Day 66

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

August 11, 2013

Day 66

 

So, so sad tonight…I miss him so much.  I wonder if there will ever come a day when the missing isn’t there – just fond remembrance.

I suppose all the work I’ve been doing on the closet is affecting me, although I rather imagine I’d be sad anyway.  I have everything out of there now.   He had three boot boxes of baseball caps.  When we first met and in the early years of our marriage, Paul wore them quite a bit.  But it was pretty rare he’d wear them at all in more recent years.  You’d think it would be the other way around – with the increasing loss of his hair, he might want to wear caps more!  I had the older boys pick out a couple each and saved a couple for Sam when he gets older.  The rest I pitched.  His shoes are going to Goodwill since Will and David already have larger feet than their dad and Ben needs slip-on shoes.  I did give Ben both pairs of his dad’s slippers.

I finished merging our files tonight, which has been an on-going project.  Paul had a number of files in the desk drawers and I had a bunch in a file box – Paul’s had to do with credit cards, utilities, taxes,  and  mortgages; mine were Ben’s stash of paperwork with his special needs, medical statements, and things like that.  We were never very good at mutual organization.  We did fine with our own little systems and life became greatly less complicated when I took over our finances 5 years ago.  But we should have been better with our paperwork.  But it’s finished now.  I have gone through each file and thrown and burned a lot of what he had.  I re-organized everything according to my preferred method.  Now all that remains is to file my tub full of papers that’s been accumulating the last year.

It feels good to be on a better track to organization.  But it feels crummy at the same time.  At least when things were unorganized we were together.

My monitor died very unexpectedly today.  I just replaced the computer in May when it croaked, but the one I bought didn’t come with a new monitor.  I was feeling pretty good about getting a whole new computer for only $300.  A $160 later, I’m a little more realistic about the true cost of a new computer!  Oh, it’s ok.  I ended up buying a 23” monitor, which seems huge, but is helpful with my recent eyesight problems.  So, I had to make an unplanned trip to town to get one and since Will and David were at the State Fair, I had to take the other 4.

On the way home, Lizzie randomly asked, “So, when you get us a new husband, Mom, are you going to have to go back to college to find him?”  I was drinking (water) while driving at that moment and I think I sprayed my entire steering wheel.  I did not see that question coming!  I didn’t even know which direction to go with her question – laugh at the “husband for us” part, be appalled at the idea that she is thinking of the idea of another man in the home, or be amused by the fact she thinks one has to return to the original source to obtain a replacement.  I’m astonished, really, because the subject of remarriage has only been brought up briefly by the older boys.  They all just wanted to make sure I had no plans for remarriage in the near future and I was able to assure them whole-heartedly that was the case.  Will even commented once that “in the eyes of God you’re still married and will always be.”  I pointed out that his theology was a bit twisted, but he assured me it was not and that I should never entertain the possibility of remarriage.  Since it’s not an immediate concern, I let it go.  So, anyway…

Lizzie’s question led to a conversation I didn’t want to have on all the different places one might meet a man.  She concluded with, “Well, when you get married and you’re supposed to kiss, I’m going to close my eyes, because kissing is gross!” 

I laugh at the places my preschoolers’ minds take them, but there is a part of me that shudders, too.  It’s nothing that I need to worry about now, though.  My widow books tell me that only about 50% of the widowed remarry – men generally within 3 years and women within 5.  But I’m guessing for the widowed with many children, including one who will be a lifetime companion, the odds are much lower.  Ah, well – it’s in God’s hands, anyway.  Right now, the only person I want to be married to is dead.

Oh, that reminds me of the other thing Lizzie said today.  She asked if I thought Dad would be going to church this morning.  I was in a hurry, getting all of us ready to go, and I shortly replied, “No – he’s dead!” and left the room.  What a silly question.  She’s known for asking non-sensical, foolish things at times.  But Lizzie followed me into the bathroom, protesting, “Mom!  Dad’s not dead!  He alive in our hearts and he’s alive up in Heaven!”  Just when I think she’s nothing but a silly, prattling, preschooler, she pulls out something like that…

