The other day I wrote about grief. It was a good day and so it was easy to talk about. You can do things like that on good days. You can leave the grief behind and take the joy instead. However, on bad days, as I said in that article, it’s not easy.
Today was a tough day. Waiting to hear the final plans for having DBS surgery in January and not getting any answers. I did find the right phone number (I hope) later in the day, but the offices had closed by then.
Preparing for DBS means it’s constantly on my mind. It means that others’ comments about its effectiveness or the lack thereof, is constantly spinning in what brain matter I have left. So, I am anxious, on the verge of nervous.
Then there’s the factor of the surgery itself. What if they sneeze in the middle of drilling and the drill bit slips. I’ve watched TV doctor shows. I know what can happen. My worst fear is they’ll find something alien and pull out a 26 foot worm of some sort that will choke those operating on me before they can finish and I will have to get off the table and figure out how to save the world McGuyver style. These things happen.
Getting older scares the pajeepers out of me now. Dying itself doesn’t scare me, as I know where I’m headed and frankly look forward to it. It’s the ‘act’ of death. I don’t want to be a burden. I fear being a burden. I fear being the one for which another will have to care for and I may never be able to say thank you.
Yet, more than anything, I fear not being able to enjoy my future grandkids the way I enjoy my little Boo. I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold them. Push them in a swing. Walk with them and stop to find ladybugs or worms. Sing them songs and rock them as they fall asleep. I fear not being able to do things with my husband. I fear a lot of things. And I grieve over them and sometimes it’s a very dark place and it overwhelms me.
I could’ve gotten lost in that dark abyss. It’s easy to do. But I had to buck up. I had just written a post about bucking up and allowing your grief to turn into joy. I must practice what I had preached.
Ha. It was dark where I was sitting. Bucking up was not going to come easy. Then my husband came out to the room I was sitting in and I started to cry and told him I was scared. Scared of all the stuff I just mentioned and more. Scared I am going to be useless as even now I feel un-useful. He gave me a pep talk about how I’m not useless as even today I put a smile on Boo’s face when I showed her the barrette I had made for her. She got the biggest smile and asked if I’d put it in her hair right then. My husband was right – I was useful – at making barrettes. Okay, I know what he really meant. I can clean a mean toilet. Just kidding.
The point is – yes, our grief can turn to joy if we have the right perspective and focus but even then – for some more and for some less – it’s okay to cry. And – even though nothing will have changed when you’re done, you’ll probably feel better. So go ahead and cry and I’ll cry with you and when it’s over, we’ll smile and keep walking. Or shuffling… whichever comes easier.