I Did Not Drop Dead

Yes, I'm still alive and kicking. I did not follow my mother into the after-life. It just seems like it.

I was accused the other day of having some dark humor. True. I was referring to getting in a month of solid training so long as no one dies on me. Okay, yes, that was a little dark. But, hey, think about this.

In the last two years, I've had SIX people and my favorite pet die. It started in February '04 with my father-in-law, followed by a sister-in-law (that I admittedly didn't know), and my father. The kicker is that they were ALL in February of 2004.

Then, I got the news in November of that same year that my dearest friend in the world, who lived in Colorado Springs, was ill. She had brain cancer, which began as a melanoma that metastasized (wear your sunscreen!). She died in February of 2005 (but not before I got to visit with her).

In April of 2005, my middle step-son was killed in a motorcycle accident. He was only 27. While not married, he did leave behind a son.

Starting this year out with the death of my mother was almost more than I could handle. Too many people were dying and I'm not yet 50. While in some ways her passing is a bit of a relief (I don't have to worry about her living in that filthy house any more), I missed being able to talk to her about the Olympics (which she loved to watch). I would find myself on some days thinking, "I have to call Mom," except Mom wasn't there to call. I regret she wasn't able to live long enough to see the birth of my sixth grandchild (due this July), her ninth great-grandchild.

Anyway, added to all those deaths is then the passing of my favorite cat. Ah, you didn't know that part did you? Two weeks after my mom passed away, I had to make the heart-wrenching decision to put down my favorite feline. PuddyRat was absolutely the best cat in the world and I miss him terribly. Gone are the days when I would wake up in the morning and he would rush to beat me down the stairs just so he could sit on the back of the couch and meow at me to pet him. I had him for 15 years, so it is a terrible void.

A few days after I put him down, I got the call that his remains were ready to be picked up (we chose to have him cremated). That same day, I got the call from the mortuary telling me the same thing about my mother (who also chose to be cremated). And both of these were on Valentine's Day. Couldn't you just feel the love?

As might be expected, given the circumstances, I was starting to feel pretty darned bleak. I would get up in the morning and the crushing sadness was just so heavy, it was all I could do to get dressed and go to work. There was just no joy in my life. I knew the depression was temporary, but it was so overwhelming. I finally hit critical mass when I went home for lunch one day and got into a stupid, inconsequential fight over nothing with my husband. I stormed out of the house, got in my car, drove the 30 feet out of the driveway where I stopped in the entrance, turned off my car, and bawled my eyes out. The pain and the sadness washed over me. I would have stayed there for much longer, but I had to go back to work. I did briefly consider calling in, but chose not to. Instead, I went to work with streaked mascarra and red, tear-stained eyes. It was obvious to all that I was having a very bad day.

The next day when I got up, I felt marginally better. Whatever my problems were, I simply decided to let them go. Once I did that, I was able to start living again. So, as you may be able to imagine, at this point in my life, that I have any humor left at all is a very good thing even if it is a tad morbid. Grief is a process. I'm very busy processing.