A different sort of Christmas day

I'm feeling strange today - lonesome but grateful that son Rich is here; nostalgic but not exactly sad; misplaced somehow.  Last night Rich and I attended the lovely supper and terrific candlelight service at Faith Bible church.  The congregation sang "O Holy Night" while candles were lit, so I got to sing it after all.  Good thing it wasn't a solo, though, because I broke down during the chorus.  LeRoy used to beg me to practice that just "one more time" and I could see his face in the pew, even though we were in a completely different church.  I hope he heard it and knew I was missing him and thinking of him.

A couple of days ago, my new devotional "Hope for an Aching Heart" by Margaret Nyman addressed the issue of tears.  Here is an excerpt that I found particularly comforting:

"God created us to live forever.  (In the garden of Eden.)  When death aborts life, something inside us goes askew. 

Will there ever be an end to our tears over death's apparent victory?

Jesus said, 'Very truly I tell you, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life.' (John 5:24)

God hasn't changed His mind about us living forever, but because of sin, He needed to make an adjustment to His original plan.  Now most of us will suffer through earthly death to gain eternal life.  But if we do things God's way by entrusting our lives to His Son, then death simply becomes the passageway to a death-free life... exactly as He first intended.

In this death-free life, unexpected tears will never occur again (Rev. 21:4).

     Weeping may stay for the night,
     but rejoicing comes in the morning.  Psalm 30:5

Lord, I'm glad you will one day abolish death and eliminate sorrow.  Until then, I trust you to love me through my tears,"

I'm still looking up.  Sometimes through tears, but looking up.

Christmas prep

All the things to do to get ready for Christmas are gradually getting "checked off" my famous lists.  I am trying to prepare my heart for the day we commemorate His birth, even though some king somewhere decided on December 25.  That's OK, we are celebrating in a symbolic way no matter when the King of Kings was born.

We are changing several traditions a bit, as I said before, by putting the tree in a different spot and planning on attending even a different church for Christmas Eve.  I just can't go sit in "our" pew without LeRoy, and I certainly can't sing as I usually do.  The day will come when I can do solo's again, but that time is not now.

I drove out to the cemetery the other day to put some silk poinsettias on the grave.  It looked so nice, and felt like an honoring and respecting thing to do.  Then I got my Subaru stuck.  Got it out myself, tho!  Didn't even set the tires to smoking....  I can hear LeRoy chuckling.

I'm still getting so much support, even through printed matter.  Our Caring Hands organization seems to send me a newsletter fairly often, and it always has a gem or two.

Today I read about a poem by Philip Larkin.  Much of it is not at all cheery, but as he wrote about the inevitability of even granite getting worn down and eventually disappearing, he closed by saying, "Love is what will survive of us."  This is from "An Arundel Tomb."

I find that to be a comfort.  These mortal bodies will be gone indeed, but love prevails.  Especially the love of a Father who sent His son to be born among men, fully God yet fully human.  God with us.
As you look up, hunt for that special Star!

A special gift

Today is my 71st birthday.  I think that sounds so much older than 70, but my daughter says to tell people I am just a "skosh older than 70."  I think I'll try that.

At one time, I blogged about LeRoy assuring me before he died that he would tell me every day he loved me.  I have received those messages, many times, but actually in the sound of my own voice.  Not that I ever doubted he loved me.  I just longed to hear his voice.

When I awoke, I was thinking about all the people who have already wished me well -- Facebook, texts, phone calls, a card and gift.  Then I distinctly felt LeRoy's arms around me with that signature hug, and heard him say "Happy birthday, honey."  What a gift.  I know it's sentimental and a little sappy, but it just meant the world to me.  He IS here.  Yet he is not.  God is taking care of him and I can't.  Best of all, I don't need to because he is well, and safe, and full of joy.  Of that I am convinced. 

Look up, friends.

An early warning system

Ah, the Christmas season.  I love it.  What I need, though, is an early warning system for when a "trigger" is going to hit me with more emotion than I can contain.  It seems to find its way down my cheeks.

Yesterday I was cleaning the refrigerator, of all mundane tasks, and found the dish of cinnamon honey butter.  This was LeRoy's very favorite thing to put on his toast.  Food doesn't usually make a person cry, but the associations certainly do.

I was having a blue day anyway, what with frustrations: the failure of medical people to call me back with a much-needed specialist appointment; a business person who chose to talk down to me and make me feel really stupid.  I don't do well when people make me feel stupid.  As a dear friend pointed out when I was blubbering away about this, I have lost my adviser.  It's all well and good to learn to make decisions without your partner's input, but sometimes it's just overwhelming.

