Christmas Day 2017

There are at least a ½ dozen squirrels playing leap frog and chasing each other all over the backyard, leaving trails in the snow. The cardinals, in pairs, are feeding at the bird feeder as if it were their last meal. Steam is rising from the heated water bowl. 

It's Christmas morning – and the world outside my window is as it should be – quiet, sunny, snow covered as if  powdered sugar exploded all over everything.

By this time of the morning there should be open boxes with gifts spilling out of them, piles of torn wrapping paper everywhere – ribbons and bows a jumble on the floor – a merry mess – coffee cake crumbs littering the table next to the half drunk cups of coffee, the egg bake already in the oven.  And the pups sprawled out on top of this glorious disarray.

But not today -  it is not as it should be. Six plus months and I still have a hard time believing that he is gone forever… 

The tears have a mind of their own - they come and go as they will – there is no stopping them.  The sorrow is so deep – sadness is a permanent part of me – and I suspect will remain deep in my soul til I breathe my last.

In all fairness, though, I have been comforted by the most unlikely people – friends of friends, my new church family, friends old and new.  And I am grateful. It helps, but doesn’t erase the grief. Nothing can. Not today. Probably not ever.

Somehow I thought that I would be able to sail through Christmas without a second thought, or at least with minimal angst.  Wrong.

Glenn loved Christmas. He was the one that always put up the outside lights and decorations -  Santa snuggling the angel.  He was the one that always put the lights on the tree that we would cut down together.  He would always help with the gift buying and even the wrapping. He was the one that got the Christmas cards addressed and signed.

He was the one who would always wrap 2 lumps of coal for me to exchange for a thoughtful gift.  He was good at picking out gifts that he knew I would like ( well, most of the time!) He was the one who would put an orange and nuts in my stocking because that’s what my mother used to do.

Its not fair – not fair that the stockings hanging on the mantle will not be filled – well, except for Hunter’s… there is no one to fill mine with coal, oranges and nuts.  No need to fill his and Vespa and Rocky won’t need any more chew toys either.

It’s not fair that the cards I receive now are addressed only to me. The ones I give, signed with one name….

It’s not fair that it’s so quiet I can almost hear the ghostly footsteps of dogs and spouse no longer here……

But grief and sadness do not know of fairness – I know that, but still…………I know I’m not alone in this – but still…………it’s not fair.

In fact, it’s got wrong written all over it………..

But I will spend time with family today – sharing laughter and maybe tears - a meal together. A communion of sorts…and we will remember those who are no longer with us ....and they are legion…..

Is this how Mary felt on the 1st anniversary of her son’s birth after his death?

I imagine she did.

Dignity................

Today we would have been married 471 months – but we will not celebrate this achievement.  Glenn died on June 12, 2017 – 6 months and 4 days ago. Less than a  month after his 66th birthday.

Glenn died – I did not ‘lose’ him.

I’ve ranted about this before, but it seems that the further I travel on this journey of mourning, the more intolerant I am of not speaking the truth or hearing it.

Every time I hear, or read posts, or commentaries on grief, regardless of where they are, or who wrote them, stating that the loved one is ‘lost’, I get flippin’ mad. It’s like nails on a chalkboard.

‘Why?’ you might ask.  So let me explain. Before I begin, the disclaimer is this – if this offends you, don’t read any further.

 To talk about the death of a loved one as something we have ‘lost’ does death a disservice. That’s one. Second, our deceased loved one is not an object that one can ‘lose’, like as library book, or a set of keys.

And third, we are not being honest with our language, nor are we respecting the dignity of death.

Allow me to explain.

When we (that’s all of us) claim that a loved one is lost it implies two things – first, that somehow, we are responsible for the loss.  If we lose our keys, it is through our own carelessness.  We set them down and didn’t pay attention to where we put them – That’s on us… My bad as we used to say.

So to say that ‘I have lost my husband…’ somehow implies that I was responsible for the loss.  And that is absurd.  I am not responsible for his death.  I did not cause it, it is not my fault. Bad things happen to good people – shit happens.

And second, this terminology objectifies our deceased loved one.  He or She becomes an object, a thing.  And you and I know that our loved ones are not things, they were people with whom we shared our lives.  Our loved ones are not objects. They were living, breathing human beings. And as such deserve our respect.

And third. I feel strongly, that as a society, and even as a church, we do not honor dying and death with the dignity that it deserves. We do not do a good job of talking about it before it happens. We do not, as a whole, plan well. We do not prepare others or ourselves for the inevitability of death. We don’t have the ‘what if’ conversations. ( we did have these conversations, and often). We don’t allow ourselves to recognize our own mortality. We keep a stiff upper lip and pretend that we are strong when we are not. And so when it happens, we use all of the euphemisms that we can conjure up to avoid the pain of talking about it and dealing with it head on.  We blindly assume that we are immortal – or 'I’ll get to it later'….'or I don’t want to upset ……………….(fill in the blank) by talking about dying…

We are not honest with our language – we are not honest about expressing our feelings… “ I’m fine , thank you very much…’, even when we are not. Not only is this unhealthy from a psychological perspective, it is also unhealthy from a spiritual perspective.

Have we suffered a loss? Yes – the loss of a relationship that was meaningful and important – but we have not  ‘lost’ our loved one. At least in the Christian faith, we should know where they are anyway – with God eternal, however you want to define that.

If we, as Christians, believe that God is with us no matter what our journey, if this God is a comfort and a strength, full of mercy and grace, why are we afraid to talk about dying and death?  It is inevitable – no one gets out of this life alive.

And so, to treat our loved ones as inanimate objects, to presume responsibility for their death, to not honor the dignity of death, to not be truthful with our language, is on a fundamental level, disrespecting life as well.

This journey of grief and mourning is the hardest thing I have ever done. But I will not demean or disrespect my husband’s life, or anyone else’s, by disrespecting their death.

And so I will call out (with love, of course!) anyone who uses language that I feel is dishonest. I will do what I can.  And yet having said all of this, I know that most people are trying to be a comfort - they are not trying to be disrespectful  - they just don't know what else to say. All the more reason to have these conversations.

Glenn’s life – and the lives of your loved ones - deserves no less.

Hunter reads my mind.............

‘…at the edge of understanding…’ that’s part of what the intro to my blog says…like at the edge of a river, lake, like Jesus often at water’s edge… at the edge of understanding.

I’m still a long way from understanding any of this.

Because this is NOT getting any easier….5 ½ months and it is not any easier – in fact it seems harder some days.

It’s the little things these last few days… His Pandora station with Sinatra crooning love songs – had to turn it off.
Remembering dancing in the living room to those same songs once upon a time…
Conversations about not nothing…
Always asking him what he wanted for dinner…

But then eating dinner alone – again…
       
This past weekend, Thanksgiving, was #2 of the 3 significant days this year without Glenn.  Our 39th anniversary in September – got through that. Thanksgiving – got through that. Thanksgiving with family was good. But…there was an obvious gaping hole in the festivities…Thanksgiving is not such a little thing, it is/was my favorite holiday, but I got through it with  a struggle. And yes, I remember being told that if your life is complex so is your grief – but that is not helpful … not now.

