I Miss Your Blog Posts ....

I received an email today with that subject line. I was surprised at how good that made me feel.

It was from a recent widow who said she found my posts "comforting" and she checks in every day to see if I've posted.  I've been feeling that I'm not really contributing anything with this blog, but her email has given me a renewed drive to share my story. If my writing can help her, then it's worth keeping at this ... and I think it will also help me to heal.

I had every intention of getting out this past weekend (really, I did).  I actually had something planned for each day. But it wasn't until late Sunday afternoon that I finally ventured out (and only because I needed laundry detergent).  I work hard during the work week to act normal and need to lay low at times to re-energize so I can face the next week.  A widow friend reminded me that it's important to "listen to me", so I'm trying to do that for now.

My last post noted that I'm afraid I've been concentrating too much on the date Vern passed.  A friend made the following suggestion; I'm going to give it a try and see if it helps.

I was thinking of you and Vern last night and how the 22nd is such a constant reminder of your life- changing loss. And I thought, what if you thought of the day as Memory Day instead of the anniversary of when he left this world. And every 22nd get out a different picture of when the two of you were young and he was healthy, before the Evil C took over your lives. Even get a funny movie that the two of you shared and watch it knowing that he is beside you laughing again. And just maybe, someday, the 22nd will be a day that is not so painful, it will just be full of nice memories.

Thank you, Lynette, Sue and Gloria.  Your messages made a real difference for me today.

Missing him ....

Yesterday was the 22nd - the 5 month mark since Vern's passing - and yet today was harder for me.  I had worried that I was putting too much emphasis on these 'anniversary' dates, giving the 22nd more power than it deserved.  Perhaps not.

I was surprised at how good I felt yesterday. No tears on the way into work while thinking of my guy. Several unexpected compliments received during the day that put a smile on my face. A nice return to yoga after missing the last two weeks because of that nasty cold.

And then came today. Didn't sleep well. Cried all the way into work. They weren't tears of grief and depression ... more like tears of remembrance, tears as I talked to Vern - out loud - on my drive in. Songs that meant something to us or even songs that weren't special but the words took on a different meaning today brought tears. As always, I did fine at work. Only one little catch in my throat when the song "More" came on the radio in my office (it was sung at our wedding). I attended a restorative yoga class tonight to make up one of the sessions I had missed. My friend, Dorothy, is the instructor and she said this would be a great class for me to relieve some stress - deep relaxation poses, very healing - and she was right. But I was surprised when during one of the poses I was overcome with emotion. I felt comforted by Vern's presence while silent tears poured down my face. Luckily the lights were dimmed and no one noticed - and it was only during that one pose. Maybe today was just a day to release the tears that are held at bay other days.

"Perhaps our eyes need to be washed by our tears once in awhile, so that we can see Life with a clearer view once again."  Alex Tan

I miss him. I so wish I could talk to him, ask his advice about things I'm facing, hold his hand. I've been reading a book, Encountering Heaven and the Afterlife, that tells personal stories of those who have had near-death experiences or encounters with angels and provides a glimpse of what Heaven is like. Another book, The Barn Dance, describes how "life continues and love persists beyond the grave". These bring me comfort, as does my faith, that I will once again be with Vern. I'm ready for whenever that day arrives.

I'm pushing myself to do some things but it sure isn't easy.  It's far easier to just stay inside our home on the weekends.  It just takes such an effort to socialize sometimes.  I put it all out there during the work week, so when the weekends come it just feels good to stay in. I know that's not healthy and it's not what Vern would want for me, so I'm going to try, try, try to get out more often.

I did have a lovely dinner last Thursday with our special friends, Rich & Bre. Vern loved them both so much and he would not have been happy that I had put off their invitation for so long. And I had a wonderful time catching up with Joe & Luanne during lunch on Friday. Joe was our life-saver during the cancer battle, staying with Vern so I could return to work. He and Vern had such a special friendship ... what a blessing he was to us both.  I'm so glad I did both of these, but it didn't take long for me to revert to my old habits. I drove home right after lunch on Friday and didn't venture out again until returning to work on Tuesday.

I've signed up to walk a couple of 5Ks next month. Shocking for me, really, considering the horrible shape I'm in, but it felt like the right thing to do at the time. I had signed Vern & I up for the Run Away with the Cirque du Soleil at the Springs Preserve a couple of years ago. I thought it would be a fun outing since we both were fascinated with those Cirque characters. I had planned to push him in his wheelchair ... but he wasn't feeling well that morning so we weren't able to go. I thought me doing that race this year would be a nice tribute to my guy. Just after signing up for that race on the 19th, I learned of another on the 13th that I couldn't say no to.  This one benefits pancreatic cancer and we're running/walking for a dear co-worker.  So I'm going to push myself out the door those two weekends for good causes. 

Maybe that's as good as it gets for now. I don't have to do something outside the house every day of the weekend, but I will do my best to get out at least one of the 3 days.  I've started a list of things I might want to do so I'll have no excuses. Wish me luck!

My grief will not define me

The emotions of grieving are so very difficult.  People often say how strong I am ... is that meant as a compliment or a criticism? When I'm feeling the weight of my grief, I feel guilty for wallowing in it. I know that Vern would not want that at all. When I'm feeling somewhat 'normal' I feel guilty for not grieving 24/7. Does that give the impression I'm happy to be a widow and I'm finished with grieving? That couldn't be further from the truth.  I miss Vern every moment of every day.

It will be 5 months on Tuesday. How should I be feeling? I read a lot of other widow blogs and there is a huge variety of grief expressed. Some I can relate to, others I just can't at all. I don't want to become identified by my grief years down the road. Vern's memory deserves better than that.

I am who I am because of our 41 years together. And caring for him for the 4+ years after multiple myeloma entered our lives brought out something in me I didn't know was there. We faced so very many battles together during that time, so many hospitalizatons, surgeries, critical issues. He was definitely not the 'normal' MM patient, and I've been told I wasn't the 'normal' caregiver either. The closeness we always shared was emphasized during the cancer battle. Our life story is unique to us, so I guess it makes sense that my grieving will be unique. And my faith assures me that I will see Vern again and that helps me to move forward.

I see my "new" life as a tribute to Vern.  I talk to him often and I listen for his answers to come in a variety of ways.  They always do.

Can I run away?

