injury, I did have surgeries scheduled. Two so far. I canceled both of them. The doctors were quick to schedule me. But once home, it didn’t feel right. Mike and I spoke to their nurses. They both said, “If you’re not in pain, don’t do it.” If nothing else, they were protecting their bosses from lawsuits if it didn’t go well.
One doctor in Ohio tried to convince me to do it, telling me how happy it would make me. I listed all the reasons I didn’t want to do it, aside from not being in serious pain. I didn’t want to subject myself to total anesthesia, I didn’t want to sacrifice a body part and have an artificial body part, and . . . I thought solving it on my own is fun. That was five years ago. Am I perfect? No. Am I better than I was five years ago? You’d better believe it. Did anyone see me do the hula at the funeral? Not bad for two weeks of doing any hula at the age of 78 with an arthritic hip.
I did see the surgeon here from Kaiser. I went in to talk to him. He said, “Most people come in begging to have surgery done as soon as possible. You come in telling me all the reasons you don’t need surgery.” He also said, “Looking at your X-rays, I have no idea how you’re even walking.” He did talk me into making a standing appointment for the surgery here in Hawaii. That way, if the sh-t hits the fan, I won’t have to wait too long. The appointment is always three months out. His nurse calls me and asks me to want to have the surgery or change the appointment. So far, I’ve changed the appointment each time.
I took some laundry off the line, folded it, and put it away. I am feeling much lazier now that I don’t have deadlines looming. The funeral and the taxes are done, done, done. For everything else, I have time. I’ve been working more on the log entries because I am so far behind.
Lina, the secretary for the diaconate program, sent me still pictures she had taken during the funeral. It occurred to me that we had none of our own. The video is wonderful, but the still images are easier to refer to. I sent them to Damon immediately.
Brenda, who works in the parish office, sent me the following information: “We wanted to let you know that as of today $12,686 has been raised in memory of Deacon Mike for the building fund. 🙂” I am thrilled. I wanted this for Fr. Lio, whose loss is the closet match for mine. He both loved Mike and relied on him.
I wrote notes for today’s Friday, April 5th. And then back to the F-Day entry.
I walked Elsa, ate dinner, watched some TV, walked Elsa again, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike.
