I just don't know

Yesterday was a pretty good day as days go lately – church in the morning where I supplied for a colleague, a commitment made a few months ago - fellowship with the folks there .. .putzing around the house when I came home… took Hunter to the dog park… took a nap… time on the deck just reflecting…grilling a steak for dinner and of course the requisite brandy old fashioned because it’s Sunday – something we almost always did...but only on Sundays…reminiscent of those archaic, but delightful, Wisconsin supper clubs.

And so I reflect – and I back pedal to years ago when I remember why I fell in love with Glenn it the first place… There are a lot of reasons and it’s all good -  but  what is front and center of my awareness is the pain in my chest -  my heart, I know, is broken.  But what does my body know that my head does not?

Someone said to me – and I read it somewhere as well – that we are numb after a tragedy/death/ fill in the blank…because it is a protection against the pain – it will come later when we are ready for it.   Well, I would just as soon get it over and done with, but I also know that it will not happen that way.

I just finished reading C.S. Lewis’ ‘A Grief Observed.’ (highly recommended). This is basically his journal of reflections after his wife died.  And the first line of the first chapter caught my attention- “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear…”

And he is spot on – and so I wonder – is that what my body is feeling even though my head can’t wrap itself around that notion?  Fear of what I’m not sure – at least not today… a couple of weeks ago - I knew – but today in the midst of a ‘normal’, sort of OK day?

Flash forward - it’s Monday – and that pain, while it comes and goes, is still there – it’s hard to breathe – big deep gulps of air – and it’s not enough…  maybe my body knows what to be afraid of? Maybe it’s just raw anxiety, life is so different now… What will happen in the next 24 hours that I am not prepared for, like THAT day 49 days ago? What will break, fall apart, need repair next? What reaching out for assistance will go unanswered?

What next?  And maybe that’s it – I just don’t know what’s next -  and that scares the hell out of me.

Grief feels like fear. No, not just ‘feels’ like – grief IS fear…

from knotevenafter.com

A tattered psyche…  that phrase came to me as I was thinking about my visit with a therapist  - yes you heard me right…(isn’t stream of consciousness great??)

I’m not in ‘crisis’ mode, but I am tattered, in shreds, in disarray, torn apart, tattered like an old teddy bear from too much snuggling, that over worn pair of shoes, that favorite t-shirt too flimsy to wash anymore.  Pick your analogy...…

Tattered… but maybe not beyond repair…

And talking with an objective listener - someone who can shine that flashlight into that part of my soul that even I can’t see... and maybe help reweave the threads of my life – or at least that’s the optimal outcome.

But really – can anyone do this for another?  I wonder if maybe it is too much to ask…? Or at the least – too much to expect from another human being?

I did feel a bit lighter as I left the office – although by time I navigated the traffic, construction and mishaps on the road that ‘lightness’ seemed to have disappeared… !!  So much for construction season….

So, yeah, construction season….what about construction of our psyche… its re-construction actually, roads are torn apart and rebuilt – usually not starting from scratch…

And I’m not starting from scratch either – I have a foundation, seems flimsy at the moment, but nevertheless it’s there. And so….

Re - constructing the tattered soul…………..
Re - weaving the fabric of my life…..… (any of you know how to weave?)
Re - working that lump of clay that is me into something recognizable  - any potters out there?
Re-threading the needle – how many of us have done that?
Re-making, as in altering a garment to make it fit……any one?
Re-vamping….. fixing a shoe…?
Re-constructing a tattered psyche… and I do hope – as in ‘God’s got this’ kinda hope, not wishful thinking…that this tattered soul will be whole again.

And as I do more of this stream of consciousness thing, I am reminded of a Japanese tradition/art form called Kintsugi – ‘golden repair’.  A broken pot/bowl/whatever, is fixed with traces of gold. The result is a piece that is stronger than before – and more beautiful because of the repaired.  This is from mymodernmet.com:

Since its conception, Kintsugi has been heavily influenced by prevalent philosophical ideas. Namely, the practice is related to the Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi, which calls for seeing beauty in the flawed or imperfect. The repair method was also born from the Japanese feeling of mottainai, which expresses regret when something is wasted, as well as mushin, the acceptance of change.

I’ve used this image for Bible studies about brokenness – and so maybe it’s time to listen to myself.
Beauty in the flawed – acceptance of change – we as a culture don’t do these things well –

but maybe it’s time to start…

Is this what God is like?

It starts out slow - a glistening on the sidewalk – quiet thunder in the distance -  the sky changes color – pewter now  - and gradually, the mist from the west.  Droplets  on the driveway highlighted by the light of the lamps long the sidewalk. The scent of the air is different– clean – crisp – refreshing after the heavy wet of the day.

