Profoundly Tired

I am so tired, Rex.
I wish you were here to make me laugh at myself. To give me a perspective, an outlook other than days and days of drudgery and dreariness.

Soon -- soon, it will be five years since you went so far away.

On my mind this year as these anniversaries approach is the memory of stopping at the gas station on the way home from making your arrangements, and picking up the phone to call you at home and see if you wanted me to bring you anything.

It makes me shake; this memory.
More than that doctor saying "this is end stage"
More than begging you to stay awake and aware and surviving at least until our girls, already on their way, got to you to say good-bye.
More than my anger at your other daughter who was detached from your dying process. Maybe I was doing some detachment of my own there, too. But I admit, it still makes me shaking angry the way that all worked out. (And the way our daughters were treated at her funeral too few months later, but that's another story.)

Yes, I see myself reaching for my phone, sitting there at the gas pumps, telling whoever was with me that I needed to call -- and then I dropped the phone.

There was no one at home to call.
To bring food or drink to.
To just say "hey, I'm on my way."

At the time I laughed at myself, and got my gas and went home, but inside I was shaken.
And shaking.

And now, I'm still shaking, but I'm not laughing.

I'm crying.

I'm tired of shaking, and crying, and laughing instead of crying because it's all ridiculous.
I'm tired of no one and everyone.
I'm tired of doing and not getting done.
I'm tired of waking and afraid of sleep.

I'm tired of responsibilty and duty and sometimres I'm tired of loving people. Loving people is so binding and I want to be unbound.

But not alone.
Not completely alone.
I've had a teeny bit too much of that. (I still require/adore great big splats of intense privacy.)

I need you.
But there is no you.
Here.

Here is where I am.

another birthday

Happy Birthday once again.

Are you celebrating, I wonder, with your brothers? The last one left this life today. Are y'all happy? Are y'all fighting? Enjoying yourselves with a shoutfest? Romping and Stomping.

Yeah, I kinda like thinking of you all together, and I hate it, too, because every one there is leaving big, huge, terrible holes in the everyday of people here.

Tonight Hailey proved she was yours (and her mother's, of course). We were leaving the park. It's not quite dark, and there's a big bright white gibbous-to-full moon.
"Oh," I said. "I can see the man in the moon tonight."
"There's a man in the moon?" Hailey says.
Warren shouts out, from the back seat, "It's a FACE! Mammaw, it's a face!"
I said, "Yes, it looks like a face. That's why we call it the man in the moon."

Hailey says,
Where? All I see are dots and shadows."

Yep.
She may look Ruhstaller, but that's her mommy in her.

Poor kid. 

Fit to be... Fit for Anything: Not Quite Anything

Fit to be... Fit for Anything: Not Quite Anything: Well, my fitness goals have had to undergo a few adjustments. They are not being abandoned, nor are they to be deemed completely impossible...

Thoughtful Day

Tuesday was the anniversary of keeping the final promise.
It was also the anniversary of Max's funeral arrangements being made.

Two sad days; too close together.

Tammy turned 30 this year.
She has so much of you in her. Working and pushing through and getting things done and loving and driving and --- oh, so many ways.

Warren will be 5 soon. He's much more chatty these days and closer to where he should be verbally. But he reminds me of you, too. He has your eyes (only a different color) and your grin, and your mischief. He has your mechanical inclinations. I'm pretty sure in a few more years he'll look at a broken something and rattle off tool dimensions. He wont look at directions. He'll get frustrated and mess things up then put everything back.

Hailey is wearing Tammy's clothes now, at least sometimes. She's not yet 10. She's such a good kid. But I miss the little her, too.
Of course, I miss little Tammy and little Tracy, too.
Even little Jeanie.
That's life, I guess.

My health is pretty stable for now. I had a bad bad spell at the start of the month. Couldn't breathe, couldn't stay awake, couldn't even lie down. That was scary. I have to prop myself up when I first go to bed, and then sort of slip down into a flat or almost flat sleep position.
You probably know more about that than I did. It's really strange to not be able to rest by lying down.
To be suffocated by my own self.

That situation has gotten better, thanks to  a doctor who knows what he's doing. I'm basing that on the results for me. Not well, but much, much better.

(If anyone missed it and is wondering, I wrote about that here
( https://fittobefitforanything.blogspot.com/2018/03/not-quite-anything.htmlhttps://fittobefitforanything.blogspot.com/2018/03/not-quite-anything.html  )


I miss you more as winter lingers.
I wish you could see these kids.
I wish you could watch Warren build, grow, and play.
I wish you could see our girls both still becoming women; becoming the best of both of us.


I wish I could see you.

Another One Without You

Another holiday season survived.

Another blank year started.
I wanted to say empty, but empty isn't accurate. There's plenty to fill up the time -- the grandbabies -- There's so much of you in Warren, and even better he is so loving. Theres my health and helping Tammy and worrying about Tracy. There are people to pray for and care about and causes to support.
So -- empty isn't the right word. Blank, as in the blank squares of a calendar seems correct. Some of the days are filled in; some are not.
Most are not.

I missed you in the shopping and the wrapping.
It was so hard to even start on the wrapping, without someone to talk with and laugh with and just keep company with. Wrapping gifts, even those chosen with love and joy in the pleasure to be can be a lonely business.

Living can be a lonely business.

Especially when one is alone.

(And yet, others around can be so wearying. I have no solutions; only facts.)

I don't write here (or anywhere) as often as I once did. I got out of the habit and sometimes it hurts and sometimes I'm too tired, and sometimes I'm even too tired to hurt MORE.

But I do talk to you often; think of you more, wish you were here, and I am glad you are not here to suffer the weather and the world the way it is.
Except that I wish you were here to answer me back; to miss me when I'm away; to care when I'm not myself.

So selfish of me, when you are pain free and with your brothers.

Just wanted to let you know I have survived one more.
Just wanted you to know I still ache for you at times.
Just wanted you to know...