I don’t know if I can do this anymore – and yet I know I must… live life by doing it, I was told once. Easy for you to say, I think to myself - you didn’t just say goodbye to your life partner….

And now Christmas is rearing up and I don’t know if I can do it… I did put out a few decorations – but without the requisite Christmas music in the background – always the same 5-6 CD’s with Bing Crosby and the Nutcracker Suite – but not this year…There is a tree, actually 2 small ones clustered together. I can’t do what we always did.  Outside decorations? No one is coming over anyway – so why bother….

But I did order Christmas gifts for family – so are the “I did this’s…’ enough to offset the ‘I don’t know if I can do this anymore’?

It’s a crap shoot.  I do know my heart is not in it… if I could find a place to hide til sometime next year I would.  And yet – I also think about going back to the places we traveled to once upon a time – but why?  Ya can’t refry an omlette…

I’ve thought about making new traditions – that’s helpful and healing, right? Like travel to altogether new places?  Doing the holidays differently – maybe it won’t hurt so much if it is new…? No harm in trying, I guess…

And I am back to work – so I have to pay attention to the liturgical season – Advent. A season of waiting expectantly for the miraculous to happen – and so do I. Wait for the miraculous to occur, that is…healing, a sense of peace….

That would truly be a miracle – to set aside the sadness that I think will be my constant companion from that day to forever…there are no emojis to capture the emotion………


“Hey Human?”
“Yes, Hunter?”
“ I heard you thinking………..
“Really – you heard me thinking?   How could you know – I was writing, not talking out loud!!”
“Well, I’m pretty smart that way…”
“Ok, so?”
“Well, you know, you are never really alone….‘cuz you have me!!!”
“Well, yea, I know that, Hunter… And you are a presence to be dealt with!
“And I make you laugh…and I keep you warm in the morning…”
“Yes, Hunter, you surely do.”
“So what’s the rub?”
“Well, it’s still hard to wrap my head around the fact that my special human is not here – I miss him…”
“How about you invite people here who have no place to go? Or maybe help other pups that don’t have a human?
“How about I just help other humans who have no special human? You’d be ok with that wouldn’t you?”
“Well, yeah!!  I love people!!”
“Yes, Hunter, I know you do…”
“Maybe you’re on to something… let’s work on this…………….”
“OK, I’ll go answer the door…!!”

Maybe………

Raw.............

I know, it’s been awhile - but today is 5 months and 4 days, but who’s counting?   It would have been 470 months married today.  My head has been disconnected – but my heart is still a mushy mess.

Raw - like a half-baked chicken or a bitter onion – this is supposed to get a bit easier – a bit less like a war zone – a bit less…period.

But it is not.

Floods of water cascading down my face at odd moments-ouch.

A snippet of a song…ditto.

An empty gnawing at my heart – this isn’t the way it was supposed to be…. I still can’t wrap my head around this – is this how I will feel forever? That’s a long time.  And forget about walking hand in hand with Jesus along the golden cobblestones – I can’t go there - not yet. Will sadness define me for the rest of my life? I think so…but I hope not.

A workshop on self-care meant to be healing – but it is not. How can I engage in self-care when there is no self to care for? Not literally, obviously, but figuratively. My self was wrapped up in us. There is no one to hold me accountable… Hunter is good, but not that good, well except for the needed walk….

And now? Who cares if I eat my veggies – or drink enough water – or drink less – or sleep more – or exercise more – or………….

Raw – like a half-baked chicken…..ick.

Yet, in spite of all of that – it’s back to work I go……Healing? I hope so.
Comforting? Maybe. An escape from myself? Maybe. A focus on something outside of me? Yes.

So healing?  I hope so.

But still – raw – like half-baked chicken.   Ick.

“but you still have me...’ says the wise Dude, as he curls up at my feet under the desk.
“yes, I know, Hunter and I hope for a long time…but I also know life can change in an instant – nothing is guaranteed…”
“well, I’ll try not to do anything stupid, but you know, we think about stupid differently… what seems right to me seems stupid to you…”
“yes, I know, Dude… which is why I’m always calling you back in the house…”
“and why I always answer – and come in even when I don’t want to…”
And, yeah, I know – there should be no shoulds… but we do them anyway…”

But, yeah, raw – like half baked chicken……………….ick.

Glenn was always good about coming up with lyrics to meet the demands of the moment – and so there is this…
Barbara Mandrell (one of his favorites)  ‘Sleeping Single in a Double Bed’.

Yup –pretty much sums it up…………. raw………

Hunter wonders .....................

The Dude...

“Human ?”

“yes Hunter – Dude?”

“you’ve been gone a lot lately…”

“yes, I know… I’ve gone back to work…”

‘Why”

“well, cuz,  I need to, Hunter…  I need to be with people, and I need to have something important to do…”

“So…… I’m not important?”

“ Well of course you are – but I can have more than one ‘important’…”

“Oh….”

“So  - how often will you be gone?”

“ Not all that much, really,  a couple of mornings or afternoons a week and Sunday morning…. We’ll still have time for walks and snugs  and ball in the backyard…………and all of that -  even a car ride if you don’t bark…”

“oh – ok – I guess…….you’re sure you won’t forget me – or leave me alone too long?”

“Of course not, how could I forget you?   It’s you and me against the world now…cuz our other special human isn’t here anymore and neither is Vespa…”

“I know – I miss them too…   even though I don’t show it….”

“ Yeah… it does get kinda quite around here – even when you bark…”

“Just doin’ my job, Human…”

“I know, Hunter…………….. me too.”

a new spin on stewardship..........[

Yes, it’s Halloween, and yes, it’s been a weird day.   A cloak of undefined and unexplainable fear keeping me wrapped no matter where I go. Maybe it’s the thought of going back to work – not sure I’m ready – and not sure I’m not.

Maybe it’s the overwhelming thought of taking care of the stuff that all of a sudden demands attention – like the smoke detector battery buzzing at 1:30 in the morning… Really? 1:30 AM?  Like it couldn’t wait til 7:00AM? Of the water softener on the fritz, or the car needing an oil change, or……….fill in the blank.  Difficult? No – But the, once again, realization that I have to do it myself.

pinterest

Add to this mix a niece (out of state) with  serious health issues. Add to this the upcoming holidays (I know, it’s a ways away, but still…)  Add to this all of the other deaths and struggles of mine and others. And did I mention going back to work? There is that.

But there have been bright spots – coffee with friends, borrowing a friends’ husband to help with the to do list. A sympathy card from a neighbor I barely know.  A few cute kids coming around for Trick or Treat…

And then here is this…….Some of you are familiar with the writer Frederick Buechner.  Well, he has a new book out, A Crazy, Holy Grace, the Healing Power of Pain and Memory. Many of the essays are from prior works in which he writes about the pain of suffering – death primarily.  The death of a loved one – in his case a father by suicide.

