Day 248

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

Feb. 9, 2014

Day 248

What a day…I went to church with half the kids.  The other half are all battling colds.  I was fine, sat through Sunday and School and the opening part of the church service.  And then someone got up to sing special music.  It was “Give Me Jesus.”  This was Paul’s funeral song.  Actually, I had two songs sung, this one and “It is Well.”  But the first one was one I picked out years ago for him (I know – morbid of me) because it so clearly spoke of his life, I felt.  The thing is, I love that song! I have an actual recording of it being sung at his funeral on my mp3 player and I take comfort in playing that.  But today was different.  I thought I’d be ok, but before I knew it, I was sitting in the pew with tears streaming down my face.  So I left and found a quiet spot on the steps.  I leaned my head against the wall and just let the pain wash over me.  Before I knew it, a friend was there, wrapping her arms around me and just letting me cry and cry.  I know I should probably be embarrassed, but mostly, I’m just grateful she was there.   A few minutes later another friend popped her head around the corner and told me she was just checking on me because she knew the significance of that song for me.  I don’t know if was because this was the first time the song had been sung in the same church where we had Paul’s funeral or if I would have been ok if this was any month besides February.  I’ve been weepy ever since.  This could end up being a very long month at the rate I’m going!
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Will told me Friday that he got the full time job up at camp.  But he had known since Tuesday when he called the camp director.  I asked him why he didn’t tell me and he said that he was asked to keep the information under his hat until Friday when the information would be made public.  I don’t think that means keeping it from your mother!  He may be leaving as early as the final week in May.  He will get back in August and leave 6 days later for college.  So, in essence, he only has about 3 months left at home.

He assures me the work on the house will be completed.  I have my doubts but don’t want to discourage him.  Of course, I was convinced a year ago that Paul would not get the kitchen done in time for Will’s graduation party, but he did!  Yesterday, Will finished up the bathroom.  All that remains is to hang the towel bars.  I took my first bath last night for the first time in a month, which was heavenly!  The last time we did a bathroom project, I was without a tub for 7 months.  So this was not bad!  He says we’re starting my new bedroom tomorrow.

But it’s not just the house projects.  Will has been my buffer for the past 8 months.  When I don’t know how something works, I ask him.  When something needs to be fixed, he fixes it.  He’s my second-in-command with the rest of the kids, he gives me financial advice, and lately, he’s even been my protector.  A neighbor guy has been getting a little too friendly, stepping over some boundaries (what IS it about married men and widows?  This is my third  uncomfortable situation I have run into since Paul’s death – this may end up being a blog rant at some point!) and Will has been running interference, even offering to talk to the guy if I want him to.

What an expression!  But wow, my cake was gorgeous - I had forgotten how pretty that thing was.

So losing him is going to be more than the typical mama’s-sending-her-baby-off-to-college kind of emotion.  I’m going to be bereft.  I’m going to have to learn to stand on my own, is what it’s going to be.  I don’t want to!  But I have to.  It’s the right thing.  He has his dreams and it’s time for him to step into his own life, without clingy Mom holding him down and dividing his loyalties.

I’ll still have the others of course, including quirky Sam, who reminds me of Will at the same age in a lot of ways.  Sam is a little more intense, though.  The other day he commented, “You basically work all day, Mom, don’t you?”  Then he added, “It’s because you don’t get much help.”  I think I love this child!  Last night he told me with some relief in his voice, “David said when a husband or wife dies the one who is still alive can’t get married again.”  I quickly explained to him that he had misunderstood, that I could remarry if God brings someone along, but he wasn’t to worry about because that would not be happening for a long, long time.  Sam looked at me sleepily (I was putting him to bed when we had this conversation) and said, “Well, I still like our old dad better!”

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I’m frustrated right now with the kids’ teeth – specifically, their need for a dentist.  They have all had a wonderful dentist in Clive for years.  Ben needs special care when it comes to his teeth because he’s hyper-sensitive to touch and it can be hard to find a dentist willing to work with special needs individuals.  Ben has always had Medicaid because of his needs.  But all the other kids got bumped to that after Paul’s death because we no longer had an income.  Well, Obamacare kicked in and this fall, our wonderful dentist told us that he was dropping all his Medicaid patients.  I was saddened, but figured we’d find someone new.  I finally started making calls this last week and I can’t find anyone willing to take on my kids.  And I can’t just go to any old dentist, anyway, because of Ben.  I don’t know what to do.  David needs braces and I’d like to find a different orthodontist than the one he’s been seeing (because I’ve been told he’s the most expensive ortho in town).  Actually, now that David is on Medicaid, it’s possible that this ortho may no longer see him, either.  But neither can I find a new orthodontist willing to take him on.  There are a couple of clinics on the east side of Des Moines that I have been told take new Medicaid patients, but they’re in poorer sections of town and attract a lower-class clientele (I know – that makes me sound totally snobby with a I’m-better-than-the-masses attitude) so I’m reluctant to go.  But I may not have a choice in the end.  Thank you Mr. Obama.  Thank you ignorant, greedy, welfare-minded American voters…

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I have a new friend that I met through my blog.  I adore her – completely! We actually met in person for the first time the other night and had a marvelous time connecting over supper.  She told me that she is going through my entire blog and reading every single post.  I haven’t even ever done that!  Even if I had the time, I think I’d be embarrassed to read who I was five years ago (since I’m SO mature now, you know!).  And, like I mentioned the other day, I am not the person I was before Paul died.  I’m probably too hard on myself.  But she piqued my curiosity and so yesterday, I decided to just, at random, read an old post.  I went back to February of last year.  As it turned out, I had  posted on Feb. 8, which was yesterday’s date.  So I read what I had written a year ago to the day.

