Margm

Why Dave, I'm just plumb proud of you. You did great. I'm sorry you missed out on all those years. Even after 54 years, we still had plans. Oh, I saved everything personal of Billy's. Billy had a beard since the early 1970's, but kept it trimmed. He had a duck call from years ago from Phil Roberson family, I just didn't want him mistaken for one of them.

Gin, I gave Billy's wildlife CD's, DVD's, anything pertaining to the animals in our area that he studied to the animal "person" (I don't know what you call them) at the sheriff's department. They were happy to get them. I cried when I left them. We had a man come up that I can only call a human vacuum cleaner cause he swept everything that was not nailed down into his truck. We were not real happy about it, but we were trying to leave and were going to take it up to the thrift store. He works for the elderly in that town and gives things to them and at this point the kids had all they were going to get. There were a lot of nice things but I am not going to look back. I did not want to make any money off of anything, it would be almost like I was putting a price on Billy's equipment and I could not sell Billy. I still have fly reels I cannot use. If I had been thinking I would have had his nephew (his same age) come get things he wanted but I was not thinking. Now, I do not see that big house or the fishing rods, all the tackle boxes, all the things I don't even know what they were. My son and Billy did not share in the same hobbies, my daughter had what she wanted and I cannot look back. They are gone. He is gone. He cannot use anything anymore. The people who have the house have planted so many things and they love it. I don't even want to go back. Last month I saw the house but I didn't really see it. I don't feel at home. He is not down here. I will probably move to the bigger city where I can get an apartment with a washer and dryer outlet. I will hire someone to move me though. Have not emptied but a few boxes from moving last year. It will be close to colleges for Bri. And, I will never feel at home anywhere anymore anyhow, so it does not matter.

This is how I feel the image I show everywhere I go. Probably why people stay a safe distance from me.

I am getting rather paranoid about where to put something. You know sometimes my mind goes all over a page. I see that blank space and I have to fill it even if, like a basketball, it bounces from one wall to the other. This morning in reading Megan's "Refuge in Grief" I am reminded of what some of us are reading now. Talked at great length about it in one of my salad posts. But, reading this, this morning, I believe I am not much different. Billy and I both read a lot. Honestly, when we were first married he was jealous of the attention I paid my books when I should have been paying attention to him. Eventually, I guess he figured "if I cannot beat her, (figuratively), then I must join her. " I was not jealous. He became a monster reader. His reading began about 9:00 p.m. and did not end until as early as 2:00 a.m., sometimes longer if he could not put the book down. I am a morning person, but he might not wake up sometimes until 11:00 a.m. (Ready for breakfast at lunch time), but that first meal had to be breakfast, no matter what time. I have all of his books yet to read. I will read them for him, and for me. I have not been ready to read them yet. It is going to be a pain I did not want to address yet, but I will. I have not quit reading, but I have so many paper books and so many Kindle books on grief, how grief leads other's lives. I've got to quit that and start living/reading Billy's books. I love them too. This below is part of Megan's column this morning/or last night. From Megan: "Early in my own grief, I was ravenous for words. The whole world had just exploded, and I needed someone to talk to me in that. Not just anyone, of course: my tastes in reading remained as they were before grief erupted into my life. Self-help books and platitude filled daily journals were never going to cut it for me. The books that worked for me were the ones that reached into the very core of where I was and spoke to what was broken. I read mostly memoir, occasional books that spoke of the wider, unknown universe, and many, many first-person accounts of devastating pain. Those were the books that moved me: personal stories of pain - often pain without eventual "redemption." I don't want to get interested in world events, this is something I don't want to form an opinion on. I ride the fence on politics. I like fiction. I need to visit with the first book of Mr. Box on Joe Pickett. I have read it before, but it will be new again with my faulty memory.

