Hunter......

    

“Hey Human…?”

“Yes, Hunter...” as he gets in my face at the most inopportune moment, and then licks it…)

“You seem distracted lately… we haven’t had many walks…”

“Well, Hunter, for one it’s been too hot – (but you have been out in the yard…) for me and you…but I’ve been thinking… reflecting actually on the day that is to come…”            

“and what is that, Human…?”

“Well, in few days it will have been one year that Glenn died, June 12^th actually.  And the weekend before that, the family is gathering in Wisconsin to scatter his ashes as he wanted me to do….”

“Oh…  I guess I don’t know what that is all about… it’s not a dog thing is it?”…”

“No Hunter, it is not… it’s a human thing that we sometimes do.  When someone dies, instead of burying them in the ground like a bone, their ashes are scattered somewhere.  And Glenn wanted his ashes scattered in the Mississippi River… ‘cuz he really liked rivers… they were always moving and going somewhere.  We  would often just sit and watch the river go by …it didn’t matter which one… and wonder what was ahead and where it was going, especially when there were barges linked together like a chain, just slowly moving along…kinda like life..”

“Oh – I get it, kinda like when I just sit on the deck and watch what the neighborhood is all about – and bark hello whenever someone goes by - or a squirrel – or even just the wind…”

‘yes, Hunter, kinda like that.”

And so I reflect – as I have done these last few days – and I suppose I will in the days to come.  It makes work a struggle, day to day care taking a struggle.

When I went away last week I stopped the grandfather clock at 5:08 – the time of his last breath.

‘Why?’… you might ask…and I don’t really know… it just seemed like the thing to do.  It is still set there.

 And I reflect on the past year soon to be on June 12, at 5:08 PM.

I know I’ve come a long way, baby… I’m not so focused on what I don’t have… but  not quite focused enough on what I do have. Somewhere in between. And yet, it still seems unreal – that land of make believe – not a fairy tale – but more like a Grimm’s tale… maybe it is that in between thin place… where we meet God…maybe.

And yet – when I think of what I have accomplished – I am amazed. Small things – his water fountain is working, the grass gets mowed, the water softener got fixed, getting the toilet fixed, putting out all of the summer ‘stuff’…and the usual day to day things that need to be taken care of. Most of his clothes given to a good cause, but many still in the closet, the taxes got figured and paid.  But his workbench is still as it was -  his ties still on the closet door. His bathrobe still hanging in the bathroom. The books he was reading and his Bible still on his nightstand.   I can only do so much. I don’t want erase what was. 

The scholarship in his name – his organ recipients, (not my doing but his), Vespa …will be buried in the backyard with Rocky.  It’s probably a good thing he didn’t have to do this one… saying goodbye would have been so hard for him…he often said so. She was his sweetie.

Done.

I know this is not unique to me – I often think of all the people I know – both personally and peripherally – that have had a spouse/significant other die and I think about how they coped … or not.

And I know I am not alone – and yet I am.

But I have noticed a shift – I’m not so quick to think about what I don’t have anymore – but not quite ready to only think about the future.

 And yet I know must.

Glenn was my white knight – in many ways he rescued me – but lovingly – and with regard to who I was and what I could become.  He never prevented me from exploring myself, even if meant spending money he didn’t think we had.  He had my back – always. 

Because he loved me for who I was – and who I could become – on my own – but with his support. And I did the same for him.

While there were many sparring matches - (we were both rather pig headed…!!) we worked it out.  Together, always together.  For 38 years together. Back to back facing the world. Together.

And I have to remember that he still has my back -  albeit long distance.

So - where do I go from here?

One of the things I’ve decided to do, Hunter doesn’t know this yet, it to visit all of my/his friends around the country. And that will take me from Virginia to Wisconsin, Arizona to California, to Arkansas. Probably not one trip – but several – me and Hunter. And the new Hunter mobile. (Yes, Hunter has his own van now, and he loves it.)

And I have to give credit where credit is due. Someone I know, who has been through this himself, suggested that I write about my experiences/feelings, etc.,  a journal of sorts – because it helped him see his progress.  And so I did and do. And he is right. I can see progress. In spite of myself.  Confession is good for the soul…… right?

And Hunter and I have adjusted – he had issues, you know. But he has been my salvation (I know, it is supposed to be Jesus, but really it has been Hunter).