But it was the first essay that got my attention and it has been rolling around in my head for a few days…… He talks about the universality of pain – and that life is terminal (not a new idea). But then goes on to explain how we need to be good stewards of our pain. That how we deal with  loss, pain, suffering, determines how we live (my words, not his).  We can choose to let it overwhelm us, we can choose to stuff it and ignore it, in which case our lives are diminished and in a sense, we, too die.

Or we can be good stewards of our pain. Work our way through the maze of it and turn straw into gold.

He then goes on to explain the Parable of the Talents as a way of understanding this idea. For Buechner, the talents are what life gives us – and what we do with these experiences is what matters. “To live a buried life is to say you have not lived your life at all.” And isn’t that what God wants of us? To live the life we have been given to the fullest? “If you bury your life-if you don’t face, among other things, your pain- your life shrinks.  It is in a way diminished.  It is in a way taken away.”

There is more (you’ll have to read the book!) and I’m still trying to wrap my head around all of this.

And maybe that’s it – acknowledging the pain – sharing it with others – being honest about the fact that it sucks – it’s not all ‘suck it up, buttercup.’  It’s hard work and it hurts and it often seems as if it gets harder, not easier.

Unfortunately, neither our society, nor our church deals with any of this very well. Platitudes about my loved ones returning to their heavenly home are not helpful for me.  But fortunately, there have been many conversations with friends, new and old, some with similar experiences and some not, but who get it and can listen and not be scared away by the pain of it all… not be scared away by my cloak of fear…this cloak that often feels like Harry Potter’s cloak of invisibility.  I sometimes feel invisible as if my grief has erased me from the world.  A friend once described her grief as being ‘outlined by grief.’ I would describe mine (often, but not always) as being made invisible.

It’s been 4 1/2 months – and no I have not ‘gotten over it.’  I don’t think I ever will, really…tears still pop up at the most inopportune times – anxiety and fear burrow themselves deep in my gut -  and sometimes I still can’t breathe. But I still get up every morning – Hunter sees to that – and face the day. Do I have a choice? Yes.

“So – are we going out now, Human?”
“No – Hunter, not now - it’s dark – so maybe tomorrow if it’s not too cold…”
“Well, you’ll just have to bundle up and put on a coat, right?”
“You are so smart, Hunter….”

Hunter continues...............

I’ve numbered all of my blogs – this is # 73 - not all have been posted – but most. It’s been a long 4 + months ……….

But tonight – remember those ice cream things with the swirly chocolate? Probably from the Good Humor truck………

That’s my brain tonight.  A swirl of  thoughts and emotions. As I’m on the floor with Hunter, he looks at me and says; “your eyes are all shiny and wet - what’s up, Human?”

“I’m just sad, Hunter…sometimes it’s just too much…”

“but we had a good day today, didn’t we?”

“well, yes we did.”

“at least it was for me – I played in the backyard while you DID WORK. I barked at squirrels all day, we took a walk, I got a treat (or two!), a couple of great meals, snuggles on the bed while you took a nap.  You even took me for a ride IN THE CAR!  You started a PROJECT that I can’t help with (except to lay at your feet and get in the way). It doesn’t get better than that!!”

“Well, that’s good for you, Hunter, but I still miss My Human – and I still miss Vespa too….and I know there is nothing I can do about it…it’s just the way things are now...”

“I know, but we had a GOOD DAY…”

“You’re right, as usual Hunter. We did. But I still get very sad…”

And then as I was sitting at the kitchen island after the dishes were done, I noticed, not for the first time, this:

We had stopped with the traditional gifts giving long ago – neither one of us really needed anything.  However……fun stuff was……..well, fun.   This was an Easter gift – a  Lamb Pen.  And it writes really well!

A toaster cover for Valentine’s Day ! Yes, really………..

Silly… yes…but. It meant we were each thinking about the other. Which we did – always. It was always about the other – even when we didn’t really feel like it.

And of course, there were THOSE moments…. We all have them. But now I miss even those………..

Oh – to have a real heart felt argument!  Or a debate about the next vacation………….or even the smallest decision, like what to cook for dinner, or watch on TV.       

I miss all of that.

And then some.

So what to do?  Pffffffbrttt – I don’t know.  Suck it up, buttercup?  No, that’s not the answer. ‘Why?’ you might ask?  Because it doesn’t work… Even raking the leaves today reminded me that we used to do this together…….I’d rake – he’d burn. Or whatever…….

Can you work together by yourself?  No, stupid, you cannot.

“But Human, we still have me?”

“Yes, Hunter, I do.  And I am grateful.  Really I am. You keep me grounded, keep me in the moment, keep me in the here and now... and I am grateful… however, I still miss MY human - Glenn. And I know I always will…………

And my eyes are shiny and wet…………….but, yes, we did have  a good day, Hunter and Me.

Communion shared

Dinner with friends several times this past week – mostly women – most understanding that the thirst of grief and mourning is never quenched.  Each in their own way, of course, but knowing grief and mourning nonetheless. A longing for what was and never will be again – but shared.

A prayer said, a birthday celebrated, friendships strengthened.  Conversation – deep and whimsical – silly and sacred as only friends can do.  Spiritual, sometimes theological, often pointed - ‘really – what do you mean by that?’ As only friends can do.

Wheat of the harvest broken and shared – communion.  The fruit of the grape – drunk and shared – communion. A meal shared at the Table – communion.

And isn’t that what friends are for?  The silly and the sacred?   The whimsical and the serious? Darkness pried open by the light…. Communion. Darkness splintered by shards of light….communion.

The broken heart and the healed one…. communion.

Where two or more are gathered….communion.

Communion…. with community….in unity….

And shared. As in 'I Am there among you'…………among us.

One ....

Just a reflection………….

As I was eating dinner – alone – but with his jazz selections on Pandora in the background – this came to mind: ‘One is the Loneliest Number.’  Remember?  I looked it up: covered by Three Dog Night, but written by Harry Nilssen.  1969. The year I graduated from High School (yikes!)

It was not written about being alone due to a death – but that is how I hear it now– so look up the lyrics.  One, is indeed a lonely number.

Dinner was good – grilled a steak with onions, baked potato, a glass of Malbec and my ever-faithful companion at my side: my Hunter- Dude waiting for a scrap of something………However – it was alone. Again.

And I got to thinking…………….this was suggested to me, by – yes – that wise person.  That if I would not suggest to someone in the throes of mourning, that they ‘get on with it – deal with it – get over it – get on with your life, etc., etc., etc.,’  (and I would never say those things to another human being), then why would I say them to myself? Why would I hold myself to a different standard? 

Good frickin’ question……………..

As a pastor, social worker, mental health counselor, I always attempted to meet the person where they were – and not impose any ‘should’s on them.  So why do I do that to myself?

Good frickin’ question……………..           Why indeed…….

It’s kinda like a preacher writing that sermon that she needs to hear…….

The hard part is the listening.

