From caterpillar to cocoon to butterfly...

The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy.
What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls the butterfly.

--Richard Bach

I've been thinking alot about butterflies lately.

This is one of the last things John said to me (but not THE last) the morning before he died:

"Tamara, will you put the butterfly away?"

At the time, I just chalked the comment up to the amount of morphine he was on toward the end. Now? I say "maybe...and then again...."

I'd heard things from various sources about butterflies being important. I even heard about it during the warmer weather, where butterflies and moths were in abundance--particularly around the gardens of Stoneleigh. John even noticed them outside his window flitting interchangeably with the rainbow of birds that were outside and near John's windows.

But I didn't think about it much after he died. Not initially, anyway.

A couple weeks ago, I attended my first Widowed Persons Support Group--a group of women that meet on the third Sunday afternoon of each month. I'm normally reticent about joining in with the "support group" thing; the reason I went to (and will probably return to at some point) the cancer support group was because I already knew the people who are a part of that group.

This new group came with high recommendations from my doctor and several other people--including a couple of my coworkers. So I thought there would be no harm checking it out.

The meeting took place in the suite next door to my doctor's office. There were about eight of us in attendance, including the leader. Our leader is a grief counselor who has walked a similar road to the rest of us. I immediately felt at ease as I listened to the various women who are at different stages of the process. But even those that have new grief--like me--it's  a different stage and process...it is for everyone. That's a given for me and has been for about 14 years.

At first, we were asked to take turns and share our name and--if we felt comfortable--one thing good that had happened in the last day. I don't remember what I shared; I think it had to do with family member and accomplishments or something that day. The specifics do not matter; the fact that I had a good thing to say was the important thing, I think.

And I'm just getting past (well, most of the time) feeling guilty for having good moments when John has died. Of course, I still have meltdowns and sad times. Lots of them. But nothing really that unusual where I am currently "at" in the process. And of course, there's no set timeline.

We talked about the television coming on and many of the other women have had similar experiences. Mostly, I learned that what I've experienced about "strange occurrences" isn't that unusual.

And then the thought about John's butterfly comment came to mind. And I said this:

"Something John said toward the end has been bugging me." I told them what he had said. And several of the women either nodded their heads or gasped.

I was told that the butterfly is a sign of transition to the next life. And in the context of when he said it, it makes complete sense. The subject of butterflies comes up often in experiences--mostly with women, the support group people told me. Yeah, but...

I just recently finished reading the book Proof of Heaven: A Neurosurgeon's Journey into the Afterlife, written by Eben Alexander, MD. It was the third book I'd read in the last few weeks about near-death experiences (NDEs, they call them). In this book, not only does the subject of butterflies come up--it's on the cover of the book! Now, I've owned the book for two or three months. And I never noticed it until the time I was actually reading it and thinking about John's butterfly. I won't go into Dr. Alexander's story any more than that other than to say I think his experience was similar to what happened to John when he nearly died from the meningitis. The only main difference? John never talked about what happened while he was away from us. But there definitely was a change after that happened. I mean...there were changes after the initial cancer diagnosis, but the changes in April 2012 were much more profound, in my opinion. It's difficult to explain why I know this, but I really believe something happened because he seemed much more peaceful and yes, spiritual after that third visit to the hospital.

So here's what I'm thinking about right now.

The three stages of a butterfly's life--from caterpillar, to cocoon, to butterfly--seem to go along with the three stages of John's life. John and I were wondering around, two caterpillars, trying to figure things out. And not always happily but I will say we were more in sync probably by the time John's parents died in 2010. And when we were hit with the cancer, perhaps it was about that time we started to wrap ourselves up in the protection of our cocoons. But unlike the cocoon stage, I don't think John was unattractive. Ever. Maybe the butterfly was peering through the veil?

And in seeing that final butterfly...John was being escorted into a life of no more pain or negativity...and the butterfly that had already been within him started to shine as he flew free of his early cocoon.

And now, every time I see a picture of a butterfly, I think of those things. And it makes me smile for awhile. And for that brief moment, I forget about the injustice and tragedy of this cancer.

Oh...and in case you are wondering what the last thing he said was before he drifted into the coma-like last stage of his life with me on earth...he told me that he loved me.

And I believe he still does. Because death cannot separate us from Love. Not the love of God. And certainly not the love we share with others while they're here. That never ever ends. So the cancer was a horrible thing. But the real tragedy would have been if I hadn't figured this stuff out.  And that, too, comforts me a great deal.

Ashes to Valentines

Wednesday was the beginning of Lent, though I feel a little like I've already been in Lent for a few weeks now. I went to the evening service; lovely and meditative music there...and when it was time to get the ashes from Tuesday's palm-frond bonfire, it felt like the days when people wore sackcloth and ashes for mourning. Well...I am in mourning.