 I can feel all of this in and on my body – mist - temperature – color - sound.

And I wonder – is this what God is like? (there’s that parable thing again, thank you  Gospel of Matthew…).

God is like – rain slowing making its way into your awareness…

Quiet thunder in the background – you can barely hear it – but you can feel it in your soul…

The mist – gentle on your face  

Is this what God is like? 

And then maybe, not always, but sometimes, fierce and pounding, making the dogs crazy hyper agitated… inconsolable even. Thunder louder – you can feel it in your bones… like a ?…………..you fill in the blank………..

It almost hurts – is that what God is like?

But even so, cleansing, washing away the dirt and grit, and healing - making all things new – hydrating the flowers that I just planted – watering the parched lawn.

Is that what God is like?

 It’s pretty much a toad choker now – water gushing through the downspouts – pounding on the roof and of course now the dog is in my lap – then hiding in the corners – then in and out of the bathtub…what’s going on in the recesses of his mind?

 Is this what God is like?

This week’s gospel reading – 5 little parables – every day – ordinary – at least for 1st century Israel. 

Maybe our parable for today – every day and ordinary - the rain.  Is this what God is like? Slow then fierce…slow to anger and abiding in steadfast love…?

The dog – back hiding in the bathtub – is this what God is like? Safe and secure…wrapped cozy in the ceramic tile?

My head knows what God is like these last 7 weeks – but my heart has not caught up. Thunder and lightning – God it is frightening.

And yes… I am …frightened…

Google image

help...

google image of helping

I got a phone call ( yes a real person to person phone call!) from a friend.  He called – not to  offer ‘help’ but just to be – he knows what I’m going through, having gone through it himself a few years ago when his wife died..

And so we commiserated –

But I appreciated the absence of ‘what can I do to help’  that so often gets offered – with good intentions – but………….

 Especially at the beginning, not so much these days, many asked me if there was anything they could to do help.  ‘Call me if you need anything…’ they would say – as if I would ever do such a thing.  Because, if you know me, you also know that I rarely ask for help – its just not in my DNA. But anyway – the comments were meant to be kind, helpful even, and sincere – and I took them that way. But I often responded with, ‘ I don’t even know what I need, how can I ask for help?’ and that’s just where I was.

Til now.

I know who to call if I need a plumber or electrician or lawn mower… I know how to use a phone book (really!)  to find what I need (and of course Google) but here is what I really need…

I need you to talk to one another.  You are on the honor system to do this, unless you want to include me in the conversation, which is even better.  And here is what I want you to talk about.

Life is precious – fragile  - and sacred. It is finite – we ALL will end in death. ALL of our lives will come to a crashing end at some point, some with more of a bang than others….  (Where ever you are on the eternal life spectrum – that’s a different conversation.)

And so -  if life is so sacred and fragile and precious – doesn’t it stand to reason that we would ALL want a precious and sacred death? Wouldn’t we ALL want to die with dignity?  Would we ALL want this for ourselves and our loved ones?  Does anyone really want a death that is undignified -  not respectful – not sacred?

I don’t think so.

Why do we assume that if we don’t talk about this subject, it will just go away? If you were planning a birthday celebration for a loved one, wouldn’t you do the best you could to honor that person?  Details: a cake, balloons cute party invitations, party favors - you get the drift…  So why wouldn’t we want to honor our loved ones – and yes, even ourselves, by making sure that our dying and all that takes place afterward, is honoring our sacred life?

Why not indeed.

There are enough horrific deaths that happen every day – and for the most part there is nothing we can do about them.  But this we can… When my mother died, and during the 8 weeks leading up to her death, my sister and I were able to honor her wishes because we knew what they were.  We had talked about it.  When Glenn died, I was able to honor his wishes because – yep – you guessed it – we had talked about it. We had the ‘this is what I want’ conversation -AND we had the ‘what if, what will you do when I’m gone…’ ‘how will you cope, will you remarry? Travel? Sell the house?’ conversation. 

Does that make it easier? Yes and no. Yes – because I did, and will continue, to honor his life by honoring his requests.  N o – because it still hurts that he is not here, by my side, giving me grief (no pun intended!) about somethng stupid that I did or didn’t do.

Yes – because his life was sacred. And no - because I would rather not have to do this at all. Really, friends, this is a no-brainer….

But the reality of life is that we will ALL die. We are, many of us, quick to tell someone, friend or family, what we like in a movie or restaurant.  We are quick to engage in the trivial.  And this is hard work – this ‘dying’ conversation - and I get it that many of you do not want to do this.  But it is not admitting defeat – in fact, just the opposite, I think.

