I’m still occasionally vaguely suicidal. It’s not often, it’s not actionable, and I do talk to my therapist about it.
I think this means I’m not past the early grief stage yet.
That’s ok. I’m not in a rush. The last 5 years have been without any kind of road map, so why should that change?
This is the point when I’m grateful that I’m non-theist pagan. I think I’d die of misery if I thought that this whole thing was part of some sadistic higher power’s “great plan” for me and my husband. There’s no solace for me there.
A friend told me after hubs was diagnosed that I had to find one joy a day. It’s been good advice, but I had this in my toolbox already. Given that my birth family was mentally and emotionally abusive, my innate surrealist/absurdist/black sense of humor kept me alive and intact before the cancer—it continued to keep me functional during the cancer, and is still sustaining me.
I need to get the receipt for his compression hose sent in to my FSA account, but I’m dragging my heels. I get tired of the constant “death activities”. I get tired of cleaning up his paperwork: if my husband had one serious failing, it was his ability to fail to act on commitments related to cleaning. Given that I have the same failing, it’s made for a lot of clutter, but I’m getting better. We both were, actually, learning to throw things out, overcoming our parents’ postwar and depression era hoarding tendencies.
This afternoon I need to take my trike in for it’s first tuneup, and tomorrow I get tested for cat allergies. I’ve been off my systemic antihistamines for almost a week, and I’m an itching wreck, but not sure if it’s from the kitten or from the leaf mold or ragweed or dust mites—all of which I’m allergic to.
But the trike and the kitty and my pack of dogs are what’s keeping me feeding myself and getting exercise and being social and going to bed regularly and changing clothes and doing laundry and looking forward to the next trike/dog outing or game of chase-the-string. I have missed petting a purring kitten so badly.