A sad thing happened today. I realized that I no longer have a best friend. Oh, I have many fabulous and ridiculously close friends. Some male, some female. But there is no one who knows all my secrets. There is no one who has seen me at my very best or at my extreme worst. There is no one who by just looking at me knows my mood. What a terrible thought. I no longer have that bond where I know I’m safe in whatever I want to say. I know there are those of my friends who I can say almost anything to, but it’s not the same. As an adult there are very few times it is appropriate to have a temper tantrum. But occasionally I have had that need. I could only do that with one person. That one person knew what I needed when I had a headache, a tummy ache or felt scared. My best friend knew what made me happy, sad or made me tick. He knew at what point I would get choked up when we attended weddings. He knew what size clothes I wear, what perfume I like and what moisturizer I slathered on my face. My best friend knew what frightened me and what made me laugh. This friend could give me a look solely to crack me up and it always worked. This was the person I always called when something funny or great or terrible was happening to me. My friend could and did talk me down from a million different situations. As my best friend did all this for me, I did the same for him. We became best friends before we ever married. This is by far the strongest and longest best friendship I ever had.
I’ve had a ton of best girlfriends in my time. We shared secrets and told stories about our “firsts”. First kisses, crushes, dates and the really big first… “it”. There are girls in this world who know details that they will never tell because it would break the best friend rules. I know so much about so many of my friends and I would never divulge a single secret, never ever. I know things that at this stage in our lives wouldn’t upset anyone to know about that person. But that’s not the point. The point is, you have to keep the secret because that story is yours to hold silently in your heart. It’s not your story to tell. It’s all about the relationship.
My late husband kept close to almost every relationship he ever formed. Let me tell you about a group of women he and I affectionately called “the girlfriends”. There are 4 women in the core group…but the number expands. These are women my husband had everything from a crush on to a few he had a more intense connection with. These women helped my husband become my husband. The women in this group could not be more different from each other. One is divorced and single, one happily married for a very long time, one divorced but in a committed relationship and one in a second marriage that from the outside looking in seems not to fulfill her needs. I’ve fallen in love with each of these women over the years. The phone call to one of these women when my husband died was gut wrenching to make. I literally held the phone for over an hour turning it on and off. The irony is that her phone number was in his phone and I never thought to copy it down and call her from my phone. They spoke often. As she picked up the phone, I heard her cheery voice say something like “hey baby” thinking it was my husband. When I said her name… I knew she knew. I heard her gulp in air and my heart began to break. Our kids had been on swim team together, we had gone out on Saturday nights, visited them when they relocated, we had attended her daughter’s wedding and celebrated when she and her husband became grand parents. I think I told her what I could and said I’d get back with her.Unfortunatly she was unable to attend the service. We will see each other for the first time in a few weeks. I am sure we will have a fabulous, long over due cry. Two of these women live very close to me. In the days between his death and the service, they made phone calls, brought food, sent flowers and called me to see how I was doing and what I needed. I always liked and loved all of these women. Now my sense of admiration, gratitude and respect for these women is a bit overwhelming. I will try very hard as I go on to tell and/or show these women what they don’t know, they have done for me. One of these women will laugh when she read this, because I think she will know I am talking about her. I always saw her as a fierce business woman. I’ll be honest; she intimidated the hell out of me. I thought she had it all, was it all. She is part of a family that is very well known and very respected in the area. Until just a few years ago, I had made assumptions about this family. You know what they say about assuming. Her family lost a brother a few years back. My husband and I attended the wake and I learned more about this family in that hour than I had in the years before. This was a good, strong, faithful, loving and above all, kind and caring family. They were hurt to their core at the loss of this son and brother. Watching them console the guests at the funeral home was a lesson in how to truly care for others and I was moved by their graciousness. I truly believe that their example in some small way helped me when I was called in to that role. I’ve since learned so much about the struggles in their live and I admire them for their ability to press on and be fabulous. My connection to this “girlfriend” continues to grow as we discover our commonalities. We have had some wonderful discussions on loss and love and what happens next. On to another amazing women, my little buddy is also one of “the girlfriends”. This lady, what can I say…? She has been there for me. All I have to do is pick up the phone. She has included me in many fun times. She had introduced me to her neighbors. I’ll even forgive her for yelling loudly in Whole Foods that she thought I needed to get… well you know the rest. I feel like she is the comic relief I’ve been missing since he died. She gets my sense of humor and she likes it. Not everyone does. This is a woman who is so open and accepting that I have felt comfortable with her and her family since the first time I met her. We have only known each other for a few years, maybe 4 and a half or so. I was once at a jewelry party at her home and we were bantering back and forth. A neighbor asked how many years we had been friends… we cracked up. I think one of us looked up and said “6 months”. The neighbor was shocked… so were we. It felt like we had been friends forever. The last of “the girlfriends” puzzles me. She is kind and beautiful and seemingly successful. But to me, behind her very beautiful eyes there is a sadness. I don’t know her as well as I know the others and I’m sorry for that. I believe at some point someone said I said I didn’t care for her and that is not true. I just don’t know her. I’d like very much to know her. I know we probably have more in common then not and I believe we could be a terrific support to and for each other.
These women added something to the life of the man I love. The man I married was the man I married because of the experiences he had up until the time we met and married. Without “the girlfriends” having been friends or dates or pals or lovers of my husband’s, I can’t say our marriage would have been what it was. So a toast to “the Girlfriends”… as the late great Frank Sinatra said…. “To you and your families, may I simply say here’s to everything you want, everything you wish, mostly love and sweet dreams, lots of kissin and huggin and all that stuff... Salute”.
So maybe I’ll get a new best friend or maybe I won’t. I do know I will do all I can to be... the best friend.
I hope so…
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Monday - 9/28/2009 Lessons
I’ve learned a thing or two in life:
· Always wear clean underwear.
· Drink your orange juice before you brush your teeth.
· Always be sure those you love know it and feel it.
· The largest zit you have ever had will begin forming approximately 5 days before your high school reunion.
· Mosquitoes only make noise in the dark when you are trying to sleep and you can’t see them to catch them.
· The hot and adorable bag boy at the grocery store will always put the canned good on top of your bread if you distract him by attempting to flirt.
· If a large tomato is going bad, don’t put the whole thing in the disposal and turn it on unless you feel like washing the ceiling above.
· Pray often and mean it.
· Most fast food drive thru windows now have a recording asking if you would like to try their latest and greatest item… this is a recording, do not place your order with the recording… be patient a real person will take your order in a moment.
· If you are down to one good bra, the underwire will break as you drive to work causing not only that annoying stabbing feeling, but distinct sag on one side.
· Just when you think you can survive with ½ a roll of toilet paper until you grocery shop later in the week, unexpected guests will arrive, one with a “funny feeling” in their tummy.
· Never, ever drink a glass of milk that someone hands you and says “does this taste funny to you”?
· When life gives you lemons… get in the car, pick up some limes, tequila and triple sec and make Margarita’s
· Talk to those you love about what they want to have happen in the event that they cannot make those decisions known themselves.
· Almost every situation in life has a solution that is based on an episode of Seinfeld.
· Chocolate is one of the main ingredients in my recipe for a happy life.
· The day you choose to run to the store without taking a shower or brushing your teeth is the day you will run into either your old boyfriend or your husband’s former fiancée.
· Read the Bible and ask questions about what you are not clear on
· Enjoy the glass of wine you enjoy, not the one someone says you should enjoy.
· Be generous with your time, your heart, your money, your love and your humor.
· Nothing beats great sheets.
· Since marshmallows have no place in the food pyramid, they don’t count and can be eaten often
· If you are driving and you have to sneeze, don’t step on the gas or the brake.
· Dogs have families, cats have a staff.
· Learn to drive a stick shift
· How do you know if yogurt is bad?
· Every once in awhile, stop at the park and swing on the swings.
· I never met a woman who didn’t feel jealous when flowers were delivered to someone else in the office.
· Puppy kisses rule.
· At what point should someone be told that their toupee looks like a toupee?
· Hummingbirds have an amazing calming effect on people.
· Fresh coffee, a wood burning fire and fresh cut grass are among the greatest aromas in the world.
· Never eat anything you can’t pronounce.
· Smoking sucks.
· The greatest cup of coffee? Starbucks, Dunkin Donuts, The Golden Tulip Hotel in Aruba and my house (no particular order).
· Funerals are for the living. Do what you want to do in order to honor your loved one. They really only have a say on if they are buried or cremated.
· I think I’d rather have a cut with 3 or 4 stitches than a bad paper cut.
· Be kind to everyone. You never know who you made need to lean on in the future.
· Contrary to what your Mom said, crying does help.
· Always remember you have skills. You can talk, you can love and you can laugh. You can do anything.
· Write the names of those in photos on the back of the photo. You’d be surprised who you forget.
· Apples are best eaten in the fall, oranges in the winter.
· Keep cards, birthday, get well, sympathy, congratulations and blank ones in your desk. Something happens every day and it makes a huge difference to acknowledge the event immediately.
· Share and play nice with the other kids.
· Always wear clean underwear.
· Drink your orange juice before you brush your teeth.
· Always be sure those you love know it and feel it.
· The largest zit you have ever had will begin forming approximately 5 days before your high school reunion.
· Mosquitoes only make noise in the dark when you are trying to sleep and you can’t see them to catch them.
· The hot and adorable bag boy at the grocery store will always put the canned good on top of your bread if you distract him by attempting to flirt.
· If a large tomato is going bad, don’t put the whole thing in the disposal and turn it on unless you feel like washing the ceiling above.
· Pray often and mean it.
· Most fast food drive thru windows now have a recording asking if you would like to try their latest and greatest item… this is a recording, do not place your order with the recording… be patient a real person will take your order in a moment.
· If you are down to one good bra, the underwire will break as you drive to work causing not only that annoying stabbing feeling, but distinct sag on one side.
· Just when you think you can survive with ½ a roll of toilet paper until you grocery shop later in the week, unexpected guests will arrive, one with a “funny feeling” in their tummy.
· Never, ever drink a glass of milk that someone hands you and says “does this taste funny to you”?
· When life gives you lemons… get in the car, pick up some limes, tequila and triple sec and make Margarita’s
· Talk to those you love about what they want to have happen in the event that they cannot make those decisions known themselves.
· Almost every situation in life has a solution that is based on an episode of Seinfeld.
· Chocolate is one of the main ingredients in my recipe for a happy life.
· The day you choose to run to the store without taking a shower or brushing your teeth is the day you will run into either your old boyfriend or your husband’s former fiancée.
· Read the Bible and ask questions about what you are not clear on
· Enjoy the glass of wine you enjoy, not the one someone says you should enjoy.
· Be generous with your time, your heart, your money, your love and your humor.
· Nothing beats great sheets.
· Since marshmallows have no place in the food pyramid, they don’t count and can be eaten often
· If you are driving and you have to sneeze, don’t step on the gas or the brake.
· Dogs have families, cats have a staff.
· Learn to drive a stick shift
· How do you know if yogurt is bad?
· Every once in awhile, stop at the park and swing on the swings.
