Remembrance Services

On Sunday, November 17th, I attended a holiday remembrance service put on by Beers & Story Funeral Home.  It was a lovely service.  There was a level of comfort in knowing we were all there to remember and grieve the loss of a loved one as we approach the holiday time.  As Wendy spoke words of comfort and we listened to beautiful, meditative music, our tears flowed.  And we were comforted knowing it was okay to cry.  That we were all there because we had lost a loved one and today was an opportunity to remember them and grieve together.  They were tears of loss, of hurt, of shared sorrow.  It was a small group of us but in that small group I met three other woman who had lost their husbands this year.  There was comfort in sharing our loss with each other and that awful bond that we now shared.  A light touch of our hand, sharing about the death of our spouse, comforted each of each.

I am so touched by all that Beers & Story did as part of this ceremony.  As they read the name of our loved one, we each got up and lit a candle in their memory...one-by-one.  So poignant.  They gifted us with a plant with the name of our loved one attached as well as a guardian angel pin (which I wear everyday), some rosemary, and pamphlets to help us deal with the holidays.  I never expected such a moving ceremony and such generosity.

On Sunday, November 24th, my mother and I attended a Tree Lighting at Cooley Dickinson Hospital where I made a donation in memory of Ed, Michael, and Larry.  You may recall that the 24th was a freezing cold day with a strong wind.  We stayed outside briefly while a couple woman spoke and then the lights were turned on in the healing garden.  This ceremony, I regretfully say, was not very moving or touching.  The best thing about the day is that my mother and I went out to dinner afterwards at Viva Pasta in Northampton and had a delicious meal!  Oh well, the donation was for a good cause.

The plant from Beers&Story

Trees of Love and Thanksgiving Board in the Main entrance at Cooley Dickinson Hospital

Recognition of the three "lights" I added

One Day at a Time

It's been a week since I last posted.  I used to post every day.  Of course, when I posted every day it was to keep you informed on how Ed was doing and then how I was doing after Ed passed.  I guess the fact that I don't feel it necessary to post every day is a good thing.

I still find the days a mix of emotions.  The excitement in my life this past week included trapping 7 mice and also getting gutters installed.  I realize I'll do okay taking care of the house.  It's a lot of work, but I'm doing it and will continue to do it.  And I don't find it as overwhelming as I did several months ago.  I'm learning and I'm smart, so I will learn about these things.  Little by little.

But what I can't learn and what I can't adjust to is missing Ed.  I can take care of business.  But when my mind goes to the fact that I'm alone with no one to share my accomplishments, my thoughts, my feelings...my heart continues to break.  I know, I hear those of you reading this saying "we're here, you can share with us", but it's not the same.  I want Ed which just reminds me how he was my best friend, the love of my life, and I miss him so much.

I am constantly replaying Ed's final days in my head and wondering why I didn't take the time with him to better prepare myself for him not being here.  But I realize, and I know I keep reminding myself of this, that it was about him in those final weeks and days, not about me.  And I'm thankful for this blog, because I can go back and read about those days and I am reminded how he was dying and to ask him to stay, for my benefit, would have been selfish.

So it appears the mice are gone (for now) and I have cleaned up all the leaves in the yard, and I've got new gutters installed.  The house and yard are being maintained.  I make myself lengthy to-do lists and I work through them, checking things off.  I can't say the same, though, regarding my emotions, my grief, and the emptiness in the house and in my heart...  One day at a time, sweet Jesus, one day at a time...

Bah Humbug

I wish I were a bear and could go hibernate and not come out until Spring.  Or can I fast forward past the holidays?  Although Ed has been gone almost 7 months, Thanksgiving and Christmas will be the first "big" holidays without him.

How can I get up Thanksgiving morning and dress for dinner at my mother's without Ed being here doing the same.  Picking out what we're going to wear.  Ironing his shirt.  How nice he looked when he dressed up.  The smell of his cologne.  The person who always sat next to me and shared glances and whispers.  Who helped pack-up leftovers at the end of the day and drove me home after a nice day with family, just enjoying time together.

Yes, I am thankful that Dan will be home and we will be together.  Poor, Dan.  He carries the burden of the void  left by Ed.  I am thankful that he is an adult who can now bear this burden, but also sorry that he even needs to.

And then comes Christmas.  All the preparations.  All the decisions.  Do I really want to decorate--by myself--just to take everything down again--by myself?  Every decoration, every ornament will have a memory of Ed.  Every tradition will just remind me of what is no longer.  Yes, I have cherished memories but they are not yet comforting but rather magnify my loss.

