About Me

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Five years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Monday, August 18, 2008

Monday Musings and a Boring Black Sock

Here are two links for those of you whose children, or parents, or siblings, or friends, are struggling because of the wickedness in the world. I read the first one at work the other day, and I had to blink back tears. Nevertheless, I found it wonderfully comforting to be able to place some of my own trials, and the experiences of our family as a whole, into a more eternal perspective. I know that the principles he states are true, and that the scriptures he cites will all be fulfilled.

When I contemplate the heavy burdens that each of my children is bearing, either because of her own errors or those of another, I could easily despair. But I know that all our sins, all our struggles, all our heartaches are covered by the Atonement, if we give our hearts to God and ask for His help.

Had my mid-year performance review with the office manager a couple of weeks ago and got some useful feedback. I am wonderful at juggling many things. [We knew that.] I could be better at prioritizing [ditto], and I am not so good at asking for help. [This is not exactly news to anyone who’s been reading my blog for awhile. I would rather die than ask for help. And sometimes have nearly done so.]

Interesting resource, on a different topic.

“Pining: Yeaning intensely and persistently for something unattainable.” [from the online class I took re: Overcoming the Loss of a Loved One. If I pined any more about some things, I would have roots and cones.]

Later in the class, there was a page about physical symptoms, including anxiety and the exacerbation of existing physical problems. And I suddenly realized that the reappearance of asthma in my life in fall 1998 was a reaction to the one-year anniversary of Mom’s death and to what would have been the 21st anniversary of my marriage.

I was taking two college classes in the evening, working toward my bachelors degree, and I could barely put one foot in front of the other. It was like walking through molasses. I had a speech class, and I could not project my voice beyond the foot of the stage. The teacher convinced me to see a doctor, and when the doctor did a pulmonary function test, the percentage of oxygen in my blood was so low that she immediately gave me a breathing treatment and a prescription for an inhaler. Looking back ten years later, I see that grief was manifesting in the only way that would get my attention.

I know this seems like a more random than usual collection of links and pondering. It’s all tied together in my head. I have said that the children’s father is not doing well. LittleBit came to dinner last night and told me that he was hospitalized briefly, yesterday, with blood sugar around 500. They pumped him full of insulin and got him stabilized and sent him home. Stabilized being a relative term, and relative being an intentional pun.

He is nearly blind and almost completely deaf, and he doesn’t remember to eat, and until yesterday who knows how long it had been since he had had any insulin, and he has to be reminded to bathe. They are starting to look for a nursing home for him. I took a class last week on how to choose one [I had a couple of hours when my desk was mysteriously, frustratingly clear, so I took an online course through the corporation’s website between phone calls.] I need to get those handouts to Fourthborn. I meant to give them to LittleBit last night but got distracted.

In a moment of inspired pessimism, I measured the two sections on the Chelsea Silk cardi and realized that my gauge had tightened up significantly from what I got on the swatch. I need to find my 5’s and 6’s. Saturday’s knitting is frogged and waiting for me. I grabbed a ball of the black yarn leftover from LittleBit’s hoodie and my size 2 DP’s and took them to church. I am winging a pair of basic boring black socks. If I run out of black before I run out of sock, I guess they will have purple heels and toes.

Hey Fourthborn, email me or text me with Fiancè’s measurement from heel to toe; he has a birthday at the end of this month, and I might just have been smacked upside the head by the Inspiration Fairy.

1 comment:

Kristen said...

Grief definitely settles in the lungs and manifests itself from there. I've been through grief counseling two different times and one of the best suggestions I came away with was to put some kind of action to your feelings. For children you can leave a bell out and they [or you] can ring it whenever they think of the loved one. Write a letter, burn it and watch the smoke go to heaven. Buy or make something you would have given to your loved one, and give it away or treasure it yourself.
You may have already used some of these ideas or might be past the current grief, but good ideas are always good, right?