A little hung up on death

I don't remember thinking about dying much when I was a kid. Perhaps I did, but it certainly wasn't consuming and I don't equate the questioning to my childhood memories. Unlike my own kids. Oy.

We took them to a couple of funerals in January of this past year and both were kind of high-stress occasions, in my book. Not only were they a long drive away, but we stayed with some of my husbands' family who I didn't really know before then and both funerals meant lots of in-law time.

Both funerals involved people taking snapshots of the corpses. Both involved all kinds of interesting behavior that, of course, the kids questioned us on incessantly.

Fast forward to today and they still mention death offhandedly nearly every day. Just last weekend, I was sitting at home with Lillian, who was recovering from a recent tonsilectomy. As I folded and folded and folded laundry, I sighed and said, "When will I ever be done with folding laundry?" She matter-of-factly replied, "Don't worry, Mom. You won't have to fold anymore once you're dead." So true, I hope.

At bedtime last night, I tucked Breanna into bed like a little burrito and kissed her goodnight. She said, "I love you, Mom. I hope you don't die tonight so I can see you in the morning."

Boy, I hope they're not going to be traumatized into weirdos as they grow up. I guess we'll just have to wait and see. Although, I do hear there is good money and no such thing as a recession in the funeral business, so perhaps this might turn out ok.

Why can't I let it rest?

I am driving myself crazy, trying to find a way to get my Bell's Palsy-stricken face to allow me to breathe out of my right nostril. Big deal, right? But it drives me crazy! It doesn't hurt and it is not killing me - heck, most people don't even notice where the flesh is caved in. But it drives me crazy!

I can't chew with my mouth completely closed because then I can't breathe. I love to eat good food, love to dine with wonderful people, but hate to be seen as I do it. Vanity, oh vanity, I know you too well. As I harp on my kids about chewing with their mouths closed, they are quick to ask why, when their mother doesn't even do it. They also are quick to ask if they can wear tape on their nose to bed (because I wear a dang BreatheRite strip each night). Grrr.

Each spring, I have a resurgence of hope that perhaps there is some doctor smart enough to be able to perform a surgery to open my airway without giving me a big, ugly nose. And I blow a bunch of money, juggling my way from ENT, to neurologist, to naturopath, to chiropractor, to... this month, I have made an appointment with a plastic surgeon who specializes in interior tissue repair.

Poor DH is ready to kill me - I have literally spent thousands of dollars in search of some mystical cure. And then I give up, swearing off doctors (usually by the end of summer, and when I have maxed out what I feel I can drain out of our savings account). And then I deal with it and then the cycle begins again each spring. Why not let sleeping tissues rest? If I hadn't fuitlessly spent all this money, we could have easily gone on a deluxe family vacation each of the past five years. I kick myself all the time over this. Where are my own selfish priorities, anyway?

Some friends tell me I have the patience of a saint. I do not think I do in the least. I just have a lot of fight in me - and maybe some insanity, to boot. Apparently, I'm not so good at not getting my way. I know I should be celebrating that the pain I experienced the first year of this journey has disappeared, but instead I remain ticked off that there is no "cure." If anyone has any extra peace laying around, please pass it my way.