I was completely stressed out a year ago.  That stress was leading to struggles with depression.  I had too much going on and I was letting things that didn’t really matter color my entire perspective on life.  I didn’t totally recognize that at the time, of course.  Unfortunately, it often takes something tragic to open our eyes to what is truly important.  In my case, I was somewhat aware that things were not right and I was actually getting counseling and seeking to make some changes in my life.  But reading that post made me sad to see what a dark place I really was in.  Of course, I’m sure that someday when I re-read my posts from the past 8 months, they are not exactly going to ring with joy, either!  It’s a little more understandable this time around, though.

But, something interesting: my friend emailed me a copy of two paragraphs I wrote in January of 2009.  I had just started blogging and wrote an entire post about “sturdy, Midwestern stock,” a phrase that still appeals to me.  I think of these hardy pioneer women who battled the elements, tragedy, and a harsh,  unforgiving land as they forged out an existence for their family.  This is what I wrote:

It's one thing to have the luxury of living a life like what is available to us now. There's nothing wrong with appreciating the advances of technology. But one thing I hope that hasn't changed is some intestinal fortitude. I like to think that I have the same determination and strength of character that my great grandmothers evidenced. Not knowing them, I don't know. I can only guess. I don't think of myself as a particularly strong person and when I envision some of the horrible things in life that could happen, like losing a child to death, widowhood, or having my house burn down the mere thought just makes me quake. But maybe it did to them, too. However, when the hard times came, they found the strength to continue on. And I hope that is part of my character as well.

The best part is knowing that it isn't up to me. One thing I have, that I'm not sure if my great grandmothers did, is the knowledge that my strength comes from God. Left on my own, I will fail. I will fall down trembling in the face of some of life's more brutal realities and, but for the Lord's strength, I probably won't get up again. God gives us strength as we need it, during our time of need, when we are most helpless. That I know and that knowledge gives great comfort. Fortunately, I'm probably never going to need that strength to run a farm or to shoot Indians, though!

Much more relaxed!  This was 3 days later on our honeymoon, at Mall of America. I love this picture!

2 Corinthians 12:9 And He said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness..."

Quite honestly, I was stunned when I read this last night. How did I know?  I didn’t, of course.  I didn’t know the trials that awaited us.  I didn’t know the darkness that would envelope us as we sought to adopt.  When I wrote that, I didn’t even know adoption was on the horizon! I didn’t know that widowhood and single parenthood was waiting for me.  Even as I typed that, five years ago, time was quickly running out for Paul and me.  I thought we had forever.  Very rarely do we ever have an inkling of trials and sorrow that await until they are upon us.

But I am so thankful my friend sent these words to me – my own words that I can be encouraged by now.  Of course, they are not just my words.  It’s Scriptural principles – truth that remains constant in an ever-shifting and changing world.  Maybe I need to spend some time reading more of what I wrote!

Or maybe I should spend more time reading what was written by the ultimate Author.  That would probably be a better idea.

Day 244

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

February 5, 2014

Day 244

Tomorrow will be the 8 month mark.

This has been another rough week.  I think February is really doing a number on me, emotion-wise. Maybe it won’t be so bad, in future Februaries, I don’t know.  But right now I’m struggling.  I find myself bursting into tears at the drop of a hat, in front of the kids, in awkward places and at inopportune moments.  I think I’ll be glad when March arrives.  Although, then I can start dreading my first birthday without Paul! L

Maybe the weather is having an effect on me.  Paul would actually love this.  We got four plus inches of snow yesterday and last night.  Ben had a snow day today.  And this has been the 15^th coldest winter in recorded history.  No kidding – I don’t have to be convinced of that fact!  But Paul loved snow and cold.  Normally, things started slowing down, work-wise by the end of January, but I have a feeling he would have been kept busier this year.

I think stress is playing into how I feel, too.  I am stretched pretty thin these days.  There’s a lot going on.  David’s Learning RX is demanding a lot out of me.  This week I have a city council meeting which has meant the necessity of spending a lot of time up at City Hall, which means I’m not home doing what I need to do there.  I’m trying to get stuff ready to have our taxes done.  We have a trip coming up in a few weeks that I haven’t even begun to make reservations for or anything.  Valentine’s Day is coming.  Our anniversary is coming.  My house is out of order because of the new bathroom/bedroom project.  It’s just life but I’m feeling kind of flattened by it right now!

Oct. 2011

I had to buy a new dishwasher yesterday.  When it went late last  week I just could not believe it.  Since Paul’s death I have had to replace the garbage disposal,  the vacuum, the washer and dryer, the toaster oven, the microwave (and that broke, too, a couple of weeks ago – now I’m waiting for the company to cover the warranty), and now the dishwasher!  I debated about this one because a dishwasher isn’t technically a need.  It’s more of a luxury.  But when your life is so harried and there are so many people in the house, it’s really, really nice to have.  Fortunately, Will and I found a used one that was only two years old at the Habitat for Humanity store yesterday.  I could do that with a more clear conscience.  But I’m wondering just what it going to break next?  Perhaps the modern age isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  Yes, we have conveniences that weren’t available to our forebears, but at least they didn’t have the expense and frustration of continually having to replace everything!

Well, enough griping- onto more cheerful things:

Sam has been wearing a stocking cap to bed lately.  It has caused me to wonder if that means I am a bad parent.  Shouldn’t one’s house be warm enough that its occupants don’t feel the need to wear hats to bed?  But, he’s the only one doing that.  I guess if they all start, or someone goes to bed in his or her coat, then I might have cause to be concerned.  Sam told me that he’s doing it because, “If my brain gets too cold, then I can’t think straight!”

The other morning Lizzie asked me if I remembered a few weeks ago when I picked her and the other two up after spending the day with the girls’ bio brother and family.  She reminded me that I had asked if they were glad to be going home and she had replied, “no.”  I had forgotten all about that, but remembered when she reminded me.  I had not been upset by her response.  If anything, it’s typical Lizzie, just being contrary!  But she looked at me and said, “I didn’t mean it.  I really was glad to be going home.”  It’s progress.

