The Big Red Day

My husband used to call Valentine’s Day ‘So What Day’…romantic, huh? He thought greeting cards were a waste of trees; that buying flowers because someone told you to defeated the purpose; and that going to dinner on the big day just to eat from a limited menu and have servers anxiously awaiting your departure from the table was ridiculous. I will admit that we fought about this on a few occasions…who wants to be the only girl in the office that didn’t get flowers? Eventually we settled into our own brand of celebrating our love, both on the big day, and on the other 364 days of the year.

I expected to breeze through the first Valentine’s Day without him, because he hated this holiday. But as the day approached, I found myself missing my heart day scrooge. There was no one around to balk at the increase in flower prices. There was no need to peruse the recycled card collection looking for just the right sentiment for my grumpy Valentine, and I cried when I realized there would be no one to take me to dinner at 4:30PM to avoid the crowds. Very quickly I found myself repeating in my head all the reasons to boycott the Hallmark holiday.

When the day arrived I found myself unable to ignore the National Day of Love. Instead of pushing the memories of our on-going struggle to find a happy middle ground for our own celebration out of my mind, I called them each front and center. And I laughed out loud. Recalling the times he showed up in the kitchen with a flower from our garden in hand, the dinners we ‘accidentally’ went to on the 14th of February, my efforts to get him to write me just one letter telling me how much he loved me (I was successful), and finally, the fact that he proposed to me on Valentine’s Day…I felt loved. And I guess that is the point of the day after all. Even though Phil never contributed to the romance testaments proudly placed on desks across America, I never doubted that he loved me. That night I drifted off to sleep murmuring…happy so what day honey.

Where is the "Get Out of Jail Free" card??

I am typing away this morning with a winter cold. Runny nose, coughing fits, watery eyes, achy body...the whole package. Overall, I feel pretty miserable. Whenever I am sick, I am reminded of my mom bringing me soup and hot tea as a child. Sometimes my mind wanders to the way I care for my own children when they are sick (I am famous for a concoction called sickness tea), but often my heart aches with the desire to have a special someone that cares about exactly how bad my cough is, nags me to go to the doctor, or allows use of his lap as a pillow for watching movies or taking an afternoon nap. I can really gear myself up for a self pity session when a winter virus takes hold.

Once you suffer the death of someone you love so intensely, shouldn't you have wracked up some hardship credit with the universe? Haven't grievers earned a grief bonus somehow? A punch card that says, "Take it easy on this one for awhile." ? Isn't having to navigate the daily challenges of living life without your mate enough without having additional challenges, like colds and flus, financial woes, romantic disasters, and suddenly urgent house repairs thrown into the juggling match as well? Where is the get out of jail free card anyway?

As my nose stops running, my head clears up, a friend stops by to bring me soup, and my kids whisper down the hall, "SHHHH, Mom is SLEEPING!" I realize that life isn't so bad. There are good days,and bad ones. There are times I scream at the universe because Phil is dead, and others when I am able to thank God for all the gifts Phil's life, and his death, have brought into my life. There are moments when I would take the easy way out without a second thought, and others when I recognize the value of each life experience--even the painful ones. There are moments of utter despair, and moments of crystal clarity. All in all life calls, and we choose whether or not to answer. Even when we feel miserable.

Question Number Seventeen

After your husband's death, did you sleep in the same bed you shared with him?

Phil died at 6:33PM on Wednesday, August 31, 2005. At the end of that horrific day, I stood in the doorway of our bedroom and faced our empty bed. My mom came to stand beside me as I contemplated what to do...go in? stay out? sleep in our room? sleep on the couch? sleep alone? sleep with one of the kids? In a voice that was laced with despair I told my mom that whenever I was away from home over night, Phil would stack all the pillows from our bed (he was always confused by the need for decorative pillows) on my side to keep my place warm until I got back. Quietly my mom went into the room, and moved all those useless pillows into Phil's empty spot.

