Settling In

We have been in our new house nearly a month now. We are settling in and it is beginning to feel like home. It’s a process that takes longer than one would think.

It’s been super glitchy, much more so than I would have anticipated – last minute rush by the builder to get things finished before we could move in, things needing fixed, delivery issues, etc. Some things have been done, but even now, nearly four weeks in, we still are waiting for several fixes by the builder. Other things we will take care of ourselves or will just have to wait until it can be done.

The window coverings are in but the installer can’t be here for several weeks. Our coffee table won’t be here for a while as it’s on backorder. We have to find a set for the patio and small table for the front porch but haven’t found anything we like or that is affordable. Most of the “big stuff” has been delivered and other things we will purchase as we go along or can afford.

Our progress also has been hampered by some health issues. Joe works part time at a local veterans home and recently was moved arbitrarily to a different job, one that requires working outside in the heat and humidity. Although it was not a move he wanted, he took the change in stride. Joe is a man of integrity and will perform a job to the best of his ability no matter what’s required of him. As a result of this move, he came home overheated nearly every day since then and ended up extremely dehydrated.

He came home one day last week after work, laid down to rest and woke up extremely confused and disoriented. About two hours later, he started to shake all over. When the shakes didn’t dissipate, I took him to the emergency room. They checked him in, listened to his symptoms and health history, told us to take a seat in the waiting area and then we waited. And waited. And waited. About 2 1/2 hours into our wait, we were told that there was an eight hour waiting list and we were way down the line. Because Joe had finally stopped shaking and was so exhausted he could hardly sit up, we went home so he could get some rest (before he was seen by a doctor).

I called first thing in the morning and got Joe in to see his GP doctor. The doctor was surprised the emergency room personnel didn’t see him right away with his symptoms, age and heart history. Joe was still somewhat dehydrated (despite our efforts to hydrate) and they ran some tests. Thankfully, his kidneys weren’t damaged, but he did end up with a secondary infection from being so dehydrated. He has been too exhausted to do too much since then. A trip to the cardiologist to check on his heart was also a priority. Everything looks okay, but he is scheduled for an echocardiogram next week just to make sure and to see why his blood pressure and weight are running low. His energy seems to be improving some day by day, so that’s good.

As a result house-wise, though, most of the responsibility for getting things done and and working on forward progress has fallen on me. My #1 priority has been making sure Joe is okay, though. Everything else is taking a back seat.

The boxes in the garage are slowly – very, very slowly – getting reduced at least a little as things get put away or go to Goodwill. The garbage and recycling guys now wave at us as they pick up the trash and cut-up boxes from our efforts to settle in. We finally got internet yesterday – and it is rip-roaring fast (as a person who works remotely at home, that’s very important). The desk for my office should be here today. We have a few more larger items to buy when we can afford them and then we can work on filling in gaps and putting up pictures, etc. It’s taking much longer to get done that I would anticipated, but we’re getting there. Our neighbors told us they have been in their house for seven months and are still working on unpacking boxes. I guess we are not alone in our efforts. But we are doing the best we can…and we’re getting there.

Our goal is to create a place where we can be at home, a place of healing and hope, a place where we can make guests feel welcome. Hopefully, that is something that we can eventually achieve.

~Becky

© 2022 Rebecca R. Carney

Moving

We have moved into our new house and are doing our best to make it feel like home. I looked at Joe the other day and said, “We are no longer storage unit dwellers!!” While unpacking boxes that have been in storage for so many years, we have found things we had forgotten we had.

As we ran across the box that had Jason’s hats in them, both Joe and I stopped to hug each other. I know they are just “things,” but when I look at them, I picture Jason wearing them. They seem so empty without him in them. Such a classy guy. We miss our boy.

It has had its glitches – completion, delivery and installation issues, things that need to be fixed by the builder or that we will do ourselves, internet not available for 4-6 weeks, realizing how many more things we need to get, etc.