Yesterday, our mayor was over for a few moments.  Every October, for the past few years, he’s put together an amazing haunted house for Halloween.  He’s always enlisted Will’s help and it’s been a lot of fun.  So, he brought that up to Will yesterday and they batted around a few ideas.  This year, though, I find myself cringing at the thought of the party.  I’ve always loved Halloween – dressing my kids in cute costumes, handing out candy, enjoying the crispness of the fall air before winter settles in.  But this year?  Where’s the fun in death now?  Part of our annual town party always involves a hayrack ride (that Paul usually pulled with his truck) through the cemetery.  Several townspeople would be hidden behind tombstones and they’d jump out as the hayride came through, Freddy Krueger-style, with chainsaws and masks.  We always knew they were there, but it made everyone shriek just the same.  I cannot do that this year.  I don’t even want that hayrack going through the cemetery at all.  I can’t prevent that, but I don’t have to be on it.  I feel a bit proprietal now about that place.  Paul’s body is there.  I’ve spent hours up there, talking to him, crying, fussing over his gravesite.  Even though I know where Paul really is, the cemetery has now taken on a bit of a sacred air.  It’s my quiet place where I can feel connected to him still.  I don’t want it invaded by Halloween revelers. 

There’s a storm rolling in tonight.  I loved late-night summer thunderstorms with Paul.  They were so cozy.  We’d cuddle in bed, listening to the thunder.  I’d jump with some of the cracks, and he’d chuckle and hold me tighter.

My heart hurts. My whole body hurts.  I can feel the building  pressure of unshed tears.   I know it’s necessary to go through this time of grief and I know this is the right way to do it, but that knowledge doesn’t make this any easier.  I still find myself daydreaming about dying myself so that we could be reunited.  I just want to enter Heaven, greet God, and then turn the corner to find Paul learning against a light post.  He’ll probably have a blade of grass in his mouth and he’ll grin at me and ask,

“What took you so long?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day 65

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

August 10, 2013

Day 65

I seriously am not paid enough for my job as city clerk.  I was just getting the girls down for their nap today and then had every intention of feeding my growling stomach and heading down to Walmart for a few things.  I got a knock at the door.  The lackey of a landlord who owns two houses here in town needed the water turned on at their latest acquisition.  That was ok – he had asked for this 10 days ago and I had told our water commissioner.  So, I called the water guy, who is camping at the State Fair, and he exclaimed, “Oh, no – I forgot to do that!”  He volunteered to run down and do it.  I told him I’d take care of it.  I ran up to City Hall, found the key to the padlock, went to the property, and unlocked the water.  Then, I couldn’t get the lever to move that would turn the water on.  Try as I might, it would not budge.  Ugh.  Seeing work trucks in the driveway, I pounded on the front door, hoping someone would have a wrench I could use.  Nobody was around.  I got in my van, drove home, grabbed a pliers, and came back.  I got the water turned on.  It immediately began spraying water everywhere.  Hmmm….pretty sure it’s not supposed to do that.  I knew if I left it like that the landlord would soon have a pit full of water and an expensive bill.  I turned off the water and  made some phone calls.  I ended up going back up to City Hall and calling a plumber who was in the middle of a water main break but thought he could make it tomorrow.  Then, the mayor reminded me there was a balance on this landlord’s account.  So, I had to make some more phone calls, letting them know about the plumbing situation and the balance due – both of which would affect my ability to get their water going.  Seriously – this is just supposed to be a bookwork job!  I think I broke at least one nail.  Guess my vacation is officially over…

 

Lizzie asked Will to remove her training wheels today.  I was a little dubious, but she was insistent.  The girl is flying down the alley now.  She knew she was ready!

On our way home yesterday I stopped and picked up our mail at the post office.  Included in the pile was Paul’s autopsy report.  I had forgotten I had requested that.  It was interesting but hard reading at the same time.  They autopsied everything, it seems like.  They even weighed his lungs and noted how many grams each they were!  They commented on his “well-taken-care of teeth” which made me smile.  I’m so glad we didn’t spend the money to get his remaining wisdom teeth removed – or that crown put on the dentist kept recommending.  The report just seemed so impersonal, like I was reading a medical report.  I guess I was.  I had to keep reminding myself as I read that this was Paul they were talking about – my husband, my lover, my best friend – and not just this body on the slab they were carefully dissecting. 

Before we left for camp, our supervising teacher called.  I don’t need one this year, thanks to changes in the state homeschooling laws, but she was calling to express her condolences, as well as to let me know she was available if I needed her for anything.  She told me that one of her children experiences seizures and their neurologist told them that seizures have a cumulative effect.  Even if a particular seizure is not that severe it is compounding brain damage each time.  I did not know that.  Wonder why none of Paul’s neurologists never mentioned that to us?