It means, at least for me, that we – I, value life so much that I do not want to tarnish it with an undignified, unholy and unsacred dying and death.

As a pastor I do have these conversations with family when someone is terminally ill.  I will at least pose the questions. I do engage in the conversation.  Does it make a difference? You bet it does. Is it easy? No. But it is necessary. Think of it this way – if the decisions are up to you and you get it  wrong – how will you feel? But if the decisions are already made – and all you have to do is execute them – it’s not about you anymore – it’s not your fault, it’s not your responsibility to make the decisions in the first place - the burden is lifted.  You are just doing what you were told to do! And who among  us doesn’t do what Mother tells us to do!!

This is what I need from all of you who claim to be my friends – this is how you can help – talk about it. Talk about death and dying – it’s not being selfish to ask for what you want.  On the contrary – it is life affirming. And then once discussed – put it in a legal format, get those advance directives in writing.  Just knowing what Mom wanted isn’t enough- it has to be in a legal document. Why? So the doctor, hospital, medical team can follow through - it is not just your ’idea’, its’ what the loved one has decided for him/herself

.

Life is sacred and holy and precious. Our dying and death should be as well.  

Ok folks – tag you’re it!

Not today

It hurts – physically hurts, a broken heart, that is. Some of you know this – and now I do to. Actually I always have, but it has been awhile – and this is raw like a that scrape from Hunters paws – he didn’t meant it – but it happens……..Raw like that glass broken around your hand while you wash it - it happens ...

He didn’t meant to make me hurt like this – but it happens………..if he had been able to leave without the hurt I know he would have… but it happens … And I’m not even gonna go into the God thing here – that’s another conversation….for another day…

Minutes, hours when the pain in my chest causes me to wonder? But no – it is not my heart attacking me – it is my heart broken – like a leg after that fall from a tree – but no cast will help this break…

And then there is the breathing – I yawn, try to catch my breath – because it just isn’t there – (how do you ‘catch’ a breath? It’s not a baseball, ya know.…)

And so I gasp on occasion – I hold my hand over my heart hoping the pain will go away – anywhere but here in the middle of my body…

And then there is the headache that has lasted all day – even with the laughter at text study with colleagues (and there is always that)! and laughter and conversation with my women colleagues at lunch – we women know how to laugh… and it was good.

But not enough.

It hurts – and while I do have a high tolerance for physical pain – this is different. Aspirin won’t help, a bottle of wine might for the short term, but that obviously is not a healthy choice.

Some of you know this – grief, depression, most emotional ailments have a physical component – you know this and so do I. But  knowledge is not enough. Just the opposite, actually, because that knowledge causes us to live in our heads – and not our hearts.

Except for today. Because. It. F*ckin.’ hurts.

roiling and rolling, turbulent and angry

Rock River at Dixon, 7-24-17

 He and I used to do this often – walk along the river, hand in hand usually, on one side or the other – just to revel in the beauty and serenity.  We’d drive to the river after dinner – or maybe even get a hot dog and eat along the bank, just to be, together. Or maybe we’d go get a glass of wine before going home – or stop in the bookstore - or get an ice cream - just because.

But as I walked along the river tonight - albeit without the serenity -  and watched the river well over its banks – roiling and rolling and turbulent and angry – it matched my feelings on this night. This night after having come home from yet another family funeral – another many families devastated, saddened, grieving, mournful, by the death of a loved one.

Even the pelicans were off in a calm corner of the river -  it was too much for them  – even the fish were jumping out of it for a moments respite from the crashing water.. . but after 40 days and 40 nights of rain what would you expect(LOL)??

And I cried – at least I didn’t lose it there – but now?

And I can add to the list of things WE will never do again -  1) we would never walk this way again and 2) you know those memorial bricks along the walkway? ( It’s a Dixon thing!) Well it’s too late now for US to do this, we never did make that simple phone call to find out how to buy one  – I might someday - but not as us.

And so, on this night anyway, feelings and emotions roiling, rolling, turbulent, angry. 

