Double Jeopardy

A year ago today on Oct 16, 2008 is when I found out my dad had cancer. It was the same day my company's new laptops came out. It's weird how I associate these two. It also sucks because every time I see one I literally see the words DADDY HAS CANCER flashing across the screen.

His journey with cancer started off as a misdiagnosis of ACID REFLUX ! Way to go Doc. Last summer he had trouble swallowing and would often get what we call the "vurps" and wasn't feeling too great. The doctor told him to keep taking his Prilosec. Yea. Good call. He then went in for a stress test and numbers were elevated or something so they said HEART ATTACK ...and sent him in an ambulance to the local hospital (which doubles as a building full of no useful info whatsoever). Wherein this building they did no MRI / Cat Scan , nothing but an EKG, and OH MY !! No signs of cardiac arrest.

Gregory and I finally talked him into going to see a different doctor, and that's when they found the esophageal cancer. Stage 3. Invasive. 8 to 18 months with chemo. Today marks a year since I heard those words from my mother, standing in a parking lot where they had come by work to tell me what they didn't want to tell me over the phone. One year since my father's eyes hid behind the same brand of sunglasses that we have both had on while we held each other silently, each one of us fighting off the tears harder than the other. So alike, he and I. I am my father's daughter. One year and my daddy is still alive. Alive, but not well.

I can see where the cancer has taken it's toll. He has lost and gained weight, he has lost hair. He tires easily. I usually find him in his recliner, either reading or sleeping. A week or so ago I went down to do the fall hedge trimming and other assorted chores that Gregory and I would always help him do. Except this year I did it all myself. My mom helped by doing some raking, but she's almost 68 years old and can only do so much herself before tiring. She told me after about 30 minutes of work that my dad was inside crying because he couldn't help his daughter. I don't think I could have pierced my heart with the gas hedge trimmer I was wielding and made it hurt more than knowing that my daddy was crying. I managed to cover up my sobs with the whine of the trimmer and soaked up the tears on my gloves.

Mom, there's some things I don't need to know.

When I found out my dad had cancer, I was stunned. I left work early and went straight home to Gregory , who I told face to face and then we held each other and cried for just a minute until he said "Pops is strong, he will beat this and we have to be strong for him." He was devastated. He loved my dad and felt closer to him than he did his own, who was abusive to him in so many ways. He once told my dad that he never had a father, and asked him to be the one he never had. Sure, they didn't always get along, I mean really?? What daddy get's on with his #1 girl's man 100% of the time? But oh how G loved my daddy, and I was so happy that finally the two men in my life were on the same page.

I did some grieving of my own, but I try to put on a brave happy face when I am around my dad. I go to his doctor's appointments, but sometimes he wants me to leave the room when the doctor comes in to talk to us. I understand, he just wants to protect his baby.

So I kept moving through life, working, taking care of my husband and stepson, helping my parents with things that needed doing, and talking to my mom and dad 2-3 times a day and googling and web-md'ing what I could find about esophageal cancer.

And then my Gregory died.

And the little part of my life that the cancer grief had wedged itself into exploded. Then imploded.

I am grieving the death of my husband. My husband was a recovering / non-recovering alcoholic. The contents of a bottle of vodka were too strong for him to resist. A little fall , a black eye , him walking around laughing and goofing with me as usual? That turned into a slow bleed that killed him after he was fine for several days. The doctors call it "talk and die" syndrome. His liver was so messed up his blood wouldn't clot. Type 2 diabetes didn't help. So he died. And part of me went with him and I will never, ever be the same.

I am grieving the impending death of my father. There is no cure. There is no hope. The man smoked for 50 years. He got cancer. The cigarettes that he loved are coming back in the form of cancerous cells that are killing him. And I am scared to death to lose my daddy.

But I think I'm scared for me too. I'm scared that I have poured so much of myself into grieving for Gregory that I haven't given myself the time or space to deal with the fact that my daddy is going to die.

And then it's just me and my mom. And what is she gonna do? That's gonna leave me as the strong one. The one who handles things. The one.

I don't want to be the one.

I want to be Kim.

I want my husband.

I want my daddy.

