I am missing Mike more. My throat is tightening unbidden, and my heart feels heavy. I’ve told him, “Enough is enough. Come home already.” I think I’ve demonstrated my self-sufficiency enough. I’m good. Time to come home.”
Mike and I had a running joke. When something bad happened to one of us, we would say, “Who gave you permission to get sick?” for example. In this case, I say to him,” Who gave you permission to die?” But, of course, I did, not just once, but twice. It was me that told the doctors to take him off life support. I was the only one who had the legal authorization to do so. And then when they removed the life support, and his dying process started, I lay by his side and said, “I, Elizabeth Susan David-Ross, release you from the bonds of marriage.” I wanted him to feel free to die. I was happy that his suffering would stop. The palliative team and the ICU doctors had both made it clear that he could not survive. All we could give him is a longer period of suffering.
I called the Deceased department of the credit card company. They told me that I needed a court-ordered document to claim the bonus point. That means I would need to go to probate. It sounds like poor people who would need that money desperately can never claim their bonus points.
At Bikram, Heather, the instructor, expressed concern about the way I was positioning my left knee, concerned that I was overextending it, which can lead to a blowout. I knew that I was leaning too far to the left, but felt that I was getting a good stretch on the outside of my leg that I couldn’t get otherwise and I was supporting my body with the walker, preventing from full weight landing on my left knee.
After Bikram, I stopped at the post office to mail Damon the shirt that he left when he was out for the funeral and the composting bags to Shivani. Then off to Safeway to buy some salad. They had Hersey’s Milk Chocolate bars with whole almonds on sale. Ten, I bought 10.
When I came home, I heard a sound in the house and thought, “Mike’s home.” Of course, Elsa got some object in place for me to throw or kick for her to chase. It’s good that she’s here, but she’s no substitute for Mike. I knew this stage was bound to come. I think I’ve done pretty well up to now. I can feel my body shifting as I sit with this sadness. I have to let go of the old me, which was entwined with Mike. Forty-five years is a long, long time to be together. As I type, I can feel one of my silent migraines coming on.
I worked on the blog and drank my morning cup of soup. I planned to work in the garden, cutting the bougainvillea growing down from our lanai to Yvette’s laundry area but got a phone call from Jean. She damaged her foot again while Damon was visiting. No, it wasn’t Damon’s fault. She twisted her foot on some uneven ground. While I was speaking to her, I remember that I want to have some chicken for dinner and went to take some out of the freezer while I was still on the phone. I put a Ziploc bag with two chicken breasts in the sink.
Rick, of Raymond James, had told me to list the beneficiaries for the IRA. I had to get everyone’s date of birth and social security number. I know everyone’s month and day of birth, but I needed to check the years. Three of these kids asked me why I wanted their social security number. I told them so I could assume their identity. Joke! In the process of doing this, I wound up informing everyone that they were in my will. Interestingly enough, most of them had no idea that they would be included. Dorothy was shocked that I included her kids. I wasn’t very involved with them when they were growing up even though they lived 1.1 miles away. Family problems. What can I say? But here’s the thing: Mike and I have the money because of the money we got from my mom. There was money we got directly, and there was money we were able to save because she bought our house for us. She made our lives much easier. Karin and David are her grandchildren. She would want them to benefit from our good fortune.
The student came for her tutoring lesson. I’ve been focusing on math rather than reading. I can only hope that she continues practicing, preferably reading for pleasure.
After she left, I tried to nap but wasn’t able to sleep. I did get some rest. My mind kept going to the task of trimming the bougainvillea hanging over our wall down to Yvette’s clothesline. As usual, I lay there thinking, “This is going to be too hard.” I forced myself to get up and deal with the task. I started by getting the blue plastic barrel into the bedroom from the back lanai, so I could get it out the side door into the driveway. I grabbed some cutting tools from the orange bucket I keep in the front of the house and a pair of gardening gloves and headed down the driveway to the lower yard. It took me all of 10 minutes. Only two large branches were hanging low and then a bunch of shorter ones that were tangled together. Of more pressing concern is the bowing of the story high rock wall, which holds my back lanai out of their garden area. Oh, boy! It’s not too bad at this point, but I think I should have it checked and see if there is anything we can do about it prophylactically. How do I know about bowing retaining walls? When we sold our house in Princeton, the inspector identified such a wall in our basement. I know the look.
When I came back to my house, I went out into our back lanai and did a little more weeding. I have all the weeds laid out on the ground to dry, so there will be no live roots when I throw them into our composter. When I came back inside, I did some more blog work.
After walking Elsa, I started on dinner. I buttered and seasoned both of the defrosted chicken breasts with salt and Italian seasoning and put them in the toaster oven. While they were cooking, I ate my salad. The chicken was a little overdone, but definitely eatable. I left the second one in the toaster oven, planning to put it away for tomorrow. When I got up from the table, I saw smoke coming out of the appliance. I pulled the plug but too late for that chicken breast. I don’t know how to operate this thing.
I watched, listened to, my TV show on my computer as I cataloged the books. I’m still watching Silent Witness. The tone of this show had changed dramatically over the sessions. The first 7 seasons of the show were placid and less varied than Murder she Wrote, and it has become progressively edgier.
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Musings: I’m putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.
The image of a small Persian rug I once had came to mind. I lost it when the commune moved from one house to another. Some furniture was left in the driveway. Someone put my rug on top of the furniture to protect it from the rain. The next morning it was gone. Someone saw it and thought it would look nice in their home. I still feel sad about that loss. How can I feel that sadness after over forty years and not feel sadder about my loss of Mike?
It made me think of the difference. The rug is a noun; my relationship with Mike was all verbs. I haven’t lost my identity. I haven’t lost my home. I haven’t lost much of my daily activity. I haven’t lost friends; if anything, I am relating to more people. Members of the family are calling me regularly, not just to check on me, but they have a commitment to call regularly. While I have lost something, there are also things I have gained.
What I have lost is daily doses of love and laughter. Ah, those are nouns, but they can also be verbs: loving and laughing. I don’t know which of those two losses is worst. The love part was me being reminded daily that I was a loving person, and that I was loved, not to mention the sheer joy of expressing love. The laughing part was me being reminded me daily that I was a funny person. Being funny is not just important for the value of the audience response, it is also important because it reminds me not to take life seriously. My humor leans heavily toward absurdity. When I think of it, the human condition is a hoot. We are so filled with self-importance and such minor characters on the stage of the planet. – except for our outstanding capacity for destroying life for every living thing.
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