I am glad I went, though. It's a meaningful start to the official season of Lent. And it further underlines what a wonderful and supportive church family I have. Hugs, arm and hand squeezes...for that moment it happens, I don't feel so lonely.

Today is Valentine's Day. And I am grateful for the great love I have had...and continue to have. Wouldn't it be worse if I hadn't had this love in my life? This love that encompasses every fiber of my being...that has only grown since my great loss.

One of my favorite sites on the web these days is brainyquote.com. So...today I looked up quotes about love. And found plenty that I'd heard, and plenty new ones. Here's one I'd heard:

What is love? It is the morning and the evening star. --Sinclair Lewis

Yep. And much more.

I'll talk about this in future posts, but thought I'd leave it there.

Today, I met with a financial advisor and got some wonderful advice. Lots to consider, but it made me feel better that I'm not in that bad of shape, financially.

After work, I met with the counselor at the county Veterans Affairs office to apply for John's burial benefit. I also learned that I have access to a few funds and a pension if my situation ever gets to a point where I'll need the assistance. Good to know.

Did you know that besides the letter from the President, you also get the medals your spouse earned? That got me thinking: I don't think we ever received Dad's medals. I'll have to check into that. Heard an interesting story from the counselor--seems that the parents of a Vietnam vet who had recently passed (the father is a veteran of WWII) learned--from looking at their son's discharge paperwork--that their son had been awarded the Medal of Honor. They knew nothing about this until they looked at the paperwork. I was then told that it's typical for veterans to not talk about their awards and medals. But wow...

Elvis and I are now at my brother's house and enjoying a very eclectic selection of music...Do you Love Me...Groovy Kind of Love...Barracuda...Who....Manic Monday...works by Prince, Rolling Stones, Elvis Presley, Heart, Police, Beatles, lots of others. It's kinda of fun to let our hair out and listen to LOUD music.

Speaking of Groovy Kind of Love, that is my brother and sister-in-law's song.

John and I didn't have any one song. We had lots.

People asked me if Valentine's Day was difficult. It is...to an extent. But John and I had a Valentine's Day that actually lasted for 14 months. No one day can capture that.
I think Valentine's Day is great. But I think that every day should be special. Because, you know, life is SHORT.

So...go ahead and have a Valentine's life with the ones you love.

Nights are the most difficult.

Feeling much better, physically, I went to work. The day flew...maybe because it was filled with meetings.
This afternoon, I spent some time with Elvis right after work. I have to take him to the vet for his tri-annual rabies vaccination in the next few days; was going to do that this afternoon, but the driveway is too icy for me to walk a dog that still is learning the word "HEAL!" On my way home tonight, I think I'll pick up some regular salt. I have the special salt for tender beagle paws, but it's pretty expensive and thus reserved for the back steps and areas where Elvis frequents.

I also started working on the garage a little; some things to sort through and toss in there, and will gradually work on them. For now, though, they're safe. A friend of mine from work moved some things there from Stoneleigh for me, which was wonderful. Like I've said before, I want the first time I show up to visit Stoneleigh to be stress-free with no thoughts of what I have to move. Big thanks to the staff that was there to help my friends move things. I noticed that some of the things that were moved aren't actually mine, so when I can get to them, I'll have to get them back to the facility. For now, though, they're actually useful.
I noticed that the first of the life insurance amounts is ready to access very soon, and that's a relief. I'll use the first bit to pay off John's funeral and a few people who helped out with that; then, I'll consult with a financial advisor about how to handle the rest. I'd like to get this albatross called "my house" off my back, and am seriously considering paying the thing off and then fixing it up enough to sell it. But I'll discuss with experts the best way to handle that.

I managed to get to the gym again today and make arrangements to start my monthly payments again. Very reasonable and worth it to get my body healthy again. I figure if I work on that--which I'm thinking will also include another doctor-guided food detox--it might help my emotional health, too. It was a little easier this time but I still picture and feel John walking on the treadmill next to me.

Speaking of  emotional health, I signed up to attend a "widowed persons group" meeting. Those take place on the third Sunday afternoon of each month. This coming weekend is the first meeting for me. I'll post my reactions and feelings about the meeting sometime afterward.

For supper, I went to the Habitat for Humanity fundraiser--a Shrove Tuesday pancake supper. It was delicious. It was the first time I had been to the church since the funeral, and while the pastor burned the palms from last year for tomorrow's Ash Wednesday services, I stood near the place where ashes were buried in the garden...ashes that once were my husband. It was somewhat comforting. Hoping I can help out in the garden from time to time; I need to find out how I can do that.

