Not Just Another Day

Today was a difficult day for me because  it was the year and a half anniversary of my husband’s death.

I think of him every day and miss him all the time.

I miss holding his hand when we would drive somewhere. I miss watching TV with him, enjoying our dog, planning trips and days out, going to the movies, playing cards with friends,kissing him and hugging him, and all of the hundreds of little things that make up a relationship.

I wish I could see him just one more time. I wish I could tell him once again that I love him, and that I am happy that we had so many years together.

But that is not to be…his life here on earth ended too soon.

 

We spent over 40 years together. It wasn’t always easy. In fact, there were many times when I wondered if we would make it. But I am glad that we did. We built a life together, helped one another through the roiling waters of change and dissension, raised a lovely and successful daughter,  and grieved together.

Dan and I were quite compatible. We enjoyed similar activities–going to the beach, the aforementioned movies, and visiting with family and friends. He was my chief cheerleader–the guy who was always on my side and encouraged me. We had an equal relationship–no one was in “charge” of the other person–we both had breathing room.

 

I shed some tears todaydan and kjg. Tears of loss, regret, and anger.

 

There will be many more days like this, I know.

And as I was told in the Grief Support Group I attended, “You can’t go over it, you can’t go under it, you can’t go around it. You must go through grief.”

 

And that is the journey that lies ahead.

 

Picture Credit: Kathy Joyce Glascott’s private collection

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Happy Birthday!

birthday

My daughter had a milestone birthday recently, she turned forty. What a wake –up call that was!

It made me wonder how I could have a forty year-old child. Can you even call a forty year old a child? And how did my kid get to be almost as old as me?

There’s something about becoming forty—it signals the start of a new stage in life. You’re still youthful, maybe even in some people’s minds, young. But you are (or should be) more mature and hopefully more established. Forty year old people are probably married or in a significant relationship, hopefully launched in a career, and able to look back on life experiences to aid in making decisions.

My forties were a great time in my life: my career was blooming and I think I may have looked my best, and my family was thriving.

I celebrated my fortieth birthday by having a big birthday party—by that point in my life I had dealt with several difficult situations, and I felt like I was finally truly an adult.

My daughter said that she was excited to be forty—and I was pleased to hear that. Instead of fighting it every inch of the way, she embraced it and was excited about celebrating this milestone.

Isn’t that what maturing should be? Looking forward to the adventures that lie ahead while celebrating the victories and accomplishments in the years leading up to the birthday you’re observing?

Why not go for the gusto?

So, I wish my daughter many more happy years.

And I hope that every future birthday is a celebration.

 

 

Photo courtesy of Microsoft Clip Art

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Smile, Smile, Smile

I’ve decided that I need to try to focus on the blessings in my life as a counter balance to the losses and problems that I’ve encountered over the last few years.  What woke me up was the reaction of friends to a post I placed on Face Book a few days ago. I don’t want people to feel that they have to constantly lift my spirits up—I think that I have to take some responsibility for that myself.

Yes, I am in mourning over the loss of my husband and brother. I’ve had a few medical problems.  But in reality there is much happiness and joy in my life.

I have a wonderful and loving family who care about me. My  talented and beautiful daughter is a mature and accomplished  woman.  I have great friends, people I mean something to. I live in a beautiful place with everything from restaurants to clubs to shows to a state-of-the-art fitness center. It really is a retiree’s dream comes true.  I belong to a great women’s writing group and am active in several clubs. There is Widows’ group and a Singles group—both of which have helped me to re-invent my life.

The day I posted on Face Book that I missed my husband, a terrific thing also happened.  I am the president of a club. Our planned speaker couldn’t make it, so I devised a Trivia game that was a big hit. Everyone enjoyed it, and there was a feeling of fun and camaraderie as a result of the game.

I felt really good about that and went home smiling. So when I went to post on Face Book, why didn’t I mention that? I realized later that I missed being able to share my accomplishment with Dan—but that didn’t diminish the success of the evening. After I wrote that post and read the comments that followed, I realized that I had portrayed myself as a victim, not as a functioning person who is healing.

I think it is in my best interest to try to be a little more positive.

I know that Dan would want me to enjoy my life—he loved his life and I need to honor that by living my life the best way I can.

Ultimately it’s about the balance between challenges and the positive aspects of life.

scales

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Daddy’s Girl

Sparkle, my little Yorkie-Poodle mix dog, loved her Daddy. Even though he’s been gone for almost a year and a half, I think she still misses him—especially when we run into one of his buddies on our walks. She gets very excited when she sees these guys, almost as if she expects that Dan will be along soon, too.

