Three Years. It Has Been Three Whole Years…

I had a hard time sleeping last night. I kept thinking about the night of April 27^th of 2021 turning into the early morning hours of April 28^th when my world shattered and I lost my Vince. Three years ago. Sometimes it seems like three minutes ago – and sometimes it seems like three lifetimes ago.

 

But this morning, despite my lack of rest, I got up, got dressed – and met my friend Debbie at church. And then we went out to breakfast afterward where we talked, reminisced a little and toasted Vince.

 

I think he would have been honored by both activities – the music and the message of God at church was uplifting and he would have taken more and better photos than my one, timid attempt. He would have been moved by the sermon and would have posted something inspirational on his social media pages.

 

And he would have thoroughly enjoyed the bacon and eggs that were on the menu at First Watch. I enjoyed them because I don’t cook bacon and eggs – so it was a rare treat for me.

 

When I came home I walked Maggie and attempted to get some of the more mundane household chores done – like cleaning out the crisper drawer in the fridge and dusting the baseboards. Yuck. Who thought this was a good idea??

 

Neither chore made me feel like I accomplished much – so I settled for running the dishwasher and scrubbing the toilets. Those are a little more satisfying once they’re completed, even if I don’t especially like doing them.

 

But I also took some time today to reflect on the past three years. How different my life has been. Do I miss Vince any less than I did three years ago? No, not a chance. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of him. But I cry less than I once did. And I smile a little more than I have been.

 

Those are good things.

 

The other day I was talking to someone who knew Vince before he met me. I hadn’t seen this person since before Vince passed. He offered his condolences – and I got a little choked up. But this happens less and less often. I’m sort of grateful about that because who wants to talk to someone whose eyes leak uncontrollably?

 

It’s interesting to think about the people I’ve met in the past three years who didn’t know me as part of “Vince and Jane.” They’ve only met Jane, who is a little less outgoing than she used to be; a little less “bright” and happy – and has maybe a tinge of sadness to her persona that is lurking just a bit below the surface.

 

Of course, they don’t know that.

 

On the other hand, I know that I get up each day and I try. I have more good days than bad. I wear bright colors and sparkles and try to get my mood to match my exterior. Sometimes I really do feel “sparkly” and those are the really good days.

 

I have fun with friends and family. I keep busy and volunteer my time for good causes. I travel – perhaps not as much as I would have if Vince were here, but I still try to make plans for fun outings. And, no matter what, I know that I have a support system of people in my life who care about me. Who love me. And who loved Vince.

 

And that has to be good enough.

 

 

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.

 

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.

 

Another Year Gone By

It’s hard to fathom that my Vince has been gone two whole years as of today. Two long years that have flown by in the blink of an eye – and yet the days and lonely nights have sometimes seemed interminable.

 

Yeah, good luck getting me to explain that so it’s a little more understandable.

 

I know time has passed because my home is no longer the same – physically as well as metaphorically. I don’t have the same sense of peace I once had thinking that we had “many” more years together.

 

When Vince and I got married, he was 50 and I was just about to turn 50. My mom – even in her dementia – used to tease us and say that we’d probably never get to celebrate our 50^th wedding anniversary. This, after asking how long we had been married versus how long she and my dad had been married as she couldn’t remember either number. (She and dad, by the way, were just days shy of their 64^th wedding anniversary.)

 

Vince would tell her that while he was sad that we’d probably never get to spend 50 years together – he was happy that we could make the best of every single year we did have together.

 

And, boy, did we.

 

This morning Maggie got me up before 6AM for her first walk of the day. Normally, I grouse and complain because that’s wayyy too early for me. If I need to bring a flashlight to see her and what I’m picking up, then I say we have to wait at least until the break of dawn.

 

This morning, though, I promptly got up, got dressed and was out the door with her in record time. Why? Well…uh…mostly because she was eating a lot of grass yesterday, which indicated that she had an upset belly. And last night she had the most god-awful gaseous emissions I’ve ever smelled. Especially outta her since she isn’t normally a gassy kinda dog.

 

I brought along two doggie waste bags – just in case. (And, believe me, they were needed.)

 

But I digress. And, plus, that’s way more about my dog’s digestive system than you ever wanted to hear.

 

(Ooh, except one more thing – what in the WORLD did she eat? It wasn’t something I gave her as I’ve been gone most days lately and she hasn’t gotten any people food. Must’ve been something outside that I don’t even wanna know about.)