I mentioned in another blog entry that I'd talk a little bit about music. At different times in this newer journey, different bits of music enter my busy brain and quiet me for awhile. One of the more recent songs is from the movie Moulin Rouge. It's called Come What May, and pretty much describes the last year for John and me. Following are the lyrics:

Never knew I could feel like this
Like I’ve never seen the sky before
Want to vanish inside your kiss
Every day I love you more and more
Listen to my heart
Can you hear it sing
Telling me to give you everything
Seasons may change
Winter to spring
But I love you until the end of time
Come what may
Come what may I will love you
Until my dying day

Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place
Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace
Suddenly my life doesn’t seem such a waste
It all revolves around you
And there's no mountain too high
No river too wide
Sing out this song and I will be there by your side
Storm clouds may gather
Stars may collide
But I love you
Until the end of time
Come what may
Come what may
I will love you
Until my dying day

Here's a couple of links to the song. First--from the movie:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-YsMvzgeSuI
And also from a really lovely rendition I have of Alfie Boe:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rztp98FrxNc

I stopped to write this entry at a coffee shop on my way home and probably have procrastinated enough.
I used to look forward to getting home to spend time with John--especially in those last 14 months. Taking care of him was difficult, yes, but it was a privilege and an honor to care for such a kind, gentle, and brave man. Thank you, John. You made me a better person. Truly.

I just hope I can continue to live my life honoring your memory.

In the meantime,  I just don't like nighttime now. It's not that I'm afraid anymore. I got over most of that and only have occasional moments of fear. No. Most of the time, it's loneliness that the darkness seems to make more profound. Thank God for Elvis for giving me a reason to go to the house for any reason. I hope he doesn't mind if I hug him a little tighter for awhile.

The escape.

I stayed home today because I wasn't feeling well. Now, this is something...I hate being in that house by myself any more than I have to, but today, I am stuck there. I won't go into the reasons other than to say I needed to stay in the house. I am feeling a little bit better now and may go out to get some medicine. I decided it was a good time to do some writing, though, so here I am.

Oh, and I promised in the previous post that I'd talk about some music that has been my brain theme these days. I hope to get into that into this entry, but not sure yet. Let's just see how it goes.

I think I'll talk about some things that happened from last Wednesday through yesterday first.

Lately I've been busy trying to find things to do to keep me occupied in the evenings so that when I'm ready to rest for the night, I'm ready and won't dwell on the overwhelming loneliness I feel these days. I'm trying hard not to let it consume me, but sometimes I fail at that, and I guess that's okay. I'm allowing myself to grieve, too, as I know that's important right now.

So...as you know, Monday was choir. Tuesday was orchestra. Wednesday...I did something very difficult. I went to work out at the gym for the first time since John's therapy. I had gone to have therapy on my heel and foot more recently, but in those times, I didn't "work out."

I decided I'd just use the treadmill, and ended up walking almost 2 miles. Headphones on, quietly crying the entire time. Picturing John walking on the treadmill next to me, just as we'd done many times during his physical and occupational therapy sessions. And then I had a nice hot shower afterward.

Thursday night, I took myself to a movie, choosing Silver Linings Playbook. I was actually okay at the movies. The movie wasn't all that close to hitting home, and that helped. And ultimately, I thought the movie was good, though I wasn't sure at the beginning that I was going to like it. I haven't gone to more than one or two movies since May...and really, not much more since November 2011. Prices have gone up, so I may have to limit myself to occasional movies at the matinee showings...or perhaps to one of the small-town theaters in neighboring towns.

Getting to work on Friday was a challenge; the snow had fallen and was just high enough to make the journey to work (at least the part in my neighborhood) a challenge; the roads were, however, also pretty scary. I was glad to get to work early (I always leave early when there's bad weather); I even got there before the plow trucks were done, so I sat and listened to the radio while waiting for spots to be cleared in the parking lot. I must say that they do a quick and efficient job!

After work, the gal that cuts my hair had agreed to give me a haircut right after work so that I could visit a friend over the weekend. So...freshly shorn and a little overnight case plus Elvis and his gear in the car, we headed for an adventure in Roseville, which is a suburb of Detroit. My college friend and her lovely husky-lab mix, Sandy, live in an adorable little house not far off the highway. And I have to tell you...Elvis has finally found a dog who will play with him. So Sandy and Elvis spent a good share of time romping in Suzanne's large backyard.

Most of the time, we just hung out, which was fine by me. We did normal things like walk the dogs, eat, chat, listen to music. My friend took me for a drive--mainly down Jefferson Ave through all the Grosse Pointes...all the way to Cobo Hall and back. She even took me by some of her old neighborhoods, and by Selfridge ANG base, where my dad's last ANG assignment was before he retired from military service. We even went by the home of the mayor of Detroit, though I'm told the current mayor does not live there. But it's the site of much intrigue during disgraced former Mayor Kilpatrick's term.

One of the fun things I saw on our little tour was a bunch of people ice fishing on a bay off of Lake St. Clair. I even got out of the car to take pictures; there was a club with fake palm trees, and some of the photos I took looked like summer in Florida with the white sand that was actually snow. And then the little shacks on the ice...hundreds of them!

