So I've been beyond stressed lately, with the death of my grandfather, no job, no money, Christmas is coming, etc, etc. Little things started to pile up, like dirty dishes or dirty socks being left willy nilly all over the apartment, stuff still in boxes, furniture still not put together, etc. It was starting to pile up inside me and making me go crazy. Actually go crazy. Last night Rob got called into work. I was watching tv and eating popcorn. Then I chipped a back tooth. Yup, same side as my other broken tooth, but down the bottom, closer to the back. It's one that has a filling it, so I'm wondering now if the whole thing will just fall apart on me, and I'll have two huge holes on that side of my mouth.
So I cracked the tooth, and everything, and I mean everything feel apart for me. I sat on the couch in the dark and cried. I cried over the tooth, I cried over the insurance and money I don't have to fix it, I cried over the dirty dishes and socks, the no job, the no Grampy, the issues Rob and I have been having lately, the feeling of worthlessness and unhappiness I've been having, etc. Rob came home and found me like that. He offered to do all the housework, in his usual "WHATEVER WILL MAKE YOU HAPPY, I'LL DO IT, JUST PLEASE STOP CRYING" fashion he has. I didn't want that. I told him that I understood that he was working and I wasn't, so it's normal for me to do the majority of housework, but I need help. Just a little bit, cause I can feel myself going nuts. It's that simple. It's a slippery slope, and I've been here before. I'm a long way from where I was, long ago, but it all starts somewhere, and I certainly don't want to get beyond this.
My Mom, Nanny Barb (maybe) and Aunt Bonnie were supposed to come up today, Bonnie had a flight to catch. I killed myself last night cleaning up the apartment, moved extremely heavy boxes, cleaned up the guest bedroom, etc. Threw out my back, cried when I tried to move, you know, all that typically fun stuff that I get myself into. Yeah, no one came. Oh, my Mom came, to my brother's house. I understand that since the baby is there, that's where people are going to stay, I get that. I'm totally fine with that. But John and Denise still haven't been over here to see my new place. I understand that they are busy with the baby and work and stuff, but still. Like today. Mom called and said that they were all going to Costco. I said that was fine, I'd see them later. She said no, they were coming over to get me. I said no, I didn't want to go to Costco. I didn't need anything from there, and I had no money, so why should I go to Costco? She said get my coat, they'll be there in a few minutes. So fine. I got ready, then they called from the parking lot. John, Denise, Mom and Meghan. Um, am I missing something here? You can't come in for five minutes and see where I live? It's not a huge deal, but I nearly killed myself trying to make it somewhat presentable, as much as it can be still filled with boxes, and no one but Rob is going to see it. That's fine.
Ugh! I want to scream or something! Nothing is going right. I'm supposed to go home with Mom and Kendra tomorrow. I just want to sit quietly and sleep all day. How am I going to survive that car ride? And then I get to go and wrap a million presents for my sad grandmother. That's going to be wonderful. I just want this whole stupid Christmas to be over. I hate it this year, I don't want it, I want it to go away.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Sad, sad, sad
It's been an awful week. I guess it's been a bit more then a week now. Who knows anymore? It's become so hard to keep track of what time it is, or even what day it is anymore. As hard as it is, I think it's important for me to write about this stuff. I need to get it off of my chest.
Tuesday morning I received a phone call. My Grampy had a stroke the night before. We were weakly hopeful. I would be called when news was offered. I few hours later I received a call from my father. It didn't look like Grampy would make the night. You need to come home. I cried. I screamed. I rocked back and forth. I don't know if I can actually describe to anyone just how much I loved my Grampy. He means so much to me. He's always been there. Always. And he's always shown his love, clearly, to me, unlike many others I grew up with.
I made it home that night, 9:30. My little brother let me into the locked doors of the hospital. My Grampy, that man full of life, fight and fun, was lying on the bed. An oxygen mask on his face. His chest rising slightly. His eyes tightly closed. I broke down. I refused to sit next to him. I also refused to leave that room that night. I stayed, sure he would be gone soon. As the night grew on, I was able to sit next to him. Hold his hand. Whisper in his ear how much I loved him.
