Haven't been here (or, indeed, spent much time at Mudcat) for some time. I've come to the conclusion that the second year of widowhood is...more complicated than the first. Not necessarily worse. Not really "better" (whatever that's supposed to mean). Just different. And, well, complicated.

I had trouble going into the holidays this past November and December. Part of it was that my computer was in the shop for the entire month of November (along with my LIFE -- access to, well, EVERYTHING; I didn't think I would lose anything, but even that wasn't CERTAIN). And I came out of it with the newer computer that I'd bought a year ago and my backup and secondary computer arrangement totally reconfigured. The rest of the emotional complications stemmed from the fact that 2014 seemed more like the first "Other Anniversary", Christmas, and New Year's without Tom than did the holidays right after Tom died. Back then I was on autopilot, still numb, and, of course, I had to go to Milwaukee for my mother's funeral the week before Christmas.

I think I'm still stumbling through life. The weather this January and February certainly hasn't helped. "Beleaguered" is the one word that sums up this winter. I lost (literally; I have a clue where under the snow it is) my mailbox over a month ago and have to pick up my mail at the post office. My porch light got snow in it and doesn't work and it's looking like at least another month will have to go by before I can even assess what needs to be done. I thought I'd lost my driveway alarm due to piled up snow but, surprise!, I heard it this morning. (Probably wild turkeys rather than a vehicle.) Everything is more complicated -- even when the driveway is freshly plowed and snow is removed from in front of the oil intake, the driver decides the driveway is too narrow for his truck and I have to call my plow guy to work miracles so I can keep the house warm. A simple washing machine filter change results in a leak. The toaster oven kicks the bucket for no apparent reason. It's like being nibbled to death by ducks.

I thought I had skipped the part of grieving where you get angry with your loved one for abandoning you, but when I started reading Gail Sheehy's book, "Passages For Caregivers" (which I should have read when it came out in 2010 -- but caring for Tom distracted me and I forgot about it), I started screaming at Tom for not being here so I could read it aloud to him. I was surprised, too, a couple weeks ago when I had a full blown "grief day" which I not only didn't recognize until early afternoon, but I couldn't embrace -- I had things I HAD to do. (So I did them, then sort of collapsed afterwards and was asleep, exhausted, at 7:30 p.m.)

I'm in a bit of an odd space this morning, but can't do anything about it -- too many other things that HAVE to be done, including leading the Press Room session from 4:30-9:00. One thing I CAN do, though, is (after writing another check to my plow guy) see if I can sign up for another grief group that starts in April. I did one last year and it helped me understand the grieving process. Maybe this one will help me better understand this second year which is so different from the first. I wish I could figure out how to slow down from the gallop I've been at for the past four years or more. I wish someone would pat me on the head and say "There, there. Everything's going to be all right." Even if it's total bullshit.

Linn