Author: Suzanne Buchko

miracles

I am in the midst of spring cleaning. It is a diversion. I would much rather be working on the garden but there is still some snow and where no snow, there is mud. And even if the mud dried enough to be tillable soil it is too cold to be kneeling in it.

So, I’ve decided to clean. I started on the bedrooms and bathroom upstairs because I usually start downstairs. Yesterday, I worked on the third bedroom, nominally designated Cheshire’s room, but she has never lived there. Her bedroom furniture lives there and some clothes. David took over that room when we moved in because there was not enough closet space in our room. Later he moved a desk for writing. Then a bookcase. When his medical paraphernalia out grew the bathroom medicine cabinet — by that time, I had long abandoned the medicine cabinet leaving only my tooth brush and paste behind — and the top of his dresser, the desk became mission control for pills and charts and monitoring equipment.

I had forgotten how much this was David’s room with Cheshire’s bed in it. All of David’s stuff has been long gone and the room stripped of everything but what belongs to Cheshire. I change the bedding when Cheshire or a guest comes and I lay out my clothes before travel on the bed, but the room could all but disappear and we would not miss it. There are lined and insulated shades on the windows to keep temperature stable when it is very cold or very hot. Yesterday, I spent more time in that room than I have ever spent.

As I moved furniture around to clean, I rearranged. It is a small room, so bed, dresser and vanity have a finite arrangement. When I put everything back against walls, it was probably the arrangement that I used when we first moved into the house. Something — dare I say Chi or spirit or something not of this world, perhaps something inside of me — was stirred up. It was as if there was something stored in this room, something that I could not let go of or something that was not ready to be released. I don’t usually have any emotional attachment to the act of cleaning. I only do it because something is dirty. I like a clean space but if someone else was to do it, I would feel no loss of process. As I cleaned yesterday, I gathered emotion. I was overcome with sadness. I felt an emptiness, a heaviness. I felt an anxiousness. If I could have, I would have opened windows although I don’t think that an open window would have dispelled the gloom. I did not remove myself from the sadness but it was dammed hard to be present to it.

Then, last night, I decided that the room needed to look like a guest room. It needed to be inviting, something that would not be so bad to do for Cheshire’s visits either. I wanted new bedding, the rearrangement of pictures and some retrieved from storage. It needed a rug, new shades and the vanity stool recovered. The room seemed to beg for a happy, bright green, something with stripes, flowers. Something of Mexico and the Caribbean. I began looking at rugs online and found a red rug for my living room. (My living room rug is old and worn, but I had not gotten to thinking about replacing it.) And I found some happy green rugs that would look good in the bedroom.

And then I had to stop myself and take a few very deep breaths. What was I doing? I was looking to bring color and movement and the visual joy into the house again. I don’t mean that I’ve lived with blinds drawn and grey drapes over furniture but everything, almost everything, had had a muted, soft, comforting feel. I have made it that way, left it that way until there was reason for change. There has been very little passionate Chi zipping around this house.

And now I am feeling that it should not be so. Let the shopping begin! Integration, change, healing. It happens when I least expect it. It happened cleaning. It recognized it by wanting to decorate, to shop — activities that I don’t associate with myself. It crept up on me when I I was not looking for it, when I was humming along with some tunes and windexing the mirror. All these happy, busy feelings which nicely coincide with the coming of spring — if and when that comes — may disappear tomorrow. May at the very least fade tomorrow. Still, I am grateful for yesterday and today. For the miracle effectuated by a spring cleaning.

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chemistry

Possibly a great sign of the new normal.  Possibly just loneliness.  Possibly the emerging spring.  When an email announced that Chemistry.com was having a free communication weekend, I checked it out.

Some background: Months after David died I sign up for that dating site.  I was in no way ready to date, let alone speak intelligently to someone I did not know, but I was curious what was out there.  Who was out there and who was using a dating website at my age.  I checked out men who were looking for women and also women who were looking for men.  What I discovered was pretty disheartening — The women all were looking way better than I was.  Nine months into grieving had done nothing for my face or body so there were no surprises there, but I was struck by the easy flirty profiles and great pictures.  The men . . . no one was incredibly appealing although to be fair that was more about my state of mind than anything else.  I expressed interest in a few of my “matches,” never heard from most.  I got a lot messages, etc., from men who were excluded from the site before I checked out their profiles.  Scam artist?  Sleazy guys?  I had no idea.  I did not re-up after my initial time and I’ve ignored any notice from the site until this weekend.

