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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?

Identity

'They' say gender identity is fluid – so I’m thinking identity in general is fluid.  We start out as a child – boy or girl or somewhere in between.  Then maybe a sibling is born and now you are a brother or sister – and then maybe there are cousins.  Then maybe, probably, you make friends - the kid down the street -at school – and maybe you get to keep them for a long while.

And then maybe you have a boyfriend or girlfriend – a romantic relationship - and then maybe you get married – so now you are a spouse, a partner.  And then maybe you have a child – so now you are a parent.  And then maybe a grandparent – or an aunt or uncle.  And somewhere along the way you also became an employee – maybe an important one., maybe even a boss or supervisor.

Each one of these additions to our lives  changes who we are – our daily experiences change who we are.  We are never the same today that we were yesterday…

And then things start to change  - again.  Maybe it starts with one or both parents – they die – because that’s what happens in old age – in life.  Maybe they had a long life, maybe not, but either way, now you are an orphan.   Grandparents die, sometimes children do to.  And as you get older, friends start to pass away – and before you know it your spouse, partner, friend takes his or her last breath – and now you are alone. 

The subtractions change us as well.

And so now I am someone different than I was a month ago. And so I wonder - Who am I now?  There is a new word to describe me - widow - but what does that really mean? How does one live into this new description  that wasn’t asked for, not anticipated, at least not yet, I’m way too young for this..

And so I wonder - who am I now? And how do I even begin to figure this out? 

A conversation with a friend got this little fiery rant going…..

Please Don’t …

….Presume to know how I feel because you don’t.  We all experience grief and sorrow differently – and my experience is not yours.

Please Don’t….

….tell me he is a better place. A better place is still by my side. Period.

Please Don’t…

…tell me God needed another angel. NO. S/HE. DOES. NOT. Gabriel and Michael and the cherubim and seraphim are doing just fine with the staff and work load that they have.  They do not need any more help.                                                                     

Please Don’t…

… refer to our deceased loved ones as lost.  They are not lost.  I know exactly where he is – on the mantle over the fireplace – and in my heart.  We might be lost – and often are - but they are not.

Please Don’t…

…tell me God called him home. We have a God that values life  (or at least so I believe), values  relationship, values the joy and love we share with and in each other. Home and heaven is right here, on this earth, not some golden city in the sky.

Please Don’t…

…tell me God needed him.  God needed him to do the work he was called to do here – not there, wherever there is.  What can he do ‘there’ that will benefit those still ‘here’ in any way? Beats me.

Please Don’t…

…tell me his work was finished – it’s all part of God’s plan.  I’m not buying it.  We live in a sinful and broken world.  Illness and dis-ease, war and turmoil permeate our world. There is discord everywhere. Shit happens.  And a death too soon, a life taken … why? I don’t know.    

However…………Please Do…

…Share stories about him, with me and with others who knew him and even those who did not.  Those stories will keep him alive – and as long as there are memories, he lives on still…

Please Do…

…was he kind to you? Then pay it forward and be kind to someone in need of kindness – or just because.  Did he help you with a problem or dilemma? Pay it forward and do the same for someone else. Did he encourage you in some way? Then pay it forward and do the same for someone who could use it – and who among us doesn’t need it now and then? Did he laugh with you? Even when you didn’t want to? Pay it forward…

Please Do…

….Grieve in your own way.  You who are his friends (and family, too) are feeling his absence as well., albeit differently than I am.

Please Do…

…remember that I do not believe we have a God that arbitrarily yanks people of their lives just because God can.   I do not believe in a God that is a puppet master, pulling our strings just because.  Dictators do that – not a God who is loving and merciful and slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.…

…Please Do…

…Just be my friend, be you. Hold me in prayer because I can’t.

Please…………….

I thought I knew…

                                                    ( Summer, 2011, Briare Canal, France)

I thought I knew about death -  that gut wrenching, heart breaking, heart hard as stone, no breath left kinda feeling when someone you love dies.  My sister’s death left me like that – and angry too.  Sudden, unexpected, tragic, too young, and no answers as to why…

I thought I knew about death.