Of course, the reason Paul died was that he asphyxiated.  Had he seized on his back, like normal, he probably would not have died.  Had he seized and fallen face-forward as a 22 year old I would have lost him 20 years ago instead of now.  Well, I can imagine all kinds of different scenarios and second-guess everything until I’m blue in the face (ok, not a good reference, given the circumstance), but it doesn’t matter.  His day of death was planned for June 6, 2013 and nothing was going to change that.

I started cleaning out Paul’s side of the closet last night.  He had more clothes than I realized.  I had to go buy some big tubs today just to hold them.  I found some more of his work jeans, too, belonging to Loziers.  Oops.  I feel like it is time to start cleaning him up a little.  My old office is filled with all kinds of stuff related to the funeral and I want to get it all organized and figure out where and how I’m going to store things that I want to keep.  A friend is making quilts out of his clothing so I need to get that to her.  I was doing ok.  And then I found his well-worn fleece, camo-printed bathrobe hanging on the hook where he had last hung it this spring.  Oomph.  That hurt. Every evening and morning he wore that thing.  Every single winter morning I would see him sitting by the woodburner in that robe, feet propped up on top, while he read his Bible.  He put that robe on and took it off several times each cold winter night when he woke up to tend the fire.   I buried my nose into the fabric and could still smell him.  The familiar pain cut like a lash.  I had to stop for a little bit.  But I’m still going.  This needs to be done.  I know some people don’t ever do it, but I sense this clear directive that it is time.  Bit by bit, I am letting Paul go.  Plus, the thought of doubling my closet space does have some appeal!  I know, I know – the merry widow, indeed…

At camp this week they had us doing family devotions from the book of James.  Chapter 1, verse 2 caught my attention: “My brothers, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience.”  I’ve heard that verse thousands of times, but have always assumed that “trials” referred to being persecuted for one’s faith.  But I happened to read McArthur’s notes and he explains that word as this:

This Greek word connotes trouble, or something that breaks the pattern of peace, comfort, joy, and happiness in someone’s life.  The verb form of this word means “to put someone or something to the test” with the purpose of discovering that person’s nature or that thing’s quality.  God brings such tests to prove and increase the strength and quality of one’s faith and to demonstrate its validity.

 

Huh…I’m sensing some application here!  Just a little, anyway...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Camp

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

August 10, 2013

 

Camp

 

We’re home after a week at Family Camp.  I wasn’t sure what to expect.  For years, I’ve been hearing all kinds of people at church praising the experience, telling us, “You’ve got to go!”  Paul was getting closer to making that commitment; the last few years he had even brought home brochures on the camps, thinking we should really do it.  When Will got old enough to start working at camp I remember him telling us we really needed to go at least once, too.

 

And then, of course, in June, the director of the camp offered us a free week because of Paul’s death.  So last Saturday we loaded up the van – and a friend’s trailer – and headed north.  My friend, Tammy, stayed with us for the first three days, helping with the Littles and helping me figure out what was going on and what to do.  I think she needed to be there for her own sake as much as to help me.  We had some sweet fellowship, just the two of us.  But then, I knew I needed to do this on my own and it was time for her to go.  I’m going to have to learn to do a lot of things on my own.

 

My thoughts on camp: I am not a camper by nature.  I think I’m roughing it if a hotel room doesn’t have my favorite cable channels!  It took a lot of work for Paul to coax me on all those camping trips and even then, I would be counting down the days until I could return to civilization.  I refused to go without our air conditioned camper.   I am a city girl.  I don’t like bugs.  I don’t like heat.  I don’t like getting dirty.  I don’t like walking outside  to get to the bathroom.  Basically, I’m a wimp.

 

Camp was a step up from that.  We were in cabins, rather than the tiny pop-up camper I was accustomed to cramming my family into.  The cabins still smell the same way they did the first time I attended this camp in 1982.  I’m spending this weekend washing that smell out of all our clothes and bedding.  I didn’t have to cook.  Well, I never had to cook when camping with Paul, either.  That was the trade-off.  He got my grimacing presence; in return, he took care of the cooking.  Camp food was way better than the pancakes and charred hot dogs Paul churned out, though.  There was so much of it, I really did not get hungry between meals.  There was more to do at Camp – organized activities, waterfront activities, etc.  My kids played squinny ball (or “squinny pig” as Lizzie called it for some reason), softball, gaga ball…Ben swung to his heart’s content.  The Littles enjoyed the playgrounds, although Ellie got knocked down once and came running to me with a mouthful of blood – fortunately, she had only bit her tongue and not knocked out a tooth as I first feared.  Sam and Lizzie spent a lot of time playing carpetball.  We went for a moonlight boat ride as a family.

