Vern was such a fabulous father, and on this day set aside to honor
fathers, I'm recalling so many special times we had over the years. I know this day is very hard for my widow sisters with young children, children who did not have the opportunity to get to know their wonderful fathers. I hurt deeply for them.
But, honestly, I can assure you there is never a right time to lose someone you love. I was 59 and had 41 years with Vern when he died. Believe me ... it was not enough time. We had a lot of life left to live. So many plans and dreams for our future. And Jer deserved to be able to show Vern all that he will become ... will he marry? ... will there be grandchildren?
My parents are gone, so are Vern's ... oh my goodness ... I just looked at the dates and realized that Vern, Jer and I were each 33 years old when our Dads died. I wonder if that is meaningful ....?
I've been spending some time with introspection since my birthday last month. What is my purpose? What do I have to offer to this world? It feels like what I need to be doing at this point in my life. And along the way I've learned to appreciate those very long and difficult cancer years. Not only did they allow me to truly live our marriage vows, they showed me how strong I am ... because of Vern. I hate that he had to suffer so. I do not have the answer to that big question of 'WHY'? But I know that Vern does ... now ... and that is good enough for me until I join him.
"The truth is you and I
are in control of only two things, how we prepare for what might happen,
and how we respond to what just happened. The moment when things
actually do happen belongs to God." ... from "Produced by Faith" by DeVon Franklin
I'm rather amazed that it's been over 3 months since I've written here. Time marches on. I've had things I've wanted to write about, but just never took the time to do it. Kind of like those boxes from the storage unit that are still stacked in the garage. There have been great times and not-so-great times in these past months. But this has been a rather tough few days so I decided to take the time to write about it now that I've gotten through it.
Bad news just keeps coming ... and by bad I mean C.A.N.C.E.R. How I hate that word. A dear friend was diagnosed this week, a special online friend lost her battle with myeloma this morning, an old friend has a brain tumor, other online myeloma friends are struggling with their latest results. And with each new piece of cancer news I'm transported back to Vern's struggle and all of the heartache that was packed into those years. Just when I had finally gotten to where I could put those very difficult memories in their own special place that wasn't always in the front of my mind.
So I've embraced them. I really had no choice. I re-read some of my CaringBridge journal entries, looked back here at some old blog posts, looked through photos. And shed some tears. Tears for Vern and tears for me. Tears for Paula, tears for R & W, too.
I drew this in the sand at Myrtle Beach during Camp Widow.
But I know tomorrow will be a better day. (I really DO know that. It's just hard to live it each day.)
Here's a highlight of some of the things that have occurred this spring ...
My trip to South Carolina in April was amazing. I loved the history in Charleston and my first B&B experience. Those two days showed me that I can travel alone and be ok. Although I will definitely learn how to travel lighter next time.
Camp Widow in Myrtle Beach. Not sure whether it was being further out from Vern's passing or being right on the beach ... but it was life-changing. I felt I had turned an important corner in my grief after this special weekend.
But ... there was a let-down after Camp that extended to my birthday and lingers still, although not as strongly now. I did write a blog in Widowed Village about it (http://widowedvillage.org/profiles/blogs/grieving-my-aloneness) and I'm working on doing what I need to do. It's a challenge.
I'm attending events at our new performing arts center, forcing myself out the door for concerts and Broadway shows. Not easy, but once I get there I'm enjoying myself.
I've been able to meet in person some of the widows I've met online ... both here in Vegas and at Camp Widow. And I'm headed to San Diego in August for another Camp. Plan to drive Vern's Mustang there - another first.
Jeremy graduated from the Master Bodywork program and is awaiting taking his national licensing exam to get started in his new career.
Work is going well. I feel energized there ... and needed (I really miss being needed by Vern). I can now see me actually making it to my full 30 years before retirement.
I'm thinking of other trips I'd like to take. I've wanted to return to Hana but know that will be a difficult trip. It is such a special, sacred place of memories for me but I'm beginning to feel I could be ready to schedule that trip. I'm also thinking I need to make the Florida trip to decide if that's where I'd like to go when I retire.