My father – not really all that old – but struggled with cancer for many years – it was time – he was tired and ready, at least I think he was. 

I thought I knew about death.

My mother – a stroke left her unable to speak, eat, move , not what she would have wanted for herself and so the decision was , if not easy, at least honoring her wishes. 

I thought I knew about death

 As a pastor, tending to families left grieving when someone they love dies, whether expected or not, is what I do, and do fairly well.

I thought I knew about death.

Now I think I didn’t have a clue.

When a spouse dies, especially when it is unexpected, it’s a kick to the gut – it took my breath away – my heart is like stone one moment and bleeding out the next.  My heart beats so fast and hard sometimes I think my ribs will break. Daily pieces of life that should be a no-brainer have become monumental. Because he always did them.

I thought I knew about death.

Many years ago there was a 2 year period when 6 friends and/or family members died.  It was sad, tragic, awful.

We have buried 3 pets and I miss them still.

I thought I knew about death.

We actually talked about this, he and I.  The ‘what if’ conversation.  Would you travel? Move? Date again? Marry again?  Keep 2 dogs or only 1? But there is a huge chasm between the conjecture of ‘what if’’ and reality.

I thought I knew about death.

I think I still have a lot to learn.               

Reflections

July 5, 2017

I left home about 8:30 or so after a stop at the post office. I had high expectations for this trip which always bodes not well… anyway.  I get on the expressway and eventually stop in Sheboygan for lunch. I decide to check he directions and find that I can take the back roads instead the ‘hiway’.  And so I do.  After many turn arounds, and trying to read the map on my phone and drive at the same time (but officer, I was NOT texting!) I find my way… This is what we used to do on road trips  - get off the beaten path and just drive to someplace, maybe some small town with a café for lunch, no big chains, thank you very much - unless, of course, it was A&W - that was OK…...

Glenn would have loved this - a drive along the shore of Lake Michigan- open fields dotting the landscape… the temperature dropped at least 20 degrees along the way - cool lake breezes blowing through my hair – and yes the top is down ….

 And so I wind my way north and west with the cell phone in my hand… and I get there.

And of course it is not quite what I expected and my room is not ready - so what is a girl to do?  To the bar of course…

And the bartender hands me a wine in the best crystal for an outdoor bar - of course!

And so I relax - or try - and then of course- it starts to drizzle… We often joked about how no matter where we went - or what the season, the rain followed us - and today was no exception - here’s to you, Glenn!

As long as you are up there - can’t you put in a good word??

I guess not………

We were here in Door  County in June of 2012, and this is what I wrote then:

The air was starting to get warm - the breeze was strong.  Boats floating quietly in their bunks, their pj’s still covering them from the morning dew. Deck hands were busy with ropes, deck wash, checking the sails, getting ready for the day’s activities.  Tourists were lining up for the 10:00 sailing. The hustle & bustle was in sharp contrast to the quiet of the distant water….

The dingy pushes us out of the dock area, like a dolphin playing with us, and we head into the bay. The captain/owner begins tossing instructions to the 2 deck hands - using a language I don’t know - the language of the water and sailing.  But as I watch the sails go up, I can match words and actions and the parts of the boat.

The motor is turned off - the sails are up and the quiet becomes almost overwhelming -except for the chatter of the ‘guests’ aboard for the morning sail.

As we sail around the small islands, the captain gives us the history of the boat and some of the history of the islands and its people. While the conversation is mostly interesting, my attention is on whatever I can see in the distance - the mini waves breaking in front of us as we sail, read ‘glide‘, over the water. 

The quiet is calming, the breeze barely felt, the sun is just warm enough.  It would be perfect without the other 1o people or so but since  I could  never sail this on my own, it’ll have to do!!

