When asked by others what I'm doing these days, I reply, "Chasing Wife." Now, I realise that after a few weeks, the chase is futile. Yes, I know. But, how futile is washing dishes, sweeping floors, changing linens on beds and cleaning the body? Futility is in the eye of the beholder, and, for now, I prefer futility to reality.
Touchstone
Keeping Life Real
Monday, August 22, 2016
Sunday, August 14, 2016
Grieving for Wife
I started this whole writing exercise because of the difficulties Wife and I encountered as we wearied through our several-year journey through breast cancer. Now, I share because I realize that while process is stressful, physically, mentally, and financially, it holds NO comparison to the stress and shock effected by a mate dying - all of a sudden, and after years of warning - as if without warning. Thus, I needed to address the grieving process.
Before we address the subject of grieving, though, I want to re-visit the battle grounds. While hoping and praying for a quick resolution, we trooped through the first steps of the cancer process; the inital shock of cancer diagnosis, the first devastating chemotherapy, then killer radiation; on to scarring surgery, then finally (or semi-finally) to the several-year wait to hear the settling word, 'remission.'
We heard that word, enjoyed the brief respite, then found ourselves being launched onto an almost-out-of-control cycle of yet another burst of chemo, followed by another, though briefer remission, ad nauseum. Somewhere during one of those difficult eons, through some paperwork clarifying a study Wife was asked to join, we learned that our cancer had "advanced" to Stage-FOUR, WAY-y-y-y past the uh-oh stage, and on to the Never Come Out-Alive Stage.
Then, a few years later, Wife died - all of a sudden, without warning. Though we had spent the last few months in and out of hospitals; though she had multiple tubes spilling life from her chest; though she was so weak she could not even walk to the bathroom, she DIED all of a sudden, without warning . . me.
The months in the hospital were so much more stressful because we had no opportunity to cuddle, to share a bed - not for frog-snorting intimacy (yes, of course I missed that) - but more for the skin-to-skin touch; the soft on-the-shoulder or arm touch; the "I love you" whisper as we rested, lulling ourselves to sleep. THAT, I miss, and crave, the most.
Then, she DIED -all of a sudden, without warning . . me. Now, I'm alone, though children and grands are wandering alongside me on their own grieving journey. So, now, I can no longer lie beside her, nor touch her, nor hear her whisper to me, "I love you."
Some days, I manage - not always nobly, but I manage to survive. Daytime is easier than night-time because, for years, I was out and about then. I always tried to get home in time to eat supper with Wife and kids (when they were home or visiting), then go my way once more until bedtime. Ah, bedtime - the magic moments when I felt connected to Wife on many and varied levels - physical touch and intimacy, soft words, summarizing the day, and such. The first words I tried to always say to her was,"This is my favorite time of day. I have you to myself. And I am all yours - for this short time between lights out and sleep. Let's savor these moments." And I did. And I hope she did (she said she did.)
Yes, I was, and am still, in denial. Grieving was an unfamiliar term to me, though my parents and Wife's parents had died, as well as an older sibling of mine.
So, now, we need to get back to the grieving process. A week or so after Wife died, Pastor gifted me a book, written by Kenneth C. Haugk, part one of a series named "Journeying Through Grief." I devoured it. I can't say I agree, nor appreciate all that the man wrote, but I devoured it, nevertheless.
Then, recently, Pastor gifted me the second book in the series. A quote from the beginning of Chapter three is sufficient for now: "At a conference, a woman told me, 'Half the battle is just accepting the grief and letting yourself grieve.'
". . Grieving . . isn't easy. We . . end up trying to hold in our emotions. . . It doesn't work. Eventually, our grief will break through, so letting it come out now is half the battle."
Yes, I'll get better. Yes, I'll live on, for sake of our children, their children, relatives and friends. But for now, I continue to grieve for my soul, my life mate, my very-other, my very-me.
Before we address the subject of grieving, though, I want to re-visit the battle grounds. While hoping and praying for a quick resolution, we trooped through the first steps of the cancer process; the inital shock of cancer diagnosis, the first devastating chemotherapy, then killer radiation; on to scarring surgery, then finally (or semi-finally) to the several-year wait to hear the settling word, 'remission.'