And just like the overflowing river – not a damned thing I can do about it. 

he loved me anyway

He loved me anyway -  he could make me laugh even when I didn’t want to

He could make me cry and then kiss me

He had song lyrics for every silly romantic time – often at the moment when I was most angry – or bent out of shape over something stupid  - he loved me anyway

He loved me even when I made him mad – even when I said things that were hurtful -  he loved me anyway

He was silly and playful – he was the planner – he was the money manager – even tho we always talked about all of it – he had a head for it all – but I taught him to try new things- like dressing on his salad – and fish – and lamb shish-ka-bobs  - to take risks to be a bit more carefree and  impulsive and childlike and he loved me anyway

No matter what idiotic or outlandish idea I had – he loved me anyway

He supported me no matter what I wanted to do – he loved me anyway

Even if it meant disruption for him – he loved me anyway

He saved all of his allowance to buy me presents – because  he loved me anyway

He was the romantic and sentimental – because he loved me anyway 

He wanted to die first because he knew I would be ok – he loved me anyway

He went to the doctor because I said so – because he loved me anyway

He turned down a promotion because it would not be good for us – even tho it would be good for him – because he loved me anyway

He followed his dream – because he knew I supported him – he loved me anyway

He took care of me without being a helicopter husband – because he loved me anyway

He gave me my space  - because he loved me anyway

He put up with my nights at meetings or visiting the sick because he loved me anyway

In spite of our differences, and there were many, he loved me anyway

I loved him as best I knew how – was it good enough? I hope so -but regardless -he loved me anyway

He was my white knight in shining armor – because he loved me anyway

He loved me more than I loved myself

He would surprise me with little gifts – a toaster cover, really? Because he loved me anyway

We were  a couple longer than either of us had been single – because he loved me anyway

We sometimes fought like cats on crack – but he loved me anyway

Even when he probably didn't like me very much - he loved me anyway

 He loved me no matter what – and now he is gone – and there is no one to love me like that -  not any way  - not every way - not anymore – not anyway.

(photo taken at Table Mountain, Cape Town, South Africa, September 2016

40 days

 In Bible speak, 40 means a long time. Moses and the Israelites – 40 years wondering, Noah – 40 days of flood, Jesus - 40 days in the wilderness, Lent -  40 days.

Today is the 40^th day.  Lost? Check. Wondering? Check. Floating on a sea of sorrow? Check. Angry and grumpy like the Israelites? Check.  Tempted? Check. Waiting for the flood to be over? Check.

In one of my college psych classes, I was introduced to the writings  of a psychologist, researcher, author by the name of Mihaly Csikszentmihaly who identified a mental state that he called ‘flow’.  ( His book about this is titled FLOW).  We all know what this is – that period of time when you are so engrossed in what you are doing that time disappears – you are so in the moment that everything else is of no importance. Even more importantly, according to Csikszentmihaly, is that this state is a very positive one. There is more to it, but this is the essence of it.  

I’m not sure if being totally engrossed in the kind of remembering that I, or anyone else, in the midst of grief is exactly the same thing, but I couldn’t help but make a comparison. And there is some joy in my memories, but, truth be told, I’d rather wax nostalgic with Glenn than by myself… duh…

This popped into my head because I’ve been thinking about time these last few days.  Time that seems to stand still and never move – like frigid molasses. I’ll get lost in the highways and byways of my mind – the back alleys and frontage roads – get very lost and time stands still.

And at other times – it wizzes past me at an alarming speed -I’ll look up and 2,3 hours have disappeared.

It’s as if my allotted 24 hours is both not enough and too much.

40 days and it feels like yesterday.  THAT day when I came home to a house that was already different.  There was a different energy already here – a different spirit in this place.  The difference between ‘still’ water and ‘bubbly’.  The difference between wide wake and energetic, like he was even first thing in the morning – and sleepy headed like me. And time has not changed that – there is still a different energy/spirit in this place. There is a quietness here that wasn’t before…and no amount of 'flow' moments will change that...

 And I’m not sure that time will change that much either – I don’t know  - maybe…maybe you just get used to it so it feels like ok even when it isn’t…. like that job you don’t like much but keep ‘cuz it pays the bills? You know…the devil you know versus the one you don’t?

Maybe I need more time – maybe there will ever be enough time..

And then there are days when I feel like I have been doing this ‘widow’ thing for far too long – like forever.

But there are snipers of joy and friendship and comfort.… an impromptu lunch with my sister… an unexpected text or FB post from a long ago friend… a card from a stranger…an invitation to lunch… with the requisite glass of wine…

But then there are those moments when ‘time’ crashes over me like waves on a rocky shore – we along walked many of those in our many journeys – and memories that I would rather not have are front and center in my brain…. Memories of THAT morning and afternoon of the first day – and it was not good.

40 days is a very long time.

Change is in the air ...

I can smell the change in the air – sharp – crisp – the harbinger of rain - of course, the rain – actually a very fine mist – just enough to make the sidewalk glisten…for now.

 And I can hear the thunder off in the distance – it’s only a matter of time before the storm comes………..