I want my life back.

I haven't done anything wrong.

I thought cruel and unusual punishment was against our constitution.

I thought double jeopardy wasn't allowed.

I want my pardon.

I want my happy ending.

Shared paths.....

"I will not fail you, my love. I will continue on the path we shared and I know you will be there to help me, as you always were. And when we meet again at the journey’s end, and we laugh together once more, I will have a thousand things to tell you."
-Unknown

20th

Three months. Damm.


Death is nothing at all.

I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
that we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference in your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort,
without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolutely unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind,
because I am out of sight?

I am waiting for you,
for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just around the corner.

All is well.


Henry Scott Holland
1847-1915
Canon of St. Paul’s Cathedral

Hockey pucks

“How do you feel?”

Someone asked me that today. Well intentioned. But I hate that question.

I answered with my usual “OK” and smiled. HA ! Got by that one….

But really, I don’t know how I feel. Not regularly. I can give you ten second increments, but who knows what memory or feeling is lurking around the next thought in my head?? And that damn Lecter fella is always floating around somewhere like a bad fart.

Actually, I feel like a hockey puck. I’ve been dropped, stepped on, kicked, and I go from heretothereandtheretohere with the intensity of what feels like someone smacking me with a stick.

Take today. I had a fairly decent morning and a short pleasurably easy shift at work. I was looking forward to watching the Belmont on DVR and I purposefully stayed away from Twitter, Facebook and the interwebz in general so I wouldn’t know the outcome. Then I got off work.

I got in the car, cranked up and started heading home. And HEY there that bad fart was !! I literally had to stop in the parking lot, repark and regain my composure so I could drive. Then I cried all the way home. WTF? Really?
Yes, really. I managed to make it home, calmed myself , took a hot bath and watched the race. That helped.

Now I’m blogging. I’m sure it’s getting tedious listening to me whine about my life in between highs of baseball and shopping, but it is what it is.

I am a hockey puck. All black and dark and bouncing around this life when I would like to be doing nothing better than just hanging out with bright shiny hot pink hockey pucks that live a bright and shiny happy pink hockey puck life.

But I’ll play this game Lecter. And in the end, I’ll beat you.

Ooops.

Guess I'd better be buying a ninja suit and a shovel with a non-reflective handle. Hee hee.





Section 13A-7-23.1
Desecration, defacement, etc., of memorial of dead; invasion or mutilation of corpse.

(a) Any person who willfully or maliciously injures, defaces, removes or destroys any tomb, monument, gravestone or other memorial of the dead, or any fence or any inclosure about any tomb, monument, gravestone or memorial, or who willfully and wrongfully destroys, removes, cuts, breaks or injures any tree, shrub, plant, flower, decoration, or other real or personal property within any cemetery or graveyard shall be guilty of a Class A misdemeanor.

(b) Any person who willfully or maliciously desecrates, injures, defaces, removes, or destroys any tomb, monument, structure, or container of human remains, and invades or mutilates the human corpse or remains shall be guilty of a Class C felony and upon conviction the person shall be punished as provided by law. Any person who maliciously desecrates an American Indian place of burial or funerary objects on property not owned by the person shall be guilty of a Class C felony and upon conviction the person shall be punished as provided by law.

(c) The provisions of subsections (a) and (b) of this section shall not apply to any person holding a permit issued by the Alabama Historical Commission pursuant to subsection (d) of this section.

(d) The Alabama Historical Commission, to provide for the lawful preservation, investigation, restoration, or relocation of human burial remains, human skeletal remains, or funerary objects, shall promulgate rules and regulations for the issuance of a permit and may issue a permit to persons or companies who seek to restore, preserve or relocate human burial remains, human skeletal remains, funerary objects, or otherwise disturb, a place of burial.
(Acts 1980, No. 80-706, p. 1424; Acts 1993, No. 93-770, §1; Acts 1993, 1st Ex. Sess., No. 93-905, p. 201, §1.)

Funny the way it is....

This pretty much explains how I'm feeling today....thanks David J.....