I feel better 'in my head' most days but still many, many things I need to work on. I'm shocked that it's already June and I have not made any dents in my long to-do list. I'll get there ... eventually.
No matter how hard I try, I just can't let these '22nds' pass without notice. I see the date and immediately do the count. September to February = 5 months + one year = 17 months. How is that even possible? I still feel like a 'recent' widow, but I probably don't qualify to use that term any longer. Who decides those things? The same folks who say 'young' widows can't be 50 or older? Gee thanks. I do so hate labels.
At times it feels like 9/22/10 was only yesterday. I can be transported back to exact moments and conversations in the blink of an eye ... and then other times it feels like forever since I held his hand in mine. I know I will survive this. I know I will find my way. I will do this for him, and my faith will carry me through. But make no mistake - this is not easy. There is no master widow calendar that calculates when our grieving is finished. And our minds work against us constantly. Guilt on those days when we hear ourselves laughing and then someone says the wrong thing (good to see you have moved on ... what? no i have not!). Regrets for things we wished we had said or done when they were alive. The loneliness ... the quiet ... missing him.
Sue, a dear online caregiver/widow friend, wrote today: "Help me God to fight as hard for myself as I did for him." Her words really made me think. There wasn't a thing I wouldn't have done for Vern - there wasn't a thing I didn't do for him - during those long 4+ years fighting cancer. I got up each day thinking positive thoughts and took whatever the day threw at us. I always put on the happy face for Vern .. always. No matter what news we were given, I found a positive way to spin it for him. I talked him back from the edge. It made a real difference in his attitude; his medical team even noted it. And I believe it gave us those extra years the docs weren't expecting. So why can't I accept that it's ok to fight hard for myself? I deserve it. He would want me to not just survive ... but to thrive. So I will make that effort. I will be aware of the beauty all around me. I will carve out time to do special things I enjoy. I will try to resurrect those creative juices I once had. I'm ready to fight hard for myself.
I did take a really big step forward last weekend by emptying the storage shed we have been paying for - and having a dumpster delivered to my house to toss what I could. It was not easy and I did not finish this task ... yet. Lots of memories in there. A lot of things to toss, too. And even more boxes I haven't sorted through yet that are now in my garage. So while I feel very happy that the shed is empty, my house is even more of a disaster zone right now. I caught a bug over the weekend and wasn't able to get everything done, but I can keep the dumpster over this next weekend to finish things up. I know it will feel good to finally reclaim our home from all of this 'stuff'. I'm ready to fight hard for myself.
As difficult as that "empty the shed" day was emotionally, it ended on a wonderful note. A myeloma caregiver/widow friend I met online back in 2006 was in town for a conference and we shared a wonderful evening together. There is a very special bond created through sharing these difficult life experiences. I've had the privilege of meeting several of my online widow friends in person - either here in Vegas when they were visiting or at Camp Widow. I cannot imagine how much more difficult this grieving was in the days before the internet.
And speaking of Camp Widow ... I finally booked my flight to Myrtle Beach in April where I will meet even more of my special Widowed Village friends. I plan to push myself to be more outgoing at this year's camp - to not be afraid to approach others if I find myself alone. I'm ready to fight hard for myself.
The new year always seems to bring reflection - and I'm at a place in my life right now where I think I will benefit from that. I'm still not doing the things I think I should be doing, but I do feel I've made some progress and just need to start 'doing' rather than 'thinking' about all of it. I guess recognizing that is an important step.
I watched the premiere of Tom Shadyac's documentary "I am"New Year's morning on Oprah's Super Soul Sunday. It helped to
show me where I want to go, what I want to be in this world, what is important. Simplicity.
Love. Kindness. Connection. Happiness. Quite inspirational.
