Happy Memorial Day to everyone! Most think of this day and immediately think about a three-day-weekend (or four, for some)... myself included. I am a firm believer that regardless of political party we should ALL support the brave men and women who have literally given their lives to fight for our country.
That being said, today I have been thinking about the widows that are a result of these men giving their lives for our freedom. In the past (pre-cancer) I would hear of a young mother losing her military husband, and it was always a sad story. I would even mentally converse that marrying someone in that line of work would make you pray every second for his safe return. Hearing of your soldier's death would be something that was always in the back of your head, but something you would want to avoid with every being of your body. It would be a constant thought until they were back in your arms, safe and sound.
While I think I my thoughts are not too far off, my beliefs have slightly changed. I greatly feel for these poor women who lose their spouses in this way. Even knowing that death is more prevalent in this line of work, one cannot prepare... ever. They are no more prepared for the news that they are widows, than anyone else. It is a shock to the system that can not be anticipated. Please raise a glass to those who have given their lives in order to give us everything... and be sure to include those who have lost the love of their lives to our country, as well. They are equally as brave.
In case you aren't on Facebook (where all my updates have been), I am doing really well after the shoulder surgery. Typing is not the easiest, but I can definitely get by. It's actually not nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be. Of course, the offers of help/food/babysitting have been in abundance which has put my mind at ease. We are doing well, although Tyler is ready for it to be totally healed since he claims he wants to be carried once and awhile. I'll let Papa carry him all day today when we head to Joe and Ann's for a BBQ... the King's wishes are always granted at Grandma and Papa's. ;)
If I could chicken out, I think I would. It's not the actual surgery that haunts me, but the recovery that is occupying my every thought. The next three days are insanely busy (which is good), but trying to prepare for three weeks of sub plans in two days (I am at a meeting one of the three days left), will be a challenge. That doesn't include the end-of-the-year tasks I also need to finish. One thing for which I am certain... it will all fall into place... it always does.
Last year at this time I was in desperate need of the love and support of our families. As the year mark gets closer, I can't help but reluctantly reminisce about the events that were taking place in our lives.
While I do not make it a habit to reread any portion of the blog (it's the literary equivalent to nails on a chalkboard), but this week last year, we were debating if another hospital stay was imminent... turned out, it was. My favorite memory was sitting with Bill in his hospital room, just the two of us, hanging out... like nothing was wrong. We joked, we laughed, we talked... at that moment, I honestly had no idea how close the end really was. I am so very thankful we had that day together.
Tyler had his preschool Open House tonight. As I traveled the room's perimeter reading the walls, I had to consciously swallow the lump in my throat. Not for the reason that you are probably thinking (that Bill should have been there to see it), but because his teachers are two amazing ladies who, without a doubt, love him completely. They are very serious about academics and maintain high expectations for every child... which to me, is secondary in my child's education. Seeing their interaction with Tyler tonight made me think that if he doesn't learn another thing the rest of the year... it won't matter. The love and support they have given will last him longer than any math activity or shape sort or insect life cycle ever could.
Do I want him to learn and grow and read? Of course. I want all of those things and many more, but mostly I want him to love school and feel that same love reciprocated. For that, I will be forever indebted to these two ladies.
Since I can not volunteer in the classroom, I try to help out in little ways that might make their lives easier. Whether it's an extra donation, or supplies for the class, it's definitely minuscule compared to what they have given us. I obviously empathize with the dedication (and dollars) it takes to supplement the curriculum for an entire school year. Tonight, Tyler and I bought books at the book fair for his class, and I had to laugh a little at myself thinking about its inequities... In my head I thought, "You have played an enormous role in shaping my child's life, and have created a love for learning so deep that I will be forever grateful....... So, here are a couple of books."
Heed the warning... If you are in a situation where you might be having surgery in less than two weeks, I strongly recommend that you stay OFF the Internet when wondering about recovery times.
I am having the dreaded shoulder surgery a week from Thursday. I am happy to get it out of the way, and I am thrilled to get my shoulder fixed, but it is not going to be easy. I just don't want to live like this and am ready for it to be healed... now, please.
I have a Bankart tear, which is a tear of the inferior glenohumeral ligament. (I don't know what that means, either.)
