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| Photo by Kari Shea on Unsplash |
“If ever I am feeling sad … or lazy, or tired, or lonely I
just go outside pick a flower or two, bring it in, put it in a vase, walk
around the house finding the perfect place for it, and my mood gets an instant
lift. Something about the garden, the sunshine, the birds, smells, and sounds,
and the small gesture makes the difference.”
—Susan Branch
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| Photo by Debby Hudson on Unsplash |
“After a breakup or a breakdown, be willing to feel the emptiness and wait for the lessons. Stop filling all the spaces with busyness, shopping, food, booze, or other numbing devices. They won’t prevent the pain, only delay it….
“If find yourself waiting in line or sitting in traffic, or
are simply settling down after a long day, take a few deep breaths and reflect.
Stop filling all the spaces with digital distractions and mindless scrolling. Just
let there be space.
“When an appointment cancels or something falls off your
to-do list don’t replace it. Enjoy the margin. Stop filling all the spaces with
more to-do items. Less do. More be.”
—Courtney Carver, Project 333: The Minimalist Fashion Challenge That Proves Less Is Really So Much More
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In one of my favorite Seinfeld episodes, after George Costanza gets fired from the Yankees, he receives a severance package equal to three months’ pay. He decides he won’t work for three months, instead indulging in “The Summer of George,” which for him means wallowing in idleness, trying never to leave his apartment. Hmm…
Let it be known I’m indulging in “The Summer of Kathy.”
My well is dry. I’m exhausted mentally and emotionally from
digging deep to deal with such hard issues as terminal illness of loved ones, losing
a parent, and trying to decide what to do with all of my mom’s belongings (including
her cats) during two extended stays in California. I’m still not done with all
of that, but the most urgent matters are being handled. After the horrifying whirlwind
of the past four months, I’m definitely taking my activity level down a notch
this summer.
Actually, that’s not quite true. What I’m planning to do,
along with getting extra rest and taking time to contemplate what’s next now
that my caregiving duties have ended, is catch up on the simple pleasures and
everyday adventures I had to put aside temporarily. Therefore, I have a more
ambitious than usual Summer Fun List this year. I’ve already checked off a
couple of these (noted in red), so I think I’m off to a good start!
Mainly what I want to do is rest and regroup and slow
down. I’ve been rushing for so long. This list gives me some things to look
forward to during my least favorite season, and who knows? Maybe by the end of The
Summer of Kathy, new and exciting opportunities will show themselves—and maybe
I’ll have the energy to take advantage of them. My goal is to combine emotional
healing with gentle adventure. We shall see how it goes.
What are your summer fun plans?
More summer fun lists:
Laura Vanderkam’s 2023 Summer Fun List (I originally heard of the summer fun list from Laura)
Cup of Jo’s Low-Key Summer Check List
Even though there is So Much to Do, I’m taking it slow,
allowing for extra rest and quiet time, easing back into “normal” life (whatever
that is). Since the end of January, I’ve been pushing myself well beyond my
comfort zone and digging deeper into and draining my emotional reserves. Over
the past few months, I’ve found some solace and distraction in wise words and
entertaining videos on the Internet. Here are some of the things I’ve been turning
to for comfort and encouragement.
Courtney Carver’s words often resonate with me. Since I’m
definitely feeling overwhelmed, this post was comforting. I’m especially taking
to heart number 4.
Microjoys, glimmers, simple pleasures…whatever you call them, these little bursts of joy keep me going in tough times. There is always joy to be found.
And speaking of microjoys, some thoughts on happiness from
an 80-year-old.
Rather than mindlessly scroll, try one of the suggestions from
“7 Productive Distractions to Effectively Reduce Stress” when you’re feeling frazzled.
This is so great—I’d love to open a bookstore with a friend.
Since going through my own hard times, I’m learning how better
to support others who are grieving or otherwise suffering. “How to offer help when you don’t know what to say” offers some helpful suggestions.
