I’m a Viking, but work is kind of slow these days…..

As I deal with all this damn loss, convinced that the universe is not out to kill me, but something much worse, like a life sentence in solitary confinement, I think of all the years that will come. How long my sentence will be without David, I can’t know, but there it is stretching out in front of me. I’m going to have to do something.

As many of you know, on all aptitude tests, I score very highly as an axe wielding Viking warrior. I do plan to continue my efforts to assemble a horde, but it is, as always, problematic. The coasts of Europe are much better defended these days, and lets face it, most of the countries are broke. Recruiting and exposition costs could far exceed return on pillage. I’ll leave that as a long term goal.

Cat lady is also a possibility. I’d have very low start-up costs. I’ve got the creepy old house on the edge of town, four cats to start with, and let’s face it, I’m a widow. If my town has an opening, my resume will make me a shoe-in. I’ll keep my eye on the local paper for openings, but it’s one of those positions that people keep for life and God only knows how many people already have dibs. I’m not interested in relocating, so this may never happen for me.

I’m thinking I’ll probably just do my best to carry on as I have. Writing, school again in the Fall, finish what I started, then worry about the cushy jobs. There are things out there I need to finish, work that I still feel needs to be done, none of that has changed. It just feels different, satisfying, but not like before. When I achieve something, I won’t get the hug and the words, “I’m proud of you.” from the person that it means the most from. Not physically anyway. That will be bittersweet at best.

Right now, getting through this blog post is difficult. My ability to concentrate has taken a dive from it’s normal low. I’ve been told to expect this along with confusion, forgetfulness, and a general feeling of “wrongness”, and that’s on a good day. As far as I can tell, I’m typical . So forgive me my ramblings.

 

 

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Things That Can Be Fixed Or Not

Last night I did the first useful thing since I lost my love. It wasn’t much, I shared some knowledge that I acquired along the way. It fixed something, it made something work.

There are so few times in life we can easily help make things work, most of the time all we can do is help others deal with things that are going to stay broken. I’ll take any little thing made right as a near miracle right now.

David was my family. It was from him that I acquired the knowledge to fix that little thing. He learned it from his father. Through love and true mutual choice of association of the soul, I became one of those that would possess and share that knowledge.  I shared that knowledge out of the same kind of love and association.

We find our own families, they can’t be arranged for us. Just because something is supposed to work, doesn’t mean that it always will. Just believing that it should won’t make it happen, if you’re lucky it will, if not, not so much. Read Joy’s post, she always been more eloquent about stuff like this than I could ever be.  I love Joy Joy.

I feel so humbled by all the kindness that has been shown to me since I lost David. I don’t have words. I’m working on a thank you that will do justice. I’m not sure I can do it.

I Got a Package Yesterday

Mail gets interesting when someone dies. Along with the same old shit, credit card offers, sale flyers, bills, etc., you get a lot of cards (those are nice) and occasionally a package.  I got a package registered mail. I did the clumsy, don’t let the cat out while you and the mailman fumble with the signature cards and the rest of the mail, and was handed a well wrapped, very heavy, shoebox size  package.

David had come home. He was never gone long and I knew he’d find his way back. I just wish he was in better shape. But then he hadn’t been in very good shape when last I saw him and this new circumstance is probably better.

He looked very much alive until he died, then he looked very dead. It is amazing how someone can so obviously be there with you, and then suddenly gone. There is a big difference between close to death and dead.

We were told a few minutes before he died that death was approaching, but he still breathed, his face had color, and his eyes still followed me around the room even through the morphine. I combed his hair, his scalp was still warm, I held his hand, cooler than usual, but still his hand. Then he was gone. He got so cold, so fast. His face relaxed and he looked more like my David, but his hand held no more comfort, it wasn’t his anymore. He finally lost the color in his face, I kissed him one last time and said good-bye.

I signed the papers, gave the info for the death certificate and had him sent to the funeral home. I didn’t see him again until he arrived yesterday.

I’ll bury that box soon. Right now I’m thinking I’ll throw in the Swiss Army knife he always carried and some quarters so he can get a soda. That’s what he always had to have when he left the house. He always had a bad day when he forgot either of those items.

God, I miss him.

The Turn Continues

First, thank you everyone for you kind words. No, you can’t say anything to make me feel better, but just that you want to say them means everything. Like so many of the things many of us are way too familiar with, there just isn’t a bright side here. There is a strange comfort in hearing from people who get that.

I cannot tell you how important my adoption friends have been through all of this. Some I know personally, some who are no more than words on the screen, but all real good friends in a much closer sense than even my local friends and  family. People who understand how hard it is to build trust, a life, find a place you feel truly loved, and having that go away might mean.

I feel like I’ve been thrown out alone in the world, but this time there’s not a line of bright successful young couples just dying to give me the new life I deserve. Considering how that worked out last time, it’s probably a good thing.

My family attorney pointed out something that froze me to the bone the other day. I am no longer David’s wife. I don’t belong to him and he doesn’t belong to me. In the legal sense, our relationship ended  with his last breath. Somehow he’s not considered my forever family. I get to keep the name, the ring, his stuff, I’m responsible for his legal disposal, but we are not related. Just as I was made part of a family, I did not choose, by the stroke of an official’s pen, I’ve been taken from one, that I chose, by nothing more than another signature on another certificate.

David (or at least the smashed-up bone fragments that constitute his “ashes”) are on their way back to me. I’ll carry out his last wish by burying them under the same tree where our dogs and cats have found their rest early next week. He’ll be home forever. I think I’ll miss him more for being so close.

