Category Archives: Death

Fighting Sleep

So, it had reached a point where I was not expecting to see Joe at Target, or in a crowd, or plopped down on the couch watching a soccer game on the tv. I had even begun to silently congratulate myself on how well I was coping.

That was before I decided to make room in the closet which held Joe’s clothes, and I picked up Joe’s wallet. I was alone in the house, and thought, “why not get a start on going through some of Joe’s clothes?”  If you have ever had to clean out a closet of clothes of a loved one (perhaps a parent or spouse) you know it is extremely difficult.  For me, cleaning out his closet meant I was erasing a piece of him.  It was already an emotionally, and physically difficult task.  Why did I choose to pick up the wallet?  Good question!  I was reading an email from a man Joe had worked with and the email was filled with compliments on Joe. Reading it was great in the sense of remembering how special Joe was, and awful in the sense of remembering how special Joe was.

So, the wallet. I guess at that point I longed for some kind of physical contact of Joe.  I opened it, knowing I was not ready to touch the mementos of his life, and yet being unable to stop myself.  I stared at his drivers license; you know those pictures are generally not flattering, but that day, gazing into those eyes, the picture was beautiful.  Next, I looked through his receipts.  Remember, Joe traveled, and he had to keep proof of his meals, hotels, and various other expenses.  There was a fast food receipt; I chuckled and I cried.  See, Joe was so honest, even though he could eat at nicer places, he almost invariably chose fast food places in order to keep costs down for his employer.  I had tried to convince him (some might call it guilting him) to eat at better places, so he could eat healthier, but could not persuade him.  Holding that receipt after holding his license really brought me down emotionally. But I had those clothes awaiting me, and the kids were not home to watch and mourn, so I quietly replaced the receipt he would never need, folded his wallet, and turned towards the closet.

I pushed aside furniture to get to the closet so I could begin; the first item that caught my eye was a sport coat covered with light dust. Oh god; it was just too much!  It wasn’t the coat that broke me; it was the dust covering the coat.  See, Joe was a meticulous dresser, and there would never be a speck of dust on him (or any imperfection).  I ran to my room and fell on the bed, praying for God to take me too; I just couldn’t cope any longer; I was empty.  I broke down in tears and fell into some semblance of rest.

And then I woke up.  I just laid there, trying to absorb the knowledge I was still here.  Knowing God wanted me here did not make it much easier to get out of that bed and begin again the painful process of moving forward in life without Joe by my side.

Then, my nights were filled with dreams of Joe and I. We were usually separated and I was attempting to bring us together again. In one dream, I thought it was the kids keeping us apart and suggested they live with his parents. In another, he was alive and at home but we knew he had a medical condition that would kill him at anytime and I was pushing myself to find the answer.  In yet another, he was driving home on a curving, winding road, the darkness lit only by the pale beams of light from his headlights.  Spindly pines hugged the road, with dark and deep water waiting just below.  I saw his car suddenly careen off the road and into the water and I tried to find, and save him, all the while knowing I will be too late.

It was exhaustive.  I felt robbed and cheated; sleep had generally been my solace and release from daily stressors.  Now, it was just another device that plagued me, and brought yet more pain. I no longer wanted to sleep; I fought it.   And I tried to address it.  I told my doctor I was exhausted and needed to sleep.  He tried several prescriptions he thought might help me rest.  None worked.  These were strong medicines that should have quieted my brain and body. I think my whole self was focused on making sense of Joe’s death, to such a degree, there were no known medications powerful enough to shut down the process.  It would be two years before the dreams stopped and my rest was again sound.

Fishin’ and Prayin’

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Image via Google

So, I know it has been quite a while since I have written, and you probably thought I was done; no such luck!  I have much to say, but I have to wait until God gives me words to express my thoughts.  I will write out of sequence, as the thoughts flow, and trust you will be able to make order of my musings.

Holidays have been challenging for us since Joe died, and Easter was no exception.  Joe missed family time while traveling, but he was always with us for holidays, and provided a special effervescence to the occasions.  Joe could be serious and quiet, but he could also be the life of a party.  During holidays, he would relax, laugh more often, and tell jokes which everyone but me understood, which added to the fun (he and the kids just thought it was hilarious when he would tell some esoteric joke I didn’t understand until minutes later, when I would laugh and then they would ask “Did you just now get the joke Mom?”  Then they laughed more, with the opportunity to poke a little fun at me).  It was also a loose family tradition to see a movie, and we looked forward to all these moments with expectations of fun and merriment.

