Tinged With Sadness

I'm having a rough time of it this cycle. My PMS is out of control and my mood keeps swinging all over the place. I go from being perfectly calm and content in one minute to feeling sad and like nobody cares about me in the next, and I'm in a state of constant irritation at my husband. Most of these feelings are completely irrational, but some aren't--I do have reasons to feel sad, and I think it's probably healthier to acknowledge them than to shrug them off and chalk it all up to wacky hormones.

It's frustrating because this is my favorite time of year. I love fall, I love the weather we're having right now, I love pumpkin season and I'm eating and drinking pumpkin-flavored everything and loving that, too. I also love Halloween, although it's definitely one of those holidays that are more fun with kids than without, especially when you're beyond the partying stage (although I don't think I ever really had much of a partying stage). Even so, it's always been my favorite holiday, even more than Christmas, because for me it's all about fun and nostalgia for the good things about my childhood.

I was thinking to myself the other day that I love Halloween so much because it's not tinged with sadness and loneliness the way Christmas often is. But then I remembered that Emma's due date fell around Halloween of last year, and I realized that if I'd had her we'd most likely be planning her (or his--again, it was way too early to tell; I just have this feeling it was a girl) first birthday party as well as her first trick-or-treat outing. So there's that.

We're also right around the corner from having to face the first full set of holidays without Matt's parents. I keep thinking about last Thanksgiving, how that was the last time we got to be with both of them outside of a hospital, how happy and thankful we all were that Rob got released from his hospital stay in time to come home for Thanksgiving, and how none of us had any idea that in just a few weeks, Mom would be gone, and so would Rob just a couple of months later.

So this season is bittersweet. I'm trying to focus on the sweetness, but my hormones keep dredging up the bitterness. I want to curl up with a blanket and watch sad movies and eat all the chocolate, but instead I'm making myself stay busy (I opened up a new Etsy shop for all of the knitting and crocheting I've been doing lately) and stick to my diet and workout plan, and that's helping. I'm also praying a lot, which also helps. And every now and then I let myself have a good cry, and a little chocolate, and I remind myself that I just need to hang in there, because this cycle is almost over and then my thought patterns and coping abilities will be back to normal, at least for a week or two, and then my husband can stop sleeping with one eye open.

Mother's Day

Today is a tough one, I won't lie. There's just so much to be sad about today: missing Matt's mom who's no longer with us, missing our babies who never got to be with us, and that heartbreaking longing that I battle every day seems to be cutting just a bit deeper.

We're trying to stay distracted and keep our minds occupied with less upsetting things, treating this like just another day. Matt's reading, and I've caught up on my shows for the week, and I have writing and housekeeping to keep me busy for the rest of the day. And yet I still have to call my mom and wish her a happy day and thank her for being awesome.

I received a really touching text message from my Big Sis, saying that she thinks it's appropriate to tell me Happy Mother's Day, that I am and will be a great mom. It made me cry--just typing that is making me tear up all over again--but in the good way. Well, in a mixed-feeling kind of way, really, but mostly good. It definitely feels good to have someone acknowledge my children. I might not have given birth to them or had the opportunity to see or touch them, but that makes them no less real to me. It always helps when other people acknowledge them as real, too.

So here's to the moms out there today, but here's also to the forgotten, those who have lost their moms, and who've lost their children, who are still fighting their own personal hell in the battle to become mothers, and those who have retreated from the battlefield to nurse their wounds and find a way to carry on in the face of shattered dreams. You are not forgotten, and you are not alone.

Grownup

If there's one truly positive thing to come out of the last couple of years' worth of turmoil, I think it's that I've finally learned to put away childish things and have truly become a grownup. I think there are few things that force you into that role faster than becoming a caretaker to your parents -- whether your own parents or your spouse's -- and being the one responsible for their estate after they die.

(I know you probably thought I was going to say losing your babies. That definitely contributed; but after that ordeal I felt more like a child who needed her mother than like a parent or a caretaker of anything.)

I was 22 when my dad died. Technically and legally an adult, but still very much a child. I reacted to his death as a child, and I still had my mom to take care of everything, to take care of me, and I had all of my siblings to share the load.