The weather person had been chattering incessantly for what seemed like hours before I finally turned her off – enough already - stop with the talking head charade - you made your point – there’s a storm coming so stay inside!!

I love storms like the one that’s on its way – it makes me feel comforted somehow.  I don’t get upset when Mother Nature gets her panties in a bunch – I don’t get upset at the chaos and the dis-array of the stormy weather. Maybe because I used to think it was the angels bowling…  That doesn’t explain the rain – but hey – I’m only 6, I can’t think of everything!!

Maybe it helps me to know that my storms aren’t the only ones - I know we all have them – some with more thunder than others. My brother-in-law’s sister-in-law (figure that one out, but still extended family) died Wednesday – there’s another storm threatening a family.  Mother, aunt, grandmother, wife, friend, co-worker. Rest in peace, they say - and I hope she will and her family too.

 

As I sit here pounding away on the keyboard, I can still hear the thunder in the background, even with the house all closed up for the sake of the pups… although it’s not working very well, the drugs haven’t kicked in yet.

But I love storms.  I love to watch them – whether they take their time or hurry through – it ‘s comforting somehow...

But my storm?  Cue in Billie Holiday, which Glenn could do without looking it up…

Don't know why there's no sun up in the sky
Stormy weather
Since my man and I ain't together
Keeps rainin' all the time
Life is bare, gloom and misery everywhere
Stormy weather
Just can't get my poor self together
I'm weary all the time, the time
So weary all the time

When he went away the blues walked in and met me
If he stays away old rockin' chair will get me
All I do is pray the Lord above will let me walk in the sun once more
Can't go on, every thing I had is gone
Stormy weather
Since my man and I ain't together
Keeps rainin' all the time
Keeps rainin' all the time

When he went away the blues walked in and met me
If he stays away old rockin' chair will get me
All I do is pray the Lord above will let me walk in the sun once more
Can't go on, every thing I had is gone
Stormy weather
Since my man and I ain't together,
Keeps rainin' all the time
Keeps rainin' all the time

But still, I’m comforted, I’m not the only one – I’m not alone - at least not tonight.   

Alive............

I’m on the deck, the pups ever vigilant, well at least Vespa is – that’s her job. Hunter wants to sit in my lap - he knows my moods better than I do. It’s hot, sticky, muggy, the air is still, clouds rolling in for the storm that is sure to come, but I’m tired of being inside. 

And from where I sit I can’t help but see the flowers that Glenn planted, in the container he picked out.  These Daisies were planted sometime in May, and at first didn’t do well, maybe too much water, I don’t know. But since he’s been gone, they have thrived… blooming, perky heads lifting their faces to the sun, leaves bright and crisp…perfect ...and alive.

Seriously?  Really? Why now?  I suppose, why not?  At least I remember…and I suppose that’s something…….when they die back in the fall part of me will die again I’m sure of it…

never again.............

I’m sure you’ve seen them… photos of a very aged couple, hair beyond gray, veined and knobby hands, in separate beds, holding hands and drifting off to never never land together – or at least within minutes… may be hours, but soon enough.

And it does happen… he died first – he’d been sick for awhile, she died 6 weeks later. It rocked the congregation – but as many said -she died of a broken heart.  It happened with my first 2 dogs as well.  Blackie died of cancer, Sherlock – a broken heart 6 weeks later.

A recent article in Christian Century brought this all home…(Joyce Ann Mercer, July 5, 2017). And while she talked about the physical, the limitations of older bodies and the dependence versus interdependence that is a struggle with older adults, her writings about the elderly got me to thinking…

I will never know what it is like to spend time in matching rocking chairs enjoying the day, holding hands.  I will never know the delight of seeing my sweetie at breakfast or feel his breath on my face with that morning kiss. I will never hold his hand again, because he insisted, no matter what (he was the romantic, the sentimental one).

 I will never again feel the almost mundaneness of that nightly kiss- no matter what. I will never again know the joy and/or frustration of whatever he did or didn’t do. 

Of course I can remember, but it’s not the same... it’s 36 days out and I can’t remember the sound of his voice …

Never again will I have to answer his question –‘yes, dear, it matches…’  yes, dear,  you can wear that together..’ or ‘yes, dear, those are blue socks…’. 

Never again will I say …’yes, I’ll be home in time for dinner… what do you want to eat?’

Never again will he take me out to dinner, or buy me a hot dog to eat at the river…

Never again will he say – ‘so what do you want to do today?

Never again…

Never again…

Never. Again. 