Today was a decent day, as days go. Errands run and accomplished, dog to the park, some yard work done, a nap, but still a lot of down time. What did we/I do before? I don’t know but it seems that the days were fuller - more robust - not empty or devoid of companionship - life filled.   And maybe that’s it – that’s what is missing.  Companionship.

Even for an introvert, other significant humans are necessary and even desirable ( well, some times!!). Friends and family are great – but they don’t live here.

I was also reminded that everything I do for the first year will be new – and I know that – I’ve even said it myself – but living it is another matter altogether.     And I don’t like it one bit.

Patience has never been my #1 virtue.

One is the loneliest number………… ( ok – I’ll do it for you. But you can also find it here or on YouTube)

http://www.metrolyrics.com/despacito-lyrics-luis-fonsi.html

One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
Two can be as bad as one
It's the loneliest number since the number one

No is the saddest experience you'll ever know
Yes, it's the saddest experience you'll ever know
Because one is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
One is the loneliest number that you'll ever know

It's just no good anymore since you went away
Now I spend my time just making rhymes of yesterday

Because one is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
One is the loneliest number that you'll ever know
One is the loneliest number
One is the loneliest number
One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do

One is the loneliest number, much, much worse than two
One is the number divided by two
One
One is the loneliest number

But even harder than this is not shoulding on myself.

And the band played on……………..

a not so fiery rant - Don't call me a widow...........however ..........

WIDOW – how I hate that word.   I was commiserating with my therapist about this and recalled this event:

Shortly after Glenn’s funeral, I was talking with an HR person regarding his teachers’ pension.  She had to make a phone call to get information, and she said, “ I have Glenn’s widow here and she wants to know…blah, blah, blah.”

A gut punch if there ever was one.

I hadn’t used that word to describe myself – and to hear it from a stranger was, as devastating as finding him unconscious on the bathroom floor.

‘Why?’, you might ask.  Well, I’ll tell you.

I looked up the definition.  And the dictionaries agree that a ‘widow’ is a woman whose husband has died.  There are other minor meanings, but this will suffice.   One source stated that it comes from a Latin word meaning  ‘bereaved.’  This one I can deal with -  this one is genderless. This one is accurate. I am bereaved.

So think about it – in our scriptures there are 122 references to the word widow or its derivative.

One hundred and twenty-two.  And none (as far as I can see) directly from Jesus. But the jist of our scriptures, is that a widow – as with an orphan – is to be cared for because she has no resources to care for herself – i.e.. NO MAN to care for her.

‘Widow’ has a negative connotation, as does the word ‘orphan.’ Someone whose ONLY caregivers are gone.  Parents or husband -  you get the drift.

All well and good in the 1st century.

We are now in the 21st.  And yet, not much has changed in terms of our language and how society uses words and how we understand them even on an unconscious, gut level.

Well, it’s time we became conscious. It’s time we got out of our gut.

Words have power – ask anyone who has been bullied, made fun of, verbally abused, put down – you get the picture. “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words never hurt me…’ is not true.  Words do hurt.  Big time.

I may be a widow according to the dictionary – but do not use that word to describe me.

‘Why?’, you might ask.  Well, I’ll tell you.

Just because my husband, life partner of 38+ years has died, passed away to another (?) place, is no longer physically alive, however you want to describe this, does not mean I can no longer care for myself.

Having a husband, as wonderful as that was, did not define who I was/am as a person.  Being a wife was only one aspect of my being/identity/sense of self.  Important? Yes. But all of it? No. I, like all other women out there, am more than the sum of my various and sundry mismatched parts.

I was capable of self-care and was self-sustaining before him and I will be after him.
And - knowing Glenn - that is what he would want for me. To be uniquely me – whatever that means. To be who God created me to be.  To be undefinable.  As we all are: Undefinable. ( He would certainly agree with that word!)

So maybe it’s time -  for all of us -  to think before we speak.  It will take effort, it will require that we put the other first(!), it will require that we understand our language and the underlying meaning of words and the impact that it has on the hearer.

My therapist explained it this way (a very wise person!): Our brains have a limited amount of energy with which to work.  And so it is easier for us humans to put things in boxes, in pre-arranged categories ( I’m paraphrasing),  in order to conserve energy. It takes much more energy to think morally and ethically (i.e. outside the box!!) than to just accept what suits our best interests. Well, duh!

http://starpoempickjuly.blogspot.com

So – am I ok with Glenn’s death? No. I still have a long way to go to work my way through all of this.  But in the meantime, do not call me a widow.  Is there a better word?  I haven’t come up with it yet.  So, for now, I am a woman whose husband has died – and is struggling to make her way in the world that does not understand what that means for me. Nor, I suppose, does it care.

So for all my sisters out there whose husbands have died, this one’s for you. You will prevail -  and you will persist. In your own way and in your own time.

And so will I.

another fiery rant........Please Don't continued...

Some time ago I wrote, and posted, about many of the things people say that are meant to be helpful, but for me were not.

I forgot one.

I’ve seen it all over social media, and while not directed to me personally, it makes me more and more angry every time I see it.  Because, for me, it is simply not true. I normally don’t respond to what I consider to be inane nonsense on social media – but this time I can’t be quiet.

If what I have to say offends you, well, suck it up buttercup, I’m getting to old to keep my mouth shut.

“Everything happens for a reason.”    Seriously?

What is the ‘reason’ that a young child lays in a hospital bed for weeks on end because a distracted truck drive didn’t see him? What lesson is to be earned and by whom?

What is the ‘reason’ when a sister, friend, parent, child dies by their own hand? What lesson is to be learned and by whom?

What is the ‘reason’ for the devastation and deaths in California or Montana or Puerto Rico or the Gulf Coast? What lesson is to be learned and by whom?

What is the ‘reason’ my husband, and others, die, suddenly and unexpectedly, leaving grief in their wake? What lesson is to be learned and by whom?

What is the ‘reason’ for a terminal illness at a young age, leaving families financially and emotionally and even spiritually, devastated? What lesson is to be learned and by whom?

Seriously – what is the reason?

As human beings, capable of logic and analytical thinking, (well, most of us and most of the time) we tend to want to know that what happens to us has meaning. That life has a point to it -  even events that are painful. But finding meaning in the events of our lives and saying that things happen for a reason are two different things.

I do not believe that we have a God that purposely causes tragic events to happen in order to teach us something. That’s cruel.

I do not believe that we have a God that purposely causes wonderful events to happen in order to teach us something.  That’s cruel.

Can people be caring and compassionate in the midst of tragedy and loss? Yes – and often.  Can people be selfless and loving to their neighbor in the midst of devastation and despair? Yes – of course.

But that is not the same as saying that everything happens for a reason.

Because, at least in my world view, that is simply not true.

So, I will add this to the ‘Please Don’t…’

Please don’t tell me that everything happens for a reason – because it doesn’t.

together - no more

metal art purchased from an art fair in Dixon, 2017

Yesterday I wrote, but didn’t post, about the struggles I’ve had these last two weeks… days filled with a sadness so heavy, there have been times I could barely move, let alone think.  And function? Not well…   

Yesterday was 4 months from THAT day.