But with the death of Matt's mom, there wasn't anybody else to take care of things, or of us. We had to step up and get everything done, and take over caring for Matt's step-dad, making sure he was provided for and had everything he needed, and that he was coping with the loss. And then, shortly afterward, he passed too, leaving us with even more to deal with.

I think the day I became a grownup was shortly after Christmas, when we were still cleaning out Mom and Rob's apartment and getting Rob transitioned into the nursing home, when I had an epiphany. And that epiphany was this:

There is no magical moment where being an adult suddenly becomes easy, where the Grownup Fairy swoops down and imbues you with magical Grownup powers. Instead, you're grown up when you realize this, that it will never get easier, but you keep doing it anyway because it has to be done. As much as your parents made it look easy, that's just because they shielded you from how hard it really was for them. And if anything, it's just going to get harder.

I know that now, and I've stopped waiting for that magic switch to flip and suddenly make me some kind of Grownup Superwoman who can handle all of these responsibilities and trials with ease. I know it won't get easier, but I also know that I can handle it, that I AM strong enough, that I can cope. And that, Lord willing, I will be a kick-ass parent if He ever allows it.

I think knowing and accepting this truth is what has made me a grownup at last.

365: 3

Today I got dressed for going to the clinic to have blood drawn and renew my thyroid med:

Stats: 
Weight - 189, according to the clinic scales
Mood -  A little tired, but okay
Bathroom - beggin' for a cleanin'

I weighed myself at home right before I left for the clinic, and my scales read about 184 (see, this kind of fluctuation is why I don't weigh daily). So I guess from now on I should just add five pounds to whatever my crappy cheap bathroom scales read for accuracy. At least it's not a 10 pound difference like I originally thought.

The other not-so-fun thing I did today: picked up Rob's cremains from the funeral home. Yes, it's been almost two months. I don't know how long they've been ready for pickup, but nobody ever called to notify us. And we kept putting off calling them, because... well, because we just needed a break from sad business for a while. But now he's home, and his ashes are being kept next to Gina's, just like he wanted.

38

You guys have no idea how much I wanted to be able to write a positive post today, about this being my new New Year and starting over with a clean slate and looking forward and blah blah blah happy birthday cake.

But instead today I'm full of grief and sadness. One of the first things I did after I got up was to burst into tears in the kitchen, standing there bawling over my coffee while my husband is at the other end of the house, oblivious to my little breakdown. I finally had to log in to blog about it because that was the only way I could get myself to stop crying.

Part of the problem is that, for some reason, Matt decided to get me up at nine. I stayed up till two this morning and was counting on being able to sleep in till at least 10, because it's my birthday. He said he thought I'd want him to get me up because we need to start turning our sleep schedules around so we can start going to church again, but BIRTHDAYS ARE NOT DAYS FOR DOING THAT! I'd have dealt with it better if this wasn't the third or fourth night in a row that I didn't get more than six or seven hours of sleep, but it is, and it's all catching up to me and making me feel really fragile.

And part of it is that it hit me that I didn't get my yearly birthday card signed "Mom, Rob & Bobo," and that I'll never get that card again, and my mom-in-law won't be calling me to wish me happy birthday and make plans to get together to give me my gift. That's actually a big part of it. I miss my in-laws, and their cat, and I hate hate hate that they're all gone, that half of our family just doesn't exist anymore.

Of course, the bulk of it is simply that birthdays are hard when you're over 35 and you're having reproductive problems and you want kids more than anything else in the world. Every day that you're not pregnant you're aware of that clock ticking away, that little whisper that you're running out of time, and birthdays are the stroke of twelve on the clock, the big bong clanging in your ear and screaming that your risk factors just multiplied and your chances of having a healthy baby before time runs out completely just went down a percentage.

I keep reminding myself that my mom had my little sister at 38, and everything was fine. But mom didn't have my history, and she'd already had three healthy children by that point, which keeps that from being as comforting as it could be.

I see birthday messages piling up on Facebook. It's helping me feel cared for and loved, but it's also making me feel bad that I can't say, "Yes, I AM having a happy birthday, thanks!" But maybe it's not too late for that. Writing all of this has already helped me feel a little better. I was going to do some work on my blogging course today, but I think I'm just going to take the day off and read a book or something. I haven't had time to read a book in ages. We've been debating whether to do my birthday sushi night tonight or wait for the weekend, but I think I'll push for tonight. And maybe later I'll take a nap and then work out, and then my outlook will be better, and I can get to that Happy Birthday New Year Clean Slate place. Maybe.

