Excitement

We had a storm on Tuesday the 12th with straight line winds. I came home to this:

Million Pieces

My heart broke into a million pieces today. My Grandpa Harold is dying. His lungs are shutting down and his heart is giving out. He's been hospitalized for a week. He knows he's dying. Mind wise, he's sharp as a tack. He knows what's happening, he understands--more so than some family members--that he has days left on this earth. Not weeks, not months, but days. He made a decision this morning that I'm sure broke his heart into a billion pieces. I made a decision to honor his request and subsequently my heart shattered as well.

2 years ago my Grandma passed away. She was his everything. He doted on her with everything he had. Losing her was tough on him. He was lost without her. He had nobody to take care of but himself. He's a caretaker by nature and has a heart of gold. Shortly after my Grandma passed away I came across an 8-10 week old kitten. Abandoned, starving and scared. I asked Grandpa Harold if he wanted her, he said no, not right now. Knowing he was lonely and loved cats, a week later I went to a weekend training session and asked him if the kitten could stay with him. I dropped her off on Friday night. The kitten, who was now named Oreo, bolted across the room straight onto his lap. His eyes lit up and he was in love. I left for my training and came to pick up Oreo on Sunday. When I walked in, they were sharing a sandwich, and he told me that since Oreo was so comfortable with him, that she could stay awhile longer. That was 2 years ago, and she had been his companion day in and day out.

She would lay on his lap when he had his 6 daily breathing treatments, she would lick his tears as he mourned for his wife, she slept next to him every night, they shared meals together, watched tv together, she would perch on his shoulder and watch the letters go across the screen when Grandpa Harold would write an e-mail and when he began losing his hair while going through chemo, she curled up around his head at night when his hat would come off.

Knowing that he has been having some health problems, and knowing how much he loved Oreo, I let him know that I was available to care for Oreo if the need should arise. A few times he asked me to come take care of her while he was in and out of the hospital, concerned that she was lonely. I obliged without hesitation.

This morning he called me and asked me to come get her as he was still in the hospital. In talking to him he told me that he wanted me to take Oreo permanently, as he felt he could no longer care for her because he was dying. My heart broke. I know how much Oreo means to him, and for him to give away his only constant companion for the last 2 years was a decision that I know he did not take lightly.

I got the call at 6am and was on the road for the 3.5 hr. drive by 6:30am. I went to see him first, wanting to be sure this was what he wanted. Wanting him to know that, if he changed his mind, I would bring her back, no questions asked. But mostly wanting to quash down the guilt that I had of taking his best friend away from him. He knew this was what he wanted, he knew it was forever, and he made it clear that he had days left to live and he wanted to know that Oreo was safe and taken care of before he passed.

The look on his face was heart wrenching. He looked defeated. Defeated because he couldn't care for his best friend. Wanting the best for her, but knowing he was not the one who could provide it. To say I was honored to be the one chosen to care for his best friend is an understatement. It helped a little bit, but I still felt extremely guilty, sad, anxious, and crushed.

Oreo is currently hiding. She meowed a pitiful meow the entire 3.5 hour drive home. I let her out of her crate once we were safely back to my place and she promptly hid. Hasn't eaten, drank anything, or used the litter box. She's lost. This place is foreign to her. I'm foreign to her. The smells, sounds, sights...all foreign. I imagine it a little like if I were dropped off in a foreign country where nobody understood me, and I didn't understand them.

I pray that Grandpa Harold feels at peace with his decision. Seeing that look of defeat on his face, a look I've NEVER seen on his face before, even when my Grandma passed, was a look I never want to see again. I pray. I don't even have words to pray, I don't know what to say. I have cried more than my fair share of tears today, and I'm certain there will be many more to come. I pray he's at peace. I pray.

Getting There

Sorry for the lack of updates. About 2 weeks ago I realized that my house was a disaster zone due to everything going on in the last year. So, last week I decided to do something about it. I really should've taken before and after pictures, but I didn't think of it until I was done!

Last week I cleaned the kitchen and the hallway adjacent to the kitchen. 6 paper bags of stuff was donated while 3 bags of trash were removed.

Next I'm going to work on the bedroom. We'll see how much clutter I can get rid of!

Pictures coming soon, if I can find my camera!

Weight Loss Update

I began a journey in July of 2010 to lose weight. My goal is to lose 106 pounds. I did not set a 'goal date.'

Here's the stats as of today.

July 2010: 236 (beginning weight)

October 2010: 213

April 2011: 211

Goal Weight: 130

Pounds to go: 81

Pounds lost to date: 25

Fix It

It's my nature to fix things. Not physical things, I would much rather tear things apart than put them back together. It's almost like therapy for me. All the stress from the week just melts away when I get to go to my mom's and tear down a shed, or take apart an old metal desk for the metal pile, pull old wiring out from the garage, rip of the roof of a house in preparation for a new one...the list goes on but you get the point. I always feel so much better, more relaxed, more energized after I've taken something apart, as long as I don't have to put it back together.

My natural instinct to fix things is when there is an emotional or mental problem. I want to make it better--or at least more tolerable. I want to find the solution. I will turn into a pretzel just to make it work. I don't like to see people hurting, in any way. I want to do something, anything, to make it just a little bit better.