The memory of waking up the day after Phil's death is one of the most clear, and haunting, images of my grief journey. His alarm routinely sounded at 4:30AM, and with the shock and horror of the day no one realized the clock was still set for the next morning. After a fitful sleep, I woke up to his alarm--and the stack of pillows where my beautiful husband should have been. The realization that dawned with the morning sun that my husband was not coming home was one of my most desperate moments. I felt panic rising in my chest as I searched the empty bed with my hand, seeking some sign that I was dreaming. I opened and closed my eyes over and over again hoping that somehow he would appear if I kept repeating the process. My mind raced with the desire to turn back time, to start August 31st over again, to run through the house calling his name, to scream to the world how unfair his absence was--because the reality of those extra pillows in his place was almost too much to bear.

For weeks I stacked those pillows up in his spot before I went to bed, and nodded off hoping that somewhere, far away, he had pillows stacked up for me too.

Reflecting on the New Year

New Years Day is a reflective holiday for me. How would I rate last year overall? Are there any obvious changes that I can make to improve the coming year? When I look back at the past 365 days can I say that I am proud of the way I lived them? Self reflection, however, is extremely challenging when grief has walked into your life unbidden and unwanted. Do these questions still apply when you are grieving? Can you reflect on life without a distinct bias when your entire world is upside down? What change, short of a miraculous return of my husband, could be made to improve my life after his death?

In some ways self reflection appears to be a luxury reserved only for those who still feel they have some semblance of control over their life. Before Phil died I harbored delusional thoughts of being in control of every area of my life. I was proud of the careful plans I made, and the way each action led to the achievement of a goal. Seemed to me that hard work and tenacity would always pay off. Then Phil died. Suddenly the ways I previously viewed success were suspect. Without the ability to be certain of a particular outcome how could I chart a course for the future? The day after Phil died I looked at my calendar. Each block was carefully filled in with appointments, reminders, and special dates, but without Phil as my partner not one of the notations mattered. Looking back I think the most frightening thing for me at that moment was the sudden realization that plans fail, life takes unexpected turns, and people die.

How does all of this affect my New Year reflections? Grief has taught me to adopt different criteria for success. When I look at my life today, I hold myself to a new, and in many ways higher, standard. Have I lived each moment knowing that life is precious, and an individual frame in time cannot be repeated? Do I tell the important people in my life that I love them~often and sincerely? Have I taken the lessons of grief and applied them to life? Will I look back at the year passed as a unique, necessary, and unforgettable gift? These measures change the focus from one of loss and despair to one of hope and gratitude. This Pollyanna attitude may sound trite, and there are days when I am surrounded by storm clouds with no noticeable silver lining, but losing Phil taught me to hold onto life~for that reason and countless others I am grateful for the opportunity to have loved him.

Life is full of both challenges and gifts. Without the challenges, perhaps we would be less appreciative of the gifts. Pictured is one of my recent blessings, my brother's new baby girl (and my sister-in-law in the background!). Welcome to a wonderful family Eveline!

How Can I Be Merry?

This is the fourth Christmas I have spent without Phil. I find that fact almost incomprehensible. Where has the time gone? How do I begin to count the things that have happened in my life since his death? The kids have grown several inches, our families have grown and changed, our house is different in many ways, and I put up the Christmas lights in record time (I am getting good at it!)...and all of these things are bittersweet. Life has changed in a variety of ways, and yet Phil is still dead. He gets the updates about our lives via my heart-to-heart chats with him, but there are now other people who get the updates, too. There are many parts of Christmas that remind me of him, of us, of a life that is no longer...sometimes the memories make me laugh, and other times they make me cry. And there are still days when I shake my head in wonder that Phil is not coming through the front door any minute.