I’ve also noticed that she cries more easily now.  Most parents would probably find that troublesome or annoying at the very least.  But I welcome it.  Lizzie came to me with such a hard shell around her 3 year old heart.  Life had really messed with her.  But slowly, bit by bit, that shell is crumbling.  I suspect she’ll always be a harder child to parent and more of a work in progress (aren’t we all, though?) but we’re going to get there.

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I was working on scrapbooking earlier this week.  I am so far behind that I am just now to Will’s senior year of football.  That would have been about 16 months ago.  I had an old Facebook status I remembered writing the night of his last game and I wanted to print it off to put in the book.  So I sat down with Facebook to find it and as I did, I found myself re-reading some of my old posts from that same year. 

I was different then.  I was so light-hearted, it was almost embarrassing.  Now, granted, I am not one to bare every single emotion onto my Facebook wall like some do.  That’s a little more of a public forum and I prefer to save my deepest thoughts for my blog where I have about four readers to see them.  But it made me wonder.  Is it just grief that colors my thinking now or have I really changed that much?  Can I ever again be that Sarah I was then?  I don’t think so.

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I had a phone call from a friend last night.  How she found out about our woodburner/propane situation, I don’t know.  My blog is the only place I’ve been wailing about it, I’m pretty sure.  But she called and said she and her husband had talked and wanted to help.  And this is a family that has already done so much for us since Paul’s death.  They’re helping us financially with some future costs and then she made a phone call to the owner of a propane company she knows.  He couldn’t promise anything immediately, but said he would talk about my situation with his partner and see what they could do for us.  I couldn’t help it.  I stood out there in the cold mudroom (the only place I could privately talk away from the kids) and just sobbed on the phone.  Every.Single.Time.

He rescues me.

Day 240

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

February 1, 2014

Day 240

The month of pink, red, hearts, and Cupids…for us, it was always the best month of the year because our anniversary fell in it, too, just a few days after Valentine’s Day.  This year there’s hurt instead of joy, dread instead of anticipation.

Taken on our 9th wedding anniversary - look at that old cell phone!

I’ve had a rough week.  A lot of stuff has come at me, emotional and otherwise.  And it’s still cold.  I’m ready for spring, except for the fact that that puts me closer to the one year anniversary of the death.  But I’m still ready to be done with winter! The other night Sam was praying before bed and I heard him say, “And, please God, make summer come quick!”

I did get some propane this week.  They would only deliver 150 gallons which means I’ll be needing it again before too long L.  I have already spent in 7 weeks what we normally spent in a whole year on propane.  However, I did find out that there is something called “energy assistance.”  I had never heard of such a thing until Will happened to catch it on the news the other night when they were running a story on the high price of propane right now.  So I called and found out we qualify.  I had an appt the very next day and was officially approved.  I have very mixed – leaning heavily towards the negative – feelings about the idea of taking charity like this.  However, if it helps keep my kids warm and delays the day that I have to return to work, then I’m willing to grit my teeth and accept the help.  This particular program offers only a one-time help per calendar year.  But it’s appreciated.

When our delivery guy brought the propane he gave me the hard sell on signing a contract with them.  We’ve always been a cash-only customer, ever since we got burned a number of years ago after signing a contract with another company and then the price dipped.  But after talking with him and calling the office, I found out that they will honor a lower price.  I really can’t lose.  I just need to get through the rest of this winter for now, though.

Earlier this week I found that I was nearly distraught over concerns about money.  I don’t know if it is just me or if this is a female-type thing, but I equate money with security.  Paul was always so good at being able to trust God for our needs and He had no problem with writing a check and cheerfully commenting, “Well, we’ll just see how God is going to cover this one!”  That drove me insane!  I’m not real big on faith-filled gestures like that!  But there has been this sick feeling in my stomach all week as I ponder the future.  How long can I stay home?  How far do I let my savings dip before seeking employment?  Will the Littles be ruined if I put them in public school?  What kind of work could I do?  And so on.  It’s consuming.

At the same time I strongly began to sense God stirring in my heart, telling me that my job is to focus on right now.  Am I ok, money-wise, right now?  For the most part, yes.  Do we have food?  Yes.  Shelter?  Clothing? Heat? Yes.  Can I homeschool right now?  Yes.  Then – stop.  Trust Him to guide my steps, to give the answers when I need them, to provide.  One morning, towards the end of the week, I sat in my recliner after reading my Bible and devotional books and was able to turn these worries over to Him.  That’s not to say I won’t borrow them back from time to time, because I will.  I know me!    But, I have felt a lot better since giving all this worry and turmoil to God.  I know, I know He doesn't want me to live the way I was earlier this week.

Monday night was our Amanda the Panda meeting.  It was my week to share about Paul and his death.  It went well.  I brought in the dvd that the funeral home made from the photos I hastily submitted in the first couple of days after he died.  I showed that to the group so that they could see Paul and maybe get a sense of who he was.  I shared about our somewhat normal life and mentioned some of the struggles we had experienced together – Ben’s birth and subsequent life, the miscarriage, secondary infertility, my stroke.  And then I told them about the other struggle we had – one called Epilepsy.  From there I shared the events of the night Paul died.  I found that it is one thing to write a story, but a different thing to verbally tell it.  I must have done all right, though.  I didn’t cry, but it seemed like most of the group was.  In fact, I saw them passing around a tissue box!  Oh, and then I passed around the pictures of the tombstone.  I told them that I realize that for some, grave markers are really, really difficult, and I wouldn’t be offended if they wanted to hand off the pictures without looking.  I love Paul’s stone.  It was one of the final things I could for him (not that he would care – so maybe I did it for me?) and I put a lot of thought and time (and money) into it, wanting to have it just right.  Because that is me, I assume that is true for all bereaved.  But in the months since, I’ve learned it is not.  Some can’t bring themselves to set foot inside cemeteries, let alone pick out a stone.  The task is too daunting and sad.  But I think everybody looked at my pictures.