· I never met a woman who didn’t feel jealous when flowers were delivered to someone else in the office.
· Puppy kisses rule.
· At what point should someone be told that their toupee looks like a toupee?
· Hummingbirds have an amazing calming effect on people.
· Fresh coffee, a wood burning fire and fresh cut grass are among the greatest aromas in the world.
· Never eat anything you can’t pronounce.
· Smoking sucks.
· The greatest cup of coffee? Starbucks, Dunkin Donuts, The Golden Tulip Hotel in Aruba and my house (no particular order).
· Funerals are for the living. Do what you want to do in order to honor your loved one. They really only have a say on if they are buried or cremated.
· I think I’d rather have a cut with 3 or 4 stitches than a bad paper cut.
· Be kind to everyone. You never know who you made need to lean on in the future.
· Contrary to what your Mom said, crying does help.
· Always remember you have skills. You can talk, you can love and you can laugh. You can do anything.
· Write the names of those in photos on the back of the photo. You’d be surprised who you forget.
· Apples are best eaten in the fall, oranges in the winter.
· Keep cards, birthday, get well, sympathy, congratulations and blank ones in your desk. Something happens every day and it makes a huge difference to acknowledge the event immediately.
· Share and play nice with the other kids.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Saturday 9/26/2009 - Trapped
I’ve had this feeling before. I get this trapped feeling every Thursday night. Every Thursday for the past 6 months to be exact. That Thursday, 6 months ago was such a good day. I had the day off and I had spent the day cleaning and catching up on family tasks, dry cleaning, picking up his prescriptions, replenishing the bird seed and so on. Early that day my husband had called to say he had taken Walleye out of the freeze and that he would make dinner. I gathered the items he would need and had them ready when he arrived. Dinner was wonderful, baked Walleye cooked to perfection. After dinner we took a long walk. We discussed plans for the summer, we talked about the kids and we talked about how fortunate we felt to be together. The events that ended with his death began in actuality on Friday morning. But now on Thursdays… I think about each and every event that took place.
Some of my friends have told me about being trapped in a bad marriage. I never could empathize with what they were feeling. I never understood what they meant. I have a friend who has been married for more than 40 years. She married in her mid teens and frankly does not care for her husband. Their marriage is loveless and likeness. They have adult children in common and that is all. They do not socialize or pursue any interests. When I have asked why she has made the decision to stay married, her response is “what can I do, I’m trapped”. How sad. But now I understand that caged animal feeling of being trapped. I wonder if it is harder to be in a bad marriage forever or be in a really good marriage and have it end the way mine did. I guess one of the hardest things for me is that we worked so very hard to have our marriage get to the level it reached and then, what? It was taken away without any consultation or warning. I’ve said it before and I will continue to say it, “I loved being married. I loved being someone’s wife”. I want people to know that I am single, not because I failed at my marriage but because of a twist of fate. Fate. I suppose you could argue that fate is the cause of all marriage failures. An example, fate brings two people together, they have an affair and a marriage ends. I can’t imagine having this trapped feeling every day of my life. Even feeling this way for one day a week sucks the energy right out of me. I am without exception, amazingly exhausted on Friday nights. It is astonishing to me that I have never had or felt this deep exhaustion before. When my kids were babies, they are only 13.5 months apart; I never ever felt this, cry at the drop of a hat, weak in the knees, head hurting exhaustion. I was tired, drained and in need of a shower, but never even close to what I feel now. Ironically, it only happens on Friday nights after 24-30 hours of that trapped feeling. The professionals I‘ve spoken with say it’s all part of the process. The regurgitation of each minuet detail of the day my husband died should dissipate in time, so they say.
I’ve been trapped 2 other times in my life. Just before my husband and I married, I moved in to his apartment. We convinced ourselves it was a cost saving measure. The plan was that it would save money we could then put towards our wedding. Oh my gosh I thought I was such a grown up, 19 years old and living with a 25 year old! Thankfully, my naivety has diminished with age. I was attending community college at night, wisely choosing Monday nights in the fall for my toughest class, Biology. My thought was, being out of the house on Monday would shield me from Monday Night Football and allow my husband some well deserved space. If you never had the pleasure of watching a sporting event with him, you missed out on something special. I have never seen anyone get so into a game, physically, mentally and emotionally. It could be scary if you didn’t know him. So on this particular Monday, I went off to class. Please remember this was well before cell phone, the internet or cable community access channels. Once I arrived I was notified that class was cancelled. I wasted time by running a few errands and then went home. I pressed the elevator bottom to go up to our apartment. The elevator began its assent and stopped. Stopped and shut down between floors. There was no phone or way to make contact with anyone. So I sat down and waited. I read the box of Cheerio’s, the carton of milk… Jennifer Martin was last seen wearing a blue jeans and a pink sweatshirt, she stands 4 foot 5 inches and has blond hair…. I heard someone yelling, asking if anyone was in the elevator. I responded and the yeller said he was getting help. I waited. Meanwhile, my parents were sitting in their home 2 towns away; I’m sure enjoying the bliss you get when your children are out on their own, when a call came over the police/fire scanner. My dad being a fire fighter always had these radios active. It became common practice to stop all movement and conversation when one of the scanners began to squawk. My parent heard the call for assistance at my building for someone trapped in the elevator. They thought it was amusing so they placed a call to my house to ask if I knew who was trapped. My husband answered and said I was at class and he wasn’t aware of anything happening in our building but at half time he would check it out. When half time rolled around he walked down the hall to the elevators. He met up with the Fire Chief. The Chief told him a young woman was stuck in the elevator. I could hear them talking above me. I so clearly remember my beloved husband say something about “only a woman would get herself stuck in an elevator that only goes up 2 floors”. Just then the elevator began to move. The doors open and I wish I could describe the look on my husband’s face when I stepped out. A few years ago I was completing what had become my Sunday ritual, dropping my husband off at the airport, going to gas up the car for the week and stopping at the grocer for items needed. As I filled up I thought I would treat myself to a touch less car wash. I entered the car wash and pulled up to the designated spot and stopped, car in neutral. I was just admiring the scent of the multi colored soap droplets when everything stopped. No loud noise to indicate a breakdown no indication as to what the problem was. The silence was ominous. As the soap slid off the windshield I saw a huge sign stating “DO NOT GET OUT OF VEHICAL”. So I waited. I waited for almost an hour. I didn’t have a signal on my cell phone so I couldn’t call for help. I started thinking of the headlines, “Suburban Mom dies a touch less death” or “Washed up” or some other editors dream headline. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t taken a shower and I was in sweats. Please God don’t let the media take pictures… Finally I saw headlights on the other side of the door. There was honking, as if I had control of the wash system. Eventually the headlights changed to flashing lights and the police and fire department removed the exit door and then rolled the wash system off my car so that I could leave safely. As I pulled out and the State Policemen was gathering information, the owner of the gas station came to the passenger side of my car and began to yell at me. He wanted to know what I had done to his car wash, how I had caused it to malfunction. Seriously. As I was driving home the stress of being trapped in the car wash for almost 2 hours hit me and I started to freak out. It’s funny that I don’t usually freak out in the moment, but I clearly make up for it later. When I told my husband of my ordeal, he, as was his style, thought it was the funniest thing he had ever heard and laughed his head off.
So now I’m feeling this trapped feeling again. Unfortunately I don’t have my husband to make light or put things in perspective for me. But I’ll trust those that tell me this will lessen with time. I’ve always liked Thursdays and want to appreciate this last vestige of the work week again. So I’ll give it time and allow the process of grieving to take its course. It will be worth the wait.
I hope so…
Some of my friends have told me about being trapped in a bad marriage. I never could empathize with what they were feeling. I never understood what they meant. I have a friend who has been married for more than 40 years. She married in her mid teens and frankly does not care for her husband. Their marriage is loveless and likeness. They have adult children in common and that is all. They do not socialize or pursue any interests. When I have asked why she has made the decision to stay married, her response is “what can I do, I’m trapped”. How sad. But now I understand that caged animal feeling of being trapped. I wonder if it is harder to be in a bad marriage forever or be in a really good marriage and have it end the way mine did. I guess one of the hardest things for me is that we worked so very hard to have our marriage get to the level it reached and then, what? It was taken away without any consultation or warning. I’ve said it before and I will continue to say it, “I loved being married. I loved being someone’s wife”. I want people to know that I am single, not because I failed at my marriage but because of a twist of fate. Fate. I suppose you could argue that fate is the cause of all marriage failures. An example, fate brings two people together, they have an affair and a marriage ends. I can’t imagine having this trapped feeling every day of my life. Even feeling this way for one day a week sucks the energy right out of me. I am without exception, amazingly exhausted on Friday nights. It is astonishing to me that I have never had or felt this deep exhaustion before. When my kids were babies, they are only 13.5 months apart; I never ever felt this, cry at the drop of a hat, weak in the knees, head hurting exhaustion. I was tired, drained and in need of a shower, but never even close to what I feel now. Ironically, it only happens on Friday nights after 24-30 hours of that trapped feeling. The professionals I‘ve spoken with say it’s all part of the process. The regurgitation of each minuet detail of the day my husband died should dissipate in time, so they say.
I’ve been trapped 2 other times in my life. Just before my husband and I married, I moved in to his apartment. We convinced ourselves it was a cost saving measure. The plan was that it would save money we could then put towards our wedding. Oh my gosh I thought I was such a grown up, 19 years old and living with a 25 year old! Thankfully, my naivety has diminished with age. I was attending community college at night, wisely choosing Monday nights in the fall for my toughest class, Biology. My thought was, being out of the house on Monday would shield me from Monday Night Football and allow my husband some well deserved space. If you never had the pleasure of watching a sporting event with him, you missed out on something special. I have never seen anyone get so into a game, physically, mentally and emotionally. It could be scary if you didn’t know him. So on this particular Monday, I went off to class. Please remember this was well before cell phone, the internet or cable community access channels. Once I arrived I was notified that class was cancelled. I wasted time by running a few errands and then went home. I pressed the elevator bottom to go up to our apartment. The elevator began its assent and stopped. Stopped and shut down between floors. There was no phone or way to make contact with anyone. So I sat down and waited. I read the box of Cheerio’s, the carton of milk… Jennifer Martin was last seen wearing a blue jeans and a pink sweatshirt, she stands 4 foot 5 inches and has blond hair…. I heard someone yelling, asking if anyone was in the elevator. I responded and the yeller said he was getting help. I waited. Meanwhile, my parents were sitting in their home 2 towns away; I’m sure enjoying the bliss you get when your children are out on their own, when a call came over the police/fire scanner. My dad being a fire fighter always had these radios active. It became common practice to stop all movement and conversation when one of the scanners began to squawk. My parent heard the call for assistance at my building for someone trapped in the elevator. They thought it was amusing so they placed a call to my house to ask if I knew who was trapped. My husband answered and said I was at class and he wasn’t aware of anything happening in our building but at half time he would check it out. When half time rolled around he walked down the hall to the elevators. He met up with the Fire Chief. The Chief told him a young woman was stuck in the elevator. I could hear them talking above me. I so clearly remember my beloved husband say something about “only a woman would get herself stuck in an elevator that only goes up 2 floors”. Just then the elevator began to move. The doors open and I wish I could describe the look on my husband’s face when I stepped out. A few years ago I was completing what had become my Sunday ritual, dropping my husband off at the airport, going to gas up the car for the week and stopping at the grocer for items needed. As I filled up I thought I would treat myself to a touch less car wash. I entered the car wash and pulled up to the designated spot and stopped, car in neutral. I was just admiring the scent of the multi colored soap droplets when everything stopped. No loud noise to indicate a breakdown no indication as to what the problem was. The silence was ominous. As the soap slid off the windshield I saw a huge sign stating “DO NOT GET OUT OF VEHICAL”. So I waited. I waited for almost an hour. I didn’t have a signal on my cell phone so I couldn’t call for help. I started thinking of the headlines, “Suburban Mom dies a touch less death” or “Washed up” or some other editors dream headline. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t taken a shower and I was in sweats. Please God don’t let the media take pictures… Finally I saw headlights on the other side of the door. There was honking, as if I had control of the wash system. Eventually the headlights changed to flashing lights and the police and fire department removed the exit door and then rolled the wash system off my car so that I could leave safely. As I pulled out and the State Policemen was gathering information, the owner of the gas station came to the passenger side of my car and began to yell at me. He wanted to know what I had done to his car wash, how I had caused it to malfunction. Seriously. As I was driving home the stress of being trapped in the car wash for almost 2 hours hit me and I started to freak out. It’s funny that I don’t usually freak out in the moment, but I clearly make up for it later. When I told my husband of my ordeal, he, as was his style, thought it was the funniest thing he had ever heard and laughed his head off.
