I know, sharing too much again, right?
Oh well. Anyone doesn't want to know my thoughts - - don't read my blog.
If you care enough to read it, then these are the thoughts and emotions of my heart & mind on this grief walk.
Yesterday, well, more than just yesterday.
But yesterday intensely.
I missed having a bed.
I missed everything about having a bed.
To start with a bare mattress.
Pop those clean sheets across the bed.
Oh the smell! The sound!
Pull the fitted sheet tight about the corners.
Smooth out all the wrinkles.
Lay the flat sheet on top, and unfold - I always unfolded carefully to capture the memory of the smell.
Spread the flat sheet across the bed. I like to get it even on both sides.
Lay the blanket on top of the flat sheet.
Spread it out.
Now, tuck the sheet & blanket at the foot - just like my brother showed me.
No wrinkles as I look at the bed.
Now comes the quilt or bed spread.
Fresh pillowcases on the pillows.
Next the pillows in the shams to make the bed look complete.
Will I put a special pillow in the middle or a treasured keepsake?
-One of my favorite parts...walk out of the room, turn around and walk back into the room.
Just stand there a moment and see the finished efforts.
Think about all it represents.
-if blessed to share the bed, then it means pillow talking, sweet kisses, arms and legs entangled at 2 a.m., and "more".
But what I missed the most yesterday?
Just having a bed to make up every morning ...
and turn down every night.
I loved being a homemaker / housewife.
There was nothing demeaning in either of those words, nor the responsibilities that came with the words.
After 3 years of Rick being hurt and on dialysis, and me not sleeping in the bed much at all because he was not comfortable enough alone, let alone with me in the bed ...
After 3 years of sleeping in a borrowed recliner and/or couch ...
I would think that having a bed wouldn't even matter any more.
I wait with bated breath for that day.
There are moments that remind me in a terrible, vivid, almost cruel way, of all that I lost when Rick died.
Sadly, yesterday was one of those moments.
However, I knew what the gut punch was all about.
So, I allowed the grief to wash over me, the damn tears to come, the ragged breathing.
For a few moments - thankfully being alone.
Then, I got angry ... angry that so much has been taken from me.
It wasn't enough that I had to give up my husband, my best friend, my lover, my confidant.
No, that wasn't enough.
Yes, I am thankful for all the years that we shared together.
No, he didn't deserve the pain and suffering that he went thru those last 3 years.
It wasn't enough.
No, I had to surrender our home.
99% of our possessions.
Leaving me penniless.
What did I do to deserve this nightmare of what is called "life" now?
I refused to wallow in the grief - grief of losing Rick, or grief in all the stuff I have lost.
I took a deep breath.
Wiped my tears away.
Screamed silently yet deeply from within my heart and soul.
And I pressed forward into the day.
Sometimes I wonder which is worse, allowing the grief to come and perhaps work a small step forward in dealing with it all ...
or the questions from others about "what is wrong"?
Knowing full well that if I try to explain the quietness, I will come undone completely.
Life goes on.
Even when we don't want it to, nor when we care whether it does or not.
Life goes on.
I miss a bed. :(
I have heard so many times, "Just get one!"
If only it were that easy, don't you think I would have already done that?
I have yet to find a place that I can afford with little money.
Not for lack of looking.
Always on the alert for something.
I am so thankful for family and friends that have taken me in for these 3 years and allowed me their recliner and/or couch.
However, I am not stupid.
I know that others get tired of having me in their homes.
Of making plans around me.
Or of not making plans because of me.
I realize what my presence in someone else's home costs them.
Having had a home of my own for 35 years, and having had many house guests over those years -
I try to remember all the good things (and all the bad things).
I do my very best to incorporate the good things and stay far from the bad things.
However, I know after a time, a house guest becomes a house "pest".
Life is so limited when you are 57 years old, with no vehicle, no permanent address, no utility bills in your name.
As well as having no personal items save for my clothes and a handful of treasures from the years before.
I am not sitting on my laurels waiting for someone (or God) to swoop in and rescue me.
I do not ask for that.
I do not expect that.
I know that if my life is to change, it shall be up to me to make it happen.
As I have said ... many sleepless hours, many torturous days of searching, looking, thinking.
I am not writing these words to illicit sympathy, nor help.
I am writing these words sharing the honesty of this life for me.
So why "Scattered Feathers" ? ? ?
You can read it here