Memories and Grief - Some Happy, Some Sad

Way back in 2019 Vince and I attended a charity event and, since we were all gussied up, Vince asked someone take our picture. It was a wonderful, memorable evening.

 

Back in 2019, we didn’t know that in a few months’ time, we would be isolated because of a thing called Covid. We didn’t know we would eventually catch the virus ourselves.

 

We didn’t know that a few months after that, Vince would be gone.

 

So we didn’t know that we needed to celebrate each moment with smiles and photos so that five years later I could look back and remember the fun we had.

 

Actually, though, that’s what Vince always did – he documented all the moments, big and small. And because he did, I have tangible proof of my happy life with him, even though it was only thirteen short years.

 

Recently, that photo came up in my memories on Facebook, so I had to repost it. Lots of people posted kind comments and there were more than 140 “likes.”

 

So I started looking at the names of friends and family who liked it. And, as I was scrolling down the list, I became teary-eyed.

 

Because all those people were telling me that they care. About me. About Vince. And they were letting me know it was okay to post that photo.

 

That even though we are approaching the three-year mark since he has been gone, my friends and family understand that it’s okay to remember him. Three years seems like so long ago, but – to me – it also seems like it happened yesterday.

 

For some who haven’t lost anyone significant in their lives, it may be difficult to understand that grief never goes away. That it sometimes softens with time. And it’s perhaps not as paralyzing as it was in the beginning. But that those feelings of grief will come and go – probably forever.

 

That the person who grieves might go on with life as if nothing is wrong – and if you ask them how they are, they will invariably respond, “fine,” but that may be the furthest from the truth.

 

Or maybe they are fine. (Grief can be confusing!)

 

Sometimes it only takes a scent of the cologne they wore, or their favorite meal printed on a menu to bring the grief back.

 

Or it may be a photo of a happy occasion that does it.

 

But most people who are grieving are not broken. We are repairing our shattered hearts and going on as our loved ones would want us to. We have good days and bad days, like everyone else.

 

Some people are not okay with grief. With allowing a person to express their memories or their sadness. Or their joy over a funny memory. They don’t want anyone to bring up the name of the person who passed.

 

I ask, “Why?”

 

Why is it so uncomfortable? Are they afraid the person who is mourning will burst into uncontrollable tears?

 

And to that, I ask, “So what?”

 

What’s the worst that will happen? Maybe they need that cathartic cry and will feel better when they’re done. If someone viewing such a display is uncomfortable, just grab some tissues, hand them to the person crying and step back.

 

Chances are, if a memory is brought up about a deceased loved one, the person grieving will latch onto that memory. We love hearing their name. We love hearing stories about them. What better way to honor their life by remembering them?

 

Recently, I read a post by a woman in my Widows/Widowers group on Facebook who said that the last time she attended a gathering with her late husband’s family, she proposed a toast to him. She had hoped his family would join in and bring up a happy memory or say a few kind words about him.

 

But no one did.

 

And she was so saddened by this. Particularly since he had passed only three months before. And it was his family.

 

More recently, one of his family members asked her not to bring up his name or propose a toast to him at the next family gathering. She was devastated by this and considered not going to the event. She wanted opinions of the people in our private group about what she should do.

 

I thought this was so disheartening.

 

Of course, I don’t know the particulars. Was there family strife? Was it a happy occasion (birthday for their 90-year-old grandmother, family wedding, or baby shower) where her timing was off and a toast to her deceased husband was maybe not the most appropriate thing?

 

Nevertheless, I hope that my family and friends will never stop me from mentioning Vince. And I hope it’s not uncomfortable for them, because it’s not for me.

 

Now, granted, I try not to talk only about him. You know – exclusively. I get that that could be uncomfortable and a little repetitive. I try to keep the Vince mentions down to an appropriate level and if I’m talking about the price of paper towels, for example, I don’t try to tie his name into it.

 

Because, really, who wants to talk about the price of paper towels? And anyone who knew him would wonder at my sanity that I’m bringing Vince’s name into a story about the price of paper towels.

 

But if we’re talking about a great rack of ribs, or the perfect fire pit fire, well, all bets are off. Vince was the most amazing grillmast…uh…

 

…perhaps I’ll save that story for another day.

 

Florida in February was Fabulous

I just returned from a six-day vacation in Florida to visit my friends Susan and Jeff and Melinda and Dan. Three days at Sue’s; three days at Melinda’s.