One of our many camping trips - Paul was never happier or more relaxed than when camping

I wrapped up my talk by quoting 2 Corinthians 4:17-18, which has become a very special passage of Scripture to me in the past 7 months.  Amanda the Panda is definitely not faith-based, but I figured this was MY time to talk and besides, what did I have to lose? I wanted to convey to my listeners that yes, my husband is dead and this is the most horrible, terrible, excruciating thing to ever happen to me, BUT – this is not the end.  There is hope and it’s a hope that far exceeds anything I am missing now.   To my surprise, there were several nodding heads as I read those verses.

They had the teenagers making pillow cases where they could write memories of their loved one.  One side was to be filled with happy memories and the other side was to have any regrets they might have.  David is determined to be a witness to his group and tells me he thinks it is his responsibility to share the Lord any way he can in his group.  I (the one who definitely does not have the spiritual gift of evangelism) suggested to him that perhaps he should use this time to focus on his own healing.  He shook his head at that idea.  He’s always been my little missionary.  So while they were making the pillow cases David asked if they would play the cd he brought and they agreed.  It’s a collection of Sunday morning specials Paul sang over the years at church.

When I read Ben’s pillowcase, I nearly wept.  He had written, “I wish my dad could see me graduate.”  Me, too, Buddy – me, too.

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Will bought himself some new tennis shoes this week – size FIFTEENs.  Since it had been nearly 2 years since he needed new shoes, I figured he was done growing.  Apparently not!  The other day David commented that one drawback to having large feet (he’s a 14) is that sometimes he loses his balance on the steps because his feet are bigger than the boards!

The other night Ben was squawking because his brother, tyrant that he is, insisted on turning on the basement lights while he did plumbing work for the new bathroom.  Ben, of course, is addicted to Wheel of Fortune (no, seriously – all who know him know this – years ago a therapist explained this addiction to me in his autistic brain as having the same pull for him that a drink does for an alcoholic).  Every night he likes to retire to the basement, turn off all the lights, and play his WOF Wii game, providing commentary for his imaginary audience.  We hear him bellowing, “I’ll have an ‘A,’ Pat!...”Ok, we’ll give this wheel a final spin”…”No, I’m so sorry, there is not a ‘P’!” all throughout the house!  Well, he was very irate that his only option was to play with the lights on and he came thundering up the stairs to express his displeasure to me.  I finally had enough and told him he was done playing the game for tonight and to get his pajamas on and get ready for bed.  He demanded to know why and I told him, “Because you are throwing a little-kid fit and I’m done with it!”  Ben looked at me, stood up straight, threw back  his shoulders, and said, “I am not throwing a ‘little-kid’ fit.  I am throwing a Teenager Fit!”  Well, then!

The Littles are quite enamored of all their electronic/media sources of entertainment – the tv, computer, and  ipad.  Even Ellie is a whiz on the ipad.  I don’t even know how to use that thing and she’ll show me!  But I’ve gotten tired of the constant need they have to be entertained in this fashion, so I started a “ticket” system where they get so many tickets a day and they have to choose wisely what to do with them.  When they’re gone, they’re gone.  It’s working well, but I still get exasperated with the constant requests as they scamper to fish cardstock tickets out of their envelopes and hand them off to me.  So, every so often, regardless of how many tickets they have left,  I tell them, “Go play with toys or read a book!” They don’t want to.  That takes work.  They’d rather be mindlessly entertained.  Tonight Sam seriously told me, “Well, the reason I really don’t like to play with toys much anymore is because I’m becoming a grown man and grown men don’t play with toys!”  He’s 6.

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Yesterday, a local radio host was chatting about some new study that has come up with  a list of the top ten male and female names that typically have lasting marriages.  Curious, I listened to see which names made the list.  Both “William” and “David” made the list.  And actually, “Andrew,” which is David’s middle name, made the list, too.  So does that mean he has an even better chance?  And for girls, both “Elizabeth” and “Lucy” made the list.  So it sounds like Lizzie stands a good chance of sailing into her sunset years with her same mate, too!

Both “Paul” and “Sarah’ were on the list, too.

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We’ve been doing our best to keep the heat down for the past week.  It’s actually not as hard as I thought it would be.  Yes, it’s colder in here than I like and I have taken to wearing one of Paul’s old flannel lined jackets around the house, but we’re surviving.  We have two small electric heaters so we brought those into the kitchen and plugged them in during the day.  Together, they put out a good amount of heat, despite their individual small sizes.  Those things scare me, though, so I’m really vigilant about keeping them unplugged when we’re away from home or at bedtime.  But when we get too cold, we can go warm ourselves in front of them.  But nighttime has been what’s been awful.  I’m sleeping under about 8 blankets (seriously), bundled up in fleece pajamas, and I’m still cold!  The kids are not complaining, so evidently they are warmer-blooded than I am.  I finally started bringing the heating pad to bed, which is nice for warming my top half, but it goes off after awhile.  So I would be waking up periodically throughout the night, fumbling with my flashlight, and trying to turn it back on.  But then I had a lightbulb moment this week – an electric blanket!  I didn’t even know if they still made those things.  I remember my grandma had one and I remember how uncomfortable it was, with all those thick wires running throughout it.  I also remember hearing some stories about people who fried themselves to death while sleeping when the blankets shorted out.  But it occurred to me that technology has advanced a lot since I was kid.  Could it be that electric blankets are better than what they were?  So I decided to check.  Yesterday at Kohls I discovered that they have invented a micro-fleece electric blanket – glory be!  And, it was 50% off and I had a coupon to use on top of that!  I used it for the first time last night.  Oh, my…with my new blanket, who needs a man?