To say it has been rough is an understatement - and  it has been compounded by Vespa’s demise and the death of 2 colleagues, on top of all the other losses of friends and family these past four months.

It seems that each subsequent loss only makes the prior ones all the more raw, painful, almost impossible to bear. The sum is always more than simple addition, loss seems to multiply, like rabbits, or a different system of numbers.  2 + 2 does not always = 4, this time – more like 40.

And so today I packed up Hunter and his accoutrements, (he does NOT travel lite…) and hit the road – no specific destination in mind – I just needed to be gone.  I also wanted to acclimate him to traveling for a length of time – prep for the future road trips.

Well, if it hadn’t been for the doggy Xanax, it would have been a disaster. But eventually, after chewing his leash apart and trying to drive, he calmed down and we were all good.

And so I headed north and west and ended up in Bellevue, Iowa at the park just outside of town.

As I wind my way up the hill to the lookout point, I see an elderly couple walking along the road. Slowly, both bent over from age, but upright enough and walking nonetheless. Together.  In the park. When I pass them the first time – no wave, no acknowledgement.  When I pass them later as I leave – a smile and a wave - nature lovers all - and they had seen me walking Hunter – so I must be ok if I’m a woman alone and have a friendly dog… right? Right. Of course.

And then it hit me…… this is what WE used to do – this is what WE had planned to do for years to come.  Walks in the park, together, sometimes holding hands sometimes not, but together nonetheless. Together in our dotage.  Like this couple. It seemed obvious to me that they had been together a long time… just the way they were with each other. Comfortable, at ease, familiarity born of years, a history shared, a life lived: together.

Now was I reading too much into this split minute view of another couple? Maybe, but I don’t think so.

And it hit me – that gut punch that takes your breath away - waves of sorrow crashing over me: no more, never again.  Whether I find companionship at some point is not the issue – the time remaining in my life precludes a 38+ year relationship that speaks of this kind of comfort and familiarity.

No more, never again.

But then… I stop at the grocery store on my way home – and run into another new widow.  A woman I know – her husband too – who died suddenly with no forewarning – no time to prepare for the inevitable.

 Death rears its untimely head yet again. 

And so I offer words of condolence, inadequate, I’m sure.

We share our communal grief – a hug – and I’m on my way and she hers …

‘No more…’ I want to scream.  Stop already – enough is enough…….. !!!

And then I remember, ‘oh yeah, God is not a micromanager… She doesn’t just yank people out of life – nor does she ‘fix’ things that are best left up to us.’  Although a positive fix would be nice now and then…thank you very much...

But still, the ‘no more, never again …’ is hard to accept.  For me, for the new widow in the grocery store, for the countless others who have loved and lost, grieved and mourned. 

I know I am not alone – but still, the ‘no more, never again’ is almost impossible to bear.

Hey Human..............

I know something is up when he tries to get in my lap, climbing over my coffee cup and iPad.

“hey Human…?”

“yes, Hunter-Dude (that’s his middle name), what is it?”

“you’ve been running around here like crazy, so I haven’t had a chance to ask you…”

Charlie Brown and Snoopy 

“Ask me what…?”

“Something doesn’t seem right……it’s been awfully quiet… more than usual… and the girl dog? The one that smelled so nice? The one you called ‘Vespa’? Where is she?”

“Oh, Dude, I had to say goodbye to Vespa…she was sick and wasn’t going to get better….  And so I had to let her go be with Glenn…you know…the boy human who lived with us…”

“Oh…… so it really is just the 2 of us?  I wasn’t just barking to hear myself bark the other day? They are not coming back? Ever?”

“No, Hunter, they are never coming back… but they both have a special place in my heart…and we will always remember them - you said so yourself, 'cuz their smell is still here, remember?”

“Of course I remember, and I do still smell Vespa…her scent is all over the place…and there is another one too, one I don’t know...”

“That would be Rocky – her half-brother. We adopted you after he died, ‘cuz we didn’t want Vespa to be alone…and we were used to having 2 dogs live with us.”

“Oh.  Will you have to say goodbye to me someday?”

“Yes, we both will die someday…and say goodbye… but let’s hope it is not for a long time.”

“Ok. Well, as long as that is settled, can we go for a walk now?”

“Sure…, I’ll get my shoes and jacket – you get your leash………..”

Closets .........................

no it really doesn't look like this!

He was following me around like a 3 o’clock shadow. Back and forth between the bedroom and the laundry room. His big brown eyes looking at me as if to say, ‘what in the world are you doing?’

“Good question, Hunter, I ask myself that often.”

Going through the closet – his side anyway – sorting through shirts and pants and jeans, dress shirts and sweaters and t-shirts - making piles - all to be washed before I gave them away.

And finally Hunter said, “you aren’t gonna give them ALL away, are you? Because if you do, it’ll be hard for even me to smell his scent. You have to leave something for  me…”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that – but you’re right – I should keep a few things. And there are some I’d want to keep anyway.” And so I do - for Hunter!

We are taught that when we are baptized we are clothed with Christ – and those words are repeated at funerals - and so it is.  Invisible clothing that stays with us our whole life long.  But as humans living in community with one another, we wear visible clothes. Clothes to keep us warm -  to help us stay cool – to look ‘just right’ for that special occasion - clothes for work and play.  And after a lifetime, they accumulate (all by themselves, I think… like rabbits breeding?…)  But when the body is no longer in need of them – what to do?  Give them away… to be put to good use elsewhere by someone elsewhere.

And so I did – going through the closet – remembering when and where he wore this or that – remembering gifts given.  Touching each item as I gently take  it off the hanger to be washed – then folded – then set aside.

I’m not one for sentimental attachment to things – not usually anyway. So I decided it was time.  They were doing no good just hanging there… and I had found a resource for men and women to get clothes and other necessities at no cost to them. I had wanted to find a resource for men to get business attire, clothes for interviews and that kind of thing – but it doesn’t exist – at least not around here – and so this was the next best thing… and I know he would have been ok with this – more than ok actually – glad that he could help, even with something so simple as a pair of slacks and collared shirt for a job interview.

But it is just one more chink in my armor… which isn’t very thick to begin with. And Hunter must know what’s up -  the only time he leaves my side today is for SQUIRREL.

I’ll need to continue the sorting - I just couldn’t do it all at once – but that is for another day. And it will be another day of remembering - a day of remembering a lifetime of memories stored in the fabric of his life.

So Hunter is right – I do need to keep a few things – and not just for him - but for me too - at least enough to slow down the unraveling – to slow it down, ‘til I can begin to reweave my life, using the fabric of his.  I don’t know whether his is the warp or woof – it doesn’t really matter. After 38 + years there is no way to separate the threads of his life  from mine.  Our life together was of one piece - like Jesus’ garment. But I will claim it, it’s all mine now.