Tearballs

Tomorrow will mark a full week of Project Oven Repair, a full week during which I've had no sweets and 95% of my meals have consisted mainly of vegetables and lean protein, I've been taking prenatal vitamins and tons of fish oil, and I've been working out consistently; and I have to say that, physically, I'm already feeling about a million times better. I have more energy, I'm sleeping better, and I'm pretty sure I've lost a couple of pounds.

And of course this is having a positive impact on my emotional state. I'm still weepy, but I'm feeling more hopeful about everything, and better able to cope. With everything that's happened lately, I expect that it will take more than a new diet to get past the sad days. There's just so much to be sad about, and it hits us both in waves. Like yesterday, when out of the blue I started crying over Bobo, which led to more crying over Rob, which led to still more crying over Mom. It was a crying snowball. A tearball. Or maybe more like a snot ball. Anyway, I cried. A lot.

And then somebody compliments my song, or tells me that they're praying about the baby situation, and that makes me weepy, too. And next week, of course, is the anniversary that I'm struggling with. I'd make plans to do something nice for myself on that day, but I'm not sure which day to do it on, since it was drawn out over 4 days. On the 29th I started spotting, on the 31st I got the ultrasound that confirmed the miscarriage, and on April 1st I had the D&C. Talk about April Fool's.

So which of those days actually counts as the anniversary? I guess if I have to pick one it would be anniversary of the D&C, since that finalized it. So I'm going to try to do something nice for myself that day, although I don't know what yet, since our funds are still pretty limited. Maybe I'll give myself a home pedicure. Lord knows my feet could use it.

You know, when this post started it was going to be all about my diet and what I'm doing to get healthy, but then it turned left at Albuquerque and headed straight for the sad place. Sigh.

Bobo

I knew when I woke up with a headache this morning that it wasn't going to be a good day.

Bobo, the kitty we inherited from mom and Rob, passed away today about noon. I checked on him when I got up, and could tell then that he probably wouldn't last through the day. I loved on him, but he seemed to want to be left alone. I debated whether we should leave it to nature or just put it on our credit card to take him to the vet and put an end to his suffering. I prayed about it, and asked the Lord to please take him quickly and not let him suffer if there was no hope for his recovery. About twenty minutes later, Matt went to check on him, and he was gone.

We wrapped him in his favorite blanket and took him to my mom's, out in the country, where we buried him next to our doggie Fizzgigg.

So it's been an emotional day, to say the least. Bobo was all that was left of Matt's family, and we got a lot of comfort from him before he started going downhill. But after Rob died, it seemed like Bobo just gave up the will to live.

After he stopped eating kibble, we were able to get him to eat tuna a few times, but then he stopped eating that, too. I started force-feeding him mashed up kibble through a syringe, which he hated. Yesterday, he took all of his food -- well, most of it; he kept trying to spit it out -- and he hung out with us instead of hiding out in my office. After a particularly nasty bout of diarrhea (in my office, all over the carpet), he even let me bathe him, and then he let me hold him, swaddled in a towel and cradled like a baby, to keep him warm while he dried off. When we went to bed last night I was still hopeful that he'd pull through. But like I said, all it took was one look at him this morning to realize how wrong I was.

He was a really sweet cat, and he had a perfectly happy life until his family and home were taken away. Matt and I tried our best to do right by him and let him know he was still loved, but it just wasn't enough. I hope he gets to go be with them now.

This Is How We're Doing

People keep asking how we're doing. I keep giving them a forced semi-cheerful "We're hanging in there" response, but the truth is that everything pretty much sucks right now. We're doing about as well as you'd expect anyone to be doing who's had a significant portion of their family wiped out in the space of two months.

By the grace of God, we ARE hanging in there, but I won't lie. We're both pretty depressed. And for these last few days, mine's been exacerbated by PMS, and Matt's is made worse by an impacted wisdom tooth that hurts like hell and that we can't afford to do anything about.