 

Ben dearly wanted to go for a jet ski ride.  Part of that is because he has a daring nature (not such a good combination with his autism and cerebral palsy!).  But also, he and Paul would always go on the jet skis together at camp.  I was not about to take a motorized watercraft out on the water, never having done it before.  We would have been fish bait within two minutes.  Will is not a big "water" person and was reluctant to go in his dad’s place.  He just prefers dry land.  I asked him and he expressed his unwillingness to do that.  I sighed, inwardly, wondering how to break the news to Ben that I had nobody to take him.  But then, about 20 min. later Will said, “Well, I guess I could go.”  Oh, my blessed boy!  We decided to wait to sign up until the next day.  That evening, Camp hosted their own version of “The Price is Right.”  It was really fun.  And Will’s name got drawn to participate on stage!  And he won!  He won two fancy drinks from the snack shack (he gave one to his mother – sweet boy – she chose a strawberry smoothie) and he won a jumbo dog ride.  Will was able to exchange that for a free jet ski ride.  So Ben got to go and we didn’t even have to pay for it!

 

I filled my time with chasing the Littles, reading, and keeping abreast of the world with my laptop.  I was not about to go an entire week with no internet access!  I never claimed to be Back-to-Nature Becky…But I still found myself restless.  The older I get the more I recognize that I have a go-go-go personality.  I do not like to sit still.  As much as I complain about my busy schedule, I suspect there is a part of me that thrives on the activity, as well.  This is why Paul loved camping.  He needed those down times, to sit around the campfire and just do nothing.  That drove me nuts because all I could think about were all the things that were not getting done at home while I spent time inhaling wood smoke and inspecting my kids for ticks.

 

I discovered this week that is not possible to escape pain.  I didn’t expect to, but the realization became very fresh to me that when one is hurting, the pain doesn’t take a vacation just because you do.  In fact, I found this week even more difficult in many ways.  I knew Paul would have loved being at Family Camp.  The knowledge that we were experiencing this without him hurt.  Being surrounded by happy, intact, families was painful.  Seeing couples hold hands as they leisurely walked to the chapel or to dinner made my heart clench.  Honestly, it stinks to be alone.  Maybe someday I’ll get used to it, but I have been one half of a couple for 23 years and being suddenly single is very, very difficult.  It’s lonely.

 

One night of the week they have an adults-only meal.  It isn’t intended to be romantic, I don’t think, but since nearly everyone there is coupled up, that’s what it is.  I wandered into the room where round tables were set up, and spied a pastor’s wife from Waterloo who had approached me the first day of camp to let me know she knew who I was and was praying for me.  She was very kind to me the entire week.  I tentatively asked if she had room at her table and she sadly told me she did not.  I stood there, paralyzed.  I didn’t know what to do, where to go.  I stood there mentally debating if I should run back to my cabin and eat cheese crackers for supper instead.  I felt so wounded in that moment – so alone.  Within a moment, that pastor’s wife informed me that their table had suddenly opened up and I was welcomed to sit with them.  But I had lost my appetite.  Thankful for the meal prayer, I spent those moments furiously dabbing my leaking eyes with a tissue, commanding myself that I would not cry in front of others.  I made it.

 

The first night there I waited until everyone was asleep and I slipped out behind our cabin.  We were positioned at the edge of the campground.  It was pitch black, except for the stars.  I sat under a tree and sobbed and sobbed.  I knew the answer already, but I found myself asking God, “Do you see me?”  As I asked this, I found myself looking up into the heavens, as if I could see Him and ask Him face-to-face.  Instead, I saw millions of twinkling stars.  I felt God stir my heart.  He asked, “Do you see these stars?”  Of course I did.  They were the only light over the still, still campground.  He reminded me that He had given each of those stars a name.  And, of course, if inanimate objects like stars have names, how much more God knows ME – and the all the hurt and concerns happening in my heart right now.

 

It was so peaceful and I spent a lot of time out there that night.  When I did go to bed, my heart was a great deal lighter.  I determined that I would spend time under the stars every night that week.  That lasted about three nights.  Then, the mosquitoes discovered a new eating source (me) and I couldn’t stay out any longer.  But I think once my deck gets re-built I may get one of those chaise type loungers and try to spend time out there under the stars at home – just God and me.