And he (Hunter, not Jesus) will have more to say about this journey – but for now – a tour of the backyard and a bark to his  world is enough…….

And for me? A glass of wine to celebrate.

pulling, digging, yanking

This is the 100^th blog that I have written – not all have been posted for a myriad of reasons, including the one I started yesterday.

I was reading a book by Cynthia Hale - one of the preachers at the Festival of Homiletics, about the power of women. The power that we don’t often acknowledge or even know we have. By the end of the page I had to stop -  it was going nowhere.  I didn’t finish the book either - skimmed it really - a bit to Pentecostal and fundamental for my taste - but it got me thinking (and I guess that’s the point, right?).

This afternoon I went out to close the windows on my car and I got distracted (there’s a surprise!) and started pulling the ground cover out of the flower bed in front of the porch. Had I known how much it would take over I never would have planted it…

Pulling, digging, yanking, get behind me Satan…. It is good for the soul, but not for the back.

But I made progress.  I had been thinking for a while that this stuff needed to go – it took over – and just about squeezed out the stuff I really wanted.

Done  - gone  - into the burn pile.

There is something refreshing about getting angry -  and using it to get something done.  And so I did.

This isn’t exactly the kind of power Reverend Hale was talking about, but it worked for me today.

Pulling, digging, yanking, get behind me Satan.

Have I been angry? Probably. Don’t know at whom - or what. But still………I think the anger is there… buried. It’s not ‘ladylike’ to be visibly angry… well, tough shit. I am.

Angry that my life changed without my consent.

Angry that I have to figure out how to put new batteries in the thermostat or the smoke detector.

Angry that I eat dinner alone – most of the time.

Angry that I have to rely on others to do what Glenn would have done.

Angry that when I come home from a trip there is no one to welcome me home or talk to about it. He always made a big deal of my coming home – no matter where I went or how many days I’d been gone.

Angry because life is often unfair.

Angry that my body is a frickin’ train wreck… joints don’t want to work as they should… and it’s gotten worse in the last 11 months… coincidence? Doubtful.  The unity of body mind and spirit…run amok …I know enough psychology to know that our emotions effect our bodies… fear, anger, grief are physical too. 

On the surface everything looks just fine - but just like that iceberg, 90% of it is underwater………..

Put your trust in the Lord they say…………He will see you through…………….

Well, you’re right, She is seeing me through.  But is God as angry as I am at the injustice of it all?

I certainly hope so.

And yet…………there must be hope in me somewhere…

The planters are now full of flowers.

I planted a new Hosta garden…15 new plants ….

The birds of the air get fed…

Hunter gets fed and even walked when it’s not too hot….

Plans made for trips in the near and distant future….

I make the bed and dust away Hunters dust bunnies…

Dishes get washed and even put away…

Etc., Etc., Etc.,

And all of this on top of and underneath and alongside of a kaleidoscope of feelings and emotions that I can’t even name as I get closer to….…the anniversary of That Day.

Pulling, digging, yanking, get behind me Satan…. It is good for the soul, but not for the back

broken nuts...

I’m home now after being at a preaching conference for Christian leaders/pastors in our nation’s capital – how ironic.…

Sitting on the deck – Hunter is at my feet – REALLY glad to see me after a week at the kennel with Aunt Sandy.

And I’m thinking – trying to make sense of the past week.

And I notice the tree across the street. And then all of them – and they are legion.

free image 

Still… the leaves are still… and silent…every once in a while a few move as if to a beat only they can hear. No wind to speak of…quiet…still… as if before a storm… but none is predicted… as if that matters.

The past week has been one of those weeks where it feels like my hardened heart has been broken open. Think pistachio nut, succumbing to the power of teeth cracking it open.  Think coconut succumbing to the force of a machete. Cracked open and laid bare.

That’s how I feel.

The speakers and the worship services brought me to tears more often than not…powerful words, heartfelt emotions spewed out for the world to feel,  to embrace. The topic for the week – preaching and politics. Speaking of the need for justice.  Jesus as the political voice that we as preachers are to emulate. Politics in the pulpit? Of course. 

And these thoughts like hot lava flow through my mind and body.  Justice means getting off our asses and doing something – right wrong or indifferent – but do something.   Be Jesus for those who need him the most.

Look for hopeful …the positive… not just the broken and what seems impossible to mend or heal.