So how can I be merry? How do I savor a life that Phil isn't sharing? When do the memories cease being haunting? I can only answer for myself...and what I have found is that knowing that Phil is forever in my heart gives me the comfort I need to have a different life. Things aren't what they once were. I am no longer naive to the concepts of death, grief, devastation, and despair. But meeting these dark companions has changed my life. When I discovered how dark life can be, I instinctively reached out for the light. As I walked through the valley of fear and uncertainty, I searched for a path towards hope. And when I experienced the absolute truth that life is actually short, my own life became more valuable as a result. My new motto is live. Live for today, because this moment is all we have.

How then to be merry? Accept that healing takes time. Know that happiness is eventually, and always, a choice. Hold tight to the love you have for your spouse, but don't let that hold become so tight that it strangles the living you. Value the opportunity to change someone's life, in ways large or small. And as a good friend once said to me, rest in the riddle.

Wishing all of you the chance to be merry....even if only for the briefest of moments.

Michele

Question Number Sixteen

Did you feel his presence in any specific way?

I have to admit that in the early months after Phil's death I ran from place to place (literally and figuratively) hoping to find a definitive sign that he was still with me. Is he in our room? Maybe in his garage amongst the tools? Could he be in the car? Near his bikes? Somewhere in the backyard? Insert in your mind here a vision of me looking under the bed, picking up each and every tool on the shop bench, sitting in his seat in his truck, straddling his bike though my legs were too short, and wandering aimlessly in our backyard...all in search of proof that Phil wasn't really gone. Over the last few years I have heard many stories of people who have felt their loved ones in their presence. They have no doubt that this experience is real, and derive great comfort from being with their lost spouse for just the briefest of moments, but Phil and I haven't been in the same room, for certain, since he died.

I have often wondered if the reason I don't feel him around me has something to do with my belief in the possibility that this could actually happen. Over the past three years I have looked for him in every imaginable spot, and even ordered him to appear when all else failed. I have spent a good amount of time fervently wishing, hoping, praying, or begging that I could find Phil in a particular spot, any place would do. Eventually I realized that if this were possible for me, I would never do anything but sit in that sacred location, and be with him. He knows me well, and I think he knows the truth: I couldn't handle being able to 'visit' him. Each visit would need to be a bit longer, every opportunity to run to him at any sign of trouble would be taken, and over time life would pass me by as I hid my face in his silent presence.

Some spouses are blessed with the certainty of their loved ones presence, some are left to wonder where they have gone; but I believe that love is the place all of us will most certainly find our heart's desire. Our loved ones live best in the hearts of those of us who loved them and lost them...each person who knew Phil holds a little piece of him in their hearts, and it is in our shared memories that I find him--without fail.

Another Widow's Voice

One of the blessings of the work I do is the opportunity to share stories with widows from all over the world. Our sister widows are some of the most generous, courageous, inspiring people I have ever met. You all continue to humble me with your trust, and I am touched by your willingness to share your personal journey of grief with myself, and your sister widows.

Today I received this wonderful antidote from my friend Kathy who lives in Seattle, Washington. Kathy lost her husband of 28 years, Steve, in September of 2006. Through the fires of grief and the devastating pain of loss, her long held dream of becoming an elementary school teacher has emerged as the precious metal that the flames left behind. I am thrilled to report that she is going to school full-time, and heading confidently towards her dream of teaching young people. Here is the message she sent me today, I smiled as I read her words, and thought you might, too......


Good Morning Michele,

When VHS movies first came out, Steve had a poor copy of Neil Diamond's The Jazz Singer. He loved that movie and the girls grew up watching it. They have searched for it, but have never been able to find it. Today, while I was doing Christmas shopping at Target, I looked up and there on the shelf was the 25Th anniversary copy on DVD of The Jazz Singer.....two copies left. It was like he was saying, "here's my Christmas gift for them." Oh, I love it when those special moments happen.

Hope your holiday preparations are happy and your home full of love.

Merry Christmas!!

Kathy

“Face your deficiencies and acknowledge them; but do not let them master you. Let them teach you patience, sweetness, insight .When we do the best we can, we never know what miracle is wrought in our life, or in the life of another.” - Helen Keller