 

ANYWAY…

 

I ended up staying up when we got back from our first walk. I brewed a cup of coffee and sat in my chair looking out the patio at the rainy, dreary morning, thinking about life and loss.

 

And, for the first time, I read the Facebook comments people wrote when I posted that my Vince had suddenly passed on April 28, 2021.

 

Well, I take that back. I do think I read them back then. But I guarantee you, in my grief and devastation, I didn’t remember a single one.

 

So – two whole years later – I can appreciate the outpouring of love and support. And I thank you for every one of those condolence messages.

 

Last year on the one-year anniversary of his death, I knew I didn’t want to be alone, brooding and sad about his being gone and missing him. So I asked friends to come out for a drink so we could toast him and celebrate his life. We had a lovely evening (in shifts because I could only have so many people in the room I’d reserved before I’d have to pay to rent the room). (Vince, by the way, would have approved of my ingenuity in getting out of paying extra charges…!)

 

But it is so comforting to know I have people in my life who continually send me love and support during this grief journey.

 

To wit, I was invited to get together with some good friends tonight so I wouldn’t be alone. We’ll have a toast to Vince – and we’ll talk and laugh and enjoy our time together. And it will make a sad day just a little more bearable.

 

And yesterday morning I got a text from my friend Lynn who asked if I’d like to meet for breakfast. Yesterday morning.

 

You should know that Lynn and I are not normally spontaneous in our get-togethers. We do the initial texting to suggest getting together sometime soon for a meal. We check our calendars. We have back-and-forth negotiations on the best place, the best date and the best time before finally getting something scheduled.

 

Nope, we’re definitely not spontaneous!

 

But I know how much she and Steve have missed Vince – and I figured they wanted to get together to commemorate the anniversary of his passing – and the love we all have for him still.

 

So I made myself just enough presentable to pass muster in a public place (though hair washing was eschewed as that would have required another 45 minutes of prep time – and it would’ve resulted in a lunch situation instead of a breakfast.)

 

Anyway, we met up, said a prayer, had a toast to him, and enjoyed a meal together. Had it not been for Vince, I would never have met this lovely couple.

 

So thank you, my Vince. The reverberations of your life are still being felt to this day – and will continue, I believe, for years to come.

 

I know others miss him – family, friends and people with whom he worked or went to school with or lived by through the years. People I barely know will tell me they miss his frequent phone calls asking about their day or getting together for a little fellowship. His brother talks about him and his dad surely misses him as he often tells me how he can’t believe his son is gone.

 

So I know without a doubt that I’m not the only one grieving. But losing a spouse is so much different than other losses. They’re all just different. And I’m in no way trying to lessen the impact that those losses have.

 

All I know is that I miss him – and the life we had – and I grieve for the future together we will no longer have.

 

But I also know how much he enriched my life. The things he did and said that I can easily recall that make me smile or laugh. The things he did and said that even now can make me roll my eyes. (But, y’know, I’m an eye-roller from way back.)

 

I miss holding his hand. I miss his hugs. I even miss his crazy driving – turning left into traffic and teasing, “Your side!” as I hang on, squeeze my eyes shut and brace for impact.

 

Well, maybe I don’t miss that last thing so much.

 

But I keep his love for me in my heart and, even through tears, I know I have been blessed.

 

So do me a favor? Hold someone you love close. Tell them how much you love them. And give ‘em a hug. Trust me – it makes the world a brighter place.

 

New Year, New Possibilities

 

As the clock ticks down the final hour of 2022, I just thought I’d take a moment to say thank you to the many people in my life who have offered support and love during this first full year without my Vince.

 

Even if I haven’t specifically said it, you have made a difference – and I’m grateful to you.

 

I have had moments where I am still fully immersed in my grief as if he had just passed and I wonder why it seems as if I haven’t made any progress on this grief journey whatsoever.

 

And I have also had moments where I’ve experienced the joy that this life holds and I’m thankful to be alive.

 

It is in those moments that I have to remind myself that it’s okay to be joyful. And that Vince would have wanted me to be happy.

 

I didn’t set any specific goals for myself when the calendar changed from 2021 to 2022. I didn’t make any New Year’s Resolutions. And I had no idea what the year would have in store for me.

 

I was still more or less in shock that the love of my life was gone and that I had to go on without him. So it was about all I could do to hang on and make it through the days, weeks and months this year.

 

But now as we head into a brand-new year, I am trying to think positively. I am working on a list of things I’d like to learn and what I can accomplish and ways I can better myself. To propel my life forward.