He was still alive the next morning. And the next night. My Aunt Bonnie and older brother were coming that night. We said that he was waiting for them. The night before he seemed to be in a lot of pain, and was given medication which seemed to calm him. The twitching and kicking stopped. Unless I placed a cold cloth on his forehead, or unless someone told him "Bonnie and John Mitchell are almost here." Oh, how he kicked.
He survived the night. And the next day. His whiskers were growing. It was awful. My Grampy never had a beard. He was always clean shaven and well dressed, he always smelled lightly of Old Spice. That night, Thursday, was awful. His breathing stopped at least 15 times. Probably more. I almost screamed at him to just let go, stop fighting. We were going to be ok without him. It would be hard, but we would be able to go on, eventually. But he would regain his breath. The next morning, as I had every other morning, I left to go home for my shower, but I didn't think I could come back. I had been there every day and every night, but that night was awful. Awful. I didn't know if I had it in me to give anymore. I stayed home for a few hours, tried to sleep, played with the baby, cried on Clayton...
It was John Mitchell who convinced me to go back. The nurses, the wonderful, wonderful nurses, shaved him. He was clean cut now. And apparently his breathing was better, and his color too. I went back. My Nanny Barb jumped up and hugged me, told me she was so glad I came back. I kept up my vigil. I owed it to him. I had been away for so long. I owed it to him to be there for him.
Now were were waiting for my cousin Jeremy to fly home, as well as one of Grampy's sisters. Friday they would be coming, her in the afternoon, him in the evening. We all knew he was waiting for Jeremy.
That night was hard. My grandmother said goodbye to Grampy for the second time in a week. Myself and my aunt, uncles, and mother sat in the TV room of the hospital and watched a Rankin's Family special. We laughed, some of us danced (my aunt is crazy)...We may have had cabin fever. Jeremy got there, as did Rob, and Clayton came too. The night was over, Mom, Bonnie and I were left alone with him again. My mother wrote his obituary, sure it would be over.
The next morning, he was the same. His breathing labored, but no more so then the night before. I wanted to scream. He was so stubborn. He was going to go on his own time, and that was it. My grandmother called that morning, as she always did. She told us "Maybe he needs to be alone to go. Why don't you three come on home for a bit. Have a shower, have some breakfast. Rest." We didn't want to go, but she did, so we started to tidy the room, and I called my Uncle Greg, and told him the news. I hung up the phone, turned to tell Mom and Bonnie not to forget their purses. When I got no answer, I turned back to the bed, and they were sitting beside him, mom holding up her hand. I stopped. I looked. He wasn't breathing. Mom yelled "Go get the nurses," I ran, in my sock feet, to the nurses station, tried to say "Wilena" but it didn't quite get out. The nurses followed. When I got back, he had taken another breath. Wilena took his pulse and told us it was time. Mom made me call my uncle Greg back to tell him to bring my grandmother. My hand was shaking so hard I could barely dial. When I hung up the phone, he took his final breath.
And it was finally over.
After all that waiting, it was finished. My Mother and Aunt cried as if their hearts were breaking. I sat there and shook, crying my own tears. We had asked for this so much during the last few days and when it happened, it was the last thing we wanted.
Then the phone calls, the family, the screaming of my grandmother, the sitting...It's all a haze. It didn't even feel real. Life was somewhat normal as we waiting for the funeral.
The funeral. I read. I'm still amazed I got through it. People tell me I did well. I don't know. I'm not a religious person, in fact I'm surprised that I didn't burst into flames, but I took comfort in the words that I spoke. I felt like I was doing something. Before and after the funeral, my grandmother told me many times how proud my Grampy would be of me. I think he would probably have told me to stop being so foolish, but who knows?
The graveside was the worst. I will never forget my grandmother screaming "no no no," or my mother "trying" to take my carnation from me (every other grandchild threw theirs into the grave with him, I felt bad about this, but as Mom reminded me, Grampy hated flowers, so would have been glad I kept mine). Rob and I left soon afterwards, came back from Halifax.