Saturday, my friend had a babysitting job with a client of hers and his sister. It was a great deal of fun eating together, filling my friend's  tiny but inviting kitchen. This client is autistic, but my friend has made a profound difference in his life. In my eyes, he's a lovely ginger-haired 8 year old who has made great leaps in his development in the three years she's worked with him. I was amazed to learn of new legislation pushed by our not-so-beloved-by-me Governor. Apparently, this young man will have to be "re-certified" as autistic, as if this condition will ever go away. Testing costs thousands of dollars, not covered by insurance. This seems like some sort of racket to me. I can see re-certification for other temporary conditions, but autism? This seems very wrong. But they will have to do this every three years with him if they want him covered on his insurance.

Sunday, I slept in a little; and then I had breakfast and a massage. Did I tell you she's a certified massage therapist? She is amazing and I felt so good afterwards. I had really messed up my back from carrying water from the basement a few nights before, and this was wonderful.

Later, we traveled to Plymouth, were we attended a Sigma Alpha Iota alumnae meeting. SAI is the music fraternity both of us were in while we studied at Michigan State. It had been years since I'd been to a function, and I'd forgotten nearly everything, so I needed to be re-educated. My wonderfully talented friend sang at this; it was lovely to hear her sing after all these years and after all the health challenges she's had.

You see, she is a multiple cancer survivor. And she's been one of my best sources of support and knowledge; she helped me navigate this whole world of cancer treatments, trials, etc. And she also helped me in my...and actually our (John's, too) decision that enough was enough with the treatment. We talked a little, cried a little this weekend.

The subject of my pastor's homily came up. Suzanne had a difficult time with it--particularly the "it's not fair." I was confused, as I thought it was dead-on the right things to be saying. But I forgot about her perspective: She started to cry as she said it wasn't fair that she had survived and so many of her friends hadn't. I wish I'd said more because I know what I was thinking...so I'll say it now in case she reads this:

My dear friend, you are still here while so many--including my beloved husband--have passed from this heinous thing called cancer. You must not feel guilty about this because I don't think you realize what a wonderful person you are. So giving, even when you don't have that much financially to give. Yet you do. You give your whole heart. God needs you here and has a special purpose for you. John's purpose was fulfilled and though I miss him so very much, his work on earth is done. Yours...and mine...is not done.

It's not fair that cancer and other things hit us either directly or the people we love. It's not fair. But God did marvelous things with John and me, and he's done marvelous things through and for my friend.

So, I drove back last night after a little Chinese New Year feast with my friend and her dad. It was a little scary in places, as Detroit traffic seems to drive too fast all the time, even though it was a bit slippery and windy during my drive on the expressway. I loved my weekend escape and hope to have more adventures with her and with other friends, too.

Now, I'm feeling a little guilty because I yelled pretty badly at Elvis because he took so much time going to the bathroom last night. Here we were in the cold rain and he just didn't want to go, though I knew he must have to.

And it killed me because for awhile last night, he acted afraid of me. I don't know why I blew up--I didn't hurt him physically and never would. But he seemed to absorb my anger and steer clear. Later, just before I went to sleep, I pulled him close and he seemed to feel safe again with me. Soon, he was dreaming and barking in the dream..and even running a little. This morning, like I said, I didn't feel well so I've spent most of the morning cuddling with him and he seems to have forgiven me.

Well, I think I'm going to get a bit more rest this afternoon, with my wonderful and unconditionally loving beagle by my side.

One thing nice happened today; do you know how--when you drift in and out of sleep--you remember dreams a little more? Well, in one, I felt John spoon me. I didn't see him, but I felt his arms around me. And when I woke from that, I smiled through my tears.

I think I'll wait until another post to talk about music.

Until now, I'll try to remember that hug by my husband in my dreams and sleep some more today.

Moment by moment.

My Tuesday went pretty well during the day, as I was warmed by what I think was a reminder that John isn't far away. Upon relaying the story about the television, one person said she wasn't surprised; John was always taking care of me on earth, so why would he stop now? That thought warmed me all day. So...I went to the grocery store near my office to get a few necessary items; I had checked the account with the SSDI payment in it and realized I had enough to get a few things. But...when I tried to use the card, it was denied. I thought, "well, maybe I used the wrong password." No.

So I was feeling a little panicked. I kept trying to remember if the payment of SSDI in January was for December--as I thought--or if it was for the current month. I know that because John died in the middle of the month, I'd not be getting a January check. So...off to the bank I went. It took awhile to figure it out, but the bank received word that John had died before the payment hit the bank, so they sent it back to the Social Security Administration. I said...wait! I thought this was a December payment! The gal I talked to at the bank offered to let me have access to the money, particularly as I was adamant that it was still owed for December. So, I called the Social Security Administration's 800 number. The nice thing about waiting in queue for them is that you can make it so that when it's your turn, they will call you back. What a nice service! So, I opted for it, hung up, and got Elvis out into the yard and took him for a nice long walk with the phone at the ready. Soon after I got back to the house, they called.

