March 3rd

Posted on March 2, 2020 by Morning Knits

Twenty-six years with this man. Tomorrow is our 21st wedding anniversary and I just snapped at him for the 3rd time this morning. I am NOT going to roll with this. He didn’t deserve my grumpy response. I thought he was telling me about a dead baby from a child missing post on FB and it became my hearing deficit coupled with his speaking deficit and AGAIN I said “STEVE PLEASE. I am not ready for conversation.” It hurts his feelings when I need silence. I feel like it’s such a rock and a hard place to fit into.

I got up, went to pee and as I sat there a moment longer than necessary, the cat tried to jump onto my back. I felt one claw as she caught the potted plant, pulling it off the back of the toilet and spilled out the entire quart PLUS of black dirt and pea-size gravel all over the bathroom floor. I walked out into the hallway and looked at the top of my dresser and he’d left his peanut butter cracker trash with all the crushed bits sitting there next to the clothes he’d folded and one of my handknit socks was missing. As I put them away, I called out “could you please keep your trash corralled today?” Then, “also, keep an eye out for my pink striped sock?” Then the dog stepped on my sore toes and I asked Steve if any of the others were outside and had he closed the back door. I’m thinking “Coffee and prayer…” I made it black (I want it ultra-light) and I went in and got on my knees – All I could manage right then was The Lord’s Prayer – I came out of the bedroom, scooped dry food into the dog’s dishes, did not open a can for them, and took a misstep wrenching something on the top part of my foot.

Now I’m sitting here with cool coffee, a sulky husband, and dogs who are still waiting for their food to come. The dirt is scooped back into the pot and the remains swept into a pile with the broom leaning over it, waiting on me to get the dustpan. The scale hasn’t budged in 3 weeks. Steve asked if I’d take the basket of laundry into his bedroom and I didn’t feel like it. Bending and lifting even a basket of clothes didn’t look good RIGHT THAT SECOND. Then came the DEAF baby, not dead, and SNAP.

I try hard to be positive but this morning, I have failed miserably because I was thinking about myself… about how tomorrow is our Anniversary and even if he remembers to say anything about it, thinking about it has me fighting tears and linking today’s living to his stroke and I am not in PRESENT TENCE in my mind space.

All I can do is say God help me. Maybe with better focus, the Lord’s Prayer is exactly where my head needs to be for a while this morning.

Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. (insert praise)  Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread (a portion of your son).  And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors (God knows I am offending this morning).  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. (in Jesus name I pray) Amen.

Now, I’m going into the kitchen to heat and add cream to this coffee, finish setting out the dog’s meal, and carry the dustpan to the bathroom. I’m also going to kiss my husband’s cheek on my way…

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getting over the hump

Posted on February 21, 2020 by Morning Knits

Well, nothing has been written since October, but lessons have been learned.

Back at the end of October, Steve announced he was leaving me. He made arrangements for someone to come get him and we both struggled with it. At the end of the saga, He hung his head and cried because I was his only option. I told him being each others only option is how it’s supposed to be when we get old.

