Tag Archives: Death

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.

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.