It's not moving on, it's moving forward

Tomorrow would be Dave’s birthday. Paige is making an apple pie for us to celebrate. Dave requested apple pie instead of cake on his birthday.

It hasn’t been quite two months since Dave’s been gone. I’ve read it takes a year after losing your spouse before you find some stability, and the second year isn’t all that great either. That isn’t incredibly encouraging to me, but at least I know what I am feeling is normal.

Staying busy and getting out of the house is the best strategy I have for warding off meltdowns. I have something on the calendar every day. If anyone gives me an invitation, I say an emphatic YES—snowshoeing, going out for lunch or coffee, watching a movie, joining a support group, taking a walk. (Just about anything except playing 500. I tried it once and didn’t catch on. I give myself a pass on anything which makes me feel stupid.)

A friend, who is also a recent widow, asked me if I wanted to join an exercise class that meets on Tuesdays and Thursday mornings. The exercise class is sponsored by The Catholic Charities Aging Project. I didn’t expect much from a class that is part of an aging project. I'm only 61 for pity's sake, and I am used to doing Jillian Michaels exercise videos. (Although if I’m honest with myself, it’s been a good ten years since I plugged in one of her DVDs.)

At the first class, I was given hand weights, an exercise band, and a medicine ball (okay, a ball like what’s used on a playground--a medicine ball just sounds more impressive). The half-hour class was more of a workout than I thought. I was alongside 70- to 90-year-olds doing bicep curls, squats and lunges. I admit I was a little bit sore the second time we met. My days of training with Jillian Michaels are probably over.

For the next four Wednesdays I’m doing a watercolor group. I thought getting together with my former watercolor students would be good therapy. I’m not teaching, just hanging out and being available to anyone who wants instruction.

I haven't wanted to paint since Dave died, but today I painted along with the others who were doing their own projects. I slopped on paint without much forethought. It’s not my best effort, and I don’t care--so no comments from the peanut gallery please. I’m not into perfection right now.

I listened to a podcast speaker speaking on grief. She had lost her husband while she was in her 30s. She says some people will suggest you need to move on after you lose your spouse, but moving on isn’t possible. You carry that person with you for the rest of your life—in the person you became while you were with them and in the wake of losing them. They will always be a part of you, in your children, your memories and your very soul. You won’t move on, but eventually you move forward.

People’s hugs, phone calls, listening ears and shared tears have meant the world to me. I imagine those gestures may become less frequent as time goes on. Time will go on, and I will move forward. But right now I am surviving each day, and for now it is enough.

I will make it through

Today is six weeks out. What’s changed?    

      I haven’t cooked a meal since Dave passed. I buy frozen meals from Trader Joe’s. I tried Nutrisystem, not with the goal of losing weight, but so I wouldn't have to think about what I was going to eat each meal. After trying the shelf ready meatballs-in-a-bag dinner, I got gastrointestinal stress almost immediately. I’d compare the plan to Dinty Moore canned stew and Little Debbie snacks bought from the gas station. I should have known better. I vaguely remember in the ‘80s when Nutrisystem got popular there was a high incidence of gall bladder attacks when anyone stayed on the plan for any length of time.

     I go to bed late and sleep in for as long as possible. Dave was an early riser every day at 5 a.m. I’d climb squinty eyed out of bed at the same time. It wasn’t bad though. We had a wonderful routine that I loved, having breakfast, drinking coffee, asking each other when we need to leave for work. Then we’d stop and say, “Oh, wait, we don’t have to go to work anymore!” And, we laughed liked hyenas. It never got old.

     I am working on getting a weekly routine. I spend Thursday afternoons playing with one-year-old Calvin so Paige can have one afternoon a week not racing after him while she’s trying to homeschool Evie and Hazel. Fridays I've volunteered to watch Amber and Paul’s kiddos so they can celebrate the end of their work week. Landon and I go out to dinner weekly. Sunday afternoons are spent with my mom at assisted living where she beats me at Scrabble. It’s a little humiliating. Last Sunday she won by one point on her last play. This from a woman who is 87 and has dementia.

Paige and Matt's family lent me their dog, Potter, for a few weeks to keep me company. He's a great lap dog. I'm happy for his company. I think I'll start looking for my own dog this spring. 

What hasn’t changed?

Still sad every day. It's very slowly getting better. The hardest thing is when I am alone in the house. I wish I wasn’t in such a quiet neighborhood. Winter is making it harder.

I continue to get calls from friends. At night it helps pass the time.