And he also asked the question: How much is enough and what do we need to live a purposeful life? It's something I've been thinking about lately and I'm trying to use this question as a way to get started
with cleaning out some of the stuff I've accumulated over the years. And I also need to use this as a push to finally pass along some of Vern's things, the medical
supplies and remnants of his illness that still occupy space in our
bedroom, his clothes, the wheelchair van. I know it's not healthy to be holding on to those things. I can't tell you why they are still there. It's not like I pull them out or even spend any time looking at them. They are just there. Perhaps it's my fear that getting rid of those things will mean I'm letting Vern go. Even typing those words brings tears to my eyes. No - I'm not ready for that. But I think I can convince myself that those physical things are in no way related to my connection to Vern.
St. Augustine said,
"Determine what God has given you, and take from it what you need;
The days leading up to Christmas were not my best. Tears very close to the surface constantly. Not sure whether it was because I had pretty much ignored the holidays last year or just that I had passed the one year mark and expected more of myself than I was able to give. I thought I could decorate. I put up the tree but just could not put the ornaments on it. I was able to bring in some of my decorations for our department holiday gathering but they came home and went right back into the box. I didn't do any shopping, didn't purchase any gifts, didn't even go into the mall or any stores other than the grocery store. I ended up accepting what I couldn't do and hope that next year will be better.
And then it was Christmas morning. My new boss wanted to deliver donuts to our security staff who had to work that day (isn't he fabulous?) and asked if I'd like to join him. Sounded like a great idea, so I said yes. I must admit I had second thoughts when I went out to my car that cold, dark morning at 4:45 a.m. to pick up the donuts ... but then ... as I backed out of the driveway and my lights hit the street ... there they were! Sparkles!! If you've been following my blog, you know what those mean to me. I honestly had completely forgotten about them and they took my breath away. Someone ...someone ... remembered and thought enough of me to do this wonderful kindness once again.
It's been nearly 3 weeks since I've written here. I've thought about writing a blog post but just haven't felt like it.
Just like so very many other things in my life. I'm really good at
ignoring things I don't feel like doing. But I really have been busy ... new job, still doing old job, a big meeting/holiday event at work, clearing out my old office and storage room at work, Jer's graduation ... some really good moments, and yet trying to avoid the holidays without anyone really noticing. The tree went up weeks ago, but there are still no ornaments. I opened the box. I tried. But there are 41 years of memories in that box and I'm just not able to do that. Yet. Maybe next year.
I'm off work now until January 2, so I didn't set an alarm for this morning. Climbed into bed around midnight and
actually got nearly 8 hours sleep with only 2 wake-ups. That's unheard of
for me. My norm is about 4 hours with 1 wake-up. But I awoke this morning feeling kind of melancholy. I have no food in the frig, the house is a mess, my Keurig stopped working, my laptop went bonkers. I actually hollered out loud when the laptop snafu happened. "Enough!!!!!" And then I noticed the date. Ah. OK. Now I get it. It's been 15 months since I lost Vern. 1 year and 3 months. 456 days.
Today. Yeah, the 22nd snuck up on me.
So I just accepted today was going to be one of THOSE days. Tomorrow will be better.
And there ARE good things happening in my life ... I know that and I appreciate that.
Jeremy graduated from the Nevada School of Massage Therapy and will be starting a Master Bodyworker program in January. He's finally found his passion.
I love my new job and recognize how lucky I am to have this new, amazingly kind boss and a new set of co-workers I'm getting to know better.
I'm
writing positive posts in Widowed Village, hoping to help others who are
struggling; and I volunteer there on weekends processing new members.
I
share posts on Facebook and Pinterest and play Words
With Friends - and I joke and laugh.
I enjoyed the Michael Jackson 'Immortal' Cirque show with a couple of friends last week.
Someone at work has sent me anonymous gifts each day for the "Twelve Days of Christmas", a wonderfully kind thing to do that brought me joy.
I'm trudging along, putting on a
pretty darn good front, if I say so myself, feeling that no one really
wants to hear that this is still not easy.