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I have a speaking engagement in a couple of weeks.  Doesn’t that sound grand, a speaking “engagement” - ?!  That sounds a lot more formal and honorary than what I’ll  actually be doing.  But I will be talking to a group of ladies.  Fortunately, most are my friends already.  So, it’s really not that big of a deal!  However, it’s become kind of a big deal in my mind because of the subject matter.

Marriage

Since I was asked to do this before Christmas, I’ve been ruminating a bit, tossing around ideas.  As we got into January I told myself that I would focus on getting my presentation ready for Amanda the Panda, but after that I had to work on this other one.  Today was the day.  I warned the kids away, sat down, and prayed for wisdom.  I have actually been praying for weeks because when I would think about the subject of marriage, I would just feel this blankness in my heart and in my mind.  It’s not something I want to think about.  It hurts on so many levels.  Quite honestly, I even have a hard time right now even sending anniversary cards to family members and the thought of attending weddings makes my stomach turn over – that’s how much the thought of the subject pains me.

But as I sat, not even knowing where to start or what to cover, the words started coming.  I began jotting down thought after thought.  It was almost like God was moving my pen, showing me what pages to look at in my books I’d brought down to the basement (where I was hiding from the kids, working).  I felt flickers of excitement as my thoughts came together.  There was no doubt in my mind that God had heard my prayers for direction.

Father's Day '02 - the boys were 7, 5, and 3

I cried, too – more than once.  I cried because I miss being married.  I miss my husband. I miss being a wife.   I remember the hours I spent reading these books I had brought down.  I so much wanted to have a great marriage and I would read nearly anything I could get my hands on that might help me.  To what end, now?  And I cried because I have regrets about the marriage I did have.  I could have been a better wife to Paul and made his life so much more enjoyable. 

But I got it done.  And I didn’t even have this sense of, “Whew – now I don’t have to think about that anymore!”  I actually found myself , for the first time, anticipating this upcoming meeting and talk and throughout today, after I surfaced from the basement, I found myself jotting down more ideas.  Even though I felt like I had just ripped a scab off a very red, puffy sore, I think, that long-term, that this just might be a healing experience for me.

And if communicating my experiences and the words God is giving me can reach someone else, then perhaps this is a way of proving the adage that “God never wastes a hurt.”

Day 234

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

January 26, 2014

Day 234

It’s supposed to be 1 degree tomorrow.  Again!  I am so tired of this cold.  This winter has been exceptionally cold, it seems like.    I remember after Paul died thinking, “Oh, I’ll never have to pray about the weather again!”  His income depended on extreme weather conditions.  As a heating and air guy, it was good for our bank account when summers were excruciatingly hot and winters were bone chilling.  Well, I think I’m going to have to pray about it, regardless.

I am sick right now over propane prices.  Pre-death, we spent about $1000 a year on propane.  A lot of that was because we burned wood, which meant the furnace didn’t have to work that hard or long.  Mild winters helped, too.  So, after Paul died and I had to switch to a monthly budget, I budgeted in $100 a month for propane.  That would give me a little bit of padding in case prices increased.

I’m not burning wood this winter and the future of that is still in question.  We found out that the reason the wood burner won’t work in the basement has to do with pressure levels in the house.  Upstairs, there was more of a neutral pressure area because of all the windows.  But the basement is sealed very tight and there is only one window down there.  We would need to buy a new woodburner with a special vent on it in order to make it work.  So my woodburner, with all its new, expensive duct work, sits cold this winter while I try to figure out what to do about it. 

1992 - we were engaged.  I can't believe I wore that ugly sweater and he STILL married me!

In the meantime, propane prices have skyrocketed.  In early Dec, I filled up the tank for $600.  Propane was less than $2 a gallon then.  Right now it is more than $5.  I checked our level the other day and we’re already down to 20%!  I can’t afford to triple my budget allowance for propane.  But if I get the tank filled this week, I will spend more than $2000.  A few fills like that will drain my bank account very quickly.

I don’t have a choice, of course.  We have to have heat or we’ll die.  I’ll just order the minimum amount in hopes that prices will fall soon.  We’re experimenting with the thermostat, seeing how low we can keep it without developing frostbite.  I’m reducing the number of hot showers the kids are allowed.  I’m washing more in cold water. 

Later this year I’ll have to decide what to do about the woodburner, whether or not to buy a new one with the special vent or to just forget about heating with wood altogether.

This financial insecurity terrifies me, though.  It creates a sick feeling in my stomach as I worry.  Are we going to be able to maintain our lifestyle (such as it is – we’ve never exactly been high rollers)?  Will I have to return to work, put Ellie in daycare and the others in school?  What about Ben?  How will I work but be able to ferry him to whatever he ends up doing after high school?

I comfort myself with God’s promises of provision.  That helps.  Fragments of different verses are beginning to crowd into my mind:

I have been young, and I have been old, but I have never seen the righteous beg for bread

But my God shall supply all your needs…

For we walk by faith, and not by sight

A sparrow does not fall to the ground without your Heavenly Father knowing it…

Who, by worrying, can add one day to his life?

I sense this is an area where God desires to see me release more into His control.  To me, money is security.  But He wants me to find my security in Him.

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As I walked out of church this morning, a friend told me that it looked like I was surrounded by trees – great, tall, gangly trees, that is (Will, Ben, and David)!  It’s kind of a nice, protected, feeling, to have tall boys.  Out of curiosity, I just measured them.  Will is just shy of 6’, 1”.  I don’t expect much more growth out of him.  Ben is nearly 5’11” and David is a little over 5’8”.  I know eight months ago David was still shorter than me, so that means he’s grown about 3” since his birthday last May.  I’m guessing both Ben and David will pass Will in the height dept.  Paul was only 6’ and had more of a stocky build like Will does.  Ben and David are all elbows and knees, dependent on elastic in their waistbands!  I just had to buy David all new jeans on Friday.  I can’t keep him in pants these days.  And I noticed today that Sam’s church pants have crept above his ankles.  It won’t be long and he’ll be part of my “forest,” too!  And maybe the girls?  I don’t know.  Both their birth parents were on the short side, but they definitely are not tiny for their ages.