Feeling like I want to run away somewhere. I need a change. I'm going through the motions. I say all the right things, I think, but I just feel out of sync. Like I'm acting ... behaving the way I think everyone expects me to behave and I don’t know how to stop. I can’t find my voice … to be honest about everything. And yet I’m afraid if I started saying the things I’m thinking and feeling I would regret it. I’m able to support others who are suffering but feel shut off from anyone supporting me. It’s a weird feeling; very hard to explain. I’m not asking for anyone to intervene. I’m not asking for sympathy. I’ll figure this out eventually.

Perhaps it's just because I've been sick most of this week. Have suffered with the cold/flu crud that everyone seems to be experiencing and it's probably had an impact on my mood. Haven't felt well enough to get outside and enjoy our lovely weather, or even to get some things done inside. Any effort expended results in exhaustion. So many things on my 'to-do' list and I'm just not making any progress. Thought once the weather warmed up it would jump-start me, but now I don't feel well enough to do anything.

And all of this just seems to emphasize how much I miss Vern. I read other widow blogs and think I’m doing better than many who are further along this journey. But then I wonder if I really, truly am or is it all a sham? Will it all come crashing down some day?  I’m tired. I miss Vern, I miss having him here to talk to, to care for … I miss our life and all that we looked forward to. I’m jealous of others who still have their spouse and I get angry when they complain about such little, insignificant things. Don’t they realize what they still have?  And tomorrow ... Valentine's Day ... wish I could just stay home under the covers.

I thought of you with love today,
but that is nothing new.
I thought about you yesterday,
and the days before that, too.

I think of you in silence,
I often speak your name,
But all I have are memories
and your picture in a frame.

Your memory is my keepsake,
with which I'll never part.
God has you in His keeping,
I have you in my heart.

I shed tears for what might have been,
a million times I've cried.
If love alone could have saved you,
you never would have died.

In life I loved you dearly,
in death I love you still,
In my heart you hold a place
no one could ever fill.

It broke my heart to lose you,
but you didn't go alone,
For part of me went with you,
the day God took you home.

Author Unknown

Happy Birthday in Heaven, Vern!

Today would have been Vern's 70th birthday. This photo was taken at his 2007 birthday celebration at the Orleans Arena, his first birthday after the cancer diagnosis in May 2006. He was still in the wheelchair at this point, after having spent 7 of the previous 9 months in the hospital, rehab or acute care facility. Vern had been Guest Services Manager at The Orleans before he became ill and a special gathering was hosted in one of the suites during a Las Vegas Wrangler hockey game. Many of Vern's ushers and friends came by, and the Wrangler GM presented Vern with a personalized jersey. Vern was so honored. 


This photo was taken in 2008, his best year after cancer entered our lives.  He was off chemo, was able to walk again, didn't spend one day in the hospital ... a good year indeed!  At the time, we didn't fully appreciate what a wonderful gift that year was.  Our dear friend, Joe, gathered some friends for a lunch at South Point and surprised Vern with a birthday cake; he was so very touched by this kind gesture. It was a good day. 

This photo is from 2009, when I surprised him with a night at the Palazzo. We had to eat in our beautiful suite because he wasn't feeling too good, but he was able to make it to the showroom to see the Jersey Boys. He loved it - singing along with the rest of us to all of those great old songs.  We had recently learned the myeloma had returned and his strength was waning. This picture is on Sunday when we were checking out and he was exhausted. We had no idea at this point that kidney failure and dialysis was just two months away.

No special celebration in 2010 as he just wasn't up to it. I had put out a request through our CaringBridge site for former students, kids he coached, co-workers and friends to send along special memories. He loved hearing me read these special messages. 

I was going to end this post with the song "Smile" from Uncle Kracker with this picture from May 2009. That song always brings me a smile along with tears.  But I heard Josh Groban's "To Where You Are" on another blog last night and it just says it all for me.  I've added both of these songs to my "Special You Tube Videos" in the sidebar, if you're not familiar with them, and the lyrics are printed below. Happy Birthday my love.

"To Where You Are"

Who can say for certain?
Maybe you're still here
I feel you all around me
Your memory, so clear

Deep in the stillness
I can hear you speak
You're still an inspiration
Can it be?

That you are

my forever love
And you are watching over me

from up above

Fly me up to where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile

If only for awhile

to know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are

Are you gently sleeping
Here inside my dream?
And isn't faith believing?
All power can't be seen

As my heart holds you
Just one beat away
I cherish all you gave me

everyday

'Cause you are my
Forever love
Watching me

from up above

And I believe
That angels breathe
And that love will live on

and never leave

Fly me up to where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile

If only for awhile
To know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are

I know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are

Vern would be pleased

I didn't end up going out at all last weekend ... in spite of my vow to stop cocooning ... but this has turned into a really good week. 

• Had a very, very busy work week, so those 4 days just flew by. Still some tears here and there, but much improvement on that note.
• I'm continuing with my Tuesday night yoga and so enjoy my time there. The last two sessions were a bit more of a workout (this fat ol' body of mine has difficulty doing the inchworm without fear of smashing my face into the floor), but the instructor says my tree is excellent! 
• Joined my online bereavement group pals Thursday evening and continue to get so much from those 90 minutes. Such very special people.
• A co-worker/caregiver/friend invited me to breakfast on Friday and it was a simply marvelous time. We talked non-stop for 2-1/2 hours about husbands, kids, friends, doctors, cancer, chemo, work, change ... and I do believe Vern spoke through her when I shared the big decision I've been battling. She looked me straight in the eyes and said that I need to think about what is best for me and not how everyone else might react and it was a real 'lightbulb' moment for me. That might sound rather simplistic, but it's something I struggle with so hearing her say it out loud helped me make my decision.  Bless you, Linda.
• And today was my first hike in Red Rock Canyon with a great group of people. It was a lovely morning in a beautiful place and was a really good work-out for me. I had to stop a couple of times in the middle of a climb to catch my breath, but since I've not done any exercising for a long time I'm grateful I didn't keel over! I will be hiking again.

And tomorrow starts a new week. It is my love's birthday ... he would have been 70 ... I miss him.

We need to talk ....

I'm adjusting to some of the changes of living without my precious Vern in my life, but what I'm missing the most these days is having him here to talk to. Even when he wasn't feeling well, we talked. If I was at work and needed to share something, we talked.  On the drive into work or back home, we talked.  When I arrived home, we talked about our day.  And during the last few years, neither of us got much sleep - so we talked through the night. He was the other half of me ... he always helped me to see all sides of an issue, to work my way through problems, to heal my heart when my feelings were hurt by others' insensitivities or when I was faced with making a big decision.  I need him now.

