I'm hoping things will begin to improve a bit before long.

Today I went to the doctor's office where I managed to not only have a breakdown in the waiting room but one of truly impressive proportions in the examination room.

In the waiting room I had to fill out another information form and it was my first time to be faced with "emergency contact" and "spouse" without being able to fill in Don's info.

Let's just say I didn't take it well.  

In the area provided for a spouse's information, I printed a big DEAD over it then circled it. 

That was subtle. 

I'll say this, sit at the back of a doctor's waiting room and sob, and you'll be called back pretty quickly.

I didn't see the actual doctor, but instead the Family Nurse Practioner, Sean, of whom I've become quite fond over the last couple of years.  He spent 30-40 minutes with me this afternoon, acting as if he had all the time in the world and there wasn't another soul in the waiting room.  Anyway, he prescribed a different sleep medication, hoping I can finally get some semblance of a decent night's sleep, plus an anti-depressant.  I've never taken one and don't much want to now, but realized a couple of days ago that far from improving, I've been growing more and more anxious and depressed.  Finally decided that while - given enough time - I would most likely eventually get through this, it's not fair on Dmitry (nor practical, seeing as how I want to find a job, and no one would want a watering pot like me around, much less pay for the privilege) to refuse whatever help is available, so bite the bullet and take the dumb pills.  It's not forever, after all.

Tomorrow I'm going to meet with a dear friend who is also a trained biblical counselor who works at Christ Chapel.  And I'm going to sign up for the grief group at church which begins in a month.  And start singing in the church choir. 

Prayers that these steps will prove effective and help lift me out of the pit of despair and desolation I've been inhabiting would be appreciated.

This afternoon was the appointment Dmitry and I had with the Social Security office to apply for my one-time death benefit of $255, plus Dmitry's survivor benefits. Louis (who works in the Appeals area of SS) kindly agreed to meet me and provide moral support, which was good as I certainly needed it.

BION, I had trouble finding the place. I've been to the SS office times out of mind but this time I couldn't locate the distinctive big ol' building. Fortunately I'd allowed plenty of time so managed to find it and pulled in to one of the parking lots across the street, only to discover that I was completely out of cash, having given Dmitry the last of it a day or two ago. The nice woman taking the money (EIGHT DOLLARS!!!), probably upon seeing my distress and tears, kindly offered to take a check.

Met Louis outside and entered the building, making our way to the SS office proper where there was a computer station with a touch screen monitor. The top option was "0", for "I have an appointment, and when I pushed it here came the direction "enter the last four digits of the social security number." So I entered the last four digits of Don's SS number, precisely as I'd been instructed.

The computer was sorry, but it couldn't find my appointment. Here. Take a number.

This fritzed me out royally, as I did so have an appointment, and had received a confirmation letter for it....which I'd neglected to bring, more's the pity. Tried it again with the same result. Embarrassed myself and probably everyone in the crowded waiting area by starting to cry.

These constant, relentless tears are getting really, really old.

We went ahead and sat down to wait. Blessedly, my number was called quickly, the woman who came to the door disappeared to check to see whether I actually did have an appointment, reappearing a couple of minutes later to acknowledge that indeed I did, and someone would be with me shortly.

After a short wait I was called and the three of us headed back into the bowels of the SS office. Mercy Maud, but it's a rabbit warren of cubicles back there!

The Russian adoption certificate has to be sent off to be translated by a federal translator, as they do not accept anyone else's translation. Which, I suppose, makes a certain amount of sense. There's a form I need to get filled out verifying that Dmitry's in school, and I've got to get them his Russian passport so they can ascertain precisely which day he entered the USA after the adoption, which was when he became a citizen.

So much for his Texas "birth" certificate! The man pointed out those documents can be easily faked, so that's why they want to see the passport.

It was a depressing, emotional experience as I still cannot believe this has happened, and my Don is dead so that Dmitry can get survivor benefits.

Neither life insurance check has shown up yet; I'm torn between thinking "Um, I sort of need the money" and shuddering at the thought of taking and depositing those checks, due to what they represent. I mean, yeah, okay, Don had life insurance but it wasn't supposed to be collected on.

As that would mean he died.

Jeanne had requested the photo of Bethany and Brianna when they had their photo taken for their first Halloween, so here 'tis.  It's not terribly good quality, I fear, as it was the wallet size and was taped to glass, so I just scanned it in, glass and all:

Still, you can get the idea.  As can be easily deduced, Brianna was a bunny rabbit, while Bethany was Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.  See the shoes?  ;^)

Here's a photo of Don and me - yes, another, it's my blog, so too bad, so sad - taken on the President's Club trip to Hawaii.  This was on his 47th birthday, and I'd arranged a surprise party for him with the other Dallas office attendees, providing champagne and munchables.  Since we were almost always together it was rather a trick; in fact, I hung up on his boss (the other Don in the photo down there) when my Don unexpectedly entered our room. 

You see what I mean about the hair?  It's shorter in this picture than the one in front of the red truck.  

It's a photo of him taken in Shumerly, he thinks when he was in sixth grade or thereabouts:

That's Luba, the orphanage director, there on the left.  He's changed a smidge in the interim, hasn't he? 