And so I sort through his clothes, remembering and beginning the reweaving process.  His clothes are off to another place – and so am I - I just don't know where that is yet.

And Hunter says, “but of course you’ll keep me, right?”

“well, of course, why wouldn’t I”

“It’s just you and me now, Human, we have to take care of each other…”

 “Hunter, you are so smart…  Good boy!!”

Hunter says......cont'd.

Hunter said, "…why are you crying?”

And I said, “.....’cuz I’m sad, Hunter,  I miss Glenn…”

 “oh yeah,”  he said, “ the boy human that lived here with us?”

“yes, that’s the one….”

“but he is here. I can smell him…”

 “well, that’s great, Hunter, but I can’t anymore…”

“that’s ok, I’ll do it for you….  You see, smells never go away. They may fade a bit, but they are always there, at least for us dog types… and other animals too.  It’s only you humans that can’t smell very well… and that’s how we know things, by what our noses tell us, and I’ve got a pretty big one…(and yes he does!).  And he is still here,  ‘cuz I can smell him…… everything he has ever touched has his smell all over it.. it’s everywhere….and it won’t go away – ever. I’ll always be able to know that he was here… "

“well, I guess I’d better keep you around then huh?”

“but of course, why wouldn’t you?”

Hunter, “you are so smart…  Good boy!!”

Hunter says...............

When I come home, no matter how long I’ve been gone (5 minutes?) Hunter does his rabbit dance – twirl, jump, repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat.

Hunter is always glad to see his human.  (Vespa was too, she was just much more refined about it – didn’t always even get up – but always tail wag, she was 90ish already…)  But Hunter is a different story – he is only 5 in dog years  -  still very young.

However – he is wise beyond his years.

We were watching the news this evening – (dinner with Lester Holt!) and so I got down on the floor and asked him – '...+ so what do you think of all this news coverage of the shooting in Las Vegas?’
And he looked at me with his big brown eyes, licked my face and laid down in my lap, belly up.

‘Huh… so what does that mean?’ I asked.   And this is what he said…

‘Ya know..all of this over excitable talk about what happened is not doing anyone any good – yes there was terror, a bad guy killed and hurt humans , but humans responded by showing their best -  humans helping other humans…and that is a very good thing.  Those humans did not deserve to die or get hurt.  And you do need to remember and honor those who got hurt or died.  It’s what you humans do. And it’s a good thing. Really. But, ya know, you keep me from hurting squirrels and those humans who walk by and the mailman and the UPS driver and the occasional raccoon and those random interlopers that I don’t tell you about, by keeping me fenced in – for my own good.  I can bark at squirrels, but not hurt them. Why can’t people do that?  You can bark at people – disagree – but you don’t have to hurt them…  Now I’m not suggesting that all of you need to be fenced in…. but… maybe fencing in the weapons?  Keep them away from people who don’t know how to be good with other humans…..? just sayin’.

And so I asked him this…’ so what should we do, us humans…?’ And this is what he said………

'Ya know how you love me?’ 

and I said, ‘yes, I know – with all my heart.  I do everything I can to take care of you… feed you, take you to the vet (ouch!) walk you, let you run (in the fenced in back yard of course), play catch with your favorite ball or stick, sleep in MY bed, take you for rides in the CAR, walks even in the PARK!’ And whatever else YOU need.’

And he said…

’exactly – you take care of me, putting yourself aside for my best interest…’

And I said, ‘ yes most of the time I do.’

And he said,’

‘exactly – when you brought me home from the shelter you said 'I DO.' A vow – like your marriage to Glenn – we take care of each other. So why can’t you humans do that all the time – with EVERYONE?

 And I said, ‘ damned good question, Hunter, I wish I knew the answer….’

‘Just because I’m born to hunt squirrels – doesn’t mean that you people are born to hunt people…just sayin’…’

free google image 

Hunter, ‘you are so smart…  Good boy!!’

broken ............

My heart hurts again… I’m broken in a thousand pieces  – like Humpty Dumpty when he fell of the wall…cracked like a shattered  mirror – like that crystal glass diving into the kitchen sink- you get the picture.

I can't think- can't focus enough to read a book – even a simple one. I start to do something and then stop – as if totally unwound, battery dead, and I wonder- ‘what the hell is happening to me?’  

Patience? Gone. Decision making? Out the window. Focus? Nonexistent. Hungry? Not really. Sleepy?' Nope. I’m. A. Mess.

With Vespa gone, the house is so much quieter than before if that is even possible. She wasn’t exactly a noisy dog…..  but even her wondering around left a musical  trail. Having to say goodbye to her – she was Glenn’s sweetie, after all - has pushed me over the top – the top of what you might ask? Over the top of grief…she was my last living connection to him in this place I call home …..And now??

Jazz light is in the background ... something to fill the void.  The required Sunday Brandy Old Fashioned at hand – ‘this one’s for you Glenn,’… I’ll drink it and probably another – but I don’t really want it. Not tonight anyway.  And I’ll putter around in the kitchen to make something to eat – ‘cuz that’s what I did/do on Sunday evening…but my heart is not in it….. I’m not even sure where it is, this heart of mine…..broken like that forgotten  toy at the bottom of the toy box? 

These last couple of days .I’ve been taking Hunter with me when I go out for errands or whatever, whenever I can.  He needs to learn how to do this too.  But I am terrified that something will happen to him – and so I am over cautious …. like a helicopter Mom.  But I am also thinking about a ‘travels with Hunter.’  Why not? Maybe I need some distance – to gain perspective? Maybe – maybe just a change of scenery – if I can make it til then….

It’s really not like me to broadcast my emotions to all the world – but I also know that if I don’t, it will be arms behind my back in a white jacket – and that is not appealing…

So maybe these are my prayers – these ramblings – you know – 'the sighs too deep for words.' 

And so it is Hunter and me.  My sister said maybe this is the start of a new book -not just a chapter – but a whole new book. Maybe she’s right – but until I know the title – I’m lost…………………… 

Broken like that toy at the bottom of the toy box.

there are no words .............

Vespa and Hunter waiting for a treat

The other day I wrote that I thought the ‘corner had turned’, but alas and alack – it has not – today (Wednesday) it made a sharp U-turn and now I’m back at square one.
The day is now over and I’m trying to make sense of it.

 6:30 this morning and I make an emergency call to the vet – Vespa is not well.
 And so I wait til someone gets here to help me get her into the car for the ride to the vet’s office.  It sucks being alone.

She can’t stand, can’t walk – legs shaking and totally disoriented … I leave her at the vet for treatment and observation – I can’t care for her in her condition – it has to improve or  ???

And so on the way home I lose it, which while driving is not a good idea.

But even more – Vespa was/is Glenn’s dog.  She was his sweetie -  and he hers.

She has what in human terms is something like vertigo – probably caused by a lesion/tumor/something on the brain. Not a good prognosis.  So a treatment of steroids to see if it will alleviate the symptoms and give her some quality of life.  I can only hope. 

