A little bit of soccer, a whole lot of sadness.
2006-09-23
11:19 p.m.
We had a busy day today. It was opening day for soccer, and we had three games to attend.
Both kids had great games. Oldest Son was upset because a goal was made while he was goalie, but they still won the game.
Youngest Son is quite an aggressive ball chaser, but in between plays? Oooh, look, something shiny, and he's gone. We spent a fair amount of time reminding him to go back and play, where he would promptly jump back in all the fray running after the ball. And at five years old, it is a fray.
Oldest Son got the camera in Youngest Son's second game this afternoon and took the most unflattering shots of me -- side profiles, sitting in a folding chair, looking like the world's biggest lumpiest beanbag with a smile and sunglasses. (Note to self: Don't forget to ground Oldest Son immediately.)_______________________________________
Tonight the kids and Hubby and I all went to the park for me to walk and the kids to play. Hubby ended up walking with me, though he had planned to just chill and watch the kids play.
This week has been probably the worst week I've had since my brother died. As I told Cinzel yesterday, I am just unbelievably sad. I have so much to be happy for in my life, but the sadness and grief has been kicking my behind. When I haven't been crying, I've been sleeping.
I've said more than once, I could cry all day every day for a week, and I'm not sure I'd be done. This week, while the kids are in school, I've tested that theory. It's true. And then I get back in my bed and pretend it's not real, giving in to grief in the most self-indulgent ways.
Also, I've been experiencing some physical problems, and I thought the everything-falls-apart-when-you-reach-40 theory was finally hitting me (though I'm actually 43 next month). One of them has been my stomach hurting. It's been hurting off and on for a little while, but a few days ago I finally noticed I've actually been sucking it in. That's not something I practice regularly, unless something is tight and won't zip, but I was doing it subconsciously.
Hubby and I talked about it, and I think he's probably right, it's just a real gut reaction to protect myself from more. (Those of you who know me and my family know how many blows we've had in the last three years.) I have to say I always thought, yeah, yeah, yeah, stress affects your body, uh-huh. Now I'm beginning to believe it.
I started walking, thinking it'd make me feel better. For one, it would force me to breathe deeply when I started walking faster, thereby relaxing my stomach, and two, it might help me clear my head some.
Today was day four of walking, and I am seeing a difference. I do plan to keep on as long as I can.
The second plan is Hubby called his EAP program last week to find a counselor in our area for me to talk with. I'm not sure I'm going to do this, but I'm okay with getting a name of someone local in case I do decide to. I had some problems getting over my dad's death 13 years ago and saw a counselor then. It did help.
My brother's death has hit me so hard on so many levels. For one, we were very close, and shared a lot of the same sense of humor. If I thought it was funny, Mike would appreciate it just as much or more than I did. We were good friends, besides siblings.
For another, he fought so hard to live after his accident, and we all rallied around him, his biggest cheerleaders. He went through a lot of physical and emotional pain as a result of that, and endured many medical procedures that were not only painful but oftentimes humiliating and humbling. To this day, I don't know if he would have fought so hard if he'd known his wife hadn't survived.
And he was only 46 years old and my brother, and we were robbed of his presence. We all know that, sadly, we will one day bury our parents, but you don't expect to lose your brother at 46. Nor do you expect that one day he will be fine, and a month later, after two different diagnoses of upper respiratory infections, he will die of leukemia. I will always feel robbed.
Like Kitchenlogic posted recently about her own brother's death, you expect to be together till you're at least in your 80s or more and your brothers are all bald and your own hair is a delightful shade of blue. He never got to see my blue hair, and that makes me so sad, for he would have loved commenting on it loudly and often.
I sometimes talk to him, hoping he's around somewhere to hear me. Or that he has to come running to hear me, in case he's not around. Heh. I'm a pain-in-the-ass that way. As I've been walking on the track, I find myself talking to him and walking faster and faster, hoping he has to hurry to keep up with me. That makes me smile, to picture him hustling along trying to hear me. :) More than anything, I wish he could talk to me one more time.
Over and out.
2 comments so far Kathy - 2006-09-24 10:01:51
I talk to my brother too. On Thursday, while listening to the oldies radio station, I was listening to some old song from the 60's and it made me miss him so dang much! Reminded me of my brother when he was so young and had that long life ahead of him. I really understand what you're saying mel. I'm so very sorry.
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Holly - 2006-09-25 21:15:52
My father passed away 10 years ago this December. I still talk to him and my grandfather who died when I was little.
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