Pat Bertram's Blog, page 30

Sad Day

I was sad last night, but it had nothing to do with Jeff or me or the anniversary of his death. I had to say good-bye to a friend who is heading back to Thailand to care for his wife until the end. The doctors’ prognoses for her have varied over the past several months, from a possible three months left to maybe a year or two, so he’s not planning on coming back any time soon. He smiled when he said good-bye, but his eyes were bleak. I cannot imagine doing what he is doing — leaving the country for an indefinite stay so he can give his wife the care she needs. It’s so very heroic. Sad, but heroic. Admittedly, he’s fine with living elsewhere, but his previous lengthy visits to other countries have been for fun and education, rather than for the heartbreaking task that is awaiting him this time. Even worse, he tries to put on a happy face since she doesn’t want anyone to be sad on her account.

I can’t help being sad over the situation because his wife is a dear sister/friend. From the beginning, although we are different nationalities, grew up on opposite sides of the globe, and had a bit of a language problem, we discovered a strong connection to each other. All I can do for either of them, the one cared for and her caregiver, is to continue looking after their house to give them one less thing to worry about.

Not wanting to feel sad (because even if the end is coming, my friend is alive and happy now despite her infirmities), I kept myself busy all day. I went for a walk, cleaned my floors, cleaned my clothes, cleaned me, fixed a nice meal (a salad and an overloaded-with-spinach frittata), and did various other small chores.

And now I am here, dumping my sadness into the ether where I have deposited so much sadness over the years.

After today, I intend to honor her wishes and think of her at home in Thailand. Happy. With her husband and family and old friends.

But first, I need to get through today.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

Twelve Years. Unbelievable.

Today is the twelfth anniversary of Jeff’s death. If I hadn’t made a note of the anniversary on my calendar, I might have forgotten to commemorate the day. I remember the date he died, of course, but I lost track of time and didn’t realize today was the 27th. It used to be I couldn’t forget even if I wanted to because the day was written in my bones, in my soul, and I could feel it with every breath I took. But now, not so much. I still miss him, still feel the void, still have the date emblazoned in my mind, but my body has forgotten.

It’s an odd — and confusing — experience, this thing called grief. I am long past the mourning stage. When rare tears do come, they barely spill over, not like the early days when tears were so copious, they chapped my cheeks. In fact, the emotion of it all is so distant, my life with Jeff and my grief after his death seem almost mythic, a half-remembered dream that dissipates in the bright light of daily activity. (Come to think of it, when I speak to him — or rather, to his photo — it’s generally at night, just a few words mentioning my day, words that really mean “I am here, I am alive, I matter.”)

It’s hard now, in my settled, peaceful, and generally pleasant life to believe I was that shattered woman who screamed her pain to the uncaring winds. That sort of wild grief seems so out of character for me. Until then I believed I was a rather placid, stoic, and resilient person, and I believe that of myself again today, but during those first years of grief? I was anything but placid and stoic. And no wonder — the very foundation of my life, my identity, my hopes for the future, everything that anchored me to the earth had disappeared in an instant leaving me teetering at the edge of the abyss.

I’m surprised I survived that feral time. Apparently, though, at rock bottom, I really am mostly placid, stoic, and resilient. It just took a while for those characteristics to rise to the surface after I was hit with the tsunami of grief, but I learned to go with the flow, to take whatever came, to feel whatever I felt, to deal with the pain however I could, and to wait for a more peaceful time. I also learned that such all-encompassing and savage grief has a strong physical component that supersedes any character trait or emotional response. Hormones go nuts, our brain chemistry changes, and often we suffer from stress-related issues. Losing a life mate ranks at the very top of stressful situations, and that stress itself causes physiological changes.

But I came through all that. And now it is twelve years later. I am different. My life is different. My expectations are different. It’s confusing when I remember what my life once was — my years with Jeff and my years of grief — and compare it to what my life is now. It simply doesn’t compute. (Which is where that mythic feeling comes in. I know it happened, I know I was that person who lived that life, but it doesn’t seem real.) I cope with the confusion over this dichotomy the same way I coped with my years of numbness during Jeff’s illnessness and my years of grief after his death — try not to think of the past, try not to think too far ahead, try to accept that each day is sufficient in itself.