Decoration (AKA Hell Saturday)

Today was "decoration" at the cemetery where 25% of my husband is buried. Apparently, it is an old tradition that requires family members to take flowers out to the grave, and then you make a donation to the groundskeepers fund, and eat, etc,etc. I don't recall doing this when I was younger, but then again, I've never been a big fan of the marble orchard.

I went because I am "the widow" and it's the proper thing to do, and because there was no one else available to take my mother-in-law, even though their family is about 10x the size of mine. (bites tongue)

I awoke at the proper time, got ready, and headed to the florist that we have used for years to pick up my flowers. I had taken a picture of the urn thingy there, had told them specifically what I wanted and had even picked out the flowers and greenery. It was nice latex and almost real looking stuff, none of that plastic dollar store crap for my Gregory. So I get there, amass the rush of Mother's Day flowers and deliveries, and the owner says "Hi Kim, how are you? What can I help you with?"

Then she gets a look on her face like she just ate a rotten lemon. "OH MY GOD IS THAT TODAY???"

Well !#^@%#^&#*. This is a GLOOOOOORIOUS start to my Saturday. She apologizes profusely and tries to give me some cheapy looking rainbow colored urn arrangement, and I managed to keep my cool and say "no thank you" and left.

I then spent the next hour stopping at every florist, Hobbby Lobby, flowery type place I could find. I finally found something that would just "have to do" at a Home Accents store. Oh I was ill as a hornet, as I am sure you can imagine. Which in turn initiated a skull splitting headache and my gastrointestinal system to turn against me. Multiple bathroom stops, three advils and lots of cursing finally got me to my MIL's much later than anticipated.

Oh and did I tell you it was a FRIGGING MONSOON?

By the time we got out to there the rain had slacked up, thank god because I had to put flowers my MIL got on every relative I think has ever existed, some I never heard of. We stayed out there for a few until it started raining again, and I took her home, said I had to get, and headed out.

I decided to run through town and stop at a little store that I have been wanting to go to, so I did, and then I tried to take a different way back to the interstate. This town has four exits that lead to downtown, surely I could meander my way out?

Oh no, I got LOST !! Yes, with a GPS in my car , and one on my phone, I was driving around Cullman County aimlessly. I knew when I saw cows I had problems. You would think at this point I would have lost it. Amazingly enough, I was remarkably calm. Calm in that talking to yourself in a high pitched voice and white-knuckling the steering wheel, but calm none the less. My stomach and head were even cooperating and had politely excused themselves from the situation. I managed to finally luck myself back to the interstate where I headed southbound, fast.

About 20 miles down the road, I had to tinkle. So I stopped, did that, and decided I would get gas. And along the road I went.

When I got back to Bham I decided I needed a cocktail so I stopped to grab a bite to eat and a drink, and then I realized that I didn't have MY CHECK CARD. @#$#^!*!* And I knew right where it was. Sitting on the top of the gas pump, along with the Coke Zero I bought. So I spent twenty minutes on the phone with Wachovia, who are sending me another card forthwith, and I used my other check card. Thank god I have two accounts with two different cards or I would have up the proverbial creek without a paddle. All of this because I left my purse at home and just took my little wallet thingy that only holds a few cards and my id. Everything else, at home. Grrrr. Luckily no one used my card and it is now inactive.

So I then "hit the road again" and decided I would run by the store to pick up a few groceries. And WINE. Which I plan to be enjoying as soon as I finish this post.

I then came home, got the jeep and the boys and went to the nursery to get daylilies to plant around the base of Gregory's tree. Nothing like digging in the dirt to ease one's frustrations. They look very nice and that made me happy and kind of made up for the Saturday from hell.

I hope your Saturday was better, and hope everyone enjoy's Mothers Day.....and just so you know, I'm going to the nice flower place next week and start making my own arrangement for Gregory for summer. I guess if you want something done, you really do have to do it yourself.

The orange ones are the ones that I grabbed in a rush.......they don't look too terribly bad, but still.....and the ones on the left are from my MIL.

Cinco de Groupo....

Yesterday I went to my "surviving spouses" group. I'll admit , I was apprehensive at first. Even nervous. I actually still am.