 

And how nice was I? Giving Sue and Jeff the opportunity to pick me up from the airport – and Melinda the chance to take me back there on my way outta town? Doesn’t that sound nice to you?

 

Well, but hear me out. It was nice because neither one had the responsibility of driving to the airport twice. See? Nice.

 

Plus, I figured I wouldn’t annoy either couple if I didn’t overstay my welcome – hence the three-day visit rule.

 

But lemme tell you – six days just isn’t long enough.

 

As Sue pointed out, you’ve gotta take one whole day off for travel. Okay, that’s pretty much true. Counting getting to the airport and getting back home after the trip, my travel time was about 15 hours in total. So that leaves me with basically a five-day vacation.

 

Yep, not enough time.

 

But let’s look on the bright side. I had FIVE DAYS in Florida! It was sunny every single day. It was warm. Well, according to my hosts: warm-ish. It was in the 70s. Which is way warmer than it was in Ohio. After all, when I left there was still a little snow on the ground.

 

I never once resorted to wearing my jacket. I caught Melinda, on the other hand, wearing her sweatshirt on several occasions. Guess it’s true what they say about having “thinner blood” once one moves to a warmer state.

 

It was a relaxing vacation – with just enough variety to make it perfect for me. We ate out and ate in. Sue chopped and sliced and stirred and sauteed one evening and made a delicious chicken piccata. And then the next night I was at Melinda and Dan’s and we went out to eat at a great little Italian restaurant. What did Melinda order? Yep, you guessed it – chicken piccata!

 

One morning Melinda made French toast for breakfast, which was yummy. I’d love for the story to be circuitous and report that one morning Sue, Jeff and I went out to breakfast and, weirdly, we all ordered French toast. But stuff like that just doesn’t happen in Jane’s Domain. Unless, of course, we want to pretend that it did?

 

No? Well, okay, then.

 

But we did go to the ocean a couple of times. I got sand in my toes and had the chance to listen to the waves, which is one of my most favorite sounds.

 

The first time I got a little sunburnt and the next time I got zero sun because, well, I had a brand-new bottle of 70 SPF sunscreen. Plus, we had an umbrella that kept that pesky sunshine from reaching my burnt bits.

 

So, all in all, it was a delightful, albeit short stay in the Sunshine State. I loved spending time catching up with my friends. I had a great time relaxing and reading and watching some fun new shows on TV. We drank a few glasses of wine and even went shopping a time or two. And I took some wonderfully refreshing naps almost every day without the need to get up and immediately walk Maggie Minx while still half-asleep because we were on "Maggie Time" and not "Jane Time." 

 

Yeah, it was a great time!

 

And I have to admit – it’s great being back home, too. Why? Well, because I’m not crazy about living out of a suitcase – color-coded, organized packing cubes notwithstanding.

 

And, frankly, the older I get, the more I like my own little routine. That’s perhaps another way of saying I’m getting to be an old fogie who’s set in her ways.

 

Uh oh.

 

On the other hand, we all like coming home. Don’t we?

 

One of the interesting things I discovered when I was scanning my parents’ old travel photos is that my dad tended to take a few photos at the end of their trips of their house back in Alliance – or the cottage in Cape Cod. They considered both of those places “home.”

 

Weirdly, dad took a photo of his shed...!

And Dad always wrote “Home, Sweet Home” on the photo. Every time.

 

Now, sure – he was, most likely, using up the rest of the film since most of their trips were taken back in the day when you had to get the 35 mm film developed. And you couldn’t do that until you’d used up all 24- or 36-count of photos on the roll. (Dad would never have just wasted the last few pictures in order to get the film out of the camera to take to Foto-Mat to be developed.)

 

But to me it clearly demonstrated that while mom and dad loved to travel – they also loved coming back home.

 

So I’m going to think of coming home again as a good thing.

 

I feel renewed. And at peace. And ready to get back to my checklists of tasks to finish. And back to my daily dog-walking responsibilities. And meal preparations for one. And all that other stuff that sometimes feels like the “drudgery” of routine – but that can also be the good stuff that makes up our lives.

 

And maybe – just maybe – I feel the need for a little nap coming on. (Ooh, nice!)

 

Even if I am back on "Maggie Time" and have to walk Maggie Minx before I’m ready to get up and get going again.

 

Enjoy the rest of your day. I hope you do something nice for yourselves and feel that sense of renewal, whether it’s taking a break, a vacation – or even just an occasional nap. 