Visiting Oklahoma once (more than once), but we were tent camping on a place called "Billy's Creek" of all things. I went to the local country store and asked where I could buy fish bait. They obviously were natives to the area and told me to take a stick, poke it in the ground and hit on it and the worms would come to the top of the ground. Well, my Billy had never heard of it either. I actually tried it and nothing came to the top of the ground except my ignorance. Reminded me of one day coming in from school and my mama had towels over the telephones. Someone had called her and told her they were going to blow the dirt out of the lines. She felt rather foolish, I guess. Might be a real thing, but I never tried it again. Somewhere along the way I started feeling for the worms and quit killing them. Now that Billy is gone, I won't fish again. Having lived in Arkansas and Louisiana and Louisiana supposed to be home, I find things I liked better about Arkansas. It did not matter where I was, if Billy was there, it was home.. I feel totally homeless now.

Maynard, some times I just go back and delete what I have said. It does bother me sometimes when I say something. But I keep on. Just like every day we live, we just keep on. Nothing you have said (and I don't remember reading what you are talking about, I'm sorry), but sometimes I go back and edit, and sometimes after having it sit for a day and then rereading it, I might feel I have put it in the wrong place and I will move it. (Most times I usually say too much). For sure, our thinking is not always logical and my thinking can have two different subjects in one sentence. I don't think everyone on here understands everything we do. Some times we have thin skin, sometimes we just say it, whatever it is, whether it makes sense or not. That is one freedom I have now. I don't have to make sense. So say what you feel, when you feel it. If you don't like it, edit it. Actually, there is probably not an emotion put on here that we have not all felt. (And see, another of my word salads).

Oh Gwen, the thing that would make Billy angry was to insinuate he was getting old. And yet we were, but I didn't think about it. Now that he is gone, it is my main thought. I wake up every morning and know I cannot go back to sleep, I think "what is new with this morning" and I know nothing is new. It is all the same, same morning over and over. I guess I could look at the news and see if we are bombed or if we have bombed. Don't want any more people dying and I keep hearing my Missionary Baptist preachers say "wars and rumors of wars" but you know what? That has always been. I hope the world last long enough for my granddaughter to have a life, and a happy one. Just what I wish for all of us...........but wait, we used to have a happy one. I have known happiness, but she never has, not the true kind.

Dave, I really got carried away writing about writing. Sometimes I do that, so I thought I would bring it over to my regular old writing thing. My sister teaches literature, and all the stuff that goes with it at a predominantly black college here in Louisiana. She wanted to write. She has written. She has poetry books, and I think to earn quick money she might have done some smut books back in the early days. She is my sister and I love her, but I write in the language of a southern woman. (I would say redneck woman but I took a test and it said I was only 50% redneck, so I cannot brag anymore). My sister writes as a super intelligent woman. My grandmother wrote her newspaper's column for her Parish since she was 14 till her 80's and they have some of her writings at different colleges. You could enter her name and it would bring up her writing from the early 1900's. My sister is a few hours from her PhD but at her age now, with her health, she won't get it. But, the love of the paper page, the love of the smell of old books, reading and writing has been passed down through the ages in our family. Nothing serious, except my sister had some in her early college years. I use a Kindle because I like the size of the letters and don't have to wear my glasses. When my dad was dying I would read him Patrick McManus and somehow laughing helped and we went through the Louis L'Amour books. It helped his pain more than the pain medicine. C.J. Box was Billy's favorite, but he had already read all the Louis L'Amour books, Zane Grey, all the mountain men books. We talked to one of the authors of those books that is from Arkansas. He named his dogs after the mountain men, Titus Bass from Terry Johnston's books (I think). Terry Johnston said when he killed off Titus Bass he knew he would not live long himself. He didn't, and he was still a fairly young man. (To me). It was like losing a relative. No more books. All of Hillerman's books and I have read his daughter's books. She is not quite as good as her dad but she carries the characters on, Chee, Leaphorn, etc. My sister has a problem with her students. Back in my day we had the radio before the TV and we had imaginations. Kids now do not have to read and the ones who do are far and few between. The telephones they carry, all the social networks, they miss out on spelling and using their minds. They don't have to, Google will do it for them. I hope you enjoy C.J. Box and Joe Pickett. He writes an occasional other one that is not about Joe, and he is good. Books smell better than Kindles and you don't have to keep them charged up. Oh yes, in high school my daughter used one of my sister's unpublished poems as her own. She got an A and raves about her work. Too bad she could not duplicate it. Before C.J. Box there was Michael McGarrity from NM. They are addictive. I didn't like his last three though, they went into the genealogy of the man he was writing about all the time. I'm gonna try reading something other than about widows and widowers, which I have been doing and get back to fiction. We live too much reality. I just went back (Google naturally) and Terry Johnston (age about 47 when he died) was a prolific writer and Billy got each new book as it came out (before Kindle) and Johnston died when he was killed off his main character, Titus Bass, after being diagnosed with colon cancer only about a month later, about the time frame of Billy's diagnosis.