And my frustration continues. I don't know why. It just seems like I'm not happy. And I don't know what to do about it. I know a lot of it has to do with Grampy, but I was unhappy before hand too. And Rob is so touchy lately. I make suggestions and he snaps at me. I hide in the bedroom, he in the living room, and we live our lives separately. I need a job. That way I can have a real reason to hide from him. I shouldn't have to hide from him, or want to. I don't know what to do.
I just want to get this whole stupid holiday behind me.
Tuesday morning I received a phone call. My Grampy had a stroke the night before. We were weakly hopeful. I would be called when news was offered. I few hours later I received a call from my father. It didn't look like Grampy would make the night. You need to come home. I cried. I screamed. I rocked back and forth. I don't know if I can actually describe to anyone just how much I loved my Grampy. He means so much to me. He's always been there. Always. And he's always shown his love, clearly, to me, unlike many others I grew up with.
I made it home that night, 9:30. My little brother let me into the locked doors of the hospital. My Grampy, that man full of life, fight and fun, was lying on the bed. An oxygen mask on his face. His chest rising slightly. His eyes tightly closed. I broke down. I refused to sit next to him. I also refused to leave that room that night. I stayed, sure he would be gone soon. As the night grew on, I was able to sit next to him. Hold his hand. Whisper in his ear how much I loved him.
He was still alive the next morning. And the next night. My Aunt Bonnie and older brother were coming that night. We said that he was waiting for them. The night before he seemed to be in a lot of pain, and was given medication which seemed to calm him. The twitching and kicking stopped. Unless I placed a cold cloth on his forehead, or unless someone told him "Bonnie and John Mitchell are almost here." Oh, how he kicked.
He survived the night. And the next day. His whiskers were growing. It was awful. My Grampy never had a beard. He was always clean shaven and well dressed, he always smelled lightly of Old Spice. That night, Thursday, was awful. His breathing stopped at least 15 times. Probably more. I almost screamed at him to just let go, stop fighting. We were going to be ok without him. It would be hard, but we would be able to go on, eventually. But he would regain his breath. The next morning, as I had every other morning, I left to go home for my shower, but I didn't think I could come back. I had been there every day and every night, but that night was awful. Awful. I didn't know if I had it in me to give anymore. I stayed home for a few hours, tried to sleep, played with the baby, cried on Clayton...
It was John Mitchell who convinced me to go back. The nurses, the wonderful, wonderful nurses, shaved him. He was clean cut now. And apparently his breathing was better, and his color too. I went back. My Nanny Barb jumped up and hugged me, told me she was so glad I came back. I kept up my vigil. I owed it to him. I had been away for so long. I owed it to him to be there for him.
Now were were waiting for my cousin Jeremy to fly home, as well as one of Grampy's sisters. Friday they would be coming, her in the afternoon, him in the evening. We all knew he was waiting for Jeremy.
That night was hard. My grandmother said goodbye to Grampy for the second time in a week. Myself and my aunt, uncles, and mother sat in the TV room of the hospital and watched a Rankin's Family special. We laughed, some of us danced (my aunt is crazy)...We may have had cabin fever. Jeremy got there, as did Rob, and Clayton came too. The night was over, Mom, Bonnie and I were left alone with him again. My mother wrote his obituary, sure it would be over.
The next morning, he was the same. His breathing labored, but no more so then the night before. I wanted to scream. He was so stubborn. He was going to go on his own time, and that was it. My grandmother called that morning, as she always did. She told us "Maybe he needs to be alone to go. Why don't you three come on home for a bit. Have a shower, have some breakfast. Rest." We didn't want to go, but she did, so we started to tidy the room, and I called my Uncle Greg, and told him the news. I hung up the phone, turned to tell Mom and Bonnie not to forget their purses. When I got no answer, I turned back to the bed, and they were sitting beside him, mom holding up her hand. I stopped. I looked. He wasn't breathing. Mom yelled "Go get the nurses," I ran, in my sock feet, to the nurses station, tried to say "Wilena" but it didn't quite get out. The nurses followed. When I got back, he had taken another breath. Wilena took his pulse and told us it was time. Mom made me call my uncle Greg back to tell him to bring my grandmother. My hand was shaking so hard I could barely dial. When I hung up the phone, he took his final breath.