The helpful woman on the other end of the line explained that because he was deceased before the payment was to be made, they couldn't issue payment to him. Further, she explained that I needed to apply for survivor benefits along with any money due me. I could have done it on the phone, but it would have taken longer...so...off to the local SSA office.

A word about Wednesdays: hours at the office are short: 9 to noon. I think they reserve the afternoons to get caught up in paperwork from their many cases. I thought that okay, I'll get there before 9 so I can get right in. That was also the thought of about 30 people ahead of me. Ah, well...I still was in to the caseworkers pretty quickly; a few papers signed and the paperwork was faxed to the people who issue the payments. I should be able to expect that money--plus a death benefit--to hit the bank within the week. Big sigh of relief, since I'd already paid some bills with that money. Luckily, the bank account was set up after this in such a way that I do not get penalized, nor does anything bounce. Another big sigh of relief.

So word to the wise from the formerly-not-so-wise: Do not spend SS money if the money has been issued after the death of the person who is on the benefits.
I also learned that I could be eligible for social security benefits from John after I turn 60, so I was told to return there then to see if I was eligible. I am sure it won't be much, but even a little would help at that time in my life. But I have a little time before I have to figure that stuff out.

I then returned to work and kept pretty busy there. In the mid-afternoon, I received a call from Stoneleigh and had a nice chat with the social worker there. I assured her that I was not angry with anyone there over some things that happened the day of John's death other than the person who made an unfortunate choice of words when she talked to me. I won't get into that any further now...if ever. I assured the social worker that those that cared for us (and in hospice, it is care of the entire family--beagles included!) are considered family to me because of the kindness and care they showed us in the 8 months we lived there.

I also shared with her the story about John's "visit" and she told me she had something to tell me in that regard.

She says that she often has visits in her dreams of people who have recently died. But ordinarily, it's not people who have  been residents at Stoneleigh. Apparently, though, she recently saw John in a dream. He was sitting on the bed and he said--three times, I think she said--"It's okay."

Yep. John's around.

I'm currently reading a few books. Right now, I'm finishing a book called Embraced by the Light, by Betty J. Eadie. It was recommended to me by my allergy nurse. I just started it, and am almost finished, as it's fairly short. Fascinating account of a near-death experience. I have a couple of other books I'm going to read next--one I had started, called Proof of Heaven, by Dr. Eben Alexander, a neurologist who had an amazing near-death experience, and the book Heaven is for Real, by Lynn Vincent and Todd Burpo, which is also about a near-death experience through the eyes of a little boy. Yes, there's a theme.

I know John's in Heaven and with God. But these books are pretty comforting, too.

I almost forgot to mention that I rode with a friend to attend an orchestra rehearsal last evening, and for 2 hours, I was able to keep my mind off things other than the fact that 14 months of playing very little makes fingers VERY rusty! And what was the first piece I played last night? Gershwin's American in Paris! Talk about jumping into the fire! I'm a little sore today, but it was--overall--a great experience. I only wish I hadn't missed my niece's basketball game, as she scored 6 points last night!

Today, I was thrilled to receive the text of Kit's amazing homily at John's memorial service. I have it in text form and in an MP3; I sent the sound file to John's brothers, our nephew, and others who I knew would appreciate it.

Well, that's about it for tonight. I'm going to finish my decaf coffee and head back to the house--glad to have seen the Spartans play tonight...and win, to boot! Speaking of that, the team is coming here to eat and I'm sitting in the room reserved for them, so I'm headed home.

Blessings...and more on music running through my head these days in my next post.

Music and the visitor

It's been a pretty interesting 24 hours.

After work, I went to Cooley with one of John's death certificates to get the ball rolling on life insurance through there. After I left the HR department there, I decided to stop at the library, where I knew a box was waiting for me with the rest of John's things. So, I asked to see the box. I was greeted by a couple of John's coworkers--one, in particular, has been through the same thing I'm going through. Her husband passed away sometime in the middle of our 14-month journey. I followed her writings and those of family members on their Caringbridge page. After looking at 3 or 4 boxes of stuff, I decided the only thing I wanted to keep was a pen, a Cooley mug, John's name tag, and some greeting cards. I am not sure why he had the cards, except maybe he had decided to send them for Christmas.

It's funny, because though our intentions were always good, we never did send Christmas cards out in our entire marriage except for occasional ones to our families. And even then, it wasn't regular. No excuse, and I'm sure I'll find more greeting cards as I start the massive clean-up at home.