 

It’s a good feeling. Making plans. Looking forward instead of looking down.

 

Will there be moments I get stuck? Probably. Will there be moments I don’t want to work on myself or my goals? Uh, yeah. I’m sure that will happen.

 

But at this very moment, I’m heading into 2023 with a positive attitude.

 

Wish me success, okay?

 

And I wish the same for you. Happy New Year, my friends. Be well! 

 

Sail on Captain Steve. We will Miss You.

 

Today has been a hard day. A really hard day.

 I just learned that my good friend and former next-door neighbor, Steve, passed away today.

 He was, hands down, the single most positive person I’ve ever met. He was happy and enthusiastic about life and he loved to laugh.

That’s not to say that everything was sunshine and roses with him. He went through hard stuff just like anyone else. But he didn’t let the bad outweigh the good. Ever.

He had his share of health problems in recent years. More than his share. Every time he went in for a routine dental procedure, he ended up in the hospital. It got to the point where I’d cringe whenever I heard he had something wrong with his teeth.

But the man seemed to have more than a cat’s nine lives. He came out of the hospital or rehab facility and he kept on living life to the fullest.

He loved – and I mean LOVED – boating and being on the water. Several years ago he bought a pontoon boat and docked it at Hoover Reservoir just up the road from our neighborhood and he and his love, Meg, spent summers puttering up and down the Reservoir. Vince and I were frequent guests and we’d enjoy snacks or dinners as we talked while Vince took lots of photos of the sights and sunsets.

Whenever Meg wanted to do something else during the hot summer days (like, say, work…or plant a few flowers in their yard…or y’know, grocery shop or do the odd load of laundry), she’d stay home to get those things done. But Steve would send out a notice on Facebook inviting any and all friends to join him on Hoover. There were days I’d swear he was out on the water three different times with three different groups of friends.

The man did not stop.

Last winter he studied for his Captain’s boat license. And he passed. So we started referring to him as “Captain.” Meg came up with personalized license plates for them both. She was his First Mate. And Steve was looking forward to another summer on Hoover – but he also was busy making plans for boating in Florida during the cold Ohio winters.

He had many cherished friends from many walks of life. He had a loving family – a son and daughter, and two precious grandchildren. He had a brother and sister with whom he was close. And he had Meg. He loved her most of all.

And everyone loved him. My Vince loved him. He so enjoyed Steve spontaneously stopping over to sit on our patio to talk while Vince cooked on the grill or built a fire in his fire pit. They both discovered a shared love of Rita’s Italian Ice – and they’d take off for Rita’s on the spur-of-the-moment. Sometimes they’d even bring back a frozen treat for Meg and me.

When Vince passed away last April, Steve came over and gave me the longest hug as we both cried. And every time after that whenever I saw Steve, he continued to give me those long, comforting hugs. The care and friendship Steve and Meg showed me during that incredibly difficult time were beyond description and I will forever be grateful for the love and support they gave me.

I can’t think about living in my old neighborhood without thinking about Steve. During my many walks with Maggie Minx, we’d sometimes see Steve outside. He’d yell, “MAGGIE!!” and she would get all riled up. She’d bark and jump and try to get to Steve. Sometimes he’d laugh and tell me that now I had to deal with her…but sometimes he’d come out with a doggie treat – so she knew it was worth getting all riled up about seeing her buddy Steve.

He and Meg came to our many parties and gatherings – and I was happy to have a photo of the four of us at Vince’s 60^th birthday party in 2018.

Steve had a daily habit of going to breakfast most every morning at a neighborhood spot in Westerville called Gena’s. There was another neighbor, David, who also went there, and invariably on my early morning walks with Maggie, I’d see either one or both their cars heading out of the neighborhood. And I knew they were going to breakfast at Gena’s. 

Steve would sit at the breakfast bar so he could talk and laugh with the owner and her mother while our other neighbor David would sit at the far end of the breakfast bar reading the newspaper and enjoying his breakfast. Neither of them drove together to Gena’s. They didn’t sit together. Sometimes they didn’t even talk. It was just their morning routine.

The night before I moved this past December, Meg and Steve asked me to come over for dinner and invited me to stay overnight at their house. They knew the movers were scheduled first thing in the morning and, by that point, I didn’t really have anything in the house that made for a restful sleep. Like a bed. Or sheets. Or towels. Everything was packed up and ready to go.