So many times each day something will happen and I will think, "I need to tell Vern" ... and then the jolt of realization hits me and my heart hurts once again with my loss.  I know this isn't unusual. We talked about it last night during my online bereavement group chat and others have the same experience.  Knowing this is normal for widows doesn't make it any easier, however.

So I talk to Vern ... sometimes out loud, sometimes just sitting in his chair with my eyes closed and the little extra bag of his ashes held close to my heart.  It helps sometimes, but it isn't anything close to enough. But it's all I have.

I'm facing a really big decision that I can't discuss with anyone else and oh boy do I need Vern. I have absolutely no doubt that he would ask the right questions and say the right words that would lead me to know the right choice to make.  So I'll talk to him this weekend about this issue and wait for him to give me the right answer.

... and to explain the photo accompanying this post ...
My fellow caregiver/widow/bereavement group/Facebook/blogger friend, John, posted about a photo of their "second wedded kiss" in his blog and it reminded me of this photo of Vern & I.  It brought me a smile this morning.  A nice memory of so long ago (August 23, 1969) when I was just 18 and Vern was 28. The beginning of our wonderful life together ... 41 years ... I so wish there were 41 more years to come.

4 months

The 22nd has arrived yet again, marking 4 months since my dear Vern left this earth. I don't know that I've made fantastic progress - but I'm taking the time I feel I need, to do the things I think I need to do. Does that make sense?  I guess I'm just trying not to judge myself with "I should'ves" as far as my grief journey is concerned.  Our cancer journey was unique and this next stage is uniquely mine. At the beginning, I felt I needed to read as many grief books as possible. I learned a lot and was reinforced that what I was feeling so often really wasn't unique at all. And I learned that it's perfectly normal to make forward progress and then have a setback. So I'm trying to just feel my way through this and not have any expectations.  It is what it is (a favorite saying of mine).  I've had friends say I need to do this or that ... and while their advice may be wise, I no longer feel an obligation to follow it. When the timing is right, then I'll take those next steps. 

And with that said, I'm rather proud that I took some forward steps this week:

• I'm joining co-workers at The Melting Pot after work Wednesday (my first time there).
• I'm attending a former co-worker's annual chili party on Saturday.
• I bought a couple of "squares" for the Super Bowl from a co-worker to make it a bit more fun to watch the game. Was also invited to their big party, but the game falls on Vern's birthday and I'd prefer to have that day to myself, so I declined.
• I started a beginning yoga class last week and will be going there Tuesdays after work.
• I'm going on my first Red Rock canyon hike Feb. 5 with friends.
• I've vowed that this will be the last weekend I allow myself to "cocoon" the entire 3 days - and I may actually venture out today or tomorrow.

I continue to gain so much from my fellow widows/ers and their blogs, along with my Thursday online bereavement support group. I cannot tell you how much it helps to share thoughts, feelings and experiences with those who truly understand.  One of the blogs brought me to a beautiful song I hadn't heard before. It's from the Broadway show "Wicked" and is about the friendship between Glinda the Good Witch and the Wicked Witch of the West ... but it touched me deeply with words that applied to how I feel about Vern:  "Because I knew you, I have been changed for good."  I've added it to my "Special You Tube Videos" listed under "Resource Links" over in the right-hand column if you'd like to listen to it.

I still feel a need to visit the oncology office and dialysis center, but whenever I drive by either location I'm still overcome with emotions and memories. There were very few visits to either place when Vern felt well. And I'm a little afraid I might not get the responses I'm looking for - and that could send me backward in my healing.  Perhaps this is something I'm just not going to be able to do. I've started to write personal notes to the special people who helped Vern & I navigate that horribly difficult cancer road, but I just haven't been able to express my feelings the way I want.  Guess this task will just have to stay on my list for awhile.

"I can be changed by what happens to me, but I refuse to be reduced by it."  Maya Angelou

Oh the paperwork ....

When I met with the funeral director after Vern passed he handed me this big green box and said it had everything I needed to take care of all of the required paperwork ... but that I could wait to deal with all of that ... 6 months even.  Well, we haven't even reached the 4 month mark and I've learned I can no longer ignore some of it. I don't feel like dealing with it - I don't want to take Vern's name off our bank account - but I'm not being given a choice.  We've had an account at this credit union since we moved here in 1982, with both of our names on it. But I got a call telling me that they were closing that account because Vern was the primary. What?!?  I hate it, but my voice broke and I had to grab those big girl panties once again. Why on earth would they need to close the account?  Come to find out, it was because I have an account there in my name and you're not allowed to have two accounts. OK, then why not close that one (it was only opened to secure an auto loan many years ago in my name) and leave our main account intact? The main account is where my paychecks are automatically deposited and where all of my bills are linked to. I'm just not up to having to make all those changes and, luckily, the guy on the other end of the phone heard me (or didn't want to deal with a crying widow).  He said they rarely do it, but he could move the money from MY account over to OUR account and change the name on it. Then he started talking about the IRAs Vern had in there - not much, but since Vern would have turned 70 this year it means he would have had to start drawing. More discussion ... and eventually the understanding that those could be transferred over to me without penalties. I offered to come in to sign paperwork, but he said he'd send it. (That makes me laugh ... maybe I scared him and he'd rather not have to deal with me face-to-face?)

And then there's the IRS. I received the anticipated certified letter from them this week detailing the hefty penalties involved.  I'm embarrassed to admit that I did not file our taxes the past couple of years.  Yes, I know ... it's not like me. Perhaps I was secretly hoping the IRS would knock on the door and take me away to debtors' prison and I wouldn't have to deal with all that I was living with.  Stupid? Yes, of course. And I certainly would have fought ever leaving Vern. So why did I do it, and why haven't I dealt with it yet? I honestly don't know.  It is the only secret I ever kept from Vern and I'm saddened by that.  So another supply of big girl panties is at the ready as I finally tackle this issue.

I received a very complimentary proposal from someone who would like me to work for them. It's been nice to think about, but I'm not ready to make a change there yet.  I'll hit 60 this year and 25 years at my company, so there are opportunities for me to consider retiring in the not-too-distant future - when I'm ready.  I'd still like to look into getting a place in Florida, but must get all of the IRS stuff settled to see what I can do financially.