After that, I unloaded more of the laundry and a couple boxes, along with Elvis' crate at the house. Then, I treated Elvis to a long walk through the neighborhood. During that walk, I was a little nervous, because there were two guys going door-to-door. Turns out they were selling home improvement work. I'm not so sure, because they really didn't look like the type to do that stuff, but who knows? Anyway, I walked Elvis over to the school yard so that he could romp (as much as he can romp on-leash) in the snow; on the way back, I passed by one of my very kind neighbors, who was talking to one of the aforementioned door-to-door guys. After getting the rest of the mail she'd picked up for me while I was in Marshall, I headed back to the house. And it was then that I realized that (1) my car was unlocked and (2) my keys were nowhere to be found. Oh no!

So, I re-traced my steps, a little frightened that those guys picked the keys up. Sure enough, though, they were sitting in the snow in front of my neighbor's house. Oh well...Elvis got a double-walk out of this. I prayed the entire time just to keep me calm.

After getting Elvis some supper, I headed to the hardware store to get a couple of buckets for one of the downspouts that is in the back of the house. On my way out of the store, I realized that I had misplaced my keys again.

Those of you that know me personally know that it's pretty hard to lose my keys, as I use one of our past beagle's collars to carry the keys. Again, I re-traced my steps and the keys were sitting on top of a bucket. I must have placed them there while I was getting the buckets for the house from the top shelf.

I was now alert for the rest of the evening and made sure to use my carbiner to attach the keys to my purse. So, just keep track of the purse, silly girl!

I then decided I was going to at least sit-in on an arts chorale rehearsal. I loved the selections so much, I decided to try singing very gently. Luckily, they were songs I already knew, so that made it very comfortable for me. I've been asked to sing in their next concert. We'll see. I said a tentative "yes" and went home for the night. I felt good about the decision and was smiling a little bit as I yawned and went to bed.

Since I can remember, I've always needed some sort of "white noise" in order to sleep at night. John was the complete opposite. He liked it very quiet, and even the trains woke him up at night. You see, there are two tracks within about four blocks of our house. I had blocked that sound out years ago, but not him. Often, I'd fall asleep with the television on, and John would take my glasses off and turn off the television.

Since Sunday night, I've been leaving the television on a low volume while I sleep. This morning, I awoke with a start at about 3 AM. The television was off. The remote was too far away for me to have turned it off on my own. Elvis couldn't have stepped on it, either. And no, I don't have cable or satellite television and I didn't have the television on a sleep mode. It just...turned off. 

Hi, John. Thank you for letting me know you're with me, and thanks for allowing a little bit more peace and smiling today.

Oceans of Grief

One of my favorite things to do is travel. It's something I'd like to do more of in my life. I even have a daily calendar on my desk that's based on the book 1000 Places to See Before You Die. Each page has a new location. Now, I've traveled a bit in my life, but so far, I haven't seen a place I've actually visited yet. But we're only a month into the year, so I'm sure I'll see some of the places I've been. In the meantime, I'm keeping track of the suggested places, and dreaming about places I'd like to go. A friend suggested that I plan on one place that John and I had wanted to travel to together. But there isn't just one place--there are several. But maybe in awhile, I'll figure out one special place and make that a goal to plan for in the next year. I do have a new passport, thanks to an almost-trip to China.

I think one of my favorite things about living in Michigan is the beauty of the Great Lakes. I think much healing takes place when I stand on the shores of a body of water--particularly here in Michigan--the beautiful Lake Michigan. Once per year, I travel with a bunch of girlfriends to Grand Haven--I didn't go last year, as John had just began his stay in Stoneleigh that week. I usually don't get to church that weekend. At least not in a building.

I started a tradition which I've honored almost every time I go on this trip. I rise very early on Sunday morning, and I go down to the beach all by myself. And usually, I have the place to myself except for the occasional fisher on the pier. That has become my church on that weekend.

Have you noticed that grief is often compared to bodies of water or water itself? "Waves of grief," "Cry me a river," and "I cried buckets," come to mind.

It's true.

The reason I'm whittling away at this on breaks this morning is because I had a tidal wave last night.

I had just finished laundry and I went to Meijer to pick up a few things. On my way home (I was about 10 miles from the house), I cried about the hardest I've ever cried in my life. Thankfully, I was in the car, so no one--save God--heard me. I started to think I should pull over but somehow, I was still able to navigate my way home. Actually, I hardly remember driving.

You ever heard the phrase "wailing"? Well, reader, that was me.

And it did two things: It helped me release. A lot. And, it made me tired. So all that worry about being able to sleep? It was not a problem.

I did leave the television on, as I didn't want the house to be quiet--if that makes sense.

I didn't even cry myself to sleep. I had cried enough in that drive that I had none left to release. But even after that much crying, I'm sure if I needed to, it would be there.