We heard that word, enjoyed the brief respite, then found ourselves being launched onto an almost-out-of-control cycle of yet another burst of chemo, followed by another, though briefer remission, ad nauseum. Somewhere during one of those difficult eons, through some paperwork clarifying a study Wife was asked to join, we learned that our cancer had "advanced" to Stage-FOUR, WAY-y-y-y past the uh-oh stage, and on to the Never Come Out-Alive Stage.
Then, a few years later, Wife died - all of a sudden, without warning. Though we had spent the last few months in and out of hospitals; though she had multiple tubes spilling life from her chest; though she was so weak she could not even walk to the bathroom, she DIED all of a sudden, without warning . . me.
The months in the hospital were so much more stressful because we had no opportunity to cuddle, to share a bed - not for frog-snorting intimacy (yes, of course I missed that) - but more for the skin-to-skin touch; the soft on-the-shoulder or arm touch; the "I love you" whisper as we rested, lulling ourselves to sleep. THAT, I miss, and crave, the most.
Then, she DIED -all of a sudden, without warning . . me. Now, I'm alone, though children and grands are wandering alongside me on their own grieving journey. So, now, I can no longer lie beside her, nor touch her, nor hear her whisper to me, "I love you."
Some days, I manage - not always nobly, but I manage to survive. Daytime is easier than night-time because, for years, I was out and about then. I always tried to get home in time to eat supper with Wife and kids (when they were home or visiting), then go my way once more until bedtime. Ah, bedtime - the magic moments when I felt connected to Wife on many and varied levels - physical touch and intimacy, soft words, summarizing the day, and such. The first words I tried to always say to her was,"This is my favorite time of day. I have you to myself. And I am all yours - for this short time between lights out and sleep. Let's savor these moments." And I did. And I hope she did (she said she did.)
Yes, I was, and am still, in denial. Grieving was an unfamiliar term to me, though my parents and Wife's parents had died, as well as an older sibling of mine.
So, now, we need to get back to the grieving process. A week or so after Wife died, Pastor gifted me a book, written by Kenneth C. Haugk, part one of a series named "Journeying Through Grief." I devoured it. I can't say I agree, nor appreciate all that the man wrote, but I devoured it, nevertheless.
Then, recently, Pastor gifted me the second book in the series. A quote from the beginning of Chapter three is sufficient for now: "At a conference, a woman told me, 'Half the battle is just accepting the grief and letting yourself grieve.'
". . Grieving . . isn't easy. We . . end up trying to hold in our emotions. . . It doesn't work. Eventually, our grief will break through, so letting it come out now is half the battle."
Yes, I'll get better. Yes, I'll live on, for sake of our children, their children, relatives and friends. But for now, I continue to grieve for my soul, my life mate, my very-other, my very-me.
Wednesday, August 10, 2016
Notifying Others of Death in Family
O-o-o-kay. When Wife died, my children or I called everyone on our lists SOON, and made sure those who were called AND those on scene knew to WAIT until MUCH later, until all vital persons were notified personally before posting the death on Social Media.
Then, within a few weeks, I heard through others that a family member had died. I asked how notified. "Facebook," was the answer. Some "helpful" individual had posted information almost immediately, EVEN before family had been called. I finally received a text late in the evening. Others expressing sympathy was NOT the way I wanted to hear such information.
So, Rules I suggest we follow:
1. Call children of the deceased FIRST
2. Call his/her parents, then in-laws
2. Call both sets of brothers and sisters, asking recipient of call to pass the word on to his/her family.
3. Call close uncles, aunts, cousins who are not on others' list, again reminding person to pass on information.
4. LAST of ALL, put information on Social Media, AFTER everyone on above list has been properly NOTIFIED.
PLEASE, let decorum remain supreme.