Enjoy!

Leg Shaving and Other Assorted and Sundry Tasks

 

I shaved my legs today. That, my friends, is a big deal for me. I have no plans for a pedicure in the coming days, nor am I headed immediately to a pool or the beach. I just shaved my legs for the heck of it.

 

Well, I was in my brother- and sister-in-law’s hot tub the other day. So they could have potentially noticed the longer-than-the-hair-on-my-head leg hair. But it was dark. And no one got close enough to accidentally brush against my extremities to notice I wasn’t clean shaven.

 

But I digress. 

Shaving my legs is hardly earth-shattering news. "Big deal," you say? You shave your legs every day…or every third day…or once a week on Wednesdays. Or whatever leg-shaving schedule you have implemented for yourself. (Talkin' to the women now, you understand. But if you're a man and you shave your legs, well... you do you!)

 

Anyway, I used to have that kind of schedule. Certainly as a young adult I did. But since Vince passed, I don’t seem to care much if my legs are smooth – or the hair is so long it can be braided.

 

The thing is, I really can’t see the hair on my legs. It’s very light – always has been – and so it doesn’t occur to me to shave it in the shower when I absolutely cannot see what I’m doing. Plus, I’ve never had that needle-sharp stubble that can cause scarring should my hand accidentally brush against my unshaven shin.

 

Perhaps if I had a dark, gorilla-thick pelt, I’d be shaving way more regularly.  I’m not even sure that’s a good look for the gorillas, but PETA would have my hide (ha) were I to suggest they start shaving gorillas.

 

I do try to catch up on the leg-shaving thing when I’m headed for the pool or the beach. This usually results in my noticing after the fact that I’ve missed several areas with the long sprouts glistening in the sun.

 

I also try to shave my legs a couple days before a pedicure. But I haven’t been having regular pedicures lately, so the leg shaving process has flown straight out the window. The last time I did have a pedicure, I forgot to shave a couple days prior and I've always heard you shouldn't shave the same day you have an appointment. So I didn't. Well, the technician had a bright light shining on the foot basin. When I looked down, the foot-long hairs growing along my legs were clearly illuminated for all to see. Ack!

 

And, okay, so it wasn’t quite that long. Honest.

 

Nevertheless, I realize that there are a lot of things I don’t do for myself anymore that I used to do on a regular basis.

 

I was the kind of person who had towel-washing days, and weekly bed-changing schedules and silver-polishing Saturdays. The moment Vince opened a container of beef stock for the soup he was preparing, I added “beef stock” to my grocery list.

 

A lot of that kind of organization is no more. I rarely make soup, so there isn’t a need for beef stock. Instead, I pick up a container of ready-made heat-and-eat Home Chef soup.

 

When a person loses someone - especially their spouse – people are sad for them. They’re kind, consoling and caring. They figure the surviving spouse will get over the shock, then grieve, then move on. And if they haven’t been through the process themselves, they’re surprised to hear that more than two-and-a-half years later I can still get misty when I pass the containers of beef stock on the shelf at Kroger.

 

There are days still when cleaning up the kitchen seems like a monumental task. When I can’t make myself take a shower and wash my hair. Or when I don’t care if the mail piles up on the kitchen table.

 

This was not me in the Before.

 

Because I recognize this, I have little tricks to make myself care. I schedule lunches or dinners with friends and family because I would never be unkempt in public.  I plan trips to visit people because I know that interaction with others is important and good for my soul. And I invite people over to my place so I have to do more than the bare minimum in home clean-up and maintenance.

 

But this morning when I woke up, I felt like getting some things done. I stepped in the shower and washed my hair. And then I picked up the razor and started shaving my legs.

 

After I got dressed, I was motivated to strip the bed, clean the bathrooms and unload the dishwasher. I’ve already started the second load of laundry and emptied the trash cans – even though trash day isn’t until Thursday.

 

Wow. What’s come over me?

 

I’m not sure, but I’m happy to have these sorts of productive days.

 

I may have to re-implement a regular leg-shaving schedule. After all, self-care is a good thing. And if it gets me to collect the trash early without rushing around on Trash Day and then racing down the driveway with my trash can as the truck is approaching, well, that can only be a win-win.

 

Since I’ve gotten so much done, I’ve decided I’ve earned a break. So I’m writing this blog, while Maggie is snoozing on the chair across from me. But soon enough, she will be up and expecting her fourth walk of the day.