So now I’m feeling this trapped feeling again. Unfortunately I don’t have my husband to make light or put things in perspective for me. But I’ll trust those that tell me this will lessen with time. I’ve always liked Thursdays and want to appreciate this last vestige of the work week again. So I’ll give it time and allow the process of grieving to take its course. It will be worth the wait.
I hope so…
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Thursday - 9/24/2009 Home
What or should I say, where is home? Some say it’s where you live or where those you love live. I’ve questioned this a lot in the past few months. Can you have more than one real home? Of course there are all the clichés about home being where the heart is or home is where your story begins but what does home mean to me?
I took a trip back to my home town this past weekend. It seemed exactly the same but so very different. It had grown with progress but had aged too. As you might think, it seemed smaller that I remember. I found comfort in seeing buildings and businesses that had been part of my childhood. I went back to see my kids. Both my children live in the area and I had decided I would take a drive to visit. I invited my sister-in-law along as her son had just been transferred to that area with the military. My nephew’s wife has recently returned from her 2nd or 3rd tour of duty in Afghanistan. These two soldiers are awe inspiring. They take their service to our country very seriously and I’m so proud of both of them. I have such trouble thinking of my nephew as a well respected military man. Not that he doesn’t deserve the respect, he does but he will always be this little tiny kid with a constant runny nose. My mental image of him is nothing like the tall, handsome, commanding man he is. My niece-in-law is an adorable, funny, kind woman who I look forward to getting to know. When my husband died, she had already been deployed. At first I didn’t think about her. A few days after he died, I had a dream. In my dream she was hurt. She was hurt very badly. For some reason my nephew and I were there with her as she lay suffering. In the dream I told my nephew it would be ok if she didn’t make it, his uncle, my husband would be there to take care of her in heaven. My nephew looked at me and in a very commanding voice said... “He can’t have her. I’m not done loving her yet”. I completely understood those feelings. I woke up from the dream so scared that something would happen to her. I knew she was coming home soon and they say that is the most dangerous time for a soldier. I’m sure if I had told her any of this, she would have understood why I held her so very tightly on Friday when I finally saw her. But now they are home, together. I have to say that my emotions were on high alert this weekend. I could feel tears and maybe sobs about to burst at any second. It could have been a “Mom” thing. It could be that the weekend marked 6 months since he died. Maybe it was that this was the first time since just after he died that we were all together. It may be as simple as this town was where we had spent a great deal of our married life, one of our many homes… and I was there, alone.
One of my objectives this weekend was to check out a local shelter and see if I could find a puppy that needed a home. My kids, my fabulous son-in-law to be included, visited the same shelter where we had obtained our beloved Max. We had Max for 11 great years and I thought we could see if lightning would strike twice. As we made out way through the kennels, looking at tons of puppies a little black lab mix caught our eye. I should say her eyes caught our attention, one black, one blue. We brought her out to the bonding area and she took to my son immediately. Since she was going to be my dog, I needed to see if we connected. The answer… no way. She wouldn’t make eye contact. It was ok. I’m a big girl and I know not everyone and everything is going to like me. Better to learn it now than to drive the 6 hours home and make that discovery. We went back to the kennels. Sitting in the same kennel, actually a sister to the blue/black eyed pup was the cutest brown, black, white and golden puppy I had every seen.
I immediately got the warm puppy kiss and she tucked her little head under my chin. I was hooked. If there is a pre-adoption class that puppies go through, basically how to reel people in, my puppy was valedictorian. So I adopted Bauer and she appears to have adopted me. Bauer now has a home and I have someone to come home to. This puppy will be spoiled and there is nothing I intend to do to stop that. This puppy will grow up to be a good sized dog and will be taught the basic social skills she will need. But this puppy will be over-loved, if that makes sense. She will sleep in my bed if she chooses and will be indulged as I see fit. I will keep this puppy safe, healthy and others safe from her. But there can be no mistake in my mind that I need to have this puppy. I need to shower someone or thing with love and attention. My genetic make-up requires it.
So Bauer is now safe in her own home. She has already attended her first hockey game, enjoyed a lovely breakfast at an outdoor café and taken a long car trip. She handled all of this with a great air of confidence. She will be a great part of the next chapter of my life and I certainly hope I will be the same for her.
I need to add, yesterday as I arrived at work and Bauer was beginning her first day on her own, I was actually panicked. Did I do the right thing? Will my dog walkers show up? Am I just being selfish? As I got out of the car, the big fat rabbit that seems to show up in the parking lot whenever I am filled with self doubt hopped out of the cattails and stared at me. I’ve come to take this rabbit’s visits as a sign. Right or wrong, I’ll accept this as a sign that this will all be good.
I hope so…
I took a trip back to my home town this past weekend. It seemed exactly the same but so very different. It had grown with progress but had aged too. As you might think, it seemed smaller that I remember. I found comfort in seeing buildings and businesses that had been part of my childhood. I went back to see my kids. Both my children live in the area and I had decided I would take a drive to visit. I invited my sister-in-law along as her son had just been transferred to that area with the military. My nephew’s wife has recently returned from her 2nd or 3rd tour of duty in Afghanistan. These two soldiers are awe inspiring. They take their service to our country very seriously and I’m so proud of both of them. I have such trouble thinking of my nephew as a well respected military man. Not that he doesn’t deserve the respect, he does but he will always be this little tiny kid with a constant runny nose. My mental image of him is nothing like the tall, handsome, commanding man he is. My niece-in-law is an adorable, funny, kind woman who I look forward to getting to know. When my husband died, she had already been deployed. At first I didn’t think about her. A few days after he died, I had a dream. In my dream she was hurt. She was hurt very badly. For some reason my nephew and I were there with her as she lay suffering. In the dream I told my nephew it would be ok if she didn’t make it, his uncle, my husband would be there to take care of her in heaven. My nephew looked at me and in a very commanding voice said... “He can’t have her. I’m not done loving her yet”. I completely understood those feelings. I woke up from the dream so scared that something would happen to her. I knew she was coming home soon and they say that is the most dangerous time for a soldier. I’m sure if I had told her any of this, she would have understood why I held her so very tightly on Friday when I finally saw her. But now they are home, together. I have to say that my emotions were on high alert this weekend. I could feel tears and maybe sobs about to burst at any second. It could have been a “Mom” thing. It could be that the weekend marked 6 months since he died. Maybe it was that this was the first time since just after he died that we were all together. It may be as simple as this town was where we had spent a great deal of our married life, one of our many homes… and I was there, alone.
One of my objectives this weekend was to check out a local shelter and see if I could find a puppy that needed a home. My kids, my fabulous son-in-law to be included, visited the same shelter where we had obtained our beloved Max. We had Max for 11 great years and I thought we could see if lightning would strike twice. As we made out way through the kennels, looking at tons of puppies a little black lab mix caught our eye. I should say her eyes caught our attention, one black, one blue. We brought her out to the bonding area and she took to my son immediately. Since she was going to be my dog, I needed to see if we connected. The answer… no way. She wouldn’t make eye contact. It was ok. I’m a big girl and I know not everyone and everything is going to like me. Better to learn it now than to drive the 6 hours home and make that discovery. We went back to the kennels. Sitting in the same kennel, actually a sister to the blue/black eyed pup was the cutest brown, black, white and golden puppy I had every seen.
I immediately got the warm puppy kiss and she tucked her little head under my chin. I was hooked. If there is a pre-adoption class that puppies go through, basically how to reel people in, my puppy was valedictorian. So I adopted Bauer and she appears to have adopted me. Bauer now has a home and I have someone to come home to. This puppy will be spoiled and there is nothing I intend to do to stop that. This puppy will grow up to be a good sized dog and will be taught the basic social skills she will need. But this puppy will be over-loved, if that makes sense. She will sleep in my bed if she chooses and will be indulged as I see fit. I will keep this puppy safe, healthy and others safe from her. But there can be no mistake in my mind that I need to have this puppy. I need to shower someone or thing with love and attention. My genetic make-up requires it.
So Bauer is now safe in her own home. She has already attended her first hockey game, enjoyed a lovely breakfast at an outdoor café and taken a long car trip. She handled all of this with a great air of confidence. She will be a great part of the next chapter of my life and I certainly hope I will be the same for her.
I need to add, yesterday as I arrived at work and Bauer was beginning her first day on her own, I was actually panicked. Did I do the right thing? Will my dog walkers show up? Am I just being selfish? As I got out of the car, the big fat rabbit that seems to show up in the parking lot whenever I am filled with self doubt hopped out of the cattails and stared at me. I’ve come to take this rabbit’s visits as a sign. Right or wrong, I’ll accept this as a sign that this will all be good.
I hope so…
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Thursday 9/17/2009 Back up
This post was delayed due to my 9/11 blogs
Today I’m sitting in traffic. It’s Sunday, why a backup?
Why a back up indeed. I’ve just come from the pet store where a local group was hosting an adoption event. I was looking at a little female lab/rotti puppy. I figure we both need adopting. But while I was there and the volunteers were asking me questions about my prior pet ownership, I could feel my throat tighten. The more I spoke of my buddy, my “puppy” Max, my 11 year old Lab Newfoundland mix dog, it all… backed up. This is the 3rd time this week this has happened. Each time has been at what was in actuality a tribute to either my husband or my puppy.
