A New Chapter

After I retired, my time was spent helping and being Dave's companion. After Dave was gone, my days were intensely lonely and empty. The silence was deafening.

To distract myself, I tried to get something on the calendar every day. Often it was going out for coffee with kind people who reached out to help me through that horrible time.

One friend was Mark. We had known each other for almost 20 years. I worked at the blood bank in the platelet area. Mark has the highest number of blood donations at Mayo so I saw him frequently.

Because platelets can be given every eight days, faithful donors become like family to the techs who take their collections at the blood bank. That was the relationship I had with Mark and his best friend, Dave Johnson (who was right behind him in the number of blood donations). We had a unique bond in sharing a strong faith.

One day his friend told me Mark was going through an extremely difficult loss and needed prayer. A couple of donations later, Mark shared the grief he had been experiencing. I listened and committed to praying for him.

Mark and his friend came to my retirement party. When Dave passed away a year later, Mark showed up for the visitation. He checked in with me on New Year’s Day. He knew intimately how brutal the days are when everyone leaves and you are left alone in a quiet house.

We had coffee a few months later during Mark’s work break. I ordered coffee; he had hot chocolate. For three hours we talked and cried. Neither of us finished our drinks. Mark said when he returned to work, he had never felt so drained.

We didn't see one another again for a few months. We went out for coffee again. We didn’t consider it a date. Mark was a friend and a complete gentleman.

We agreed we were just hanging out. Mark is a marathoner and up to physical challenges. We climbed the Elba water tower, hiked Whitewater and Barn Bluff and did distant bike rides. And with everything we did, Mark continued to listen as I worked through my loss.

I asked if he was sure he wanted to hang out with a grieving widow. Mark said he had no reservations with helping a friend through a difficult time. I had done the same for him when he was going through his own loss.

One night when I was feeling so low it was unbearable, I stopped at Mark’s house and asked him if he wanted to get something to eat. We ran through the rain to a burger place close to where he lives.

That night something happened. We started laughing over something silly. It was the kind of laugh that makes your belly hurt. It felt so good. I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed like that… perhaps years.

I looked across the table and realized that I really liked this guy. He had become something more than just a friend. The next morning, I woke up to sunlight streaming through the window. I could hear the lyrics of Here Comes the Sun by the Beatles. I was feeling simple happiness for the first time in a very long time.

I can say the last year has been the best and the worst of times. I am still grieving. I realize I always will. I have waves of sadness every morning and wish I could talk to Dave. I miss him so very much.

Mark has been exceedingly kind. He says he will never tire of hearing about Dave. From everything he has heard, he knows Dave was an amazing man. He says he wishes he could have met him.

Mark and my relationship started out as friends helping one another through the journey of a deep loss.  But, along the way we discovered simple happiness which eventually became deep love and celebrative joy.

It seemed appropriate that Mark propose in the place we had become friends. On February 25 Mark and I donated platelets together. It was Mark's 499th donation. Afterwards in the refreshment area, Mark got down on one knee and said, “I have given my blood to 499 people, today I want to give you my heart. Will you marry me?”

Mark and I are starting a new chapter of our lives together. On June 1 we are getting married. We know all too well that time is precious with loved ones. We are going to savor every moment in what we hope will be many years ahead.

My mom was a widow and remarried when she was almost 80. She said something that at the time I thought was odd. She told me she was surprised that you can love two men at the same time. I get it now. My love for Dave will never change or be diminished, but I am humbled and blessed to be happy and love again.

Me with that blood donor, Mark J. Korinek.

His Watchful Eyes

There were a few days after the anniverary date of Dave's passing, the grief subsided somewhat. It didn't last long.

December 6 was a rough day. It was the date of Dave's funeral. It was also the date of Olde Fashioned Christmas in Plainview and The Landing's annual fundraising gala. I had my art at both events last year. 

I didn't sell my art at Olde Fashioned Christmas this year. I don't know if I will ever do so again because of its connection to Dave's passing. I did, however, donate two of my paintings to The Landing's live auction. The Landing does good work in providing a place for the homeless during the day and serves a meal every evening. 