Rivers

I had dinner with a friend the other night – and we were taking a trip back in time, remembering ‘the good ole’ days’ back in our misspent young adulthood.  He and his band mates practiced in our basement – and Glenn and I would always be there at their various gigs – regardless of how seedy the venue! And on the way home, I was thinking (that’s scary!) about this whole ‘life is a journey’ idea.  And I came to the conclusion that this cliché – and it is an overdone one – needs a refresher.

And so I was thinking…

I’m thinking it is more like a river.  Glenn loved rivers – even just sitting on the banks watching the water flow  southward – and whatever was floating on it… On the Hennepin Canal, quietly paddling in our canoe, on the Rock River it would be geese, pelicans, ducks, a jumping fish now and again.  On the Mississippi – the tangle of barges and tugs making their way to a port somewhere far away…  ( Ok, cue in Samuel Clemens about now…)

And so I was thinking…

A journey often means traveling to a destination – a planned trip and one with a known end. And life can be like that – our ‘end’ is always death. But life is more than just an ending. Rivers generally don’t just end- they usually flow into yet another body of water. And so they continue on, albeit in another form.

Rivers flow thru valleys, under cliffs, over cliffs dropping inches or hundreds of feet. Water crashing as it goes.  If you have ever seen Niagara Falls or Victoria Falls in Africa – you know the majesty of water falls…and the danger...

Rivers often out run their banks… flowing sometimes endlessly where they shouldn’t be, indiscriminate, with a voracious hunger devouring everything in it path.

Rivers can be soothing – a great place to swim if the current isn’t too strong – and yet they can be dangerous – flooding out homes and leaving dead and injured behind.

And so I was thinking…

Isn’t life kinda like that?  Our Christian/Lutheran faith teaches us that while the body may die, it will be resurrected and there will be eternal life. But however you make sense of that, when we die our form changes.  The body changes – we become spirit, maybe? Whatever happens, we are no longer the same. But we do continue to live on in the memories of those still alive – maybe in a legacy of some sort – and, as I’ve been told, as long as someone remembers, that person lives on.  And I believe that. I have to.

In this life we too flow through the valleys and under cliffs.  The low spots – those valleys of death where we sometimes crash and burn and then there are the mountain top experiences that revive our souls. Or maybe just an uplifting prayer spoken on our behalf………..

And then there are the times we out run our banks, take on more than we can handle, say yes to often, no, not enough. We stretch ourselves thin – often through our own doing but often not.  Like when the death of a loved one,  life partner, a spouse, a best friend, smacks you in the face – draws you out of your ‘banks,’ out of your limits of endurance, out of yourself and into another place.

And like any great flood, it takes time to retreat and retract back into place.

And, just like that river that oversteps its bounds, in life, that place is not the same as before. Maybe good, maybe bad, maybe ragged around the edges; different nonetheless.

And there are times when life is soothing – when all is well with my soul – when the sun is always shining and it only rains gently at night…when the ravages of life are far away and love reigns.

But life is dangerous, too. Despair and grief and sorrow, anger and longing; emotions roiling like that #7 rapids that is almost impossible to navigate. Life is dangerous. As Annie Dillard one wrote, we should all be wearing crash helmets.

And unlike that river that doesn’t just end, life does. Our physical life anyway. So maybe it is a journey after all… one that we all take, no one is exempt, we all are traveling to that known end. All life ends in death. But life is more than just an ending - more than the death that is inevitable. The rivers of our lives flow on endlessly.... I believe that. I have to.

466

Do we ever think, when we/you are first getting married,  or in partnership, or committed relationship, or however you define your relationship, what this will really mean? Of course not – love is in the air – and everywhere – and you look onto into another eyes.  The longing for the physical, the intimacy of touch and just being together – conversation, dreams and hopes – you know what I’m talking about – most of you anyway.

But then reality sets in – the bills, the day-to-day experiences of living together – you get mad – he gets frustrated – you yell or remain silent. It happens -  we’re human after all – not perfect.

And so it is.

But then something happens – a tragedy – a major disappointment – the death of a mutual loved one…. it happens – we are human after all… and it brings you together again.

I always tell new couples getting ready to be married that marriage is about having each other’s back – it is not about living face to face.  That’s fine for the bedroom – but not the reality of life together.  If you don’t have his/her back – who will?  It’s about being partners – together in this journey we call life, living daily back to back and side by side. None of us can do it alone, at least not very well. We all need someone. (cue in Barbara Streisand!)

Were there times when I wasn’t there for him? I’m sure… and visa versa…. But in the big picture – the long run, he was and so was I. We are human after all…

I think marriage is like flipping pancakes  - it’s all perfect and bubbly on Monday – but burnt to a crisp on Friday…  but we slog thru it and with enough (real) maple syrup (and yes that means love), we muddle  our way through.