So today was tough and I stayed in my jammies all day long. I ordered pizza delivery for dinner and I'll start fresh tomorrow. Oil change for one of the cars, grocery shopping, maybe I'll even put up one of my nativity scenes. Vern knew how much I enjoyed them and bought me a couple over the years. Think I may look for that box before I head to bed.
I started a blog post yesterday that would have had a completely different focus than the one I need to write today. I felt really good. I got that job I wanted! I've accomplished some things on my to-do list. I felt positive about my future. I even put up my Christmas tree.
And then today arrived and the tears will not stop. So many triggers. I could easily have just not posted anything today, but then that wouldn't be true to myself or to the other widows who share this journey with me. I know this is normal. I've written many posts of encouragement to others about this. The roller coaster of grief. Feel what you feel. Live it. Breathe it. And it will heal you.
So I have taken my own advice and spent the day with my tears. Big, wallowing, sobbing, ugly tears. Tears for Vern ... for his suffering ... for how much I miss him ... how much I love him ... for the loss of the dreams we had for our future ... for the loss of my joy in the holidays ... for my aloneness ... for the fears I have of my own future.
While I was writing this post my new boss actually sent me a wonderful text message. It reminded me that I am truly blessed. Tomorrow is a new day. My first full day at the new job. I know I will
awake feeling better, ready to move into whatever the future holds for me, carrying Vern in my heart.
P.S. I changed the tv channel to Andrea Bocelli's PBS special and what song does he choose to sing at that exact moment? "More" - the song sung at our wedding. One final grief burst before turning in. Bring on Monday.
Nearly a month has passed since I said I was going to set those goals and get busy accomplishing things (well, actually, I think I originally stated that 2 months ago). I'm a bit ashamed to admit I've not really done much with them. Oh I have excuses ... I'm still doing two jobs at work, I'm still missing Vern, I'm tired, I'm not eating or sleeping as I should. But ... the fact is, I guess I'm just not ready to tackle all of those 'I need to do' things in the manner I originally planned.
Last Friday, my widow breakfast buddy, Linda, and I each stated one thing we were going to accomplish this week. Mine was to dust my floors and finally send those dust bunny families packing. Yes, it's rather embarrassing to admit that I'm still not cleaning the house much at all. I wouldn't answer the door even if someone did stop by (which hasn't happened by the way). So when I came home from our breakfast I took care of those bunnies right away. It felt good! So good that I did one more thing on my list right away. Yeah! So I'm trying to just take this in small bites. No pressure to finish the entire list by a set date. It will all get done in due time.
One thing I think will help get me moving is I'm interviewing for a
new job on Tuesday ... it's for the extra job I've been doing for the
last 2+ months. While I've changed job responsibilities within my
company over the years, I haven't had a formal job interview since 1992
and must admit I'm a bit nervous about that. Just a few months ago I was thinking about retiring. I was getting pretty comfortable with the idea for awhile there. But then I took a good look at my life and realized that I was just not ready for that. I can say that I would use that extra time to do all of the things I've wanted to do for so long, to travel and read and create ... but the fact is I'm still spending most all of my weekends inside my house on the computer. I don't want to become that crazy old widow lady who never ventures outside except to pick up the mail.
So going to work is good for me at this point - it's a lifeline, a place where I can push all of the sadness and loneliness and fears into the corner and be somebody I like, be who I really want to be. I think I need this new job ... for my healing. Vern is no longer here to make me feel like I matter. But this new job makes me feel valued - I love
being asked my opinion and actually listened to, being truly
appreciated. It feels really, really good and I think will have a
positive impact on my personal life. So wish me luck on Tuesday; he's making the decision Wednesday morning ... just in time for a real THANKSgiving for me. Hey - it may even help me tackle
that list a little faster, too!
I'm feeling on the edge lately. Not "on edge", but on the edge, on a precipice ... like I'm teetering between my old life and a new one. I don't think I know yet who this "new" Dianne is, not really sure I want to get to know her fully just yet, but I'm seeing glimpses of her each day.