I think I'm doing ok overall. Work feels better and I'm trying to get back on top of everything there that might have slipped through the cracks since I have taken so much time off.  I've come to terms with those who have disappointed me and have placed those feelings where they need to be so they don't hinder my healing. I have a lot of clean up to do around the house. I've kept far too many things over the years and could probably qualify for one of those 'clean house/hoarder' shows. Losing Vern has emphasized that 'things' or 'stuff' isn't what is important so I think I'll be able to easily donate or toss much of what has accumulated.  I joined Angie's List so I can find some good, reliable, trustworthy people to take care of things that need to be done around the house.

I still find a need for solitude on my days off.  My biggest emotion these days is sadness that Vern is no longer here to share my life. The tears still come, often at surprising times, but they don't overwhelm me these days. Cocooning brings me comfort, but then when it comes time to return to work I feel guilty for having completely wasted all those hours.  I surf the 'Net, read, start a project, stop working on the project, watch movies, make lists, play on Facebook, read blogs, go through old photos, reminisce. Not really productive, but it feels good for me right now to just 'hunker down' in the home Vern and I shared here in Nevada for 27 years.

"When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight." - Khalil Gibran

My continuing ride

Up and down ... hold on tight ... some corkscrews and twisting turns ... yes, the roller coaster ride of emotions continues.  But, if I'm honest, I do believe I'm making some forward progress.

Work is good for me and I'm fearful of where I would be if I didn't have that in my life. I no longer feel I must hide my true feelings when there, but I also notice that I have less times when grief overcomes me while at work. I'm kept so busy that my mind doesn't have the time to focus on my sorrow. So for 4 days a week, I have 11 hours that I'm pretty much able to feel "normal".  The drive in and back home can still be troubling ... and my evenings and weekends need some real work. Before cancer entered our lives in 2006, we both were far too devoted to our jobs. The jobs came first and we just squeezed in our together time when we could. We both learned the hard way that when you're no longer able to devote everything to the job, it - and so many of the people you thought were your friends - disappear. I won't make that mistake again. But this history of not carving out time for myself, along with the 4+ years caring for Vern when there just weren't any available extra moments makes this new journey rather difficult. I'm spending some time this month developing a list of things I might like to do to occupy this down time. It's a step forward.

I'm finding wonderful support with the online bereavement group I participate in each Thursday. That hour & a half flies by with words of support and encouragement from those who are working their way through the loss of a loved one. I'm so glad I found that group - and that I gave myself time to get used to the chat format.

Last evening, I had the opportunity to meet a fellow MM caregiver who recently lost his wife. He and his family came through Vegas on their trip to California and we were able to have a nice face-to-face conversation over coffee.  We've been exchanging emails, CaringBridge and Facebook posts as we each faced our challenges so it was really nice to meet in person. Why is it that cancer seems to enter the lives of the nicest people?

I've heard Vern's voice while watching a couple of movies during this past week. He loved Avatar and I was overcome when I heard Jake & Eywa say "I see you". Vern said that to me while in hospice and I didn't make the connection at the time, but when I heard/saw it in Avatar I remembered and felt his presence. I also watched The Notebook, not really a smart thing since it's a tear-jerker even when you're not dealing with grief.  But, again, Vern's voice reached me when James Garner said "you & me", "my sweetheart", "I love you so much" when holding Gena Rowlands. Those were the remaining few words Vern spoke to me while in hospice. A very special gift from my guy.

I visited our CaringBridge site this week to look something up, and ended up reading quite a bit of it. I'm just amazed at all that we experienced. It was certainly not the typical MM journey, with so many unusual medical issues and crises, but it was such a special bonding time for Vern & I. Re-reading it, I can't understand how I didn't see the end coming ... but I sure didn't.  This read did reinforce that I absolutely cannot wish for Vern to return to all that he endured. So I must learn how to move on with him in my heart. 

"Faith is the strength by which a shattered world shall emerge into the light." (Helen Keller)

A new year ahead

Those sparkles were such a wonderful surprise. I don't know who did this 'random act of kindness' but it is something I will never, ever forget.  I assumed that anyone reading this blog had also been reading my CaringBridge posts previously, but learned that wasn't the case when I was asked by some what the sparkles were all about.  So here's a quick explanation:  Just before Vern passed I told him he would soon be running, skipping, jumping - even doing cartwheels if he felt like it - on Heaven's streets of gold because his tired body would not be traveling with him.  The day before his memorial service, I came home to find our street "sparkling" like little pieces of gold were imbedded in the pavement in front of me.  The sun was shining and making them sparkle - and it was especially heavy right in front of our house. I felt it was a message from Vern that all was well. He's up there walking the "streets of gold" and just wanted to share a tiny bit of that with me down here.  It made me smile.

That special gift, however, wasn't enough to keep my spirits high on Christmas and the day after. I let myself wallow in my sadness and loneliness and dreaded having to return to work. I even thought about taking yet another week off, but eventually decided to make the effort to head into work on Monday. I am so glad I did. Alot of people were on vacation so it was a quieter pace which allowed for some extra conversations. When co-workers stopped by to ask about my Florida Keys vacation, I didn't hesitate to share my thoughts of Vern instead of keeping them to myself as I had been doing. I began to feel energized. During a couple of the conversations, the possibility of purchasing a home in Florida came up when I said how much I loved the Keys. I shared that Vern didn't have a huge life insurance policy, so buying a vacation home just wasn't in my budget. But they shared that friends and relatives have homes on the gulf coast and there are some that are quite inexpensive right now. Websites were shared and I spent time that evening surfing the 'net ... and getting excited.  There are 55+ communities with manufactured homes in the $20,000 range!  I could do that! The possibility started to grow in my mind and I began sharing it with others throughout the week. Their excitement for me just increased my own excitement. So I'm going to keep following this path and see where it leads me. I'm looking in the Ft. Myers/Naples area, so if you have any info to share ... please do!

This little experience has made a HUGE improvement in how I'm feeling. I'm actually thinking positively about what my future will hold instead of concentrating on all that I have lost. Vern & I used to vacation in Florida when we lived in Michigan and we actually considered moving there instead of Nevada. After our Crystal Pier vacations, we began discussing how we could easily live in a tiny space if it was near the ocean and dreamed of where we might move when I retire. Vern didn't want to have to deal with snow or hurricanes and we couldn't afford Hawaii or California, so we figured we'd end up staying here in Nevada.  But now I see some options and I feel Vern's support with this idea.

