Where’s My Strong Voice?

So, it’s been about a week. It was IV steroids, followed by the 10 day countdown of oral roids. No, I’m not too overstimulated. Actually, been tired, but have little tolerance for situations happening or not happening around me. Oh, and I am feeling round. It looks as if I’ve been pumped up with air–which puts me at discomfort even in my oversized Jammie pants. All hail for Jammie pants.
I do my best quilt piecing in Jammie pants. A little over a week ago–despite feeling and knowing I should not take anything else on, Gigi and I started a pair of fleece Jammie pants. Yeah, that fell be the wayside, but is on my mind for sure. I thought I’d be all gusto and uncover the ole’ serger again.
Serger. Ole? Not really. It does not even have any sewing time in it other than the initial classroom learning at Sun Sew N Vac. It was just before my mom died, and I just could not get back into it. Besides, it was boring to explain to everyone where I had been for a month and, frankly, I was in a different place. The place when people say stupid shit about losing a loved one.
The most striking of comments was delivered to me by a complete a stranger. At the Lancaster quilt show my sister and I very, very spontaneously go to 2 weeks after losing the most beautiful woman in our world. That trip was the best time together ever. It was such a relief that we no longer were only speaking about the minute by minute status of my mom–which was like, for four years. We still had Dad, but he was well-cared for the weekend she was away from him. Where was I going with this?
Ah! Hah! It’s great to be able to read my previous thought–had I been speaking, there would have been absolutely, positively zero recall of even having mentioned the bizarre comment. Which, by the way, has stuck with me every day since then. T and I were in a booth at the show (which was a fabulous show if I did not already say), and somehow, it came up in conversation with these women whose booth it was that our mom had just died. One of them, looked up and grabbed my arm, and said, “see, the way you feel now? You’ll never get over it.” She explains further, that she lost her mom ten years earlier and was still heartbroken about it. I felt all blood and color rush from my face upon hearing such words. I thought, what an awful discouraging thing to say to someone who is grieving. I kept waiting to feel better too. I’ve learned in the almost three years since that she was a bit crass in her delivery, but boy oh boy, it was honest and truth to the core. A girl can never get over losing her mother. There, I said it. That lady hit me with it square on. There are so many times I wish I could be that honest with people, but don’t want confrontation so I avoid it. But, at that moment, that was probably really what I most needed to hear. Maybe not that very minute standing in that very spot at the quilt show.
So, this voice I’m speaking with. It’s a weakened, raspier version of me. It has happened before during other flares, but can be very frustrating when I have to keep repeating myself. I guess a bit of facial and neck nerves got a little zinged. Although weak voice–I am strong woman today. I look back on the last three weeks, and I was really feeling like crap. Why didn’t I see the signs of a flare? Why was I just thinking that I was just over-tired and getting old? I should have had someone look me square in the eye and tell me the truth.
Oh, about the serger, after two nights of threading struggle, I put the fleece pieces together and after the first ten coverlock stitches, the darn thing got stuck and jammed in such a way that only a serger can do. It looks like I will need to hire a surgeon to un-jam that screw up. My kid, she’s awesome, she reminds me often that ‘we’ have not yet finished the Jammie pant project, but still remains confident in the pillar of strength that I show her.