 

And then I will have to put away laundry, make the bed and prepare myself something to eat.

 

Good thing I have some ready-made, heat-and-eat Home Chef soup in the fridge, huh? (Hey, baby steps. Cooking an entire pot of soup for one just seems silly. I get sick of it far too quickly – and I find I’m not one to freeze and thaw ready-made meals. Something I should work on.)

 

Anyway, I hope you had a productive weekend and Monday. Let’s see what else is in store for the rest of the week?

 Oh, and p.s. - I didn't really have "silver-polishing Saturdays." I did, however, occasionally have grout-scrubbing Thursdays, which, in retrospect might have been a little worse than having silver-polishing Saturdays.

 

Brrrr. It’s Cold Outside. And I’m…Grateful?

I’ve heard of some regions in the U.S. that have gotten “waist-deep” snowfalls in the past week and I’ve watched weather reports of vehicles stuck on roads and highways because of the heavy snowstorms.

 

And who doesn’t snicker as they watch those inevitable videos with people sliding keister-first down their driveway on the ice? (Okay, the snickering may not be kind – but I always wince first and say a quick prayer that no one was hurt during the creation of that video.)

 

In contrast, we didn’t get that much snow here. It snowed on and off for three days and we got maybe four inches total.

 

Doesn’t matter. I’m not a big fan of the snow and the cold no matter how much or little we get. Before Maggie Minx, I could stay inside all toasty and warm and completely ignore the snow and the cold. I could appreciate how pretty it was – from a distance.

 

But not anymore. I’m out there on a daily basis – whether it’s nine or 90 degrees.

 

That “neither rain, nor snow…” thing doesn’t apply only to mail carriers. But dog walkers don’t get Sundays and holidays off – we’re out there every single day.

 

Yesterday morning was sunny as Maggie Minx and I trudged around the neighborhood plodding along the snow-covered sidewalks. She was desperately looking for a little grass on the ground to sniff while I was concentrating on staying upright.

 

Because green grass was nowhere to be found, Maggie sought out other dog tracks. I’m not sure if it was to help her navigate through the deep (for her) snow – or to reassure herself that other animals still lived in this white-covered terrain.

 

Even though I was all bundled up, my eyes were watering and my nose was running. So I was feeling cold and my neutral mood was quickly heading into grumpy territory.

 

But then I looked down. To the pristine snow where no doggie or people tracks marred the expanse of white. And the sun shining down caused billions of tiny sparkles in the snow. Which, if you know me at all, you know how much I love sparkles.

 

So then I started appreciating the beauty of the snow – even through my watery eyes.

 

Of course, I had to pull my phone out of my pocket to try to snap a picture. I knew it probably wouldn’t be as beautiful as real life, but I gave it a shot anyway. (A shot – haha. Get it?!)

 

Anyway, my mood instantly lifted, and I smiled as I sniffled along through the rest of our walk, vowing anew to remember to bring a Kleenex with me the next time.

 

Even though I know this, I once again came to realize that I have the power to change my mood. Rather than be annoyed that it takes me 10 minutes to bundle myself up multiple times a day to take Maggie out for a walk (and another five minutes to zip Maggie into her own purple puffy jacket), I can choose to be annoyed…

 

…or I can choose to be grateful that I have all sorts of blessings. That I have enough clothes to bundle myself and my dog up and keep (mostly) warm outside during this very cold January.

 

That I have the ability to walk with my Maggie Minx and get a little bit of exercise and fresh air, even if it’s frigid air that makes my eyes water and my nose run.

 

That once our walk is over, we get to come back inside to a warm, comfy and cozy house that gives us shelter from the snow and cold.

 

And, uh, I’m mostly grateful that I have a whole case of Kleenex here that could prevent all manner of sniffling during my walks with Maggie.

 

But seriously, I am grateful that – once in a while – we have sunshine and blue skies here in Ohio in January. That’s an instant mood-lifter if there ever was one.

 

So, yes, I’m blessed. And I’m grateful.

 

But does it make me a bad person to also wish for a mid-winter thaw? I’d even take a 40-degree day. As long as it’s sunny. And as long as my case of Kleenex lasts.

 

Happy Sunday, everyone. Stay warm. (And if you live somewhere warm already, well, I’m not talking to you. Well…okayyyy…that’s not a good attitude, Jane. To all you folks in warm environs – stay cool!)