One of the pieces was of a lion. Ever since the first lion I painted in watercolor, lions have held a special meaning for me. I named this one His Watchful Eyes. 

At the auction, a friend introduced the painting and read the description I had written. It generated a bidding war and sold for much more than I expected. 

God uses even our tears. 

His Watchful Eyes

An image of God in Scripture is that of a lion.

His Watchful Eyes depicts the Lion as strong, fierce and majestic. Yet the reflection within His eyes shows tenderness and even sadness. The Lion, in all of His majesty and power, sees His creation through eyes of compassion.

Jesus, the Lion of Judah--the King of Kings and Lord of Lords--became one of us. He understands our pain, fears, and struggles. 

Matthew says “Seeing the crowds, He felt compassion for them because they were distressed and downcast, like sheep without a shepherd.”

This has been a comfort to me. I lost my husband, Dave, this very time last year. I
had donated my art to The Landing’s fundraiser. Dave passed away the evening
before the Gala event.

In my grief, I know Jesus sees my tears. I imagine where Dave is and that one day I
will experience what Dave is experiencing now. I will be in the presence of the
Lion of Judah.

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there will no longer be any death;
there will no longer be any mourning or crying, or pain. The first things have
passed away.”

All will be made right as it has been for Dave.

One Year

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, the last time we were together as a family last year. I thought it would be too taxing for Dave, but there was no question, Dave wanted to go. He soaked in being with our kids and grandchildren, and it was a wonderfully sweet time. He passed away a week later.

Losing Dave has been the single hardest thing I've ever gone through. There have only been a handful of days I haven't wept. I've wondered if all those tears were collected how big of a container they would fill.

Dave's headstone was finally installed last week. It was the last logistical thing that had to be done. I went to visit the grave site, cried hard, then knelt and rested my head on the stone. I told him how very much I loved and missed him. 

I wish I could visit Dave in heaven, see him whole and experiencing joy and peace. This song touches on the idea of visiting heaven. It is about someone who is still raising children, but I can relate and make some of the lines my own.

I wish that heaven had visiting hours
And I would ask them if I could take you home
But I know what they'd say, that it's for the best
So I will live life the way you taught me, and make it on my own

And I will close the door, but I will open up my heart
And everyone I love will know exactly who you are
'Cause this is not goodbye, it is just 'til we meet again.

The sadness never goes away completely my long-time widowed friends tell me. Dave is going to always have a piece of my heart, and I will ache from missing him for the rest of my life. Hopefully, one day it will become more of a sweet ache than the dull one I feel now.

Dave didn't give me a lot of guidance for after he was gone. He didn't want me to be sad, so I tried not to dwell on what it would be like. But, one morning the reality hit for how painful it was going be without him. I asked Dave, "How am I ever going to do it without you?" And, in Dave's typical forthright fashion he simply said, "You'll be okay."

As I left the cemetery that day, I felt a sense of closure. I've been in a holding pattern of being in tremendous grief this year, but I feel like a new chapter is starting. It won't be without sadness, but I'm ready to celebrate life, as Dave had done his last year.

I'm going to be okay, just as Dave told me I would.

To Know Me

Depending on your politics, you are either elated or drastically disappointed and upset with the results of Tuesday's election. My cousin said she envied Dave. She said it would be nice to be in heaven and done with all this nonsense. I get that. I often feel the same.

I shared with her the perspective I received from Dave.

Dave had been a news junky, but when he had been told that he had months not years left, he didn't want to spend the rest of the time he had on the negative. We lived in peace and did not watch the news, and we were so much happier for it. He was intentional in appreciating every moment especially the time he had with our kids and grandkids. Every day we thanked God for all of the blessings He had given us. And, oh my were we blessed. We had a beautiful last year together.

It is now just a few weeks from the day Dave left his time on earth and my life changed forever. I miss Dave so very, very much. He was my rock and my best friend. 