So I gladly stayed with them. After dinner, I had to head back to the house to get rid of the last of the things for the trash pick-up in the morning. I was a little frazzled, so Steve, Meg and two other neighbors, Barb and Dave, came over with large trash bags ready to give me a hand. Within a short time we had everything bagged up and brought down to the curb and – when my driveway got too full (and I worried that the moving truck wouldn’t be able to fit!), Steve and Dave moved some of it to their own driveways.

They made it so easy for me – and it was but one small example of what a wonderful neighborhood I was leaving behind.

Anyway, with that chore handled, we went back to Steve and Meg’s. She and I stayed up late that night drinking wine and talking while Steve headed off to bed. He said if I was up for it (and didn’t stay up too late talking and drinking), he’d take me to Gena’s for breakfast in the morning.

That sounded like fun – so, even though I’m not normally an (A) morning person or (B) a breakfast person, I made sure I was up and ready for Gena’s.

And we had a blast! Steve, our other neighbor David and I were the only customers in the place. We talked and joked and generally had a wonderful time. For me – it was a nice send-off for the nearly 10 years I lived next door to such kind and generous neighbors.

And it is now a cherished memory.

The last time I saw Steve, he and Meg invited me and another neighbor, Pat, to dinner at one of their favorite restaurants in Grandview – Figlio and Vino Vino. Vince and I had joined Steve and Meg there several times and we very much enjoyed our evenings with them. 

So I was happy to drive back to my old neighborhood and ride with Steve, Meg and Pat down to the restaurant. (Although I have to admit, it was a little odd parking my car in the street between my old house and Steve and Meg’s rather than just walking next door.) But the four of us had a lovely dinner together.

And I asked someone to take our picture – because Vince always asked for pictures for these kinds of gatherings and I am so glad he did. I have so many images now I can look back on and recall with fondness. So I’m trying to remember to take photos or ask for photos to be taken.

Meg – who is beautiful no matter what she wears or how she wears her hair – for some reason was not happy with her photo in the group shot, so she walked away as the server took another photo of just Steve, Pat and me.

And this is now another cherished memory.

My last communication with Steve was a text from him in late February asking me to think about what slogan to put on a new flag where he docks his boat.  He liked one of my suggestions – “Live and Be Well” because Steve was always ending his posts “Stay well, friends.” Also Vince’s Aunt Sophie – who is kind and positive like Steve – would frequently say that phrase whenever she talked about someone.

In the end, Meg’s suggestion won out – “Life Savor.” And, really? That was the perfect slogan for Steve’s flag on the dock by his beloved boat.

So Steve? You will be incredibly missed by all who loved you. And I will miss you. I will miss your positivity and your enthusiasm. But I will try to emulate you and live life to the fullest.  You set such a good example for us all.

Stay well, friends.

 

More About Grief. Part II.

What I have learned over the past several years is that grief is as different as snowflakes. No one experiences it the same. And grief may strike the same person differently depending on who it is they’re grieving.

 

I know when my dad died in 2016, I felt overwhelmed and it took me a long while to start the grieving process. Dad’s heavy burden of being my mom’s caretaker and advocate suddenly fell to me. And I didn’t even have to take care of her daily needs – we entrusted the staff at Parkside Village to handle that responsibility. 

 

I had to clean out their house to get it ready to sell. Getting rid of fifty years (or more) of “things” and memories is one monumental task. And I kept more things than I might otherwise have because I didn’t want to “erase” my parents or our history of living in that house.

 

So losing a parent is hard. 

 

But losing the other parent is even harder. I’ve heard people say that they suddenly feel like an orphan – even if they’re middle-aged. 

 

The first person who ever said that to me was my mom after my grandmother died. Mom was in her 60s by then and she said it at her mother’s funeral. I thought it was a strange comment. But it was also a comment that resonated with me through the years. 

 

Because it made me realize that my mom, too, would get old and die some day – and I didn’t want to miss making memories with her. So I let go of the friction that sometimes happens between mothers and daughters. My mom was, after all, pretty opinionated. And I didn’t always agree with her opinions. 

 

It's a popular thing these days for mothers and daughters to say that the other is their best friend.

 

My mom was never of that mindset. She was the mother and I was the daughter – and “best friends” didn’t enter into it. 

 

But we grew pretty close. Whenever she’d state some opinion (that I didn’t agree with), and then say, “Don’t you agree, Jane?” I’d sometimes reply, “Yes, mom.” 