Then, within a few weeks, I heard through others that a family member had died. I asked how notified. "Facebook," was the answer. Some "helpful" individual had posted information almost immediately, EVEN before family had been called. I finally received a text late in the evening. Others expressing sympathy was NOT the way I wanted to hear such information.
So, Rules I suggest we follow:
1. Call children of the deceased FIRST
2. Call his/her parents, then in-laws
2. Call both sets of brothers and sisters, asking recipient of call to pass the word on to his/her family.
3. Call close uncles, aunts, cousins who are not on others' list, again reminding person to pass on information.
4. LAST of ALL, put information on Social Media, AFTER everyone on above list has been properly NOTIFIED.
PLEASE, let decorum remain supreme.
Monday, August 8, 2016
Sleep? What is Sleep? Stage Four Breast Cancer; Consequences of Cancer
Consequences of Stage-Four Breast Cancer
Wife died a few weeks ago, the final results of stage-four breast cancer.
What I have learned so far:
Stage-Four Breast Cancer sucks bitter lemons. BIG TIME.
Survival rate of stage-four cancer is low, to non-existent.
Other things often tend to cause death before the actual cancer gets there.
Breathing difficulties; diminished lung capacity:
Liquids building up around the heart and lungs compress both, and can trigger life-threatening
situations.
Pneumonia, caused by areas of a lung not exchanging air at an adequate rate to manage moisture
and the warm atmosphere that becomes a prime breeding ground for bacteria, is a constant
threat.
Heart damage from chemotherapy:
The heart, while a strong muscle, can be affected by so much caustic stuff flowing through the
blood. Frequent follow-up tests are needed to monitor such. (More on that in another entry.)
Hospital stays are tiring and stressful, at best; terminal at worst.
Sleeping side-by-side in two single beds is NOT the most intimate situation.
Food is at best institutional, bland-ish, and hash-ish; at worst, non-existent for the "other,"
the care-giver who insists on staying all or most of the time.
In many facilities, the communication among lung specialists, heart specialists, oncologists, and so forth, seem limited, perhaps strained, and territorial.
The personal care-giver, be it family or friend, or hired-hand needs to keep careful notes of
who is in charge of what area, and what is being scheduled, and what results these procedures
are seeking.
Someone walking in, ready to transport the patient for an unexpected procedure,
especially when waiting for another appointment for that time, causes a scramble.
Done there; been that. I was NOT slow at insisting a clarification before moving.
I pressed call buttons, and scampered to the nurse's station in a hurry.
The longer the stay, the more likely mistakes are made.
Sleepiness and exhaustion can cause carelessness in administering medicine. (again, careful
observation by care-giver, and notes of medicines and schedule of administration is
suggested)
Most hospitals are not designed for long-term stays.
Medical personnel seem to get impatient with those who don't seem to recover.
Medical facilities tend to rush patients toward the exit.
Being released, when the patient recovers, moves to a less-intense atmosphere, or dies
can bring relief, though that relief may trigger its own load of guilt.
When all is done, Stage-Four Cancer Still sucks Big, bitter lemons.
Wife died a few weeks ago, the final results of stage-four breast cancer.
What I have learned so far:
Stage-Four Breast Cancer sucks bitter lemons. BIG TIME.
Survival rate of stage-four cancer is low, to non-existent.
Other things often tend to cause death before the actual cancer gets there.
Breathing difficulties; diminished lung capacity:
Liquids building up around the heart and lungs compress both, and can trigger life-threatening
situations.
Pneumonia, caused by areas of a lung not exchanging air at an adequate rate to manage moisture
and the warm atmosphere that becomes a prime breeding ground for bacteria, is a constant
threat.
Heart damage from chemotherapy:
The heart, while a strong muscle, can be affected by so much caustic stuff flowing through the
blood. Frequent follow-up tests are needed to monitor such. (More on that in another entry.)
Hospital stays are tiring and stressful, at best; terminal at worst.
Sleeping side-by-side in two single beds is NOT the most intimate situation.
Food is at best institutional, bland-ish, and hash-ish; at worst, non-existent for the "other,"
the care-giver who insists on staying all or most of the time.