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Hard as we try…

Posted on October 12, 2019 by Morning Knits
It’s been almost 4 yrs since Steve’s stroke. Every day I try to be encouraging or at least stay out of his way. I can make such a list of what I miss and what I need and what he hates and misses and needs, I try to push it aside with how good God is and when I can’t say the words because the feelings overwhelm me, I just sing … or play someone else singing so I can get lost in Praise.
Today though, I got angry and I’ve been angry for a while at the changes being dependant on Social Security and Medicare/Medicaid have brought to our lives. We are now down $270 a month because they say we make too much. THAT money was our grocery money amount. I’ve already been making dollars scream in this situation – pinching pennies to the point there ARE NO PENNIES. I just don’t know what to do anymore. This worry as much as I try to make it go away has caused my Fibromyalgia to flare and my back to clench up making even a little walking very difficult.
Steve goes on and on about old movies, childhood memories, Atlanta, and BASEBALL to the point I can’t take anymore. I can’t close the door on him because he falls on occasion. If he fell and I didn’t know it because I was escaping, I’d never forgiven myself. The only other thing he ever talks about is how he just needs to work on himself to get better. He needs to walk. He needs to exercise. He needs to talk. My mind counters with ‘If he would just DO anything… maybe he wouldn’t be getting worse.’
So today I wrestled with Insurance and trying to pick up his medicine. They took Medicaid A/B from us in September, but Part D doesn’t begin until NOVEMBER. The doctor wouldn’t call in his medication refill last month unless she saw him, however, the visit took the money I had to pay for the medicine. The lovely pharmacy calls periodically to remind me we have medicine ready for pick-up. I KNOW IT. I took a big bottle of soap and a bag of cat litter BACK to the store today and got the $11 I needed to buy his medicine.
When I got home, I was in such pain. The man does nothing anymore – not dishes badly, not putting clothes in the washer. Not even giving the dogs water unless I chide him. I got home after making a point to tell him they were OUT of water when I left, to find they were STILL out of water. I brought it up as I carried the pans into the kitchen to fill them. He got angry that I wouldn’t give him the pans. Then he took his medicine bottle and was going to try to fill his pill container. I took it away because I can’t chase a spill under his bed and all over the floor. I’m not physically able, or emotionally capable right now.
I am tired of always thinking ahead. I want him better. I want what we had and him like he was. I am not sabotaging him and I am sick of the screaming fits at the top of his lungs designed to shut me up. His “I hate it here’s” and “Let me die” and “close the door” don’t even phase me today. They brought out my totally human side – shut it yourself – I don’t care – leave, go ahead – and told him if he didn’t stop screaming and thrashing I was going to video him doing it. He did it anyway and of course, I didn’t.
I am ashamed to my very core. Hard as I try, I get this life we’re living, wrong. I prayed yesterday and was set back on my heels because I didn’t want to ask for help and forgiveness I wanted God to take it away – take it all away. Today I didn’t ask for help as I screamed back “I don’t care!”
Thing is, I do care. I care so much my own life is on hold and I’m waiting for him and pushing him. I wish I’d known how much better he would have been had he gone to a nursing home where every person would have been a new person to tell his stories to and share all his vast memories and trivia with. He is motivated by his pride and showing off so people can praise him. He can always pull himself together for strangers. He can control his outbursts for people who come over to the house. For me, It no longer matters. He doesn’t love me anymore. That part died with his stroke.
I can do this – that’s not the point. One day at a time is valid. Give it to God is always a ‘regroup’ mantra. What I want from myself is to respond FIRST out of love and kindness – not to have to try to find it in this jumble of stroke life. This man was everything to me – until he wasn’t. And now I don’t know how to see anything clearly anymore. I want someone to love me, to cover my inefficiencies, to catch ME when I fall. To share SOMETHING of living life with me – even if it’s small and even though it’s hard. One kind word returned… and that is gone. It doesn’t happen and I can’t fix it and God hasn’t fixed it, and Steve … well, he’s so miserable. He wants to die and I’m in the way just like I wasn’t there when he stroked. The only thing he ever directs at me is blame and Baseball facts. And I’m sick of both.
He didn’t do this on purpose. He didn’t ask for it and really, he doesn’t understand on a level that’s fully logical. He can’t help me and he can’t love me. He can’t even motivate himself because that’s one of the common symptoms of people who have had a stroke. The cloud of pain I function through got the best of me earlier. I can always eventually find that spot where I calm down and can look at what happened and see it from ‘outside’ the anger. Steve can’t.
Hard as we try, this is a difficult situation. Geoffrey is going to call at about 3 to say happy birthday to his dad because he wasn’t able to yesterday. Steve brought up that when they fought a few months ago, G said he ‘wished his dad was dead’. What can I say? He’d pinned his son in the pantry and tried to choke him. In the heat of THAT moment, I am sure G’s feelings were pretty pure. Hard as we try to move forward – all we have is the past because Steve can’t get out of it and the present is too awful to be part of.
I reread my notes from Church on Sunday and I wrote how we sugar-coat our own sin, I know I have an issue trusting God. I am a fixer and I am not able to fix this. The enemy fools us constantly. It’s his AIM to mess us up and keep our eyes off our Savior. I miswrote a verse thinking I was gonna read how when we feel distant from God, GOD is not gone. Instead, I picked up Matthew 27: 26 and had to back up – it is the story of the crucifixion and how even though the people KNEW Jesus was innocent, they didn’t care. They said ‘his blood be on us and on our children.’ If you think God doesn’t answer us back – you are mistaken. I heard Him loud and clear. One of my notes said, “I am a living example of a sinner” and was followed by Romans 8:38-39. 38 For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, 39 nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
As big as I mess up – and as hard as I try… and fail; because God loves me and forgives me and only sees his son when I come to him; I will get up and try again. I can’t get stuck in whether Steve forgives me. That’s not the point. GOD forgives me. Now if he will just help me forgive myself… I might make it through the rest of this day.
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The College Saga

