The Weight of Repairs

It has been grey for days. Pouty pushy demanding grey. Threatening to and succeeding in mere moments to turn dark, windy, and throw down torrents of rain. That may be the reason that I feel the same. As if each action I take demands a large internal push forward. And at every turn, it seems that tears well up and I'm checking mirrors to see if my mascara is running.

Last week the window on the back of the Honda tore in two. Price tag for repair just under $4000. At the same time I know I really need a new washing machine and one of these loads it is going to totally stop spinning on the Heavy Duty cycle just as it has on every other cycle. Yes, I've been washing my delicates on Heavy Duty. And then there is the tire on the rototiller that I've been trying to repair myself without success. I need to repair the rototiller so that I can repair the lawn that was rutted last year by heavy equipment brought in to replace the windows that had failed and to create the drainage swales to protect my home from the flooding caused by the neighboring property. It feels like an endless downpour of repairing and replacing. And I shoulder all these repairs and decisions by myself—often making mistakes. 

What I would really like to spend that money on is repairing my wedding rings. Yet perhaps there is a reason for that too.

I went one full year without injuring myself or being hospitalized until Easter. This week, I started PT for my knee that failed as I walked down my stairs. When the X-rays were completed, the good news was that my bones aren't broken and nothing snapped. The bad news is that my tendons are stretched and I have developed arthritis—aka I'm getting old. But hey I knew that already. The more difficult thing for me is that acknowledging that is also acknowledging that I'm growing old without Jim. Some things just can't be repaired.

OK. Checking my mascara now.

This is the one that dug into my soul and this blogpost is an attempt to dig out. Yesterday I took Addie to the vet for an ear infection. In that examination, the vet discovered that Addie's spleen is enlarged. Addie had surgery for mammary cancer twice when Jim was undergoing treatment. That was four and five years ago. The vet yesterday was intent on trying to tell me why I should have imaging done on Addie's spleen. But my brain just went into this very dark place. I asked her to give me a moment. That word, cancer, will do that to me. I was instantly reliving every god damn moment of Jim's treatments and death. And I was reliving how when we got Addie as a pup ten years ago, Jim's very first dog his "Addie Baby Doll", that I worried how heart broken he would be when we would eventually outlive Addie. I think of that often. It's funny how one can worry about things that don't happen and then much worse does instead happen.

Jim and Addie both undergoing treatment

Last night my brother Dan must have been watching old home movies. He started sending us all video texts from our youth. From 1985. One was of me preparing for my MFA Thesis painting exhibition at Rochester Institute of Technology. I am wearing a sparkly silver top and matching silk black pants that my mom made for me. I am so young, so excited, so innocent, and so happy. I am surrounded by love. That moment 38 years ago was rich with expectations of life to come. And that degree with a minor in the new field of computer graphics launched my professional life and all I've accomplished since.

This week is the finals week at Champlain. It's the final semester of my life as a Champlainer. I have no idea where I am headed next but now I carry the weight of longing and of knowledge. I understand the power of grey skies and storms. I am very afraid of being disconnected and alone. My experience during Covid after Jim's death months and months alone at home have left me with PTSD. 

What I'd like is to get back to that young woman I was with her hope and joy. I'd like the sun to come out again so I can get that lawn repaired and my garden planted.