But change can be hard for a widow. I'm a bit afraid to leave any part of my old life
behind ... the life I shared with Vern. That's where my memories reside. It is precious and I don't
want to lose one moment of it. So I need to figure out how I can move
into a new life while still being able to honor and treasure my past. I need to find a way to carry the person I am at work into my private life, so that I'm no longer two different people. There's a potential change coming at work and I believe that will help me move into this new phase of my life. I think I'm ready for it, and then - perhaps - the other changes I need to make will follow more easily.
Whether you're an Oprah fan or not, her new Lifeclass series provides some really good food for thought and I recommend them. And for my widow friends out there - some of these classes have really hit me hard, making me think about my life and how I'm handling my loss. There was one where the class focused on the "I see you" statement from the movie, Avatar. Vern loved that movie, and those words were some of the last he spoke in hospice. I didn't get the connection at the time. He said, "I see you" and I responded with a smile and a kiss, saying "I see you, too, sweetie" but when I've heard them since then I am reduced to tears. I can hear him saying those words and I can now feel what he was actually saying to me. He was acknowledging who I am as a person, what our life together meant, the fact that I was there for him through those difficult days, weeks, years. He was validating who I am with those 3 little words when he was unable to speak further. And that was the message behind the Lifeclass ... how wonderful it would be if we took the time to stop and truly acknowledge each person who crosses our path, to acknowledge their "Being", who they are, what they bring to our relationship. It's something to strive for.
Yes, I know ... I said I wasn't going to do the counting thing any longer. But I awoke this morning realizing it was once again the 22nd, so it felt right to use that fact as a starting point for a blog update.
A month ago I said I would spend the next 30 days "in search of Dianne" by accomplishing some short term goals. Well, that did not happen. I wasn't realistic at all about the timing of that statement. The past 30 days have required very long hours at the office, bringing work home every night and going in on weekends to prepare for our annual employee recognition week. On top of that big project, I also picked up an additional job ... one that I am enjoying thoroughly and hope will evolve into a new permanent role for me. So there was no time for Dianne during these past 30 days, and I will not
beat myself up for not accomplishing any goals this month. My search for Dianne will begin today, but I also need to take care of some tangible things that have been ignored for too long.
The house is a wreck ... worse now than before, really, because of the work project. I've only run the dishwasher, cleaned the toilet and done the laundry when I absolutely had to. I don't think I opened any mail during this past month - so that will be the first change I make. #1 on my list of goals is to open the mail every day; shred the junk stuff, pay the bills, file away what needs to be filed. #2 is to get back into the weekly house cleaning habit.
This is one of my favorite times of the year. The heat of summer is gone, evenings and mornings are cool, daytime temperatures are in the 80s. My #3 goal will be to get outside and enjoy this time. I haven't tended to Vern's rose garden all summer, so that's on the list - along with a daily walk around the neighborhood.
#4 is to do something with the wheelchair van. I finally have both the Mustang and CRV running and up-to-date with maintenance and I'm driving both of them regularly to keep them running. But the van continues to sit there in the driveway - dead battery and more. It was such a life-saver for me to get Vern to dialysis, doc appointments, chemo treatments ... someone else is probably feeling as desperate as I was before we had it and should be using it. So I'll contact the Ability Center where I purchased it and see what my options are.
I miss Vern deeply and talk to him every day - but I don't cry every day any more. The days leading up to the one year mark were very difficult - far more difficult than the actual date - but I'm grateful for the precious memories they brought to me. I'm still spending time in Widowed Village, with people who understand what this is like ... how hard it is to figure out how we can possibly go on without the loves of our lives ... and I'm looking forward to both Camp Widows next year. I now get out each weekend to meet a dear widow friend for breakfast, so no more spending the entire weekend at home in my jammies. I will spend some time this weekend writing out the rest of my list of
things that need to be taken care of so I can start checking them off -
and I'll include some personal growth things, too, that will help me
find Dianne once again. I know she's still in there somewhere.