So far, this has been the hardest week, when everything we do takes so much more effort, and we're both feeling so tired and beat down, and he's in a lot of physical pain and I'm too hormonal to deal with any of it particularly well. There's been a lot of crying, and a LOT of sleeping, and a lot of just generally being grumpy at each other.

Of course, there's also been a lot of hugging and holding and praying and trying to make each other laugh. So it's not all dismal.

Bobo's not doing so great, either. In the last few weeks, right before Rob died, he had improved to the point that he'd pretty much settled in to be part of the family. His appetite was healthy and he was being social and seemed like he might actually be happy here.

Then, weirdly, the morning Rob died, before we even got the message, he started acting withdrawn and depressed, and he stopped eating. The first time he stopped eating, I didn't worry, because he was grossly obese and seriously needed to lose a lot of weight.

But now he's lost that weight and then some, and he's starting to waste away. He's 13 years old, and starting to exhibit other "old cat in the last stage of life" signs, like his fur has become grimy and started to fall out in large tufts. So we're not really sure if there's anything to be done for him, except to love him and make him comfortable and hope for the best. Yesterday he actually left my office and came out to be social, and drank some water. Today he did the same plus he ate a few bites of food, so I'm hopeful that this is a passing phase and he'll get better.

Although he loved Gina, he was clearly always Rob's cat, or rather, Rob was clearly HIS human. So I don't know if it's just a coincidence that he started going downhill so rapidly on the very day that Rob passed away, without any of us even knowing yet that he was gone (so it's not simply that he reacted to our mood). I don't know if I believe in some kind of psychic connection between people and their pets, but it certainly is a strange coincidence. At any rate, he's a really sweet kitty who's been through a really hard time, and I hope he gets better.

So that's how we're doing: not really so great. Hopefully the next time I post I'll have some good news to report for a change. I know we certainly could use some.

Rob

In case you haven't already heard, Matt's step-dad, Rob, followed Gina into eternity early yesterday morning.

At this point, I don't even know what to say. We're still recovering from the shock and coming to grips with the reality of the matter. Was it unexpected? Yes, and no. We both knew that it's pretty common for men, especially those who depended so much on their wives as Rob did, to not outlive their wives by very long. And with Rob's chronic health problems, this shouldn't come as a huge shock.

Still, we were hopeful that he'd have more years here with us. His health seemed to be improving, and so did his mood and his ability to cope with everything he was going through. So we certainly didn't expect it to happen this soon, or this suddenly.

It was too soon, and this is too much. We're still hurting from our mom's passing, and I don't know how we'll get through this, too.

But I know we will. We just have to let God pull us through.

And we have to find a way to look past how much we miss Rob and just be happy for him, that he's with his wife, and his Lord.

In Memorium

Thanks to the many, many people who pitched in to help us pull this off, we had the memorial service for my mom-in-law on Saturday. We held it at the church where she and Rob attended for decades until their health and financial problems prevented them from going. Almost everyone who knew and loved her came out for food and fellowship and remembering the life she left behind. A lot of stories were shared, some of which were kind of eye-opening for Matt and me, and it became clear that one thing about our mom is absolutely certain: she was loved.

Putting it all together was stressful, but it was worth it. I think Matt, Rob and I got some much needed closure, as did Gina's friends, and it felt good to say a proper goodbye, and to see first-hand that she's missed by so many. I know it wasn't quite the sort of service that she'd envisioned for herself, but I think she would have been happy with it. It was a low-key gathering of everyone she loved, who loved her, and there were some tears, but there was also a lot of laughter. It was more celebration than funeral, as we celebrated both the life she lived and the fact that she's gone home to the Lord and is free of the hardships of this life. I think it was all much more her style than a formal, tear-filled ceremony would have been.

Thanks again to everyone who came out, who shared Gina with us, and endless thanks to everyone whose donations and support made this happen. I'll be making time for thank you cards this weekend, so watch the mail for those to arrive some time next week.

Love to all,

Jeanie & Matt

Memorial Planning

This week has been better. Busy, but better. Busy because, believe it or not, taking three weeks off from your business to deal with your late mom-in-law's estate followed by a week of double-whammy sickness results in a big daggum pile of stuff that needs getting done. Shocking, I know. But at least we're both mostly over the crud now, so getting stuff done has gotten easier.