Darrell, I come from a place called "Spranghill" (Springhill), right on the Arkansas/Louisiana line. For egg I say "aig," leg is "laig" and the only thing Billy (a man who pronounced shovel as "shevel) was when I wanted a drink of water I was thursday. He just laughed and laughed one time when I got "aints" (ants) all over me. Wasn't funny to me. And, I say "ain't" for (is not). I one time was using a wok to cook with and I always wanted to use that joke. Susie (my boss) asked me what a wok was. I told her it was what you thwo at a wabbit. I don't always say it correctly, sometimes it gets on people's nerves, but one time I talked to an AT&T fellow and finally had to call the main people to talk to and told them that it would never work for a fellow with English as a 2nd language try to talk to an old southern woman with English as a 2nd language. As an addendum, my job was to type medical doctors that English was not even a 2nd language. But, I sure would hate to have their job.

Over there...............

Welcome back Darrell. No apology. If you apologize then I will have to also and I don't like to do that. I have been feeling mean, and deadly for some strange reason. Have not spit or bit yet though and I braved Walmart. Still didn't look at people though.. I have got to make myself have a personality again. It got lost somewhere back yonder. Happy to see you back anyhow. They have not got rid of me yet, so I guess they just figure I'm here to stay and I might say something intelligent one day. Still waiting.

I'm sorry Cookie, and again, no words I can say help, but you are thought of with care.

I cannot comprehend that at my age I have to make all the decisions. Strange, Billy let me make the decisions anyhow, I am doing no different than when he was alive, but that is the difference, he was alive. My mama was a talker, almost to the point of being psychotic. She would not let Daddy watch TV, read a book, or anything. I promise you I meant her no harm physically, but I once prayed to God if she could just shut up for one minute, not hurt, not die, just be mute until Daddy could watch one show on TV. He would say "Honey, I am trying to watch TV" and her motor mouth went into 4th gear and off she went saying the same things. His name was Elvie. Her main sentence was "Isn't that right Elvie?" He learned to shut her out but just in time would answer her, and the answer had to always be positive. I write, but I honestly don't talk much. But he was always there as a sounding board. His main problem with me was my worrying. I still do a lot of that. And our separation, we still saw each other every day. I lived in the new RV with the hot water heater I would blow out each day (turn off and on) and he would have to come fix it. He got such a kick out of it when he found out I was doing it on purpose. Okay, gotta drive to the town 50 miles away in a few minutes. I will have to mute these fingers.

You all know I get carried away with myself, so I think I will move my long diatribe to my "going through hell" thing.

