Guilt all the way to God

I can still feel guilt for not posting “Happy Birthday” on his birthday, right?

Seriously, I have to let go of these things.

Since a reader asked, BB stands for “Buddy Boy”. I think I typed it somewhere in here a long time ago.

I am sorry that I sucketh with updates. Home life is SO busy with a toddler. Work filtered out blogs so I can no longer post there which is what I had done in the past. I try and keep this quiet at home. I guess it is like my own little private journal.

I think I have been taking the approach lately of not trying to think of things. Well either that or I simply don’t need to think of things. When we were in the area as of late, FRU suggested a visit to the cemetery. I DID NOT want to go. That is unlike me which is why I am going with the trying not to think of things option.

January is a big month for BB’s family. His birthday, his brother’s, his Grandpa’s, his mom’s and his niece’s are all within about 2 weeks of each other. This means lots of family time. We already had the Christmas celebration and the other niece’s birthday just last month. I am surely seeing lots of them!

FRU had a meltdown when we traveled over the holidays. He is still grieving his mom who passed away a few months before BB. He has pretty much coped with it in unhealthy ways and will begin counseling tomorrow which is a GREAT thing. I have high hopes for some positive changes in that respect.

Not to get too spiritual or anything but I do believe in God, have a personal relationship with Jesus… I have sort of had a message driven home to me in different ways lately. I feel like it is just the tip of the iceberg though in regard to what I am about to learn.

Here goes…

We bought a house just before we got married. I thought it was a good decision. I was pretty happy in the house for 4-5 mos.  I was fairly happy in the area although it was far from work. It is pretty, it is was new. But for the last 2 years, I have mostly HATED it here. I feel trapped. I dislike the neighborhood, dislike the area, dislike the commute to work and dislike being so far from any support system on either side of the “family”.  Mostly I focus on how crappy it is that we will never get out of here as the housing crash hit just after we purchased this place and the builder cannot fill this phase let alone the next 2 that he has committed to build. So, people trying to sell their now used homes have to compete with the builder’s new models and all-the-time-lowering prices. Add to that the complete economic breakdown of our state and country and our house is worth a whole lot less than what we paid for it. To sell it and move to a more favorable place, we would lose our butts and have no $$ left for a down payment elsewhere. I know it isn’t the end of the world but please consider the money in this house comes straight out of the aforementioned aftermath. I just can’t see blowing that away.

So, we are stuck. Trapped!

It occurred to me the other day that everything happens for a reason. Yes, even the widow in me can own up to that one. That our living in this very house, in this very area, so despised- is for some kind of reason. Then our pastor started talking about the treasure principle- you can’t take it with you and such. That God has a plan, a purpose for my life. Maybe HE tried to tell us it wasn’t the right choice, maybe HE didn’t. Regardless, he knows the outcome of this move. Maybe HE will direct us to move and bite the financial bullet at some point. I know I don’t think I want to be here too much longer but maybe that isn’t what HE wants for me/us.  We are here now. We have been blessed with a roof, heat, jobs, family and so much more. So it isn’t a more modest (yeah, I hope for a smaller house next), older ranch home with brick on its’ exterior. It doesn’t have a fancy tub for me to lounge in or a fenced yard and storage shed for all our junk. There is no finished basement or a view of the lake. I pray that I hear loud and clear when I need to move on.

Keep your fingers crossed on that one.

8-26-01

Now the six week countdown begins.

I made the trip to be with you, buddy boy. Sorry there was so much separating us on a day we should have been celebrating together.

On a lighter note, visted the fam last week. They are doing well. The girls are getting so big.

Keep an eye on my LO, okay? Love you.

Here it is-

'the stone'

This picture was taken some time ago. All the blank space (under his blacked out info) is where my stuff will be written. On the top of the base on his side it reads: Son, Brother, Grandson, Nephew, Uncle

Lots of room to make an @$$ out of u and me.

I don’t swear by the way but that is how the expression goes, right?

I think it was the day after he died, after we went to the funeral home, that we also took a trip to the cemetery. This decision alone didn’t come easy. At the hospital we were forced to quickly make the call in regard to which funeral home we wanted to chauffer my husband around and where we wanted him driven to. Well, the funeral home choice was easy, a family friend owned one- he went there. His mom wanted a local cemetery too. One with a religious affiliation that their family did not practice. I couldn’t agree, for that reason and distance.