The first was on Thursday. I decided I needed to give back to the communities that mattered in the lives of my late husband, my children and me. I had asked to support a number of projects since March and was amazed at the red tape I had to go through just to support a worthy cause. I began speaking with the coach at the high school my husband attended. My husband was a star athlete, excelling in both Football and Baseball. I wanted to somehow impact the football team at his high school. After much back and forth, I “adopted” the freshman football team. Well that may sound a bit bigger than this is. What I really did was agree to feed the freshman football team. The Varsity and JV teams are given a hot meal on game day. But there is no budget to give a hot meal or any meal to the freshman team. So on Thursdays, freshman game day, I provide a meal for 35 players. On the first Thursday I was planning to have the lunches delivered but luck and timing allowed me to be in the area to assist with the delivery. I met the coach in the main office and he seemed a bit surprised to see me. I think he still wasn’t sure my offer was sincere. He asked if I would accompany him to the locker room to meet the other coaches and deliver the lunches. Because my husband had taught me the game of football, I started asking questions about the Varsity team as we made our way around campus to the athletic office. I asked about his team’s passing game, ratio of seniors to freshman and so on. As we entered the office and locker room, I began to feel a huge sense of pride. The coaches all stood as I entered the office and one coach started reciting my husband’s football highlights. I felt a wave of emotion come over me and a young coach standing next to me leaned in and asked if I was ok. I said I was surprised at the emotions backing up on me. He smiled and said, “I know what you’re feeling”. Oh my gosh I thought, not another widower about to share his loss with me. I knew I couldn’t handle it at that moment. But the look on my face must have caused him to elaborate. He leaned in close to me and said... “You’re emotional because, you’re in the boy’s locker room! If you want, I can show you the boy’s bathroom”. I started to giggle and could not stop until I got back in my car. Once in my car, I allowed the tears to fall. The experience was so gratifying and gave me a sense of closeness to a time in my husband’s life I was not a part of. As thankful as the coaches and team are, I am even more thankful. I think I got the better end of this deal.
On Saturday, the 12th Annual Run for Ryan took place in my town. Ryan was a senior in high school when he collapsed and died during Cross Country practice. His family spends the bulk of their time honoring this wonderful young man with fundraisers benefiting the booster club and local charities. I chose to sponsor this event because of what I read about this wonderful young man. He touched the lives around him so deeply and in such a profound way, as did my husband. I spoke with Ryan’s mother and knew from the moment she answered the phone that we had a profound connection. I sponsored the event and volunteered to help out on race day. Race day was exactly what you would hope for, cool yet not cold. The 8K, 5K and 1K was held in the evening and as I sat at the registration table, signing in runners, I began to realize that while this event and its significance was new to me, it was not new to the community. Former participants were welcomed with open arms. I was introduced as an honored guest, a friend. I met more people from my own town than I knew even existed. I saw the police chief I had spoken to by phone but had never met. When he was introduced to me there was a moment before he seemed to pull my name up and connect it… He then just stepped toward me and hugged me tight saying he was so glad to finally meet me. I was never introduced as a widow or someone who had had a loss. I was “our friend” or a “generous supporter”. With a few hundred runner/walkers the event was much more popular than I could have imagined. I worked the registration table, signing in the runners and noticing how young and old, these were folks who had deep roots in my little city. The names were business names, street names and building names. The people’s fathers, Grandfathers and Great Grandfather’s settled my town, developed our history. As all this was happening, I found my emotions backing up. No tears or sadness but a wave of emotions I was cautious to control.
Outside, as the National Anthem played just before the race was started, Ryan’s mom came over to me and put her arms around me. We held each other and cried for a short moment. Not only was this the day of the race honoring her young son, it was also the anniversary of the death of her husband, Ryan’s father. I had an unspoken kinship with this woman. This woman. Such loss yet she got up every day and searched for ways to honor the lost men in her life. As she did that day in and day out, she honored herself as well. She found great peace in keeping not only their spirit alive but also keeping her passion and drive vibrant and engaged. As it was time for Ryan’s mom to start the race, she introduced some of the key players in the event. She thanked her family, her friends the community and then she thanked me. It wasn’t a big gesture and almost no one knew what it meant, but just before the race, she turned to me and said, “mother to mother, wife to wife”, she blew me a kiss and fired off the starting gun. In the split second between her message and the start of the race, I looked up and saw the young police officer who had been with me the night my husband died. Between us there were maybe 100 people, but I knew then, more strongly than I have ever known anything before in my life. I knew I would survive. I knew that I was doing what was right. I knew I was part of a community in a way I have never been before. I knew that while painful, I was on my way to the next chapter in my life and it would be…ok. It will be as great as I choose it to be or as I make it. I knew I had great people around me, in my family and my community who had survived and triumphed.
When the race ended I stayed at the after party for just a short time. I walked around the park thinking about what I had experienced in the past few days. Would I have had these moments if he was still alive? I don’t know. There is also the bigger question, why wouldn’t I have the experiences with him alive? The answer may be as simple as me not creating the option for the moment in the structure of my life before. I think my ah ha moment was… I hold what happens to me in my hands. I could wring my hands and say oh poor me or I can grab on to something and hold on tight for the ride. I think I’ll grab on and hang on for the ride. I think it will be great. Different, but great. Scary maybe, but great. I now believe I can be great again as well.
I hope so…
Today I’m sitting in traffic. It’s Sunday, why a backup?
Why a back up indeed. I’ve just come from the pet store where a local group was hosting an adoption event. I was looking at a little female lab/rotti puppy. I figure we both need adopting. But while I was there and the volunteers were asking me questions about my prior pet ownership, I could feel my throat tighten. The more I spoke of my buddy, my “puppy” Max, my 11 year old Lab Newfoundland mix dog, it all… backed up. This is the 3rd time this week this has happened. Each time has been at what was in actuality a tribute to either my husband or my puppy.
The first was on Thursday. I decided I needed to give back to the communities that mattered in the lives of my late husband, my children and me. I had asked to support a number of projects since March and was amazed at the red tape I had to go through just to support a worthy cause. I began speaking with the coach at the high school my husband attended. My husband was a star athlete, excelling in both Football and Baseball. I wanted to somehow impact the football team at his high school. After much back and forth, I “adopted” the freshman football team. Well that may sound a bit bigger than this is. What I really did was agree to feed the freshman football team. The Varsity and JV teams are given a hot meal on game day. But there is no budget to give a hot meal or any meal to the freshman team. So on Thursdays, freshman game day, I provide a meal for 35 players. On the first Thursday I was planning to have the lunches delivered but luck and timing allowed me to be in the area to assist with the delivery. I met the coach in the main office and he seemed a bit surprised to see me. I think he still wasn’t sure my offer was sincere. He asked if I would accompany him to the locker room to meet the other coaches and deliver the lunches. Because my husband had taught me the game of football, I started asking questions about the Varsity team as we made our way around campus to the athletic office. I asked about his team’s passing game, ratio of seniors to freshman and so on. As we entered the office and locker room, I began to feel a huge sense of pride. The coaches all stood as I entered the office and one coach started reciting my husband’s football highlights. I felt a wave of emotion come over me and a young coach standing next to me leaned in and asked if I was ok. I said I was surprised at the emotions backing up on me. He smiled and said, “I know what you’re feeling”. Oh my gosh I thought, not another widower about to share his loss with me. I knew I couldn’t handle it at that moment. But the look on my face must have caused him to elaborate. He leaned in close to me and said... “You’re emotional because, you’re in the boy’s locker room! If you want, I can show you the boy’s bathroom”. I started to giggle and could not stop until I got back in my car. Once in my car, I allowed the tears to fall. The experience was so gratifying and gave me a sense of closeness to a time in my husband’s life I was not a part of. As thankful as the coaches and team are, I am even more thankful. I think I got the better end of this deal.
On Saturday, the 12th Annual Run for Ryan took place in my town. Ryan was a senior in high school when he collapsed and died during Cross Country practice. His family spends the bulk of their time honoring this wonderful young man with fundraisers benefiting the booster club and local charities. I chose to sponsor this event because of what I read about this wonderful young man. He touched the lives around him so deeply and in such a profound way, as did my husband. I spoke with Ryan’s mother and knew from the moment she answered the phone that we had a profound connection. I sponsored the event and volunteered to help out on race day. Race day was exactly what you would hope for, cool yet not cold. The 8K, 5K and 1K was held in the evening and as I sat at the registration table, signing in runners, I began to realize that while this event and its significance was new to me, it was not new to the community. Former participants were welcomed with open arms. I was introduced as an honored guest, a friend. I met more people from my own town than I knew even existed. I saw the police chief I had spoken to by phone but had never met. When he was introduced to me there was a moment before he seemed to pull my name up and connect it… He then just stepped toward me and hugged me tight saying he was so glad to finally meet me. I was never introduced as a widow or someone who had had a loss. I was “our friend” or a “generous supporter”. With a few hundred runner/walkers the event was much more popular than I could have imagined. I worked the registration table, signing in the runners and noticing how young and old, these were folks who had deep roots in my little city. The names were business names, street names and building names. The people’s fathers, Grandfathers and Great Grandfather’s settled my town, developed our history. As all this was happening, I found my emotions backing up. No tears or sadness but a wave of emotions I was cautious to control.
Outside, as the National Anthem played just before the race was started, Ryan’s mom came over to me and put her arms around me. We held each other and cried for a short moment. Not only was this the day of the race honoring her young son, it was also the anniversary of the death of her husband, Ryan’s father. I had an unspoken kinship with this woman. This woman. Such loss yet she got up every day and searched for ways to honor the lost men in her life. As she did that day in and day out, she honored herself as well. She found great peace in keeping not only their spirit alive but also keeping her passion and drive vibrant and engaged. As it was time for Ryan’s mom to start the race, she introduced some of the key players in the event. She thanked her family, her friends the community and then she thanked me. It wasn’t a big gesture and almost no one knew what it meant, but just before the race, she turned to me and said, “mother to mother, wife to wife”, she blew me a kiss and fired off the starting gun. In the split second between her message and the start of the race, I looked up and saw the young police officer who had been with me the night my husband died. Between us there were maybe 100 people, but I knew then, more strongly than I have ever known anything before in my life. I knew I would survive. I knew that I was doing what was right. I knew I was part of a community in a way I have never been before. I knew that while painful, I was on my way to the next chapter in my life and it would be…ok. It will be as great as I choose it to be or as I make it. I knew I had great people around me, in my family and my community who had survived and triumphed.
When the race ended I stayed at the after party for just a short time. I walked around the park thinking about what I had experienced in the past few days. Would I have had these moments if he was still alive? I don’t know. There is also the bigger question, why wouldn’t I have the experiences with him alive? The answer may be as simple as me not creating the option for the moment in the structure of my life before. I think my ah ha moment was… I hold what happens to me in my hands. I could wring my hands and say oh poor me or I can grab on to something and hold on tight for the ride. I think I’ll grab on and hang on for the ride. I think it will be great. Different, but great. Scary maybe, but great. I now believe I can be great again as well.
I hope so…
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Wednesday 9/9/2009 Vacation
Everyone needs a vacation. I’ve often wished I lived in Europe where they get 5 weeks of vacation each year. Vacations are designed to recharge your engines, relax your brain…get you back to square one.