So, Thanksgiving was torture (a blog unto itself), Christmas was not too bad because we went on vacation after, and as Easter rolled around, Laurel, Jackson and I were looking for diversions to occupy the hours until our “regular” lives began again.  We went to church and did indeed celebrate Jesus’ resurrection, but afterwards the day dragged as, with somber emotions, we mourned our loss.

Jackson and I decided to go fishing.  It was a gorgeous day, sunny and temperate, and we thought both the fishing and weather would be good distractions.  While Jackson readied his lines, and cast, I skimmed magazines and books, played phone games, and passed the time waiting on a catch by web surfing.  I noticed a fit youngish guy jog by, but gave him no other thought.

Some time passed, and the jogger reappeared as he completed his run.  I assumed he would run on by us (and quite honestly wanted him to, because I don’t really like to be approached by strangers), when he detoured into our space.  “Oh lord” I thought, bracing myself for polite chatter.  Leaving me to answer, Jackson ignored him and continued fishing, even as the runner asked, “How’s the fishing?”  He then got down to business.  “Do you guys know the Lord?”  I have been asked this question many times. When I worked for Social Services, my clients would occasionally ask me, and I was always uncomfortable.  Why did it matter whether or not I was a believer?  Did that make me a better (or worse) case manager?  Were they going to witness to me in the office?

I quickly responded, “We do,” in an unsuccessful attempt to fend off any lengthy conversation (Jackson was studiously ignoring him now).   Running man then asked if we had a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.  OK.  Wow!  I LOVE Jesus, and God, and am ready to talk about them, especially when someone is curious about Christianity, but I feel turned off somehow when a person begins proselytizing, and spouting scripture to me; it feels like I am just another potential convert for them, to claim another soul for Christ.  It’s hard for me to describe; maybe you feel like I do, or perhaps you are one of God’s followers who looks for every opportunity to spread His word.

Anyway, now feeling very squirmy, and trying in earnest to shut the runner down, I answered, “Oh yes.  We are Methodists and we go to church regularly!”  I could almost see Jackson’s eyes rolling as he listenned without appearing to do so.  “What a dumb answer!” I thought, and then proceeded to add, “We’re Christians.”  I know, I know, my responses were so awkward, but I felt awkward, and I couldn’t think, because I was so consumed with how long he was going to talk to us.

What occurred next has never happened to me, ever.  The runner (I never got his name) moved in closer, and told us that as he was running past, God asked him to pray for the man in the red shirt.  Jackson had on a red shirt; our friend was referring to Jackson!  He asked if we had a specific need for him to pray about, and I told him about Joe; I said Laurel was at home, and both kids were trying to cope with the loss of their beloved Dad, and were also struggling with anger over Joe “being taken too soon.”  He went over to Jackson and talked with him a while.  He told Jackson that he wasn’t in the same situation, as both his parents were still alive, but that he had been angry over some family situations and made some  poor decisions several years earlier, as he attended UNC.  He said he continued that way until the day Jesus sat down beside him and changed the course of his life.  He assured Jackson God felt his pain, understood his anger, and loved him.  He reminded Jackson God was his Father too, and longed to comfort him.

He asked me if I had any physical pains, particularly on my left side.  He felt there was a specific problem area he was to pray for; although my left knee was in a lot of pain (I was trying to do a walk/run regimen and my body disagreed), I didn’t mention it.  I told him I was in pain from various ailments, but I still don’t understand why I failed to share about my knee.  He asked us to move closer, but in a humorous way, said we didn’t need to hold hands, and he prayed for Laurel, Jackson and myself.  He asked God to give us peace, to be with each of us, to heal me from the physical pain I was having, to comfort us and surround us with His love.

Before he left, I remarked I would have a difficult time if God asked me to go up to a stranger and pray for them.  He said at first, it felt strange, and he was slightly embarrassed, but that every time he followed through with God’s invitation, the request was valid.  In every situation, the prayer was necessary.  He also said each time he followed through, and received confirmation of the validity of the request, it was easier the next time to listen and obey.

