The strawberry blond hair was what I noticed first. Noticed because of its beauty as the afternoon sun shined on it. Also noticed because it was closer to the ground than it should have been.
We had been out attempting to become geocachers. Following a set of direction to find a treasure, our clues had led us to a cemetery. As we drove in I saw a cluster of 3 new grave sites. The fresh mounds of dirt, the flower arrangements piled on top. I was more than a little surprised that the sight didn’t bother me more or stir emotions that seem to always hide just beneath the surface.
The young woman with the beautiful hair was stretched out on a blanket alongside one of the fresh sites. My mom instincts were directing me to rush over, scoop this poor baby up into my arms and make it all better. My widow instincts, dear God I hate that I have widow instincts, told me to stay right where I was and leave her alone. I didn’t know if her loss was a husband, father, friend, mother, sibling or child. But loss is loss. I’ll admit there are some fine tuned details that alter the loss depending on the relationship but as I assumed this woman lost her husband, I thought of all the things I wanted to say to her and those around her. I don’t claim to be an expert but after almost 18 months, I believe I’ve done enough work on the subject to earn some type of degree or certification. Anyone who goes through the process more than likely has as well.
As I watched her for a moment I wondered if her family knew she was lying on a blanket next to this grave. What would or did they think about it? Did they understand that she was just filling the need to have the closeness that is so distinctly and immediately missing from your life when your husband dies? When my husband died, the first day was filled with preparations, phone calls, and people coming in and out of my home. By that first evening I missed his physical presence. I missed the space he took up in our house. I missed just standing next to him and telling him about my day. Funny how the brain works, I wanted to tell him and review with him as I had every day for the previous 29 years, the events of the past 24 hours… the 24 hours that included his death. A cousin drove feverishly from Wisconsin to see him before he died but was sadly too late. She couldn’t stay for the services and asked if there was any way she could go to the funeral home and see him, just one more time. The funeral home was more than accommodating and I accompanied her to see him. As we approached the room where he was, I found myself becoming giddy with excitement. I was elated that I would be able to see him, touch him, talk to him and be close to him. Years ago, I started doing this silly little thing… if my husband was watching TV sitting in his favorite chair, legs stretched out on the ottoman; I had zero chance of getting his attention. Once I grabbed his feet to get his attention. It became a regular habit. I would hold his toes as I stood there between him and the football or hockey game and he would know I needed undivided attention. As I stood in the prep room at the funeral home, I found myself standing at the end of the table, holding his toes as I talked to him. It was comforting in a way that I can’t really explain. It was an intimate moment that I will treasure forever. We were close again, for the last time. So the sight of this woman on the blanket didn’t seem odd or strange. She was close again, for the last time.
I want her to know that the hurt will never go away. But it will become manageable. She’ll discover ways to set the pain aside for the moments when she has to. She’ll find herself breathing through the pain as women do in child birth. She’ll find there are songs she can’t listen to. There will be songs she’ll listen to for the millionth time and actually hear and understand for the first time. There will be days when she feels joyful and renewed, ready to face a new world. Then days when she will struggle to face anything. She may go through physical changes. She may feel older than her parents. She’ll deal with friends who can’t be with her, couples who don’t know how to deal with an un-coupled friend. She may have to fend off unwanted compassion from a male friend. People will talk about her, often. Family will worry and care and not know what to do or say.
As humans we love. Generally that is a welcomed emotion and we all want it in our lives. Love makes us sore to the highest heights and fall to the deepest depths. Love can hurt us and save us. To this young woman I would say, love yourself. It will be hard, but do it. Think of the moment you felt most loved by the one you lost… keep recreating that over and over in your head. The person you lost, loved you. He had to be a great person in your heart and mind or you most likely wouldn’t have cared so much for him. He valued you and now, although it seems impossible, value yourself. Don’t share your trip to the cemetery with anyone. Some who have never been in the situation will think it’s odd. Keep doing what makes you feel comfort. You owe no one but yourself an explanation. Understand your life will now be very different. Different is not always easy but not always or forever bad.
