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Sometimes You Need a Break

Sometimes, it’s difficult for me to focus. I’ve been told, and rightfully so, that I can get distracted by the many areas of life that give me joy. That changed recently when I realized that sometimes you need a break.

It’s all about community.

God stepped into the lives of many in the southeastern United States recently and gave us a break. At first, losing my power and running water for eight days was startling. But others suffered real tragedies: lives lost, homes destroyed, and vehicles swamped. Without a digital connection to the outside world, we lived in the small worlds we shared with close neighbors, unaware of the extent of this storm beyond.

Planning was Crucial

As a native Floridian, I experienced Hurricane Donna in 1960. Even today, Hurricane Donna is the only storm to affect every state along the Eastern coast with hurricane-force winds. At the time, my family lived in a wood-frame, two-story home with a half-basement. The house was surrounded by acres of citrus trees, with a lawn that flowed downhill toward a crystal-clear lake. There were mature avocado trees on both sides of our home.

Part of our preparation was filling the bathtub with water we planned to drink. Since my sister and I slept upstairs, we came downstairs on Saturday, October 10, 1960. I still remember the casement windows rattling within their frames as the hurricane approached. The whole house creaked, and the wind howled. But I still fell asleep, trusting that we would be okay.

A tree had fallen before the backdoor when we awoke the next morning. I hurried to peer out the windows along every wall. The ground was strewn with branches wherever I looked. As Dad retrieved a chainsaw from the barn, my sister and I were tasked with picking up debris in the front yard. My first thought was, “No school. We are still on summer vacation!”

We began walking down to the lake to take daily baths. Soon, we were tired of the extended two-week vacation without power. Sometimes, you need a break from the break.

We cheered when Mr. Kier from the power company showed up at our house. We knew him well back then. It always seemed something was happening to our electric meter. A non-poisonous snake coiled itself inside it, and later, a black widow spider took up residence.

I Prepared for Hurricane Helene

In hindsight, I wish I had filled my bathtub in my North Carolina mountain home. But I was luckier than many. My house is clear from the danger of fallen trees, plus my driveway is flat and close to a paved road. Although I’m only 1/3 mile from a bridge across the South Fork of the North River, it’s all downhill, which eliminated the danger of flooding for me. My only route out was a quarter-mile uphill, where my road intersected a larger two-lane road.

If only I had consulted with my Florida friends who experienced the quadruple hurricane threat of 2004. Then, I wouldn’t have needed to drive out daily to charge my phone and look for a cup of coffee.

Next time, I’ll have these items.

My friend, who just waited out Hurricane Milton in Englewood, FL, suggested I get some portable chargers. My sister told me a French press saved their coffee-loving lives during the 2004 Florida hurricane season (Charley, Frances, Ivan, and Jeanne).

Since this post is about hurricanes, in 2004, between August 13th and September 25th, Florida was blasted with four hurricanes. Most of my friends and family lived in Florida peninsula’s center, in Polk, Orange, or Osceola counties. And hurricanes were always more of a problem along the Atlantic or Gulf coasts. That’s why I hadn’t experienced many in Florida. Then I moved to Colorado at the end of the last century. I guess I’m pretty lucky with extreme weather. However, I did get caught in a snowstorm soon after moving to the Denver area – another story for another time.

What was the break like?

It became an easy routine. I woke up with the sunrise and went to bed shortly after sunset. My supply of scented candles from High Country Candles in Blowing Rock was enough to light the major rooms in my house, but if you can’t read or write by candlelight, you might as well sleep.

Fear tends to grip us when we are off the grid. Staying home, reading a book, and sitting on the back deck watching the birds seems safer. Later, I realized the lack of information was a blessing. Everyone else was seeing the destruction and worrying about their friends and family.

Information was more likely from my son in Texas than anywhere close to me. For the first four days, my phone vacillated back and forth from one bar to SOS mode at my home. But I could receive texts, and when I ventured out using my charger in the car, I had excellent service in West Jefferson.

Within the first twelve hours, the nearby towns of West Jefferson and Jefferson had power, and locals had cleared many roads of fallen trees. For me, it was easy to drive twelve miles into town and visit my favorite coffee shop or fast-food restaurant for my morning coffee. But it took me a few days to realize it was even possible. And when I realized this would take a while, ice was difficult to find.

I had no email and no Internet. I had plenty of potable water, propane, and a gas cooktop to heat water and water in buckets from the storm to flush the toilet. The temperatures were pleasant.

How I realized the power was back on.

On Saturday afternoon, I sat with the dog on the back deck, watching the birds. I apologized to my dog for the interruption, as I needed to use the bathroom.

Before I even sat down, I noticed an unfamiliar sound. Then, it hit me like a ton of bricks! The toilet was running, which meant the pump to the well was on! I rushed to the one clock I had left plugged in and gazed in wonder at the flashing numbers.

Quickly, I calculated the most likely time the electricity had come back on – 2:19 p.m.

What did I do first?

I set an alarm on my phone to turn on the hot water heater.

A few months earlier, I had a new hot water heater and well pump installed. One of the qurstions I had for the plumber was about losing electricity. He suggested I turn off the hot water heater if that happenned because it would damage it to suddenly turn on if empty.

Thirty minutes later I enjoyed my first shower in over a week. It felt like heaven on earth.

How has my life changed?

At first, I started slipping into using electricity as I had always done. But after some soul searching, I realized how much I enjoyed my slower pace.

Now, I deliberately give myself breaks from the TV, social media, my laptop, and my phone. It was hard to write this, too. And I’m doing it differently. Rather than write in Substack, I’m writing this post on the website blog I’ve had for years. Then I’ll paste it into Substack to share with you.

I don’t know how often I’ll write, but I know it will be with more thought and love than before. Because sometimes you need a break.