Jackson and Laurel don’t talk much about emotions, so I don’t know the degree of impact the prayer has had on them.  I sometimes see a lightness to Jackson’s demeanor that had been missing since Joe’s death.  Laurel is harder to read; Grief continues to look for cracks into which it can burrow, to steal her energy and leave her an empty vessel, as climbing ivy does to a tree.  But Laurel is armed with the axe of strength and grace from God, and she is pruning Grief, although she has not eradicated him.

As for me?  Since the entreaties from a follower who obeyed God’s commission and became His voice, I have experienced a sense of peace surrounding Joe’s absence.  I miss him daily, and I continue to talk to him most days, but the anchor of sorrow, which had previously chained me to a place of pain and emptiness, has lifted.  I am not sailing yet, but I am free-floating, and the breeze of healing is welcome.

Oh, and my left knee you ask?  God mandates us to help ourselves, and to think.  My knee is fine; I stopped the run of “walk/run,” and I just walk.  I am too old, and too heavy to be running.  Now, ask me again about running when and if I drop 50 pounds!

Cracked Pitchers and glue

via Google images

via Google images

As the first day of  Joe’s death merged into the first evening and I was alone with my thoughts, I began to ruminate on Joe’s and my marriage.  Round and round, in a seemingly endless loop I replayed situations where I ignored Joe, wanting my “alone time,” moments where I could, and should have thanked him and failed to do so, times when I yelled at him for not helping out enough with the kids and other less than admirable moments.  Basically, I had a tape relentlessly torturing me with my failures as a wife, and there was no stop button with which to end the pain.

Intermingled with my vignettes of failure, and causing the pain to pierce more deeply and with such precision I knew my heart had been punctured and my blood was running free and stealing my peace as it abandoned the heart, were scenes in which Joe had the starring role.  I saw Joe kissing me on the top of my head as he passed by,  Joe regularly and fervently whispering to me “You are SO beautiful” (and although I laughed at him, I surely did feel beautiful in those moments),  Joe as “Daddy”: being at Jackson’s soccer and basketball games and encouraging him (“Run Jackson, run!”, “That’s it!”, “Shoot the ball Son, shoot the ball!”), and Joe, chanting the requisite responsive cheers at Laurel’s competitions and later, hugging her, always telling her she did great regardless of whether her team won or lost.

By the time the sun’s first weak rays broke through the blackness of night, I was a broken, useless vessel.  I was alive, in so much as much as my heart continued to beat in regular rhythm, but I existed as a cracked milk pitcher exists, unable to perform the function for which it was created.  I was overflowing with self-loathe and recriminations, to the point I could do nothing but cry silent tears of anguish as I slumped over the desk having attempted, but failed to begin the practicalities of  burying my husband.

As the tears flowed, the ringing of the phone disturbed the morning’s stillness and I grabbed at it so the children would not be woken.  I heard my sister Kathy ask me if I was ok, and as I tried to explain how badly I failed as Joe’s wife, I was choked by the volume of tears that overtook me and made it impossible to speak.  Kathy began to tell me it was ok, I was not a bad wife,  Joe loved me, and other banalities we feel compelled to say when there really is nothing to say.  And then she told me something which, didn’t stop the tears but did stem them.  She asked me a question, “Cindy, what do you think was the first thing Shannon said to me after Dennis died?”  I knew Shannon had lost her husband a few years back after caring for him for years during his illness.  I couldn’t think of what she would have said and told Kathy so; Kathy responded, Shannon said, “I was a terrible wife.”  I was floored!

After ascertaining she was not making this up in an attempt to help me stop crying, I began a lengthy process of realizing I was not a horrid wife, and Joe did love me; indeed, he treasured me.  It didn’t make the pain go away altogether but it lessened some of the guilt crushing me and enabled me to move forward.  I decided to try to relax with a bath while waiting for Kathy to come over and help me with various details.