This past week has been the best I've had since losing Vern. There are still tears when special songs or memories overtake me, but I haven't felt myself falling into despair when I'm here at home as I was doing previously. I struggled with some thoughts, however, that it's too soon for me to feel like this. But my dear friend, Deb, assured me that was not the case. This is a tribute to my dear Vern and is what he would want for me. I'm honoring him and the wonderful life we had together. He would not want me to continue as I was, with secluding myself in the house except for when I had to go to work. So instead of feeling I have lost half of me, I now feel Vern strongly inside of me ... encouraging me, pushing me, whispering support in my mind ... for me to be all I can be.

I know my feelings can - and probably will - ebb and flow, but I'm going to wrap myself up in these positive thoughts for now and make the best of them.  I posted this quote from a poem by Mary Oliver on my Facebook page this morning that fits with how I'm currently feeling and think it's good for all of us to ponder:  "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" 

The sparkles are back!

Christmas Eve day was very difficult ... little memories kept flooding in and the tears just would not stop. Puffy eyes, still coughing and stuffed up, no decorations, no gifts or Christmas smells in the house ... I was a mess physically and emotionally. And I had absolutely no desire to do a thing to change it.

And then I received a surprise phone call from a fellow MM caregiver who lost his wife on December 8.  There's a special bond among caregivers, but especially MM caregivers, I think. It's a tough cancer, one that can affect everyone so differently. I'm amazed at how close I feel to people I've never met, who live in other states and countries. Our one connection is that we proudly care for and love our spouses as they battle myeloma ... and now some of us join in our sorrow as we mourn the loves of our life. My conversation with Craig helped me feel better and I hope it helped him, too. He has said I served as a "beacon" for him as he followed our story on CaringBridge and now here on this blog. That's why I decided to continue to write; if just one person is helped by reading my story then it's worth it. And I find it helpful to learn that others are having the same feelings, challenges, sorrows - it reassures me that I'm not going crazy, that this is as 'normal' as things are going to be for awhile. Thank you, Craig. I appreciate your kindness in reaching out.  I'm not very good at doing that.

I had planned to go to a Christmas Eve service but my emotions were still too close to the surface, so I decided it was best to stay home. My two favorite Christmas movies are "White Christmas" and "Miracle on 34th Street" and I just hadn't felt up to watching them yet this year. But after the phone call, I thought I'd give it a try since AMC was carrying them back-to-back.  (I also love "Elf" but that one doesn't pull at the heartstrings as much and I was able to laugh my way through that one the other night.)  I enjoyed "White Christmas", a few tears along the way but I cried in most of those same parts before losing Vern. I got through part of "Miracle" and then became really sleepy so decided to try watching it in bed (silly of me since I always fall asleep). Before heading to bed, however, I reminded Jeremy there was a garbage bag that needed to be taken out to the trash. He headed out the door and came running back in ... "The sparkles are back!"

I ran to the front door and there they were ... covering the front steps, the front porch, sidewalk, driveway, street. I fell apart - but in a glorious, good way.  I was overwhelmed that someone remembered, that someone took the time to do such a special thing for me on Christmas Eve. I got up several times during the night and opened the front door to look at them and I tried to take some photos of them early this morning, but this is the only one that turned out. Isn't it spectacular? A poem was also left and it reduced me to tears once again.  I had been feeling so sad because it felt that no one remembered Vern, his name was never mentioned by others. Even when I visited my family, no one brought him up. This poem reassures me that he is, indeed, remembered. Merry Christmas ... I received such a wonderful gift.

We Remember

In the rising of the sun and its going down,

We remember  him.

In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter,

We remember  him;

In the opening of buds and in the rebirth of spring,

We remember him;

In the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn,

We remember him.

In the beginning of the year and when it ends,

We remember him;

When we are weary and in need of strength,

We remember him;

When we are lost and sick at heart,

We remember him;

When we have joys we yearn to share,

We remember him.

So long as we live, he too shall live,

For he is now a part of us, as we remember him.

What was lost, has been found

This hasn't been an easy week, but today seems to be starting off on a more positive note so I'm hopeful the fog has cleared for awhile. Still have a chest cold, but the cough seems to have improved a bit this morning ... I made it through the 3 month anniversary date ... the rain has finally left southern Nevada and the sun is shining ... and I haven't cried yet today.  All positive signs, I think.

I hadn't ventured outside the house since returning from vacation. I just couldn't keep the tears at bay and with all of the rain and gloomy weather I just huddled myself inside. But on Tuesday I had to force myself to open that front door.  Social Security needed a copy of the death certificate and I had a certified letter waiting for me at the post office. I put it off until the afternoon and finally kicked myself out the door. As luck would have it, I arrived at the Social Security office at 4:03 ... and they lock the doors at 4:00. Their hours are 8-5, but I guess they want to ensure their employees get to walk out the door at 5:00.  Nice, huh?  It was a bit frustrating, given it was pouring rain, but nothing I could do about it.  So I headed out to find the post office that held my special Christmas greeting from the IRS. (It wasn't at the little post office right around the corner from my house.)  The clouds were hanging very low and the drive along Horizon Ridge was just beautiful. Tried to take a photo, but I wasn't able to capture the beauty. The post office lot was packed, of course, and the line reached to the door. I knew it wouldn't get any better, so I just mustered up some patience and waited.  It only took about 10 minutes for me to reach a clerk ... who told me I was in the wrong line. Uhhhh ... there was only one line coming in through the door. No, there's a special little spot for picking up things. Who knew? So I headed over there to wait some more. While waiting, I couldn't help but hear the conversations going on around me. Some older folks were quite perturbed with a woman who had a whole pile of packages, cards, etc. taking up space at the "single service" line (no, I hadn't seen this line from my spot way in the back either). They were being rather hateful and when the woman finally finished they attacked her ... telling her how angry they were that she was in that line and took up so much time. The woman didn't say a word, just moved on with her walker, but the clerk spoke up and said she was handicapped and had a right to be in that line. That brought on "I'm handicapped, too" by the angry elders. I just couldn't help myself .... I turned to them and said "Merry Christmas" ... and then heard several others repeat my words. It did stop their complaining, but I seriously doubt they 'got it'. It's a shame when people are so caught up in themselves that they can't show any compassion for others who are having a tough time. Sometimes the folks having a tough time don't show they're suffering, but they sure would appreciate a kind word or just a smile or holding the door for them (I know I have lately). Those little things that we were taught to do when we were kids seem to have disappeared ... especially during the holiday rush. It's a shame.

