![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I am really not okay.
Jul. 21st, 2019 08:23 pmAnd the fix is that I need Lorne to be alive and living with me, so that fix isn't going to happen.
I am really isolated and lonely. I have given up so much over the past three years: my job with its purpose and colleagues, the closeness of my friends, access to the material things I like in my life, my home (grubby and rented as it was), view of the sea everyday to and from work with periodic visits to Spanish Banks, and other familiar places. The loss of Lorne in this context has cut me completely adrift in a featureless sea.
Also, with our respective family health histories, I fully expected to die first. There was no doubt in my mind, and I even set up my pension so that Lorne would not be destitute when I went. I never, not even once, thought about the scenario of me being left without Lorne.
My Mom is in town, and my parents are why we moved here. Dad is in care, and it is hideous, and so my Mom is experiencing a form of drawn-out widow-hood. The man she married is gone, so there is no more sharing each other's woes and triumphs and that funny thing one can't wait to share. But - but - the remainder of Dad needs attention and care and love, and it is all very hard. So, my Mom is here, and she supports me as best she can, but her heart is also wounded. Also: my Mom is not a very demonstrative person. She is not going to sit down and share a really good cry - but she will make you a new dress, or perform some other labour for you.
There are family friends who befriended us because they value Mom and Dad, and that is fine, but they are not close. For example, the couple that are near Lorne & me in age are still busy with their working lives, and when they connect, they'd like to connect with Mom, too.
I have a friend who lives an hour away, and we are good friends, and lifelong friends, but have not been close-every-day friends for a long time. We started junior high together the same year that men walked on the moon for the first time. She and her wife were the best support during the memorial for Lorne. But she is also still working, and, since she lives in the Okanagan, her house is full of company all summer, so I am reluctant to phone her because I want to phone her every day and weep - which will get exhausting really fast.
And while I am driving in town again, I'm am not brave enough yet to drive the highway for an hour, so I'm not yet ready to drive to her to visit. They were making pickles this weekend, the pickles that her Mom (who I knew and valued) used to make, and I wanted to go very much because I wanted to participate in a womanly work bee with people who get some of the references I make, and with whom I have shared history - and I just didn't have enough courage - which makes me feel even more pathetic and needy.
I have tried to make some connections in town, but I must be giving off wounded bear vibes because people are gentle, but distant. Also, in small towns in the interior of BC, everything stops for the summer. No ukulele groups, no singing groups, no crib groups. These will come back in September, but by the time they do, I won't need them as much. I will still give them a try then, and maybe I won't be quite so scary to strangers.
So. Currently. I use shopping for human interaction. Not good, not satisfying - and the house is still empty when I get home. And it's filling up with new crap. I am glad that my old cat is still here - that's at least something. He has final stage kidney disease, but he is still eating, and still producing regular results of eating, so his time is not yet up. He also misses Lorne. I have been unpacking boxes that Lorne packed back in Vancouver two years ago (some of them three) - and Chuck can smell him on the things inside. And then he looks for him.
I am really isolated and lonely. I have given up so much over the past three years: my job with its purpose and colleagues, the closeness of my friends, access to the material things I like in my life, my home (grubby and rented as it was), view of the sea everyday to and from work with periodic visits to Spanish Banks, and other familiar places. The loss of Lorne in this context has cut me completely adrift in a featureless sea.
Also, with our respective family health histories, I fully expected to die first. There was no doubt in my mind, and I even set up my pension so that Lorne would not be destitute when I went. I never, not even once, thought about the scenario of me being left without Lorne.
My Mom is in town, and my parents are why we moved here. Dad is in care, and it is hideous, and so my Mom is experiencing a form of drawn-out widow-hood. The man she married is gone, so there is no more sharing each other's woes and triumphs and that funny thing one can't wait to share. But - but - the remainder of Dad needs attention and care and love, and it is all very hard. So, my Mom is here, and she supports me as best she can, but her heart is also wounded. Also: my Mom is not a very demonstrative person. She is not going to sit down and share a really good cry - but she will make you a new dress, or perform some other labour for you.
There are family friends who befriended us because they value Mom and Dad, and that is fine, but they are not close. For example, the couple that are near Lorne & me in age are still busy with their working lives, and when they connect, they'd like to connect with Mom, too.
I have a friend who lives an hour away, and we are good friends, and lifelong friends, but have not been close-every-day friends for a long time. We started junior high together the same year that men walked on the moon for the first time. She and her wife were the best support during the memorial for Lorne. But she is also still working, and, since she lives in the Okanagan, her house is full of company all summer, so I am reluctant to phone her because I want to phone her every day and weep - which will get exhausting really fast.
And while I am driving in town again, I'm am not brave enough yet to drive the highway for an hour, so I'm not yet ready to drive to her to visit. They were making pickles this weekend, the pickles that her Mom (who I knew and valued) used to make, and I wanted to go very much because I wanted to participate in a womanly work bee with people who get some of the references I make, and with whom I have shared history - and I just didn't have enough courage - which makes me feel even more pathetic and needy.
I have tried to make some connections in town, but I must be giving off wounded bear vibes because people are gentle, but distant. Also, in small towns in the interior of BC, everything stops for the summer. No ukulele groups, no singing groups, no crib groups. These will come back in September, but by the time they do, I won't need them as much. I will still give them a try then, and maybe I won't be quite so scary to strangers.
So. Currently. I use shopping for human interaction. Not good, not satisfying - and the house is still empty when I get home. And it's filling up with new crap. I am glad that my old cat is still here - that's at least something. He has final stage kidney disease, but he is still eating, and still producing regular results of eating, so his time is not yet up. He also misses Lorne. I have been unpacking boxes that Lorne packed back in Vancouver two years ago (some of them three) - and Chuck can smell him on the things inside. And then he looks for him.