First things first: we've made arrangements for the memorial service. If you'd like to attend, it will be next Saturday, January 22nd, at 3:00 PM CST, in the fellowship hall at Southwood Bible Church here in Tulsa. We're asking people to bring, if possible, a snack, appetizer or dessert and a story or memory to share about Gina. But nobody will give you the stink-eye if you don't bring any food or don't want to speak.

I went shopping today for supplies for the service, and for a decent pair of pants for Rob to wear in public since, being a shut-in for the last however many years, all he had were sweat pants. I also bought supplies to make a picture collage to display at the service. We'll probably start on that tonight. My friend Erin wrote a really touching poem that we'll probably include somewhere in the collage.

Still debating on whether to do a program, or some kind of obituary hand-out. We also still need to get a nice urn. We were going to shop for that the other day after visiting Rob, but it's a depressing task and when the time came we just weren't in the mood to deal with it. Obviously, we're going to have to suck it up and get that done soon.

On a happy note, Rob's mood is improving. He's making friends at the nursing home and he told us the other day that he's starting to like it there.  Of course, he's still grieving pretty hard, but at least it's no longer compounded by depression over his new living situation. His birthday is tomorrow, so we'll be taking him some treats and letting him try his new pants on for size.

I wish Bobo was doing as well as Rob, but he's still hiding out in my office and not eating very much. He was so gigantically obese when we got him that I'm not too concerned yet. He's lost weight, but he can still stand to lose more. Before the month is out I'll do a proper introductory post about him. Hopefully with pictures, if I can get him to come out of hiding long enough to get a few.

It's Done

I haven't been this bone-tired in a long time, but it's a good kind of tired, because we are DONE with that apartment. I cleared out everything (except, of course, the furniture that the charity was supposed to pick up yesterday) and did a final walk-through with our video camera, since the office was closed. We'll have to drive by and drop off the keys tomorrow (I didn't have an envelope to put them in, since I didn't realize that the office would be closed), and then we'll never need to go there again.

Which is pretty bittersweet, actually. It was sad saying goodbye to Mom's apartment, because it felt like saying goodbye to her. It was a sad ending. Also, Matt lived in that same complex while we were dating, so every time we'd go visit Mom and Rob we'd drive by his old apartment and the courtyard out front where we spent a lot of time cuddling in the porch swing, and get nostalgic warm fuzzies. So that's gone, too. But we're nothing but happy to be able to mark the apartment off our monster To Do list once and for all.

We still need to take care of Rob's finances and social security, and notify Mom's bank of her death. We also still need to go through her address book and call all of her friends to make sure they know about her passing. And, of course, we still have to plan the memorial. But these are all things we can do at our own pace, so that the other areas of our lives can start getting back to normal. And I can finally get back to work next week. I won't be nearly as well rested as I would've been if December had gone according to plan (before all of this happened, I'd been planning to give myself a vacation from Christmas Eve through New Year's Day), but after not even having time to think about my business since the moment we found out about Mom's passing, it will still feel good to get back to it.

Of course, the old normal is gone for good. It will take a while yet to establish the new normal, getting back to a routine that includes regular visits to Rob and overseeing his care. And, of course, caring for his cat. It's going to take a long time for that empty, Mom-shaped hole in our lives to heal, and our lives will never be quite the same again.

And so it goes.....

Today was supposed to be the big day, the day that the charity would come and take away all of Mom's remaining furniture and clothing and miscellaneous other things that we have no use or space for so that we would never have to deal with it again, and then we could clean the apartment and get it all ready for the final walk-through tomorrow with the apartment manager.

Key phrase in that sentence: "supposed to"

Apparently, the charity we chose only has one truck driver, and that driver had some sort of accident, and that accident didn't seriously injure him, but it did take him out of commission for a while, and so that charity is no longer able to pick up Mom's stuff.

Apparently also, it is impossible to find a charity that picks up donations that has a truck available at the last minute on the last working day of the year. I know this because, after the Salvation Army explained that their trucks are all booked through mid-January, they gave me a list of all of the local charities that do pick-ups, and I called them all, and got the same answer from each and every one. And then I had an emotional meltdown in the middle of Mom's apartment, I am not ashamed to say.