The first is a photo of Don with his co-workers at NEC back in the Good Ol' Days.  The man sitting next to my Don (blond, wearing a white, horizontal-striped shirt) is also named Don, and was his boss.  Most of the others were also salespeople, except for the man second from the right - who isn't facing the camera - who is Fred, the sales engineer, and with whom we remained friends.

Happy, happy days, those were.  Don sold his way into the President's Club and in 1998 we went to Hawaii, and the next year to Bermuda.  I'd have to say the trip to Hawaii was truly one of the most carefree, happy times of our lives.  The world was our oyster, and the possibilities appeared limitless.

This next is a photo of us I never saw before, at least not that I recollect.  Wish I knew where it was taken!  ISTM my hair is a bit longer than it was in Hawaii.  Maybe Bermuda?  Doesn't much look like Bermuda, though, does it?  Can't imagine.  Never mind the location, the important thing is we were together and clearly having a good time:

It's lovely to find treasures like these, but oh, how I wish these good times hadn't ended.  And it drives me nuts, knowing that if only I could ask Don, he'd know immediately where that photo was taken.  Oh well.

I've been going through the boxes and bags he'd hauled home last July and dumped in the dining room.

Discovered from his brother, Richard, a couple of days ago that he (Don) had called him (Richard) months ago to inquire about storing this stuff in the latter's storage shed. Richard said fine, come on ahead, only Don never did.

Either too busy getting set up with Terra, I suppose, then later being too tired due to the undiscovered-at-the-time cancer.

Whatever, it's still here, and a more motley collection I've yet to see. There's quite a bit of stuff I'd have loved to have had for his memorial service, plus some photos I suppose he had in one of his offices (including a darling one of Bethany and Brianna in their first Halloween outfits, taken at Picture People). More computer mice than you can shake a stick at. The name tags from various shows and conferences he attended. I've found stuff dating back to 1986, for pity's sake!

Quantities of pens that no longer work, dried-out markers, mouse pads, coffee mugs with businesses' names on them, vendor-provided flash drives and calculators, plus various computer bits and pieces (including the jolly cool DigiTab or whatever it was thing I gave him for Christmas a couple of years ago that allowed one to write on a pad then have it digitized and sent to a computer).

And he was going to haul the whole kit and kaboodle - dried markers and all - over to Richard's storage shed.

It creates a massive turmoil of emotion as I vacilate between tears and, quite frankly, irritation.

It's going to take me ages to clear through all his stuff. Ages!

Seeing as how it's January 1, 2009 AD or January 1, 0 AD, depending upon how one defines the initials ("Anno Domini" or "After Don").

And thus I set out on a new segment of life, one that doesn't include Don.  It wasn't a segment I wanted, but it's the one I've been given, so there it is.  As Jeremiah noted during a period of great grief for him:  "I know, LORD, that a man's way of life is not his own; no one who walks determines his own steps."  (Jer. 10:23)

Have been reading Elisabeth Elliot's "The Path of Loneliness" and found it enormously helpful.  She has a friend who, when faced with her last child preparing to leave home, observed that "As painful and emotional as it seems now that Amy will be at home only one more year, I know that then there will be grace sufficient and a new set of marching orders.  And this gives such hope, for the Giver of the promise may be trusted!" (p. 65)

A new set of marching orders.  Right now I've no idea what they'll be, but I must wait patiently for the LORD to reveal them. 

Waiting patiently has never, I regret to say, been one of my strong suits, whether it's in line at the grocery store or for God to show His hand.  Yet over and over again in His Word that is precisely what we're called to do:  wait on Him. 

Wait for the LORD; be courageous and let your heart be strong. Wait for the LORD.   Psalm 27:14

We wait for the LORD; He is our help and shield.  Psalm 33:20

I wait for the LORD; I wait, and put my hope in His word.  Psalm 130:5

The LORD is good to those who wait for Him, to the person who seeks Him.  It is good to wait quietly for deliverance from the LORD.  Lamentations 3:25-6

But as for me, I will look to the LORD; I will wait for the God of my salvation. My God will hear me.  Micah 7:7

My impatient demand is to know what's going to happen to me NOW, but that's not the LORD's way.  He wants me to wait, trusting in Him, for He is "a father of the fatherless and a champion of widows" (Psalm 68:5), who "protects the widow's territory" (Proverbs 15:25).  In Jeremiah 49:11 He instructs "...let your widows trust in Me."

Thus far, I fear I've not done a deedy job of it, instead fitting the description found in Hosea 7:14, i.e. "They do not cry to Me from their hearts; rather, they wail on their beds."

The trouble with wailing on one's bed is that, aside from getting a headache and stuffy nose, one is prone to miss the good.  Focusing upon what we do not have can lead to our overlooking what we could have.  Going again to Jeremiah:  "This is what the LORD says:  Cursed is the man who trusts in mankind, who makes human flesh his strength and turns his heart from the LORD.  He will be like a juniper in the Arabah; he cannot see when good comes but dwells in the parched places in the wilderness, in a salt land where no one lives."  (17:5-6; italics mine)

Pray that I stop wailing on my bed and instead cry to the LORD from my heart, so as to not miss the good when it comes.

As it will.  He promised, and His promises are true.