N-Wording V
The grief of ES's mysteries have been part of my strictly personal "Normal" for quite allot of years now. There isnae an anniversary to mark the loss, but ? ? ? Should I declare one for the sake of processing profeciency? Arbitrary closure? Maybe not. We see. In my personal tradition of family estrangement, birthdays have been anniversary enough for the trigger effect of emotional processing.
Leaving that painful, multi-generational mystery be for now, I am *just* processing. ^It^ is what ^it^ is whether I understand ^it^ or knot. I am optimistically hopeful that ES's mysteries seem to be finding a new normal between Hubs and I. The old normal consisted of tit-for-tat skirmishes over whose library has the more valid perspective of those mysteries. The new normal I am praying for --just praying-- lets both libraries be equallly valid. Neither history nor herstory needs to be revised. Just coordinated with mutual respect from and for both librarians. Let a fact be an undisputed fact.
Or am I lost in metaphor again? ? ? For sure I am grateful I donae have to go to the middle aged bachelor freak show that used to be our retirement homestead to execute ownership responsibilities today. The city ordinance violations havenae found our new location yet. Yet. I still worry that body of middle-aged yaddah blahs is the fast moving train behind the light at the end of the tunnel. Pulling out the worry management drawer of my psychotherapy toolbox now. . . Well. . . Never mind. That drawer has been open for this entire string of ordeals. It is my most used drawer of my toolbox on my most stable of days. I am an Obsessive League Worrier, after all. Worry is, hands down, my most over-developed talent. **Should** I send a birthday text to ES on this coming Monday? For sure, I am shoulding more than wanting to. I'll worry about next Monday when it gets here.
I believe I am holding steady in the grief processing. The normalizing here on this little ship of fools is my evidence. Today is hump day for the school train and so far, so good. Easy does it through the choppy sees. Steady as she goes. . .
The porch crew worked through inclement weather to finish the painting/staining step on the porch yesterday. We had to wade through a maze of plastic sheeting and wet finishes to reach the door when the school train pulled in mid-afternoon. None of us had the inclination to brave the drizzly cold to review the still drying product when the crew finally tossed the last of their tools and trash into the back of the trucks and pulled out. The project has been going for long enough that the crew almost feels like trusted family. I think they, too, are a little sad the project is finished. For sure they are going to miss the butt fresh eggs. Shame on me that I let them drive away with no eggs last night?
Are we normal-for-us yet?
Replies
arfie, you wrote: "I believe I am holding steady in the grief processing," and as your DS friend, I can reflect back to you that I agree, I believe you are, too. Way to go, it's no small feat juggling your grief at your loss of your son and his wife with caring for their orphaned kids. One day at a time. Prayers ongoing.
Hugs and continued support Arfie!
Thank you, Muji. It's hard to take my own pulse within a psychotic episode. The validation helps, tremendously.
Holding steady ain't the same thing as tooling down Easy Street. This is hard-assed shit.
You’re doing great Arf, never doubt it. Those kids are lucky to be with you and hubs and the garden and chickens and fresh air. It sounds like a good life for them. Hard for you to be parenting when you should be grand parenting I know, but if you ever find Easy Street could you send me the coordinates? I’ve been looking for it my whole life.
I always ponder the words normal and closure. Is there really any such thing? Normal is like facts, it changes all the time. Take care mother hen.
Thank you, Shaky. Validation both needed and appreciated. Part of me fears that I am walking in to another gilded cage. This time I will quite literally work myself to death for the privilege of being honored as, "Toxic Mom." Toxic Gammy isnae an improvement on the theme. "Not Working" is a butt load of hard, unappreciated, viciously maligned labor.
I believe in "Normal for Me." Even as a child, trapped in rootless parental instability, there was a continuity from one day to the next which was "Normal for Me." Living, breathing clues from the previous day as to what I could expect out of the day to come. What was "Normal for the sibs I was sharing a sleep space with was a different "Normal," entirely, but even there, those sibs woke up the same people every day, even the day after a major upheaval in our lives.
Posilutely, my strictly personal Norm/facts of my life, as well as the Norms/facts of life of the people around me are in continual motion. Within that continual motion are continuities that donae change quickly, nor easily, no matter how far or how fast I run from the facts of my life. Tri-continental frequent flier here. I learned that the hard way. Normal for me is far more than a seasonal culture fashion parade.
Jim Beam and Born Again evangelists are the folks I ask for directions to Easy Street, when I feel inclined to ask.