On Friday, I edited my profile a bit — it was a bit intense and I remembered those flirty profiles.  I will never be flirty and I still sound very serious.  I put in a few current pictures and “winked” at a few of the matches and set sail.  And so far, not so good.  Very few men are interested and most of them live in Chicago.  Most of them sound, well, frankly, weird.  I know the saying, you have to kiss a lot of frogs . . . but really.  There is the same proliferation of scam artists and/or sleazy guys.  And, I know that to some extent this is going to sound elitist but really, why would a conservative, christian, gas station attendant with a high school education and without any picture think I would find him interesting without some really intelligent or witty come on?

So, this was not a fruitful experiment and I will not be plunking down my credit card number in order to write a next chapter in my online dating saga.  I will probably never meet a guy online — I never did well at dances in high school or cocktail parties and bars later on.  But there was a time, granted it was a long, long time ago — when I had a healthy male infused social life.  I am feeling ready for that again.  I actually feel like I have the energy and desire to get to know someone, to ask a few questions and be interested.

I know, I am not 17, diet-starved, and stary-eyed.  I am  . . . well, old, a widow, and I have a 13 year old who may always live with me.  And I know the odds are NOT in my favor.  But ya’ know, I don’t really care.  I would like a partner. I know that I thrive on partnership and I’m not a bad partner myself.  I’ve never wanted to live alone and always wanted to share my life.

Listen up Universe.  Give me a little help here.  I’ll do my part but I am going to need some help.

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strings

I ran jogged around most of the block yesterday morning — .75 of the block to be exact.  I need to get my body moving and nothing that I have done before is appealing right now.  Perhaps yoga or more tai chi but spring is coming and I yearn — yearn is a bit too strong to put the impulse — to be moving outside.  Gardening is out of the question right now.  Mud, mud, mud.  And there is still little bits of snow all over the yard.  And I’ve never tried a run.  The fact that Cheshire and Lisa have done it and are trying to make a Thanksgiving run part of our holiday celebration make me curious.

Julia is performing in the Spring Strings Festival today.  She passed — could play the song by memory — three tunes.  That puts her at level 2.  There are a lot of fifth grade kids at level 2.  She probably worked harder than most of those kids to learn and memorize those tunes.  And she is the only kid out of hundreds who has an aide sitting next to her, but she is there and playing.  Watching the rehearsal yesterday afternoon, I almost burst into tears.  I am so proud of her.  So happy for her.  Of course, when I told her, she was polite and happy to be doing the concert, but it was no big deal to her.  And isn’t that wonderful too?

There is a new sadness in the collage.  I am so proud of Julia and her playing.  Especially proud because music was such an important part of our family when Cheshire was growing up.  The sadness comes from not having anyone to share this pride and happiness with.  No one who knows the day-to-day struggles and can bask in the sunshine of rewards.  I guess I’ve felt this before, since David died, but when I did it was mixed with so much grieving that the feeling did not stand out.  And there were so many more days of struggle than of triumph so the achievements were not quite there to stand out.  Living away from family during Cheshire’s growing up, there were never grandparents or aunt and uncles to enjoy successes, but just us and our friends were enough.  Today, I text Cheshire and post of Facebook and send an email to Julia’s teacher.  Right now,  I want to scream that that is not enough!

I sit drinking tea, my head aching from being so close to tears.  I am grateful for every “like” and comment on Facebook.  Cheshire will write and be happy for us, and Julia’s teacher will be thrilled.  Would I have felt this alone had I chosen to be a single mother?  Certainly, life would have been full of circumstances like today.  Of course, I might have dealt with this sorrow when baby first walked.

The other truly incredible things about yesterday’s rehearsal was that Julia saw lots of kids she knew from both school and church school.  She said hello to all of them and called them by name.  Her therapy and school teams have been working on greetings and having her recognize individual kids for this entire school year.  At the beginning of the year, she did not know the names of many of the kids in her class, and I don’t think that it mattered to her.  They were “the kids” or “guys” to her.  I think they were a blur of noise and movement in her consciousness.  In the Fall, she and I sat with the composite class pictures for her class and the class that is paired with hers.  We reviewed names almost every night for a few months.  She learned the names but I did not see much generalization for what seemed like a long time.  Recently, when she tells me the three things she did during the day, names of different kids have surfaced.  Her observations are not deep but she calls one or the other her friend or her best friend.  There are still many times when she does not “hear” greetings said to her, but last night she had something to offer to everyone that she knew.