The children were still asleep, or at least not up and about, and I was sitting in the bathtub reflecting on what Kathy had told me, grieving the loss of Joe, while tears slipped down my cheeks.  The shower curtain was partially, but not fully closed, to allow light into the tub.  As I was pondering, I heard Joe speak; he was just behind the curtain.  He quietly said, “You will be all right; you are strong.”  Silently I told him I would NOT be ok, and that I was a horrible wife!  He lovingly reassured me, “Puddyhead o’ mine, you were a fine wife!”  I had to laugh among the tears; Joe was the only person who EVER called me puddyhead (he gave me the nickname; I will share the details later for those who don’t know them, and he only called me “puddyhead o’ mine” when he was in a particularly good mood.  Joe’s words took my cracked and useless self and glued me back together; it wasn’t seamless but it held up under pressure.

God sent Joe to me in my darkest time, to give me the comfort He knew I needed from Joe, and the reassurance that Joe was with Him, and was in a great mood!  I treasure that visit, and it wasn’t my only one.  I will blog later on my nighttime visit with Joe and my big blowout with God.  Stay tuned and stay thankful.

“Can you afford not to?”

Somewhere around nine years ago, my younger sister Marty unexpectedly called me, and questioned me on the amount of life insurance Joe and I had.  It was unexpected because of the topic; we talked often but generally not on potentially touchy situations like debt and death.  However, she knew Joe and I had a rather significant amount of debt, and she was worried on what would happen to the kids and me if Joe died.  It wasn’t that she didn’t worry about what Joe would do if I died, but he was the breadwinner and she knew we lived next door to his Mom and that she would certainly step in and help Joe with whatever he needed.  Now, Joe’s Mom and Dad are terrific people and they absolutely would have helped me out financially as well, but Marty knew I would not want to be dependent on my in-laws unless absolutely necessary.  I tend to want to be very independent and in control (my family are rolling their eyes at this understatement).

To be honest, I have to admit I was not sure what insurance we had.  I knew Joe had some insurance through his job, and I had a small Universal life insurance policy but that was about all I knew; life insurance just wasn’t on my radar.  Marty explained her mother-in-law had called, worried on whether Marty and Charlie had enough coverage (Marty wasn’t working full time either).  And then Marty told me a figure that was staggering to me; she said a family needed 10 times a wage-earner’s annual salary in life insurance in order to protect the family if that wage earner died unexpectedly.  I explained to Marty I really appreciated her concern, but with me not working, and with all our debt, Joe and I really could not afford to add life insurance to our monthly bills on top of everything else.  We ended the conversation with Marty asking me in a nonjudgmental tone,  “Can you afford not to?”

So, the short of it is that Joe and I talked it over, and decided to speak with my Dad, who was a semi-retired life insurance salesman and discover what, if any, affordable options there were.  Dad, agreed with Marty about our need (he had known we were underinsured but really did not want to interfere with our lives), and he found a policy with a highly-rated company, and a monthly rate that Joe and I believed we could “just” afford.  For several months, I was tempted to terminate the policy because it was tough to add in yet another bill, but eventually we adapted to the extra payment and it became routine.

I bet you have an idea where I am going, sharing this information.  As horrible as Joe’s death was, and it has been, by far, one of the roughest passages in my life, I have not had to worry about how I am going to pay my bills, feed the kids, buy gas, etc…you get the point.  I have been able to keep working part time, for this first year anyway, while Jackson, Laurel and I attempt to create a “new normal.”   For Jackson, who doesn’t like change, having life insurance has meant I can continue to take and pick him up from school, to cart him to his tutoring and to work, and to keep life as stable as possible amongst the chaos of death.  For Laurel, it has meant she graduated from NCSU (with honors; GO LAUREL!) without debt, when she was expecting to owe somewhere around $50,000.  I know she would rather owe the money and have her Dad, but Joe hated we were saddling her with a huge burden before she even had her first “real” job, and I know he is smiling down at me in relief she is debt-free.

I again give thanks to God, for placing insurance, or the lack of, on Marty’s heart.  I mean, who really thinks about life insurance other than life insurance salesmen (sorry Dad), and who calls their sister about it?  Certainly, my family does not, and I give credit to God for once again providing for us before we knew there was a need. And thank you Marty, for obeying the urge you heard and calling me, when I know the thought of that conversation felt uncomfortable.  And Dad, thank you for finding us some insurance we could afford with a dependable company.