And yet – underlying all of this is my own brokenness…

How can I do what Jesus might be asking of me when I can’t even make sense of my own world?

How can I be there for the other when I still need for the world to be there for me?

How can I be open to giving when my hands and heart are clenched tight in grief –  yes  - even after all these many weeks…11 months of weeks and then some.

How can I be there for the other when I don’t even know who I am any more?

How can I even be when I don’t know what that means.

How can  I care about justice when I feel that life has dealt me an unjust blow.

How indeed.

I bought a book – 3 actually – even though I told myself not to – I already have more than I can read. (especially given my lack of concentration these days).  But I did anyway. When God Interrupts…Finding New Life through Unwanted Change,. by M. Craig Barnes. He talks about abandonment in all of its various forms – death – illness -  losses of all sorts.  Life changes that we didn’t ask for, feeling abandoned by God, family, you name it. I haven’t finished it yet, so I don’t know what his final point might be, but it occurred to me – yup – that sorta hits the nail on the head. Unwanted change.

Feeling Abandoned - Feeling Angry – Life is Not Fair – Life is Unjust.  Yup. Hunter probably thinks life in the kennel for a week is unfair, unjust and he may have felt abandoned. ( Although he didn't say so in so many words, but at least he wasn't angry!) But here is my rational – at least I came back for him and brought home home…..(and there are those who might say that God brought Glenn home and will me too someday, but I’m not there yet…)

I know Glenn did not ‘leave me’ intentionally – that’s absurd. I know deep in my heart that given a choice he would not have.  But leave me he did. And I think deep down inside I’m angry… I’m just not sure at whom.

But something broke open this week… I’m not sure what just yet.

I feel broken open like that coconut after a well placed blow by the machete… coconut milk pouring out everywhere… sweet sticky milk…life giving milk…everywhere… poured out on the ground… semen wasted… a sacrilege. Life blood… pooling at my feet……… 

And yet the world is still.  Like the legions of trees. As if God were holding her breath. Waiting.  

roller coasters and birthdays

Somewhere along Hwy. 1 in California.

Once upon a time… I loved roller coasters.  The scary thrill of having your heart in your mouth and your stomach at your feet.  Truly a real thrill. I have pictures of Glenn and I and friends at Kings Island in Ohio having the times of our lives….we were young… in love with our respective partners… the world was our oyster, so to speak.  It was marvelous. Not a care in the world, (well there was, even then, but we didn’t care).

Fast forward to real life… marriage, great memories of time together, as only friends can do, but yet disappointments for the four of us in various ways, deaths of family and friends long the way …life happens you know.

We all got older.

On the side of the canal Briere in France

And I stopped loving roller coasters.  The fear was too great… wisdom? I don’t think so, maybe the fear of death…. I don’t know, but I stopped loving roller coasters.

And so I stopped going on them.

But that didn’t stop ‘them’ from pulling and pushing me kicking and screaming on the roller coaster of life.

I still don’t love roller coasters.  But I have no choice …life is like that… ups and downs… too fast most of the time…scary…with your heart in your mouth and your stomach at your feet.

 Like now… like the last 11 months.

Onalaska, Wisconsin

May 16th, tomorrow,  will have been Glenn’s 67^th birthday.

The past few days have been the roller coaster that I didn’t choose to be on… and the gatekeeper won’t let me off.

Case I point… another extended family member died last week… and it brought back the flood of emotions from that day. 

Case in point… I’m having chronic back issues…not life threatening, but significant. Yesterday was yet another treatment …and I lost it.  Because there was no one at home to help me deal with it.   Well, Hunter, of course…… and he does his best, but still….

Case in point… evenings are a bitch… that time when we have a meal together and talk about our respective days, good, bad and indifferent. Or even just be silent together.

Walking with the Cheetahs in Zambia.  He was very apprehensive

Case in point… I had a scare with Hunter… a cancerous tumor, successfully removed and he is fine, but still.  Hunter... not you too……………..

But then there is this… I did manage to get his water fountain in working order and, at least as of today, it is still functioning as it should.

The hummingbird feeder is a flurry of activity and he loved watching them.

The French Lilac tree is about to bloom… that was his.

There are several recipients of the scholarship that was set up in his name…

A picnic somewhere 

There were 4 recipients of organs that he donated that have insured life for those in need.

