Father's Day Solitude

Entry.   1.  8:19 a.m.

I am sitting in the backyard quiet, a warm sun, gentle breeze and birdsong making it hard for me to get coffee.  The dogs are with me, otherwise the house is asleep.  Solitude, what I crave, is giving me this gift.







Entry 2    6:43 p.m.

A busy day, and emotionally exhausting..  

Househunting

We found two homes we like.  Only bidding on the second, because the first offer date precedes the offer day of the second.  We are offering 200k over asking, and still won't likely get it.  It's the most immaculate place we have looked at, a 1921 Craftsman restoredby a master carpenter.  Here is what is even crazier.  It is only two bedrooms, and one bath.  Yes, you read that correctly.  All three women fed me rations of shit this morning before we got there.  Rightfully so, I would guess, given what we have see thus far.  But from the moment each of us walked in the door we knew it was the perfect home.  It's almost 2k square feet, and the basement is a blank slate, with a poured concrete floor.  It could serve as a bedroom, and have a bonus room, and house a bathroom.  So, we are all in.  We will be outbid.

Jenny is a wreck, that said.  The house cheered her up a bit, but she has been glum as I have seen her these last few days.  Fortunately, while I have been struggling myself, she doesn't know, I'm hiding it well.  She doesn't need that on her plate.

Today she is angry, she told me, which, given that she is barely speaking, I take very seriously.  When I asked her why, she told me she is angry she is sick, and moreover, feels like people won't let her stop treatment, and that also makes her angry.  I assured her that should she decide to stop treatment, people would not blame her or stand in her way.  If I were to guess, she won't stop.  It's too fucking scary.  Again, no matter what I offer, it is weak tea, not built to satisfy anyone but me, my own feelings of guilt that I can't fix this.
Entry 3.    10:55 p m.

I am soaking in our shallow tub, dreaming of a deep clawfoot.  It was a lovely day, albeit busy.  I did manage to get to Third Place Books with Leiney and Abby.  I bought two novels, and this evening laid in the yard in the deluxe Jenny lawn chair and read 100 pages between dozing.  Jenny made a lovely Father's Day dinner, in fact has forced herself to cook 3x in the last two days, which os heavenly.  She is soldiering through the pain and discomfort, but it is grim. 

A recruiter reached out to me from Providence Swedish, telling me that I have all the right experience to run the show there.  The job has been open for a long time, and I suspect its hard to find someone willing to deal with 1199NW.  I do miss healthcare, but could I really work for Providence? 
Willow Ruby Ida Miller Gamache

Meh. My therapist suggested it would be better for me to change jobs now rather than to wait until this comes to an end, but I would lose my FMLA.  I need my FMLA.  Also, I am low functioning now, how could I possibly kick it up three gears?  Maybe I interview to exercise that muscle?  Also, I love this puppy.
I must be moving through this malaise, right? The idea that I could focus on reading for such a long time today is not nothing.  Here is the shit of all of this.  When Jenny passes, as is likely, the hard part will then begin.  This hell that we find ourselves in doesn't end with her, but extends through the loss.  It's not a new revelation for me, but it does give one pause.  I have to see my girls through this.  I am very concerned about that.  I have to be well, can't slip into a state that feels almost hypnotically attractive, and I don't mean in a good way.  One of the things about depression is it pulls you in. As I shut down, the response I have tonthe shutting down is to shut down even more.  That tailspin can't happen.  If I can keep faking it until I make it here at home, and do those things that bring balance to my life, I can beat it.

Jenny told me again tonight she wants to stop.  Tomorrow, I predict, the turnaround begins.



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