One good thing about having very little of our own when we bought the house is that most everything is new. The flip side is that having to buy everything at the onset gets expensive. We will have to work at some things over time, just like we did when we first got married and started our lives together. A new beginning.

As have said previously, I have not felt “at home” anywhere since before Jason died, but we are giving this all we’ve got. I want to find a way to honor Jason in our new home, something special. I’m not quite sure what it is yet. He is always in our hearts.


~Becky

© 2022 Rebecca R. Carney

Mother’s Day 2022

It started this morning with a hug from Joe for Mother’s Day. I was holding together pretty well until then. We ended up sitting on the couch, holding each other with both of us crying. We miss our boy so much. Joe looked at me and said, “It’s just not fair.” One lesson we have learned well is that life is not fair.

It never ends. It never goes away. The grief, the reminder of broken dreams, the longing and empty arms. Most days we get up, carry on, keep on doing the best we can. We are thankful for what we have. But there are times when it hits us like a ton of bricks. And right now it hurts.

~Becky

© 2022 Rebecca R. Carney

Brokenhearted Mother’s Day

As Jason’s favorite classical piece, Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, came up on Pandora this morning, I found tears welling up in my eyes and I started crying. I am just so brokenhearted. Another Mother’s Day without Jason. Another Mother’s Day with no family close by. I miss my boy so much. He made everything so much better.

Mother’s Day is another stark reminder of his absence, a reminder that I wish I had treasured every single moment so much more than I did, a reminder of all we have lost. We take for granted our kids will be around for the rest of our lives. We take for granted we will have another chance to make more memories, to share more hugs and celebrate holidays. Even after 20 years, there are days when I just don’t know how to do this life without my boy. Mother’s Day is one of them.

I guess Mother’s Day exposes those cracks in the facade I try so carefully to maintain and to hide, allowing a bunch of feelings to flood to the surface. Mother’s Day just really gets to me. We’ll be alone again this Mother’s Day. I know that I am still a mother even though Jason died, but I feel so incomplete and empty. I wish I could skip Mother’s Day entirely and wake up on the other side.

I miss you, my beautiful precious boy. My Mr. Sunshine. You made me happy when skies were grey. I love you with all my heart.

~Becky

© 2022 Rebecca R. Carney

Easter 2022

This is one of the first Easters in a long time we’ve been asked to do anything. Our landlord/neighbor upstairs (we are staying in an apartment while our house is being built) asked us to go to church with her and to join them and their family for Easter dinner later in the day.

We have been alone for so long and are so guarded that it was a big deal for us to say yes. Because of COVID, we don’t really know them well at all. We talked about it some before we responded. It was not an easy thing for us to do.

We – Joe and I – tend to do everything by ourselves any more. We don’t ask for help unless we absolutely need it. We would rather give than receive – financially, emotionally, supportive. When needed, we figure out a way to do everything on our own, if at all possible. We’ve always been independent, but being so deserted after Jason died – and some other things we have walked through during the years – has made us very cautious in relationships. We are not as open as we used to be. We’ve gone it alone for so long that it feels strange to do anything different. It’s hard to make a change.

But being so cautious in relationships can lead to loneliness. Always giving can deplete you so much that pretty soon you have nothing left to give – not even for yourself. It’s not a sustainable way to live. I’ve always thought of people of having a reservoir of energy – whether it’s to work a job, sustain relationships, help people or any number of things that require draining that reservoir in some way. You can only drain from that reservoir so much before it goes empty and you have nothing left to give at all. You have to find some way and take some time to fill up that reservoir, whatever is a meaningful way to do that. That could be any number things that refreshes your soul/spirit and fills up those reserves again. Spending time with a good friend is one way to do that.

Our daughter and I were recently discussing new relationships/friendships. I told her that I have always been of the mind that it takes two to tango, so to speak, when it comes to friendships. There has to be a desire on behalf of both parties to actually want or be open to a new friendship. And it takes the willingness and consistency to make the time and take the effort to make the connection. She is making an effort to be open to new friendships, and I am trying to follow suit. As I said in an earlier post, I’m hoping to make some new friends once we move into our new house. Time will tell.

