Frame of Reference

(Frame of reference: A set of criteria or stated values in relation to which measurements or judgments can be made.)

I found myself in a bit of a depression last week. A long Sunday-afternoon nap left me punky rather than refreshed. A cold Dr. Pepper didn’t help either. Instead of energizing me, Monday’s two-mile walk slammed me, and I curled up on the couch with the Devil smiling at me from that glorious 42" flat screen. I even watched The Devil’s Disciple (Burt Lancaster, Kirk Douglas), which, despite its title was an amusing movie. But movies in the middle of my day . . . that’s a bad habit to cultivate. My goal is to not turn the thing on until sundown.

After two days of getting way too much sleep and food, I forced myself into the shower and out the door to meet with friends. I had to force myself, because nothing in me wanted to go. It felt safer and easier to stay in and claim fatigue or busy-ness, which was true. But neither could I make myself attend to those tasks, no matter how urgent. In the end, I went, and it was the right move. It broke the malaise.

I have suffered from depression on and off in my past, notably in my youth, and more recently, following my husband’s death. I recognize it for what it is, and generally do some self-analysis: What am I angry about? What am I afraid of? More importantly, I have learned that while it feels terrible, it will pass.

So, I had to look at what I was worrying about. Finances? Not bad, but when Medicare kicks in, my income will take a hit. And what choices should I make? Will I choose wisely?

My son wants me to change my annuity so I’ll realize more income. Sounds reasonable, but should I? Is now the time? Will the market ever really rebound? Is the Country going to hell in a handbasket? "Can analysis be worthwhile? Is the theater really dead?" Sorry . . . got a tad carried away there. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IdodDEELLDg)

On a separate note, my TV’s been doing some odd things, and the cable company has replaced my DVR three times. The Vizio people sent me a firmware fix that didn’t fix. Have to schedule a repair, they say.

[Side Bar]

Hardware (pretty obvious: drives, keyboards, etc.)
Software (programs, mostly)
Firmware. Something between the two? According to wisegeek.com:Firmware refers to read-only memory (ROM) chips that store permanent instructions. Firmware boots up computerized or digital devices, as ROM chips . . . do not require a power source to hold their contents. This differentiates firmware from random access memory (RAM), for example, which loses stored data at shutdown.

Hope that clears up any confusion.[End Side Bar]

I’m thinking confusion could play a role in my recent bout of depression, too.

Take, for instance, my computer. It’s having issues (don’t they always) somehow related to the attempted uninstall of Roxio. (Apparently, uninstallation of said program is highly problematic.) I’ve been going round and round with techies to solve the issue, but the whole mess has affected Windows Installer and System Restore. Oh my gosh. What’ve I gotten myself into?

Then there’s that little drip in the new GE washer, a part for which has been replaced twice to no avail. Call GE. Again. It’s on my "to-do list." Just another phone call--no biggie, but stuff adds up. You know what I mean?

Have I mentioned car maintenance? Are you seeing the picture? I’m getting a whiff of the straw and the camel’s back.

The reason hit me like a wet snowball. All of these things, finances, decisions, repairs . . . those were George’s jobs. And now that he’s gone, it all falls into my lap. It’s not like I can’t do it, just that for years I didn’t have to. I didn’t even pump my own gas for 25 years.

I took it all for granted, I think--everything he did so selflessly. I hope I adequately thanked him during his life. How I loved that man! And it was freeing and stabilizing to be so loved by him. Perhaps I’m missing him.

I think love is like a soft blanket. You can wrap up in it, drape it across your shoulders, or leave it over the back of the sofa. It affords you the luxury of going off without it, knowing it’ll be there when you get back. Love allows you to be alone without being lonely. I no longer have that luxury.

One of the reasons I didn’t want to go out on Tuesday was that I didn’t want to hear my friends tell me, "Put on the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness, Sister!" Or anything about how God’s word says not to worry. There’s plenty of compelling scripture that assures God’s presence, protection and provision. One of my life scriptures is: "Let the days own trouble be sufficient for the day." (Mat. 6:34) I know that. And it wasn’t what I needed to hear.

But that’s just what I would say to George. My deepest sadness lies in my realization that when he was worried about our investments and concerned about making the right decisions, I brushed him off. I’d ask him if he’d gone to God, prayed about the issue. And if so, he should rest and trust Him. And I believe it. But it’s too pat and gives no room for the feelings. My unspoken sentiment to him: "Don't bother me about it."

Truth was, I had no frame of reference, because I never worried in my life. Not before nor after I married George. Another luxury. As a young woman, I never had the sense to worry. And once married to George, I didn’t have to because he was looking out for me. It’s what he wanted to do. Said it was his job.

Now I know what he was going through. And I was no help. Dang me. I think he just needed a listener, as I did, a nod of the head in understanding, someone to express his feelings to. It was easy enough to tell him to go to God, while thinking, "Leave me out of it."

I’m a little ashamed of myself, because I knew what I was doing, but I couldn’t listen. Well, look at me now. I trust God, and I still get fearful. I know His word; I lean on His word, yet I, too, worry. I brushed my husband off rather than give him the time he needed to share his fears, worries, concerns. Why? Because I had no frame of reference.

I do now. Lesson learned, albeit, a little late.