The roads were so awful we could not drive the 80 miles to our funeral home's memorial service.  I was so looking forward to putting LeRoy's ornament on their tree.  It's a little ceramic doctor coat with his name on it.  I was pretty disappointed, but the weather made the whole idea just not worth the risk.

On a happier note, I have put up our tree in a different spot.  Time to start some new or slightly different traditions.  I am enjoying decorating the house, and instead of a marathon, I'm doing it gradually. 

My calendar for today has a wonderful quote.  It's from Henry Van Dyke:  "Be glad of life because it gives you the chance to love and to work and to play and to look up at the stars." 

Wise words.  Keep looking up!

The "first" Thanksgiving

Here I am with most of my family.  Good guys do wear black hats, and LeRoy of course is in the center of this photo.  Left to right are Rod, Trina, LeRoy, myself, and Rich.  Missing is daughter Charlotte who was already in South Africa, missionarying. Missioning.  Missing.  Whatever.  The occasion was a party for our 45th anniversary, given by friends, family and LeRoy's staff.  It was even more joyous than the picture reflects!

Today is December first.  First day of Advent.  First day of the last month of the year.  This does not seem possible.

I made it through Thanksgiving, the first without LeRoy physically present, without too much difficulty.  It was indeed an emotional day, but we laughed, cried, reminisced, and ate too much. Also sharing the day with daughter Trina and her family were her husband's parents, my son Rich, and a family who also lost someone to brain cancer -- at the age of 15.  These are bonds we don't ever hope to make, and yet they are precious and strong bonds. I could not ask for a better support group.

Now our thoughts turn toward the birth of our Saviour.  With lovely reminders all around us, it's not hard to look up.  Sometimes the commercialism tries hard to compete, but we will persevere!  Jesus, I read recently, is not the reason for the season.  He IS the season.

I know there will be many poignant reminders of Christmases with the love of my life.  How wonderful that he is still here, inside my heart.  I know I will see him again.  I just sometimes miss the hugs.

Keep looking up, friends.

Possessions and belongings

The distribution of your loved one's "stuff" can be so challenging.  I have been trying to do this gradually, because a friend once told me that when her mother died, she and her siblings had to empty the house very quickly and my friend now regrets getting rid of so many things.

My trouble is keeping too much.  I come from a family of "keepers", married one, and never seem to make the clean sweep that would gain me so much space.  One thing LeRoy used every day was his cane.  I have no use for it, others could benefit from a gift of it, but I just can't seem to get rid of it.  When I glance at it, I don't usually cry; I just remember his wonderful hands on it when he was still mobile enough to get around.

When my mother died, my sister was insistent about distributing her clothing immediately.  I wish now I had spoken up and requested a blouse or something, just for awhile, because clothing usually carries the fragrance? aroma? smell?  of the loved one.

So, many of LeRoy's pieces of clothing have been passed down or taken to our St. Vincent DePaul store, and of course the worn or stained things were thrown away.  I still have tons to take care of.  I guess that's one more instance of "one day at a time."  I make sure that I am often looking up.

Finally!  I'm home from California, and let me tell you.  Leaving that 80 degree climate was a tough assignment!  I'll be blogging more about that wonderful trip, but tonight I wanted to offer a hint that may be just what other grieving folks could do.

First, on Friday night, my daughter and several other family members attended a concert of Mannheim Steamroller.  My husband and I used to listen to their CD's from Thanksgiving to New Year's.  I knew that I would miss having him by my side, and I did, but somehow it seemed to honor his memory to show up, cry through a few favorites, and generally enjoy myself.  Some of their music is so gorgeous a person cries with pure joy anyway!  So I fit right in with the crowd.

Next, on Saturday, 22 members of the Biesheuvel family gathered in the home in which Leroy grew up.  Was there sadness?  Sometimes.  Was there joy?  Often.  I fumbled through the table grace because LeRoy always prayed.  I think it did me good to be thankful at that time, though, even if I broke down a bit.

We had old and young, tall and short, mostly loud and a few quiet folk.  It was SO reminiscent of the days LeRoy's mother would host such gatherings.  We did turkey, ham, and what seemed like 50 desserts.  All the trimmings.  All the fun.

As we sat in her cordial dining room, the ghosts did indeed make themselves known.  They were not scary ghosts, ugly and mean ghosts, but rather spirits of all the happy people who sat around that table.  I should mention that when LeRoy's mother sold that house, she sold it to my dad.  So it has been in our family a long, long time.  My children and grandchildren have memories of events with both sides of the family.