Still . . . twelve years. Unbelievable.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

Road Trip

Friends and family who visit Denver don’t make the trek out here to visit me, nor do I go to Denver to see them. The trip is a few miles short of 200 miles, so it seems doable, and yet, oh, my, what a long drive it is! You’d think it would be a nice drive considering that the highway skirts the foothills in spots, but it isn’t.

Oh, there is an occasional lovely view out the window, such as snowy mountain scenes

or the Air Force Academy,

but mostly, there are miles and miles and miles of traffic and housing developments and immense shopping areas full of immense stores. In fact, once we hit I-25, we saw relatively few empty miles. I know the growth shouldn’t have shocked me, because after all, the out-of-control growth is the reason I moved to the western slope and now to the sparsely populated southeastern corner of the state, but signs of unchecked growth still surprised me in certain areas. One town that was practically non-existent when I was young had grown to 10,000 by the time I left the front range and is now up to 80,000 and still growing rapidly. Yikes.

We didn’t have time (nor did I have the inclination) to visit my old neighborhood, but the neighborhood we did go to was reminiscent of areas I was familiar with —

a mansion or two surrounded by a lot of smaller houses.

I was glad to for a chance to walk a bit, stretching my legs, and getting a feel for the neighborhood as we headed to a

for a tasty lunch. (I had a half of a Philly steak sandwich and sweet potato fries) and then we continued back to the car on a roundabout route that took us past a Masonic Temple. (Denver always seemed to be a stronghold for Masons, but that’s just my perception and not necessarily the reality.)

The trip back home took us again through those same three cities, with a stop at the Peterson Air Force Base. Oh, excuse me. Google informs me that it is now the Peterson Space Force Base.

The highlight of the trip, of course, was being able to spend time with my friends, but a close second was being able to see the stars so bright in the dark skies. One of my friends lives outside of town where there is no light pollution, and since there was no moon when we stopped by her place at the end of the trip, those stars sure shone on that black obsidian backdrop!

Although I enjoyed the day, it was so exhausting that I have a hunch it will be a long time before I take another road trip. I do know that I will no longer feel slighted if people don’t make it out here to see me. This really is the back of the beyond, and a long way from where I once lived.

***

What if God decided S/He didn’t like how the world turned out, and turned it over to a development company from the planet Xerxes for re-creation? Would you survive? Could you survive? If you haven’t yet read this book, now is the time to buy since it’s on sale.

Click here to buy Bob, The Right Hand of God.

Space Filler

This is one of those write-anything-so-you-can-say-you-wrote-something posts. I had an unexpected day off, so I accompanied a couple of friends who had appointments in a not-so-nearby city (the first time I’ve been in a major city in many years). I didn’t do much but fill space as I sat in the car and stared out the window watching the world go by, but it was nice to spend a day with these people, especially since it might be a year before I see one of them again. (He’s heading back to Thailand to be with his sick wife, and once again I will be looking after his house for him.)

As pleasant as the day was, it didn’t save me much time to write a real blogpost instead of a space filler. In the grand scheme of life, I don’t suppose it matters if I skip a day now and again, but today is the 914th day of a daily blogging streak, and I hate to quit when I am so close to 1,000 days. (Close? Sheesh. I still have almost three months to go!)

The funny thing about this trip is that both my sisters (who live on the west coast) were in that very city just a couple of days ago. I couldn’t get to Denver to visit them — not only was there a major snowstorm moving through Colorado, but my brakes, which have been working fine, decided to go squishy on me. (Because there hasn’t been a problem, I haven’t been reminding the mechanic to order a brake cylinder with the proper clocking to fit my car, so yesterday I stopped by to tell him about the brakes.) Because of The Bob, and because I am not fully vaccinated, my sisters’ immune-compromised friends didn’t want them to visit me, so I wouldn’t have been able to see them even if there weren’t a snowstorm and even if my brakes did work, which is okay. I’ve been leery of being around travelers anyway, because a person is only as healthy as the last person they sat next to.

Tomorrow should be a more leisurely day for writing, so I’ll fill you in on my trip. Meantime, here is a photo of what I saw when I was staring out the window of the moving car.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of intriguing fiction and insightful works of grief.

Weather and Walking

The good news is that the latest snowstorm didn’t seem to affect my upcoming tulips except perhaps to encourage a few more to break through the ground.

