Grass

Back to band camp  I mean grad school…

During one of my courses, we had a discussion about different tools available to use with clients to help them with various things. One I remember quite clearly and still have a copy of is my anger bottle.

Mind you this was about 1.5 – 2 yrs. after DOD.

Since I like to keep it in my file of things to use at work, I painted it with white out to cover my answers. Last week, I pulled it out, dusted it off and turned it over. Turns out you can read everything quite well as long as you have a mirror handy or are very good at reading backwards.

My anger bottle was full up to the tippy top with things that were overwhelming me at the time. My things went a little something like this:

• Place of husband’s death
• Insert name of pathetic grad school internship here
• “Every other driver but me”
• “Inability to figure out me”
• Situation with in-laws
• GRASS

Yup, Grass. That ginormous mortgage I referenced earlier? It came with an almost fifty-five year old yard. That yard was unmistakeable hilly, full of overgrown trees and bushes and most importantly WAY too big to be push mowed. So these trees of mine, they kept the house really cold. They also kept the yard fairly moist and provided a spectacular home for all of the mosquitos in my county.

And the grass grew.

 I was suppose to cut it frequently to keep it short and easier to mow. Well, let me just say that it didn’t happen. I had a surprisingly small support group when it came to the maintenance of my home and lawn. In the first months I had help but after that- FAWGETTABOUTAAT. It would take me hours to push mow my lawn. Already being exhausted with grief and of course anger, I would wear myself right down. I was completely overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do! I decided to call a service so that someone else could toil over my grass – sounded like a fantastic plan. However, the estimate was shocking. Strapped for cash already, I didn’t sign on the dotted line. Then, the  new-a-year-ago mower decided it was tired too. I let it hibernate.

The grass grew.

My uncle decided to help me out and let me have my grandpa’s old non-motorized-blades-rotate-when-you-push mower. Um, that didn’t work.

And the grass grew.

Finally, I called up my father-in-law for help. He had purchased said mower just after DOD because the one we had was old, used and too hard for me to employ. He comes over, takes the thing and returns all fixed up. Then it breaks again.

This sad experience repeats itself until the rotten thing gets a non-repairable hole in the manifold something or other. I let the trash man take it home but shhhhh don’t tell FIL.

With the help of first runner up, we purchased a new LAWN BOY mower (love the thing) my last summer as the official worrier/cutter/hater of said lawn.  

Who knew grass could be SO overwhelming? Folks, it doesn’t take much for a newly widowed half crazy woman.

I am as bright as the sun.

In the beginning, everyday was tough. Those stupid firsts were even worse. I still have a horrible time with the anniversary that counts all the years since he has been gone. Looking back on it now, I know that those first years after he was gone I was making all kinds of terrific decisions. At the time, I thought I was making perfect sense and doing the best that I could. That is when I decided enough was enough with my job and threw it all out the window. The good money, the health insurance (because only children have after death insurance benefits, wives are not privvy- was my experience anyway). So, despite a hefty mortgage I quit and enrolled in graduate school. HMMM.

It ended up working out okay but that isn’t where I am going with this.

I thought it would be an excellent choice to take a class called Death and Dying or something like that. Just so happens that the class would take place in the semester during the dreaded time of year. Oh the fun. I was a horribly shy person and didn’t really care to bring up my experience but time and time again, we were asked to examine our thoughts and beliefs. I really should have just made something up. I left that class crying almost every week. One of our biggest assignments was a LONG paper about our own perspectives on death. I thought it was lovely. I remember starting it with ‘It has been 11 months since my husband died’ and feeling like a complete goon when the papers were returned because it had really been 1 year and 11 months. Yet another example of my hazy brain days. I did get a 4.0 on the thing but it still sucked.

Another task asked of us was to visit a funeral home to get the whole experience and even included a sit down talk with the mortician. Yah, I passed. The professor didn’t want to let me live this down though. Kept telling me I would have to do something to make it up. WAS SHE CRAZY? I had lived that experience. I never had a love relationship with funeral homes before and definitely didn’t after either. So, I ended up making it up by telling the whole class about my husband dying. I don’t even think I was still on my anti-anxiety/anti-depressant drugs at that point.  A miracle I am still here to tell about it today.

Traumitized? Check!

Oh, so many stories, so little time.