I have carried Vern's wallet in my purse for quite awhile. I kept it with me so I'd have the ID and insurance/medicare cards available for doctor or hospital visits, but after he passed I kept it because it made me feel better to have it there - and to see his smiling face on his drivers license (which showed through the outside). But when I was getting things ready for our vacation I thought it probably was safer not to carry it, so I put it away.  And now I can't find it. I have looked in all of my normal hiding spots, and it's not there.  I've prayed, I've cried, I've beat myself up for being so stupid ... but I can't find it. I remember thinking about what to do with it the morning we were to leave, but the memory stops right there. ....... 10 minute lapse .... While typing this, a thought popped into my head, so I retrieved my wallet and looked through all of the compartments. Vern's license was there!!!!  (along with a $100 bill - wow!)  Well, now I can't say I've had no tears today. Such a relief. Still don't know where the wallet is, but I don't care about that - it was his drivers license that I needed. Yes, today is going to be a good day.

Honesty

Perhaps it's because I'm sick or because we've had a string of cloudy, rainy days here in the desert since I returned ... or maybe this happens to others around the 3 month mark or because it's the holidays ... but I'm feeling rather melancholy. And I've decided I need to change how I write here. I started out wanting this blog to provide a pathway for those caregivers who will follow me, to help them know that what they are feeling is normal or to provide some resources I've found helpful. But just as I did with Vern's CaringBridge site, I've been holding back, not sharing my true feelings for fear of scaring people off, offending them or providing too much information.  I will tell you; this is hard stuff  - very hard - and it's not going to be helpful if I'm not honest about what I'm experiencing.

So when I ended my last post with saying I'm doing ok, that wasn't entirely true. I'm struggling. That doesn't mean that I'm in tears 24/7 and can't function, but it also doesn't mean that everything is back to normal (whatever that is). I can laugh and smile at some things and enjoy parts of the holiday season ... but in a split second a grief burst will arrive. I can't predict when it will happen or what will trigger it. I mourn the loss of my lifemate, the person I have been linked to for 41 years, who knew my every thought and with whom I shared every concern. I mourn what our life would have been in the years to come. That he left before seeing Jer get his life on track and with no grandchildren to live on after us. I'm tired of having to do all of the "necessary" things (most of which I put off) and worry that I'll make some serious mistakes. During our 4 year cancer journey I've not handled everything well. My focus was on caring for Vern, so I let things pile up, failed to file income taxes, been late paying bills which I'm sure has impacted our credit rating. Now I have to put all of those things right. Where do I start? Do I let everyone know that Vern has passed? I don't think I'm ready to do that. If his name is taken off accounts, will I be able to qualify to keep them in my name? I talked to Social Security on the phone today and became frantic when I couldn't immediately recall Vern's SS #. I have always been able to spout it out whenever asked. Why did it disappear from my memory bank so quickly? I find I'm much more forgetful these days. I'll put something away and then not be able to find it and have absolutely no memory of where I placed it.  I'm not behaving like "me" and yet I don't even know who "me" is these days. Half of me is gone. I'm envious of those who still have their spouses and get so frustrated (no, I get angry) when they complain of little things that just aren't important. Don't they know? They still have their spouse with them each day ... I don't.

I've debated about whether to continue to post my blog links to my Facebook page. I have mixed feelings about it. Should FB just be happy and funny and light postings? I do have a lot of FB widow friends. I guess those that are walking this road with me or care about how I'm doing will appreciate the link, and those that don't will ignore it - just like they ignore everything else. 

Oh dear, that last statement sounded harsh, didn't it? In the past I would have deleted it, but I guess since I'm feeling it, I'll leave it right there in all its honesty.  Tomorrow will surely be a better day.

Getting through the holidays

I decided I needed to take time off work so I wouldn't have to be there for the holiday lunches and parties. Everyone else is in full celebration mode and I'm not. I miss Vern and our life together and I'm trying to figure out who I am now that I'm alone. The holiday season is all about families and togetherness and making memories. I'd like it all to just be over, but then that will just take me closer to Vern's birthday and another celebration I must figure out how to get through. So I headed out of town with Jeremy to the Florida Keys - a place Vern & I had never visited. It was a nice time for Jer and I, and we toasted Vern and talked of how much he would have enjoyed that beautiful place. There were some tears, but I wasn't overwhelmed with sadness. I enjoyed taking some tours on my own and felt I was making some progress with my new 'aloneness'. We also got to see my oldest brother while in Florida and Jer met cousins he's never seen. Before heading back to Las Vegas, we made a quick stop in Michigan to see the rest of my family. It was nice to see everyone, but I felt I had to behave like I do at work ... put on a 'happy face', pretend all is well, be strong, don't cry, don't make anyone feel uncomfortable. No one mentions Vern's name, even though I brought him up a few times, but I've read this is very normal behavior. I was ready to get back home, and I greeted Vern when I walked in the house. It feels good to be back here with him.

I don't return to work until Dec. 27 so I'll need to figure out how to get through next week. I'm not decorating ... Jer is fine with not having a tree this year and since I have no grandchildren, no one else will miss it. There are just too many memories with putting up the tree and the special ornaments we've collected during the past 41 years. I have some projects to get started, so I'm hoping I'll accomplish some things and be distracted enough to get past the holidays.

I'm still reading some recommended grief books, which I'm finding quite helpful, and I enjoy the support of the weekly online bereavement chat group. I still have my 'grief bursts' - which I know are normal and natural - and I sometimes feel just overwhelmed with sadness when hearing about new cancer diagnoses or deaths of friends and co-workers.  But, overall, I think I'm doing ok ... one step at a time.

Giving Thanks?

Jeremy and I had Thanksgiving dinner at Willie & Jose's at Sam's Town. We enjoyed reminiscing and toasted Vern with our margaritas. This was a good decision; it was a good day.  The following 3 days, however, weren't so good. I worked myself into a quite a 'funk' and never left the house. It was hard hearing all of the wonderful stories of families and traditions and joy. I didn't feel very thankful, and I felt so alone. It's just Jer and I now; no other family here and few friends.  I miss my guy.