I'm just "word salading" it this evening and then I have got to decide whether to finish my Netflix series, whatever that is, but sometimes it helps me not think. On "Grace and Frankie" their husbands leave each wife (colleagues in law firm) because they have been in love with each other for years and years. Okay, this is two men in love with each other. The two women are left high and dry and totally surprised. (And they are my age). Jane Fonda's character in a moment of drama (which there is not much drama to this series) looked at her husband and said "I wish you had died instead." When she said that I thought "Oh, I wish Billy had met another man or woman and left me and LIVED still." My feelings would be hurt terribly, I would probably lose all faith in myself as a woman, but he would still be ALIVE and that would be so much nicer. Quirky, weird, dare I say queerer, but still he would be alive. I honestly think I could handle that so much better. Okay, I've written enough today. (Oh, I am not out of words, but I am getting too many different subjects). I'm going to watch Daredevil get his blind behind beat up a few more times. Yes, I am into the Marvel characters, Grace and Frankie and wait for Longmire to return. Billy would not have liked the Marvel series, he was a man from the 40's, 50's, 60's, etc., and there were things he had to accept, but there were things he would not watch that I will, so I watch them because he cannot, and he would not. Like listening to all my 1950 CD's, I don't necessarily like them, but he and I were not WE then.

Most times Gwen, I want to growl and scowl and maybe bite too. I better add an addendum onto this. Mama used to tell me if I was off the school grounds the truant officer would get me. Now, if I am mean and growl or bite my kids will have me put away. Maybe I will try to smile. Damn that is a hard decision. I'd rather bite.

I still buy his author by the name of Box. When he has a new one, I buy it. I have them all on my Kindle. I cannot read them again yet. Maybe in a little more time.

No words of wisdom. (Not sure I ever had any wisdom for much anyhow.) All I can say is this "what Marty said" and "what Steve said." In the meantime (I have watched too much Daredevil, Luke Cage, Jessica Jones" and all the superhero movies,) and I want to tap into my superpower and come take care of all of this. Then, I remember that I am simply an overweight "ole" woman that has no wisdom or superpower, and you Patty Dear, you are the closest thing to a superpower I know of, but even superpowers get tired.

I probably have mentioned this before. (What part of my life have I not mentioned other than I weighed over 8 pounds at birth). Okay, that is out of the way. The funeral director (owner of the funeral home that Billy went to) was a little old man that had a smile painted on his little old face. Constant. Not a happy smile, just a painted on smile. I considered how hard that must have been, but I know he was at least 12 years older than I am, so I can call him old. I learned he had just lost his wife of 66 years and he was at her graveside every day. I hurt. I say how much I hurt. I have gotten to where I get my groceries, head hung down, and my sister had to come up to me and grab me. I don't see anyone. I have grief, I have anger, I have despair, I have lost an ability I once had to smile at everyone, to look people in the eyes and smile. It's okay if they don't smile back. Yet, here is this little old man that has lost as much as I have and his mouth is trained to raise itself into a smile. Sometimes I feel like if someone makes me angry I might hit them. But yet he smiles. He has been dealing with death probably over 66 years. Still he smiles. But, his eyes didn't smile. In Brookshires the checker told me "your the cutest thing" just off the cuff, she said that. I had not been told that in over 18 months. Billy used to say that. I wanted to cry. I quit wearing makeup when Billy left. I have gained weight and as long as I have stretchy pants and my shirt does not sit on my hips I am comfortable. Maybe I need to learn how to live again. So see, some people may bring us down to the floor, but maybe if I look up and smile, maybe my day might brighten. Still, that part of me is saying, I don't want to smile.

We know this. But, just like everything else, we don't feel blessed yet. We just feel cheated. I had Billy 54 years. I wanted 54 more. I know it does not make sense, but that is one thing about grief, you don't have to make sense. If someone does not understand, it is not our problem. It is like I have had to do with my memory, "oh well, what the hell." Like I say, when I was 17 I had a washcloth in my hand and had gotten frozen peaches from the freezer (at my mom and dad's home, I was not married or even thinking of marriage, but obviously was oblivious to what I had done. I left the peaches sitting on the tub, put the washcloth in the freezer. Now tell me, how much worse am I now? Can't explain it, don't try, just accept it and sometimes it is funny, sometimes maybe not. It just is what it is.

