Infinite Universe...

 

It’s been a very long time since I wrote here.  It’s been almost a year since my husband left this earthly plane.  It’s been much longer since he was in our home, participating in the family life.

Grief is a curious thing.  It doesn’t look the same for any two people and it changes day by day.  I haven’t really wallowed in it yet because my focus has been on guiding my kids though it.  I’m sure, wherever he is, he’s rolling his eyes at me and telling me “Don’t be a martyr.”  I get it.  But I’m a mom and that’s what moms do.  We put our stuff in a box on a shelf while we tend to everyone else.  I’ll get to it later.

That said, I’ve gotten through one day at a time.  Each day, I wake with gratitude for each day.  Maybe that’s corny, but it’s true.  For the last year, I’ve been embraced by an army of people who love me and who continue to hold me up.  I tackle what I can – with their help – and keep looking forward.

He was the love of my life.  I spent a lifetime looking for him and we built a beautiful family together.  It’s not fair!  He was one of the best humans ever.  Tomorrow, I’ll wake with gratitude and positivity, but right now, I’m sad and angry, and disappointed.

So why am I writing now?  Because my brain is full and I have to hit the release valve.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been hit with books, movies, even cartoons about infinite alternate universes.  Most recently, I read The Midnight Library.  I picked it up (at the library, of course) because of its title.  I assumed it would be a light read.  I like libraries.  Surprisingly, there was a librarian and there were books, but it wasn’t about libraries at all.

The main character found herself jumping from life to life.  She was herself and knew most of the folks she encountered, but the details changed.  In one life, she was a famous rock star, in another, a scientist, she was a wife and mother, she lived all over the world and had adventures but relationships varied dramatically.  Her parents were alive in one but not in another.  Her brother had drastic changes from life to life.

She hopped from life to life in effort to choose the one she wanted.  Eventually she figured out that her decisions and choices had ripple effects on others in her world, so she went back to her original life with open eyes and a focus on that responsibility to make choices that are good for the whole community.

That sounds right to me.  Maybe, somewhere out there in the ethers, my husband and kids and I are living a happy life together.  I hope so. But since I’m here right now – in this life where I am figuring it out day by day, I will just continue to be grateful that I found that man, that we connected, joined hearts, and created a pretty great life together for the time we had.

I’ll wake up tomorrow and I’ll be grateful for the life I have.  I’m grateful for my home, my family, my friends, and all of the love that continues to flow my way.  I wish that for everyone. 

Viral Kindness...

I’ve talked about this so many times that you may be tired of hearing it.  You may not even believe it.  I don’t care because I believe it is a Universal Truth.  Good Is The Rule, Not The Exception.

It’s a simple truth, really.  Human beings are born without prejudice.  Babies don’t know about hate.  Those things are taught and passed down from others who have allowed fear, greed, and selfishness to infect their lives. 

In the last several years, we’ve allowed division to come between us – whether it’s political, economic, or cultural - the divide is great.  Add in a terrifying pandemic, the spotlight only seems to shine on the divide and it blinds us to the beautiful humanity that forges on quietly.  Those who continue to do the good and right things do so *because* they are good and right.  They’re not likely to be featured on the nightly news and that’s not important to them.

Good deeds have become trendy.  If people want to pay for the overpriced coffee drink of the person behind them at the drive through, I hope they feel good about themselves and continue to share kindness in other ways.  Let’s make THIS viral!

Over the last year, so many kind deeds have landed at my doorstep.  I’m grateful for every one and try to pay it forward in whatever way I can.  I don’t actually think I’m behaving differently than I have my entire life but maybe I’m a bit more mindful of it in the hopes that small acts of kindness - a nice word to a stranger, holding a door, or letting someone ahead of me in line – will plant a seed that will grow thoughout the world. 

The other day, I was at the dollar store, completing my transaction.  As I was picking up my bag, the man behind me wanted to pay for his 2 items with a hundred dollar bill and was told they couldn’t break it.  I still had my wallet out so I paid the $2.09.  He tried to decline but then gratefully accepted.  We walked out together, he held the door for me, and walked me to my car, while telling me that what he bought was ribbon for his wife’s craft project because he knew she needed more but wouldn’t have asked for it.  He left his jobsite early to get it for her and was just so happy telling me about her.  Those ten minutes I spent talking to him was quite a return on my two dollar investment. 

When I left there, I went to the post office, where there was a line.  There was a woman ahead of me and a woman behind me who clearly knew one another and were trying to talk but didn’t want to disturb the line.  I traded places with the woman behind me so they could chat.  It was a slow line, they included me in the conversation, then the man behind me joined in.  We all got something out of it while we were stuck there.  You know what happened next?  The man held the door for someone on his way out. 

This is my challenge to anyone reading this: open your eyes and look at people around you.  Smile.  Lend a hand if you can.  You don’t need to spend money to make a tiny ripple in another’s day. Just being seen can have a profound effect.  Give it a shot.

Keep your mask on.  Wash your hands.  Then do your part to make tiny steps toward making kindness go viral.