On the 16^th of each month we celebrated our month-a-versary.  Today would have been 466 months together (you can do the math!) – 466 of months of marital bliss (well, at least most of the time!!!??).  And yes – we gave each other a card – or at the very least a kiss and a  verbal – ‘hey – happy month-a- versary, I love you…!......and we did – and I still do….

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Is it God’s will that he died?  I don’t believe that. We live in a broken world and unexpected, too soon death happens - to many of us. But as M. Craig Barnes so eloquently put it in his article in the Christian Century, all marriages will end ….. either death or divorce.

Figure out for yourself which is the ‘better’ ending………….

Let's talk..

Bastile Day, July 14, 2011, Briare Canal and the Lore River, France. A celebration.

As a 15/16 year old teen, I wanted to be a writer.  I thought I had something to say.  And I did to my private journal- for quite awhile, actually.   Then I became a pastor and I had to write often – once a month for the newsletter and also once a week – it’s called a sermon, and various and sundry bits and pieces along the way. And then I started a blog because I thought I had something to say – and for awhile I did.  I really didn’t matter if anyone read it– it was for me. I couldn’t not write what was on my mind.

 And so here I am again.  There is something about putting your thoughts on paper (or screen, same difference).  It does help to clarify – to discern – to  figure it out – when life throws you a curve ball that you cannot catch.

I just learned that a member of my extended family is now on hospice. My brothers-in-law’s sister in-law (?). Anyway, family nonetheless.

Cancer – of course. This will make 3 heart wrenching, unexpected, difficult life events in as many months.

And you know what? We, as a society, and more importantly as a CHURCH, do not do enough to prepare.  We simply do not talk about this – except in outlandish theological words that are, for the everyday, meaningless.

I know we teach and presume to believe in the resurrection of the body – it happened to Jesus and we presume it will happen to us someday – somewhere.  But what does that have to do with today – with the now of my husband’s death? Or the death of a good friend that did not necessarily believe in this theological ‘stuff’? Or the other pastor’s wife who maybe did? What about that?  
What consolation is there for the now?

I don’t know…for me, here and now, not much.

I have preached at funerals, because I do believe it, that our memories of our loved one, our sharing stories and jokes and life events of our loved one is, in part,  what we mean by eternal life.  ( I’m not sure what the other part is..).  That as long as there is a memory of that person, s/he lives.  After that? I have no clue… and guess what – no one else does either…………..

But what can we do now to help with this dilemma that everyone faces and no one is prepared for?
Let’s talk about death – let’s talk about what we think and believe – let’s talk about what we might want for ourselves – let’s talk about it.   Let’s take away the stigma  of death – it is a part of life – we know it will happen to all of us. It is inevitable. Period. No one escapes. Let’s make death dignified, let’s celebrate the life (and yes, we sorta do this at funerals), but let’s not wait til it’s too late.  I wonder if other cultures (read primitive, cuz they are not sophisticated like us) have a better grip on this. Many understand the ebb and flow of life as a continuum, one stage just naturally follows another.

And so – to echo Joan Rivers – can we talk? I’m ready – are you?

Change

Change – you know that old Lutheran (or fill in the blank) joke about change – ‘we don’t do it…’ ‘Oh yes you do ..’– or you will at some point....whether you like it or don’t.

Glenn started a project a while back – no big deal – just cleaning the deck. Except he didn’t finish it. But that was HIS job – I have my own to do list thank you very much.

And so now I have 2 to-do lists – mine and mine = change.

I did laundry the other day – how pathetic – I could put all of the dirty clothes in the machine – each batch would have been too small – no more ‘laundry day’,  now it is ‘laundry hour…’ = change.

Grocery shopping  - I only need 2 of those reusable bags instead of 6 or 7…and not very often at that…= change.

My time is all my own now – no one to answer to at home – no need to be there, if I can, when he gets home from work – no need = change.

Taking the dogs to the park was a 2 person job, as Vespa can’t get in the car by herself – and I can’t lift her – and so we don’t go, at least not the 3 of us …= change.

When I leave the house, I have to be doubly sure that all the doors are at least closed, the garage door down.  

There is no one to remind me – and so if the dogs get loose?  I don’t even want to go there… = change.

Every day presents a new challenge – a new change.  And it’s not that I can’t do these things – but many I haven’t had to for – 38 years….= change.

And so when the toilet needs repair – or the backyard fountain that Glenn loved, goes on the blink - or I can’t unhook the sprinkler from the hose, cuz it’s on too tight, I have to stop and think – ‘ok now what?’  And calling for him won’t help one little bit….= change.