The bad news is . . . well, there really is no bad news. There is bad news elsewhere, of course, but within my personal gated community (i.e., my fenced-in property), all is well

We did have horrific winds yesterday, but the only damage they did was to blow away the petals of the crocuses that had already bloomed. There are a few more crocuses coming up, so any bloom time that was cut short will be more than offset by the new blossoms. Today is a gorgeous day, blue skies, still air, and warming temperatures. By the weekend, it will be astonishingly warm — in the low eighties. Wow! If there are no winds accompanying those glorious temperatures, it should be a good day for walking.

I never used to let weather get in the way of my taking a walk, but I do now, especially when it’s slushy or windy or too hot or too cold. Unfortunately, I also let other things get in the way — work, too much to do, too tired, and all the other things that knock me out of routine. Last summer gardening was the culprit. Any work in the yard had to be done early before the day heated up, and by the time I finished watering and weeding and all the other small tasks necessary to take care of a yard, it was too hot to spend any more time outside, so the walking fell by the wayside. If all that weren’t enough, then there was the whole knee issue that really put the kibosh on walking.

With any luck and my knees willing, this summer I’m hoping to be able to do both the yard work and take a walk, but I seem to have lost the compelling urge to walk once I moved here. (Even when my knees prevented me from walking, I still felt the compulsion, but now I don’t.) So much of the walking I did for more than a decade was grief-induced. Grief seemed to keep me on the move, though I’m not sure why. Perhaps I was trying to run away from grief. Maybe I simply needed to relieve the stress of grief. It could be I needed the Zen of walking to keep me centered. Possibly the training for an epic long hike kept me focused on the future rather than the past. Most probably, it was a bit of all those things. With much of my grief-induced problems resolved, the impetus for walking isn’t there especially since my current walking paths lead me only around town rather than through nature, so now I have to rely on discipline to get me out there, and that is in short supply.

Once I am back in the habit of walking, it won’t be a problem keeping the habit going. Well, it won’t be a problem until the wind rises, slush happens, it gets too hot, my knees go wonky again, or work and chores intervene.

Even today, though I am looking forward to a walk, it’s possible that I will have to go to work instead. In that case, I’ll try again tomorrow, and if that doesn’t work out, then the next day. Or the next one after that.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

People Like Me

I finally finished the Crazy Rich Asians trilogy. Whew! It really got tedious, all the shopping and designer clothes and idiomatic terms that were translated in footnotes.

The most bizarre thing about the books is that I would have thought they’d be used as examples of how not to write, but apparently, if a book makes money, no one cares about the lack of a plot, the lack of clearly defined major characters, the lack of any sort of character arc, the insertion of too many characters that have no point except to pound home the point that the rich, no matter the nationality, are different.

One of the many things I didn’t understand were those footnotes. Though the story was written in English, these people were not actually speaking English in their own homes among their own families, yet the author kept inserting Asian terms in the midst of what should have been Asian people talking in one of the many Asian languages. I didn’t understand why he didn’t just translate those terms as he did the rest of their dialogue and forget the footnotes. Admittedly, there were times they spoke English, and I suppose they would bestrew their English sentences with Asian terms, but I don’t feel like giving the author the benefit of the doubt, especially since he kept inserting himself in the footnotes. I had to look at the footnotes to see what the heck the characters were talking about, which was bad enough, but it was especially jarring to have all that author intervention. Anyone who knows about writing knows that the author should be invisible. A story is a conversation between the reader and the characters, and no author should ever poke his head into the conversation. It disrupts the fictive dream and takes the reader out of the story.

In this case, I don’t suppose it really mattered since there was no real story. Just a lot of rich people doing rich people things.

Luckily, I’m finished with that particular literary non-event and will go on to a completely different book, this one about a middle-aged, middle-class woman in the sandwich generation — caught between raising young children and taking care of aging parents. I’m not sure I’ll be any more into this story than I was into the rich folk saga — both are alien situations that I can’t really identify with. But then, if I only read books about people like me (assuming, of course, there are any books about people like me), there’d be no reason to read because I know about people like me.

***

What if God decided S/He didn’t like how the world turned out, and turned it over to a development company from the planet Xerxes for re-creation? Would you survive? Could you survive? If you haven’t yet read this book, now is the time to buy since it’s on sale.