And math word problems, of which we do three every night, are getting ever so slightly easier.

Julia is on a roll!

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eggs, tarantulas, travel

I begin blog entries and get dead ended after a paragraph or two.  I’ve been writing letters and trying to complete a scholarship application for the online course that I want to take next.  Also, it is tax time.  I have my way of preparing and I usually get down to it at exactly this time of year.  How predictable is that?  I always imagine that I am getting started this year much later than last year, but looking at my prep documents from previous years . . . Yes, same process, same time.

Julia and I are making eggs in the evenings a few nights a week.  Julia finished her first egg and I cleaned off the wax.  She was satisfied with the result, not astonished, not disappointed.  She had already started a second egg and while that was in dye last night, a third.  She has no interest in looking at pictures — I’ve said this before.  I am so dependent on the traditional designs.  Julia has her own ideas.  I’ll post pictures soon.  I’ve made three eggs and ready to begin challenging myself.  I am not using any guiding elastics on the eggs to begin designs this year.  It is changing what I can and want to do.  Again, I’ll put up pictures. Continue reading →

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more on meds vacation

More notes on Julia’s  meds vacation:  Saturday was day 3 without concerta.  Her IDS therapist noticed her constant movement and her need for more reminders to stay on task.  She also noticed that Julia was more social than usual and she had more eye contact.

I also noticed the constant movement — swing legs when she is sitting, tapping on the car window.  She has been able to do our usual school work this weekend, including rehearsing her Harry Potter presentation.  She continues to be more affectionate and considerate of me.  There is no question that she needs her meds but I want to talk to her doc about modification.

Julia is scratching her skin again.  Mostly at night, in her own bed but some also in school.  I am putting on ointments and creams.  I am bandaging where appropriate, but I’ve also told her that if she cannot change her behavior, that we will re-institute the consequence of leaving school when she cannot control herself.  Harsh but it worked last time.  Oh, if I knew a more positive way to do this!

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grieving

Grieving: the state of the journey.  I am writing short emails of support to someone whose partner has died.  I find I care deeply, wanting to ease pain, wanting to stand beside.  Not expecting anything back but enormously grateful that I have something to give.  I read his sparse words and I remember how much everything hurt for me.  I remember how deeply I was cared for Lisa and Marcia and Mary and Amy.  I remember their care as some soft, warm, weightless fabric wrapping around me and holding me tight.  I knew that it was there and I could lean into it.  They carried my weighty pain and listened and listened and listened.  Their insistence on care . . . I wonder if they were ever in contact with each other . . . was almost orchestral.  I had nothing to give back to them for such a long time.  Now I am full of gratitude that I am filled enough to give to someone, even if it is not one of them.

My friend wrote that he missed his partner, “as you do your beloved David.” I paused on an in breath for a moment when I read that.  Miss David?  No, I do not miss David.  I do not miss him in the way of those first days and weeks and months.  I remember missing when he was alive and due home after work although the visceral memory of that takes on the character of a photograph.  I remember what it may have felt like but I can’t quite feel it any more.  I remember those first awful weeks and months of such active missing that I could almost believe, irrationally but somehow not impossibly, that he would satisfy my intensity by appearing.  I remember when missing was the dominant emotion–sometimes the only emotion–I had.  I remember being broken anew each day because he did not return and I was moving further away from him.

And that is exactly what time has done.  He did not appear and the time that has passed has driven me further from the intensity of actively missing someone who will never return.  At some point, missing implies return, at least for me.  Perhaps others can hold onto it longer than I.  For me, the time and the work that I have done reclaiming my life has driven the searing pain of missing to the deepest part of me, so deep that it has become the fossil rock which serves as foundation to the present.  The missing has sunk into my soul and is the warp and woof of the fabric of my being and the weave is tight.  Perhaps this is integration and it comes with some peace.  It does not replace the joy of long-time love nor the possibility of anticipated return but it sits close by.

Being a support, I can I hope for a better friend — strange how I was his partner’s friend more than his.  We were couples friends and there were times we divided along gender lines.  Even when that was not the case, I kept in touch with his partner.  She was my friend. Now, if I am to have a friend, it must be him.  How odd. I feel like I am walking through a door into some new dawn of relationships.  I think of some of the women that I have gotten to know since David died.  Some were already widows or single after separation, two have had husbands die since I met them.  We meet in coffee shops to talk and death is never far from the conversation, sometimes not mentioned but there.

