Hitting a Wall (20 February 2007 - 8:51 a.m.)
Iíve been fighting a descent into depression lately, and it appears that the depression is winning the battle. In an attempt to ward off the demons, Iíve been trying to keep busy, but thatís a double-edged sword. While being busy does serve as a distraction, it also results in an increase in pain.
On Saturday, I spent four hours cleaning the kitchen. Iím still paying for it. The house is filthy (which weighs heavily on my mind), but thereís not much I can do about it. The doctor said no bending, stretching, pushing, twisting or lifting. If I disregard those orders (like when I did some shoveling, or plunged the toilet, for example), I suffer.
On Sunday, I went shopping with my sister, Michele. Afterwards, we dropped by my brother Michaelís house for a visit. (He cooked a pork roast, mashed potatoes and green beans. What a guy!) I mentioned that I was having a problem with the door on the mirrored cabinet on the bathroom wall, and he offered to come over to take a look. He did what he could, but recommends that we buy a new cabinet. Because of the size (itís actually two cabinets, side by side), it wonít be cheap.
While Mike was here, I showed him the collection of duck boxes, and told him to pick one. (My sisters are next.) He was blown away. After he made his choice
I made mine.
Later on, I put newspaper clippings, memorial cards, and a laminated copy of the obituary in the box, along with Markís ashes. While I was going through the bag that held the newspaper articles and other miscellaneous items related to Markís death, I came across an 8 x 10 of this photo:
Seeing this picture pulled the rug out from under my feet. It captures Markís vibrancy. He was so full of life. It just doesnít seem right that doing what he loved to do COST him his life.
Yesterday, I made a huge pot of spaghetti sauce (chock full of turkey meatballs, pork neck bones and beef chunks) in preparation for the stuffed shells Rebecca and I have been craving. While the sauce was simmering, my father came over for a haircut. I had forgotten that the photo of Mark was on the coffee table. When my father saw it, he fell apart. That made ME fall apart. Itís so hard to keep it together.
Back in November, my massage therapist gave me a gift certificate for three free one-hour massages. I was talking to LA yesterday, and she recommended that I go for a massage. That reminded me of the gift certificate, and I was determined to call for an appointment. But I havenít been able to pick up the phone. Itís too heavy.
Song of the Day: Another Brick in the Wall by Pink Floyd
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