 

 

In Honor of My Father-in-Law, Morris Cordova

I have a need to write, but it’s not a blog I can post. Why not? Well, because it’s about my 93-1/2-year-old father-in-law who has entered hospice. And his 92-year-old sister does not know the extent of his condition because her health is not so great either and we don’t want to worry her.

 

Morris – my father-in-law – got pretty sick right before Christmas with the ‘flu and RSV. He went to the Emergency Room, but they released him. He went a couple times, actually, and finally ended up with pneumonia. This was too much for his body to fight and he eventually became unresponsive.

 

He had made a living will in which he stated he did not want to be kept alive by artificial means, including feeding tubes – so we made the difficult decision to put him in hospice.

 

I’ve been through hospice with both my parents and it’s not an easy thing. Dad was in hospice for only a week after his head injury, but mom was in hospice for over a year as she declined from Alzheimer’s.

 

I hated that they both had to be in hospice, but I will say that the hospice organization is amazing. They are the most caring, wonderful people who deal with so much grief. They care about us, our dying family members – and they even care for us again after our loved ones have passed.

 

I can’t say enough good things about them.

 

On Saturday, I went to Newark to see Morris in his hospice room. I had prepared a playlist of music I knew he liked.

 

Back in 2019 after his wife Marilyn died, Vince and I went to Newark frequently to help Morris organize his paperwork and visit him to keep up his spirits. Morris was eager to tell me about his morning routine, which was to get up, turn on his computer and access his music. He’d tell me how much he liked the station that played songs by artists such as Andrea Bocelli and Michael Bublé.

 

Many of those songs are some of my favorites, too, so it was fairly easy to create a playlist for him.

 

So when I got to his room, I turned off the TV. I decided Miss Kitty on Bonanza and Andrea Bocelli’s song featuring Celine Dion were not exactly compatible sounds.

 

We spent the better part of the hour listening to my playlist and then when it was over, I talked to him. Told him stories about some of the songs – how several were played at our wedding, how Vince told me how much he loved me after listening to one of them on our long flight back from Maui. And how much we enjoyed going to the Michael Bublé concert in 2019 and how we wished we could’ve had the opportunity to take Morris to the Andrea Bocelli concert the next time he came to Columbus.

 

Morris, of course, did not acknowledge any of this, although I want to believe that the furrow in his brow smoothed out some.

 

And while I was talking to him, I cried. A lot. I brushed Morris’ hair back off his forehead. I prayed aloud as I held his hand. I couldn’t help but feel Vince in the room with us. Waiting to welcome his dad home.

 

I was missing Vince terribly and wishing he were physically with us – but even though I was so sad, I also felt a sense of peace come over me.

 

It’s hard to explain, but there it is.

 

After a couple of hours, I told Morris that I was leaving. He actually opened his eye a bit as I bent down to kiss his forehead, told him I loved him and thanked him for bringing Vince into this world and welcoming me to the Cordova family.

 

When I passed the nurse’s station, I did remember to ask if they’d turn the TV back on since I’d forgotten. Television noise has been one of the constants in Morris’ life in recent years and I didn’t want him to lie there in silence before his son Keith came in for a few hours to sit with his dad.

 

When I got home, I was exhausted. My eyes were burning from having spent hours crying earlier. I was thinking that it would’ve been so much easier if someone had been with me in the room with Morris.

 

But you know something? It was then that I realized that I was happy that I had that time alone with him. That if someone had been in the room with me, I probably wouldn’t have spent the time talking to him or had the opportunity to tell him the things I was able to tell him.

 

We don’t always get that chance – so it’s important to take it when we can.

 

I wasn’t able to tell Vince I loved him just one more time because he left this world so suddenly. I wasn’t able to tell him that I wished we had many more years of happiness together and that I loved him and would miss him forever.

 

Even though I believe he knew – whether I voiced the words out loud or not.

 

The older we get, the more loss we experience. And it sometimes seems overwhelming to be in the midst of facing yet another loss, such as this.

 

But to experience loss, we must first experience love. So I wouldn’t forego this awful feeling of loss for anything. Because I know I have loved. And I have been loved.

 

I can’t alleviate the pain that all those who love Morris are going through and will experience in the days, months and even years ahead. But we can be there for each other and acknowledge a life well lived.

 

And we can honor our cherished memories of him.

 

Morris – I have been truly blessed to know and love you. Thank you for having me in your world.