But I'm better now. I cleared more space in our garage, so tomorrow we can bring the clothes and small appliances and other miscellany over here for storage until we have the time and energy to deal with it again. As for the rest of the furniture, the apartment manager will get to dispose of that at her discretion. I've had enough siblings work enough vacant apartment cleaning jobs to know that that stuff will still find good homes. And we were expecting the management to make up excuses to keep the cleaning deposit, anyway, so now we're saving them the trouble by giving them a real reason. Anyway, it's not like we didn't do everything in our power to be good stewards in this crappy, crappy situation.

Either way, tomorrow we'll be done with the apartment. Which is definitely bittersweet, but it will feel so good to cross that monster off of our to do list once and for all.

One day at a time

Slowly but surely, the mountain is closer to being conquered. It's still pretty dang big, though.

Yesterday, my mom came and helped me and Matt pack stuff up at the apartment. We bagged up a lot of stuff for the charity, and we packed a lot more stuff to bring over here and stash in the garage until Matt's ready to sort through it and make a final decision. There's still more to get -- for such a small apartment, and for two people who didn't own anything to speak of, they sure had a lot of stuff. But the charity is coming on Thursday to pick up the rest of the furniture and Mom's clothes, and I think one more afternoon of packing will take care of the rest. I hope. We're both really tired of going over there.

Today we stuck close to home to rest and recover. I ran some small errands, and spent the rest of the day on the phone, closing Mom's accounts and cancelling utilities. I told myself that today I would spend some time on the stationary bike and do some stretches, and that I'd stop eating fast food, but I'm so sore, and exercise is so hard, and fast food is so easy, and I'm so out of shape right now, but at the moment I'm too tired to care. And New Year's Day is right around the corner, and that's the official day to start doing healthy stuff again, right? So I'm off the hook for a few more days. Right? Riiiight.

Tomorrow, we can pick up Mom's cremains and death certificate from the funeral home, and I'll mail copies of the latter to her creditors. Other than that, I don't know what we'll be doing, but it will probably involve more packing and carrying.

Christmas Eve

Right now, my Christmas fantasy is that tomorrow Matt and I will sleep in as late as we want, wake up and do coffee and presents, and then spend the rest of the day in our PJs, snuggled on the couch watching movies and noshing on Christmas goodies, not having to leave the house for anything. Just resting.

But in reality we have to keep up what's become our daily routine of going to the apartment and then going to see Rob. We need to go to the apartment to gather the rest of Rob's things, and then go have Christmas with him at the nursing home and, hopefully, get him out of there for a little while and feed him some proper Christmas dinner.

That place is so depressing, you guys. I know beggars can't be choosers, but, dang. The staff seems friendly enough, but it's a depressing atmosphere. Rob has to have a roommate, and his half of the room, which is tiny, has no window, and the only window in the room is blocked by the curtain separating his half from his roommate's. We'll get some pictures on the wall and try to brighten it up for him, but it's so dreary there. We're both wishing so hard that there was another option. Rob is a survivor, and he's managing to maintain a pretty good attitude, all things considered, but he's seriously hurting. His entire world has been yanked out from under him, and I just wish we could do more to make it easier for him.

Right now we just need to focus on getting through tonight. It's been our Christmas Eve tradition to go over to Mom and Rob's, where she would make Chef Boyardee pizza, and we'd hang out and exchange gifts and watch old movies and eat pizza. We're missing that tradition, and we're missing Mom's pizza, but mostly, of course, we're missing Mom. Christmas Eve isn't supposed to hurt so much.

Today was full of good things and good people.

Rob got moved to a nursing home today. Hooray! We still have to go check it out and take his things to him, but we're all so relieved that he's finally out of the hospital and has a place to call home.

My mom, both my sisters and Li'l Sis's husband came over today to help us move the big stuff, so that's a huge item marked off our giant To Do list. Other than packing up Rob's things to take to him tomorrow, I think we'll be able to take a break from moving till after Christmas.

Speaking of Christmas, the "[Matt and Jean] WILL Have A Merry Christmas!" campaign is in full swing, with enough money already raised via the auction to send Mom off in style, and that's just the first item! I... I'm just speechless about that whole thing, and more than a little verklempt. I should also point out that I haven't had any time for work since all of this happened, and I have a feeling this auction will help to soften that blow. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to everyone involved.