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God protected our house the other night from some major water damage.  I am SO thankful!  We were getting ready to leave the house to be gone all evening.  In fact, the rest of us were all in the van and were waiting on Will to scoop up some supper and get in the van, too.  I finally went back into the house to see what was taking him so long.  As he was dishing up his food, the ceiling suddenly began raining.  The upstairs toilet had been recently flushed and was flooding!  Water was pouring through the ceiling, into the cupboards, and down on the floor.  Will was able to stop the water, unplug the offending fixture, and the two of us used loads of towels to mop up the water.  But if we had been gone when that started – oh, boy!  The kitchen ceiling would have been toast, the cabinets might have been hurt, the new wood floor would have definitely warped, and the water would have probably ended up in the furnace, which could have been wrecked.  I’m still shuddering!

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My latest devo for Jewels came out today.  You can read it here.  Are you impressed?  I made myself learn how to insert hyper links into my text a few weeks ago.  This was my first chance to try out my new skill. 
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Will has been telling me about a couple who work at Camp, who were expecting their first baby, a baby I believe, who was conceived after a prior miscarriage.  Even though he’s only 19, has never dated, and marriage and parenthood are probably years off in the future, Will has been excited for them because he knows them and has worked with them.   Tonight he told me that this couple lost the baby this last week – a full term baby boy who died in his mother’s womb.  He had a bedroom all ready for him and he’ll never sleep in it.  I find that I am crying for this couple and I don’t even know them.  It’s a deeper pain than I think I would have felt prior to Paul’s death.  Grief recognizes grief.  Pray for the Hemmings.

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Paul's 22nd birthday - 6 weeks before our wedding

We went to an Iowa Energy (basketball) game Thursday night.  It was kind of neat – the boys and I had discussed the possibility of buying tickets to a game sometime because it would be something we could do as a family.  Checking on ticket prices was on my to-do list when we started Amanda the Panda.  And there I was told that a benefactor had donated a bunch of tickets for a certain game and if anyone was interested, to put their name on a list.  I did and we went!

I haven’t attended a lot of basketball games in my life.  Well, not since my senior year of high school anyway.  I went to a Christian school that didn’t offer football, so basketball was the “big” sport then.  I saw a lot of games that last year of school!  I think I remember attending a basketball game my freshman year of college at Faith and it’s possible I made it to a UNI game when I was attending there, but I can’t remember for sure.  But I know I haven’t seen one in all my post-college years.  The Iowa Energy is a professional team, which differs from school teams.  And boy, is it different!  They played pounding, pulsating pop and rock music throughout all the playing.  It didn’t really bother me, although it was kind of loud.  They sure didn’t have that my Christian high school!  Ellie thought the music was pretty neat – she danced her way through the first half of the game before her legs wore out.  Part of me was amused, but the other part was a bit worried.  How did she learn to move her two year old body like that?  I sure didn’t teach her those moves!

And the cheerleaders…well, the less said is probably better.  You know, I always cringed a bit when the dance team would take to the field during some of the halftimes of the football games.  It was a good time to encourage the boys to go to the bathroom or the snack shack or anywhere!  But those public high school performances were awfully tame compared to the repeated performances we saw Thurs. night.  The cheerleaders’ moves were dance moves and they were meant to be seductive and sensual. 

Ben leaned over to me at one point and told me he was pretty sure that a couple of the cheerleaders were Pleasantville grads.  I thought that was highly improbable and told him they were probably girls that just reminded him of past students.  He just smiled and said nothing.  Later Will said to me, "Hey, Mom - did you know two of those cheerleaders graduated from Pleasantville?"  

The big day!  Definitely not loving those puffy sleeves, but that was the style back then.  Pretty cake, though - Paul's mom made that.

Lizzie was both entranced and appalled.  She couldn’t care less about the basketball game, but her eyes were glued to those cheerleaders.  When the girls (women?) came out the second half they had changed their outfits.  Lizzie commented, “Well, at least I can’t see their tummies anymore, but do they know I can see their underpants now?”

Several times, though, Lizzie said, “Will and David don’t like the cheerleaders.”  I would look at the boys, and sure enough, their heads were turned and it was apparent that they were deliberately choosing to not watch the cheerleaders.  That’s something they learned from Paul.  He was so careful about where he let his eyes go.  So I did take the opportunity to explain to Lizzie, at a five year old level, why it was that her brothers weren’t watching.  I don’t know how much she understood, but it’s a message I’ll keep repeating until she understands what to look for in a future spouse.

Do you know what?  Not a single player on either team was white.  Every single man on that court was black!  I seem to recall a movie in the ’80's called “White Men Can’t Jump.”  There must be a reason for that, although it’s hard for me to believe that one race is genetically predisposed to certain athletic feats over another.  Aren’t we all people, regardless of skin color?

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Ben had a Special Olympics event yesterday up at Woodward-Granger, which is over an hour  away.  This was for his basketball skills.  I sure wish they'd find a bigger gym in which to host this event.  It's so crowded and when you bring your own cheering section, like I do, it's hard to find seats and is difficult to climb the bleachers (particularly when you have a child with mobility issues - like a lot of the participants!)   Ben did really well.  I remember the first year he did basketball and his cerebral palsy made it so difficult for him to dribble.  This year he was markedly better at it.  In fact, I wonder if at some point he might be able to participate in an actual Sp. Olympics basketball game.  He did get first place, so we will be headed to Iowa City for the state championship in March.  He was supposed to go to that last year, but the chicken pox got the best of him.  I  jokingly told him, "No chicken pox this year!"  He smiled and laboriously explained to me, his ignorant mom, that he can't get the pox again because he had them once and they were pretty bad.  But he could get the shingles at some point.  I can't believe I still forget at times how literal the autistic mind is!