At work, this is fairly easy. Boss is unhappy? Find out what it's about and take steps to solve the problem. Co-worker upset? Lend an ear, and a shoulder if necessary, to carry a bit of the burden. Child sad that mom/dad has left for work? Extra cuddles and hugs usually do the trick. Neighbors and friends are fairly easy to. Sometimes they need to just vent, sometimes they just need to chat, sometimes a card, a hug, a smile make it just a little bit better.

At home, it's not so easy. I want to 'fix' my mom's problem. I want to take some of the burden and carry it as my own. Mental illness can be so ugly sometimes. I tried to 'fix' it. I tried to set up a fool proof way of making sure mom was mentally stable. The medications were to be dispensed by a visiting nurse, twice a day, every day. There was no way mom could overdose, or underdose. The medications were locked up. 2 keys, one for me, one for the visiting nurse. The knives were taken out of the home, so she couldn't hurt herself. Same with the guns. I called 3 times a day, once in the morning, once on my lunch break, and once in the evening. Making note of differences in her tone, her attitude, her tracking of the conversation. I went every weekend. Making sure things were going well. Counting pills, checking hiding places for knives and other weapons. She was allowed to drive, but only a certain distance. I checked the odometer religiously, making sure she didn't cheat. We went to doctors, therapists, neurologists, internal medical specialists, psychiatrists, etc. I had peace of mind. I had it all under control. I was 'fixing' the problem with my fool proof plan.

Problem is, the only person I fooled was myself. Truth is, she still has freedom of choice. She has the choice to take her medication, or not. She has the choice to buy a knife, or not. She has the choice to drive as much as she wants, or not. She has the choice the answer my call, or not. She has the choice to see the doctors, or not. The only way she wouldn't have that choice would be if she was deemed to dangerous to be in the general population. Essentially, if she was in a mental facility and THEY determined that she was mentally unstable. Now here comes to hard part.

She is mentally stable while taking her meds. When off of her meds, she is not. It's a vicious cycle that I've been warned about, have researched, and seen for myself. She takes her meds, gets stable, doesn't see why she needs to take her meds because she is stable-(due to the meds)-and goes off the them, swinging back to the unstable side. Think of it as someone who has high blood pressure. They take their meds, their blood pressure goes down, because their blood pressure went down they figure they're fine, stop taking the meds, and their blood pressure goes back up. It's a cycle that's hard to break, especially in the mentally ill.

Reasoning while she's mentally stable is near impossible. Go talk to a brick wall, it'll work better. She insists she's fine, I insist it's the medications, she insists she's fine, I insist it's the medications, she insists she's fine, and on and on it goes. She goes off the meds and swings to the other side. Reasoning while she's mentally UNstable is, well, whatever is after impossible. Her reality is not that same as many peoples. Stable OR unstable it's not the same. Every comment, accident, dead bird, cloud in the sky, rainy day, mechanical breakdown, low water pressure. piece of lint on the floor is, in her mentally unstable mind, "her fault." She thinks she did something wrong to cause it. On the flip side, every comment, accident, living bird, sun shiny day, mechanical NON-failure, correct water pressure, no lint of the floor is, in her mentally stable mind, "her doing." She thinks she did something right to cause it. Now that's not to say that yes, there are things that she does that create positives and negatives in her life. However, many of the mundane, every day things have nothing to do with her. A dead bird is a dead bird. Unless she somehow found a gun and shot it, it's just a dead bird. But to her, she did something, or didn't do something, to cause it. There is no inbetween. She's either stable, or unstable. There's no 'fine line' to cross. There's no slowly going from one extreme to the other. She's "on" or she's "off."

Scary thing is, the difference between 'on' or 'off' for her is 2 pills a day. Because of the very short half life of both pills, 18 hours, or 1 day without medication, is all it takes to go from one extreme to the other. Scary as that is, it is my life. And it's not easy.

holiday time

i am typing this on an android so forgive the lack of punctuation and capitalization.

thanksgiving was quiet here. just me and mom. we had a small dinner and worked on some things in the house. the latest problem in the house is the furnace died. not fun in twenty degree weather.

my birthday came and went without much fanfare. twenty six is not all that exciting to me.

christmas is in two days. again it is me and mom. small dinner for the two of us. after that we will continue working in the abandoned garage. today we worked in the garage for four hours and hauled out eight bags of garbage, two totes of recyclables and a full truck load of metal. tomorrow will be much of the same.

have a merry christmas and a happy new year.

Is This For Real?

So I'm currently on a journey of sorts to lose 106 pounds. After cutting back from 2 Diet Coke's a day to 1 per day, I decided to cut my fast food in take to once a week. I haven't stepped on a scale in 3 months. Last time I was weighed was at the doctors and let me tell you, that number on their scale scared the crap outta me. I got up the courage and stepped on a scale this morning. Expecting the worst I took a deep breath and looked at the number. I was shocked.

I stepped off the scale, reset it, and stepped back on. Yep, same number. I did it again, and again, and again. Not believing what I was seeing. Then, finally believing that the scale was right I smiled.

I've lost 23 pounds. Granted it's been about 12 weeks since I've cut back on the pop and fast food but still....23 pounds! 13 more pounds and I'll be below 200 again. So, for the record:

Beginning weight: 236

Current weight: 213

Goal Weight: 130

Pounds to go: 83