But I’m already thinking the worst -1 year – 2 dogs, I husband, 1 friend, 1 other family member -  and countless deaths among families of colleagues - not to mention the anniversaries of those who have died in the past.  This month sucks. Big time.

But then there is this – dinner with a new friend who understands, she’s been there.  And a crackhead of a dog that won’t permit self pity!!

There is not enough wine in the world to make this right – or even tolerable.  Are all the days going to be like this? A turmoil of emotions and not knowing what to do?

Now it’s Friday – the vet is not calling me back – probably doesn’t want to give me bad news over the phone – and so I go to there.

The 3 days of treatments for Vespa have not helped, in fact she is getting a bit worse.  And so it is decision time.  It‘s time to say goodbye.

Fortunately a friend had offered to be with me – and so I called – ‘it’s time, please come.’    And he does.

A rag tag jumble of emotions in liquid form running down my face and myriad thoughts running through my head – ‘why isn’t Glenn here to help with this – but then, I’m glad he’s not - he would be even more of a basket case than I am I think - she was his sweetheart… his early morning companion – his walking buddy.’  And then this, ‘why does life have to be so hard?’ a rhetorical question of course – there is no answer.

But now – the quiet has gotten louder. It’s just me and Hunter – and while he does have a big personality – half of my family is now gone………

AND all of this on top of several September anniversaries of loved ones, human and canine dying. AND on top of the news that a colleague and friend died suddenly yesterday.

ENOUGH ALREADY!          STOP!!

And yes, I know the mantra, ‘if we didn’t love it wouldn’t hurt…’ but right now that is no help whatsoever.  In fact, I’m not sure what will help today – well, maybe puppy kisses and the comfort of a dog.

Because at this particular moment in time, that’s all I’ve got.

crumbs .................

I started this blog about 6 years ago as a way of reflecting on, and making observations about, (and trying to make sense of)  faith (mine), life, spirituality and the intersection of those ideas. I thought I had something to say and this seemed the best way to do it.  After a while I stopped, as I ran out of things to say. And then life threw me a curve and I felt the need to blog again – and so picked it up again about 3 months go…

When I started 6 years ago this is what I said as an introduction:

I am an ordained pastor in the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America.  My vocational callings have run the gamut from door to door encyclopedia salesperson to insurance broker to bartender to social worker to pastor.  I have traveled extensively and almost always find myself at the waters edge, on the water, in the water or flying over it.  Life isn’t just a journey, it’s a ‘trip’, where I stumble and fall, skin my knees and bruise my ego.  But it is also full of surprises, joys, disappointments and wonder.

The name of the blog was taken from what is assumed to be a comment from Martin Luther about how we are to live our lives.  Walking wet as in wet from the waters of our baptism – a reminder of how we Lutherans are to live each day – remembering whose we are and what we are about.  Children of God – living out our call to love one another.

Today something shifted in me, and maybe even turned a corner.

crumbs of life: creatingagreatday.com

I was at church this morning (good place to be!!), sitting in the first row of pews (good Lutheran that I am), in a congregation that I knew well.  And so I had a clear view of the giving and receiving of the sacrament of communion, something I usually don’t see from this vantage point. Communion was received by intinction, 2 orderly lines of people coming and going as we know how to do. As the presider was clearing the table, covering up the bread and wine, chalice and plate I noticed something.

First of all I noticed that not everything on the altar was covered - 2 chalices were left out from under the white cloth. 

 

And I noticed the crumbs. Crumbs on the floor – in stark relief against the dark red of the carpet – and everywhere - like the leaves in my backyard.  What a mess!

What a mess, indeed! A glorious mess!

And I couldn’t help but think.  Life is like that – messy. The bits and pieces of our daily lives scattered all over the place.  Bits and pieces of our lives uncovered, to be seen as only God can.

Think family dinner – Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas – any family gathering around the table and the meal. All have eaten now and conversation ebbs and flows, the leftovers languishing in the uncovered bowls and platters.  Maybe someone is even  nibbling on the leftover turkey leg. Wine is poured or coffee – laughter maybe, maybe something serious to consider – but a family gathered around table and meal. 

And if there are children? Children who have not yet mastered the art of silverware, or maybe it is Uncle John, old enough to forget the art of silverware – and so there are crumbs. Kinda like that 1^st birthday cake that the child dives into face first – hands grabbing frosting and maybe it gets to the mouth, maybe not.

You know what I’m talking about.

Crumbs – leftovers from a messy meal.

Crumbs – the results of a messy life. And life is messy – mine has been these last 3 months – and yours will to if it hasn’t already.  You know what I’m talking about.  Many of you have been there. Crumbs (or maybe the whole loaf) of despair, hurt, grief and mourning, anger, illness, sadness, frustration, and on and on………and maybe even crumbs of love and hope and faith.

Life is messy.  If you like orderly, this life is not for you. Just like with the giving and receiving of the bread and wine this morning, we do not do this thing called life alone. It is a communal affair, like that family dinner.

God calls us through the waters of our baptism to be a community, a family of faith.  God calls us to be in communion with one another. Communion – together -  with -  in union. And there was plenty of that this morning. And it felt good.

But what about the crumbs on that red carpet?  The women of the altar guild will clear and clean the table – the custodian will vacuum the carpet – willingly, all of them.  And the crumbs of our messy lives?  No - the dog will not get to these, ‘cuz God already has and will continue to do so.

God is there is the mess of our lives and s/he will vacuum up the crumbs. God will gather them up: and here is the kicker – make something new out of them, like scraps of pie dough.

‘Always being made new….’ Lutherans, remember??

God will take the crumbs of my grieving and mourning and do something with them – what I’m not yet sure -but I can wait. Don’t have much choice really.

The mourning is not over – not by a long shot – but at least I’m ok with leaving the crumbs on the floor.

So here’s to the surprises, joys, disappointments and wonder – and the crumbs………. 

Silence

I’m not sure why this is hitting me today – but it is. Have you ever wondered about why we humans talk, have conversation?   I’m not just talking about communicating that the enemy is behind you – apes and elephants and lions can do that.

No, I’m talking about face to face conversation about whatever is on your mind – or mine. 

It hit me today.  Today was a usual day – putzing around the house and in the yard, playing with the dogs, studying the pilot training handbook, dinner in front of the TV.  And I did talk to 2 people, other than store clerks (which for this don’t count). But neither short conversation was of any depth. Somewhat superficial – ‘thank you for doing…, please do this….’

And I realized that I miss it. Even Glenn’s innate ability to think out loud and drive me crazy – I miss it. And talking to Hunter and Vespa – ‘good boy or get down’ don’t quite cut it. And while talking to myself often results in a good answer – today it did not.

And, yes, coming from a true introvert, someone who does NOT relish casual small talk – I miss it.

It is way too quiet……this lack of conversation. Back in my pre-married single days – I’m not sure if I noticed… probably not because that was what I was used to. Not so much anymore.

I wrote an essay recently about silence – the silence that was deafening when I came home from that day at the hospital (you didn’t miss it, it’s not been posted). And the silence has continued… I must be getting acclimated to it but today I noticed it again.