Sometimes, we are nudged into actions or conversations that are outside our comfort zone.  In the past, I have ignored some of those “God calls”, but since Joe died, I have been trying to listen more attentively, and to step outside of my box when He tells me.  Like Moses, I have been known to try and “reason” with God, to let him know I may not be the best person for His calling.  You know how that ended with Moses?  Yeah, He pesters me until I follow through!

According to LIMRA, in 2013, 30% of U.S. households had no life insurance at all, and only 44% had individual life insurance; the average amount of coverage for adults has declined $30,000, to $167,000 since 2004.  Of course, not many of us expect to have a spouse die at a relatively young age.  Having life insurance for my family has given us breathing room to grieve, and continue life with some small sense of normality.   I hope you will evaluate your income situation, and make sure you will have room to breathe, just in case the unthinkable happens.

God, Grief, and Cough Drop Wrappers!

Image via Google

Image via Google

I would probably (maybe definitely) “turn back the hands of time” as the song goes and have Joe back with us, and yet there is a part of me which understands I am becoming (I hope) a wiser, kinder and more faithful person through the process of grief. I don’t really like the idea that sadness can produce benefits because I do not enjoy pain, but I am growing through my travels with my companion, Grief.  Sometimes Grief is enough steps behind me that I think I have lost him, and then he runs up beside me and taps me on the shoulder to remind me he is still with me. There are moments I am carrying Grief, cradling him, and days when the sun is so bright I cannot see him. But Grief is a constant, and I am learning to slow down, listen, and respect the lessons he is teaching.

God is also a constant presence and has held me so tightly, and at the same time, so gently in His hands that I can only worship Him and say Thank you; thank you for holding me up when my legs will no longer support my weight, for prompting a friend to pray for me and then text me to let me know, for surrounding me with the love of family, friends, and truly special and blessed people of the preschool, and for giving me answers before I knew the questions.

I may be slightly morbid; Laurel accuses me of being preoccupied with death and dying. I was planning my own funeral years ago, just to “be on the safe side.”  One early morning as I was leaving for work, I guess it was about 15 years ago or so, I saw what might have been a  small explosive device on the street ahead of me.  Joe would be leaving shortly with Laurel, and I knew I had a choice; I could drive over the device and sacrifice myself for my husband and small child, or I could drive around it and save myself.  As mentioned, I may be somewhat morbid (and I definitely have one hell of an imagination)!

The reason for sharing the above is this, and I think it is important.  I believe God knows what will happen, can change it, and yet seldom does (for reasons He alone understands) and yet, because He loves us unfailingly, tries to prepare us, hampered only by the limits of  our human understanding.

I had gone to a memorial service a few weeks before Joe died, and afterwards found myself reflecting on how meaningful the service was.  I wanted to incorporate aspects of that service into my funeral service (as I wrote above…a wee bit morbid).  I never thought of Joe’s funeral; even though he complained (all the time!) of being tired and not feeling that great, I just figured he would live longer than me.  And to really be honest, I never dreamed I would be particular about funeral details of another person (Hello, who was I kidding?  I am a Virgo!)  But when Joe died, his service and the particulars of it became very important.  I took those aspects of that memorial I attended that I thought were particularly meaningful and incorporated them into Joe’s service.  And garnered real peace from them too.  I believe that perhaps God, knowing the peace I would receive from the details,  spoke to me through that memorial service.

This will be hard to believe for some of you (smile), but Joe and I did not have the smoothest path in love.  In fact, it was filled with bumps and sharp curves!  And he had always traveled, for the 25 years we knew each other.  So we didn’t always say good bye when he left; we knew he would be back in a few days.  And often, we forgot to say “I love you” as he left.  But the day before THAT day, I was at the door as he left, and with a quick peck, I said “I love you.”  I am thankful Joe heard those words as he went on his way and I believe God pushed me to that door (because I was probably either watching a DVR’ed show I loved, or cleaning the house and feeling very busy) so I would have one less thing to regret (cause there have been many things although I am working with some success on not beating myself up on something I can no longer change).