But it is a roller coaster… and I want off.

But I am also wise enough to know that it will never happen.  The memories of what we did together do help, we had a full life.  And yet at times that makes it worse because there will be no more of those memories.  The story is over. The film has been stashed in the vault. Done.

Relaxing in Oanalaska, Wisconsin

But I do the best I can to honor his memory…I bought a van for Hunter and me - road trips in the future…for places he and I wanted to go. I keep asking Hunter... ‘what should we be doing, where do you want to go?...’  But  

all I get is warm brown eyes looking up at me as if I have the answer.   Maybe a snug is all he needs.

His ashes will be scattered in a turtle shaped biodegradable urn in the Mississippi River (don’t tell the authorities!) in a few weeks. He had a thing for turtles, too.

I will attempt to live the life he would have wanted for me. (easier said than done sometimes). Once I know what that is.

Table Mountain, South Africa, 2016

But nonetheless… it is a roller coaster of immense proportions. The tallest… the one with the most swoops…the descents are devastating, the ups pure heaven… but still the scariest… I have never been so scared in all my life… even now …11 months later.

And yet … I still put one foot in front of another and keep on keepin’ on. And some would ask, as do I … where is God in all of this?

Is God the gatekeeper? The designer of the roller coaster?  The risk manager? The insurance company?

Maybe one of these days, the roller coaster gatekeeper will tell me.

But, still, I do not like roller coasters.

May 2017, Our  last photo together.  He died 3 week later. 

shadows

shadows. we know one when we see it.  we often play with them.  finger puppets against the wall. the lamp bright behind us. the flashlight under our chin. shadows on our faces. fun to do at a campfire on a warm night.

the sun at daybreak or nightbreak

long shadows cast as the sun rises or sets.

depending on where one is standing.

 it's fun to play with our shadows as we move around letting the sun shine behind us. 

our image temporarily outlined and colored in on the ground. the grey of that place where there is no light.

images of trees. leaves not yet fully in bloom.

patterns against the house or lawn or driveway.

is this god at play?

shadows everywhere.

that place where there is no light.

grief, sorrow, sadness, mourning. or maybe fear, desperation, anger. emotions run amok.

no light of the metaphorical kind. or any kind, actually.

 when our lives are 'good' (however you define that) there are no shadows. no lack of light.

when our lives are 'not good' (however you define that) there is an abundance of shadow.  lack of light.

death, we christian lutherans are taught, has no sting. jesus did that for us, took the sting upon himself, took it away from us.

we are not to fear the shadow of death. right. tell that to the grieving spouse, child, niece, nephew, parent, brother sister, friend.

the shadow of death stings. o baby does it ever.

the shadow hangs over me like a cloud fallen upon the earth. still. and probably forever.

there are moments, for sure, when the shadow lifts.  and resettles again. without invitation. all on its own.

but yet.  the ever-present shadow.  in spite of flutterings of joy now and again. in spite of the flutterings of hope.  in spite of ................

shadows prevail. and there is no peace.

the news that an extended family member is actively dying.

way too soon. as i'm sure his children will attest.

they will be orphans soon.

so do the shadows prevail?

 it seems like they do.

and yet. i try to believe that hope prevails.

that love prevails.

that life prevails.

that i will prevail.

 and so will his children.

but sometimes the shadows have the last word. at least for the moment.

And god?  in both the shadows and in the light.  I have to believe this.

joy

Joy.  I preached on joy this morning. That elusive gift that we don’t always acknowledge. Or recognize. I haven’t had it for a very long time.

But this evening I did. I’m sitting on the deck, with the summer cocktail in hand, the perfect gin and tonic.

And I’m waiting for the freeloaders to come and feed at the bird feeders – and so they do.

There are 3 pairs of orioles that have now made it a habit of coming to the free for all restaurant.  Grape jelly – and orange marmalade –I’m such a good host!  They are not so crazy about fresh oranges – but the squirrels sure do. Who would have thought? Squirrels and fruit? They are the goats of the forest – they will eat just about anything…………….

But I digress…

 Papa humming bird comes along – checking out the goods – and flutters in front of me – mere inches from my face -  hovering for what seemed like forever, but surely only seconds – perches on the post above the feeder – quietly sitting – no frantic fluttering – a rare calm.