Even when we had our ‘what if’ conversations, these mundane things never came up.  And why would they? You think about the important things -  finances, the advance directives and the will, maybe you even talk about how to file a  Social  Security claim – or what to do with the life insurance - but you certainly don’t talk about what to do when the toilet needs repair- or your laundry day is now an hour…or how to reset the coffee maker – because he took care of that too…= change.

I think I read somewhere that it takes 3 weeks to change a habit.  Well, I disagree -it will take … I don’t know how long it will take.  How do you undo 38 years of habits? How do you undo your life? It’s not like untying a shoe lace – and then retying it – I only have one shoe lace to work with now… = change.

There is a huge disconnect here – and frankly I’m not sure when the re-connect will happen… = change. It’s hard – and I’m tired of it already.

One Month - 30 Days

One month – 30 days. Days when time has stood still – infinite, unmoving. Dead. And days when they slam together so fast it feels like kids out of control in bumper cars.  That week is now a blur .. I don’t remember anymore who all came to the visitation or the funeral –(I know I can always look at the guest book, that’s not the point). I don’t remember the sound of his voice. What did we do all day when we were home together?

I can, however, still recall the fear of that early morning, my heart beating so fast I couldn’t breathe. My hands shaking so, it took several tries to dial 911. Times a wastin’, Vicki, pull it together…

One month – 30 days. We’ve never been apart more than 4-5 days , not counting various and sundry hospital stays – at least we could still visit….

One month – 30 days. A lifetime and yet it is gone in a blink… What have I been doing?  The necessary things – walk the dogs, feed them, of course.  Requisite phone calls to settle affairs. Feed myself – read the mail – the usual. Projects that seem to take on immense importance – but a month ago I wouldn’t even have thought about them.

I’ve often preached about chronic busyness and how we need to rest – to take that sabbath time… I should listen to my own preaching – but I can’t, at least not yet.  It‘s too hard to sit still and just be – time’s a wastin’, Vicki, pull it together.

But of course I do - once in awhile. Late afternoons on the porch in the swing that is mine when I’m in it and his when he was in it. Time passes, moves along without me, I look up and an hour has disappeared… where did it go? Notice the shift in verb tense? I do…

Where does time go when it is gone? Is it stored someplace ‘out there.’ We can’t ever get it back, right – so where does it go? Is it the opposite of matter or energy – just ‘not’ anymore? Like a soap bubble – just gone?

One month – 30 days. A lot of time to reflect - to remember, to wonder – why?  Why now?  And to wonder – what’s next?

It was different when my mother died (and my sister, too, but that’s for another time…)

My mother passed away in the spring of 2000, a different kind of stroke – and 8 weeks to get acclimated to the fact that she would be gone soon. That summer we vacationed along the Gulf coast - in a little town called Pass Christian.  Our lodging was across the street from the water, with the requisite sandy beach, sea shells and driftwood tossed round as if by a child in a tantrum. One night I was feeling particularly vulnerable, deep in grief and sorrow, really unable to do anything about it.  And so I left Glenn in the room and walked along the beach by myself – at one point even walking into the water as if to keep going.  I didn’t, obviously, keep going, and eventually Glenn joined me.   But as I walked along the beach I found a sailboat that someone had made out of popsicle sticks, complete with sail and rigging.  Whoever had made this had done a fantastic job of it – then left it there.  But I kept it.  For the longest time it sat on my dresser as a reminder of that dark night, a reminder that grief can hurt so much that you simply don’t know what to do. There is no Band Aid for this one.

Well, I happened to find it the other day – hidden in a closet (kinda like Calvin had stuffed Hobbs away in a closet oh so long ago).

It is now on the mantle over the fireplace – along side Glenn….. The irony that it is a sailboat is not lost on me – Glenn loved sailing, being on the water – would have had a sailboat if only he knew how to sail!

And I remember – that with the passage of time, I did come out of that dark place, the sun did shine the next day – we did have a great time there, eating buckets of peel- it- yourself shrimp and lobster po’ boys……..

I’m not sure ‘time heals’ even though that is what ‘they’ often say..

Maybe time allows scabs to form, but they remain. 

The wound is always there, a part of you. Maybe it even becomes a faint scar that only you can see, but remain it does – for always. It is more than just a wrinkle in time – more like the kind of gash that needs stitches.

One month – 30 days. And so, in spite of my heart feeling like Swiss cheese, in spite of numbness some days and overwhelming sadness at other times, in spite of emotions I can't even identify, I know that in time the sun will shine again. I will probably eat peel-it-yourself shrimp again and maybe even a lobster po’boy. But still…time…where does it go?