Note to others, and with no preaching intended because I have been there: life can be shorter than you anticipate and when your partner/child/friend is gone, those dirty clothes on the floor, or cough drop wrappers on the floor next to the trash can because he/she is such a bad shot or in such a hurry they can’t pick it up (damn, I miss those wrappers), or whatever other habit drives you crazy, will seem childish to you that it ever bothered you.  But, ok, even after such a lesson, I am still working on not letting the small stuff drive me crazy (like needing the sheets and blankets to be perfectly balanced and smooth; Laurel knows what I’m talking about!)

Here are a couple more examples for you.  Laurel did a really dumb thing (as we all are prone to do), and she lost her Resident Advisor job as a sophomore.  Because of that, she lived at her Granny’s, beside us; I mean, I forgave her but didn’t think she should be rewarded with an apartment!  Because she was at home, she had two years most college students wouldn’t, snuggling with her Dad on the couch watching tv, going to ‘Canes games, having Friday lunch dates, and in general, soaking up his wisdom.

Remember I told you Joe had always traveled?   Well, about three-four months before April, Joe wasn’t traveling quite as much.  This coincided with my requests (i.e. demands) he help out more with Jackson, and Joe began taking Jackson to school almost every morning.  Now Jackson considers himself quite the audiophile, and he really is, but he had nothing on Joe!  Joe was in a band in his late teens (and maybe early 20’s), composed songs, played guitar, and with his remarkable memory, probably remembered the year, artist and song title of almost every song he heard.  So Jackson and Joe played what I call “the music game” on the way to school, and so for that three-four months, Jackson was able to quiz Joe over and over again.  It was special moments between the two of them.  (Jackson tries very hard to play this game with me, but I am no fun because even after he tells me multiple times an artist’s name, never mind the name of the song and forget about the year, I cannot remember any of it!  He is currently seeking replacement musical genius’s!)

Eight or so years ago (Joe was the keeper of dates), I mentioned to Joe’s Mom to let me know if the house behind her, or the one beside her, went on the market.  Especially the one next to her in the cul-de-sac!  She said she would, but that she was pretty sure the one next door would not go on the market because the couple was fixing it up, and seemed to really like the neighborhood.  Five days later, they went to her to let her know they were selling the house.  She and Papa agreed to loan money to Joe and I so we could put a non-contingent offer on the house and we were the proud owners of two homes.  Our home sold in five days!  Alton and Ginger had eight years of being able to see their son every day he was in town!  Praise God!

Janet and Chuck were Jackson’s mentors for church confirmation.  Jackson really admires Chuck, who is an FBI agent, and Chuck has been a great male role model for Jackson, especially since Joe’s death.  Both Janet and Chuck have supported our family and in particular Jackson for the last two years.  When Joe died, they were there for Jackson, Laurel, and me.  Sadly and unexpectedly, they lost their 25 year old son in a car accident almost two months after Joe died.  Amazingly (to me),  Janet said the way I handled myself, and Joe’s service, was an example for Alex’s service.  I think God used Joe’s service to give her guidance she would need.

God always works for good (although we are not always able to understand).

Broken hearts and Big hearts

I led Laurel into the preschool, directly to Penny’s office, and as I walked, tears began to slide down my cheeks.   Penny came over, shut the door, and immediately embraced us.  I can’t remember if I voiced the worst, or if she could read the truth in our faces, but she began to cry with us.  She called the minister of the preschool’s church, and asked if she could call our home church with the news.  Soon, we had two ministers by our sides, but there was no relief from the pain.  To be honest, I can not recall any words spoken by either of them; just that each of them prayed with us.

Besides emailing our Sunday School class earlier, asking for prayers, I had also requested prayers on my Facebook page.  I began to imagine well-intentioned friend after friend commenting on my post and asking for updates; I knew I would begin to crack, and then shatter, into sharp, piercing shards, such that I would never be able to put myself back together if I had to answer those queries.  In an attempt to forestall more pain, without any other thought, I changed my FB status to “Please pray for my children and in-laws (and me) in the loss of our Joe.”  It did not begin to occur to me family members might read my words, and learn of Joe’s death from Facebook; I was on autopilot.  Indeed, our beloved nephew, who lives in San Francisco, regretfully did receive the news in this most impersonal and inappropriate way.  Winston, I am so sorry about this; I am sad you read about Joe, rather than have a family member call you.  (You know, Joe would NEVER had made this mistake but I bet he would not be surprised I did!)