The house is a big chaotic mess right now with furniture scattered haphazardly around the living room, and we're both totally beat, but our spirits are the highest they've been since we learned of Mom's passing, thanks to good news and good people.

Today has been better. Mostly.

Today the social worker told Rob that they think they found him a place, and now it's just a matter of waiting for a bed to open up. Of course, we weren't able to speak to the social workers ourselves and this is 2nd hand info through Rob, so we're taking it with a grain of salt, but crossing our fingers regardless.

On the bad news side, the apartment complex is holding Rob responsible for the remainder of the lease and planning to keep the pet and cleaning deposits despite the fact that their rent is paid up through the end of the month, because Mom had the audacity to die without giving 30 days written notice. I wish I could say that I'm shocked, but this is the same apartment complex that billed Matt for the smoke damage in his apartment, caused by a fire in the next building, that made his apartment unlivable, which was the reason he had to move in the first place. And that was the least of what they did to make his moving out a nightmare. So, no real surprises there.

By the way, if you're in Tulsa and looking for an apartment, don't live at Monaco Park. Or any of Leinbach Company's properties. Trust me on this.

My dear friend Erin Palette is coordinating a series of eBay auctions featuring some seriously cool geek paraphernalia, much of it Firefly/Serenity related, in the hopes of raising money to defray some of our costs and, hopefully, provide the funds to pay for a memorial service. The first item, a personalized, autographed and "smooched" copy of the hard to find "Bootleg" CD by Marian Call, is up for bid from now until through Christmas day. Erin is awesome for organizing this, and Marian Call is awesome for donating this CD. Much thanks and love from both of us to both of them.

Tomorrow is the Big Move Day, when some of my family are coming to help us move the furniture we're keeping from Mom's apartment to our home. There'll still be a lot of small stuff to pack up and move afterward, but getting the big stuff moved will be a load off. Hopefully Matt and I will both sleep better tonight than we did last night so we'll be well-rested for the big day.

So this is Christmas

This has been a long, depressing day. After getting the news about Rob's nursing home application rejections, we headed over to the apartment to pack up some more of Mom's things. Matt played the tape on the answering machine, and we discovered that the entire last conversation between Mom and Rob got recorded. Her voice sounded like she felt terrible, and she said she'd been up all night throwing up. Rob encouraged her to get to a clinic and get checked out, but she just told him not to worry, that she'd be fine, all she needed was to get some rest.

A lot of questions went through our minds while we listened to that conversation, but the primary one was, why didn't she call us? It was so typical of her to downplay her own symptoms, to not want to be a bother to anybody. Now it's haunting us both to think that if she'd just called us to tell us she was sick and needed some help, she might still be here with us.

I wish they'd done an autopsy to determine exactly how and when she died, because it's really frustrating to not know. The medical examiner just chalked it up to natural causes, and assumed a heart attack while she slept. Today is the first we heard of her being sick, of having any symptoms other than a cough. But if she was vomiting and feeling sick... did she have the flu? Did she have food poisoning? Was she having a blood sugar attack? There are so many possibilities, and they all point to something that could have been treated, something she could have been saved from if only she'd been a better communicator.

Side note: I think the fact that Rob forgot such an important fact regarding his wife's death says a lot about his competence.

We both just feel so frustrated right now. And tired. I can't believe Christmas is just a few days away. We haven't even had time to think about Christmas plans since this happened. Even if we get time to wrap our gifts, I doubt we'll have the energy. Our Christmas will probably bear a striking resemblance to this this year.

All the days are bleeding together, and I feel middle-aged.

The mountain is starting to look smaller.

We've secured help from my family for moving the big stuff. We're probably only keeping less than half of the furniture, and donating the rest to John 3:16 Mission. They'll come and collect the stuff that's going to them. There's still a ton of small stuff to pack and move. It's amazing how much stuff two people living in a tiny one-bedroom apartment could amass over the years. Matt and I have been going over there every day to pack up a carload's worth and bring it back here. It's sad and depressing work, watching that apartment grow emptier and emptier, looking less and less like the warm and welcoming home that his mother made it into.