I'm told I can do things differently this year.  I can make changes.  I can make choices.  I can just say "no".  But, really, can I?  Can I just say "no" I'm not acknowledging these holidays.  That I'm just staying home, away from everyone, and wishing the days away?  Although those of us who grieve as told we can do whatever we want, society says otherwise.

So I have decisions to make.  What will I do?  Will I bake the many dozen cookies I used to bake and give away as gifts?  If I don't, what will I do as gifts?  Will I put up the tree or pick candles in the window?  Will I send out cards?  Will I buy gifts for family and friends?  I wonder what they would all think if I just said "no".  For I have had to make way too many decisions this year, why do I need to make more, by myself?

For I do not feel generous.  I do not feel like celebrating.  And although I know, deep down inside, I should be thankful for things in my life, it's even difficult for me to do that.

And this may explain why the sadness often comes throughout the day lately and every night I cry myself to sleep.  For I try to pretend, but you can't fool grief.

Contented

Since I usually write when my emotions are the strongest and I'm upset, I thought I'd do something different and post this morning.  I am sitting here enjoying a cup of coffee, feeling contented, enjoying the morning.  The house is quiet and Dan is upstairs still sleeping.  I'm looking out the window and the yard is beautiful with the leaves all cleaned up.  Dan and I put away the patio furniture yesterday and finished putting storms up.  We are getting ready for winter and I'm ready to hunker down.

It has been a very busy 6 months since Ed has passed.  There's been so much to do and taking care of the house and the yard has been a lot of work.  I'm looking forward to taking a break from tending gardens and mowing lawns.  Of course, I'm also hoping for a mild winter so I'm not spending all my time shoveling or clearing the driveway!  Once again, I was so spoiled by Ed.  I shoveled the decks and steps and Ed took care of everything else.  On those snowy mornings, I would leave for work and when I got home, the driveway and walkways were magically all cleared.  I will just need to adjust my life accordingly now.

I still tend to worry about being unable to do things or doing things wrong.  As I was putting in storms on the 2nd floor, I was nervous about dropping the window.  But then I asked myself "what's the worse thing that will happen?"  I will drop it, it will break and then I'll have Grover fix it for me!  Not so terrible.  I also worry about having a bad winter.  I sold Ed's truck and plow, but I got the driveway paved so that I can use the snow blower Ed bought last winter.  But then I fret--it's a big driveway.  Can I really clear it all with the snow blower?  What if it's a bad winter?  But then I need to calm myself down because I know several people with plows and if I need to, I can call them and they'll be here to help.

And what I realize is that I'm learning it's okay to ask others for help.  It's not a sign of failure or weakness.  I also know there are people who want to help and actually appreciate it when I do finally ask and they have a way to help me.

So I'm learning.  Learning new skills; learning new equipment; learning not to fret so much; learning how to accept help from others.  I'm getting there.  And I know the coming months will be difficult with the holidays.  But for today I will be content...

Sundays

I try to find patterns.  What might be triggering what I'm feeling?

The latest pattern I've realized is that I tend to break down in tears on Sunday evenings.  The past few weeks, it was as I ended my day and went to bed.  The grief enveloped me and crying was so deep that it hurt physically.  Eventually the crying would stop and I would fall asleep.  But what a way to end a weekend or start the workweek.  As I arose on Monday morning, the sadness was heavy and I carried it with me throughout the day.

What was it about this weekly ritual?  I knew I didn't like it so if I figured it out, could I control it?  After giving it some thought, I think I would attribute this to two things.  One, Sundays were always family day.  We would tend to do all our errands and chores on Saturday so that Sundays could truly be a day of rest.  Sure, there would still be some things that had to get done.  But Ed and I typically stayed home on Sundays and they were quieter days.  At this time of year, Ed usually had something on the stove or in the oven for dinner and then would sit in his recliner watching football.  My weekends now are about getting things done.  I still like to have one day on the weekend where I stay home.  The difference now is that I'm usually busy with chores and, of course, my day is spend alone.  Not with my family.

The other thing I realize is that I'm been working hard to take care of our home.  I look back over the past 6 months and all those things I've taken care of.  And I try to be proud of what I've been able to accomplish and say to myself "Look, Look at all you've done".  And so at the end of my weekends, when I've once again worked through a long list of to do's and feel good about what I've accomplished, there is also a part of me that is reminded that this is now my life.  And I become angry that Ed is not here to take care of things or to take care of me.  I don't want to be strong and I don't want others to be proud of how I'm taking care of things.  I want Ed back.  This is not the life I signed on for.