I made it through the one year mark ... I don't really like calling it
an 'anniversary'. Anniversaries are good things, wonderful events that
we want to celebrate. September 22, 2010 certainly was not that. While I
am very grateful that Vern's passing was peaceful, it is not
a day I wish to honor with a celebration. It marks a monumental loss
and a drastic change in my life. It is a point that I needed as a
compass this first year, but I am hopeful that I can place that date off
in a private place. Let me instead celebrate the many special occasions
we enjoyed during our 41 years, and use his birthday and our wedding
anniversary as my special dates of remembrance.
Today I purchased tickets to upcoming events at the new Smith Center for Performing Arts that will open in March 2012. It felt like an investment in my future - and a push to get me out of the house for more than just work. I'll be seeing Straight No Chaser, Sweet Honey in the Rock, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, and 4 Broadway shows: The Color Purple, Mary Poppins, Million Dollar Quartet and Memphis. And I can't wait to see Wicked when it arrives later in the year. The song "For Good" from that show speaks so very deeply to me of the impact Vern had on my life. (I have that song linked over on the right-hand side under "Special You Tube Videos" if you haven't heard it.)
And then there's Camp Widow in Myrtle Beach in April plus the add-on trip to DC afterward with my extra special Widowed Village pal, Tracy - and the trip to see her in Calgary in July for the Stampede, and a visit to Lake Louise and Banff - and then Camp Widow in San Diego in August. Whew ... I'm going to be busy! I guess I'm going to need to keep working in order to afford to do all of these things! Thank goodness for the 4-day work weeks that give me long weekends and for my good number of vacation hours on the books.
Yesterday I purchased a CD package called "The Re-Entry to Life" program from Second Firsts, an online company that helps others deal with grief. I think it will be helpful to make the steps forward I need to make. And since I was one of the first 10 to make the purchase, I'll also get a private phone consultation with the author. I've never done any one-on-one counseling so this will be another growth opportunity.
So today feels like a start. There were tears as I listened to the songs I had placed over in the You Tube video file, but they helped to remind me that how I live the rest of my life is a reflection upon Vern and so I must do this right. He was such a very, very special man ... and "because I knew him, I have been changed for good."
There were days I didn't think it would be possible, but I have survived a year without Vern and all of the 'firsts' that came with it:
Halloween ... I put a 'sorry, no candy' note on the door
Thanksgiving ... very non-traditional - went to a local Mexican restaurant with Jer
Christmas ... no tree, no holiday parties, no decorations, no gifts
New Year's Eve ... no fireworks
His birthday ....
Valentine's Day ....
My birthday ... the big 6-0
Our anniversary ... it would have been #42
The one year anniversary of his death ...
I didn't do anything special to mark these 'firsts' ... the most common denominator was that I spent them alone. I have no family here, other than our single adult son. There were 1 or 2 offers to join others on special days, but being with couples or families enjoying each other just was
not something I felt I could do well.
There were many special moments of kindness shown to me throughout the year that I am very grateful for, but there are two 'events' that occurred that will stay with me forever.
One was a gift I gave to myself - an early December trip to the Florida Keys. I knew I couldn't be at work for all of the holiday festivities and decided that a trip to somewhere that didn't hold memories would be helpful. Those days in that beautiful spot started a healing in my soul and provided me with a possible link to my future retirement days.
And the very biggest remembrance of this first year was the anonymous gift of 'sparkles' on Christmas Eve. I felt very alone and forgotten most of this year and that gift demonstrated that someone out there was thinking of me, was reading my blog, had paid attention to something special that had occurred 3 months earlier and took the time to do this wonderful thing ... it warmed my heart in so many ways and will never, ever be forgotten.
So today is Day 1 of my resolve to make some changes, to grow, to figure out who I am and what I need to do. Think I'll start by making a list that I will post on the bathroom mirror so I see it every morning. I can do this.