At LeRoy's funeral luncheon, several family members were having the usual conversation about "We really should get together for something besides funerals."  And so we did. 

I highly recommend it.  A mini family reunion can lift the spirit; in fact, we are hoping to do another in March.  Meanwhile, let us, especially in this season of extra thankfulness, keep looking up!

Poetry from Warren Hanson

I'm about to fly off to sunny (I hope) California to visit my eldest son and family, and get in some beach time.  This will be the last blog for a while, but I'll be back in a couple of weeks!
Here are excerpts from "The Next Place".  I should say, as a Christian, I miss references to God and heaven and the trinity, but the words are still lovely, I think. This was given to me last summer by a dear, dear friend.

"The next place that I go will be as peaceful and familiar
 as a sleepy summer Sunday and a sweet, untroubled mind.
And yet...it won't be anything like any place I've ever been..
or seen.. or even dreamed of in the place I leave behind.
I'll glide beyond the rainbow.  I'll drift above the sky.
 I'll fly into the wonder, without ever wondering why.
There will be no room for darkness in that place of living light,
 Where an ever-dawning morning pushes back the dying night.
The very air will fill with brilliance, as the brightly shining sun
And the moon and half a million stars are married into one.
I will finally be perfect. I will be without a flaw.
I will never make one more mistake, or break the smallest law.
I will travel empty-handed. There is not a single thing
I have collected in my life that I would ever want to bring
except..the love of those who loved me, and the warmth of those who cared.
The happiness and memories and magic that we shared.
I will cherish all the friendship I was fortunate to find,
all the love and all the laughter in the place I leave behind.
All these good things will go with me. They will make my spirit glow.
And the light will shine forever in the next place that I go."

I hope you find a measure of peace in these words.  Meanwhile, keep looking up!

Resources galore

I am finding many resources that help in this grieving process.  I'm going to discuss some of them in case anybody out there would find them useful, whether their loss is distant or recent.

First, even without mourning, a day starts lots better with a devotional.  My very favorite, and I have been through many, is titled "Jesus Calling" by Sarah Young.  This is available at Christian Book Distributors and Amazon, I believe.  She has a way of cutting right to your weaknesses and offering such terrific counsel.

Several quotes have "grabbed me" lately - something like when you break a leg and find many other people with the same thing:

From Mother Teresa - "I have found the paradox that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love."

From Tom Clancy, of all people, the great fiction writer:  "Without Remorse (title). And if I go while you're still here.. know that I live on, vibrating to a different measure - behind a veil you cannot see through.  You will not see me, so you must have faith.  I wait for a time when we can soar together again - both aware of each other.  Until then, live your life to it's fullest.  And when you need me, just whisper my name in your heart... I will be there."  Isn't that beautiful?

I read one chapter each morning in the book by Marta Felber called "Finding Your Way after Your Spouse Dies."  This lady knows of whence she speaks.  I love that she never suggests that you "buck up, old girl" but rather, offers such practical things to do to help.

"Tear Soup" by Schwiebert and DeKlyen is a marvelous book, too.  Hidden in the almost child-like narrative are gems of wisdom to tuck away in your mind, and pull out when you need them.  The illustrations are superb.

I just finished a novel by Ann Hood, a favorite author of mine, called "The Obituary Writer."  As one of the two main characters works with grieving people,  in the early 1900's, she makes many observations about mourning.  As she struggled with her own loss, she "began to speak the language of grief.  She understood that grief is not neat and orderly; it does not follow any rules.  Time does not heal it.  Rather, time insists on passing, and as it does, grief changes but does not go away."  I found this very, very insightful.

So, if any of you want publishers or more information, please feel free to call me at 406-853-0376.  We are all in this old life together, and isn't that a good thing?  Remember to keep looking up.

The roller coaster

When LeRoy was seeing so many doctors, we would be hopeful for every new treatment, chemo, radiation, etc.  I often described our life as a roller coaster because it was indeed full of ups and downs.

I'm finding that mourning is even more of a roller coaster.  A couple of days ago, I couldn't do anything without crying.  Finding a recipe for something LeRoy loved, coming up against the frustration of changing Medicare drug plans, trying to answer friends honestly when they asked how I am --- all brought forth Niagara Falls. 

For no discernible reason, the next few days were just "up."  I even treated myself this morning to making banana cupcakes.  Just for fun.  I have plenty of housework I should be doing, but as soon as I get to the store for cream cheese (which I thought I had!) I will be frosting those beauties.