I wanted to grow old with Ed. And the thought of spending my Sundays alone for 10, 20, 30 or more years breaks my heart.  I wanted us to have those quiet Sundays, with dinner on the stove, forever.  I guess the reason Sundays are so difficult is because I do slow down enough to allow grief to catch up with me.  During the week I'm busy with work and whatever might be on my calendar in the evening.  But by Sunday, I've slowed down.

The last few days have been difficult.  On Sunday afternoon, I found myself sitting in the upstairs hallway, crying out for Ed, banging my fists against the wall.  I cried out to him, but he did not come up the stairs to see what was the matter or to comfort me which only made it worse.  When I told someone this, they asked if I stomped my feet too?  I thought that was an odd comment but I take no offense but they don't understand grief.  Did I stomp my feet?  No, and that is because stomping your feet is a childlike response.  Something you do because you don't get your way.  And what I'm feeling is not childlike.  This is grief.  A pain so deep that you don't stomp your feet.  Instead, you slip to the floor and hug your yourself and wish the world would swallow you up.  For there is nothing that can make it better.  And so you cry and yell at no one in particular and you know there is no way to make it better.  That the pain is real and the grief is real and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that can be done to make it go away.

Eventually, I find I begin to reason with myself and I laugh at some of the irony of the thoughts I'm having.  And I wipe my tears and get up and get back to the task at hand...whatever it might be when grief interrupted me.

Grief is hanging around a bit more this week.  I'm not sure why.  I wish it would just stick to Sundays...

Her

I dreaded the moment I would see her.  I wondered what I would say.  On one hand, I wanted to lay into her, telling her how I could never forgive her for her actions, or rather, her non-actions.  But there she was and I could barely say anything.  A simple "hello" was difficult to get out but I did it after several minutes of avoiding saying anything.  In the past, I would have made small talk and done the "right" thing and been friendly.  But I could not be friendly.  I could not even fake it.

Instead, I went outside and sat by myself.  Yes, there were others around me, but I was alone.  In an environment where I felt out of place among people I barely knew.  In the past I would have clung closely to Ed.  And I realize so clearly how I was never alone with him.  Even if we went and chatted with different groups of people, there was always that home base, that person to connect to and be with.  But instead I sat there not part of any group or any conversation.  Just listening to others and pretending to have a good time.

As we all went inside for dinner, I again sat alone.  She sat alone as well.  But I could not sit with her.  The gap was there in the past, but I always made the effort, for Ed.  But she wasn't there for Ed in life.  Not after he was diagnosed, not when he was in the hospital in his final days, and not even in his death.  And she was never there for me and Dan and with Ed's passing, she wasn't there again.  At the lowest possible point of my life, she still could not extend herself in our grief.  Did she grieve?  I can't say with any certainty that she did.  Not for Ed at least.  And if she did, she grieved alone but that was her decision and her fault and so I do not feel sorry for her.  It was her choice...

As a Christian, I am taught to forgive.  But I cannot.  I do not know how a person can do this to another.  And although I wish last night I could have said all the things that I felt, I'm not quite sure what that might have been.  Would I have been direct and angrily ask "how could she?" or rather be curt and simply ask "how can you live with yourself"?  But I didn't do either of these things.  Instead I kept my distance.  I could not bear to even be near her.

It took all my energy to simply say "hello" and then later "goodbye".  In the past, I would extend myself to give a hug, but there was no hug last night.  I could barely look at her never mind be so fake in giving a hug.  And on one hand I'm disappointed in myself because I wanted her to feel the hurt and feel the anger but I would not give her that benefit.  And as she wiped tears from her eyes, I knew those tears were not for Ed and that continues to break my heart...not for her, but for Ed.

But as she sat there, I wondered if she ever realized how wrong her lack of action was; how unfeeling and hurtful she is.  And it is at this moment as I write this, that I commit myself to never be like that.  For it is the people in my life and the love and care I extend to them that is important and will be my legacy when it is my time to pass.  I never want to be like her and I always, always want to protect Ed, even in death, from her.

I was always impressed with how Ed rose above this behavior.  He always made sure we sent cards or gifts on every holiday and birthday, even though she never reciprocated or even acknowledging the gift.  If anything, she taught Ed how not to be and for that I need to be grateful because Ed showered me with love and thoughtfulness and never, for one moment, did I ever doubt his love and care for me.

And, so, because Ed would want me to, I will continue to send cards but signing them with "love" is not possible at this time.  I'm hoping with time, I will learn forgiveness.  I doubt if it will ever come.  Will I bite my tongue next time?  Most likely because I'm not a mean person.  And I believe in doing unto others as you would want done to you.  So I will continue to rise above and I will be there next time, for Ed, for Dan, and for those there that I do care about and, at some level, care for me.  In spite of her...