 

How Keeping a Diary Helps Both You and Your Loved Ones

Journaling is beneficial for airing your feelings. It is a private musing where you can write anything your heart desires. I highly recommend it, but diaries are helpful, too.

How keeping a diary helps your grieving process.

The photo above shows three of the forty-five diaries my mother kept. Although they have been in my possession for almost two years, I began reading them yesterday, Saturday. On Friday, I started feeling extra sad about the ninth anniversary of my father’s death, and I wanted to read what Mom wrote in her diary on that day.

The three of us were together at the dinner table when Dad experienced extremely labored breathing. As he sought relief, he experienced dizziness and difficulty standing and walking. I physically supported him as well as I could while Mom called 911.

Each year at this time, I read my story of his death and the aftermath, My Father’s Love: You’re One of the Good Ones, remembering how grief has its ups and downs.

What did Mom’s diary reveal about her grief?

Mom was a very private person who kept her feelings close. Her diaries are filled with minutia about what she ate, who called, or who she saw at the local cafe in The Trading Post. Mom never spoke about that day, but her life was irreparably changed as she wrote, “Swede started gasping and died at 5:45 pm.”

Perhaps writing this helped her organize her life in an orderly fashion she could manage, just as the daily recitation of meals helped her close each day before heading up the stairs to bed.

She read her entries occasionally after finishing the last book she borrowed weekly from the library. She noted the book’s title in her diary when she finished it. In addition, she kept a running list of all the books she read to avoid re-reading one.

Mom was a voracious reader, finishing six a week.

When she noted something each day, it was important to her. That is how I saw that her loneliness and grief were gnawing away at her personal security. She recorded how many mice she had caught in traps or if she had seen a mouse. Finally, in desperation, she got some rat poison, and the mouse problem was resolved.

Next came plumbing problems, with a stopped-up upstairs bathroom sink and a toilet that quit functioning. The final blow was her inability to lift up the heavy cattle gate at the driveway entrance. She was good about asking local friends to help her, but she began to feel like a burden. Swede would have taken care of all those problems when he was alive, so it was no wonder that she called out to me for help.

“I can’t live alone anymore, Dawn!”

I responded as quickly as I could, coming to help with everyday problems and then bringing her home with me, where she remained until she fell six years later.

How could it have been easier for Mom?

Communication was almost nonexistent in my family. We talked about lightweight subjects unless it was current events or the bonehead play in the latest college football game.

It might have been different if I asked simple questions.

“What was the highlight of your week in your diary, Mom?”

She might have tried to avoid answering, but I could have creatively pursued a fuller reply. Of course, I can’t relive the past, but I can act differently in my other relationships.

I’ll continue reading Mom’s diary entries, remembering events, and feeling her spirit around me. I know she loves me and enjoys hearing my voice when I comment on a new discovery of her love.

Now, her diaries are helping me in my grief.

Looking Back Has Merit – My Sixties

Talking about my birthday is not something I normally do, but this year, it has a purpose I couldn’t ignore.

A New Decade Birthday

Some people celebrate their birthday with a cake. I celebrate with fresh flowers that I buy and arrange. It’s like a double gift to myself. This quilt has many layers of meaning, but most importantly, almost all the material was in my fabric stash. I donated it to Mom’s friend, Lola, who made tied quilts for St. Peter’s Lutheran Church in Monte Vista, Colorado. Lola then pieced it into my favorite design, Log Cabin. Mom bought it for her guest bedroom, but now it is mine.

Looking back over ten years

As I lay awake at the end of the day before my 70th birthday, I naturally played the timeline of my 60s in my mind. It was both scary and hopeful.

Ten years ago, I considered signing up for psychic medium Kim Moore’s ten-month course “Psychic and Personal Development.” The only way I could consider it was to drop the first word, psychic. On the last day, I sent her an email asking to be her student. The nine women met every third Saturday. The classes were mostly at her business on South Wadsworth in Denver, Colorado. But we also gathered for a couple of excursions.

As I grew in understanding an alternative way of looking at life, my husband, Pablo, was sinking deeper and deeper into despair, which resulted in his suicide. Kim and my fellow students came to my home eight days later, and we cleared the energy together.

Perhaps I thought that would solve everything. So, I put it all behind me and sought a replacement relationship. Yes, I really did.

Please avoid my mistakes

My life before I turned 60 was filled with pleasing others and looking for someone to complete my life. At the time of Pablo’s suicide nine years ago, I had no idea how to grieve because I didn’t know who I was. It took almost nine years and the deaths of three more loved ones for me to start to discover answers.

Here are some of the things I’ve learned along the way.

Rule 1 – It’s important to make time to grieve.

What does it mean to make time to grieve? When I finally allowed the emotions of grief to emerge fully, I took time after starting my day to revisit the feelings I had immediately after my losses. Before this, I was afraid to delve deep. It helped when I prayed for the strength to let go of control and the courage to start the process.

Each time, my deep crying was short-lived, perhaps a minute. But the relief and calmness afterward have never left me.

Since I was alone, there was no choice but to go through this alone. You may find that too scary. If you choose to have someone with you, let them know you want them there for moral support but to keep their distance unless you motion them to come to you. Alternatively, you may seek a therapist who specializes in grief or a grief coach.

Follow the path that feels right for you.

Rule 2 – Grief is a normal reaction to loss

Your friends might not know how to comfort you. This is also very common. If you want to be completely alone, that’s okay. If you have someone to run interference, that is ideal; a pastor or best friend comes to mind.

Final Thoughts

Give yourself time to work through all your feelings. But also permit yourself to find joy in beautiful memories, the kiss of a loving pet, or random acts of kindness that come your way. It’s okay to allow unexpected moments of joy to embrace you.