Vacations when I was a kid were nothing like the vacation now. 90% of trips were done by car. We didn’t have DVD players built into the seats. No Game Boys or other hand held devises to amuse or occupy the kids. We had books and crayons. In the better years we had these little cardboard games to play. One was a square of cardboard with little red cellophane windows with the names of all the states inside. When you saw a license plate from one of the 50 states, you closed the corresponding window. When you closed all the windows… you won. In the 1960-70 it was pretty tough to see a Hawaii or Alaska plate going from Illinois to Wisconsin. Nothing could be as fun and stimulating as a rousing game of ABC. Remember using billboards... you had to find a word on a billboard that began with the letter you were looking for… Q could usually only be found on a gas station sign for Quaker State Oil. Rules were modified sometimes, depending on the desolation of the area you were driving through. But we were amused and we came out relatively unscathed after the journey. It would be unfair not to mention that no one… unless you had 10 + kids had a van or mini van. So in my family, we had Mom and Dad in the front, sometimes with a dog on the floor at my mom’s feet and 4 yes 4 kids in the back seat. The hot, vinyl back seat. It was brutal. The stories about my oldest sister and her insatiable need for her own space will have to wait for another blog. We actually once made a trip from Illinois to Wyoming in 2 days in a Road Runner. If I remember correctly it was a 2 door with no air conditioning, no back windows. Frankly, we never thought to complain or not be grateful that we were even able take a vacation. We always made the best of the trips we took as kids. I just remember the pure joy I felt just having all of us together, no fire calls for my dad to run off to and no everyday issues to deal with.
My late husband and I took our kids on a number of trips. We once did an Alaskan Cruise. My daughter had just returned from 6 weeks in France and my son was in between hockey camps and cool hockey trips. Neither of them wanted to go but it was one of our only family trips that did not include some sports tournament. Almost as soon as we got on the ship, they started whining about the cruise being a “grandma” cruise. Ok, they were sort of right. The ratio of geriatrics to non was about 2:1. We vowed to make this a great trip and tried to give the kids a wide berth. Our first stop had us in Juno. The kids wanted to go up to the rain forest on the tram and being the fabulous parents we were… we went for it. At the top, the scenery was breathtaking. The kids seemed to relax and really take in the beauty all around them. Both kids asked if we could walk the trails down rather than take the tram. Being the fabulous parents we were… we told them to lead the way… being a fabulous parent doesn’t always mean you are the smartest parent. Hindsight being what it is, we should have confirmed that there was actually even a trail to follow down and out of the rain forest. They say the mind blocks out memories that are too hard to disseminate… I don’t recall every detail of the trip down the side of the mountain, but this I clearly know. The kids were almost running down the slippery, moss covered ground clearing a small path for my husband and me. I remember my husband saying not to hold on to each other, just in case someone falls, they don’t take the other person down with them. A split second after I heard him say that behind me, I felt the full weight of his body slam into me as he slipped and fell. I’ve never actually seen anyone tumble like he did, well no one that wasn’t a cartoon character. Shortly after he recovered, as we were continuing to make our way down the side of the mountain, we came upon a group of folks working on some nature project. They stopped their work to chat with us. Their first question was of course to be sure my husband was alright, and then they asked why we were there. We must have said something about walking the trail down… between their laughter; they mentioned that the trail wasn’t open or in fact even built. I just remember my husband looking up the mountain and deciding we were better off continuing our downward trek. Moments later he took an even bigger, longer, harder and faster tumble. After 2 hours we emerged in a neighborhood far north of the town of Juno. We could see the smoke stacks of the ship off in the distance. My husband was covered, head to toe in mud, pine branches and needles poking in and out of spots they were never intended to be. As we walked through the town tourists and townsfolk alike were jumping to get out of the way of the 6 foot 4 inch man in the U of M hoodie, covered in mud and rain forest parts. The next day we took an amazing kayak trip… Bald eagles, salmon, wildlife, snow, mountains and breathtaking views made this an amazing experience. Our 2 kids were in a kayak together and disturbed the Alaskan beauty by fighting about absolutely everything for the entire kayak trip. It was miserable. The misery continued as my husband got stuck in the kayak and almost had to be cut out of it. We survived the trip and made it home in one piece, kids moaning and groaning the whole way. Years later, we were all having dinner, my husband and I, our kids and their significant others. Somehow we ended up talking about the cruise. You could have pushed my late husband and me over with a feather. Our kids were telling their guests about the “great” “fabulous” “trip of a lifetime” we took to Alaska. How amazing it was that we took them kayaking! Who were these kids? What trip did they take? Please, bring my children back!
So why the change? Is it because they now appreciate things like trips more or understand the value of the time? If their comments had been made since their dad died, I would think that to be the case, the change of heart or realization was months before he passed. But how great is it that they could express to him and me their appreciation for what we did in an effort to make them happy. Ironically I have done the same to my parents. I have fond memories of our trip no matter how illogical that may be. Maybe it is what I think, that it just the appreciation for the undivided attention of your family. My kids will never again have that dynamic and that makes me sad. I am so proud that my late husband gave so much of his time and talents to our children and to me. To repay him, I will work closely with my children to discover ways we can give back in his honor. To the dad’s out there, it’s not the size of your wallet that will be the things your children cling to should you need to leave them. It is the size of your heart. The ability to laugh at yourself, learn from your mistakes, the ability to forgive and most of all your capacity to give and accept love that will make your children what you have always wished them to be.
I hope so…
Vacations when I was a kid were nothing like the vacation now. 90% of trips were done by car. We didn’t have DVD players built into the seats. No Game Boys or other hand held devises to amuse or occupy the kids. We had books and crayons. In the better years we had these little cardboard games to play. One was a square of cardboard with little red cellophane windows with the names of all the states inside. When you saw a license plate from one of the 50 states, you closed the corresponding window. When you closed all the windows… you won. In the 1960-70 it was pretty tough to see a Hawaii or Alaska plate going from Illinois to Wisconsin. Nothing could be as fun and stimulating as a rousing game of ABC. Remember using billboards... you had to find a word on a billboard that began with the letter you were looking for… Q could usually only be found on a gas station sign for Quaker State Oil. Rules were modified sometimes, depending on the desolation of the area you were driving through. But we were amused and we came out relatively unscathed after the journey. It would be unfair not to mention that no one… unless you had 10 + kids had a van or mini van. So in my family, we had Mom and Dad in the front, sometimes with a dog on the floor at my mom’s feet and 4 yes 4 kids in the back seat. The hot, vinyl back seat. It was brutal. The stories about my oldest sister and her insatiable need for her own space will have to wait for another blog. We actually once made a trip from Illinois to Wyoming in 2 days in a Road Runner. If I remember correctly it was a 2 door with no air conditioning, no back windows. Frankly, we never thought to complain or not be grateful that we were even able take a vacation. We always made the best of the trips we took as kids. I just remember the pure joy I felt just having all of us together, no fire calls for my dad to run off to and no everyday issues to deal with.
My late husband and I took our kids on a number of trips. We once did an Alaskan Cruise. My daughter had just returned from 6 weeks in France and my son was in between hockey camps and cool hockey trips. Neither of them wanted to go but it was one of our only family trips that did not include some sports tournament. Almost as soon as we got on the ship, they started whining about the cruise being a “grandma” cruise. Ok, they were sort of right. The ratio of geriatrics to non was about 2:1. We vowed to make this a great trip and tried to give the kids a wide berth. Our first stop had us in Juno. The kids wanted to go up to the rain forest on the tram and being the fabulous parents we were… we went for it. At the top, the scenery was breathtaking. The kids seemed to relax and really take in the beauty all around them. Both kids asked if we could walk the trails down rather than take the tram. Being the fabulous parents we were… we told them to lead the way… being a fabulous parent doesn’t always mean you are the smartest parent. Hindsight being what it is, we should have confirmed that there was actually even a trail to follow down and out of the rain forest. They say the mind blocks out memories that are too hard to disseminate… I don’t recall every detail of the trip down the side of the mountain, but this I clearly know. The kids were almost running down the slippery, moss covered ground clearing a small path for my husband and me. I remember my husband saying not to hold on to each other, just in case someone falls, they don’t take the other person down with them. A split second after I heard him say that behind me, I felt the full weight of his body slam into me as he slipped and fell. I’ve never actually seen anyone tumble like he did, well no one that wasn’t a cartoon character. Shortly after he recovered, as we were continuing to make our way down the side of the mountain, we came upon a group of folks working on some nature project. They stopped their work to chat with us. Their first question was of course to be sure my husband was alright, and then they asked why we were there. We must have said something about walking the trail down… between their laughter; they mentioned that the trail wasn’t open or in fact even built. I just remember my husband looking up the mountain and deciding we were better off continuing our downward trek. Moments later he took an even bigger, longer, harder and faster tumble. After 2 hours we emerged in a neighborhood far north of the town of Juno. We could see the smoke stacks of the ship off in the distance. My husband was covered, head to toe in mud, pine branches and needles poking in and out of spots they were never intended to be. As we walked through the town tourists and townsfolk alike were jumping to get out of the way of the 6 foot 4 inch man in the U of M hoodie, covered in mud and rain forest parts. The next day we took an amazing kayak trip… Bald eagles, salmon, wildlife, snow, mountains and breathtaking views made this an amazing experience. Our 2 kids were in a kayak together and disturbed the Alaskan beauty by fighting about absolutely everything for the entire kayak trip. It was miserable. The misery continued as my husband got stuck in the kayak and almost had to be cut out of it. We survived the trip and made it home in one piece, kids moaning and groaning the whole way. Years later, we were all having dinner, my husband and I, our kids and their significant others. Somehow we ended up talking about the cruise. You could have pushed my late husband and me over with a feather. Our kids were telling their guests about the “great” “fabulous” “trip of a lifetime” we took to Alaska. How amazing it was that we took them kayaking! Who were these kids? What trip did they take? Please, bring my children back!
So why the change? Is it because they now appreciate things like trips more or understand the value of the time? If their comments had been made since their dad died, I would think that to be the case, the change of heart or realization was months before he passed. But how great is it that they could express to him and me their appreciation for what we did in an effort to make them happy. Ironically I have done the same to my parents. I have fond memories of our trip no matter how illogical that may be. Maybe it is what I think, that it just the appreciation for the undivided attention of your family. My kids will never again have that dynamic and that makes me sad. I am so proud that my late husband gave so much of his time and talents to our children and to me. To repay him, I will work closely with my children to discover ways we can give back in his honor. To the dad’s out there, it’s not the size of your wallet that will be the things your children cling to should you need to leave them. It is the size of your heart. The ability to laugh at yourself, learn from your mistakes, the ability to forgive and most of all your capacity to give and accept love that will make your children what you have always wished them to be.