To the family of this woman, give her space but be right by her side when she needs you. Cover her with a blanket of love and acceptance; just be sure not to pull the blanket over her head.
To all of us, love deeply, passionately and openly. Tell those you love, how much value they have and do add to every moment of your life. Accept that we are all different and process the pieces of our lives in different ways and time frames. Embrace the differences those you love bring to your life. Different isn’t always bad. I’m beginning to look towards a different chapter in my life. The woman on the blanket with the beautiful hair will also look, when the time is right…
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
Honey Do...
Fix the window, caulk the tub, and clean the gutters… Common items on a “Honey Do” list. My late husband fashioned himself quite the Mr. Fix it. He was an engineer so it was assumed he could fix or repair most things. In most cases that was the correct assumption. While it sometimes took longer than expected, things were generally taken care of and his list remained properly attended to. Generally is the key word.
My kids could tell you stories of our Mr. Fix it until you laughed so hard your sides ached and you begged them to stop. They could tell you of the time the brake lights on our old beat up car malfunctioned. The car was so old that we couldn’t get the part at a price we could afford. So he fashioned a hand held press switch to be pressed whenever the brakes were applied. A cord ran from a hole in the trunk, across the back seat and up to the front passenger seat. This became a task for the kids to manage and master. Just as you might call “shot gun”, the kids would call “lights”. The idea was to have a kid hold the switch, each time the break was applied my husband would yell, “Brake” in his big booming voice. The switch would be pressed and the brake lights illuminated. The switch had to be held until the signal to release was given. Now this is unique but also a bit endearing. Imagine the bonding of father/daughter or father/son as they worked side by side to arrive safely at their destination. Seriously? Just don’t mention the times the kids were tired from swim or hockey practice or the driver, lost in his thoughts forgot to give the signal. I believe my kids received more than their fair share of exposure to hand gestures from upset motorists.
The very first house we ever owned was a small 3 bedroom one bathroom bungalow. The house had been in my husband’s family for years and had seen kids, grandkids, and pets. For all that house had been through, it was in better shape than you would imagine. We were able to get a few years under our belts before really having to make repairs. One area needing a great deal of care was the kitchen. We had such plans for that space. We would talk about it when we had down time and needed to dream. We always dreamed bigger than our bank accounts would have allowed. We were talking granite before it was cool. The kitchen we designed during our conversation was roughly 3 times the square footage of our whole house. But really, did it do any harm to dream? Well maybe… One Sunday morning after a wonderful night of adult conversation, I walked into the kitchen to see him standing there staring at the walls. “We can do this” he said very calmly. “Do what?” I responded, trying not to let fear creep into my voice. “We can remodel this kitchen”. “It will be so easy” he said with the giggle of a mad scientist. Now I was scared. He was serious. We couldn’t do this… we have 2 kids, 2 jobs and a dog. When the heck did he think we were going to do this? Maybe I should have actually said that to him, but I tipped toed past him to make coffee. I didn’t see it coming. It really wasn’t my fault. But within moments… Crash! Walls began to come down, the pantry was obliterated. The cabinets ripped from the walls. It all took such a short amount of time. But like a car wreck it seemed in slow motion. Once the dust was cleared and the last of the debris was hauled outside, what was left was a shell. The walls had been ripped down to the studs. You could see the backside of the bathroom medicine cabinet. I always wondered where the little slit inside older medicine cabinets marked used razors lead to. Now I knew… nowhere, just in to the space between your walls. My husband assured me new the drywall would be up in a few days, the new cabinets hung within the week. 3 years later we sold that house... no walls, cabinets or counter tops had been added. No granite…even before it was cool.