And it was finally over.
After all that waiting, it was finished. My Mother and Aunt cried as if their hearts were breaking. I sat there and shook, crying my own tears. We had asked for this so much during the last few days and when it happened, it was the last thing we wanted.
Then the phone calls, the family, the screaming of my grandmother, the sitting...It's all a haze. It didn't even feel real. Life was somewhat normal as we waiting for the funeral.
The funeral. I read. I'm still amazed I got through it. People tell me I did well. I don't know. I'm not a religious person, in fact I'm surprised that I didn't burst into flames, but I took comfort in the words that I spoke. I felt like I was doing something. Before and after the funeral, my grandmother told me many times how proud my Grampy would be of me. I think he would probably have told me to stop being so foolish, but who knows?
The graveside was the worst. I will never forget my grandmother screaming "no no no," or my mother "trying" to take my carnation from me (every other grandchild threw theirs into the grave with him, I felt bad about this, but as Mom reminded me, Grampy hated flowers, so would have been glad I kept mine). Rob and I left soon afterwards, came back from Halifax.
And my frustration continues. I don't know why. It just seems like I'm not happy. And I don't know what to do about it. I know a lot of it has to do with Grampy, but I was unhappy before hand too. And Rob is so touchy lately. I make suggestions and he snaps at me. I hide in the bedroom, he in the living room, and we live our lives separately. I need a job. That way I can have a real reason to hide from him. I shouldn't have to hide from him, or want to. I don't know what to do.
I just want to get this whole stupid holiday behind me.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Starting all over again....
Well here I am, in Halifax. No job, no money, but an apartment and a boy. My boy.
We've been here a bit over a month now, and the job hunt isn't going very well, for either one of us. I've applied to countless jobs and haven't gotten a bite yet. That's gotta make a girl feel good about herself. I'm going to start applying for shitty retail jobs now, anything to get some money coming in. Most days I try not to think about it. Other days it's all I can do. I'm glad that I came, but it makes me wonder...I mean, in Calgary Rob and I both had good jobs, good friends...and now...ugh, with Christmas coming, it's very stressful.
But I am, over all, very happy to be here. I mean, the ocean! My family and old friends...though things are stressful on that front too. My grandfather is recovering really well from his TWO heart attacks but his pancreas isn't doing well...they think that he might have pancreatic cancer. Like five percent of people with pancreatic cancer make it for five years...I'm trying not to think about it. That seems to work most days, though I did cry myself quietly to sleep one night. I don't want to stress Rob out over things that he can't fix.
Speaking about Rob being stressed, he's been very stressed off and on, due to the whole money thing, job thing, moving thing. Sometimes he would snap. Other times he would go and be by himself. I don't deal well with my own stress, let alone someone elses.
This is it so far. Hopefully I will have better news to post soon.
We've been here a bit over a month now, and the job hunt isn't going very well, for either one of us. I've applied to countless jobs and haven't gotten a bite yet. That's gotta make a girl feel good about herself. I'm going to start applying for shitty retail jobs now, anything to get some money coming in. Most days I try not to think about it. Other days it's all I can do. I'm glad that I came, but it makes me wonder...I mean, in Calgary Rob and I both had good jobs, good friends...and now...ugh, with Christmas coming, it's very stressful.
But I am, over all, very happy to be here. I mean, the ocean! My family and old friends...though things are stressful on that front too. My grandfather is recovering really well from his TWO heart attacks but his pancreas isn't doing well...they think that he might have pancreatic cancer. Like five percent of people with pancreatic cancer make it for five years...I'm trying not to think about it. That seems to work most days, though I did cry myself quietly to sleep one night. I don't want to stress Rob out over things that he can't fix.
Speaking about Rob being stressed, he's been very stressed off and on, due to the whole money thing, job thing, moving thing. Sometimes he would snap. Other times he would go and be by himself. I don't deal well with my own stress, let alone someone elses.
This is it so far. Hopefully I will have better news to post soon.
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