 

Yes All Adoptees Feel A Sense Of Loss

Joy’s post got me thinking about this…..

http://joy21.wordpress.com/2008/12/20/not-all-adoptees-feel-this-way/#comments

I do agree that all adoptees must feel a loss.  I too don’t why so many adoptive parents either completely dismiss this or just don’t want to focus on it.

I wonder if it has something to do with the way grief itself works.  You know the whole stages of mourning thing.  Anybody who has lost someone knows that grieving is a strange thing.  First you are consumed, then it comes and goes.  When you’ve lost somebody you do get to the point that you can function, you don’t think about all the time, life does go on to a degree.  You appear to be normal, observers would tend to think that you are getting over it, whatever that means.  But at any moment grief can grab you and it’s like you’ve just lost that person.  That’s normal, it’s the way it works.  Eventually you just get better at hiding it.  And by doing that sometimes you can even convince yourself that you are over it.

But everyone who has ever lost anybody knows, you never really get over it.  Pretending that you have only makes it worse.  That grief is going to come back and bite you in the ass at some point.  

Infants can’t express their grief.  I’m certain that they can feel it and process it to some degree.  I wonder if the time between experiencing the loss and being able to express that loss brings many adoptees to the point that they can appear to be functioning normally.  Combine that with the message that everything is as it should be, and you’ve got a real problem.

Think of it this way, you’d never tell a person who had lost a close family member that everything is as it should be two years after their loss.  You know that in their world, as good as it may be, they will still miss someone.  You know they miss these people on holidays, you know they think about them on birthdays and anniversaries of their deaths.  Most of us do the same thing.  Once we reach a certain age, it’s something that we all sadly share.  

So why would you deny that an adoptee feels a loss?  Think that  one can replace the ones that you have lost?  I’m sure that you have lost someone.  You have other relatives, other friends, but none of them are that relative or friend.  Things will never be the same without them.  The ones lost to you are unique.  So are the ones that the adoptee has lost.  As an adoptive parent you may fulfill a role, you may do it well, but you are not that person the adoptee lost.  They, and you, are unique.  

Loss doesn’t always show. Can you tell immediately if someone that you meet parents are living, can you tell that they are widowed?  Would it be much harder to ever know if society told them that they had lost nothing?

Steven Curtis Chapman’s Daughter Dies In Accident

A little girl was tragically killed yesterday. It hit most of the wire services. I have no doubt that she was a innocent soul. My condolences go out to her family.

All of her family.

Her adoptive father is a person in the public eye, the story of the girls death made the news. I’m sure this is no comfort to her family, and I am sorry that they have to deal with this in the public eye. Being well known can carry with it a heavy price. Having no choice but to grieve in public must be a terrible experience.

Others will grieve with the Chapman family. The fans, those that knew nothing of her father’s music that simply read a very sad story in their newspaper, and those that know the family personally. And maybe a few others, if they know.

Somewhere far away, a woman who may only have hopes that her child found a better life, is thinking of her. She’ll have no way of knowing what happened.

Would she want to know what happened to her child? I don’t know. Given the choice between hope and a terrible confirmation of tragedy is a thing she most likely will never have to deal with. Maybe it’s for the best.

Would she be understanding if she of the tragedy that befell her child? I think so. She knows that life can be an unpredictable and cruel thing. She know that there are no good explanations for awful things that happen.

Again my condolences to all members of this girl’s family, if they know it or not.

Little Orphan Adopters

It seems that us adoptees aren’t the only ones who are orphans out there. So are the adopters.

Yep.

In another desperate attempt to justify raiding the word for cute little babies, this idea has come to light. Possibly the “we were all adopted in the family of Jesus” crap wasn’t working with the less godly potential adoptive parents, so some super genius has come up with this brainwave.

The reasoning goes like this. That when a person leaves their parents home and sets off in life, they are essentially orphaned. That growing up and actually doing what is expected, makes one an orphan. It would seem that the only ones with families still in tact are the losers living in their parents basements. Everybody else is an orphan. This is supposed to show how much anyone can identify with the situation of their adoptee. Oh course a lot of fancy language and hypothetical situations were used to make it sound like something much deeper, but that’s what it distills to.

I would like to know what kind of life these morons have experienced, but it sure as hell must be an easy one to think that leaving home is at all like losing one or both parents, at any age. Getting your first apartment is absolutely nothing like having a parent die. Coming up with first and last months rent and security deposit, as hard as it may have been for these defectives, bears no resemblance to waiting to hear how the test for terminal cancer came out for dear old dad, trust me.

This justification is not only a slap in the face to anyone who has ever lot a parent, it’s just plain lame. Most adoptees are not orphans, we were simply left for others to raise, be it by coercion, need, or abandonment. No life taking event lead to our adoption. Any orphan justification does not hold up on those terms alone.

Still there are those who would wish to avoid the reality that they are raising someone else’s child with any excuse they can muster. By somehow convincing themselves that they are orphans, it makes it aright in their mind to think of their adopted children in these terms. That they would think of themselves as orphans because they are not receiving the daily care of living parents is delusional.

Are these adopters parents gone, completely out of their lives? Do they gaze at their pictures recalling times past and wishing that they could speak to them just one more time? When something very good or very bad happens in their lives to they wish that they could pick up the phone and tell their departed parents about it? Do they have to take comfort in the fact that their parents just might be looking down on them from another place? Do they recall the day they left home, presumably the anniversary of their own orphanhood, every year with great sadness? And most of all, do they wish that their children could know their grandparents?

Real orphans do.

This silly justification belittles everyone involved, not just these people’s parents and themselves, but most of all the adoptee. Though we may not truly be orphans, we have lost something. Something that these desperate people scampering for any justification for their actions could never understand.