Rob is still stuck in limbo in his hospital room, waiting for acceptance into a nursing home. We thought he'd get an answer on his application today, but so far there hasn't been any news. He's miserable, lonely and depressed, and he misses his wife, and his cat, and his home that he'll never be able to go back to. He needs prayer, y'all. We're praying that he'll be moved to his new home before Christmas.

I cleaned out the garage over the weekend, to make room to store Mom's things. I hauled off three truckloads of recycling that had accumulated in there over the last two years. In our defense, the reason it started to accumulate in the first place was because the alleged curb-side recycling program we subscribed to when we moved in never once picked up the recycling we left out at the curb. By the time we got fed up enough to cancel the program and demand our money back, it had already piled up to an overwhelming amount. After that, procrastination took hold. Of course, if I had known that there was a recycling center only two miles away, where all I had to do was pull the truck up and a swarm of workers would make all the recycling go away, without my even having to sort anything, I would have taken care of it much sooner. But I didn't know that. Now that I do, it won't become a problem again.

Today we're taking a break from packing and hospitals and empty apartments, to stay home and rest our bodies and answer e-mail and make phone calls. I set up a Facebook Community page about Mom's memorial service, so you can go there and "Like" the page if you want to stay informed about how & when that's coming together. Planning that is still the least pressing item on our To Do list, but I think we're ready to start thinking in that direction.

We still need to get power of attorney over Rob's finances so we can get his Social Security settled and set him up with his own bank account. We still need to do about a million little things to settle Mom's estate, but we're still waiting on the death certificate. I think once we get Rob settled, and get the apartment cleared out, the sense of urgency will be past and things will start to return to normal, or as normal as they can be when your loved one is permanently absent.

I want to say thanks again to everyone who's been reaching out to help, in ways both big and small. The big stuff is amazing, and we're so grateful, but you would be surprised how much the small things mean to us right now. So please don't apologize if you feel like your contribution "isn't much." It all means so, so much to us, we can't even tell you. In these heavy times even the smallest kindness does a great deal to lighten our hearts.

Gina Paula Harden Bauhaus Gray (1949 - 2010)

Mom had been nagging us for years to get her a print of this picture of her and Matt at our wedding. We've been slow (really slow) in having any special prints made of our wedding pictures, but I decided that we weren't going to make her wait any longer. I ordered an 8x10 and put it in a nice frame, and planned to give it to her for Christmas. I picked it up the day before (we think) she died.

I've never seen a more proud mother-of-the-groom than she was that day, and I think it probably ranked as one of the happiest days of her life. It's such a cliché,the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law not getting along; but we couldn't have been further from it. Gina always told me that I was the answer to her prayers for Matt. She made me feel cherished, and treated me like the daughter she never had. She wasn't just a mother-in-law to me. She was a second mommy, and I cherished her in return.

She was a tough lady, but this past year was one of the most challenging she'd ever faced. She went through losing her job, and then losing her eyesight, and those hindrances to being able to provide for her disabled husband weighed heavily on her. His failing health and hospital stays certainly didn't make things easier on her. She was so busy worrying about Rob, and about her eyes, that she neglected other things, like a cough that she assumed was nothing to be concerned about, at least not enough to make it a priority.

It seemed like things were starting to turn around. Rob's health was stabilizing, and she finally secured financial assistance for cataract surgery. Her first surgery was scheduled for this week. She was going to be able to see again by Christmas, and Rob was going to come home, and they were going to rest and hope for a better year.

It's one of mine and Matt's biggest regrets that we weren't able to help her more, to do more to make life easier for her and take away some of her burdens. But it's our comfort, as believers in Christ, to know that all of her burdens are lifted, and she can see perfectly now, and she has no more cough, no more diabetes, no more need to stick herself with needles every day. We're left behind to pick up the pieces and figure out how they fit without her as part of the picture, and that hurts. To say we miss her is a huge understatement. But we know we'll see her again, and it would be the ultimate in selfishness to wish her back to such a difficult life.

Your kids love you and miss you, Mom. Now it's time to rest.

I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow. 

-Jeremiah 31:13 (NIV)

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
You have loosed my sackcloth and girded me with gladness,
That my soul may sing praise to You and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give thanks to You forever. 

-Psalm 30:11-12 (NASB)