 

Because in that particular instance, I knew that an argument wasn’t worth it. I certainly wasn’t going to change her opinion – and she wasn’t going to change mine.

 

Sometimes I’d look over at dad and he’d have this wry little smile on his face. And I realized that he’d long ago learned that trick himself.

 

When Mom died in 2020, her words about feeling like an orphan came back to me. Oh, mom. I thought. Now I know what you meant.

 

Because now there is no one alive who knew what it felt like the first time I was placed in their arms as an infant. The person who dealt with my spit-up and fevers and who cheered me on as I took my first steps or won the grade school spelling bee or graduated from college.

 

So now I miss her – and dad – every time something happens to me that I want to share with them.

 

Like losing Vince so suddenly less than a year after mom passed.

 

Losing a spouse is even more devastating. For me, it was especially unbearable as I felt like Vince and I had only started on our journey together in this life. 

 

We didn’t marry until days before my 50^th birthday. I never thought I’d get married, but once I met Vince, I couldn’t imagine my life without him. I had never felt so loved. We were incredibly happy together. And we had so many more things we wanted to do together in this life. 

 

So I know firsthand that there are different kinds of grief, some of which I haven’t experienced.

 

I can’t imagine losing a sibling. Or a best friend. But if we live long enough, we’re likely to experience that kind of grief as well.

 

The type of grief I can’t even begin to comprehend is the loss of a child. I didn’t have children, so I’m not qualified to talk about it. But having known friends and family who have, I can only believe that it is a grief beyond description.

 

Since COVID, it seems as if so many people are grieving. And so many people are trying to comfort friends and family. They write, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” 

 

I’ve said it before myself. Mostly because I didn’t know what to say. 

 

But as a friend who lost her husband recently said, “It got to the point where I couldn’t stand hearing, ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’” 

 

I guess because that phrase has gotten so overused it’s like fingernails on a chalkboard to some people.

 

I get it now.

 

I just wish I had a magic phrase or – better yet – a magic potion that could make us all feel better. Make us not hurt as much. And make us come to the stage where talking or thinking about our loved one brings a smile to our face rather than a tear.

 

But I, for one, am not magical and I can’t take the pain away – for me or for anyone else. So I believe we just all try our best. And I try not to be too critical of whatever expression of condolence someone makes.

 

I have to take things day by day. And I understand that some days will be good and other days won’t be so good. But that’s okay. I know I have to give myself the time and the space to accept my grief and let it wash over me as it comes. Because denying it won’t make it go away.

 

I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I have been that friends and family continue to stay in touch with me and ask how I’m doing – and let me talk. About Vince. Or about nothing and everything. Just having that connection matters.

 

If I could share one hint to folks who want to show support for someone who has lost a loved one, it would be this: don’t tell them to call you if they need anything. They probably don’t have a clue what they need. So you make the call. It means much more than you can imagine. Sometimes a person grieving has a hard time asking for help. Or a shoulder to cry on. Or a willing ear to listen.

 

So to all those people in my life who have given me such support, I thank you. And I thank you for reading this – you help me more than you know. 

 

I can’t always promise my blogs from now on will be about the ditzy goings on in Jane’s Domain. Sometimes they may be a little more serious. Because life happens. And death happens. And we have to try to go on.

 

One step forward…

A Love Letter to my Friends – Old and New

I cannot thank you all enough for the love and support you’ve shown me since the passing of my beloved Vince. I’ve read every card and note and text and email you’ve sent. I’ve written more than thirty thank you notes for the flowers and food and gifts you’ve sent. If I’ve neglected to send you a thank you note for something that slipped by me, please know that I am very grateful. (And I apologize for my oversight.)

If I had to write thank you notes for all of the sympathy cards I’ve received, well, I’d be suffering from severe writer’s cramp right about now.

But please know – I have loved hearing from friends and family and am in awe at the outpouring of care you’ve all shown me.

So many of you have asked how I’m doing. I am okay. Sometimes. I have days where I feel semi-normal and other days when I feel completely lost. I have moments where I’m doing all right and moments later where I’ve collapsed in a puddle and I’m not sure how I’ll go on.

This is grief. Intellectually, I know it – and I also know I just have to go through it.

It’s not easy. And it’s not something I’d planned on. But who does?

One of the daunting tasks I’ve been working on since Vince’s death has been to (try) to declutter this house. It keeps me busy and I need that sense of purpose.

Vince and I moved here nine years ago with barely enough furniture and things to fill a couple rooms. Through the years, though, we made use of the ample space and somehow managed to fill every nook and cranny.