I am seeking God through my grief. I don’t know what I’d do without Him to lean on. I understand the temptation people have to self-medicate to escape the pain. Instead, I try to get through it the best I can, often having a good cry. I read Scripture, talk out loud to the Lord, listen to worship music.

This was sent to me by my friend, Pauline, this morning.

I will make it through.

Joining the club

I was naïve to think that anticipatory grief could prepare me for when Dave passed away. How can you prepare for the raw grief and pain of losing your husband of 37 years?

It was a year ago today Dave’s neurologist, Dr. Lachance, gave us the results of the MRI. The tumor was next to the brain stem. Dr. Lachance leaned back in his chair and asked, “What on God’s green earth are we going to do about it?” He told us Dave had months not years. When I pressed for a timeframe, he said there was no way of knowing, but he guessed six to 18 months. It was almost a year when Dave went home to be with the Lord.

When we told the kids, they cried and took turns hugging their father. Dave said “Save your tears for when you need them, right now help me celebrate life.” He was always so wise.

So that’s what we did, celebrated life together. We had regular family meals. I made Dave’s favorite food that he hadn’t in years. In the mornings we’d have coffee, listen to the birds outside and talk for hours. Often I would take out my phone and record Dave as he told stories about his sand lot life growing up. I am grateful for the recordings of him sharing how much he loved our children and grandchildren.

Once Dave was on hospice and taking oral steroids, the chronic pain he had from his spinal surgery in 2019 subsided to a manageable level. He felt better than he had in years. We took drives. We spent time sitting on our new deck that he hadn’t been able to enjoy the summer before. He played with the grandkids and watched the Twins play with Landon. He began researching craft beer. He and Paul made a batch. It took five weeks to complete, but Dave was around to enjoy it. We weren’t sure he would be.

When friends came to hang out with us they said Dave looked good and didn’t seem sick. They didn’t know how fatigued he was and that he slept through much of the day. He saved his energy for the visits. He was affable, funny, and caring.

The last few weeks were hard. He had trouble breathing. He told me the day before he passed away, that the small things we had worked to enjoy he was no longer enjoying. He died the next evening while I was getting ready for an art sale. I felt that I had abandoned him that night. It was traumatizing for both me and the kids that Dave was alone when he died. It wasn’t how we had envisioned it. Our primary had told us early on that the good thing was when Dave passed, he wouldn’t feel pain, it would be sudden. Dave wouldn’t know what was happening, but I would. I have to believe it was God sparing me. I think Dave would have wanted it that way.

I have joined the grief club, a club no one signs up to become a member. I did not expect the grief and sorrow to be as raw, painful nor as physical as it is. There is a stabbing in my heart, a heaviness in my stomach that almost makes me feel nauseous. At times even my teeth hurt. The kids are also surprised by how hard it’s been for them.

I am most comforted by talking with others who have lost their spouses. They tell me it will get better, but the grief will still come months and even years down the road. It never goes completely away.

Before Dave died I said (which now seems almost cavalier) I’d be okay. I'd travel, I'd paint, I'd be okay. I knew I’d miss Dave. It was hard to imagine how it would be without his steady presence. I didn’t factor in that I wouldn’t have any responsibilities after he was gone. I went from retiring right into being Dave’s companion full-time. I loved retirement because I loved being with Dave.

I try to stay busy and get out of the house during the day, but at night when I return home it feels so empty, the quiet is deafening. Everywhere I look I am reminded of David. Often friends call just when I am losing it, and they help me use up an hour or two before it’s time for bed.

I am planning a few trips, but my daughter says I will still need to learn to live alone. I’ve always felt I was independent—sometimes it would drive Dave crazy. I’d forget to tell him where I was going or when I’d be home. I never minded doing things on my own, but Dave was always there to come home to.

I think about those old couples who lean on one another, helping each other down the street. People say, “What a cute little old couple.” We forget the couple no doubt had struggles and challenges through the years. Some days they probably didn't even like each other. But they stayed together, and in their old age they were inseparable. When one of them dies before the other, they lose a large part of themselves.

I realize how rich Dave’s and our lives were. There were many stresses, challenges and trials through the years. But in the end, it was worth it. My friend, Sandy, told me last night what an honor for me to have this much grief. “You are grieving this much because you loved him that much.”

To couples who are going through those hard years, fight for your marriage. One day, God willing, you will be that old couple on the street leaning on one another. People who see you will say, “What a cute old couple. Look how much they love one another.”

In the end, all that is left is love.