Small steps...

I survived the holidays.  I generally lost my protest against my write up at work, the notification coming on the last day of work before the holiday.  Merry Christmas, we don't care about your family.  Now I get to sit through weekly meetings with a man who is no longer my direct manager and smile while he shows how he has diagrammed my performance.  In fact, I got to sit in one of those meetings this past week on my wife's birthday.  Its getting harder and harder to be polite during these meetings.

So today, I decided I had to get out of the house.  I find myself staring at the walls on the weekends far too often lately.  I packed up my pistols and a box of ammunition for each and headed to the range.  Its the first time I have been able to get to the range in over a year.  I wanted to put a few magazines through each pistol and test all of the new magazines for the 1911.

I found out two things.  First, some of my .22 ammo is aging poorly.  I had a magazine with seven out of 10 failure to fires.  I believe that was the last of my wife's ammo during her last range day 4 or 5 years ago.  I bought more, but I really had to think twice, since I am not used to paying $50 for 500 rounds of .22 for any reason.

Second, I need to get to the range more often.  All of my shots hit the paper, but there were a few close calls.  I am assured that I can hit the broad side of a barn, but only if its a big one.  

Just a question....

Has the family of Michael Brown apologized to the owner and employees of Ferguson Market and Liquor for the strong arm robbery committed by their son just prior to his death?  Or for the damage done to the store by the rioters incited by Brown's step-father?


No?


Shocking.

The long goodbye...

It has been two months.  Three months ago I had a wife, a daughter, a service dog for my wife and two cats.  A family.  Today I have a foster child and two cats.

I spent a month and a half trying to get used to the new normal.  The emptiness now present in our home.  The mood swings from my daughter, one minute smiling and baking for an army, then next sullen and hiding in her room.  The looks from the Banner as lays on the couch where my wife used to sit.  The cats have even gotten more clingy, although that may just be because I feed them.

One constant was still caring for Banner, my wife's service dog.  It took my wife seven years to get him.  Two service dog organizations went out of business before they could deliver a dog.  The third one was successful.  She had him for just over two years.  Two years of service, companionship, love and devotion.  Now he had no purpose.  No one to help get around.  And despite our best care and attention, he knew we were not Mom.

After a month and a half, we finally had a service, a remembrance and celebration of life.  I asked a number of friends to assist with the planning.  I was not capable.  It went well and I was pleasantly surprised at the turnout.  It was touching.  However, I found out that this was the easy part.

The morning after the service, I had to say goodbye to Banner.  The organization that provided him retains ownership of the dogs that they train to ensure that they are cared for in cases such as this.  We had several phone calls and were initially planning to keep him if allowed.  Unfortunately, the longer we had him the more I realized that without my wife, Banner was not suited to living in a small two bedroom apartment with several cats that did not like him.  So, the day after I said goodbye to my wife, I walked Banner down to the front of our building with all of his belongings, took off his leash and said "Car."  I then handed the leash to the wonderful woman who was picking him up, the woman who raised him from a puppy before he was trained.  Then I watched them drive away, taking with them the dog that gave my wife such joy, such hope for a better life where she did not have to depend on others.  It was almost as hard as the day she died.  I don't recall the walk back up to my apartment.  I do recall crying hard, as hard as the day she died.

I thought that after all of this, things would get better.  I was able to retain custody of my daughter, despite my never being able to adopt her.  Her biological father has not seen her but once in the last 12 years and realized that he was not prepared to take on her care.  I am now a foster parent, which was more than I was expecting.  The 10 year fight with the school district to get our daughter into the proper school is finally over, mainly due to my wife's tenacity and (I believe) her passing.  A loan that we were hoping to get to level our finances and undo the damage done to our finances by her illnesses came through the day before she passed away.

Then the other shoe drops.  Several, in fact.  During this trying time I apparently had Jury Duty and missed it.  I just received the notice telling me this, and found the original notice buried on my desk.  Then my manager decided that this would be an excellent time to write me up for my "excessive unscheduled time off" this year.  The illness and death of my wife, not to mention the court battles and school district battles, all done using existing time off allotments (sick, vacation and personal days) were apparently unacceptable reasons.  So now I have a lovely to-do with my HR department.

I normally look forward to the holiday season.  This year, not so much.

The new normal.

Tonight we decided to do something that my wife enjoyed.  We made popcorn, sat on the couch fending off the cats and watched some of the new season's shows.  The dog lay peacefully on his bed curled up with my wife's jacket, finally sleeping well if the running in his sleep movements were any measure.  We enjoyed the TV shows, successfully defended our snacks from the feline menace and generally forgot about the stress and loss of the last week for just a little bit.  It felt good, but I worry that one day it will be too easy to allow that memory to fade.  I hope not.