I searched for my ailment/surgical procedure in regards to common recovery times and got a variety of examples ranging from 1 week to 8 months. I am assuming that neither are true. The majority mention 4-6 weeks. Not too bad, I suppose, but this probably means in a sling for a MONTH and having very little (if any) range of motion for 2-3 weeks. Nevermind that I live with a four-year-old who cannot get in and out of the bath by himself due to the "extra deep" tub. Good times.
The bright side... this surgery works for 90% of patients. I won't have to worry about it dislocating while simply sitting on the couch (which is how it happened last time). Now my goal is to come up with a really great heroic story that is the culprit of my injury. Can you have an injury that did not come about from a memorable experience? Is it still called an injury? Because, I have no reason this happens to my shoulder... NONE. I don't have a, "when I was saving the kitten from the fire..." or, "once when I was skiing in the Alps..." or, "then the bike flipped over my head..." story. It just pops out of the joint when doing regular, everyday things. Have I mentioned that it's the WORST pain I have ever had in my life? I have? Just want to be sure.
This particular description of the surgery is my favorite and made me feel like a super star!
Bankart surgery aims at restoring the muscular stability of shoulders by repairing the torn capsular detachments and also by fixing ligaments in place. This type of surgery is often undergone by young athletes and other sportsmen that suffer from a shoulder injury and face the problems of recurrent dislocation.The truth...
In reality they are going to put screws in the bone to keep the "ball" part of my arm in the socket. Attached to the screws are sutures that they will weave through the ligament and pull tight (think drawstring) to keep everything in place. I am really trying not to think about it.
Based on the title of this post one might think I have some random connection or life lesson that I will attempt to relate to the Magic Eraser cleaning tool. Sorry to disappoint, but it's literally about the sponge-type cleaning wonder.
I found a box of Magic Erasers (with only one missing) in the laundry room today. They are probably 3 years old. I was going to throw them away because the memory of using one came flooding back to me. I tried to clean a mark off the wall, but it was completely useless! I was EXTREMELY disappointed, and to say I was confused by the hype is an understatement. Bill had used them at work religiously and raved about their miracle tendencies. I have friends who also swore by their effectiveness, and I would just nod to avoid being in the minority.
Three years ago, my conversation with Bill went like this:
Me: I don't like those Magic Eraser things... I tried one and it didn't work!
Bill: Really? We use them all the time at work, and they get EVERYTHING clean.
Me: Well, the wall still has a mark on it. THEY DON'T WORK!
Bill: That's really odd... are you sure you did it right?
Me: How hard can it be to clean the mark off the wall with a little sponge? (Insert sarcastic/snippy tone here.)
Since I still have the same small mark on the wall, I thought I give the eraser one more shot...
It turns out that you have to WET THE ERASER in order to reap the benefits! Who knew? (Clearly not me.) I was using it bone dry. I am going to have to play the blonde card on this one...
I'll be keeping the box I discovered, and will probably purchasing more to take some to work. They really are amazing!
I think I can actually hear him laughing at me.
Well, I did it. I finally registered for Camp Widow. Thankfully, it's not exactly camping, being that it's at the Marriott on the beach. I started to register a few months ago, and didn't finish because my purse was in the car... I know, lazy excuse. It is in San Diego this year, so there really is not an excuse for me NOT to go. The main reason I'm going is to meet the other widows that I regularly "talk" to online. There are also a few blogs that I read religiously and can't wait to actually meet some of the writers in person. The camp offers support, small-group sessions, and the chance to be around other people who have walked in similar shoes.
Everyone wants to feel like they "belong" in some capacity or another. Widowhood is similar. Only it's the crappiest club with a horrific initiation. I talked to someone recently who just lost her spouse and actually said to her, "Welcome to the club... I'm so sorry... It is awful that you have to be a carrying card member."
I wish I could leave this club and disaffiliate, but the rulebook states it's a lifetime membership. Truthfully, I wish the organization putting on the conference would not have any widowed participants and need to cancel it. Then maybe people wouldn't be joining and maybe the widowhood club would just fade away... No such luck.
I am really excited to spend a weekend down in San Diego sans child. The weekend happens to be the 6th-8th of August... so I will spend what would have been my sixth wedding anniversary (August 7th) at Camp Widow. How's that for irony?
Lately I find I am drawn to post more than the norm. I am sure there are many reasons, but mainly, it still serves as my therapy and if I can get my thoughts down, then I feel a weight lifted.