Water is everywhere on and or near this peninsula called Door county, (duh - of course!!) - almost a prerequisite to any of our vacations.  Not only the lake that surrounds us, but the rain the comes down to us!

After a less than perfect day of disappointments and too many people, we head to Washington island via car ferry.  Fortunately, although there were enough cars to fill the ferries, the wait was minimal. A half hour trip and we’re there.  This is what we were looking for - quaint shops without the crowds, artists in residence everywhere, bicycles on the roads, but few cars - open spaces and tree lined back roads.  We meander around the island, check out a ‘maritime museum’ hosted by an old geezer from - guess where?  Joliet!  A lot of Chicago people have retired here and made it home.  Lunch is off of a hot dog truck, sea gulls (or maybe  terns?)  obstinate in their squawking for handouts - but to no avail - seagulls don’t need either hot dogs or chips.  In the small canal off the walkway is a family of swans - mom, dad and the cygnets eating their own lunch - while a trio of seagulls (terns?) fight over a large piece of dead meat - it looks like salmon, but I’m sure it isn’t.  Wings-a-flapping and squawking in birdspeak.  It’s hard to tell who is the winner. 

The next day, after a long day of driving, we arrive in Wisconsin dells. Boy are we glad we aren’t staying at one of these mega touristy places… we make our way to our lodging - about 7-8 miles away from all of the hullabaloo and tacky stuff.  Our room faces the river and it is now sunset…

The sky is dappled with pink and bluish gray, patches of light sky peeking through.  Even the water has a pinkish/blue/gray cast to it, highlighting the current that runs, tiptoes, downstream,  I call these skies ‘skybluepink.’  Somewhere in my childhood I came up with this color.. And it is apt.  Around the edges lingers a violet fringe, soon to be diluted with the coming of night………..

I don’t know if I’ll see any of this although, the resort where I am staying is on the water.. .. But maybe…  and while this isn’t a place that he and I would have stayed at, it will suffice - and I can remember…

This one’s for you, my love….

Normal?

What is Normal?

‘The new normal’ – I hate that phrase -it, to my quirky mind, implies that what is now new is ok – acceptable, maybe even desirable -maybe even wanted.

No.

A busy morning – doing projects around the house = normal.  An afternoon of feeling agitated, restless, unable to concentrate long enough to read a stupid book = not normal.

So I take a drive to the park. It’s probably 10 degrees cooler under the thick canopy of trees, refreshing after the heat of the day = normal.

I walk over to a glider – like we always did, usually with the pups – only I’m alone =not normal.

The swallows are swooping and diving over the water for mosquitoes = normal.  Watching them by myself = not normal.

There is a family there – boy children playing with their puppies – laughing and giggling – with the joy of it all = normal.

I think to make a comment about what I see and realize that talking out loud to myself in public is = not normal.

The peacefulness of the river is soothing - no matter where we’ve traveled there has been a river or lake or ocean or even just a piddly little pond somewhere close =normal.

Sitting here by myself = not normal.

And so I leave – grab something from a fast food place to take home for dinner – not unusual, almost normal.

Eating by myself for the 22^nd day in a row = not normal.  

Getting salt for the water softener and taking out the garbage = not normal.

Finding someone to mow the lawn for the rest of the season = not normal.

So what is normal? Is it just what you’ve always done? Is it just what you are used to, whether you like it or don’t? Is normal always good?

No. It. Is. Not.

When we get married, ‘til death do us part’ is often part of the vows we speak = normal.  Not really thinking about what that means at the young(whatever) age we are = normal.

Facing the reality of that vow = I don’t know. 

Maybe we can all be like Cher – and turn back time…………….. 

fear

At 5:08 today it has been 3 weeks – 3 weeks of blur – poignant memories, mail i didn’t ask for  -  and fear.

A loud choking, hurling sound woke me up at 2:30 in the morning – i thought it was the dog – it wasn’t.  911 – emt’s ‘we have a pulse again’…  a ventilator and a flight to another hospital – and it was almost all over...  cerebral hemorrhage …. massive, instant, painless I was assured – and time to make a decision.

