To File or Shred?

I've been meaning to go through multiple stacks of papers and file the necessary stuff and shred the rest.  I've actually been meaning to do it since before Jeff died.  But it's such a tedious job, that I've put it off for over 3 years.  It's been put off for too long.

One of the major stacks includes an enormous amount of documents regarding Jeff's medical records.  This has been exceptionally painful in deciding what to file and what to shred.

I no longer need documents about the hernia surgery he had way before the cancer diagnosis but how do I shred this memory of our life before cancer?

I no longer need all the appointment reminders, after care instructions, and summaries for the multiple doctor visits we attended for radiation, chemo, follow ups, etc.  But how do I shred these scraps of paper that were our lifelines to hope for a cure and normal life again?

I no longer need the disability paperwork that I had no idea Jeff took such extensive notes on in his distinctive handwriting. But how do I shred anything that has his handwriting on it?

I no longer need the handwritten notes and questions I wrote for our first oncology appointment.  This was the hardest one to read over, I was just so naïve back then. The questions I was asking, I realize now how unprepared I was for such devastating news.  I just didn't realize how life changing this diagnosis was, how I thought it could be treated and we could go on with our lives after this speed bump was overcome.

Looking back, I shake my head at my naïveté, but then I also long for the innocent I was back then
just going about my business untouched by grief and tragedy.  Ignorance was truly bliss.

We were a newly married couple with our whole lives in front of us and Jeff always telling me as long as we had each other, we could get through anything.

I long for those days of naïveté, of innocence, before cancer destroyed everything.

But how do I shred the innocent, naïve person I was before cancer made me a widow?

Would it be better to just file her away?

Has cancer already shredded her?

Letting Go Is Hard

Here Comes Summer!

It's finals week this week, the most stressful and exhilarating week of the year.  Both kids and teachers are over it!  I'm sure the parents are over it too.

I can't wait to finish everything up: get through finals, finish grades and submit them, supervising the graduation ceremony, filing, organizing, and cleaning up my classroom, then turning out the lights for 6 weeks until we do it all over again with a different set of kids.

Last year around this time, I was feeling sad and guilty.  I had just started talking to Wyoming and was looking forward to meeting him for the first time, but also missing Jeff so very much and feeling nostalgic for my past summers with him.

This summer I am still looking forward to seeing Wyoming (I will be flying out there for 10 days next week) and I'm still missing Jeff, but the pain is not as sharp.

I know Jeff is with me, as I was typing this, our wedding song came on Pandora.  I don't hear our wedding song very often, so when I do hear it in random places and at random times, I honestly feel that Jeff is communicating with me.

I feel like he knows how much I still love him, and I also know he wants me to be happy.  As Mean Jean says, "guilt is a useless emotion" and we all know about my guilt monster!

I am so grateful and relieved that the pain of missing the love of my life isn't so sharp.

I'm looking forward to the summer and all that it has to bring. 

My Own Mean Jean

I love reading widow blogs.  They give me someone else to relate to and I find myself nodding my agreement and seeing similarities sometimes.

In this post from Poor Widow Me, I was reminded of my own guilt monster and I also realized that I have my own "Mean Jean" therapist, except he's not as mean and not a woman.

"[Mean Jean] explained that guilt is a useless emotion. This is exactly what I needed to hear although I detect a tinge of 'Get over yourself' tone in her voice. I sit up straighter. 

"Listen, Carol, if you want to keep beating yourself up, be my guest. It's good for business." She added a 'ching-ching' register sound. 

At this point,  I was seeing her twice a week and our three month anniversary was approaching.  I noticed that the couch I was sitting on was new. I looked around. So was the carpet. 

For those reading this and wondering why oh why was I seeing her? After all, Mean Jean certainly was a fitting nickname. Here's why ~ she didn't let me wallow.  I know myself. With a softer shrink I might have curled up on a couch and spent the 50 minutes sucking my thumb. I kept going back because every so often she gave me a gem and my breathing was calmer when I left her. 

This day, as I wrestled with feelings of guilt, she blurted out wisdom, a little ditty, that seemed to come out of nowhere, but it made sense to me and it helped me. She had extremely wise ditties. 

She told me that when widows want to re-marry they often go to the cemetery to ask permission. I nodded my head. "I can understand that," I said. 

Mean Jean lifted that one evil eyebrow again sarcastically. "Really?" she said. "It makes sense to you to ask permission from a dead man?" 

"Well, I figured that…" I stammered. 
"Just for the record, Carol, none of the husbands ever say no."
"So, you're saying…"
"I'm saying our time is up!" She snorted and slapped the arm of her chair. "I'm kidding, kiddo. You should have seen your face?

Eventually, she stopped chuckling and leaned forward to gently touch my arm.

"Honey, emotionally healthy widows and widowers do what they want to do. If they want to remarry, they remarry. If they want to buy a foreign car when their spouse only bought American they say, "Hey, I'm the one driving it."!

She continued, "It's a process to get to that, of course, but they know that it's their turn now and they know that life can be fleeting. They know that better than anyone. 

"They look back, they regret, they give themselves and their marriage a report card and in some subjects they acknowledge that they failed. So what? Dwelling and it's first cousin, guilt, don't change a thing. It only keeps us stuck." 

This is why we pay for therapy.  Preach on Mean Jean!