Click here to buy Bob, The Right Hand of God.

Slushfall

The weather couldn’t decide what it wanted to do yesterday. First it rained, then it snowed, then it slushed. I had not experienced a slushfall before, but apparently, it was too cold for rain, too warm for snow to form flakes, and so what fell were globules of slush.

This wouldn’t have been a problem except for the poor drainage in this town. Apparently, some functionary at one time decided it was a good idea to get rid of the culverts and hump the streets instead. This tends to keep the streets dry, because moisture drains to curbs and street gutters, but since the gutters don’t drain as they should, water tend to puddle, making it impossible to cross the street on foot in wet weather.

Normally, I solve the problem of flooded gutters by walking in the street, but at the cross streets, there are bumper-scraping dips on either side of the road, which drain slowly, so on days like yesterday, not only do the gutters overflow, so do those deep dips. The flooding was so severe, I had to walk way out of my way to find places to cross the rivers of slush to get to work. By afternoon, there was so much slush, I wouldn’t have been able to find a way to avoid sloshing through the flooded areas, and I dreaded walking home in the inevitable sodden boots and socks.

The place where I work is two blocks from my house. I have walked those two blocks in deep snow, frigid winds, icy rains, moonless nights, horrendous heat. No matter what the weather, I have turned down offers of a ride because I wanted that small adventure.

Well, the slush defeated me, so last night, I gladly accepted a ride. It was the only way to get around and through the flooded areas.

Fearing that the slush would freeze overnight, I went out in the dark and shoveled the walk. I also shoveled my ramp from the front door to the sidewalk as best as I could without scraping off the paint and non-skid strips. My best wasn’t all that good because today I have an icy slide all the way down to the sidewalk, which sort of defeats the purpose of a handicap ramp. Luckily, the sun is out, so it won’t be long until the ice melts.

I have no idea what impact this weather will have on my tulips. They’d already started poking through the ground, but perhaps the temperatures didn’t drop below freezing long enough to have an effect. But there’s nothing I can do about it. The poor things are on their own.

As for me, I can only hope the melting will help drain the slushy street gutters and dips so I can manage to get to work with relatively dry feet. If not, well, I’ll bring dry shoes and socks so I won’t have to spend the day in sodden footwear.

These are last year’s tulips. With any luck, they will bloom again this year.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

Blooming Time

It was raining when I got up this morning, which thrilled me, thinking of the great start it will give the wildflowers I planted last fall, as well as encourage the tulips that are breaking through the ground.

As I wrote that first sentence, the rain turned to snow, but I doubt it will cause any problems because the temperatures shouldn’t fall below freezing. And anyway, I’m sure the snow will turn back to rain shortly — it’s barely cold enough for it to snow (36 degrees Fahrenheit), and it’s supposed to get a bit warmer as the day progresses.

I used to dread such weather on a workday, back when I had to drive to work, because there was no way to avoid the poor traffic conditions. Luckily, I only have to walk two blocks to work. I bring dry shoes and socks so I don’t have to worry about sitting around all day with wet feet, and I have a couple of coats that will repel the rain. At least, they’re supposed to.

An umbrella would be nice, but even if the wind wasn’t picking up, I need to use my walking sticks on days like this. Not only will there by snowy patches to navigate, there will also be mud puddles, which is even worse. The soil here is clay, and oh, is that clay slick! It adheres to everything, too. I haven’t managed to get all the mud cleaned off my shoes from the last muddy walk I took.

But I’d rather not think of such things, and instead think of all the good this moisture will do to my water-starved yard. (We’ve barely had enough snow to wet the ground, and it’s been way too cold for me to supplement the natural moisture with water from a hose.)

A rain like this should help germinate any of the wildflower seeds, assuming the birds didn’t eat them all, which is especially nice since not only will it give the remaining seeds a good start, but I’ll be able to tell where I need to replant come May. (The last frost generally shows up the first week of May, so it’s no worth taking a chance before then.)

It’s amazing to think that, despite the snow, spring really is here! Blooming time won’t be far behind.

This photo is from last spring since blooming time is not yet here, but from the looks of my garden, it seems as if the larkspur is coming up already, and in a month or two, it will look like the picture. I can hardly wait!