Posted on August 13, 2018 by Morning Knits

Well, here’s another facet of post-stroke surviving… our kids get whammied without the leadership of their parents – especially their fathers. I’m busy trying to keep things level and live the day to day, and dad has sunk into a trivia online, movies, and baseball life pattern. I didn’t look deep enough to see the worries he was having.

Funny, the grammar corrector program I use tried to change whammied to hammered. Either way, it fits.

Our son has been handling his college transfer by himself. He Aced his classes at the Community College and he keeps details very close to the vest – he has Asperger’s which is why it didn’t raise a red flag for me. Yesterday, he wrote a thank you note to the church and it was precious, but there was a piece in it that caught my attention. He was worried about several expenses that I didn’t realize he had.

I took out a loan in June, to cover his needs to get him situated, and to meet some needs in the household. Because he said everything was right, I let him splurge on dorm type things – a duvet cover, a mattress topper, a leather coat he wanted, new clothes, towels. Nothing that seemed excessive really, just some wants. I also got a few things for me – some shoes, a couple new tee shirts, I started a couple of projects I wanted for when he’s gone, to focus on and keep myself busy.

In typical kid fashion, he miscalculated his expenses. He also didn’t tell me until last night. So thinking all was well with his little send-off money in his account, my eyes have now been opened to a $1, 554 deficit. He can take out a loan – that’s not the problem. The problem is, he has to have all his expenses paid by the 14th. I could throttle him. I have no recourse but to try to borrow money from Steve’s brother for two weeks.

I had to talk to Steve. he’s mostly ok but I knew he’d get upset. In a normal world, we’d shake our heads and stress a bit and hubby would have handled things. He’d still have gotten angry, but it would have been alright. Instead, we had wailing and screaming and thrashing his cane and crying all night and growling explosively barking dogs and no sleep and screaming how he hates living here and how he just wants to be dead. I let my cool slip and told him to stop making everything about him. Totally the wrong thing to say…

So, I went to bed at midnight, got up at 6am, and have been brainstorming. I need $1,500 for two weeks or a loan from the bank in G’s name, or, maybe, just maybe, I can ask my daughter and her husband as a last resort. If anyone has any other ideas, please share them. I need options. I’d like to think the college could defer the rest of the money until he can get a loan disbursement in hand. He has to apply for a subsidized loan and honestly, I don’t know what that means. This young man has put his college on hold to help care for his father and give me basic support. He’s accepted academically into the #4 ranked public University in the country – no small feat with the stress we deal with. And this little amount shouldn’t mess up his starting his life. He has a dental appointment this morning or afternoon (I forget which) and is supposed to leave Thursday morning to move into his apartment.

I could scream but then, Steve’s already done it and it doesn’t help. I need a plan. And I need to NOT cry.