It was OK. I can't say good, because really, no one wanted to be there. But it wasn't bad either. I guess it just was.

We ate , then did the circle sit and had to tell a bit about ourselves and what brought us there. I did ok, didn't collapse into a wailing heap. Thank God. Some people did, and one person couldn't even talk. Ouch.

One of the things they suggested we do is "journaling", where we write down our feelings and thoughts,etc,etc. Well, I think I'll say I jumped right to the head of the class right there. Cause basically, this is just a journal....in electronic form.

And it does help. Alot.

Not sure if I told them that.

Oh, I was the youngest one there. Yes, uncomfy much? No Twitterers, Facebookers or Bloggers. One person said they had NEVER BEEN ON THE INTERNET. Eeeek!

So I will go back next week and see if it "fits" better. We shall see. I'm still more comfy with my one-on-one person that I see (hi!!), but I'll do both and see where it takes me.

The last time I sat around in a circle and talked about myself, the other half of me was sitting next to me holding my hand.

I missed that last night. I guess I always will.

Me-mes....

Alot of people that have recently met me and started reading my blog can only define me as "Kim whose husband Gregory died."

Even though that is unfortunately a HUGE part of who I am now, there's a lot of other things about me that make me who I am as a person. Many of them I like, many of them I don't. But all in all, it's all me.

So here's kind of a bullet list of things about Kim.....


* I was born in Mississippi but grew up in Singapore, because my dad was in oil.

* My dad also grew up overseas. In Liberia. He had monkeys, elephants and such for pets. What a life.

* I was born two days after Camille, lived through a tornado tearing my parent's house apart in 2004, made it through Katrina, was in a boat that was struck by lightning and have survived a monsoon or two. If the weather gets bad you may want to get away from me. Far, far away.

* When I was 3 I fell off the roof of our house and almost "PUT MY EYE OUT."

* I loved Singapore and am so thrilled to be reconnecting with friends from there thru the interwebz. Yay interwebz!

*Upon moving back from S'pore I lived in Poplarville, MS until 2005. I miss my friends but again, the miracle of the interwebz is bringing us together !

* My mom is deathly afraid of animals but has always let me have a dog. Thanks Mom.

* When I was 13 I walked through a sliding glass door and had 182 stitches in my legs and face. Oh and plastic surgery.

* I have trekked in Nepal, camped in the Australian outback and walked along the Great Wall of China.

* I have also been to about every country I can think of.

* But I've never been to the Grand Canyon.

* My dad played pro football for the 49ers for a few years.

* I have always struggled with weight - up/down/up/down. But I'm ok with that now.

* I have an older brother whom I adore - Hi Alya !!

* I used to be a cop. Near the end, I HATED IT. I wasn't actually thrilled with the circumstances of my leaving law enforcement but it was the best thing that happened to be professionally.

* I am now a computer nerd and I LOVE IT. I LOVE going to work. Except when I'm in a funk, and getting there usually alleviates that.

* I am obsessed with the weather. I wish I was a meteorologist.

* I miss my grandparents now more than ever. I wish my Papaw was here to guide me.

* Speaking of my Papaw, he didn't speak english until he was 12. Only french..and my dad was born in NOLA...so technically I'm a cajun girl.

* I have no musical talent whatsoever. I can't draw, I can't sing, I can't dance. Somewhere in the gene pool I lost out.

* I love t-shirts. Any cool restaurant, bar, visiting place, if you've got a cool t-shirt, it will be mine.

* At Mardi Gras and parades in general, my friends used to call me the bead whore. I never flashed for any, but I was good at getting them !

* I love jello shots.

* I am having a hard time watching my Daddy fight cancer but I can't stand to not be around him.

* I am mad at God and the world in general, but especially me, for taking my Husband away.

* I am trying very hard to deal with the thing above. Not so easy.

There's alot more that I am sure I will add, but I'll leave that for another post.

Happy Wednesday everyone.

Oh and one more thing.

* I love my husband.

Still here

I'm still here. Barely. Waking, breathing, the basics. I'm trying to put together a blog post about it all, it's just not coming out as well as I'd like. But soon , I hope.

I never knew there could be such all-consuming pain.