Tag Archives: Joe

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.

Forever changed

Laurel and I walked to the car without words, each of us focused on what needed to be done before we left Raleigh.  I was obsessing about Jackson, and how he would react to his Dad’s “weakness.”  Joe was the strong, rational one in the family and we all relied on him, but Jackson needed his Dad to be an oasis of calm in a sea of tumultuous emotions (I’m afraid that was, and is me.  Some people even suggest I can be a touch dramatic!).

Laurel was busy making a mental “to do” list of what her Dad would need in the hospital, and what she should pack for herself in case the two of us decided to stay overnight.  Laurel lives by her “to do” lists and I concede she is mighty organized (her room withstanding).

Anyway, after explaining the situation to Joe’s dad, making arrangements for him to pick Jackson up from school that afternoon, and packing a few items for Joe, we set off to Winston Salem.  At some point before we left, I posted a prayer request on FB.  Wanting to cover all my prayer bases I also sent an email to our Sunday School class.

As I drove, Laurel and I began bickering about the navigation.  Now, six months later, I can’t even remember the specifics, something about finding the fastest route on the GPS, and how she was a terrible navigator.   It was about 11:20; over an hour had passed since the call and we were very anxious, and terribly aware of the passing of time.  A deep urgency was thrumming through my body, screaming at me to hurry.  Nonetheless, I decided to detour onto Ridge Road so we could take a few minutes to safely program the address.

As I slowed down to pull over to the curb, the phone rang.  I will forever believe this was one of many times God has interceded during this whole mess.  Had Laurel and I not been arguing about directions, we would have been barreling down Highway 440 at 65 mph.  I answered the phone and the man on the other side said he was an ER doctor in Winston Salem. He did give his name, but I have no recollection of it and absolutely no interest in obtaining it.  He was simply the Voice which bore the news that changed us forever.

As he asked me if I was seated, my mind was yelling “God, please, please, please, please…” but I quietly, and as expressionlessly as possible answered with a simple “yes.”  Remember, Laurel was in the car, right beside me, hyper-sensitive to the minutia of any emotional displays.  The Voice then clinically proceeded to inform me, that although they had done all they could, Joe didn’t make it.  He gave me all the medical jargon; I cared nothing for it.  What did it matter to me the pathway of Joe’s death?  How could Joe’s heart stop when he had one of the biggest hearts I knew?  The doctor asked me if I understood.  Although I answered with a yes, I did not comprehend.  It didn’t make sense; he had just left the day before for an overnight business trip and was due back later that afternoon.

By God’s continued intercession, Ridge Rd, where I pulled over, is the street where we work.  All I could focus on was getting to the school, to Penny.  I knew she would be able to support me spiritually, and I did not want to tell Laurel her Dad had died as we were sitting in a parked car.  I think somehow, Laurel had an inkling.  She asked me over and over if the call was news about her Dad, but she never pressed for information.  When we arrived at the preschool, I let her know her Dad didn’t make it.  Oh, the torment in her face stabs me even today.  “Daddy?  My Daddy?” she cried, in a little girl’s voice.  And all those tears she had bravely choked back when we first heard Joe had a heart attack came back with a force that overcame her.  As she doubled over with the pain, I put my arms around her and led her to the place where I hoped solace awaited; the preschool.