There were several reasons we did this:

 

1.     In clearing out my parents’ cottage and home, I brought back many, MANY things. I was feeling sad and nostalgic and couldn’t bear to get rid of everything – so I kept more than we needed.

 

2.     I like checking out discount shops like Home Goods and TJ Maxx and found many little treasures to brighten up our home. If something didn’t “work” I tended to keep it and try it in another room. But sometimes those treasures ended up in storage.

 

3.     Vince was very practical and pragmatic – and loved “saving” things. Like old computer towers and pieces/parts of equipment. He thought there might be some later use for it. So much so that when he’d go to work, I’d sometimes go to the electronic recycle bins and fill them up. Nobody needs a three-versions-ago computer tower or cords that fit no technology we currently owned.

 

4.     And, finally, we were both sentimental ol’ fools. We kept things that brought back long ago memories.

Through the years here we made several attempts at clearing out some of those memories. Particularly after I spent so much time cleaning out my parents’ homes. I didn’t want to leave that overwhelming task for anyone – so a few years ago we made a New Year’s Resolution to toss cards and notes after only a few weeks so they didn’t end up saved in a bin somewhere.

In the back of my mind, though, I knew I had two large gray storage bins that I’ve had since I was in college. They were cards and letters and memories from that long ago time.

Back in 2001, shortly after 9-11, I went through those cards and letters. I didn’t read them, but I did organize them in folders by year. Do not ask me why. I guess I was bored. Or I thought they would be a marvelous trip down Memory Lane some year when I was old and grey.

Hmmm. I’m guessing that perhaps I now qualify? After all, I AM a member of the AARP and the Westerville Senior Center.

Egads. When did that happen?

Anyway, for the past few years I’ve known that no one – and I mean NO ONE – will be interested in those cards and letters from my youth. They will not read them or care about the Valentine’s Day card my Nanna sent with a $5 bill enclosed.

Nor will they know that when she told me to have some “fun” with it, I promptly translated that to mean go to the Thirsty-I and buy a pitcher of 3.2 beer for my friends.

Instead, should something happen to me, and someone is tasked with clearing out my belongings, they will simply dump those well-organized folders into the trash.

As well they should. Ain’t no one got time for that nonsense!

On the other hand, I am still here – and I have been finding comfort at looking through those old cards and letters.

So I’ve been reading them. And, yes, most of them are going in the trash afterwards. Some letters or notes I’m sending back to the person who wrote them to me so they can remember that long-ago time, too. I think they will get a kick out of it. And then they’ll most likely toss the card so they also don’t accumulate stuff that someone will someday have to clear out.

Such is the mindset of people as we age.

But what struck me as I read through these letters and cards is that so many of those people are still in my life.

I love that. And I thank God for their loyalty and friendship these many decades later.

Last night I had dinner with Debbie, one of my many roommates during my years at Ohio State. She was in town from Florida and said she wanted to give me a hug and spend a little time with me. So we talked and cried and laughed a little and caught up on each other’s lives.

I had saved a note her mother had written to me – and when I pulled it out of my purse, Debbie immediately recognized her mother’s handwriting. And she was excited to show it to her mom when she sees her later this week.

Debbie and I discussed that how “back in our day” (Ha! We definitely sound like old fogies now, don’t we?!) we had to write letters to keep in touch. We didn’t have social media to keep up with each other, nor did we have smart phones to text each other. And even our phone calls were very limited as most of the time it would mean a long-distance call – and our parents frowned on such frivolous spending.

I was struck by how we actually had to sometimes mail a note to the recipient to try to schedule an upcoming get-together.

But we made that effort. And I believe it led to richer friendships and relationships through the years.

So to all of you in my life (and you know who you are), I thank you. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for caring about me during the ups and downs of college life, and my working life, and all those romantic relationships that didn’t go anywhere.

And to all my “new” friends – thank you, too. Vince used to tell people that becoming my friend was like joining the mob. You can get in – but you can’t get out.

That always sounded a little intimidating to me – and might’ve also been a little scary to someone hearing it. But he was so proud that I was the kind of person who could cultivate friendships that persevered through the years.

Most of all – I thank you all for your support now. Because my relationship with Vince was the best thing that ever happened to me. And while I’m so unbelievably sad that he’s gone, I’m also unbelievably happy to have had him in my life for the past thirteen years.

And I thank you for being in my life to witness my happiness.