 

Bittersweet Thanksgiving...

I’ve always loved Thanksgiving for all the appropriate reasons – pie and leftover turkey sandwiches and such – but mostly because of the people.  In my life, Thanksgiving has always been a low commitment day of gathering and love.

I know that some people stress and worry over the dinner, the guest list, table decor and things I couldn’t care less about.  My experience has always been one of open doors, open arms, and open hearts.  Of course, there are favorite dishes, family recipes, and timing the turkey, but my focus has always been on ensuring there are enough chairs for everyone who may come.

I love pulling it together. As a young single girl, I’d gather friends who couldn’t travel to be with their family for a “homeless” thanksgiving.  That continued after my husband and I married, and everyone was welcome.  Often, there were paper plates and folding chairs, but there was always love. Bad jokes, old stories, sometimes forgotten cranberries.  Always love.

My husband rolled his eyes nearly every time I said it, but I often raised my glass to give thanks that “my blessings are greater than my stressings”. I stand by that.

There’s no denying that the last two years have been pretty awful. I lost my brother at the same time my husband was in a hospital bed. He was here last Thanksgiving but really too weak to enjoy it or even to join us at the table. Still, I considered myself blessed.

This year, I lost my husband. My children lost their father. My mother and a brother both had serious health scares. Many would say Thanksgiving isn’t important, but it is.  In the midst of the storm, we were held up and supported by people who love us and helped us get through. If that isn’t a reason for gratitude, then I don’t know what is.

I’m not cooking a turkey or setting a table this year.  Instead, I’m taking my girls on a road trip. We’ll spend a few days at the beach.  We’ll meet up with my husband’s brother, and we’ll share Thanksgiving with their 90+ grandmother (my girls’ great grandmother), their uncle, and cousins.  The South FL Cuban family that couldn’t be here for the funeral.  I expect some tears, but what I really expect is hugs, stories, laughter, and more hugs. Thanks Giving.

Certainly, it will be bittersweet but I believe it will be what we most need. I fully expect my husband to roll his eyes at me from the other side when I talk about my Attitude of Gratitude and say that my Blessing Are Greater Than My Stressings.  That’s OK.  I stand by it.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.  May your gravy overflow and your pie supply be abundant.

 

Patience Is A Virtue?...

Tom Petty told us that The Waiting was the hardest part but he sure couldn’t have seen the twenties coming our way.  I think I’ve always been a fairly patient person but 2020 and 2021 have tested – or strengthened – that in ways I never could have predicted.

Like most parents, I had to learn to navigate the pandemic with online schooling, with entertaining kids who could no longer hang with their friends and had to figure out the general protocols for the new world.  When my husband was hospitalized, I had to learn how to communicate with doctors and nurses in new ways.  I’m not sure I ever mastered any of those things, but I persisted.

I grew up knowing that I couldn’t control everything and that with time and patience, things tend to fall into place.  I also knew that while waiting, I could do something productive to pass the time.  I tried.  Man, did I try.  If I can’t do that, I can certainly do this. I was thwarted almost every step of the way.

I couldn’t heal my husband but thought I could get his car repaired.  Multiple trips to multiple mechanics left me thinking it couldn’t happen but the tenacity inside paid off when I found someone willing to take on the project.  That’s how I’ve gotten through.  Patience may be a virtue, but stubborn tenacity gets things done.  So I kept pushing.

And waiting.

The siding on our house was in terrible condition.  So I researched.  I made calls.  I hired a guy to do the job. Five months ago.  The contractor is still waiting for the supplies so he can do the work.  When you do siding, you usually have to do gutters, too.  So the gutter guy is also waiting for the siding to arrive.

Since I had to wait on siding, I thought I’d tackle the swimming pool.  I hired the guy to replace the liner in May.  We had to wait, once again, for the supplies to come in, so the liner wasn’t replaced until late July.  Once the pool was full of water, I realized the pump was no longer working.  So I hired a repair company in early August.  It’s mid October and the parts still haven’t arrived.

And so it goes.  I do what I can each day to get through each day. When I accomplish something, I allow myself a victory lap. As Guy Kawasaki once said, “Patience is the art of concealing your impatience”. There are a lot of encouraging quotes that intend to nudge one towards patience.  Some favorites include “A man who is a master of patience is master of everything else.” -  George Savile and “With love and patience, nothing is impossible.” – Daisuku Ikeda but I really think Mr. Kawasaki hit the nail on the head.

Patience may be a virtue, but the art of it is making it look like it’s not a struggle at all.  How am I doing?

 

Covid Took My Husband...

I’ve said it before (and was probably met with eye rolls) but it bears repeating.  Covid stole my husband.  My heart is broken. My family has been shattered by this and my glue supply is running short.

My patience with those who refuse to acknowledge the reality of this pandemic ran short a long time ago.  I’m angry but I do appreciate those of you who are “just exercising your rights as an American” to be so blatantly uncaring and closed-minded because I can more easily identify and avoid you now.