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The Tale

Posted on June 13, 2018 by Morning Knits

I just watched a movie called The Tale. with Laura Dern. The story told,  is my exact experience. Almost word for word. The girl in the movie was 13. I was 9. I always felt what happened to me was my fault,  even into my 30’s. I just buried it. How can abuse like this happen to children? Yeah, we get over things – but they shape how we look at people and how we feel and there is a chasm of disconnect all life long. It shadows a person and keeps one separate and isolated. I wonder how we really heal from sexual abuse – I mean, more than just being able to look at it and talk about it – I used to think that THAT was healing, but not really. It never goes away. The movie brought out the manipulation that happens; how the child is brought into the act and convinced to participate. The lie swallows her and cajoles her into believing she loves the abuser.  The SECRET becomes her cleft of protection from the sickness, the shame, and the anger projected on the people involved. There was a family unit that was sick and an un-mother who is angry as well. She blames the girl because she lied and the child cringes from that blame and points out the signs that were ignored. Someone should have known and saved her. YEARS after, the whole situation makes the woman STILL stand alone because mom failed to protect her … and there is so much guilt. So much guilt. It’s always the mother who is looked at and accused.

There is nothing that can be fixed, except the silence of the secret. Confrontation can’t be avoided.

Big breath.

I wonder if we can ever FACE the monster in the room – and shut it down and choke it out. The moment I wrote this last line, the VINE came to my mind.
I’m thinking of the way a vine can come in and do just that – choke out a root and take over. And another growth is established. Just planting something else, a tree, or bush or flowers or anything besides a vine won’t work. Only a vine can take over like that.

And the Bible says

John 15:1
I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman.

John 15:5
5 I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing.

And all of a sudden, I realized that there IS healing and that God is good and Jesus really is our savior in every sense.

__________________________

He’s all I need

He’s all I need

Jesus is all I need…

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Communication breakdown

Posted on April 7, 2018 by Morning Knits

O.M.G.

Again. We have gone round and round all morning. I have given him every minute since 8 o’clock so he could know I am listening to him. He has kept on and kept on about hating Rocky Mount and how I censor him. I let him talk and kept silent. He apologized for fighting with me and said how he should just realize I don’t talk easily in the mornings. I thought we’d found some peace and I wrote G a list of things to do for me. Steve wanted me to have him go outside and stack the wood pile right now. I said later is fine because it’s raining. He said “I always did those things regardless of the weather.” I said I know it, but now, we are protecting ourselves from getting sick. I mentioned calling the city about the tarp that breeds mosquitoes lying in the yard of the house next door. He came back with putting a chain link fence around the front yard. I said I’d like the falling down fence on the other side of us knocked off the posts and laid against the house. he went off about stupid people and RM not caring about how people keep their property. I felt myself cringe physically, and asked him if he could try not to go off onto other examples and stick to the conversation. He jumped on me about cutting him off and not letting him be himself. He headed back into his early morning tirade and I said NO. I’m not listening and he said I guess I just won’t talk then. I said Fine. Don’t talk and as he continued with his flood of how I won’t let him express himself, I raised my voice said THAT’S RIGHT and put my earbuds in. He tried to talk louder and I turned up the music. I hate to hurt him, but I can’t stand another moment of this today.

Now he’s in the bedroom crying again. Shit. Shit. Shit. There is no winning in this situation. It sucks for both of us.

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again we hit a wall.

Posted on February 22, 2018 by Morning Knits
Last night hubby threw a fit like I’ve never seen. He was screaming kill me! Over and over. It was so horrible. I was reading my bible for strength thru it and came across Behold I have refined thee but not with Silver; I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction. Isaiah 48:10 I kept holding my boundaries (my daughter said boundaries are for ME, not applied to others, which helps me a lot). He threw his cane at me for ignoring him. His fists were all balled up and he was so swollen in the face from screaming. As he came towards me, I grabbed up his cane and told him I would stop him from hitting me. He started to cry more and said give me my cane. I told him no – I wasn’t going to fight with him like this. So he started the usual verbal assault on my kids. I told him he is not going to do that either and if he does, I’m not listening. He said how I ignore him. I never touch him and I never hug him. He sat on the couch and sobbed. He promised he wasn’t going to hit me and I gave his cane back.
 