MG - I have Billy's ashes in a special wooden urn with a tree engraved and a verse. When all this is happening, our minds are really not in a good place. We all handle things different and sometimes we don't know why we did things. They kept out a small cylinder for necklaces with his ashes for daughter and granddaughter. My son was with me and they hit us at a time we could not think clearly. Yes, putting his thumbprint on pendant was so special. So now we all have a piece of him and none of us can wear them. We just cannot. Strange human nature. I found a note he had left me one time going fishing. "I love you. Will be back before noon." I stuck it on front of urn. Gave my son a startle moment.

And that is our daily life, all of ours, no matter how long or how short. We just learn to live each day where ever we are, and we know that no one else feels this pain but us. We all suffer, we all hurt, none worse, none better.. And we learn to live with people that have no empathy, but sadly, we know one day they will understand also. Sometimes our hurt escapes and others see it too. Don't let them make you despondent because you know a secret that they will have to find out for themselves. And they will, and they will understand your hurt. Until then, you understand and the rest do not matter. Come here often. We understand.

Billy was reading his favorite author, C.J. Box's newest book. He was in the middle of it when he passed. I joined here 3 days after he left me. I picked up that Kindle and I started at the first and read all the way to the end. Someone said he read it with me. I believe this. I concentrated on this book and after this one book I could not concentrate at all. Reading is my passion. I have been able to pick up a book now after 18 months and can retain enough to finish the book. Most of my books bought in those 18 months was to read how widows/widowers were feeling the same as me. Concentration about other things elude me completely. I can hear my long ago psychiatrist telling me that when our mind is bombarded with stress, when that stress gets too much, our brain takes over and protects itself. We might think it doesn't, but eventually you will be able to concentrate more. Not now, it is too soon. My memory still is slow. I have said on here before that the words that strike fear in my heart are these beginning of sentences. "Do you know where ........" and "do you remember." My mind automatically protects itself and I say "I don't know. My family thinks it is a game reminding me, but they don't understand. I don't want to be reminded. I also have been around a group of people at once, but I have to force myself to go or do anything. I think your right on time with your grief. It is not a straight line. It is up, down, all around, and endless. I made the trip by myself two days ago and I did not cry once. That is new for me. I have repeated this over and over and I understand this........Rose Kennedy said that time does not heal wounds, they just develop scar tissue. Stay here with us. You will feel more comfortable, if that is possible, but we say what we feel, when we feel it, and how we feel it. I'm sorry for your loss, but you are in a good place. We understand.

My dad passed when he was 64. He was Mammaw's first born and they all looked up to him because he was a fair man, he fought the devil hard to be one, and Mama fought him hard making him one. She taught him patience. (Or at least how to shut out the noise). But, when he was dying, there was no fight left in him and because of my mother he had to tell my Mammaw to quit coming, her perfume made him sick at his stomach. I know that hurt him as much as putting my Granddaddy, his very strict mean father, in the state mental institution. His Parkinson's had made him more dangerous. Hurt my dad terribly, the sheriff (kinfolks) and my dad took him to the state institution where he gave up the will to live after two weeks. Again, my dad was so hurt, but he honored the women around him. He was ever a gentleman (except to his daughters who he was going to beat into good girls). I'm afraid he never succeeded with that. But, when he did die at 64, my mammaw, his mom, from then on she was never the same. Her little mind just dwindled away. She had lost her baby. You see, even if you are in your 80's and your son in his 60's, he is still your baby. I have a baby that is 54 and one that is fixing to be 50. I sure wish I could buy her a pacifier that would suit her. She got her Maw's and her Nanny's personality. None of mine. If she had, she would be a coward, and that gal ain't no coward.

Kay, I loved my DIL as a daughter for all those years. In the end, she had to take care of her family but had considered letting us adopt them. She and Scott both were too immature. It happens. Sometimes they can hang together through the rough times, sometimes they cannot. We just have to support their decisions and live with them too. More than the couple divorcing hurt by this. Later on, my DIL told my son she always wished we had been her parents. They were both two mixed up kids. And yes, their kids suffered. No one knows where my grandson is, whether he is alive or not. His little brain is fried with drugs and he won't accept rehab. He won't give them up. I'm sorry divorce has to hurt so. Just like death, in another dimension.