I finally started working on the thank-you notes. I know I should have dealt with this earlier, but I just could not get started. Mailed off half of them yesterday and will get the rest sent off by the end of this week. Maybe that will help me get started on all of the other things that need to be done around here.  The list just keeps growing.

I suspect part of my 'funk' this weekend was caused by the news that my dear UK friend lost her husband last Tuesday.  %#@! MM has claimed yet another warrior.  And yesterday I learned another friend's wife began hospice care after battling myeloma for over 3 years. MM is winning far too many battles lately and it saddens me. My heart hurts for Susie as she says goodbye to her beloved Hamada, and for Craig as he holds Jean close in the days to come. I know too well how difficult the next leg of their journeys will be.

22 = 2

I guess the 22nd of each month is going to be hard for me for awhile. Today marks 2 months since Vern passed (no, I still don't like saying 'died').  No one noted it, but the date's significance was with me from the moment I woke up this morning.

I did a quick Facebook check before heading off to work and saw a post from my dear UK friend. She had posted a new message on her blog, so even though I was running a bit late I took the time to read it because her husband has not been doing well and I've been so concerned.  Her news broke my heart.  H told her he is "very tired" and doesn't want to continue treatment.  H & Vern were both diagnosed in May 2006 and have had some similarities along their MM journeys. This news reduced me to tears and took me right back to mid-September when Vern said the same words to me.

Work continues to be a good place for me to be, as I only had a couple of brief teary moments while there.  But as I walked out to the parking lot after work, there was that great big full moon ... just like I saw on September 22 ... and the memories and tears returned.  I must admit I looked for my gold sparklies in the street when I came home. I so would have loved to see them today.

While reading Facebook posts this evening, I noticed the picture of a FB friend/MM patient that I hadn't seen post in awhile.  I went to her profile to see how she was doing and learned she passed away today.  RIP Karyn.  Stinkin' cancer ... stinkin' MM.

And then there's the mail ... labels that keep coming with Vern's name on them, unending requests from my insurance company to fill out questionnaires explaining Vern's accident and who we're going to sue (what???), and today there was an appeal from St. Rose's Health Foundation addressed to Vern asking for a donation from a 'grateful patient'. Sigh. Maybe it's not realistic, but since their palliative care nurse is the one who called hospice and he was transferred directly from San Martin to Nathan Adelson wouldn't you think they'd know he passed away? 

Kind of a crummy day all around, don't you think?  Although I really don't think these are bad things to experience. I understand they're all necessary feelings that are part of my mourning.  I miss Vern.

I do like writing my notes to him. It was a little hard getting started, but something happened over the weekend that I needed his advice on how to handle ... so I sat down with the journal and started writing.  Six pages later, I felt a lot better.

A Better Week

I felt like I lived on a roller coaster while Vern battled his disease - the ups and downs of dialysis and chemo treatments, side effects, lab results, blood transfusions, emotions, the good days and bad days we each encountered - and I guess that roller coaster has followed me into my mourning.  In comparison to a bad last week, this week was a pretty good one. I'm sleeping better (perhaps since I'm back in our bed and not in the hospital bed or recliner) and I felt a bit stronger. 

I still had some emotional meltdowns this week, but I know I'll have those for a long time. I never know what will trigger it although a lot of times it's music.  I have satellite radio on in my office with just instrumentals and when the song "More" came on it took me back to our wedding day and I cried.  That same day I had to run over to another building on our campus. The golf cart wasn't available so I drove my car and the song "Babe I'm Leaving" by Styx came on. Gosh - I had to pull over on the side of the road to get through that one.  I guess my point here is that these emotions and tears are perfectly normal and we shouldn't feel a need to hide them in an effort to make others more comfortable.

My heart is heavy as several of my fellow caregivers are in the midst of some very tough times right now. Most are people I've never met, but we got acquainted through the MM online list or Facebook or just through emails. Some have CaringBridge sites, others have blogs, which makes it easy to keep informed about their journeys and offer my support as they previously supported me. Isn't technology amazing? 

I've started a private journal where I write to Vern. One of the hardest things for me is not having him here to share things with. I want to call him when I'm at work to share an experience or ask him a question or get his advice. This sounds like a possible answer to some of my sorrow. I'll let you know how it goes.

Jeremy and I have received invitations to join friends for Thanksgiving but neither of us felt that was the right thing for us this year. We initially planned to just stay home and I'd fix a small turkey meal for the two of us but have decided we're going to do something very different. We're going to Willie & Jose's (a Mexican restaurant) at Sam's Town for our Thanksgiving dinner. Vern used to love going there before he got sick and since it is so 'not the norm' we figured it would be a nice thing to try this year.

The hospice Vern was at hosts a "Light up a Life" event in early December for everyone who has lost someone there during the past year. Not sure exactly what it will be like, but I look forward to attending to honor his life.  I'm taking a couple of weeks off work in December so I won't have to 'put on a happy face' during all of the holiday lunches and celebrations.  I have to do that during the normal work week but feel it might just be too hard to manage around the holidays. I've booked our flights to Florida and I think this will be a good thing for Jeremy and I to do next month. Just a couple of days in the Keys and a couple to visit my older brother, but I think it will be good to get away for a bit.

I wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving. Cherish this time with those you love. And if the one you loved most is not with you this year, then know that you're not alone.  Both of my support groups aren't meeting this week, but I'm here if I can help.

Melancholy: Sadness, Sorrowful, Blue

Wish I lived someplace where it rained a lot ... rain would have fit my mood this week much better than the sunshine we've had here. I took the week off to get some projects completed around the house but didn't really finish much at all. Got a few things started but just didn't have what it took to really get into them like I thought I would. I miss Vern every day, but it was much harder being home this whole week without him here to talk to, to watch tv with, to reminisce, to care for. I curled up in his recliner to read a few 'grief' books on my Kindle and made it through the last of all of the mail I had dumped into boxes. Found some serious things I had ignored that I will need to deal with. Just another thing to make me miss Vern.

Jeremy and I had lunch with Deb & Andi on Veterans Day. We had scheduled it a few weeks ago and it was a wonderful respite from the mood that has overtaken me this week. I'm very happy I went, but don't think our waiter was quite so happy since we stayed there for nearly 3 hours.