 

Probably the biggest draw of Family Camp is the spiritual nourishment.  We had messages every morning and evening.  As God would plan it, two of the speakers spoke on the life of David.  The main speaker was Paul’s old college roommate.  The two of them have remained in contact over the years.  Pat did not know we were planning to attend camp.  He arrived Sunday and came up to our table, crying and giving me a hug, because it was the first time he’d seen me since Paul’s death.  Well, Pat’s messages were all about how King David was a man after God’s own heart.  That, of course, is what I am having inscribed onto Paul’s tombstone.

 

I really found myself drawing heavily from his messages and from the other speaker’s, who dealt with David’s time in the wilderness.  The thing that impressed me was that in every circumstance David found himself in, he always turned back to the Lord in praise and understanding that God knew more than he did and had David’s best interests at heart.  I was sad all week long, but by the last day I found myself really talking to God, asking Him to take these broken pieces of my heart and of our family and to knit them together into something beautiful once again.  I sensed a real peace from the Lord that He intends to do exactly that if we let Him.  For the first time in 9 weeks, I began to feel hope.

 

This particular week of Family Camp was more conservative.  I have been told that each week has their own “feel” based on the church responsible for the planning.  There were a lot of a large families, a lot of homeschoolers.  There were a number of adoptive families, too.  I saw tons of Asian and black children running around, but they all had white parents!  It was great.  In fact, the family in the cabin next to us has adopted 6 special needs children from China, with two more in the works.  It turned out they were good friends with my friend, Julie, who died three years ago.  Small world.  But anyway – back to conservatism.  It was a good week for us to be up there because, at heart, I’m pretty conservative, too.  As a result, we sang a lot of hymns.  Right now, I really appreciate those hymns.  There is very little contemporary Christian music that ministers to my heart during these days.  We sang, “Have Thine Own Way” one day.  Growing up, my church had a rotation of three invitation hymns – “Have Thine Own Way,” “Just As I Am,” and “I Surrender All.”  As a result, I know them all by heart.  This week, the words to that first hymn, really struck deep for the first time.

 

Have Thine own way, Lord! Have Thine own way!
Thou art the Potter, I am the clay.
Mold me and make me after Thy will,
While I am waiting, yielded and still.

Have Thine own way, Lord! Have Thine own way!
Search me and try me, Master, today!
Whiter than snow, Lord, wash me just now,
As in Thy presence humbly I bow.

Have Thine own way, Lord! Have Thine own way!
Wounded and weary, help me, I pray!
Power, all power, surely is Thine!
Touch me and heal me, Savior divine.

Have Thine own way, Lord! Have Thine own way!
Hold o’er my being absolute sway!
Fill with Thy Spirit till all shall see
Christ only, always, living in me.

 

“Thou art the Potter, I am the clay”… if that is really the cry of my heart, then I need to embrace this suffering.  He is molding me into the image He desires to make of me.

 

So, my final assessment?  Camp was where we needed to be last week.  While it wasn’t necessarily an “exciting” vacation, it was needed.  I’d like to go back sometime when my vision is not quite so clouded by grief.  I would probably be more fair in my overall view of the experience.

 

The second day we were there, Will discovered an envelope in the mailbox, addressed to us.  It had not been mailed; someone had placed it there.  Somebody or some somebodies had collected money for us with the intent to spend it while at camp.  They had it paperclipped individually with amounts for each one in the family and a cute little poem accompanied it.  Sweet.

 

One night I was walking to the bathroom with Sam.  Each door has a picture of a bug on it with a sign admonishing guests to keep the doors closed in order to keep the critters out.  Sam pointed out that that door was for boys because “It has an M at the beginning.  Know how I know that, Mom?  David told me.”  And then he told me that “L” was for “Girls,” further impressing me with his vast store of knowledge.  Then he pointed at the afore-mentioned bug sign and said, “And this sign says, ‘No bugs allowed’!” 

I can be heavy-hearted and giggle at the same, I am finding!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day 57

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

August 2, 2013

 

Day 57

 

Yesterday morning I was up early, getting Ben ready to catch the HRTA (sp?) bus for his day at Genesis.  If we do this next summer, I’m driving the poor kid over to Indianola myself.  It’s dumb to make him get up that early and ride the bus for that long to get to a place that is only 30 min away by car.  But anyway…I looked out the kitchen window which faces the driveway.  I realized that if I was in my “normal” life, Paul would just be leaving for work about then, since it was a Thursday and he had to go in early those days.  I found myself wishing fervently that his big white van with the Lozier logo on the side was still sitting in the driveway.  When it was in the driveway, Paul was home, and my world was all right.  My world hasn’t been all right since June 6.  Sometimes it feels like it may never be again.