In many facilities, the communication among lung specialists, heart specialists, oncologists, and so forth, seem limited, perhaps strained, and territorial.
The personal care-giver, be it family or friend, or hired-hand needs to keep careful notes of
who is in charge of what area, and what is being scheduled, and what results these procedures
are seeking.
Someone walking in, ready to transport the patient for an unexpected procedure,
especially when waiting for another appointment for that time, causes a scramble.
Done there; been that. I was NOT slow at insisting a clarification before moving.
I pressed call buttons, and scampered to the nurse's station in a hurry.
The longer the stay, the more likely mistakes are made.
Sleepiness and exhaustion can cause carelessness in administering medicine. (again, careful
observation by care-giver, and notes of medicines and schedule of administration is
suggested)
Most hospitals are not designed for long-term stays.
Medical personnel seem to get impatient with those who don't seem to recover.
Medical facilities tend to rush patients toward the exit.
Being released, when the patient recovers, moves to a less-intense atmosphere, or dies
can bring relief, though that relief may trigger its own load of guilt.
When all is done, Stage-Four Cancer Still sucks Big, bitter lemons.
Dealing with Families of those who died; dealing with those who console families who survive death
Most of us feel awkward when we attempt to console a family or person who are, or has recently dealt with a death. Here, I offer a compilation of some advice I have accumulated over the last few months.
A close friend's father had shifted careers in his early 40s from coaching/teaching in public schools to ministering in small, rural churches for a main-line denomination.
From this teacher/coach/minister came this advice to those who want to console family, yet treat them with respect:
1. Offer a firm handshake, and, if needed, place the second hand over the clasped hands - not tight, but firm.
Or, place a soft hand on the shoulder for a moment.
2. THEN, ask how things are going. and LISTEN; actively. Respond to show the person that (s)he is being understood. Most people just want to be heard.
From another source to those who are in the throes of agony over a death:
Be quite selective with whom you share your agony. Most people just want to offer condolences, and don't know how to do so. So (s)he is awkward, stumbly, and just wants to get it over with. Let them; be gracious, and don't feel obligated to continue the conversation. A simple 'thank you,' and, if offered a hug, maybe stick out a hand for a quick hand-shake. Look at watch, and say a simple, 'Well, I gotta move on."
Advice from an old family in the community:
"Though someone has died, the cows still have to be milked, and the chickens have to be fed."
That statement does NOT reflect a crass attitude; it mirrors reality. We survive, and eventually move on.
A close friend's father had shifted careers in his early 40s from coaching/teaching in public schools to ministering in small, rural churches for a main-line denomination.
From this teacher/coach/minister came this advice to those who want to console family, yet treat them with respect:
1. Offer a firm handshake, and, if needed, place the second hand over the clasped hands - not tight, but firm.
Or, place a soft hand on the shoulder for a moment.
2. THEN, ask how things are going. and LISTEN; actively. Respond to show the person that (s)he is being understood. Most people just want to be heard.
From another source to those who are in the throes of agony over a death:
Be quite selective with whom you share your agony. Most people just want to offer condolences, and don't know how to do so. So (s)he is awkward, stumbly, and just wants to get it over with. Let them; be gracious, and don't feel obligated to continue the conversation. A simple 'thank you,' and, if offered a hug, maybe stick out a hand for a quick hand-shake. Look at watch, and say a simple, 'Well, I gotta move on."
Advice from an old family in the community:
"Though someone has died, the cows still have to be milked, and the chickens have to be fed."
That statement does NOT reflect a crass attitude; it mirrors reality. We survive, and eventually move on.
Death Seems Inevitable; Stage Four Cancer Consequences: Surviving Spouse Counsel; Visit Spouse's grave often
Advice to a surviving spouse: visit the grave often.
These visits seem to help me contain my anticipation that Wife is coming home, or will be at the next stop, or in bed when I arrive.
The grave is REAL; That pile of dirt and flowers tell me that she AIN'T. COMING. BACK. My crying fits and feeling sorry for myself (which still happen often) WON'T. BRING. HER. BACK.
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