He told me he went into the kitchen with the intent of getting a knife to cut his wrists and couldn’t even find a knife. He said he never thought about hurting me – only himself.
 
You know, I am not looking for people to feel sympathy for me. I am trying to be honest and Christian or not, strokes are ugly. We would have to be Jesus Himself to handle this stuff without a curse word or falling into our own personal pit of despair.
 
This man helped me know I wasn’t broken 24 yrs ago. The first answer out of his mouth to me was always YES no matter what pain it caused him later on. He paid every child support payment even though his ex refused to let him see his kids. He was kind. He helped with housework and worked hours and hours of overtime – never calling in sick even when he could barely move. He remembers his dreams in vivid details. He has the most beautiful, expressive hands. THIS is not HIM.
 
I’m going to protect myself. I won’t hesitate to call the police if necessary. I turn on the video on my phone and let it record when these things happen. I try hard not to goad him with my words. I make myself remember that I love him.
 
If he wants to leave me, he can. If he wants to call his brother or his friends in Atlanta, he can. I guess if he wants to kill himself, he can.
 
He had calmed down enough to ask me for a kiss when I went to bed and I kissed him, I didn’t want to. I am tired of all of this, but I am not going to close a door that is still open in this awful situation.
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Complication

Posted on February 19, 2018 by Morning Knits

Welp, he’s back on a foley catheter. The prostate is swollen bigger and he can’t pee. I feel so bad for him but he refused to have it treated when we had money to cover it. Now I have to refile for his Medicaid.

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FB memory from a yr ago – still the same.

Posted on February 3, 2018 by Morning Knits

Strokes are so cruel. They take love and twist it. They take self, and diminish it. Stroke leaves us with the semblance of desired reality without the substance of our relationships. It’s a cruelty that can be invisible unless you live with it. it’s doubly cruel when the person knows they aren’t right inside and yet can’t fix it. All the memories and facts and knowledge are there but it’s inactive except during tv shows or brief encounters with strangers. With me, he’s just sad and wants to be somewhere else. We didn’t get to sell the GA house and take the money and fix this one, flip it, and move to the mountains. We got interrupted and stuck in Rocky Mount. I can make a home anyplace, out of anything. Steve doesn’t have that skill. All he sees is “it’s not the mountains’. I can’t move us without him and he’s not able either and he can’t stand it. This is not something that can go away or heal up and disappear. I’m sorry I make people sad or uncomfortable, I really am – I’ve even been told by a lifetime friend to only post the good stuff. She told me I was being vindictive by posting because I want others to suffer too. I’ve blocked her from seeing my posts to protect her. I’m sorry I’m different too. I wish this was like a broken bone where it would heal and be done and over. I wish SO MUCH.

Steve wants to be better. He wants to want to go on living. His mind that can’t work his arm and hand and leg and half his mouth says “What’s the point?” I have people I can talk to via an online support group. I have you guys. Steve doesn’t. There’s not a physical group close enough to go to, and he can’t manage one on his phone. HE HAS A PHONE. His family doesn’t call. His friends don’t call. Ken does, but Steve thinks it’s only about playing trivia. I can’t afford to drive us to Atlanta so Steve can play trivia and Steve thinks that’s the only reason you call. Please just call and chat with him. Somebody call and tell him how Shelby is doing. Sheila, Janah, he loves you guys. he’s outside the loop. He cried when your mama died. He cries when his friends and family hurt and there is nothing he can do. He can’t even leave a note on Facebook.He doesn’t think anyone loves him or misses him or needs him. Do you all get me and understand what I am saying? This stroke has fully isolated him. Do you really think a pill will fix how he looks at these things? Do you see why he wants to die? He walked the hall last night over and over crying to God “Please take me.”