And I awoke this morning, got ready, and went to work.

And at one point, I caught myself feeling a bit of peace as I peered out a window and watched the snow gently fall during a stroll through the building. No joy yet, but it did make me think of a couple of scriptures, which I'll leave you with on this post.

Sing praises to the Lord, O you his faithful ones,
   and give thanks to his holy name.  
For his anger is but for a moment;
   his favour is for a lifetime.
Weeping may linger for the night,
   but joy comes with the morning.
Psalm 30:4-5

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,
‘See, the home of God is among mortals.
He will dwell with them;
they will be his peoples,
and God himself will be with them;
he will wipe every tear from their eyes.
Death will be no more;
mourning and crying and pain will be no more,
for the first things have passed away.’   
Revelation 21:1-4

And one of my favorite musical settings of the text from Revelation follows; music by Edward Bainton, performed by King's College, Cambridge:

I Saw a New Heaven, Edgar Bainton

My dad.

I'm back in Lansing, and I thought I'd write a little more while waiting for my laundry. A friend told me about a place that is nice and clean and not very busy and it feels safer than a lot of places I've gone. So, now, the clothes are out of the extractor and into the dryer. I'm thinking I must have missed something in a pocket of my pants, because pants I washed have little white kleenex-like specks all over. Great. Ah, well...I have a great brush I can use for that. Works for beagle hair, will work for this. Note to self: Please check ALL pockets. You'd think I would have learned; in college, a ticket to see Rostopovich play on campus (fifth row, center!) evaporated in the wash. Thank goodness they believed me at University Auditorium, or I would have missed the ticket. I just had to wait until most everyone was seated in order to figure out which one was my ticket. By the way...the concert was really wonderful; he was magical on the cello. Glad I was able to go, despite the incident.
So Elvis and I made the leap and have moved back. And I'm a little scared tonight. All the way back--or at least most of the way--I cried. But I'm here. Dropped Elvis off--he was rather frantic, by the way--and headed to the laundromat. I noticed I'm going to have to purchase some mouse traps. Oh, goody. Another thing I have to do that was always done by John. Anyway...that's not what I mainly wanted to write about tonight.
I wanted to write a little about my dad. Today was his 87th birthday, and he's been gone almost 11 years now. There are a lot of great dads in the world; mine was one of the best. And because I was the only daughter, I was, well, his princess. I have many father-daughter memories. The ones that stick out today are when I sat on a roof while he shingled it and watched a spectacular sunset. Mom didn't learn about the roof incident until years later. It was better that she didn't know at the time. Other memories: Walking on stones on the shores of Lake Michigan....discovering the stars and planets as we lay on the soft grass of our back yard...learning how to throw like a boy because "no daughter of mine is going to throw like a girl!"....practicing my violin while Dad asked questions about the violin with the mind of the engineer that he was...going to Chicago to get the violin I now play...watching thunderstorms out the window, with Dad's calm reassurances that we were okay. And my favorite: On his way out the door to work, he used to come in and tuck me in the bed. Most times, I was awake, but would pretend to sleep because I loved the feeling of this loving action and the gentle kiss on my forehead. And another one: Any time I was in a concert or play, Dad never noticed anything but me. I would bet that he wouldn't remember the plot of the plays at all. If I was set dressing, he'd be watching me.
I miss him so much, especially now. Too many people gone out of my life. But...I know he's there with me, just like Mom, Curt, my grandparents, other relatives and friends...and now, my beloved John.
So...happy birthday, Dad.
And Dad...could you reassure me once again that I'm going to be okay?

Alone. And yet... not alone.

I am writing this as I sip a cup of cocoa and look out the window, taking advantage of a few moments of WiFi before I get ready to pack my things and head back to Lansing. There was a gentle snowfall earlier, and now it's a bit heavier; the wind turns the snowflakes sideways for periods of time. I sat in this exact seat almost exactly two weeks ago trying to summarize my husband's life in an obituary. At that point, we were having squalls and were nervous about the roads, so I had a time constraint. Today, my only constraint is a mountain of laundry to do and then the trip home.

And tonight, I'll sleep in that house for the first time since last April. Alone.

Okay, Elvis will be with me, but it's just not the same.

And no, I won't really be alone. But those of you that have been in my position understand fully. Going back to a house once shared with a spouse, and now the spouse is gone.