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I read a piece the other day about grief.  It was written by a bereaved mother and she was covering things that ought not to be said to parents in her situation.  I found a lot of what she said applicable to any kind of grief, though.  One thing really caught my attention.  She said that any sentence that is prefaced by “At least” should never be uttered.  I understand that by saying one of these, the speaker is making a clumsy attempt at comfort.  I can accept the spirit in which it is said.  However – just don’t.

At least:

- he’s in Heaven

-he didn’t suffer

-you have your children

-you have the Lord

-there was life insurance

-you’re still young (you can remarry)

-you had twenty years

-you have a wonderful church family

-he wasn’t murdered

-you still got to adopt the girls

Yes, all these are reasons to be thankful.  And I am - really.  But it doesn’t change the fact that Paul is dead, gone when the kids and I still needed him desperately.  It doesn’t change the fact that he died long before he should have and that the kids and I have been left with a huge, gaping, painful hole in our lives and hearts.  It doesn’t change the fact that our lives are forever altered, painfully and horribly. 

The reality is that Paul is gone.   It hurts.  And there is nothing that can be said that will make it hurt less. 

Day 229

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

January 21, 2014

Day 229

Today would have been my Grandpa Daniels’ birthday.  He would have been 93, I think, if he were still alive.  But he died in 2001 – my first grandparent loss.  Now they’re all gone.  While sad, those losses were normal and somewhat expected.  All my grandparents lived long and healthy lives and all their children (save one who died a couple of days after birth) outlived them, as it is supposed to be.

Today has been a good day, after a couple weeks of really rough days.  Just the same, I’ve found myself in tears several times today.  Granted, I met with my pastor’s wife today and having someone sit down with me and ask me how I’m doing tends to bring on the waterworks.  Our Bible study was on God’s great power and the speaker on the video referenced Joseph.  Paul loved that Bible character more than any other, I think.  He often talked about the life of Joseph and identified with him.  I found myself drawing from that, as well.  Right now, I’m in the prison with him, I think.  I want to believe that God has better things in store for me, but I don’t see how Paul’s death fits into that.  How is crushing me supposed to make for a good life?  But maybe there won’t be a “good” life until Heaven.  And, perhaps, my vision is a bit short-sighted right now, too.  There’s always that possibility!
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Last night was our second Amanda the Panda meeting.  A couple of the women in my group were quite chatty last night (to the point that nobody else really got to talk).  But they both commented how they know there is no future happiness for them.  They’ll never love anyone again and their only role right now is to raise their children – otherwise, they’d be happy to commit suicide.  I could understand that.  I’ve had the same thoughts.  But at the same time, I wanted to fight against that kind of thinking as I listened to them.  I want to believe that future happiness awaits me.  I want to believe that someday I won’t hurt so badly and that maybe, even someday, I might be able to love another man the way I loved my first husband.  And now I’m a soppy mess again just typing these things out.

I do see progress, though.  I remember right after Paul died trying to look down the road of my life and I saw nothing.  Everything was barren.  I would simply exist, do what I had to do, but my days of happy living were gone – buried right alongside Paul.  But now…now, I see some green shoots starting to grow in that dry, barren path.  They’re tiny little seedlings of hope.  There aren’t many of them and mostly I see the dry ground still, but every so often, I am spying a tiny green sprout and the sight of one is enough to keep me walking.

So, back to the group last night: I wish I was a quick thinker, but I’m never going to be.  Someone says something unbelievable to me and I just stand there and take it.  Later, I suddenly realize what I should have said, but it’s too late.  Of course, I probably save myself a lot of trouble that way, not being able to shoot off at the mouth in response like I wish I could.

Before it started, I was chatting with one woman.  We were both widowed suddenly in our forties.  I mentioned that I homeschool and she could not believe it.  “Oh, honey!,” she exclaimed, “You have got to put those kids in school!  If you don’t, you’re going to crack up and be no good to them or yourselves.  Even if it’s only for a year, you get those kids back in school today!”  She wouldn’t let it go and all I could muster up was a feeble, “Well, I didn’t want to impose too many changes on the kids’ lives at this point…” I’m sure she thought she was being helpful in her blustery, bossy way, but I felt like I’d been run over by a steamroller.  Here’s the thing, though…homeschooling is a calling for me.  That doesn’t mean that I’m listening to God and others who don’t homeschool are not.  But I believe that God called me to homeschool my kids, at least for the time being.  If the day comes, like it did with Ben, when God does not wish me to homeschool any longer, He’ll make it clear.  That’s what I wish I would have said to the woman.  For a few moments there, though, I doubted myself.  Am I going to eventually crack and go crazy if I don’t lessen up on my responsibilities?  I know crazy people are the last ones to recognize their own craziness, but I think I’m doing ok right now.  I haven’t misplaced any children yet or run outside naked, despite continuing to homeschool through widowhood.

But speaking of doubting one’s self: David has always been upset with me because I did not wake him up the night Paul died.  Paul had been dead about 8 hours before any of the kids, except for Will, knew.  I remember thinking about it that night, wondering briefly is I should wake the older boys.  But I decided against it because Paul did not look normal any longer.  His skin was gray, he had a vent in his mouth, a dent in his forehead and blood smeared over one side of his face.  I did not want the kids to have that image in their mind (now all my readers do, though!).  Also, if I woke them, they would be upset and sleep deprived the next day, which would make for further upset.  Looking back, I really am grateful for the clear head God gave me that night and in the next few days to make decisions.  Part of me felt very detached from everything and that was the shock that typically insulates the newly and abruptly bereaved.  But at the same time I was able to function and make decisions that I still think were good ones.  That’s not because I’m such an amazing person – God was carrying me.  So, even though David has not been real happy with me, I’ve never really thought that I should have done things differently.  It was just this past Sunday night and he and Will and I were talking once again about the events of that night and David brought it up again, that he wished I would have awakened him so he could have seen and said good-bye to his dad.