 

Paul’s bosses visited Tuesday.  I could tell they were uncomfortable.  They had called the day before asking if they could come by.  I kind of guessed at the reason why and I was right.  Even though they had attended Paul’s visitation and funeral (I think – I really am not aware of who all made it to his funeral – I only had eyes for that casket) and I had spoken to them briefly when I returned Paul’s work clothes, this was their official condolence call.  They had a card for me.  We chatted, I said good-bye, knowing I would never see these men again. When they left I  opened the card and  discovered that the company had made a donation to our family.  Not only that, but the employees themselves had chipped in in an extraordinarily generous manner.  I was blown away.  I never expected such generosity.  God continues to meet our needs.  Even 6 years ago when Paul was hired on with Loziers, God knew!  Loziers provided income (and most importantly, maternity insurance!) at a time when we needed it desperately.  But God knew what was coming down the pike just 74 months later and he was providing for our future by having Paul hired by Loziers at that time.  We have no idea how God orchestrates the events of our lives in order to provide and care for us.

 

I had to buy another alarm clock this week.  This has been a bit of an on-going saga.  Mine, that I bought, oh a year and a half ago or so, has always been somewhat tempermental.  It got worse after Paul’s death, so I pitched it and moved Paul’s old clock to my side of the bed.  It worked great.  But then the snooze button went out on it last week.  For some people that would not be a problem.  It for me because I need to wake up gradually.  I’d rather set my alarm earlier than needed and have several opportunities to hit that button in order to feel a temporary sense of victory!  I should have known that thing wouldn’t last, though.  Paul’s clock had a cassette tape deck on it, it's so old!  So I picked up something else at Walmart this week.  I refuse to buy any more cheap clocks.  I actually don’t even know what the cost of this one was.  None of the clocks were in the right spot on the shelves and I forgot to get a price check on it before I bought it.  I’m guessing it was more than $8, though, which is what I paid for my last one.  To my surprise, this one automatically sets the time!  I’ve never seen something like that before.  It’s working great.  Buying it gave me a pang, though.  It’s something for our bedroom Paul will never see.  I still find myself looking over to his nightstand to read the time, forgetting that his clock is no longer there.   It’s probably a good thing, though, that Paul won’t see this one.  He might be complaining about the blue 3” high numbers.  That thing gives off a lot of light!   Why am I so focused on the minutia of a clock of all things?  My mind sure tends to rest in odd places these days.

 

Will called me this week.  It was nice.  He was in a chatty mood.  Last summer, he spent 7 or 8 weeks up at camp, working.  He never called once.  This summer when he was on his missions trip, he called twice.  And then I had the call this week.  I’ll see him today, actually, which I am anticipating.  Without Paul, I think we are all clinging to eachother just a little more tightly.

 

To that end, I had a fabulous idea this week.  In a round-about way, the credit should actually go to David.  Since Paul died I have sensed a growing need for the kids and I to tightly bond.  It’s not that we were not bonded before, but we need something more now.  I can see how families sometimes fall apart after an event like this.  It would be so easy for all of us to go our separate ways, while nursing our hurting hearts.  We could continue to live under the same roof, but not be any more bonded than a group of strangers.  That’s why I’ve wanted to do family devotions on a regular basis and we have – somewhat.  Not only is it a time to study God’s Word together, but we can talk and grieve out loud.  But it occurred to me that it would be really fantastic if we had regular “family nights.”  I’m thinking twice a month where we mark it down on the calendar and plan events.  They could be as simple as making popcorn and watching a movie or playing board games (ugh – the things I will suffer for my children – I am not a board game player!).  Or they could be things like having a picnic supper at a park and making smores, or buying concert tickets, or going to a hockey game – or whatever.  As long as we’re together and doing activities that force us to interact with eachother, that would be the point.  This was my idea, but David gets the credit because he had suggested numerous times that we needed to have more family time.   About six months ago, he even took a 4X6 card, covered it in family night suggestions, and rather pointedly stuck it to the refrigerator.  Paul always wanted to and I know shortly before he died he mentioned to me we were going to do some of those things on David’s list.  We have just been SO busy the last few years that it has been hard to sacrifice any time at all for things that were not strictly necessary.  But if we had, our kids would have more memories of their dad now.  Paul would be pleased by this decision and I know our family, reduced by one, will benefit greatly.  The morning of Paul’s death I made a point to emphasize to the children that we were “still a family.”  This is a way to  implement that truth in a practical manner.