This morning, I got up early, dusted the snow off the car, and drove into Marshall to church. I am so glad I did. The folks at Trinity Marshall have adopted me; this is the church I attend when I'm in town. I love the church I attended in my youth, don't get me wrong. But I just feel more at home at Trinity these days. The "house band" played today--comprised of mostly friends of mine. One of my friends, Marguerite, doubled as bass player and violinist. A young man I've not met played mandolin. And friends Paul, Phil, and Brooks rounded out the group on guitar, clarinet/oboe, and piano, respectively. The last hymn today was Torah Orah, which lends itself to some great klesmer playing, particularly by the clarinetist. When we sing that hymn at All Saints, I usually play fiddle with it. But with no restraint whatsoever. Improvisation, all the way! One of these days. Another favorite was the anthem today, which was God be in my Head, by Sidney Nicholson. And it was really nice to meet Pastor Anne, the new rector, in person today. I've gotten to know her a little bit over Facebook over the last few months, thanks to my friend Brooks.

Today's Epistle was very timely today: It was 1 Corinthians 13:1-13. And as it was read, I started to cry. You see, this is the famous "love chapter," the same one that was read at our wedding on September 3, 1994. And it could have easily described the love that grew within the last year. Quoted from the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible, it reads:

If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.

Love NEVER ends. Never.

It's almost like the scriptures today were tailor-made for me. Psalm 71 verse 3 says, "Be my strong rock, a castle to keep me safe; you are my crag and my stronghold."

Do not be afraid. I am with you. That's the promise made to me. Lord, help me today and in the days, weeks, months ahead.

My cocoa is finished, and I think I'll go get that laundry done and head home. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers tonight.

The house is empty. And yet, it's not. It's filled with memories, and it's filled with God's love. Help me to remember that.

Thoughts on the second day back to work.

I just finished my first two days of work since John died. It actually ended up being a good thing; plenty of distraction, but spaces to grieve, too. And everyone has been fantastic and supportive, and that helps.

I've been wrestling with a word ever since...well, ever since November 18, 2011. That word is...

Widow.

First it was, "Oh no. I am going to be a widow. I'm too young to be a widow. I don't want to be a widow. I want John to stay. I love you. Please don't leave me alone!"

In more recent months it's been kind of shoved to the side on a shelf; it sparked up occasionally in my brain. But now, since January 19, 2013...I am one. And I hate it.

I remember my first time hearing that word. It was the first time I saw Meredith Wilson's wonderfully exhuberant musical, The Music Man, on television. Set in approximately 1912, the main character--an irresitable con-man named "Professor" Harold Hill, calls Marian-the-Librarian's mother "Widow Paroo." I did some research on this, and the practice of using the title Widow is no longer in practice--at least here in the United States.

Thank goodness.

I remember another time this word (in its masculine form: widower) appeared in my thoughts. It was in early 2002, a few weeks after my mother died. I remember thinking: "Wow. This means Dad is a widower." I just could not wrap my mind around that one. And so, I think it only came up that once outside of my subconcious.

Those of you who are on Facebook know that there's a status area on your home page that gives your relationship status. And you'll excuse me if I don't switch it to "widow" right away. Because I don't feel like I'm a widow. I still feel very attached to John. I still want that relationship "link" there.

Someday, I'll probably change that. Not anytime soon, anyway.

And no, I will never get used to the idea.

I was thinking again (and it pops up often, actually) about Sleepless in Seattle, the first movie John and I saw together. Over the years, I have tended to think about all of that movie except for the first ten minutes of it. The part where Tom Hanks' character has just lost his wife, whom it was obvious he dearly loved. Back at work--like I am, now--a well-meaning coworker hands him a card with some sort of support group. He kindly accepts it and then reads through a stack of business cards with various support groups for him and his young son. I was trying to look up the exact quote but can't find it now...but after reading off these various groups, he quotes something someone has apparently said to him...that X group will "see you through this." He then goes on with "Don't mind him. He's just a man who's lost his wife."

I used to ignore that part, and now, that's the only part that plays out in my head.

Before I go on, I should say that I have nothing against support groups, and actually have one in mind that I may check out. And the wonderful love and support I have received (and continue to receive) from my dear friends from the Cancer support group in church was wonderful. But on the other hand, I totally GET what his character says.

Back to the subject of getting back to work...

Yesterday, I was--understandably--a little fragile. The routine of work helped greatly.

Today, I felt a bit better. And caught myself smiling. And then immediately afterward, I felt guilty.

I guess that's normal, but I know that any emotion I have is the "right" emotion, because it's a minefield of emotion. A wise friend said to me that I will often find myself smiling one moment, and crying the next. That the normal for grieving is different for each person.

I'll take that a step further: Not only is it different for each person--it's different for each loss. I have, in the last few years, lost my older brother, my parents, several pets, and now, my husband. And each grief is different. Each is profound, but each is different.

I guess the important thing right now for me is to be gentle with myself, to try and start fresh (some cleaning projects have helped with that immensely), to allow the waves of grief...and to sometimes smile or even laugh at a memory.

In that, John still lives--in my heart. Even in one waking dream a couple days ago.

So...no. I'm not ready to say I'm a widow yet. Even with ten death certificates in my posession, he still lives.

And yet...I still hurt.