Tag Archives: Grief

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.

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).

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.