Daddy's GirlOh, how Dan loved Sparkle!

He walked her everyday as often as she wanted. Even if it was the last ten minutes his favorite TV show,  if Sparkle started making noises about going out, he got up and took her. (I eventually started taping his shows because he never knew how they ended, thanks to Sparkle!)

She spent her days draped across his lap, with him petting her. You could say she had him wrapped around her paw.

He would wake up early and bring her up onto the bed, which was one of the many things I swore she would never be allowed to do. He’d whisper to her, “Don’t tell Mommy that I let you up on the bed,” and then he’d give her a tummy rub and take her out for a walk. I almost always overheard them and just turned away and smiled, knowing that he loved Sparkle and that she loved him back.

Dan’s connection to Sparkle makes me feel more connected to him across time and space. I hope that when we are united in Eternity, we will still have our little dog to love.

 

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Florida Snow

snow flake

 

Yep, it’s cold out there. Even here in Florida tonight’s low will probably be in the 20’s. Tomorrow will be a less than balmy 55 degrees, if we’re lucky. Please don’t feel sorry for me—oh, you don’t? (Hey, are you using that finger to point on purpose?)

Anyway, the best thing about winter in Florida is that it’s short—usually a few cold or cool days and then back to normal.

One year, however, we had an extended cold spell. I was still working and I had to leave the house by 6:30 a.m., or be late! So, dutifully, I trudged out to the car one morning. The air was crisp and cold and I then saw something I will never forget.

All of the moisture in the air had crystallized!

It was beautiful in a way that defies description. The ice crystals just hung suspended in the air, like a fine netting of crystals covering everything. It made me gasp in wonder.

In all the years I lived up North, I never saw anything like it.

Of course by the time the sun rose, it was gone.

When I got to school I told Sue, the teacher aide I worked with, about it. Sue was a rarity—a native Floridian.  She nodded sagely and said, “Oh yes, Florida snow.”

snow flake

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The Ghosts of Christmases Past

 

 

I was supposed to celebrate this Christmas with my daughter and her spouse in Oregon. That didn’t happen. I needed to have unexpected surgery on December 11th and came home from the hospital a few days later. Luckily, my daughter was able to travel here to be with me while I was hospitalized. But she had commitments back on the West Coast, and had to go back soon after I returned from the hospital.

The word disappointed hardly begins to explain how I felt when I realized that I would have to cancel all of my plans for Christmas. I was angry at my situation, and I wondered why me?

This is my second Christmas without my husband—and it hasn’t gotten much easier. The Ghosts of Christmases past haunted me: the party we gave and the ones we went to, the Gala, festive decorations, decorating cookies and visiting my daughter were memories from other Christmases— and would not be a part of this one. There was no reason to bake Christmas cookies, and I did all my shopping on Amazon.com.

You can imagine how I felt.

And there was no miraculous reprieve. I woke Christmas morning with just my dog Sparkle for company.

Luckily, several good friends came to the rescue. I was invited to a wonderful Christmas Eve dinner by one friend and to Christmas Day dinner by another. Several other people extended invitations to celebrate the holiday with them. And my family called every day to bolster my spirits.

Before she left, my daughter decorated the house, and together we put up my table-top Christmas tree. Having a festive house did lift my spirits and made the holiday feel a lot more cheerful.

Best of all, I went to a meaningful Mass with a dear friend who recently became a widow, too.

So even though the Ghosts of Christmases Past hovered in the wings, I did have a merry Christmas.

I hope you did, too.

Christmas tree 2013

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Favorite Christmas Decorations

Do you have Christmas decorations that are special to you?

Among my favorite decorations are a gift, a decoration that was my father-in-law’s and one that I made.

The Christmas Mop Doll was a gift from a good friend. She surprised me with it several years ago—and when I see it, I remember that visit vividly. When my daughter was helping me decorate this year, she got excited when she saw the doll, too.

I made the Noel wall hanging years ago—it took a long time, because I had to work on it in between teaching, shopping, preparing for the holidays and being a mother and wife. I was thrilled when it was finished. It has a place of honor every year.

The stained glass candle holder belonged to my beloved father-in-law.  He even fixed the candle holder by screwing the candle cup onto the front! He loved to make stained glass lamps and other decorations—although he didn’t make this. I honor his memory  by placing this candle holder in a special place.

Using these decorations every year honors friendship, the memory of loved ones and the energy I put into making the holiday special for my family.

Mop Doll candle Noel Wall Hanging

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Holidays in Widows World

Microsoft Clip Art

 

Being a widow has changed my life in many ways—some I expected, others I didn’t.  My husband’s death was not sudden, it happened after several months of illness, hope, despair , hospitalizations and finally, Hospice Care. I thought I was ready…but I learned that it’s impossible to prepare for one of the most traumatic events a person can ever experience.