But then last night at the group, one of the members was sharing about her husband’s death.  He died and she knew it was very important that her kids get to see him before rigor mortis set in.  If they didn’t get that opportunity it could cause all sorts of emotional upset and seeing their dad was so vital to proper grieving.  So she made sure they got to the hospital and they got to see him one last time.  I began to second-guess myself in that moment.  Maybe David was right.  Maybe I had made a bad decision that night in not awakening him.

God is good.  He’s more than that.  He is amazing.  We got home last night and I was puttering around and David came to me.  He said, “You know how I’ve always wished you would have woke me up when Dad died?”  Trust me, I know!  He then told me about a boy in his group who had shared how he  had watched his little brother die a few months ago in a horrific accident. Now that memory is forever burned into his mind.  David said to me, “Mom, I think you made the right decision to let me sleep that night.  Thank you for not waking me up.  This way, I don’t have any bad memories in my mind of dad.”

Thank you, Lord.

Oct '11 - we had to have a family picture for our adoption file.  So I had a friend snap this one night after church.  After seeing it, I was convinced that nobody would EVER let us adopt after viewing this picture - all those surly, unsmiling faces!

The other morning I was doing Lizzie’s hair when she asked, “Mom, are you fat?”  Such a pleasant way to start one’s day!  I asked her what she thought the answer was to that.  Lizzie replied, “Well, I would say, ‘yes’!”  Trying to remember that she was a chosen child…

Ever helpful, Sam piped up, “Well, I’ve noticed that most moms are big in their middles!”  I think that was attempt to make me feel better.

And then, the same day, at lunch, Lizzie looked at me and said, “Mom,when you were younger…” I sensed a question coming on, probably about color tvs or cameras that didn’t show pictures on the back.  Instead, I heard, “…you were a lot prettier!”  Feeling the love, let me tell you…

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Will is thinking now about the possibility of becoming a PE teacher, with the intent of being able to coach high school football.  He’s been researching programs at some area colleges.  He’ll still do at least one year at Faith, first, though.  I could see that being a good fit for him.  I can see him on the football field better than I can in the pulpit.  Time will tell.

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Today I had to go to town and buy a new bathtub, surround (walls for the tub), vanity, sink, cabinet, and light.  I had not planned on buying all this for the new bathroom.  The plan was to simply move everything out of the old bathroom into the new one.  I should have known better.  Remodeling is never that simple.  I wrote last week about the decision to go with a smaller sink.  But when Will started ripping into the bathtub he discovered it was all corroded underneath.  That hurt because I loved my extra deep, extra wide tub!  Bathtime is the highlight of my day and it has been nothing short of bliss the last 3 years to be able to sink into that deep tub, full of bubbles.  Sigh…I did have my eye on an extra deep soaker tub at Menards but, but then we went to the Habitat for Humanity resale store and found a regular size tub for nearly half the price.  I actually sat in it right there in the aisle and to my surprise, it did feel kind of nice, while small.  As long as I never get as fat as Lizzie seems to think I already am, we should be ok.  This tub does have a nice slant to the back, which will make for easier reading than what I have had the last few years with my other tub.  And, I will get a few more inches in my closet by going with this tub.  But, still…

I did buy a really, really nice surround, though, to kind of make it up to myself.  It looks like tile (without troublesome grout) and has lots and lots of shelves.
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Monday morning I fell asleep on the couch after sending Ben off to school.  I was SO tired still!  The next thing I knew, I felt small hands pulling my afghan up around my neck and tucking it in around my body.  When she isn’t intent on being contrary, Lizzie can be very sweet and nurturing!  It felt good to have somebody taking care of me. I miss that.

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The kids were discussing a Sunday School classmate who broke her wrist this last week at school.  They were super-jealous of her cool, purple cast.  Lizzie declared that she wished she could break her wrist, too.  Sam sighed dramatically and said, “Well, I wish I could break my spine!” He’s always been one to do things in a big way…

Ellie was looking at her “Sleeping Beauty” book the other night in church.  She got very excited and pointed to a picture of the King in there.  “Jesus, Mommy, Jesus!”  He did have a robe on and shoulder length hair, so I can see how she thought that.  But I had to tell her, no, it was a different king!

I was complaining about being cold again the other day.  I don’t remember what David said in response, but I told him that I had been told that being extra cold is often something that comes the older you get.  David looked at me with a wicked glint in his eye and said, “So I guess the older you get, the less hot you become, huh?”  Ooh, let me at him!

Feb '12 - we went to the GARB marriage conference.  We made a whole weekend of it.  It was so special and we told eachother that we'd definitely do it again before too long.  Only, we wouldn't.

I had a dream Sunday afternoon while napping.  It wasn’t a message from God this time.  It was just simply a dream, brought on by circumstances and feelings, I’m sure.

I was in a cupcake bakery-laundromat.  What a combination!  You’d think the heat from the dryers would melt the cupcake frosting.  But I was choosing cupcakes to buy when I felt a pair of arms encircle me.  Surprised, I turned around and it was Paul!  For some odd, unexplained reason, he was shirtless.  Oh, I was so excited!  We were all over eachother, right there in the store, hugging and kissing – I’m quite sure that had the dream been real, we would have been asked to leave the bakery-laundromat! We were putting on quite a show.  He felt exactly like I remembered.  I have forgotten nothing.  I know every plane and contour of his body, the feel of his body hair, where he was soft, where he was hard, how he liked to be touched.  And then, in my dream, we were sitting down.  My head was resting on his shirtless chest and I began to sob.  They were wild, grief-stricken cries, the like of which I have rarely engaged in since his death, simply because I am afraid that if I start, I might never stop.  My heart was completely broken in the dream because I knew it wasn’t real.  Paul was dead and he wasn’t coming back to me.  And so I cried and cried into his chest, completely broken in that moment.

I woke up with tears streaming down my face.  Even my dreams are broken-hearted.