Was this trip really necessary?

Friday I am notified that we have a court hearing on Monday to discuss my step-daughter's custody.  Due to the expense we were never able to put together the funds to move forward with the formal adoption.  Apparently the social workers worked quickly on these notifications.  As things were busy, I was unable to complete the game of tag with the lawyer, so I have to hope I bring everything I need to the hearing.

Two and a half days of frantic and stressful activity later, I walk into the court building trailing a rolling file box full of every scrap of documentation I can find relating to my step-daughter and my wife's custody of her. After three hours of waiting, we spend 5 minutes in the courtroom to be told "Our condolences, no changes, come back in three weeks." Was this trip really necessary?

Gone.

How do you deal with the loss?  My wife of 10 years has passed away.

I left her at the hospital in the evening, having had to argue with doctors about getting her heart medication re-instated and a new treatment started for her Crohn's Disease.  We had finally gotten them to stop trying to prescribe pain medications that she was allergic to, and finally gotten her nausea controlled.  Things were looking up.  My in-laws, our daughter and my wife's service dog were all there all afternoon.  My wife finally got clean sheets, a clean outfit and a sponge bath.  We washed her hair for her, which really brightened her day.  Being in the hospital sucks, but its the little things that make it better.  She was thrilled that everyone was there.

I had already taken the day from work due to the exhaustion brought by the previous 5 days and spent it all at the hospital.  In the early evening I kissed my wife and told her I would see her in the morning.  I took our daughter to get a bite to eat that was not hospital food and dropped her back off.  My wife posted her excitement on Facebook at finally getting a treatment that stood a good chance of combating the Crohn's.  She spent the evening exchanging texts with people about the treatment.  I went home, fed the cats, had something to eat and went to bed early.  All our shows were set to record and I would watch them with her when she got home.

After I got dressed in the morning, I saw that my daughter had called while I was in the shower.  I was expecting a call to tell me that she needed fresh clothing or that a doctor was being problematic and I needed to intervene.  Instead the phone was answered by a hysterical 15 year old telling me that my wife was gone.

I cannot describe the feeling at that moment.  I know I said "What?!?"  She repeated it.  I told her I would be there as fast as I could.  No thought was given about anything else.  I don't recall half of that 15 minute trip.  I recall thinking that she was wrong, that when I arrived I would be told that there was a scare but she was alive.  It was not possible.

She lay in the bed unmoving.  A tube still stuck out of her mouth.  There was no comforting movement of her breathing.  Our daughter turned and clamped onto me in a tear filled bear hug.  My question of what happened was explained, but it held no answer.  I was reduced to a quivering pile of tears for...  I don't know how long.  We asked that they remove the tube and then tried to comb her hair, but we could't.  It was hours before I could bring myself to leave, and then it was the hardest thing I have ever had to do.  I kissed her on the forehead, told her that I loved her, squeezed her hand and then cried in the hallway.

My wife's service dog simply sat by the bed, wanting to jump up and see mom, but not allowed to and not understanding why.  I still don't think he understands that mom is not coming home five days on.  We let him say goodbye when we finally left.  He climbed up on the bed, sniffed around her head, licked her face and then lay down on her legs.  But when we finally left I really don't think he quite gets it.  He sleeps on her pillow and the jacket that she first wore when she met him.  She loved that jacket and wore it all the time.

My questions as to why are still not answered.  The doctors and nurses were shocked as well.  At 4 AM she was fine, vitals were normal and she chatted with the nurse.  At 5 AM she was not breathing and had a weak pulse.  Almost 2 hours of effort to revive her failed.  My daughter was stuck in the room the whole time and was forced to sit and watch her mother pass away.  And she feels it is her fault.  I can't dissuade her from that opinion.  And now I have to pick up the pieces.

I don't know how.

Just calling and notifying everyone who needed to know was almost impossible, even with the help of our daughter, my wife's parents and a family friend who arrived as soon as she could.  So many people that my wife touched.  So many people that had to be called so that their first notification was not a Facebook post.  And now that I am trying to pick up these pieces, accomplish the tasks that she accomplished while I was at work, I don't know how she did it.

She was my life, it completely revolved around her.  I know eventually this will get easier.  I know that eventually I will be able to look at her belongings and remember her fondly without being reduced to tears.  But that time is not here.  Not yet.  It will be a long time in coming.  

Seriously?

President Obama commented that the beheading of a reporter has shocked the world.  Seriously?  The thousands of people killed before that were not shocking enough?  A reporter has to be murdered for the world to be shocked?  There are days when I feel that we are in a hand-basket headed south.  There are other days when I feel like we have already made the journey...