I probably need to adopt the policy that LeRoy and I used when he was getting so sick.  We would tell folks about having good and bad days, and we would say that we just got through the bad ones and really enjoyed the good ones.

Not a bad plan for living.  Especially when you remember to look up on BOTH kinds of days.

Make it a good day, friends.

It feels so good to laugh.  I know there are grieving people who feel guilty if they find themselves laughing, but I just know God gave us both laughter and tears.  The new puppy, who by the way is growing by leaps and bounds, gives Rich and me much, much entertainment.  (The potty training not so much, but that's a different blog.)

Last night Izzy came roaring into the living room with her food dish in her mouth.  It's Tupperware, and I suspect we will need to switch to metal before too long.  She stopped and looked at us like, "Well, why isn't there any food in this thing?"  Then she raced back and forth several times in our living/dining area.  Jumped up on the couch WITH THE THING IN HER MOUTH, which made us laugh even more.  She got it flipped upside down.  Spent a good deal of time trying strategically to get it turned over.  She won, too!  So smart, but struggling with telling us when to go outside.  Sometimes she does, but usually it's the humans who offer to take her out.

It's possible I need to get a life, if a puppy and a bowl are that entertaining to me.

But maybe not.

Keep looking up, friends!

I ventured out to a community event alone last night. It was a fund-raising auction and supper for a little boy with cancer.  Our little town always comes through for these events; I don't know the total but I know it must have been a LOT.

My new budget wouldn't let me bid on the terrific stuff that was offered, but I was able to buy the meal and donate a couple of items.  Budget matters are among the things that I have to get used to, living in my new normal. 

I didn't have a lot of trouble through the meal because I sat with friends and saw lots of folks I haven't run into since LeRoy's funeral.  The hugs all felt so good.  After awhile, though, I just developed the feeling that I shouldn't be there.  Maybe it's just going to take some time to get used to this "singleness" status after 46 years of being half of a couple.  Others have survived this and I will, too.  Meanwhile, I keep looking up.

I came across a poem I've loved for years.  It's called "A Birthday Wish" by Dorothy Nell McDonald.  Even though it's supposed to be presented to a person on the occasion of their birthday, I found it meaningful during this grieving time, for some reason.

I do not wish you joy without a sorrow
Or endless day without the healing dark.
Nor brilliant sun without the restful shadow
Nor tides that never turn against your bark.
I wish you faith and strength
and love and wisdom,
Goods gold enough to help some needy one.
I wish you songs but also blessed silence
And God's sweet peace when every day is done.

Bikes and hail storms

It's nice when memories are triggered that make you smile instead of bawl.  I found a snapshot of LeRoy today in his black motorcycle jacket and vest.  His eyeglasses are covered with rain, as is the window on the passenger side where he is sitting.

Years ago, we were leading the Northern Hills tour during the Motorcycle Rally.  Up near Deadwood we hit a huge hailstorm.  LeRoy made me get in the pickup truck (that follows along to pick up broken-down bikes) and he took shelter under a big old pine tree.  The lady driving the truck and I decided there was too much lightning for his plan to be safe, so we scrunched together and made room.  She snapped the pic.

When the storm abated, we started for home and here was a guy who had put his foot down when he stopped his bike -- only the weeds were taller than he thought and he broke his ankle.  The pickup driver and I stuck him in the truck and hurried on down to the Sturgis hospital.  You should have seen the people in reception.  "You have a guy with what?  You brought him in a truck?  He hasn't been seen by any medical personnel?"  Nobody had cell phones during this period of time, and I still think we got him to medical help way quicker than any other plan.  I know he was really appreciative and sent the lady driver a huge bouquet of roses after he got home to Michigan!  Ah, memories.

Early thoughts after the loss of my beloved husband

All the self-help books, counselors, and well-meaning friends have one common piece of advice:  You need to journal.  Since I'm a writer, I can't journal well because I am constantly thinking of what the reader's reaction will be.  I decided a blog would be a good outlet, and folks can go to it voluntarily instead of having to scroll down my lengthy posts on facebook!

On Sept. 5, my husband of 46 years died after a 4 year battle with brain cancer.  I am at the place that numbness has gone away, and sometimes the strangest things trigger my tears.  I'm learning that tears are good, though, and cleansing.  People are very understanding about my melt-downs.  Nobody has said, "Time will heal you."  I read today that what you DO with time is what heals you.  Do you struggle with some advice?  I am blessed that nobody has said, in essence, "Buck up, old girl."  I so appreciate practical advice.  Hopefully in the future you will see some of that here.

For now, keep looking up ...
Kathy