Rediscovering the joy of play—I’ll have more to say about
the power of fun in a future blog post.
I’ve been watching The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning on Peacock and (no surprise) it’s hitting me in all the feels…in a
good way. Each episode so far has offered me at least one tiny insight into the
process of grief, decluttering, or living life to the fullest.
One of my favorite Broadway touring shows of all time
was the first show we saw during the 2022-2023 season: Six. To round off
today’s post, here’s a link to the first number of the show:
She passed away April 8.
When I first arrived, she knew who I was and could respond
with a few words or a facial expression, and she could hold my hand. Every day
I came to the nursing home where she was being cared for, spending most of the
day by her side. This was one of the most emotionally grueling things I’ve ever
done, but I wanted to pour into her some of the lifetime of love she’d given
me. I had plenty of time to reflect on our relationship, cry, begin the
grieving process, and try to say everything I needed to say before saying good-bye.
The staff found a comfortable rocker/recliner for me, and I
positioned myself where I could look out a window. My mother-in-law always said
it helped her during hard times to find a patch of blue sky to look at, and I
found myself doing that often.
One of the nurses showed me how to find soothing music videos
on YouTube, and every day I chose a new one. The music calmed me, and perhaps my
mom, too.
I’d leave every day wondering if I’d see her again. By the end, I’d lost my mom in every way that mattered and all that remained was the shell of her body. Still, the finality of her death crushed me. My heart still breaks at the idea of never being able to hug my mom again.
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| One of the last pictures I have of us together |
My mother taught me to love books, to sew, and to put aside doing chores when you’re exhausted and need to recharge. She read me bedtime stories and took me horseback riding even though she was afraid of horses. She was proud of me and didn’t try to change me, even when she didn’t understand me. For so many years it was just the two of us (my parents divorced when I was three), and it wasn’t until I was a mother myself that I realized how challenging it must have been for my mom to support us financially and take care of me at the same time. My father didn’t live in the same town and it wasn’t until I was older that I was able to spend significant time with him.
When I moved to Florida, we didn’t get to see each other
nearly as much as we wanted. I missed the everyday simple pleasures of being
able to meet for a meal or go shopping together, and as she got older, I hated
being across the country from her. She had troubles and challenges in life, but
she’d tell you, as she told a nurse, “It’s been a great ride.”
I think my mom performed one last, loving act as a mother. My
friend Kerri arrived on the afternoon of April 8 to spend her spring break with me, and no more
than an hour later, my mom was gone. I don’t know how I would
have coped if I’d been alone and I think my mom waited until my friend was with me.
As I went through some of her belongings, I found old date
books filled with dinners out, church activities, and family visits, and
literal drawers filled with cards and letters from loved ones. I found
notebooks with lists of goals, art and craft supplies, and file folders with decorating
ideas and places she wanted to go. (I do the same thing: fill notebooks with
ideas and folders with cut out pictures and articles!) I found awards she’d won
in 4-H, lists of books she read in high school, and a medal from the Arthur
Murray Dance Studio. My mom loved to dance, and I like to think of her dancing again
now that she’s no longer in pain.
I have more family articles to sort through, and more memories to explore as I begin the task of living without my mom. I am slowly looking at a few of these at a time, to avoid being swamped by grief. Recent memories like playing cutthroat games of chicken foot dominoes, and older ones, like the day when I was a teenager that she came home driving a brand new, electric blue Camaro, a gift she'd given herself.
I’m home
again briefly before we return for a graveside service next month. The last thing I can do for my mom is to
fulfill her wish to be buried with my stepfather.
I miss my mom already. This Mother’s Day will be painful, since I’ve lost two of my three moms this year. Even when grief squeezes me like a giant hand, or my eyes well with tears at odd moments, I know that even though it hurts, I was lucky to have Judith Allen Weingarten as my mom.
*One of my friends used this phrase when I told her my mom
was declining and I was going to be with her. I thought it perfectly described the
situation.