So now that I’m living my life without my own Mr. Fix it, I’ve been struggling to get things done around what we called, our dream house. We bought this new construction 4 bedroom 2.5 bath house about 5 years ago. At closing, before I would sign any papers, I declared a moratorium on any do it yourself projects. No repairs could be performed more significant than the changing of a light bulb without professional assistance. My husband reluctantly agreed and I signed the mortgage papers. I did relent on a few things over the next few years. Neighbors, friends and relatives have all very generously offered to fix this and that or take on the odd job around my house. I love them all for their care and genuine offers but I have concerns. What if they fall, or break something? What if they really mess up on whatever they are helping with? I would be crushed and given my way of not rocking the boat, I’d probably never say anything to them about their mistake. Not the best situation. So I’ve thanked them all but respectfully declined. What I needed was a good old fashioned handy man. But who or how? Is there a requirement for the handy man to be an old guy? How do you find one? Is there really a guy who would come to your house and do all your odd jobs? The only handy man I ever really heard of travelled through Mayberry on his way to Mount Pilot and Aunt Bee hired him to fix the shutters or paint the fence. Sarah’s “Honey Do” list: #1 Find a Handy man.
I overheard a conversation 2 guys were having at the Farmer’s Market a few weeks back. They were talking about a service that came and did work at the one guy’s home. I shamelessly jumped in. I wanted information and I wanted it now! I went home and googled the name the old guy had given me. Now I know I’m not supposed to plug a product or service, but really… I have so little power and usually play by the rules so here goes… Mr. Handyman is an actual company in Trenton, MI. In fact they are the Business of the Year for 2010 in Trenton and rightly so. My initial contact was more than pleasant and the young woman was knowledgeable and very sweet. I loved the appointment confirmation the day before too. Promptly at 9:00 am, James rang my door bell. James knew what my needs were and gave me a very fair quote that I readily accepted. Within a matter of 3 hours all the jobs and projects that had been left undone for the past 17 months were completed. The quality of the work was outstanding. I have to say that I am not a big fan of strangers in my home. But I felt completely comfortable with James. I got the distinct impression that James was playing a mental game with all of my projects. He seemed to be setting goals for himself and as he checked each item off the list he was that closer to the finish line. James is an excellent representative for Mr. Handyman in Trenton. At one point James had to run to the store for a part. This was usually the point that all motivation broke down when my husband was my Mr. Fix it. But James returned with no less motivation than he had when he arrived earlier. I began to wonder if James had a Dad that fixed things. I’ll bet he never got to activate the brake lights by pressing a button! I also began to miss the fun we had doing house projects, my husband and me. You see his name was James, Jim as well. But the James in my house fixing things today didn’t ask me for a drink or expect that I’d make lunch or need me to praise his efforts. I miss that.
So now I know if I ever need to remodel the kitchen, I have someone who will complete it in far less than 3 years. And just think... granite counters are still cool!
My kids could tell you stories of our Mr. Fix it until you laughed so hard your sides ached and you begged them to stop. They could tell you of the time the brake lights on our old beat up car malfunctioned. The car was so old that we couldn’t get the part at a price we could afford. So he fashioned a hand held press switch to be pressed whenever the brakes were applied. A cord ran from a hole in the trunk, across the back seat and up to the front passenger seat. This became a task for the kids to manage and master. Just as you might call “shot gun”, the kids would call “lights”. The idea was to have a kid hold the switch, each time the break was applied my husband would yell, “Brake” in his big booming voice. The switch would be pressed and the brake lights illuminated. The switch had to be held until the signal to release was given. Now this is unique but also a bit endearing. Imagine the bonding of father/daughter or father/son as they worked side by side to arrive safely at their destination. Seriously? Just don’t mention the times the kids were tired from swim or hockey practice or the driver, lost in his thoughts forgot to give the signal. I believe my kids received more than their fair share of exposure to hand gestures from upset motorists.