He was a registered organ donor – it said so in the power of attorney that was given to me. so i had to make a decision – honor  his wishes – of course.

 i could do no less … lungs, kidneys skin tissue, bone, corneas – all for those who most needed them. A godsend for them -  and yet…………

How do you process all of this?  The first nurse, when i asked – ‘it’s not  good’ the other nurse, manually keeping the ventilator going and his breathing steady, the doctor -  you have a decision to make – “if we wait, heart attack and the organs are no longer viable – it’s your call.

15 hours – start to finish – gone.   i’m assured there was nothing i could have done to make a difference – it was too massive – too quick.

In retrospect – it was the way he wanted to go – quick, painless over in about an instant.  But what about us – his brother, nieces and nephews -other family members – students – coworkers – me, his wife of 38 years …………

The paper work gets done – insurance, bills, etc.  the dogs get walked – that was his job.  the lawn? neighbor kid looking for college money. grocery bills cut in more than half … milk? A ½ gallon now – now need for more.

Moments, days when I cannot breathe for the pain in my heart.  Days when my heart is like a block of wood – hard, unyielding, unable to feel. I’m told – at least a year of this – maybe more.  I know this – death is no stranger to me …

Food? I eat because I know I have to – but 2-3 bites and I’m done.  There’s weight to lose – but I wouldn’t recommend this approach.

Wine? That’s another story.  I made Brandy Old Fashioneds on Sunday because that’s what we did…together……

i can’t help but think of all the things we will not do together –  all the trips we will not take – Norway – Ireland – Asia, Australia again, road trips out west and east … will I do them alone?  Who knows – it’s enough just to get out of the house on a daily basis so I don’t become a recluse………. Which I could do for a while… maybe.

Did i mention fear? Fear that something will happen to me and the dogs will be alone for days -  fear that my ‘affairs’ will not be in sufficient order and the relatives will have a hard time slogging thru it all – fear that I will die alone – or worse – drooling uncontrollably for years.

i have never been one to be afraid – but now? i am afraid in a way that i never been before.  He always had my back – and now?  Who has my back now?  Fear.   i was afraid on that morning 3 weeks ago – so afraid i could hardly breathe.  And many times i still can’t.

and yet  even as a ‘woman of faith’, I have to ask – where is God in all of this?

Orlando June 12, 2016

It's been awhile since I've voiced my opinion out loud and in public.  It’s been a few years since I’ve posted on my own blog.  That doesn't mean I don't have an opinion – or a voice – but for whatever reason I’ve been silent.  But no more. 

 I think I’m done being silent… because more voices are required.  I used my voice in the 60’s and I’m gonna use my voice now.

While I do believe that the world is inherently good – after all God said so when she created it…  events of the past  2000 years might disprove that.  Especially the events of this past Sunday … (not to mention all of the violent events of the past umptynine years)

What happened this past Sunday in Orland is, without question, wrong on many levels. But it is also a symptom of our overall brokenness. 

So what do we do? Sure prayer and verbal condemnation are appropriate, but it is not enough   Not even close. So what do we do?  What can I do?  What can WE do?  I don't  know.  I do know prayer is not enough. Verbal spewage is not enough.

Protest ? How?  Unelect NRA supporters?  Drag everyone kicking  and screaming back to church?  Unelect Republicans?   Preach louder from the pulpit? I don't have an answer.  But I do know that this is not what Jesus would do. This is not what Jesus would want.  This is not what Jesus died for.  And as Christians, especially Lutheran Christians, we are to be involved in the social justice issues of our day – we are not to remain silent…we are not to sit with our hands under our butts.

Our Christian faith, and the Muslim faith and the Jewish faith, should and do condemn these acts of terrorism  - and rightly so..  Violence and hate are contrary to our beliefs. So what do we do?

I don't know.  But doing nothing is not the answer…