My life changed forever on September 22, 2010 at 5:08 a.m. as my dear husband slipped from this life and went to Heaven. While I couldn't possibly have wanted him to continue to suffer any longer, letting him go was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.
So here I am one year later. One year. How can that be?
I'm not where I think I should be at this point. Emotionally ... well, maybe. I have my good and bad days, I don't feel depressed ... just sad. I miss him. He was my one true love and my very best friend for 41 years. I miss being able to talk to him about the little things every day. Tears have been heavy during these past several days, but I guess that was to be expected. There have been other issues, too, that have burdened my heart this past week. Just a big ol' dark cloud hanging over my head.
While I am proud of how I cared for Vern during his cancer battle, I am not proud of how I've let everything else in my personal life go since he left. The house is a wreck, I'm not taking care of things like I should, Vern's things are still in the closet, medical stuff is still stacked in a corner of my bedroom, I'm still leaving mail unopened in stacks on the table, the yard would be a jungle if not for my oh-so-special neighbor Nancy, the wheelchair van still sits undriveable in the driveway. And yet at work I'm organized, efficient, smiling, handling a really huge load right now that keeps me jumping the entire time I'm there. Who the heck am I? How do I make these two very separate people merge into one?
I'm not sure what the answer is to that, but I am going to finally get started trying to figure it out. For Vern AND for me. Just like I faced each day of Vern's cancer journey with the 'one day at a time' mantra ... I will face this personal mountain one 'bite' at a time. I will follow my special widow friend Crystal's lead and start my "in search of Dianne West" journey with a list of realistic short term goals to accomplish in the next 30 days.
Today is for grieving ... tomorrow begins Day 1 of discovering who I am.
I knew time was very short this day a year ago. I had asked the nurse to come into the room when he began making a strange sound. That was when I learned about the death rattle - and while it was rather disturbing, I was assured that he was not experiencing any discomfort. I squeezed myself into his bed without disturbing him, wrapped my arm around his head and stayed there, speaking softly to him throughout the night.
I had asked God to send an angel to carry my Vern home and I have no doubt at all that my prayers was answered. Earlier, I shared my wish with Vern and asked if he had seen any angels. He nodded and whispered 'one' and pointed over to the corner of his room. He later asked me how many angels he needed and said "I'm ready to go." He would stay with me for another day.
"In the night of death, hope sees a star,
and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing."
~Robert Ingersoll
As hard as it is to recall all that happened a year ago, remembering all of these moments brings me some peace and I think it will help me to move forward. I am proud of how I cared for Vern, how I loved him, how I let him go when it was time.
A year ago we were half-way through our hospice experience. Our days there were peaceful and quiet. A time of reflection for me - to appreciate the wonderful life we shared, to recall special times and to share those precious memories with Vern. I did not use that time to prepare for his leaving; I did not ask him questions about what I needed to do after he was gone ... where the safety deposit key was hidden, how to work the pool pump or operate the landscape equipment. That time was all about LOVE, only love.
The courtyard at Nathan Adelson Hospice - September 2010
He only spoke a few words while there. A couple of visitors earned sincerely whispered "thank you's" and that special eye twinkle for taking the time to stop by to see him. And he repeated loving words over and over again to me that will bless me forever.
I held his hand throughout the days and nights. It was important to me that he not ever feel he was there alone. Throughout his cancer battle I massaged his hands and feet daily with lotion to help ease the neuropathy pain and they were so smooth and soft. I miss those special times of tenderness.
"I dropped a tear in the ocean. The day you find it is the day I will stop missing you."
~Author Unknown
A year later, I'm hoping for the return of those peaceful days. Days that will heal my heart and help me find my future. It is time for me to get on with living. To take some good solid steps into this new life of mine. To set some goals for myself - and to make a real effort to reach those goals.
But first I must get through this tough week. I think it's important that I look back to one year ago. To appreciate all that those days brought to me - the love, the tenderness, the closeness, the tears, the heartache, the despair. This past weekend was not at all peaceful but I am hopeful that I will soon find my way with the help of my faith, my God, and the friends who remain.