These minute creatures were Glenn’s favorite – he loved watching them feed – hover – flit – only to go away and then come back and do it again. Morning and evening without fail.  They have a family to raise somewhere close by, I’m sure.   Then Mama hummingbird comes and copies what Papa has just done.

And of course the orioles – feasting on the fruit of the vine and the woodpeckers too, slacking their thirst at the font of life.

And lest I forget, the robins getting ready for date night, the necessary bath before heading out to court the mother of his children.

Yes – tonight there is joy in mudville.  It doesn’t happen often these days, almost never, actually - but tonight, yes. There is joy.

Fleeting though it may be – like the hummingbird in front of my face.

Control………..yeah  right…

Ethereal, out of reach, not gonna happen in my lifetime, elusive, a figment of my imagination ……. 

I think it’s safe to assume we all think we have it…  but we know deep down, ( if we’re honest ) that we don’t.

Not ever – no one – not even me. Especially me.

But I try.  Keep the house in order, ‘stuff’ put away, floors vacuumed of all of the Hunter dust bunnies, dishes washed and put away, clothes hung up … You know, all of the normal housekeeping duties that most of us have help with – until we don’t.

It’s all mine now… control… or lack of it… over the uncontrollable…like life itself.

 Like this – driving back from a day trip to Wisconsin – and for no apparent reason   

 my face is wet – and I can’t see very well. Then the F**k stick of a driver in MY 

LANE coming at me way to fast… but fortunately, I had room to pull over to the

shoulder – otherwise I would be just another statistic. What was that driver

thinking, passing uphill, past a line of a cars and a semi???

And then there is this – the human body with a mind of its own – aches and pains, signs of aging, saggy, wrinkly, gray.  No – that’s not me, that’s my mother! Or the incessant pounding of my heart, the aches in my chest, the physical pain that I’m sure is grief related. I just know it is.

Out of my control.

And then there is this - emotional issues – grief and mourning taking over my life – without my consent.  The wet face when I least expect it. The overwhelming sadness that hurts like a baseball bat to the chest.

And then there is this - spiritual dilemmas, doubt and fear railroading me – no control there either. Really? God – really?  Are you sure? Are you really there? Where?

There are some things we know we have no control over – the weather, maybe politics, how other see us, others behavior, how the garden grows, or not. The death of a loved one – spouse, parent, sister, friend.  Spouse different than all the others, surely.  Not worse, surely, just different. I read somewhere that the death of a spouse changes every aspect of your day and night. Yup – can’t argue when you’re right. Every f**kin’ aspect of your day.  All 1440 minutes of every day.  For the rest of your life.  

Sudden- unexpected - out of control.  Yup  - without question -  no control.

But the reality, at least for me, is that life spins out of control – every day – every way – 24/7. There are those who believe that God is in control – and maybe she is… I sure would like to be in the secret. It would make my life a bit more tolerable.

But – no – I don’t have control.  And I do not like it one bit.  So the dilemma; what to do about it, how to reconcile oneself to the inevitable.  And be ok with it. There are no easy answers here – maybe no answers at all.

 I have come to realize that many of my bad habits, and even my good ones, are a means of control.  Trying to control my happiness quotient with the ubiquitous Amazon box at my doorstep. Keeping the clutter at bay.  Trying to stop Hunter’s incessant barking at passing cars, people, mail delivery person, ( who he likes!) UPS driver, and of course the ever present SQUIREL, or just because he can.

Control is elusive – actually more than that – non-existent. And yet.  We, Me, Myself and I, keep trying to rope it in and – and what? Delude myself that I have it? Some days it works, (at least momentarily) but for the most part – not.

 Hello – my name is,              , and I have no control.. …Are there AA style meetings for people trying to recover from control?

If there is, sign me up, ‘cuz I can use all the help I can get.  And God? She is silent these days. Or maybe the whisper is so loud that it is beyond my hearing range.

So – is lack of control chaos? Maybe. And that’s even more scary. But that sure is what it feels like. God tamed the chaos, light and dark, naming all of the animals,  made man and woman out of the dust, created order out of chaos. 

So why can’t she do that for me?

Whatever.  Control: Ethereal, out of reach, not gonna happen in my lifetime, elusive, a figment of my imagination…….only God can tame the wildness and  for whatever reason, it hasn’t been done for me.  Yet.