These are relationships not based on death but where death is one of the things we have in common.  Like bad mothers or children in the same grade or gardening.  We have what we have in common to talk about as common as talk about nasturtiums and hollyhocks and signing up for summer camp.  When I reflect, it seems like this is a natural progression but I didn’t know I was getting to it so quickly.  I bumped into someone at the Honda Dealership where I was getting an oil change.  We did the MBSR class together last spring.  She had just returned from a bicycling vacation in the Philippines with her husband.  We talked of meditation and group sits and vacationing.  We don’t have death in common.  The topic did not sit between us.  I do look on her with a touch of envy.  I will never be where she is again.  I know too much.

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meds

Today will be Julia’s third day off her large dose of Concerta.  This is the first time in years that I’ve dared a medication vacation.  The reasons are many although as I think of them, more than I am comfortable with involve selfish motives.  Life before meds was pretty difficult.

For the past two days, without concerta, Julia has had a harder time concentrating — going upstairs for something forgotten and actually coming downstairs with the item in hand.  She has sung more, been more affectionate and much more thoughtful — offering to share pieces of a limited amount of candy.  She has also been exhausted at the end of the day and ravenous both at meals and in between.  On Thursday evening, her first day without the concerta, she was able to practice cello.  She was a bit distracted but we worked on long bows for half notes which is quite challenging for her right now.  She did it correctly by herself once or twice.  We also practiced on Friday after supper and she needs more time to understand the long bow of half notes, but again she was very willing to do the tedious part of practice — playing two or four or six notes over and over until the concept is physically understood.

During supper last night, we watched Star Trek and she may have watched with heightened interest and more emotional comprehension.

We went to the school movie night last night which amounts to a big room full of elementary-aged children sitting/lying on gym mats eating popcorn and drinking lemonade.  Not everyone is quiet or polite or still, and parental reigns are somewhat loosened.  Julia did chat with her neighbors — two special girls who genuinely like Julia, and a few others who sat close to them — and was squirmy at times but no more or less than she is on her meds.  She was generally well behaved and listened when I called her attention to distracting behavior.

Her special ed teacher commented in today’s email: Julia very talkative these last two days, in fact on Thursday she kept putting her hands over her mouth as if to try to stop talking or remind herself not to talk. Very bubbly. Very tired in the afternoon, in fact both days I gave up on activity as she could not function – too tired, closing eyes, asking to sleep or making a comment about not being able to do it.

One of her SEA’s (special ed assistant) commented:

02/27  –  There was a lot of talking out during classes and also some growling noises.  Also a high pitched laughing at times. (however the laughter was appropriate for the setting).  Her legs and feet were constantly swinging.  During Cops, she started pulling her hair out of her ponytail and scratching her head.  I gave her a post-it to fold.  She wasn’t defiant at all, just needed more reminders to stay focused.  Just seemed like she couldn’t sit still.

02/28  –   J did very well working on her math test this morning.  She listened and followed the directions.  On her way to gym, she laughingly told  me she wanted to hide in her locker.  I told her that wouldn’t be a good idea.  She laughed and asked me if she could do it later.  I’ve also noticed more direct eye contact in the last two days.  She smiled and laughed more as well.  She participated in a game during gym for the entire period and really seemed to have fun throwing the balls at the target.  When she collected the balls to throw, she shared some with her friends.  Usually, she doesn’t seem to enjoy gym and doesn’t participate for the whole class.  She seems to be more socially aware as well.

I want to share these and further observations with her meds doc.  Part of my reasoning for not even trying to adjust medication in the past has been that I didn’t want her to move backwards and wanted to give her the chance to experience as much learning and companionship as was possible, but it may be time to dare change.  In addition, she has an adolescent body now which is growing, sometimes at an alarming rate, and I am in a much better place to manage and observe who she is and what she is doing.

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milestones

Julia surprises: Two nights ago, I was tucking Julia in and she asked me how old two of her classmates were.  I told her that they were either 10 or 11.  And then, she told me that one of them had read book 5 of the Harry Potter books and the other had read all seven. She added, “and Julia Potter is 13,” and gave me her most suggestive look.  I had to laugh at her.  I wanted to send up flags and flares in celebration.  Julia was actually comparing herself to her classmates!  Comparing for the first time ever, at least expressing it to me for the first time.  And she was using her classmates as examples of what she wanted to do.