 

I met with my attorney again the other day and he’s coming over again today because I needed him to re-do some wording on the adoption petition.  I was reading through the documents he had prepared and I read this line, “Sarah Heywood, a single person, …”  Oh, that cut to the heart.  It’s like anytime I get anything in the mail that is addressed to “The Sarah Heywood Family.”  I want to protest – I’m not a single person!  I’m not the head of this family!”  But I am, of course.  I hate, hate, hate that term – “single.”  The word sounds like it is full of choice.  But I didn’t choose this.  I would have never chosen to parent without a spouse.   A friend, who has, apparently, been hiding under a rock all summer, facebooked me yesterday after I posted my thoughts on forever with Paul, and asked, “What?  You’re not married anymore?”  I wanted to write back, “Yes, of course I am still married!”

 

In one of my widow books yesterday, the author talked about removing one’s wedding ring.  It’s a subject I’ve already given some thought to and have written already about how I plan to ease that transition with the purchase of a mother’s ring.  She said that there is no right or wrong time to do such a thing.  Some widows may wear their rings for the rest of their life.  I’m not going to do that, though.  She said that widows will know when the time is right for removal because they will begin to feel no longer married.  I wonder, is that a sudden thing?  While I can logically remind myself that I am not married, I still feel married.  But will I wake up one day and realize that that feeling has suddenly left?  Or will it be a gradual departure, the feeling of partnership tipoeing silently away?

 

Yesterday, I put in about a million tiny braids on each of the girls’ heads.  I am hoping this fuss-free style will last for most of the week we are at camp.  But I’m bringing their bounty of hair supplies, anyway, just in case.  As I was working on Lizzie’s head, we listened to my mp3 player.  I have a number of Paul’s Sunday morning specials loaded onto my player and he came on, singing, “It Will Be Worth it All.”  Or is it called, “When We See Christ?”  Anyway…

 

It will be worth it all when we see Jesus,
Life's trials will seem so small when we see Christ;
One glimpse of His dear face all sorrow will erase,
So bravely run the race till we see Christ.

 

Lizzie suddenly said, “Daddy’s doing that now.”  This is my chatterbox child and I have learned to tune out about half of what she says.  Well, maybe not that much, but I definitely filter what I take in because she never stops talking!

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You know, Mommy – seeing Christ.  That’s what Daddy’s doing!”

 

Oh, Lizzie…

 

A few hours later I was scurrying around, packing up things for the Littles.  My friend had called, asking if she could take the three of them for two nights so that she could take them to the balloon festival with her four children (after she worked all day long yesterday!) and so I could pack for camp in peace.  Who am I to turn down a gift like that?  Lizzie asked if I would send a picture of Paul and I with her.  The last time she had spent the night with anyone was in February when we went to Colorado.  I had made up a photo sheet for her with pictures of her brothers and Paul and myself, with little messages from us for each day we’d be gone.  Had totally forgotten about that, but she hadn’t.  So I quickly found a little wallet sized photo of Paul and myself (taken while we were in CO, actually) and gave it to her.  A few minutes later, I heard loud sobbing coming from the living room.  I assumed another sibling brawl had broken out and she had gotten the worst of it.

 

But Lizzie sat on the couch, doubled over, and cried, “I miss my daddy so much!”  Oh, Sweetheart…I have been guilty of thinking of times that the girls are not as affected by Paul’s death because they only knew him for a year.  But in that year, Paul filled a God-created empty spot in their little hearts.  I sat and held my four year old daughter and we just cried together, each of us missing Paul in our own way.

 

It’s been a better week for David, though.  He was able to connect with a Christian young man out in New York (I think) who lost his father, suddenly and tragically, a year and a half ago – when he was 14.  This young man wrote the nicest email to David.  David was so encouraged and just couldn’t quit smiling the day he first heard from his new friend.  And then yesterday our pastor called and asked if he could take David for ice-cream.  I wasn’t sure how that would go because David has been decidedly reticent about talking to adults about this.  But he has been very chatty with me about going and mentioned several times how much he appreciated the opportunity to sit down with our pastor.  So maybe it’s the idea of talking to someone he dislikes more than the actual doing of it.  I am encouraged.  With that child, my mind was jumping to some pretty dark places.  We’ve all heard of tragic situations where a friend or sibling will commit suicide after enduring the loss of someone dear to them because they are incapable of handling the intense pain that loss brings.