I hope so…
Monday, September 7, 2009
Monday 9/7/2009 Labor
An old friend made a charming reference to the fact that we don’t labor on Labor Day, so, maybe we should forget Memorial Day…
Labor Day is yet again upon us. The day is set aside to celebrate unions and workers. To me it has always been the celebration of the end of summer. The last picnic, the last trip to the beach and the last days before school starts. This holiday was always a touch bitter sweet for me. It seemed to be the last time my neighbors all got together before we all become closed up for the winter. With school, work, sports and other activities filling up the calendar again, we will have only sporadic Friday Family & Friends fire attendance. The hard work of yet another school year begins.
I’ve been thinking a lot about labor in another sense lately. My nephew and his wife recently had their first baby. She went through a very long and painful labor but as is the plan, their son was born healthy and happy. This event has had me reflect on my own labor with my children. My daughter was as she is in real life. Tough, determined and ran the show at her pace. I remember going to the hospital late on a Wednesday evening. “Yes”, they told me, “active labor”. This was a very good thing… I had made 2 previous trips to the hospital, only to have labor stop. We were on our way to bringing the most fabulous creature into the world for all to see. On Thursday evening, I had still not made significant progress. It was decided that I would be sent for an x-ray to see if they could determine if my daughter was too big to deliver. Keep in mind I was in active labor. We went to X-ray and when the tech met us, I swear he looked to be 15 years old. Without so much as a glance at me, he told me to hop up on the table, lie on my side and put my knees to my chest. He then mentioned I should hold my breath. This kid was maybe 5 feet tall… my husband, all 6 feet 4 inches calmly walked over to the tech and mumbled something… I don’t know what it was but suddenly this kid couldn’t do enough to keep me comfortable. The x-rays were not conclusive so I labored until Saturday morning when my daughter was born via c-section. As they placed her in his arms, a light passed between them, their own connection that will never be broken. My husband was the calmest I had ever seen him during those days of laboring. Every so often he would tell me he needed a break and step out. He would come back rejuvenated about 10 minutes later. Each time he left, he seemed to come back fresher than when he had left. It wasn’t until years later that I find out he had a cooler of beer in the car and was running downstairs for “re-freshments”.
Our wonderful son came along just a little over a year later. As I was prepped for a repeat c-section, my late husband knew I was nervous. As we all took our places in the operating room, my sweetie tried to calm me down. With his cheek pressed to mine, he sang a little song to me. He joked with me. He teased me. He told me how he loved me. I so clearly remember looking in to his beautiful eyes and feeling my heart swell. I remember realizing l love this man more than I ever thought I could love another human being. It wasn’t just in that moment that I loved him. It was deep and unending. As soon as they delivered our son, he was placed in my husband’s hands. I saw the same light pass between them as I had seen pass between my daughter and her father. I was proud of my labor, proud of what I had accomplished with this hard work. Hard work spanning 9 months and then a lifetime.
It is called labor when we bring someone into the world. It’s called that because it is hard, never ending work. But isn’t the work just as hard if not harder when someone leaves this world? Why don’t we have a neat and tidy name for this transition? Grieving isn’t the same. To me that’s a small piece of it all. Why can’t this be called Labor-part 2 or Labor the next phase? How is this different for a man who, while an intrigal part of the process, really doesn’t labor with a baby? I just think this is such an important piece of life and one that while I absolutely, without question, hate and would give anything not to be going through, feel honored to have the stamina to labor through.
So I will take today as a celebration of how far I have come in the past months. I will grab hold of my small victories as I embrace the love, passion, sadness and hurt I still and will continue to have in my heart. Many have told me that “holidays will never be the same”. They are correct. They will never be the same. But just as the season may have the same name, many of us have the same name, the turning leaves come from the same trees, nothing at anytime is the same as it was the time before. I will do all I can to embrace the changes in my heart and head and in the world around me. I will embrace the labor of my life and be better for it.
I hope so.
Labor Day is yet again upon us. The day is set aside to celebrate unions and workers. To me it has always been the celebration of the end of summer. The last picnic, the last trip to the beach and the last days before school starts. This holiday was always a touch bitter sweet for me. It seemed to be the last time my neighbors all got together before we all become closed up for the winter. With school, work, sports and other activities filling up the calendar again, we will have only sporadic Friday Family & Friends fire attendance. The hard work of yet another school year begins.
I’ve been thinking a lot about labor in another sense lately. My nephew and his wife recently had their first baby. She went through a very long and painful labor but as is the plan, their son was born healthy and happy. This event has had me reflect on my own labor with my children. My daughter was as she is in real life. Tough, determined and ran the show at her pace. I remember going to the hospital late on a Wednesday evening. “Yes”, they told me, “active labor”. This was a very good thing… I had made 2 previous trips to the hospital, only to have labor stop. We were on our way to bringing the most fabulous creature into the world for all to see. On Thursday evening, I had still not made significant progress. It was decided that I would be sent for an x-ray to see if they could determine if my daughter was too big to deliver. Keep in mind I was in active labor. We went to X-ray and when the tech met us, I swear he looked to be 15 years old. Without so much as a glance at me, he told me to hop up on the table, lie on my side and put my knees to my chest. He then mentioned I should hold my breath. This kid was maybe 5 feet tall… my husband, all 6 feet 4 inches calmly walked over to the tech and mumbled something… I don’t know what it was but suddenly this kid couldn’t do enough to keep me comfortable. The x-rays were not conclusive so I labored until Saturday morning when my daughter was born via c-section. As they placed her in his arms, a light passed between them, their own connection that will never be broken. My husband was the calmest I had ever seen him during those days of laboring. Every so often he would tell me he needed a break and step out. He would come back rejuvenated about 10 minutes later. Each time he left, he seemed to come back fresher than when he had left. It wasn’t until years later that I find out he had a cooler of beer in the car and was running downstairs for “re-freshments”.
Our wonderful son came along just a little over a year later. As I was prepped for a repeat c-section, my late husband knew I was nervous. As we all took our places in the operating room, my sweetie tried to calm me down. With his cheek pressed to mine, he sang a little song to me. He joked with me. He teased me. He told me how he loved me. I so clearly remember looking in to his beautiful eyes and feeling my heart swell. I remember realizing l love this man more than I ever thought I could love another human being. It wasn’t just in that moment that I loved him. It was deep and unending. As soon as they delivered our son, he was placed in my husband’s hands. I saw the same light pass between them as I had seen pass between my daughter and her father. I was proud of my labor, proud of what I had accomplished with this hard work. Hard work spanning 9 months and then a lifetime.
It is called labor when we bring someone into the world. It’s called that because it is hard, never ending work. But isn’t the work just as hard if not harder when someone leaves this world? Why don’t we have a neat and tidy name for this transition? Grieving isn’t the same. To me that’s a small piece of it all. Why can’t this be called Labor-part 2 or Labor the next phase? How is this different for a man who, while an intrigal part of the process, really doesn’t labor with a baby? I just think this is such an important piece of life and one that while I absolutely, without question, hate and would give anything not to be going through, feel honored to have the stamina to labor through.
So I will take today as a celebration of how far I have come in the past months. I will grab hold of my small victories as I embrace the love, passion, sadness and hurt I still and will continue to have in my heart. Many have told me that “holidays will never be the same”. They are correct. They will never be the same. But just as the season may have the same name, many of us have the same name, the turning leaves come from the same trees, nothing at anytime is the same as it was the time before. I will do all I can to embrace the changes in my heart and head and in the world around me. I will embrace the labor of my life and be better for it.
I hope so.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Saturday 9/5/2009 Cultures
I had the most wonderful evening last night. An old friend and colleague has been in touch through Face Book for months. He and I have always … clicked. We have the same sense of humor and same passion for life. This man is an Arab-American and about 15 years younger than I am. He has been a great source of comfort to me since I lost my husband… Just a side note, I hate that term and am going to attempt to stop using it. My husband isn’t lost… lost indicated the ability to find…or not knowing where something is. I believe I know where he is and I will not find him for what I trust will be a long time. Anyway, I had not seen my friend in 3 years. Our careers took us down different paths, but our connection has been the same. We send e-mails and texts but very rarely speak on the phone. He does not patronize or coddle me in anyway. If he doesn’t know what to say, he says nothing. He knows great details of my life and I of his. We have often talked of getting together.
We decided to meet for coffee. I live near one of the largest Arab-American areas in the United States. He invited me to meet with him and some friends at what he called a coffee shop in the heart of this neighborhood. I have to say, I’ve never been to a coffee shop that offered valet parking. Maybe in Hollywood or some other place that’s common, where I live… not so much. This wasn’t a “coffee shop” this place was a coffee world. I’m not saying it had lots of coffees but it was a huge gathering spot. A hot bed of Arab-American socializing. When we first met, it was just him and I. He gave me a fabulous hug and I remembered how I had always loved the smell of his cologne. He commented on my perfume. We sat inside and waited for a table out on the patio. The café was beautiful, alive with colors; cobalt, reds, greens. The patrons were infants to elders. I’ll admit I was uncomfortable at first. But the discomfort was all me. No one was looking at me or acting as if I didn’t belong. It was a beautiful night, complete with pre-fall, semi-crisp air and a brilliant full moon. I tend to be a bit blunt and I ask a ton of questions. I asked him how his life was and that opened us up for a candid discussion on where we really were in our emotional well being. He is newly divorced for the 2nd time. We talked about our children. A table on the patio became available. We stepped out into the most welcoming outdoor café I have ever been in. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the night. Heaters were taking off a bit of the chill and people of all shapes, sizes and ages were talking, laughing and enjoying a casual Friday evening. This time of year is very special to this community as it is the middle of the observance of Ramadan. As we settled in to easy conversation, we were joined by a young gentleman. Both men hugged and kissed each other’s cheek. I noticed that this happened over and over again on the patio as friend greeted friend, family welcomed family. I was introduced by just my name, no additional moniker or stipulations as to who I was or am. The conversation was easy, talk of dreams and desires, discussions on current events and future plans flowed. It was so comfortable and relaxing. Coffee was ordered and more friends arrived. These were not people who I had met before but many were childhood friends of my colleague. As each person joined our table, everyone stood, hugged and kissed. I noticed when 3 beautiful young ladies joined us; all the men at the table stood and continued to stand until they had welcomed each girl to our table. It was such a gesture of respect to these girls. It appeared to be such common practice that I seemed to be the only one caught off guard. The age range at our now large table was between 21 and 48, but based on conversation and reaction… I may have been the only one that noticed any age range at all. School, work and family discussions dominated and everyone had such passion and delight in what everyone else had to say. There was no saying things for pure shock value. No rude comments… everyone was treated as though they had something valuable to say. When there was a reference to something I may not have understood, one of the guys on either side of me just casually leaned over and brought me up to speed. No one ever made me feel as if I wasn’t part of the group. They even began to include me in discussion regarding post Ramadan activities.