My GriefShare group didn't meet this week, but I did join the online group again on Thursday. It's important to have an outlet for all of these emotions - and the online bereavement group provides that.  I can be more honest there with people I don't know than I can with those I face each day. People here think I'm strong and don't see past the protective layer I've put in place. Only a couple even mention Vern. I know they care, but they really don't want to have to deal with my sadness and tears. So having a safe place where I can be me is important. Facing the bills, the house and car repairs, the everyday things that go wrong, all of the 'final' paperwork and then the extreme loneliness of no longer having my best friend here to help me get through these challenges provides a special connection to other widows who are facing the same issues.

I did get a good chuckle while reading "Widow to Widow: Thoughtful, Practical Ideas for Rebuilding Your Life" by Genevieve Davis Ginsburg.  I've said I don't have any anger issues, however, in the "Anger" section, she explains how dealing with "all manner of people who are acting as though the world has not changed are insufferable to the person whose world has just collapsed.  One woman, who was stopped for running a red light, screamed at the policeman, 'How would you like your wife to get a ticket when her husband just died?'"  Wow ... I guess I do have anger issues!  My parting comment to the Henderson motorcycle cop who gave me a ticket a couple of weeks ago was:   "If your spouse dies before you, I hope you remember how very kind you were to me today."

I shared with my online group that I was still sleeping in the hospital bed and hadn't got rid of any of the 'sick' things in the house. I think it helped to write that out and confront it - and I realized it was a step I needed to take. So I took the bed apart last night and I'm gathering the remaining supplies that were still sitting on the fireplace hearth. I have leftover colostomy supplies, PICC line flushes and dressings, gloves, tape, Depends, Nepro. I know there are people who don't have good insurance that could use this stuff, so I'm hopeful I can get it into the right hands. Had planned to stop by the dialysis center yesterday to ask the social worker there about this, but I just haven't felt up to going there yet.  After my meltdown upon entering hospice last week, I know I'm not ready yet. So I'm boxing everything up and putting it out into the sunroom until I feel ready. Someone suggested I ask a friend to do this for me, but I feel a need to return to the dialysis center some time to say my good-byes to the technicians, nurses and other patients we got to know during the past year and a half. This will give me a reason to go there, so it's on a future to-do list and that's ok.

I've struggled with my emotions a lot this week and, perhaps, it was a necessary release since I shove them into the background during my work week. It's only been 7 weeks ... a really short time for mourning ... but a really long time without Vern.

A Day of Tears

Grief is what we think and feel on the inside when someone we love dies.  Mourning is the outward expression of our grief.  Everyone grieves when someone loved dies, but if we are to heal, we must also mourn.  "Healing a Spouse's Grieving Heart: 100 Practical Ideas After Your Husband or Wife Dies" (Alan D. Wolfelt PhD)

I attended a "Getting Through the Holidays" class at Nathan Adelson Hospice yesterday morning. I felt good leaving the house, but memories and tears started up on my drive over since it was the first time going there since Vern passed.  As I drove past UNLV's Thomas & Mack Center that brought more tears and memories of the 20 years Vern spent there supervising the ushers. And then as I drove into NAH, wouldn't you just know the only parking space available was the exact one I had pulled into when Vern was brought there on Sept. 17 and my car stayed there until he passed? I nearly backed out and headed home, but then thought perhaps this was supposed to be a good sign for me - a kind of welcome back - so I took a deep breath and headed inside.  Whoa ... more tears as soon as I stepped through the door. I must admit I thought of that poor woman at the first support group I attended and whispered a little apology to her for not fully understanding how she felt until then.  There were only 4 of us there, along with a really wonderful facilitator.  One lost her husband a year+ ago, another lost her husband in April, and another lost his wife on the same day Vern passed.  There was great information for dealing with the holidays distributed, along with time to share our personal stories and issues. It was good that I attended this session as it confirmed some of my decisions and helped me to be very grateful for some things:  I had Vern with me for 41 years, we had those days at hospice to say our good-byes, I don't need to worry about losing my home; I don't have a young child at home; I have a job and didn't rely on Vern to do everything for me. That said, however, doesn't mean this is easy in any way. It was pointed out that my 4+ years of caregiving adds an extra layer to my mourning, and I agree with that.

I had planned to attend the 'Day of the Dead' event at the Springs Preserve later that day, but I was just feeling too wounded to even try that. I headed home, curled up in Vern's recliner and started reading a book called "Heaven" on my Kindle. I had the tv on and an old movie came on I had never seen:  "Sweet November".  Well ... if you've seen it, you know that wasn't a good choice for me.  I think every last tear left in my body was expended yesterday, so perhaps that was what I needed.

The work week was good and this was the first Friday since Vern's service that I ventured out. I needed to get the wheelchair van smogged and the new tag, so I headed out in the morning to take care of that. (For those who don't know what this is ... Nevada requires all vehicles have a smog check before you can renew your vehicle registration and get the license plate tag for the next year. If your vehicle doesn't pass, you need to have some work done first to cut down on the emissions before you can get the tag.)  I haven't yet decided what to do with the 3 vehicles I now have, so I had to pay the $342 fee to renew it.  And then I had an appointment in the afternoon to get my hair cut and colored.  I've been doing this myself while Vern was ill; just didn't feel I wanted to spend the time away from him to go somewhere to have it done. But when he was in the hospital the last time, he asked me to go get my hair done at a salon - so this was for him.  It's short and very red - more the color of when I was younger - but I think I'll get used to it. I had let it go so there's a pretty dramatic color change.  It did feel good to do something 'normal' and to hear all of the conversations going on at the salon.

I didn't sleep well last night - kept waking up every couple of hours since Jeremy wasn't feeling well. I gave him some medicine and he's skipping golf today.  Need to get him feeling good so he can help me get some projects done. Thursday is Veterans Day, so I'm taking Monday-Wednesday off so I have 10 full days to get things done.  Walked out back this morning and found the DirecTV wires hanging down on the ground.  Guess yesterday's wind must have caught them. So a trip to Home Depot is on tap for today to get a ladder and some of those clippy things to put the wires back up on the eaves. Hope they'll know what I mean when I use the term 'clippy things'.  Then I must attack the remaining piles of paperwork since I received a notice yesterday that I had failed to pay our property tax installments in August and October. Oh boy. It's nice that we've lived in this house for 27 years and it's paid off, but if I ignore the tax bills I could still lose it. Then it's on to the garage .... if you don't hear from me next week, send a rescue crew.