Despite the train whistle from across the river or the cars on the road behind the forest of trees, or the squirrels chattering and forcing Hunter to bark, in spite of the noises of life all around me, it is not just quiet but silent. And yes, there is a difference.

Silent because there is no conversation. Silent because the energy in this place I call home is different. Silent because the voice of love and the voice of life is gone. And the sound of that silence is deafening today.

It is what we humans are known for – this talking to one another – in a way that no other species does as far as I  know. 

What to make of it? Nothing really, just an observation.

The silence of being one – like one hand clapping……….

"The Sound of One Hand Clapping' by Dobie
Album cover 

Puppy Kisses

Vespa - the Queen, and Hunter - the Crackhead posing for a treat. 

Ok, so buckle your belt – this one will take a while and it’s gonna be bumpy. You can get off now, if you’d rather.

I just turned off the news with the hyper-reporting of the devastation in Mexico and Puerto Rico – hurricanes and earthquakes galore. Hundreds dead and no end in sight.

I have a real problem with the hyper-vigilant reporting. This is not a new movie debuting – this is disaster. Can we calm it down a bit? We really do not need to sell more newspapers, thank you very much. There is sorrow in the world – always has been - and will be for a long long time. This should not be about ratings – but truthful and calm reporting? What a novel idea.

And then there is Hunter, missing his human as only a dog can after 2 ½ days gone -  he is in my face and lap and has been for the past few hours.

And I say to him – 'thank God you are a dog – you don’t know about the tragedy and disaster in the world.  You have 2 hots and a cot and that’s all you care about (well maybe a walk or 2 )'  – the grace of God indeed.  And he responds by cleaning my face.

But anyway, I digress… earlier this afternoon I came home from a 2 ½ day conference for leaders in my synod – a yearly coming together of clergy, some with spouses, other church leaders, to learn, to enjoy fellowship, to share meals together, to revel in the grace of God.  And we did.  We listened to a well-known resource on biblical preaching – and a well-known church musician – and it was all good.  (Where have you heard that before?)

The music, I think, was what got me.  Yes, the keynote speaker was excellent – but I’m not preaching now and so I was listening with 3/4 of an ear.

But the music.  Churchy hymns, most unknown to me, some folk music. But as music will do, something opened up in me that I didn’t know was closed. One of the hymns/songs that I heard ( I don’t know which it was, but yes there is a difference) had the words ‘father and mother ‘in it.   And I lost it. Actually I was on the verge of losing it for the entire 2 ½ days.  Tears behind the damn of my eye lids. And while I knew I was in a safe place (why else would I be here?), it’s not pretty to ‘lose it’ in public.

So I tried to be discreet, but did not go unnoticed. My colleagues knew that my husband had died suddenly 3 months prior – we keep each other informed, that’s what we do.  And so there were hugs with no words – (yes, that’s good), and questions – ‘how are you?’ meant with sincerity and waiting for an honest response – which they got in spades. (Probably to their chagrin!). And that was good as well.

But amidst the hymns proclaiming God’s grace, God’s love, no matter what, God’s abiding, Jesus abiding in us; amidst the emotional words that all hymns have,  somewhere were the words ‘father and mother.’

And it was all I could do to stay sane. My parents have been gone for a long while.  My mother – 17 years, my father 27.

Long enough to ‘get over it’ one would say.

But no.           NO.                   Not this day.

It’s been years since I have remembered them with intense emotion. But not so yesterday.
 I miss my mother. And, yes, even my father.  If Glenn had died before my mother did, we could have commiserated together – talked about the hurt and pain – but it was not to be. And stoic that my father was, even he might have been a help.

But they are no longer here – and so I can only imagine what they might say or do.

And yesterday and today  I miss them in a way that I haven’t for many years. Like a kid with a bruised knee, a child in the throes of chicken pox, a teen in angst over a betrayal, a boyfriend leaving you for another. Mothers are supposed to be there when you need them.That‘s what Mothers do!!!!!!!!

 Right??  MOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Try as I might, there is no glass of wine large enough, no box of Kleenex soft enough, no bed with covers deep enough, or bedrooms dark enough to make this better.  They are both by my side, the wind and the Kleenex,  but even adding Hunters kisses to the mix it is not enough.

And that’s the rub – I don’t know what is enough to dull the pain, the physical-emotional pain.  Don’t be fooled, folks, it is physical. Should I even try? How the hell do I know?

Today was another day of chest hurt and hard to breath. And so I didn’t – sing that is. You can’t sing when your chest hurts, there is no breath, you can’t see through the monsoon of tears, and your emotions are that untamed mustang dodging the halter.

 I knew this would be a bumpy ride – and it hasn’t let up.

And yet a wise woman asked me,’ So what gives you life now?’ And I had to be honest:  friends, family and colleagues that truly care and there are more of these that I even knew existed. But they are not there in the dark of the night or the early mist of the morning.   I can’t yet go to the God thing.  If She were to stand in front of me I not even sure what I would do – or say. So the sigh too deep for words is all I’ve got. For now.  That has to be good enough - 'cuz it's all I've got.

Yet even as I make these emotions tangible by putting them in 3D, putting these words somewhere, I still can’t quite make sense of it.  I guess all I can do is try to ride it out- like they are in Puerto Rico and Cuba and Mexico and the Caribbean  - ride out the hurricane and the earthquake and the resulting disorder.

I told you this would be bumpy – and I wasn’t kidding… but, once again,  there is not a damned thing I can do about it.

38 years and 9 months

Our wedding candle,  Sept. 16, 1978

I’ve been trying to forget what today is… but I can’t.  I’m no longer marking the days on the calendar - and so I don’t know exactly how many days it has been since THAT DAY. But 3 months and counting.

And  yet try as I might, this day keeps rearing is nostalgic head.  And after 38 years of celebrating, what should I expect?

We would have been married 39 years today.  Just that statement says a lot.  And buried within it – a cave full of emotions that I can’t even begin to name.

Are their regrets? Of course.  But in the big scheme of things – 4 decades worth if I count the ‘dating’ years - it was a good run – and Glenn would have agreed – in fact he often said so. We made it work -both of us – together. Overcoming the difficult and the awful – and celebrating the good and joyful.

So what do I do with this? I guess just remember, count my blessings because some don’t get this far.

And two shall become one – is now one again.  Remember? Marriage ends in either divorce – or death. It is inevitable.  But I feel like half – not half a person – but half a couple - like my right arm is gone/not functioning, as if it were broken.  Living alone now is like buttoning my shirt with my left hand – awkward.  Can I do it? Sure, but it takes twice as long…

Will I adjust? Get used to it? I suppose.  Do I have a choice? Well, yes I do… but I also remember our long conversations, the ‘what if’ conversations, the ‘what will you do when I am gone…’ conversations.

And so the best I can do is honor those long talks.  And yet at the same time I remember with both sadness and joy the life we had together… and try to have the life he would have wanted for me.