I’ve talked before about the neighborhood I grew up in and how, while not even close to perfect, it was the catalyst for who I am today. One amazing thing about my street was its diversity. We didn’t use that word then and we didn’t know we were not the norm. What we did know was that we had an opportunity. We had an opportunity to bridge some gaps. I was raised in the 60’s and 70’s, a turbulent and life altering time. Civil Rights issues, the war in Viet Nam and all sorts of other ills were pressing down on America. In my little middle-class corner of the world, I knew what I heard on television but little else. I had no first had knowledge that there should be any issue with someone’s skin being lighter or darker or someone choosing to follow the teachings of one religion over another. I was taught that if someone was a good and kind person, that was all that mattered. We routinely spent the 1st night of Hanukah down the street… I’m one heck of a Dreidel player… We knew all about Passover and our friends spent time with us on Christmas and Easter. We attended church services at our neighbor’s churches. I’ll self disclose this for the world to see… I will put money down that we were the only family in our town who came home from Mass every Sunday to find a Lox Box from the local Kosher Deli on our door step. Talk about cross culture! You don’t know life until you’ve smeared cream cheese with chives on the inside of a still warm onion roll. To get the full effect and complete the cross culture experience, you should actually still have just a hint of Communion wafer stuck to the roof of your mouth.
So with these experiences under my belt, I should not have been so surprised by my pure enjoyment last night. The company, atmosphere and communication were all so satisfying. These people liked me for me. Not because I worshiped the same, was their age or knew their relatives. They looked at me and saw a kind woman, not a widow or a catholic or even an Irish/German American.
Ramadan is observed during the 9th month of the Islamic calendar. During the 30 or so days, fasting is done daily from dawn until dusk. It’s a time to reflect on excess, ill-nature and/or sinful aspects of your life. Doing good deeds and rediscovering your patience, modesty and spirituality are cornerstones of this observance.
Shortly after my husband died, my friend’s father became very ill. My friend asked for prayers. I offered my prayers but asked if it was appropriate for me to pray to my God to help someone who believes in a different God. My friend said, with all the love and kindness he has always shown me, “prayers are answered by whatever God you believe in. Your God and my God are both good Gods. Your prayers will help my father”. I do believe that God, yours, mine and anyone else’s, answers prayers. I believe he puts people or things in our paths for a reason. I also believe he moves people or things out of our paths as well. Maybe someday, we can all walk down the same path, together.
I hope so…
We decided to meet for coffee. I live near one of the largest Arab-American areas in the United States. He invited me to meet with him and some friends at what he called a coffee shop in the heart of this neighborhood. I have to say, I’ve never been to a coffee shop that offered valet parking. Maybe in Hollywood or some other place that’s common, where I live… not so much. This wasn’t a “coffee shop” this place was a coffee world. I’m not saying it had lots of coffees but it was a huge gathering spot. A hot bed of Arab-American socializing. When we first met, it was just him and I. He gave me a fabulous hug and I remembered how I had always loved the smell of his cologne. He commented on my perfume. We sat inside and waited for a table out on the patio. The café was beautiful, alive with colors; cobalt, reds, greens. The patrons were infants to elders. I’ll admit I was uncomfortable at first. But the discomfort was all me. No one was looking at me or acting as if I didn’t belong. It was a beautiful night, complete with pre-fall, semi-crisp air and a brilliant full moon. I tend to be a bit blunt and I ask a ton of questions. I asked him how his life was and that opened us up for a candid discussion on where we really were in our emotional well being. He is newly divorced for the 2nd time. We talked about our children. A table on the patio became available. We stepped out into the most welcoming outdoor café I have ever been in. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the night. Heaters were taking off a bit of the chill and people of all shapes, sizes and ages were talking, laughing and enjoying a casual Friday evening. This time of year is very special to this community as it is the middle of the observance of Ramadan. As we settled in to easy conversation, we were joined by a young gentleman. Both men hugged and kissed each other’s cheek. I noticed that this happened over and over again on the patio as friend greeted friend, family welcomed family. I was introduced by just my name, no additional moniker or stipulations as to who I was or am. The conversation was easy, talk of dreams and desires, discussions on current events and future plans flowed. It was so comfortable and relaxing. Coffee was ordered and more friends arrived. These were not people who I had met before but many were childhood friends of my colleague. As each person joined our table, everyone stood, hugged and kissed. I noticed when 3 beautiful young ladies joined us; all the men at the table stood and continued to stand until they had welcomed each girl to our table. It was such a gesture of respect to these girls. It appeared to be such common practice that I seemed to be the only one caught off guard. The age range at our now large table was between 21 and 48, but based on conversation and reaction… I may have been the only one that noticed any age range at all. School, work and family discussions dominated and everyone had such passion and delight in what everyone else had to say. There was no saying things for pure shock value. No rude comments… everyone was treated as though they had something valuable to say. When there was a reference to something I may not have understood, one of the guys on either side of me just casually leaned over and brought me up to speed. No one ever made me feel as if I wasn’t part of the group. They even began to include me in discussion regarding post Ramadan activities.
I’ve talked before about the neighborhood I grew up in and how, while not even close to perfect, it was the catalyst for who I am today. One amazing thing about my street was its diversity. We didn’t use that word then and we didn’t know we were not the norm. What we did know was that we had an opportunity. We had an opportunity to bridge some gaps. I was raised in the 60’s and 70’s, a turbulent and life altering time. Civil Rights issues, the war in Viet Nam and all sorts of other ills were pressing down on America. In my little middle-class corner of the world, I knew what I heard on television but little else. I had no first had knowledge that there should be any issue with someone’s skin being lighter or darker or someone choosing to follow the teachings of one religion over another. I was taught that if someone was a good and kind person, that was all that mattered. We routinely spent the 1st night of Hanukah down the street… I’m one heck of a Dreidel player… We knew all about Passover and our friends spent time with us on Christmas and Easter. We attended church services at our neighbor’s churches. I’ll self disclose this for the world to see… I will put money down that we were the only family in our town who came home from Mass every Sunday to find a Lox Box from the local Kosher Deli on our door step. Talk about cross culture! You don’t know life until you’ve smeared cream cheese with chives on the inside of a still warm onion roll. To get the full effect and complete the cross culture experience, you should actually still have just a hint of Communion wafer stuck to the roof of your mouth.
So with these experiences under my belt, I should not have been so surprised by my pure enjoyment last night. The company, atmosphere and communication were all so satisfying. These people liked me for me. Not because I worshiped the same, was their age or knew their relatives. They looked at me and saw a kind woman, not a widow or a catholic or even an Irish/German American.
Ramadan is observed during the 9th month of the Islamic calendar. During the 30 or so days, fasting is done daily from dawn until dusk. It’s a time to reflect on excess, ill-nature and/or sinful aspects of your life. Doing good deeds and rediscovering your patience, modesty and spirituality are cornerstones of this observance.
Shortly after my husband died, my friend’s father became very ill. My friend asked for prayers. I offered my prayers but asked if it was appropriate for me to pray to my God to help someone who believes in a different God. My friend said, with all the love and kindness he has always shown me, “prayers are answered by whatever God you believe in. Your God and my God are both good Gods. Your prayers will help my father”. I do believe that God, yours, mine and anyone else’s, answers prayers. I believe he puts people or things in our paths for a reason. I also believe he moves people or things out of our paths as well. Maybe someday, we can all walk down the same path, together.
I hope so…
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Thursday - 9/3/2009 Lonely
There is a big difference between being alone and being lonely.
Being alone is when no one else is there. There are times you need to be alone. In the bathroom comes to mind. You should vote alone as well. I have always enjoyed time alone. When my late husband lived 600 miles away during the week, I was alone, as was he. But to my knowledge, we were never lonely. We missed each other and often called or e-mailed just to say…”I’m missing you”. But we always knew the other person was there or would be there in a matter of days. We knew there would be touches and hugs and the continuation of our connection.
I began to feel lonely almost as soon as he was taken to ICU. I knew I would never be or feel the same. I knew my house would never welcome this big wonderful man through its doors. I knew that while I was not alone, I was lonely. There is a place that I used to tell my husband was my favorite place in the world… the space between his shoulders and his chest… my head fit perfectly right there… perfect for snuggling and sleeping. I miss that place. I am lonely for his touch, his voice and his smell. A few days after he died, I was in our, my bedroom watching TV. I heard a loud crash. It was close by, in the house and it startled me. As I began to investigate, I discovered the entire side of our walk in closet that held his clothes had fallen off the wall. All of his suits, shirts, jackets and pants were in a heap on the floor. I took this as a huge sign that I should get rid of his…stuff. As I began to fold and pack up his items, I came upon a dress shirt that I always loved to see him in. I brought it to my face and took a big long deep breath. It smelled like him. A combination of Old Spice body wash, deodorant and after shave filled my senses. I started to cry. I couldn’t inhale enough to get this smell deeper inside me. I rubbed the shirt on my cheeks… remembering the feel his arms had when he wore this and encircled me in a hug. I was lonely for the man I loved. After calming down I continued to box up the clothing. I had decides to keep the shirt. I don’t know why but I thought that smell would last forever. It has not. Nothing does. I am not lonely at times when one would imagine. I’m fine at night. But in the morning I have difficulty even getting out of bed. Now, don’t take that as a tragic sign. My routine has been the same in the morning for many years. My husband loved to ease into the day. He would get up 2 hours before he had to leave for work. I could tell time by what step in his routine he was at each morning. I knew I could sleep until I heard the water shut off in the shower. By that point he had taken the dog out, watched the morning news, had breakfast and made coffee. On his way up to take a shower, he would bring my coffee to me. He would leave it on the nightstand ready and waiting. No one makes me coffee now. I have no human alarm. I cannot tell what time it is early in the morning.
A few years ago I worked the 4pm – 1am shift. I would get home about 2am. It was brutal in the winter. I would get into the house and be unable to shake off the chill. I mentioned one day that I was having trouble getting to sleep because I couldn’t get warm. The next night when I came home, there was a note on the table. The note simply said… look in the dryer. The dryer was running... odd. When I opened the dryer, very unsexy but very fluffy and comfy flannel pajamas were tumbling in wonderfully warm air. I changed into the warm, soft, and welcoming gown and headed upstairs to bed. Every night during that winter, I had warmed up jammies to snuggle into when I arrived home. I miss that.
I am lonely for someone who cannot wait to hear about my day. Someone who only feels they can relax from their day, after they have hugged me. I am lonely for someone to cook for... I’ve cooked for many people since he died but it isn’t the same. I am lonely for someone to pick up the slack, help make decisions, feel my forehead to see if I have a fever. I am lonely for someone to hold my hand. I am lonely for someone to make it all better. I am lonely for a connection to another human.
I am well aware that this is part of the process. The process of grieving and of life. This cannot be fixed by anyone other than the person who I believe will be put in my path to walk through the next steps of my life. When will this happen? I don’t know. I will pray it is soon, but I do not have a copy of the grand plan for my life. I believe it will happen when I am ready, when my kids are ready. I will be lonely but not alone. My wonderful family and friend will never allow that. I am eternally grateful for their support. I know this will not last forever. I believe God wouldn’t make me the person I am, with the needs, desires and feelings I have… to remain without a partner for longer than I can handle.
I hope so.
Being alone is when no one else is there. There are times you need to be alone. In the bathroom comes to mind. You should vote alone as well. I have always enjoyed time alone. When my late husband lived 600 miles away during the week, I was alone, as was he. But to my knowledge, we were never lonely. We missed each other and often called or e-mailed just to say…”I’m missing you”. But we always knew the other person was there or would be there in a matter of days. We knew there would be touches and hugs and the continuation of our connection.