Forgive my rant. this morning. I’m not trying to bring anyone down OR rip Steve a new one. That was not my intent. I want him to CENTER himself and find his emotional BALANCE. I want him to buck up and be STRONG like I have to be. I want him to see that I love him. I want him back. These meds are not good for anyone. I want him to to choose to be better so there is less strain on me. It just gets to me sometimes. He’s healthy. HE’S HEALTHY. He was supposed to take care of me – what a joke… another cruel residual of his stroke. It’s awful to know if he had someplace else to be he’d have the impetus to get better so he could leave. Not because he doesn’t love me. He just doesn’t want to be here. That’s what he has fixated on. I told him not to say it ever again. I don’t care. Unless he gets better, this is it. He should be thankful we have a house we can’t loose. I’m sorry his stuff is gone. I just went through the same heartache when kayla gave my things away. I cried off and on for a good long time. Then I went on and started replacing what is gone. I understand. He said no you don’t you can’t. You haven’t had a stroke. I said keep it up, you are making me sick too. He cried and I cried. He got up and dressed and we took the dogs out with us. He stayed in the car with them.

And tomorrow, G turns 21.

What a wonderful way to live. Right?

Thank you God…for not taking him. I swear I’ll try to find my joy and hold it close. The little things hold my sanity. The squirrels chasing whatever it is they chase, make me laugh. The dogs give me smiles. My knitting settles me. Thanking God holds me together. When I reach for my husband that hollow after stroke LOOK answers me, I turn my face away and cry and carry on.

And I guess that’s it… I told him to walk the circle and shake a leg. I laughed, he didn’t. He just got up and struggled on.

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Still struggling

Posted on January 13, 2018 by Morning Knits

Life moves on and shifts and rolls and eases and squeezes. So tired some days. Steve has his intellect in tact but his emotions have a disconnect. When he tries to engage them, it (he) becomes upset and cries out. He loses his words and makes these god awful noises. He bangs his cane and walks like a stomp and paces and it’s so disconcerting.

On Tuesday I was seized by an intense need for silence. My mind screamed I can not listen to more of this! Not listen to stories point by point that I lived and also have heard a hundred times. Not listen to what everyone we know is doing wrong or that is bad for them. I intensely needed silence. For 2 hours Steve focused on the houses next door and each item that was wrong with them. It shifted to Charlie (a brother that’s been dead since 2003) and then the yard at the house in Georgia (which we sold last May). I wanted to go bang my head on the wall to drown the words out.

I tried redirecting and it didn’t work. I tried asking directly and there was still another example or 4 or 8. OMG. I swear I tried to just nicely ask and he came back with who else do I have to talk to? (guilt and license to continue). I tried saying please. I ‘resorted’ to interrupting. Now he’s mad and not INTERESTED in talking to me EVER. He said “All you want to do is set me off so I lose control…” he’s never going to talk to me again.

I guess he can’t win and neither can I. I have tried to give him all of my attention for days on end and it’s too much for me to maintain. I can do it until he starts reliving the tough parts of my life for me (telling me how I should have handled every single situation, followed by the question “Am I right?” and saying Yes, is giving in and releasing ME and saying nothing pisses him off) and then, I did a knee-jerk correction and that’s all she wrote.

Now he’s definitely not speaking or acknowledging anything I say. Our son was in his room belting out “It’s Raining Men” and it was funny as anything. He wouldn’t respond. So childish. I tried my hardest to say I had to have a little quiet and off we went into the wild blue yonder of Stroke world. SIGH.

I can’t keep a pain journal anymore. Every Journal entry I post is about Steve. Every prayer is about Steve. Every breath is about Steve. I want to fight back and say ENOUGH, but I can’t. I have to put ME back in the box and continue on. I have to be the happy lady and just ignore him and his words or lack of them, and his fits because he can’t handle anything. I’m not allowed to change the subject or pick the conversation or challenge any thought. I want to say “Take your miserable self back to Georgia!!!” And instead I write on my FB wall and my friends disappear and it feels like there is no one left. No one to listen or touch or say a nice word to me. I’ve lost my husband, my love, my self, all in the trappings of his stroke.

He says no if I offer to make him coffee or a sandwich or a plate of food. He doesn’t respond to any question or gesture or kindness or apology. He gets to do this and I have to take it because I am the carer. There are days I really want to say FUCK that but all I really want is my husband back.

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