 

But I think David is going to be ok.  Someday, we will all be ok.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

August 1st

August 1, 2013

 

 

August 1^st…I vividly  remember  another August 1, 21 years ago.   I ended up  Facebooking about it today.  I woke up, feeling a bit melancholy because of the significance of the date.  I hadn’t planned to say anything about it, outside of my journaling (which usually makes its way to my blog).  I didn’t have any real thoughts about the day, other than just remembering.  I thought I might share the story in my journaling.  But as the day wore on, my thoughts became more crystallized and I suddenly realized just what it was I wanted to say about August 1.  Here is what I wrote on my Facebook wall:

 

 

21 years ago tonight, a certain young man pressed a diamond into a piece of taffy, offered it to me, and promised me forever. The self-pitying part of me wants to comment that our forever ended 8 weeks ago. But that's not really true. When I catch a glimpse of Paul in one of his sons - that's forever. When I observe how far the girls have come and know it's because they finally experienced the love of a daddy - that's forever. When I smile at a sweet memory - that's forever. And when I sense a heightened longing for Heaven, to see my Jesus and to be reunited with my husband - well, that's forever, too.

 

As I typed that earlier, I realized just how true this is.  I had several sympathy cards given to me that expressed the sentiment that “love never dies.”  That kind of went over my head at the time, but this is the same idea.  The love that Paul had for me and for his children will always remain.  The forever he promised me that night will last.  No, it’s not the forever we dreamed of as two naïve 21 year olds – that was supposed to last until we were 95 at least.  But all that that promise of forever was comprised of – the love, commitment, the honor – it’s still there and will remain there.

 

It was a hot, sticky Midwestern summer night.  Paul had been really insistent that we get together that weekend (we lived 4 hrs apart) and oddly, my brother seemed to think it was a really good idea for me to head out to western Iowa too.  Well, of course, he knew!  I was hopeful that I would be an engaged woman before the weekend ended, but as the night wore on I began to have some serious doubts as no diamond appeared.  I had told Paul months or maybe even years earlier that I would not marry him unless he bought a car (he had this beater monster truck that he was inordinately proud of.  What caused him pride provided only mortification for me).  He had purchased a little Cavalier in July.  It occurred to me that all his money may have been spent on that and I’d have to wait for the ring.  So I gave up hoping that night and gave myself several little mental pep talks about how when the time was right it would be right and I just needed to be patient and so on.  We had been walking around the Heartland of America Park in downtown Omaha for several hours.  We began heading back to the car and I was ready to go.  I just wanted to get off my sore feet and to wash the humidity off my skin and get some sleep.  Paul pulled a piece of taffy candy out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and began to eat it.  I looked at him, expectantly, through narrowed eyes.  He knew better than to eat sweets in front of me and not offer any!  He grinned, reached into his pocket, and pulled out another piece and handed it to me.  I unwrapped it.  Something glinted.  Embedded in the back of the candy was a diamond ring.

 

I asked him later, “What if I had eaten it?  What if I had chipped a tooth on that thing?”  He said that thought had crossed his mind.

I was excited.  We kissed – long and passionately, right there in public.  It was our moment.  Paul said, “I assume this is a yes?”

 

 It was.

 

We married and I began to let the fact bug me that Paul had never actually asked me to marry him.   Why did I do that?  But I wanted to hear the words.  Apparently I mentioned that to him.  Once or twice.  So, three years later we happened to be in the same park again, this time with a baby.  We were walking along and Paul casually asked me, “So was this the spot?”  Huh?  It took me a moment, but I realized he was standing under the same streetlight where he had pulled that candy out of his pocket.  Suddenly, he dropped to his knee and very dramatically and very thoroughly proposed to me the “right” way.  I laughed, but felt a certain sense of satisfaction at the same time.

 

Twenty-one years ago tonight…

 

If I had known how abruptly and how soon it would end, would my answer have been any different?  Nope.  There is no pain I have to endure that would ever make me regret for even a moment the joy that marrying that man brought me.

 

The night of our engagement Paul told me later that he picked this date – August 1 – so that it would be easy for him to remember it in the future.  Every single year I remembered the significance of the date.  Do you think Paul remembered it – ever? 

 

No, he didn’t!

 

But that’s ok.  It’s embedded in my heart.  No matter what else happens in my life, no matter where I go and where I end up, I don’t think an August 1^st will ever roll around where I don’t pause and smile at the memory of a little diamond ring pressed into the back of a green piece of taffy.