My husband and I had actually talked about this briefly on one of our many trips to the city where I grew up. This city is right next to a lake and the cemetery beside it was where my grandparents were buried. We talked about being buried there, assuming it would be another 60-70 years until we needed the plots. Well, I knew immediately that this was not an option. My husband was a police officer (another story for another day) and we lived in his department’s jurisdiction. I knew of a cemetery about 5 minutes from my house and thought it was nice looking. I suggested this and his family agreed. To this day, I am glad that I made that choice. There have been times when I have talked with police about the incidents that happen there around Halloween time.  Also, I know the PD has a good relationship with the secretary in the office there. It makes me feel that my husband is more protected. It just so happens to be that our plots are in the same square? block? as one of my husband’s collegues from a few years prior.  He never really knew her but we knew of the circumstances that caused her death and knew that her plot would be watched over too. At least I hope they still remember…

When talking with the lady about where he would be buried within our newly purchased plots, I could tell she was assuming that it was my MIL’s husband that had passed. I am the one who caught the error and pointed out that it was indeed my husband that we were ‘planting’. “Oh, it’s your husband?” Yes, I am the very, very lucky one, lady.

Family jurisdiction, yes, I am using that word again because I like it today, has been strange around the grave. I paid for and tried to receive input from his family, on the marker. I always refer to it as “the stone” but I don’t want to confuse my dear readers. The input I got was a suggestion for an all black one but I had already decided that part. I ordered the biggest one I could afford and looked online for ideas. I didn’t want a plain one, I wanted it to be special and different. I did find one online that I modeled ours after. Uh-huh, OURS. Apparently my choice of buying a plot for myself was daring enough but then to use the same marker for me to?! WOW they said, even though I didn’t hear it, I saw it in their eyes. Everyone assumed I would marry again and oh the problems that would cause, right? Nope. A whole bunch of years, one husband and one child later, I am still counting on that piece of ground as the home of my special hole.  My picture is even lasered on the thing so you really can’t miss!

The stone has all sorts of whimsical-like features including colored paint. I loved it brand new. I still love it now but it desperately needs some touch up as it faces the sun all day. The trouble is I am scared to death of wrecking it in the process of painting it. I swear I will do it each summer and each summer ends with the stone looking worse and worse. Speaking of which, after I sold our home, I moved an hour from the cemetery. This has really been a hard thing- again with the jurisdiction. Initially, I took over all the planting and care of the weeds and such. My husband’s dad would use a special brush to get the stuck mowings off of it and fertilize the grass and plants. When I lived close, I would spend so many hours each evening there after dusk just watering and watering so that his grass would grow in nice and thick. I think it was therapeutic. I watered anyone’s plot I could reach with my short hose. I miss those days. I wish I could still do that every night before bed.   Now that I am farther away, I assumed his family would pick up the slack so to speak. As far as I know, his mom doesn’t go there except at special times of the year and his dad used to go there once a week before he retired. Upon my most recent visit, I don’t think this is the case anymore. It is sad and I must make a point to get up there and take care of it. That being said…

I have a relationship with that stone and our mini flower garden there. I feel like taking care of all of that reflects on my feelings for my husband. I was SO proud the day it was delivered (a multi-week wait as the stone hailed from India) and raced like a mad woman to get there and see it. I called the family to let them know but I don’t think anyone cared. I guess they didn’t have that same bond to the stone that I did. Maybe they didn’t mind the non-markerness… Did they care at all? Didn’t really help my aloneness but I didn’t know any better at that time. I guess I still don’t now but am making other assumptions?! The family doesn’t always express themselves verbally so it can definitely leave room for guessing.

Sometimes we’ll all show up at the same time, exchange hugs and wonder where all the flowers we have brought will go? I didn’t understand when my FIL said he had some work to do there last fall. I wondered if my authority in the jurisdiction was waning. I still don’t know. I guess it is what it is. That would be all fine and dandy if I could just figure out what it means. I guess that is all for now.

It is the little things

Today marks the 12th anniversary of my first date with my buddy boy. I cannot believe it has been that long. I have celebrated more of these alone than with him and that is even worse. I *think* we watched Happy Gilmore at the theater. I know we went to Big Boy afterward. I can place us as if it just happened. UGH.

Yesterday, I went to the cemetery for the first time since October. I felt miserable that it had been that long. I guess having a baby and ‘moving on’ prevents the daily, multiple hour visits. I intend to get back there and work on the flowerbed soon. It looked awful. I wish I lived closer. My friend assured me that he would rather have me happy than pining away over dirt and whatever is left of him… my words not hers. I would have to agree but it doesn’t make the guilt any less.