The very first house we ever owned was a small 3 bedroom one bathroom bungalow. The house had been in my husband’s family for years and had seen kids, grandkids, and pets. For all that house had been through, it was in better shape than you would imagine. We were able to get a few years under our belts before really having to make repairs. One area needing a great deal of care was the kitchen. We had such plans for that space. We would talk about it when we had down time and needed to dream. We always dreamed bigger than our bank accounts would have allowed. We were talking granite before it was cool. The kitchen we designed during our conversation was roughly 3 times the square footage of our whole house. But really, did it do any harm to dream? Well maybe… One Sunday morning after a wonderful night of adult conversation, I walked into the kitchen to see him standing there staring at the walls. “We can do this” he said very calmly. “Do what?” I responded, trying not to let fear creep into my voice. “We can remodel this kitchen”. “It will be so easy” he said with the giggle of a mad scientist. Now I was scared. He was serious. We couldn’t do this… we have 2 kids, 2 jobs and a dog. When the heck did he think we were going to do this? Maybe I should have actually said that to him, but I tipped toed past him to make coffee. I didn’t see it coming. It really wasn’t my fault. But within moments… Crash! Walls began to come down, the pantry was obliterated. The cabinets ripped from the walls. It all took such a short amount of time. But like a car wreck it seemed in slow motion. Once the dust was cleared and the last of the debris was hauled outside, what was left was a shell. The walls had been ripped down to the studs. You could see the backside of the bathroom medicine cabinet. I always wondered where the little slit inside older medicine cabinets marked used razors lead to. Now I knew… nowhere, just in to the space between your walls. My husband assured me new the drywall would be up in a few days, the new cabinets hung within the week. 3 years later we sold that house... no walls, cabinets or counter tops had been added. No granite…even before it was cool.
So now that I’m living my life without my own Mr. Fix it, I’ve been struggling to get things done around what we called, our dream house. We bought this new construction 4 bedroom 2.5 bath house about 5 years ago. At closing, before I would sign any papers, I declared a moratorium on any do it yourself projects. No repairs could be performed more significant than the changing of a light bulb without professional assistance. My husband reluctantly agreed and I signed the mortgage papers. I did relent on a few things over the next few years. Neighbors, friends and relatives have all very generously offered to fix this and that or take on the odd job around my house. I love them all for their care and genuine offers but I have concerns. What if they fall, or break something? What if they really mess up on whatever they are helping with? I would be crushed and given my way of not rocking the boat, I’d probably never say anything to them about their mistake. Not the best situation. So I’ve thanked them all but respectfully declined. What I needed was a good old fashioned handy man. But who or how? Is there a requirement for the handy man to be an old guy? How do you find one? Is there really a guy who would come to your house and do all your odd jobs? The only handy man I ever really heard of travelled through Mayberry on his way to Mount Pilot and Aunt Bee hired him to fix the shutters or paint the fence. Sarah’s “Honey Do” list: #1 Find a Handy man.
I overheard a conversation 2 guys were having at the Farmer’s Market a few weeks back. They were talking about a service that came and did work at the one guy’s home. I shamelessly jumped in. I wanted information and I wanted it now! I went home and googled the name the old guy had given me. Now I know I’m not supposed to plug a product or service, but really… I have so little power and usually play by the rules so here goes… Mr. Handyman is an actual company in Trenton, MI. In fact they are the Business of the Year for 2010 in Trenton and rightly so. My initial contact was more than pleasant and the young woman was knowledgeable and very sweet. I loved the appointment confirmation the day before too. Promptly at 9:00 am, James rang my door bell. James knew what my needs were and gave me a very fair quote that I readily accepted. Within a matter of 3 hours all the jobs and projects that had been left undone for the past 17 months were completed. The quality of the work was outstanding. I have to say that I am not a big fan of strangers in my home. But I felt completely comfortable with James. I got the distinct impression that James was playing a mental game with all of my projects. He seemed to be setting goals for himself and as he checked each item off the list he was that closer to the finish line. James is an excellent representative for Mr. Handyman in Trenton. At one point James had to run to the store for a part. This was usually the point that all motivation broke down when my husband was my Mr. Fix it. But James returned with no less motivation than he had when he arrived earlier. I began to wonder if James had a Dad that fixed things. I’ll bet he never got to activate the brake lights by pressing a button! I also began to miss the fun we had doing house projects, my husband and me. You see his name was James, Jim as well. But the James in my house fixing things today didn’t ask me for a drink or expect that I’d make lunch or need me to praise his efforts. I miss that.
So now I know if I ever need to remodel the kitchen, I have someone who will complete it in far less than 3 years. And just think... granite counters are still cool!
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