Let me be clear about this:  my husband’s death certificate does not mention Covid-19.  During his nearly year-long hospitalization journey, he had dozens of negative Covid tests.  Never once, during any of that testing, was he ever given the antibody test that I asked for repeatedly.  You see, I am certain that my entire household had Covid in December of 2019.  Of course, at this time, no one had ever heard of Covid and we thought we must have had the flu. 

Months went by before we learned about this pandemic and the common symptoms.  To a one, our experience matched – loss of taste, extended fevers, extreme exhaustion, etc. My daughters and I were otherwise healthy so we rallied with rest and time.  My husband, a kidney transplant recipient, was already compromised and wasn’t able to fight.  Of course, we didn’t know what we were fighting and there were plenty of things to blame.

You see, as a transplant recipient, he was on a plethora of anti-rejection medications.  Many of these have their own side effects.  He was not diabetic prior to transplant but one of his medications commonly brings about diabetes.  So when his legs were swelling and he was retaining fluid, that’s where the doctors’ attention went.  When his vision was failing, that was also blamed on medications.  When, after the nation was already on pandemic shutdown and he couldn’t go to a doctor’s office, we headed to the hospital.  Thanks to this new medical crisis, he walked in alone to the emergency room and was admitted.

That was the last time he walked without assistance.  Several swabs confirmed that he was not positive for Covid so he was parked in a room and barely touched.  Assumptions were made about his health without communicating with him.  There was no communication with me – his wife – and no questions were asked about what brought him there.  It was decided that this must be kidney failure, so surgery was scheduled to put in a dialysis port.  This surgery was postponed repeatedly because he had a high fever that wouldn’t break.  Test after test finally revealed fungal meningitis on his brain. A series of antibiotics were tried and tested until they found one that seemed to work. They proceeded with surgery and sent him home.

Let me just remind you that he was parked in a hospital room for weeks by himself.  At no point was he ever gotten out of bed and he received no physical therapy.  When he was wheeled from the hospital to the car, he fell.  We got him in the car, drove home, and he fell again.  Strangers in our neighborhood helped us get him into our house.  A home care nurse came and sent him right back to the hospital because he wasn’t safe at home.  Back in the hospital, fever returned and new tests revealed more about the infection he had and new – very expensive – IV medication was tried.  This would need to be administered by an infectious disease doctor and it became clear that he couldn’t safely exit or enter our home.  Another week went by – alone – while a physical therapy center that could accept him and administer the medication was found. 

Transfer to this center is the first time our daughters and I were able to see him in several weeks.  We transferred him to the PT home door.  Because of the pandemic, we couldn’t go inside, he couldn’t have visitors, and he was sent to quarantine with more nasal swabs and more time absolutely alone without physical therapy.  This was his life.  This was our life.  There were small steps forward.  There were occasional lights at the end of the tunnel, and he was finally able to return to his home.  In home physical therapy got him back on his feet with aid of a walker.

That sounds like progress, right?  Not really.  He never truly returned.  He’d lost about 150 lbs of muscle.  He was weak, he was depressed, he was terrified and he made several trips back and forth to different hospitals, for new reasons.  Always with isolation and very little communication.

Over time, more information about Covid was revealed and we were able to connect the dots.  The hard part was getting the doctors to see beyond the chart to actually see the man in the bed in front of them.  During a later hospitalization, visits were actually permitted.  I finally got a doctor to hear me and order tests that had been overlooked.  That’s when it was revealed that the man in the bed – my husband -  had suffered a handful of strokes.  Medication wasn’t being administered as it should be and that is why he was hallucinating and talking to people who weren’t there.

And so it went.  In and out of hospitals with no advocate.  A patient too weak to ask or answer questions.  Nurses too overwhelmed to see the human being in front of them and doctors too busy to care.

I realize how that last bit sounds.  I don’t blame doctors, nurses, or hospitals for the suffering my husband endured.  That blame lies squarely on the shoulders of a microscopic virus that invaded the globe and wreaked havoc on millions of people around the world.  Those millions had families and friends, and even total strangers who cared about them and who are lost without them.  I’m told that it’s OK to be angry at a virus.  But that doesn’t feel right.  My anger Is reserved for the selfish hordes who refuse to recognize that they have a part in this.

I have been vaccinated, my children have been vaccinated.  I still wear masks in public because I believe in science.  I believe in personal responsibility.  I believe that I AM my brother’s keeper.  If that small effort of covering my nose and mouth with a thin piece of cloth can protect the health of others, I’m cool with that.  If that small “sacrifice” allows my children to go to school, to see their friends, to have a regular life, count me in.

Know this, though:  If you are one of those folks who are too selfish, too important, too ignorant, too uncaring, etc. to give a damn about your fellow human beings, I see you.  I’ve taken note and will be backing away from you.  It’s really that simple.  It wasn't kidney disease, or meningitis, pancreatitis, or any other "itis" that took him away from us.  It was loneliness, isolation, exhaustion and sundry other things unleashed by Covid-19.  If you need a face to believe this is real, I'll send you a picture of my husband.