Those have been some heavy, thought-provoking (at least for me) past few posts. Lest you think I merely sit around thinking deep introspective thoughts constantly, I thought I would switch things up a bit with this one. I’m certainly not serious all the time (definitely have my snarky moments). And hey, I can be FUN! (Well, I think I’m fun. Quite possibly others just find me too chipper at times or even annoying….) Not feeling depressed anymore (although still often sad, for sure) helps a lot with that. I’ve noticed that the kids and I have been laughing a lot more lately, and also that I’ve been having a lot more fun during my therapy sessions (as the therapist – the other kinds are still hard). Genuine smiles don’t feel so elusive as they previously were.
But I have developed some….well, problems, of late. I’m lonely, guys. Like a lot. And starved for adult conversation and interaction. So when someone starts talking to me I CAN’T TURN IT OFF! I keep talking and talking and probably way over-sharing. No impulse control in this area. Those poor people who have gotten the full deluge of whatever was in my head at that moment. I really am a verbal processor and there is SO MUCH STUCK INSIDE MY HEAD. (Probably evident from all of these Meal Train posts lately.) Even writing about it isn’t exactly the same as having your person to process with each day.
Also, is it terrible how much fun I have with spam calls that come to Kendall’s phone (now used as our “home phone”), the perverse pleasure I get from informing them, quite bluntly, that he couldn’t have possibly signed up for that thing or wouldn’t be interested in whatever lawsuit they wanted him to join (SO many of those, seemingly based on every single medication he must have ever taken, or every diagnosis). You know, because he is DEAD. There’s a twisted satisfaction in hearing the awkward silences or apologizing or backpedaling that follow. I know, it really is terrible of me. I also get unreasonably irritated when forms only give me the option of choosing between “Single” and “Married.” I know I’m not legally married, but I don’t exactly feel single either. When it’s a paper form I confess that I will usually make my own box for “Widowed” and passive aggressively mark that instead.
I was also just plain annoyed when I got a letter from Huntsman addressed to Kendall and asking him to donate. Shouldn’t they of all people have updated records that clearly say he passed away? And do they realize how. much. money. we have already paid them?!?!? A ridiculous amount (we should have a wing named after us). I even got a call once from a department at the hospital about a “follow-up appointment” that Kendall had missed. Yes, that had been scheduled for AFTER he had passed away. Nope, didn’t feel bad at all with how indelicately (OK, bluntly) I told them, “Yes, that’s because he’s dead.”
I want to clarify something, though. I think I might have given the impression in some of these posts that Kendall’s medical care at Huntsman was lacking. That really wasn’t true. His case was just so complicated. In the ICU alone Kendall’s file was more than 1000 pages, and he got new doctors there every few days. That’s why it was so important for me to be able to participate in rounds, because there were many details from his history only I knew and the times I undeniably had divine help remembering minute details (like the exact dose of that one anti-nausea medication he had taken months prior, and what his response had been to it…). So many things with Kendall’s care had to be trial and error because the doctors had never treated a case exactly like his before. Not to mention the astounding number of doctors and specialists who worked with him. There were so many amazing people amongst the medical staff, who really went above and beyond to get Kendall the best care possible.
Alright, so I haven’t said much of substance in this post. Not a lot of useful insights or lessons for any (spousal loss) grief muggles out there this time. Isn’t that a great phrase, “grief muggle?” I didn’t coin it, but I love how very accurately it seems to describe how people who haven’t been exposed to this sort of loss simply have no idea about what it is really like. It just has to be (hopefully not) experienced.