Hospice arrived in our life a year ago today and I honestly did not see it coming. I've reread my Caring Bridge journal from that day and it has brought out so many memories and emotions. I started that morning out thinking there had to be some way I could get him home from the hospital and ended the day following an ambulance to Nathan Adelson Hospice.
I'm grateful that I had those final days with him. We were together and I knew the time was short. I was able to say the things I wanted to say, even though he wasn't able to communicate with me much. I know in my heart he heard every single word and that does give me peace. Other widows have told me I'm lucky to have had those days with him, but it's really hard to feel 'lucky'. I lost the love of my life ... the man I had spent over 41 years married to ... he completed me ... he supported me ... how can I possibly be much of anything without him?
"You can only come to the morning through the shadows"
I woke up this morning feeling strange. I had gone to bed early and slept fairly well (for me). I awoke well before my 4:30 alarm went off and decided to just get up and start my day. My tummy was feeling a bit unsettled - but I figured that was because my dinner had consisted of ice cream just before retiring. I turned on my Kindle and played a couple of word searches and then decided to start reading one of the many books I've purchased. Open to Hope, Inspirational Stories of Healing After Loss caught my eye ... and while reading of a wife who with every downturn in her husband's cancer battle feared he would not recover, it hit me.
I never once felt that ... not during the initial hospitalization and surgery ... not when he started bleeding out 4 days later and was given the wrong blood on the operating table ... not with the stage 4 pressure ulcer and colostomy ... not with the kidney failure ... not with that awful open back wound that would not heal ... not with the abdominal aortic pseudoaneurysm ... not during any of the many, many hospitalizations over those 4.5 years ... and not on that morning one year ago when I called 911. I never once thought that it would be the end. Not once. HOPE ... it was always there ... always.
But then I looked at today's date and now I understand why today feels different. One year ago I made that call. And I know now where that call took us and how it ended. It was a day that changed my life and I didn't even realize it at the time.
Those wonderfully kind Henderson Fire Department paramedics arrived and were able to gently lift my dear Vern up out of the recliner and onto the gurney. We arrived at St. Rose Siena and I learned we had more issues than I anticipated, but we had been in this spot so many times before. We'd get through this crisis, too.
The hospital was packed and we waited for a bed to open ... with his feet hanging off the ER gurney.
After 8 hours, we opted for a transfer to St. Rose San Martin and he
was finally settled in a real bed. He was comfortable, sedated, tests and dialysis ordered. Day 1 of the final 9
days of Vern's life ended with hope once again.
I've had a change take place at work that I'm quite excited about. A manager I deeply respect has received a well-deserved promotion to director of a new department and has asked me to help him get it off the ground. I'm very flattered by the things he's said and look forward to helping him do this right. It's the spark I've needed. I enjoy my current job managing our employee recognition programs, but the struggle to get the buy-in needed for it to be fully successful has been wearing on me. The lure of retirement was sounding better each day. But now that I have these new responsibilities, I'm energized again. I'm splitting my time between this new job and my current work which keeps me hopping, so a benefit is that I'm finally able to sleep straight through the night on my work nights.
I've been enjoying breakfasts on the weekends with special friends, and I had a great time Saturday night with Deb at dinner and the Sade/John Legend concert. It has gotten easier for me to do these social things, but I do still find that I need my down time afterward. I continue to find myself picking up my cell phone to call Vern or making a mental note to share something with him when I get home, but those slips no longer bring me to my knees.
When something bad happens you have three choices.
You can either let it define you,
let it destroy you,
or you can let it strengthen you.
I've fought hearing those "you're strong" words, but I can do that no longer ... especially after reading the above quote. I certainly will not let Vern's death define or destroy me ... that would not honor the years we had together and all that our love meant. So allowing the loss of the love of my life to strengthen me is a good thing. And I see evidence of this strength nearly every day. Oh I still have a long way to go to become who I need to be, but I can now see the possibilities.