I sometimes get angry at Bill. Well, not really at him, but at the fact that he died. It's an empty feeling of anger that is not fueled by something he did intentionally to me. I find I get angry when I have to do things that I am not supposed to have to do at this stage of my life. I am supposed to married with a few kids. I am supposed to be worrying about paying for college and how to make ends meet when the air conditioning breaks. Although I am not really worried about these things, (knock on wood... please let my A/C make it through summer) I am worried about things I never could anticipate taking over my thoughts at thirty-four years old. In a way, I blame Bill for "forcing" me to have to think about all these things. Now, I know it's not his fault, and he certainly didn't choose this route either, but there are times I need someone to blame, and for once in our marriage he really can't tell me I'm wrong... or irrational... or being crazy... AND he can't tell me to stop talking and just sit there and look pretty... but I'd give anything if he could.
This is a fair warning that you are about to read a rant and/or rave. Enter at your own risk.
I often wonder about the emotional maturity of some people... mainly me. I *think* I have always been somewhat on the mature side for the appropriate age at which I have assessed myself. I also believe that life's lessons, big or small, can enhance maturity in some people.
The question I have tonight, though, is if it is possible to halt emotional maturity at the time of a crisis? Could it be that one stops maturing after such a traumatic emotional experience? "Survival mode" does not include learning necessary social cues, thus reverting back to younger tendencies. If such an experience takes up an innumerable amount of emotional efforts, could it be that one can not get over that hill in order to grow and keep maturing at age-appropriate pace?
Facebook puts a new social media in our laps. Understanding the rules and common courtesies is not always easy, but get to know how it works and it's not brain surgery. I have friends on Facebook who are still in high school, and I see their updates (and sometimes cringe), but it gives me a little insight to what kids that age are thinking, believing, and concluding about life. They are eager (desperate, even) to get out of high school. Often, their maturity level is far above what one could imagine. Sometimes I feel like I should take notes from them in how one should view the world. Their maturity often surpasses those who have been out of high school for years and years. Go figure...
Not to worry... I am not referring to anyone in my family or circle of friends; or anyone with whom I work, socialize, or regularly encounter. I am however referring to an experience in which an adult demonstrated actions severely lacking maturity or tact or social appropriateness of any kind. In fact, it was a fluke experience that has been chalked up to just that... an experience. I don't run into people I deem to be that immature very often, so when I do, it's shocking beyond what my mind can fathom. Intelligence does not equate to maturity. It sometimes takes a little while to realize this, and it can be quite eye opening.
Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there.
It will be my first as a single one. I won't go into detail, but on this holiday last year I was watching my husband slowly slip away. It was a horrible day with a lot of tears for so many different reasons. I'll just add that it was a rough day for Bill, too.
I am determined to make this Mother's Day weekend (yes, I have graduated to celebrating it the entire weekend) one of the best. So far, so good... we have a fun-filled weekend planned, and it's not quite half way over yet. So, don't forget to celebrate all of the moms in your life!
I greatly appreciate all the blog votes, and although I had the most votes... I still came in second. They "stopped" the voting at midnight EST, although that was a little shady since they listed the date as April 31st. They allowed more votes after voting was over, which was also confusing. Since I clearly don't need the prize offered, I will choose one and either donate it, or sell it on e-bay and donate the proceeds. I have to make it worth my while to have invested such great efforts into this contest.
Although the blog is still listed on their website and in the contest for the month of May, I am not participating. It was fun, but a little too involved the last few days. I have exceeded the number of times I can ask my Facebook friends to vote. ;)
A quick update on the two of us:
Tyler is "playing" soccer... yes I realize playing is in quotes. He kind of knows where the ball is, and then nonchalantly jogs to the area where the other kids gather around it. At the end of the game however, he bolts like lightning to run through the parent tunnel and get his snack bag. Go figure...
I am getting through the school year and eagerly awaiting summer vacation! It's tough to work full-time knowing that next year I will not. Wednesdays will be my new Fridays... just like pink is the new black. :)
We were going to move... and now we are not. It's a long, complicated story, but it has all worked out for the best. We are both happy to stay in our house. I am also thrilled to not have to physically move with my bad shoulder. I am having surgery May 27th and have been advised by a mentor to invest in HUGE shirts, elastic waist pants, and slip on shoes. I cringe at the ugliness in that combo. Top it off with not being able to blow-dry my hair and having to put make-up on with my left hand, and I think I might qualify for clown school. Good times.
