I'll Meet You There ...

Wednesday, October 9, 2019


The first thing I saw this morning when I walked down the hallway to make my morning cup of coffee, was a fog bank lifting …

It reminded me of those early morning and late evening drive to and from the local hospital this time last year. Sometimes the fog settles so thick in here, it is hard to see even a foot in front of you.

One late evening last October I was returning from the hospital and Ron’s grandson had parked his car kitty-corner in the carport – with it’s ass-end over the Fire Lane markings and into the main street of Pheasant Lane: if I hadn’t been watching so carefully I could have hit it because it blended in with the shrouding fog. When I notified Candy of the foggy hazard and asked her if she’d talk to Ron about it … Candy did nothing. Typical, and expected; but I wanted it on record in case there was a future accident. I am glad that family is gone now: now praying for Candy to leave the premises.

Thinking of those heart-rending drives in the fog last October, and WHY those drives were so urgent and necessary hurt my already bleeding heart. Fresh pain hit me like it was only yesterday; and in my heart, it was.


9 months/25 days/1 hour & 51 minutes since becoming a widow. Only a short period of time … yet, an eternity.

Without the love of my life.

I have been in a perpetual blue mood since clearing the dresser of Bob’s jeans 14 days ago.

Every day brings a new untried reality to my new status in life.

But it is H.A.R.D. when every place and every thing constantly revives memories that cripples you on every level of your life now. I am even stuttering again: I haven't done that in a couple months. I only do it when highly stressed - I noticed that life change right after I became a widow.

Hoping the spiced coffee would boost my mood from the deepest depths of blue the fog bank catapulted me to, to a lighter shade of the sucking emotion, I sipped it while glancing out the livingroom window to see how my mums are faring. I like lining the front porch steps with them:

Front porch Mums Pots; Parrot Tulips & Foxgloves to come into their glory in Spring, are on the 2 lower steps.
The white mums are really too much for the small pot they were sold in; I’ll have to switch those to a larger pot.

The White, Yellow & Purple Mums Pot is not doing so good this year – I was surprised they even survived & thrived this year because they were literally forgotten about last year while I sat death watch with my husband … and my mind has been filled with widow’s-fog-cobwebs most of this year. Hopefully, I will be dealing with everything much better in 2020, and they will look better next Fall: that’s the plan anyway ;-)

It would be a shame to lose them. I want to hang onto as many things as I can that were part of our life together - tired of losing ties to him.

When I was looking my neglected plants over March 29th this Spring, to see what survived … I was surprised and happy to see new growth on the dead looking Chrysanthemums :-D
The poor things ... not a very pretty sight this year :-(
This is how the combo pot should look … and normally does when I am on top of things around here; hopefully next year I will be. Chrysanthemum Pots ... 3 in one. Cut in half and re-potted. Sorry about the poor picture.

Coffee finished; I made the bed. And thought that I should probably bring the herbs pots in the shed into the house to overwinter: I had squirreled them in the shed when we got hit with our first seasonal frost a few weeks ago – it was the only frost so far, but I didn’t want to chance them getting killed by a frosty nip. Some herbs, like the French Tarragon & Rosemary will absolutely die; and I am not in the same financial bracket I was 9 months ago. I have to really be careful now how I spend $$$. I’m fluid – but just barely. I can’t afford to be careless.

So, I started shifting the pots from the shed to the house; and pulled the Shallots on the way back inside …

Potted herbs stashed in the back entry/laundry room awaiting cleanup before being shifted to the livingroom.

I cleaned the herb pots up: washed pots that needed exterior cleaning, & pulled the violets that had reseeded into a few of the herb pots while they were in the garden area; then I watered them before setting them in the windowed areas:

Cleaned up pots set atop a large plastic bin placed in front of livingroom windows. Oregano, Chives, Marjoram, English Thyme & French Tarragon.
German Thyme set on a little low stacking hassock & garbage can lid. May not look pretty ... but it suits my need at the moment.
Rosemary reset in pot. I love my roomy country farm kitchen sink! Thank you, Bob for buying it for me - OX. Thank you, Chris, for putting it in (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2017/09/happy-new-year.html).
Sad about this … Bob’s Grandma, Myrtle Smalley, gave me this pot in the 1980’s. Now it has to be replaced :-(
Potted Rosemary placed next to the potted Coleus’ in the livingroom window.

And I sliced the shallots for the freezer; and pulled the dried herbs off their stems to be stored in their labeled containers – I had set the harvested herbs to dry weeks ago …

Pulled & sliced Shallots; pretty easy to grow from seed, so I will plant a lot more come Spring ;-)
Dried herbs ready to store: Rosemary, Tarragon, & English Thyme.