I still cry almost every day. I've learned what it is to keen, to mourn and lament loudly with a wordless cry. I still do that privately when I am home alone. But I've found a way not to break out in tears when I am speaking of him with strangers. I do mental math. I'm not quick with mental math so it distracts me and I can manage not becoming a sniveling mess in the aisles of Walmart.

I heard this song, To Know Me by Lauren Daigle yesterday. To know me, you had to know Dave. 

I love you, Dave. Thank you for teaching me how to live gratefully and in light of eternity.

Still Days of Gray

Still days of gray

One of my fellow sisters in widowhood says she wishes people wouldn't tell her the second year of losing your spouse is often harder than the first year. How could it be harder than what it is already? 

It's been almost 10 months since Dave's been gone. As the one-year anniversary gets closer, it's brought a different kind of sadness that is hard to explain. I guess it's like when you've been separated from a loved one. Maybe they went on a trip, moved across the country or left for college. You begin to miss them more as time goes on, but you know you will see them again.

I have been missing Dave a lot these last weeks. The finality is what is so hard. I will not ever see him again--not in this life.

Grief doesn't follow a linear path. In my last blog posts I spoke about experiencing moments of joy and the process of letting go, but the waves of sadness still come. Some days it seems I cry as hard and for as long as I did in the beginning.

People say I seem so much happier. Good things have come into my life, and for the most part I am happier. But what appears on the outside isn't always what is going on in the inside. There remains a hole that will never fully heal. 

A friend who had his own deep loss shared this poem with me. The author is Monica Bobbitt.

This Is What Grief Is

"A hole ripped through the very fabric of your being.

The hole eventually heals along the jagged edges that remain. It may even shrink in size.

But that hole will always be there.

A piece of you always missing. For where there is deep grief, there was great love.

Don’t be ashamed of your grief. Don’t judge it.

Don’t suppress it.

Don’t rush it.

Rather, acknowledge it.

Lean into it.

Listen to it.

Feel it.

Sit with it.

Sit with the pain. And remember the love. This is where the healing will begin."

Sculpture: Melancolie by Albert György

 

These Days

Eight months. You count the time after losing your spouse in days, weeks, months, and eventually years. 

Certain dates will never be forgotten. Dave's birthday, the date he passed, Father's Day, our anniversary. Friday is our anniversary; it would have been 38 years. The kids and I will celebrate by sitting on the deck, sharing memories and maybe having a glass of wine. 

People say I am looking younger these days. I attribute that to being retired and having less stress. Not being sleep deprived from having to get up at the butt-crack of dawn is almost as good as getting a facelift.

I've lost weight. My appetite has decreased since Dave passed. I avoid grocery shopping and do meal service deliveries instead. (I found going to a grocery store is a universal trigger amongst widows. (The first time I went to Aldis and saw Dave's favorite snacks on the shelves I had a meltdown and left crying.) 

Exercising helps me to get out of my head. Better than sitting in my grief and watching mindless Youtube videos like I was doing the first months.

I finally retired my trusty granny bike and bought a really nice Trek bike good for distance and the surrounding hills. I also started running again. Silly, but I signed up to do the Corn on the Cob 5K which happens in two weeks. I've only been running for the last four days.

People also tell me I look happy. I am experiencing happiness, even in the midst of the days of grief. Like other widowers have told me, the grief of losing your life partner will always be there, but you learn to live with it.

I am learning to be happy again.

With a Little Help from Our Friends~Sisters in Widowhood

A few weeks ago, I had dinner with Lisa and Deb, both sisters in widowhood.  We connected at Griefshare and are in the first year after losing our husbands.

Deb and I worked together for years. Deb lost her husband a month after I lost Dave. She came up to me the first night I attended Griefshare, gave me a tight hug, and said “Nobody else gets it.”   

It’s true. Only fellow widows can say with credibility, “I understand what you’re going through.”

Deb, Lisa and I talked for three and a half hours. We hardly touched our food as we talked about all the shared nuances of grief we've experienced. We left only when the restaurant was shutting down for the night and the staff wanted to go home.

I'm doing much better. The waves of sadness still come, but the pain isn't as acute. It helps to talk to those who are going through the same thing.

We're getting by with a little help from our friends.