Luckily, God took over for me, and had my sister Vicky call me about that time for an update.  She immediately took charge, and began calling family with the news.  I think she probably called everyone on my side of the family.  Penny took charge at work, and drove Laurel and I to my mother in law’s office; I did not want Ginger or Alton (my father in law) to have to drive.  Penny then drove us all home, and stayed all afternoon.  My sister Kathy showed up soon after and she began dealing with incoming phone calls.  My Dad arrived and enveloped me in a hug of warmth and security that only a father can provide.  One of my coworkers also arrived and stayed all day; her husband arrived later to provide his support.

Someone (I am sorry I can not remember who, but thank you) drove Alton and me to Jackson’s school.  I had called ahead to let them know the situation and when I arrived, they led me straight into the principal’s office and got Jackson.  Those that know Jackson may understand when I write that I was unsure how he would react; he surprises me at times by either over, or under reacting and I wasn’t sure which I would get this time.  As soon as he saw me, he asked me irritably what I was doing at school.  I explained that his Dad had a heart attack earlier in the day, and didn’t make it.  Jackson, with angry desperation insisted I was joking.  I quietly told him I wasn’t, and as the news began to register with him, he said not another word, as choking sobs overtook him.   I led him to the car, where Papa (Alton) sat waiting for him.  My heart, which was already in pain at losing my partner broke when faced with the despair of my children in losing their Daddy.

Although our hearts were broken, beginning immediately after the news of Joe’s death, and continuing through the memorial service, my family was upheld with selfless acts of kindness and petitions of prayer for the strength which only God can provide.  We did not have to think about food; there was more than enough.  The prayers were answered in a most powerful way; I was filled with spiritual strength which allowed me to put one foot in front of the other and move forward, and take one breath after another when what I wanted to do was crawl into bed and just wait until the nightmare ended.

Somewhere in the middle

Most stories begin at the beginning.  This one will start somewhere in the middle.  Let me give you a little background.  On April 30th, 2013, I received a call which has changed my life.

I don’t often remember details, especially times, and I guess the time may not matter to you because it doesn’t change the story, but everything about April 30th is important to me.  Our class at preschool has playground time at 9:30;  it was raining that day, or at least messy enough so, rather than go outside, we were playing in the Fellowship Hall.  The kids had just begun riding plasma cars on our “track” when my phone rang.

And here is the middle of the story.  The only indication of anything momentous was the number was unrecognized by my phone.  Now, I generally do not answer unrecognized calls and definitely not at work, but I did this time.  It was a highway patrol officer.

Immediately, I knew something bad had happened to Joe and my heart began beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.  Joe was my husband and we’d been married 22 years.  The officer asked me to sit down, and like a movie where you know what’s coming, I asked the question I imagine most of us would ask; “Is Joe ok?”  He told me Joe had a heart attack and was in good hands, on his way to the hospital.

I couldn’t process any other words he said.  Something about which hospital, and the address.  My co-worker Mary took the phone from me as I slumped over in disbelief, head down to my chest, curled in a ball on the chair.  Joe was on a one day business trip to Winston Salem, NC (about 1 1/2 hours away), and was due back later that day.  Mary wrote down the name and address of the hospital, and I ran inside to get my purse and my daughter Laurel who is 22 and works PT at the same preschool.

It seems impossible to me that I can’t remember what I said to her, or her reaction; and yet my world was trembling, on the verge of collapse, and so perhaps it is not so hard to understand why I have forgotten the words.  Clearly though, I remember her expression as I explained;  her bright brown eyes, so full of life and happiness changed in a heartbeat to eyes of a trapped animal, desperately seeking safety and a way out of sure doom.  Trying to be brave, just a few tears welled, but she would not allow them to fall.  We went to tell Penny, our director, and she immediately embraced us, and she led us in a prayer of petition to God.  Laurel and I had no sense that the next time we entered the preschool, our lives would be forever altered; we were simply thinking of the quickest way to get to Winston Salem, and figuring out who would pick up Jackson from school.