Well, I finally sold the travel trailer. It needed to go … because I won’t be taking it out on the road AND because I need to get it out of the way so Jim’s son can retrieve the cargo trailer that was behind it and pick up the Harley. Mission accomplished. Check received. And as they drove it away I burst into tears. One more goodbye to Jim and the life we had hoped to live traveling in it.

I know I must be strong and carry on

And then the handle on my shower broke. I grabbed some tools and took it apart but the water just kept running at full speed. I had a moment of panic and a few tears and then I recalled Jim showing me this panel in the laundry room. I opened it up and … well, what was I supposed to do with THAT thing? I tried turning the little knob for the master bath shower but it wouldn’t budge. So I picked up my phone, took a picture of the ‘whatever it is’ and AI promptly gave me the answer of how to turn it off. Yay! A call to our plumber and they came out this afternoon and fixed the handle. Score one for Dianne and a silent thank you to Jim for the little reminder nudge.

 

I’ll find my way through night and day

I’ve picked up some kind of nasty respiratory infection and I’m feeling pretty awful. A Facebook group for people over 55 in my small town has a thread with a lot of people dealing with it and apparently it can last quite a while. And I sure don’t have time for this right now. I had a lot of plans for this week but my energy level with whatever this thing is has severely limited what I can do.

Being alone when you aren’t feeling well is hard. The ‘what ifs’ arise and I’m reminded once again that I haven’t yet executed my plan to make sure someone can get into my house if I need a rescue. Perhaps that sounds a bit ridiculous, and maybe it’s related to my age, but it’s something I know I need to do for some peace of mind. Soon.

Digging through all of the boxes of paperwork (that should have been tossed/shredded long ago) has been … interesting … and emotional. Thinking I was going through one of Jim’s old boxes I found it was filled with my first husband’s medical records. Yes, Vern’s been gone for 15 years but that box was just more than I could deal with back then – so it took up residence in the bottom of a closet (and apparently moved with me to this house I shared with Jim). I’ve decided I need to look through it all. Remember what our life was like during those 4+ hard cancer years. Appreciate the little glimmers of hope that showed up. And all of the love. Perhaps this infection will be the perfect opportunity for me to dig into that box and be able to let it all go.