The wall I have built around myself so I don’t get hurt again is high, thick and strong. It’s been in place a long time. I peer over the top at people and activities, unsure if I want to tear the wall down. It will take a lot of effort and vulnerability for me to do so, something I’m not sure I have the energy to do, energy I’m not sure I have to heal should things not go well. I don’t want to be hurt again. Jason’s death and the ensuing years depleted me in ways I don’t know that I will ever recover. I keep trying – cautiously, but I keep trying.

At times I am comfortable in my fortress – perhaps too much so. But it’s also very lonely. It’s been made lonelier recently by one of my bosses (I had two jobs, two bosses) “restructuring his business” and restructuring me right out of one of my jobs. I still work remotely part time for my favorite boss, so I’m thankful for that. He’s awesome. And we had already qualified for the loan on our home, so I’m thankful for that, too. But it’s been an adjustment to spend so much more time alone and to reconcile to a more limited income.

There are so many things I miss. I miss a more connected life, a more carefree one without the shadow of loss and grief. I miss my one and only best friend in my whole life, Mary. I miss the continuity of our lives. I miss my family. I miss my daughter and son. I wish we lived closer. We’ve missed out on all of our grandkids growing up years. I miss the home and life we had when Jason was alive. He made everything better.

I remember the year all the kids were off to college and my homeschooling days were over. It was a big change for me. I was trying to figure out what to do next with my life. Most of the other homeschool moms I knew were making changes, too, and moving on. One morning, all of the change overwhelmed me and I felt so incredibly lonely and disconnected. (I don’t think I really, truly understood loneliness and emptiness until Jason died, though.) Jason noticed I was discouraged and came over and gave me the best hug to let me know he cared. When he got to school, he sent me this sweet email.

On Easter morning when the kids were younger, I filled baskets with things I had collected and placed them outside their bedroom doors so they would see them first thing in the morning. It was fun to collect fun things to surprise them. I’d scour the stores for weeks ahead of time, waking up super early on Easter morning to put them together. It always included a cute stuffed animal. They’d bring the baskets down to the kitchen table to open together. It was so much fun.

I know that because of Easter and our risen savior I will see Jason again. I am thankful for that. We are doing the best we can in the here and now based on that hope, but we miss him.

Oh, how I miss my boy. Such an incredible young man.

~Becky

© 2022 Rebecca R. Carney

We see you. We care.

As many of you may have seen recently, a young girl in a bomb shelter in Ukraine has caught the attention of millions of people around the world for singing a song from the Disney movie “Frozen.” What an amazing thing to watch. It really puts a face to the Ukraine people and what they are going through. My heart just aches for them.

Young girl singing Disney “Let It Go” in Ukraine bomb shelter

The writer of the song, Kristen Anderson-Lopez, and the actress who sang the song in the original movie, Idina Menzel, responded to the young singer. Kristen Anderson-Lopez wrote, “My husband and I wrote this song as part of a story about healing a family in pain. The way you sing it is like a magic trick that spreads the light in your heart and heals everyone who hears it. Keep singing! We are listening!” Idina Menzel wrote, “We see you. We really, really see you.” This just really struck a chord with me.

Now, I’m not equating the loss of a child with what the people are going through in Ukraine. Not by a long, long shot. They are entirely very different situations. But, it crossed my mind that there is a lesson that can be learned from this particular exchange that can apply to the loss of a child and many more traumatic situations in everyday life. It’s about acknowledging that person and their loss or the circumstances of the trauma. It’s saying in some way, “I see you and I care what you are going through.”

A bereaved parent doesn’t want advice. It’s not about the words you say. They want someone to see them, someone to acknowledge what they are going through, they want someone to care. They want someone to remember, to acknowledge the tough days without prompting, to see the unspoken pain and unshed tears.

They want someone – either by their presence or spoke words – to say, “I see you. I really, really see you. I care.”

~Becky

© 2022 Rebecca R. Carney