I began to feel lonely almost as soon as he was taken to ICU. I knew I would never be or feel the same. I knew my house would never welcome this big wonderful man through its doors. I knew that while I was not alone, I was lonely. There is a place that I used to tell my husband was my favorite place in the world… the space between his shoulders and his chest… my head fit perfectly right there… perfect for snuggling and sleeping. I miss that place. I am lonely for his touch, his voice and his smell. A few days after he died, I was in our, my bedroom watching TV. I heard a loud crash. It was close by, in the house and it startled me. As I began to investigate, I discovered the entire side of our walk in closet that held his clothes had fallen off the wall. All of his suits, shirts, jackets and pants were in a heap on the floor. I took this as a huge sign that I should get rid of his…stuff. As I began to fold and pack up his items, I came upon a dress shirt that I always loved to see him in. I brought it to my face and took a big long deep breath. It smelled like him. A combination of Old Spice body wash, deodorant and after shave filled my senses. I started to cry. I couldn’t inhale enough to get this smell deeper inside me. I rubbed the shirt on my cheeks… remembering the feel his arms had when he wore this and encircled me in a hug. I was lonely for the man I loved. After calming down I continued to box up the clothing. I had decides to keep the shirt. I don’t know why but I thought that smell would last forever. It has not. Nothing does. I am not lonely at times when one would imagine. I’m fine at night. But in the morning I have difficulty even getting out of bed. Now, don’t take that as a tragic sign. My routine has been the same in the morning for many years. My husband loved to ease into the day. He would get up 2 hours before he had to leave for work. I could tell time by what step in his routine he was at each morning. I knew I could sleep until I heard the water shut off in the shower. By that point he had taken the dog out, watched the morning news, had breakfast and made coffee. On his way up to take a shower, he would bring my coffee to me. He would leave it on the nightstand ready and waiting. No one makes me coffee now. I have no human alarm. I cannot tell what time it is early in the morning.
A few years ago I worked the 4pm – 1am shift. I would get home about 2am. It was brutal in the winter. I would get into the house and be unable to shake off the chill. I mentioned one day that I was having trouble getting to sleep because I couldn’t get warm. The next night when I came home, there was a note on the table. The note simply said… look in the dryer. The dryer was running... odd. When I opened the dryer, very unsexy but very fluffy and comfy flannel pajamas were tumbling in wonderfully warm air. I changed into the warm, soft, and welcoming gown and headed upstairs to bed. Every night during that winter, I had warmed up jammies to snuggle into when I arrived home. I miss that.
I am lonely for someone who cannot wait to hear about my day. Someone who only feels they can relax from their day, after they have hugged me. I am lonely for someone to cook for... I’ve cooked for many people since he died but it isn’t the same. I am lonely for someone to pick up the slack, help make decisions, feel my forehead to see if I have a fever. I am lonely for someone to hold my hand. I am lonely for someone to make it all better. I am lonely for a connection to another human.
I am well aware that this is part of the process. The process of grieving and of life. This cannot be fixed by anyone other than the person who I believe will be put in my path to walk through the next steps of my life. When will this happen? I don’t know. I will pray it is soon, but I do not have a copy of the grand plan for my life. I believe it will happen when I am ready, when my kids are ready. I will be lonely but not alone. My wonderful family and friend will never allow that. I am eternally grateful for their support. I know this will not last forever. I believe God wouldn’t make me the person I am, with the needs, desires and feelings I have… to remain without a partner for longer than I can handle.
I hope so.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Tuesday 9/1/2009 Cards
I’ve never been a big fan of card games. I do enjoy a good game of War and can now sympathize with the title character in the game Old Maid. Poor girl! But I’ve never enjoyed Bridge or Euchre or Hearts. Maybe it’s that I have never been a great strategist. My mind always too scattered to keep track of the cards I had in my hand.
I find I have grown tired of explaining my situation to certain people. I have a low threshold for people and companies that won’t take what I say at face value and understand. And basically leave me alone. A great example would be… I was at Macy’s a few weeks ago during a sale. The very young teen aged girl asked if I would like to open a change and save and additional 30%. I said no, but thanked her for the offer. She rang up an item and sang “you could save $15.00 off this blouse if you open a charge”. Again I thanked her and declined. She continued to ring my items and just before she gave me the final total she said… “Now really, you are just being silly… you could be saving almost $30.00 if you’d just open a charge”. I looked at her and smiled but declined again. I paid my bill and as she handed me the bag, she said “If you change your mind, you can get that savings anytime today if you open a charge”. I know retailers ask their sales people to offer credit accounts. I get that and I understand she was just doing her job but, I sort of snapped. I moved very close to the sales girl and in a low voice... played the only card I currently had in my hand… the widow card. I said… “I cannot open a charge because my husband just died and it makes my credit looks like crap... you can understand too much debt to income ratio”. Her face said it all. She was shocked and off balanced. I wasn’t mean or rude. I was direct. She just looked at me as I walked away. My guess is that she will take no for an answer with the next customer afraid of what card may be laid out in front of her.
With my new title as Ms. vs. Mrs. I have used other cards in addition to the widow card as well. I am currently dealing with a company, well here’s what happened today… Again, I’m being transferred to another representative for assistance. This is the 4th person I have spoken to in the hour I’ve been on this call. This is the 9th time since April I have contacted this company in an attempt to handle some of my late husband’s financial affairs. Each time I call, I am told the same thing… “We’ll transfer you to our deceased account holder department”. Imagine that job title on a resume… Manager, Deceased Account Holder’s… could be a tough management gig. Frankly I don’t believe that there is actually anyone who works in that department. I have never spoken to anyone and have left 7 messages. The recording tells me that someone will contact me within 48-72 business hours. I assume that they mean that time clock begins when I’m finished leaving my message. I must be wrong. So this time I have refused transfer to the non-existent team and want to speak with a Supervisor. So here I sit. On hold. Waiting. Every few moments the rep comes back on to tell me the Supervisor is still assisting another caller… “I’ll still hold”, I say. I’m sure this is now a game of will… will I hang up before this rep can find someone who isn’t tied up or simply uninterested in helping me? Well I won’t hang up and didn’t. A sleepy sounding person finally came to the phone and before I even could begin my questions she stated, “I’ll have to transfer you to the deceased account holder’s team”. NO! Ok I have to play my cards and play them well… I tell her that I too work in a call center and that I want all my calls since April pulled and reviewed. I want her name and the name and contact information of the department head her boss reports to. I will seek reimbursement for my time and trouble for the numerous calls I have wasted in attempting to clear up this account for them. I also state that this is not my debt and legally I am not responsible to pay it. I’m just doing the right thing. For good measure, maybe my ace in the hole, I state indignantly that I will be contacting the media about this company’s poor treatment of a young widow just trying to do what’s right. Well, well, it was time to rake in the chips… seems the last card I played was the winner. My questions were answered the account was closed and I will never have to nor want to deal with that company again.
I won’t even mention the companies that have told me they couldn’t help me close my late husband’s account, until they “speak with the account holder for authorization”. I told them that if they are able to get in touch with him…please, have him call me.
I should feel victorious, but I don’t. I feel like I’m cheating in the new game my life has become. I feel as though I add to people’s stress. I feel like I’m being smug. I hope I never become comfortable with this type of behavior. I hope to return to the nice, kind and polite woman I’ve always been. I’d like to do that as soon as possible. I’ll need other people to cooperate. I think they can…
I hope so…
I find I have grown tired of explaining my situation to certain people. I have a low threshold for people and companies that won’t take what I say at face value and understand. And basically leave me alone. A great example would be… I was at Macy’s a few weeks ago during a sale. The very young teen aged girl asked if I would like to open a change and save and additional 30%. I said no, but thanked her for the offer. She rang up an item and sang “you could save $15.00 off this blouse if you open a charge”. Again I thanked her and declined. She continued to ring my items and just before she gave me the final total she said… “Now really, you are just being silly… you could be saving almost $30.00 if you’d just open a charge”. I looked at her and smiled but declined again. I paid my bill and as she handed me the bag, she said “If you change your mind, you can get that savings anytime today if you open a charge”. I know retailers ask their sales people to offer credit accounts. I get that and I understand she was just doing her job but, I sort of snapped. I moved very close to the sales girl and in a low voice... played the only card I currently had in my hand… the widow card. I said… “I cannot open a charge because my husband just died and it makes my credit looks like crap... you can understand too much debt to income ratio”. Her face said it all. She was shocked and off balanced. I wasn’t mean or rude. I was direct. She just looked at me as I walked away. My guess is that she will take no for an answer with the next customer afraid of what card may be laid out in front of her.
With my new title as Ms. vs. Mrs. I have used other cards in addition to the widow card as well. I am currently dealing with a company, well here’s what happened today… Again, I’m being transferred to another representative for assistance. This is the 4th person I have spoken to in the hour I’ve been on this call. This is the 9th time since April I have contacted this company in an attempt to handle some of my late husband’s financial affairs. Each time I call, I am told the same thing… “We’ll transfer you to our deceased account holder department”. Imagine that job title on a resume… Manager, Deceased Account Holder’s… could be a tough management gig. Frankly I don’t believe that there is actually anyone who works in that department. I have never spoken to anyone and have left 7 messages. The recording tells me that someone will contact me within 48-72 business hours. I assume that they mean that time clock begins when I’m finished leaving my message. I must be wrong. So this time I have refused transfer to the non-existent team and want to speak with a Supervisor. So here I sit. On hold. Waiting. Every few moments the rep comes back on to tell me the Supervisor is still assisting another caller… “I’ll still hold”, I say. I’m sure this is now a game of will… will I hang up before this rep can find someone who isn’t tied up or simply uninterested in helping me? Well I won’t hang up and didn’t. A sleepy sounding person finally came to the phone and before I even could begin my questions she stated, “I’ll have to transfer you to the deceased account holder’s team”. NO! Ok I have to play my cards and play them well… I tell her that I too work in a call center and that I want all my calls since April pulled and reviewed. I want her name and the name and contact information of the department head her boss reports to. I will seek reimbursement for my time and trouble for the numerous calls I have wasted in attempting to clear up this account for them. I also state that this is not my debt and legally I am not responsible to pay it. I’m just doing the right thing. For good measure, maybe my ace in the hole, I state indignantly that I will be contacting the media about this company’s poor treatment of a young widow just trying to do what’s right. Well, well, it was time to rake in the chips… seems the last card I played was the winner. My questions were answered the account was closed and I will never have to nor want to deal with that company again.
I won’t even mention the companies that have told me they couldn’t help me close my late husband’s account, until they “speak with the account holder for authorization”. I told them that if they are able to get in touch with him…please, have him call me.
I should feel victorious, but I don’t. I feel like I’m cheating in the new game my life has become. I feel as though I add to people’s stress. I feel like I’m being smug. I hope I never become comfortable with this type of behavior. I hope to return to the nice, kind and polite woman I’ve always been. I’d like to do that as soon as possible. I’ll need other people to cooperate. I think they can…
I hope so…
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