I know that kids much younger than she use this tactic constantly and for almost anything that they want.  Julia has never used it before.  So much opening and discovery went into that simple exchange.  I get close to allowing her to read whatever books she wants to!

Tonight, Julia got ready for bed in time to spend some time reading.  She is reading one of the American Girl books — Meet Josephina, I think.  I was in my own room reading and Julia called out to me asking if we could buy the book about the Shashawnee Indiana girl, Kaya.  She had told me today that she was reading that book with another girl in school but I had not realized that it was an American Girl book.  Julia makes connections between and among books regularly these days.

These are small milestones in a typical child’s life.  Milestones that I hardly noticed when Cheshire passed one or the other.  It was hardly an occasion to become aware of a new skill, but for Julia!  It is miracles.  And I am very grateful.

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course work

The fundamentals class at Mindfulschools.org is finished.  The last question asked is, “please think back over the last 6 weeks and reply to this question: What have you noticed is different in your life now than it was at the beginning of the course? Does the intention you set at the beginning feel real – even if just for moments here and there?”
I began the course with a lofty and long intention:

“I am safe and grounded.  I am joyful and grateful for the joy and love I experience.  I am peaceful, accepting of myself, my daughter and my community.  I am present.”
Reading these intentions at the close of the course, what jumps out at me was my desire to experience joy and gratitude.  For much of the time since my husband’s death, joy was elusive.  I wondered if even a desire for joy would surface.  I have kept my head down, working towards my goals.

Now, looking back, I think that movement on the joy front had already begun before the course began.  The organization of the practices in the course nudged the process further along.  I am not the ‘cock-eyed optimist’ of my past but I have begun to be grateful for the extraordinary experiences that are part of living and from the gratitude blossoms joy.

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boxes

Last night, during a 45 minute sit, the idea that I have lived all my life in boxes that were like the shell-homes of sea creatures who scavenge used shells came to mind. None of the shells fit particularly well, some were awful fits, but I have been so long with these make-do definitions of myself that I no longer remember what it is to be comfortable, to be real. I don’t really know who I am. I cannot define myself and I am baffled to explain how others see me. I could have said this, realized this years ago but I would have then blamed my parents, my mother specifically for trying to force me into roles that I was not made to play and for never supporting those roles which were intrinsic to me. Perhaps that is true for the earliest boxes but I need to claim responsibility for many, many of the ill-shaped definitions of myself. I have inhabited shells of so many sizes and shapes when I could have designed my own. I have not defined myself in my own terms for so long that I have no idea where to start.

I am both eager and scared to leave my ill-fitting boxes behind.

Julia will be fit in no existing box. We are studying for her social studies test tomorrow. The topics are the Articles of Confederation, the Constitution, the Amendments, Manifest Destiny, acquiring the west, wars with Mexico, treaties with Britain and the Trail of Tears. She has memorized the answers to about 40 multiple choice questions. I am not sure how much she understands. Then again, what did I understand about unreasonable search and seizure and due process in fifth grade? She is compliant about the work of memorization that we’ve been doing all weekend and again today. If she was a typical child, I would not question the importance of the learning. I would figure, I did figure with Cheshire, that she would understand in time and the fifth grade test was a training ground for when her understanding would mature and she was able to respond to questions from understanding and not memorization. So, should I be questioning this with Julia? I do.

Sitting at IDS during Julia’s therapy time. Another child, a girl at least as old as Julia, perhaps a bit older, comes out to see her mom. She is teary. She hates group. She does not want to participate with the other kids. There is one kids she particularly dislikes (she doesn’t say who). Her mother calms her down and eventually she goes to talk to the people at the front desk. She has returned to calm and she can explain her unhappiness to her therapist.

I compare this girl’s behavior to Julia’s and wonder if Julia has the awareness to do what the girl did. I don’t think so. Not now at least.

We are working on math word problems. I feel like I’ve been here before. We worked on the easiest word problems before she had all of her facts. Now she has her facts but figuring out what operation to use for a problem is still challenging. We work slowly through each one. Ex.: J has 6 bracelets. B has 4 bracelets. They put them together in a bag. How many bracelets are in the bag. We draw it out. We use little cubes. Deciding on addition is far from automatic. Still, she does know that 6 + 4 = 10. If we can get to an operation, she can do it.

I worry. That I see a limit. I worried that she would never count. Never add. I might learn from that.

I would like to rid myself of worry, of constantly casting into the future. I cannot see any use for it. Especially with Julia.

Especially with me.

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