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

Rich People Problems

I’m just finished China Rich Girlfriend, the sequel to Crazy Rich Asians, and am about to embark on the third book, Rich People Problems. To be honest, I do not care at all about the problems rich people have. I’m sure they have problems, but I’m also sure that their money keeps them from having most of the problems the rest of us have (such as not enough to pay the rent, not being able to afford child care, not being able to buy a car that doesn’t keep breaking down, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera).

The books, short on characterization and plot, are long on shopping and name dropping. I’m mostly reading the books because they were lent to me by an Asian friend who is neither crazy rich nor China rich. She was, however, born and raised in Malaysia’s Cameron Highlands, a resort area, the site of picturesque tea plantations, and the setting for one of the scenes in the first book.

I got bored with the shopping scenes and descriptions of insanely expensive paintings and objets d’art loosely held together by soap-opera-worthy moments, so my mind tended to wander. I found myself smiling at the vast difference between the Asians portrayed in the books — completely materialistic beings — with the Asians living in my head — Zen- and Dao-influenced folk who are spiritually inclined, love harmony, and eschew material things. (This idea came more from my study of comparative religions rather than any true knowledge of individual Asian people besides my friends.) Adding to the dichotomy, there is the difference between the Chinese in this book and the Chinese I’ve read about in other books who are forced to work in sweatshops.

I suppose the reality of Asian life spans the full gamut of practices and beliefs as it does elsewhere, but although I have been told that the mindset described in these books is accurate, it still rings false to me. But then, my grandparents moved to this country to raise their family away from their own peasant roots, so I identify with neither the peasant point of view nor the crazily rich mindset. (I mostly find my wealth in the true riches of life — plumbing, a nice place to live, enough food, friends, and all the other comforts that make so much of life today a luxury that people in previous eras could not even imagine.) It does seem, though, as if these crazy-rich Asians have much in common with any other crazy-rich nationalities, with their emphasis on generational ties, keeping the money in the family, and finding the proper mates for their children.

Another thing that made me smile as I drifted from the story was a character in this book, a trendsetter with millions of followers on the various social networks. Being what is called an “influencer,” all she has to do is show up at a restaurant (a very expensive restaurant), be seen an exclusive resort, or wear a designer outfit to have her outing comped with her only payment being a photo of herself at the venue posted online. That’s not what made me smile, though. What amused me was thinking of myself in such a situation, and understanding why the number of my followers lags slightly behind hers. Here I am, wearing old dance leggings and a no-name turtleneck, with not a jewel in sight, sitting in a house that would fit in a single room in one of her houses, walls that are bare of any artwork, and hand-me-down furniture. I was rather a gadabout yesterday, met some friends as I was walking, had tea with another friend and dinner with a different group of people. But none of those outings took place in a famous restaurant or a luxurious spa, so even if I were wearing designer clothes, and even if I did live in a designer house, there would still be no possibility of a job as an influencer. (And yet, thinking about this, I bet my day was better than that rich girl’s day. Not only was it a nice day, it was real rather than a made-up fantasy.)

Now I’m heading off to read about Rich People Problems. The good thing about it is that no matter what problems they have, I would never have to deal with, so I don’t need to waste even a second of my life on empathizing with them.

***

What if God decided S/He didn’t like how the world turned out, and turned it over to a development company from the planet Xerxes for re-creation? Would you survive? Could you survive? If you haven’t yet read this book, now is the time to buy since it’s on sale.

Click here to buy Bob, The Right Hand of God.

March Showers Bring March Flowers

I realize April showers are supposed to bring May’s flowers, and with any luck, that will hold true this year, but the showers we had this month brought some much-needed color to my life.

You’d think that the way I photograph these blooms so lovingly that my yard would be carpeted in color, but unfortunately, that is not true.

The flowers are small, at least in comparison to the wide swaths of dirt in which they’ve been planted.

Despite the small size, and the sparse blooms, each flower is a treasure and is loved for itself.

It does tickle me, though, when people tell me they wish they could see my garden, when the truth is, they (and you!) get to see every flower that blooms.

Someday, perhaps, I will have a garden to show off, but for now, I’m just delighted I have any blooms to share on this lovely last day of winter.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of intriguing fiction and insightful works of grief.