This is my second Christmas as a widow. And I’m still stuck in grief mode ( which does not surprise me).  Grief can, and does, color our lives for years. After all, how do you recover from the loss of your life-long companion? How do you celebrate holidays that were so meaningful in the past without him?

Do I really have to celebrate one of the most festive times of the year, when I just don’t feel like it? I know that  joy is transient and that I must delight in those moments and hold them dear to my heart. I just can’t make myself do this on command. And in a way, that’s what is expected of those who grieve during the holidays.

I thought it might be cathartic to list why I miss Dan during the holidays:

There’s no one to drag the boxes of decorations out of the garage.

There’s no one else to admire the tree.

I don’t have anyone to go to the Christmas Gala with.

If I bake Christmas cookies, Dan won’t come into the kitchen and nab several.

If I buy a Christmas tie, no one will wear it.

It’s not a challenge to buy gifts for Brenda and Amy.

No one will get me a pile of Christmas gifts.            ( Selfish—I know.)

And most importantly, I can’t hug Dan and wish him a Merry Christmas and tell him how much I love him.

 

 

 

 

 

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Remembering President Kennedy

JFKI remember a bright November day in 1963 when my world changed. I was a junior at Victory Academy, a Catholic high school in Buffalo, New York. The first inkling that something had happened was the hushed buzz of conversation among my teachers.

The students were  instructed to go back to their homerooms, even though it was not dismissal time. Then the announcement was made, President John F. Kennedy has been assassinated in Dallas, Texas.

Numb with disbelief, I recalled seeing President Kennedy only a week earlier at a Catholic Youth Organization convention in New York City. He  stood high above the exuberant throng of thousands of Catholic teenagers and spoke to us in his distinctive Boston accent. We claimed him for our own, and he smiled, seeming to exude a golden aura. I don’t remember what he said, but I do remember being overwhelmed by his very presence.

It was my first exposure to pure charisma, an experience that I would never forget.

Now he was dead. And with him, I felt that a dream had died, too.

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Being a Hero

 

How often have you heard someone described as a hero? It seems that almost every day, we hear of someone who did something that is called heroic. Often, those people insist that they are not heroes, and name someone else who is more heroic than they are.

The word hero is applied to the military, police officers, teachers, and even family pets or service animals.

But are they really heroes? Is it heroic to do what is expected of you—serving in combat zones if you’re in the military, running into a burning building if you’re a fire fighter, or arresting the bad guy if you’re a policeman?

Maybe what really happens is that ordinary people sometimes do heroic things.

There are many examples of this type of heroism, for instance, the teachers who shielded their students at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown last December and the fire fighters who ran into the crumbling Twin Towers when everyone else streamed out.

If you Google “everyday heroes”, you will get page after page of references. There are literally thousands of stories about everyday heroes. There are websites devoted to their stories.

I saw the movie, “Captain Phillips” lately, and the story captivated my imagination. I wondered how anyone could survive being held hostage in a stinking little life boat with four pirates who saw you as collateral—something to trade for a big payday. As almost everyone knows, this movie is based on a true story, the Somalian pirate attack on the Maersk Alabama and hostage taking of Captain Richard Phillips. Because the movie touched me so deeply, I decided to read the book he and Stephen Talty authored. It turned out that the movie version soft pedaled much of the terror and abuse that was heaped on Captain Phillips during his captivity. Because of his actions and those of several of his crew, the ship, its cargo (humanitarian aid) and rest of the crew were unhurt and escaped safely. Phillips was eventually saved by the US Navy and the Navy Seals after several days of captivity. Despite having used his intelligence and experience to thwart the pirate attack, and being subjected to psychological and physical abuse by his captors, Captain Phillips refuses to call himself a hero. Instead, he gives credit to his crew, the US Navy and the Navy Seals. He claims what he did –luring the pirates off the ship was simply his duty.

Here’s a strange footnote to the Captain Phillips story. Some of his crew are suing the Maersk Shipping Line because they claim they were exposed unnecessarily to the danger of pirate attacks—while serving on a shipping line that plied the waters off the Somalia coast line—a place known for piracy.  They claim that Phillips was not a hero, even though they were safe in a hidden room on the ship while the Captain was negotiating with the pirates, getting them off the ship—and being taken hostage.

So once again, this begs the question—who is a hero? Is it someone who does what he/she is expected to do? Or is it someone who is inherently altruistic? And are heroes always heroes? Or are they folks like the rest of us who rise to an occasion?

 

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