I also moved some furniture around, messed with the fireplace mantle dΓ©cor again (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/10/rainstorm-thunder-spiders.html), and placed MOD little crocheted scarecrow where it will bring a smile to my face everytime I see it:

I switched out the China Blue vase for the 4-sided-Owl vase. Bob spotted it at the last Bazaar we did 2 years ago: he saw it while walking around, told me about it because he knew I like owls … and the greenery arrangement was nice too; so, I bought lottery tickets, placed my bid: and won it! I am glad I will have that memory every Fall when I use this vase.
MOD Crochet Scarecrow on the kitchen window sill.

But no matter how busy I was, I was hit with some serious blues all day long.

I noticed the heavy sorrowing coming over me like fog rolling in after I cleaned out Bob’s dresser drawers the other day (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/09/i-could-learn-to-hate-cleaning-house.html).

I should have left that drawer alone following so closely on the heels of his Celebration of Life event (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/08/between-now-and-then-until-i-see-you.html).

My heart whispers “I can’t believe he’s gone …”

My mind screams, “Believe it!”

My eyes blind me with tears, and my throat is raw from chocking on those tears.

I MISS HIM. I miss everything about him that made him his unique self – the man I love.

Slide show clips of our life together never ends … and I really don’t want it to end: even if watching it replay over and over and over again is killing me.

It is torment.

It is sweet torment …

1974 - April 19th. Our 1st date. Bob was 24; I was 17.

We were inseparable from that 1st date, until the day Bob stepped off this planet. By the end of August, we couldn't wait another day to start our life together ... we called Judge Hall and set the time for that night. After Supper we called our parents and let them know where to meet us if they wanted to witness our marriage. The parents were seriously PISSED. We didn't care ;-)

1974 - August 27th. 9 PM - Our Wedding. Bob was 24; I was 17.
1976. July. Home after our California Coors Beer run. We were young. And in love. And thirsty for a beer that wasn't sold yet to the public outside a bar in WA State.. As soon as we pulled into the driveway, a block party happened - the 3 cases of beer didn't last long. Bob was 26; I was 19.
1978. October: my parent's house. Bob home after his 1st death - he literally died in front of me when he passed a blood clot following an emergency surgery to save his fractured left leg. The leg was salvaged - he was paddled back to life - and we were thankful to be given another chance at building a life together. Bob was 29; I was 2 months short of 22.

While working and living away from home in 1981, Bob died his 2nd death and was rushed to the local hospital - tests were run for 72 hours straight. And when I went to collect him, I was told, "Find a good nursing home Mrs. Hargand, your husband's brain was without oxygen for 25 minutes - he will be in a vegetative state the rest of his life. I'm sorry."

My husband was 31 years old. NO WAY I was putting him in a Nursing Home! I said, "Thank you for your diagnosis, but, my God is bigger than that. I am taking my husband home ... and God will heal him."

I did.

God did.

At first Bob didn't know who I was, where he was when he got home (that house was the home he grew up in), and he had to relearn talking all over again. But Bob KNEW he loved me - that never changed. We were favored with 38 more years of a good marriage.

1981. October. Bob home after his 2nd death - docs never figured out what caused him to die for 25 minutes before suddenly coming back to life and scaring the EMT and witnesses to death when he sat up on the gurney (tagged for the morgue) and said, "WOW! I think God means business this time." Those were the last words he spoke for 6 months. Bob was 31; I was 24.

Our daughter was told at 16 she'd never have natural children of her own - Yeshua laughed :-D And, HE - the Creator - blessed our union with TWO grandchildren: "natural born" & 18 years apart. Alyna was graduating while her mother was giving birth to her baby brother. We were excited.

Alyna's graduation. 2014. Liam holding his diploma - they are still together.
2014. July. We drove to Vegas to see our newborn grandson. A BOY! There hadn't been a boy in the family in 41 years! Bob was 65; Azariah was 1 week old.

So, you see, I can’t begrudge Elohim for wanting His son with Him – He was gracious to favor us with those extra years to enjoy our life together. And we were blessed and highly favored all of our married life with a solid, passionate, and abiding love.

It really wasn’t that hard to let Bob go Home – he was ready. I was happy for him.

It is the learning to live without him that gets to me.

It is staggering under the heavy sorrowing coming over me like fog rolling in – so stealthily that one doesn’t even realize they are shrouded, blinded, and disoriented until they notice they have been hemmed in by a fog bank they can’t see their way through without battling a creeping claustrophobia that threatens to undo them (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/08/boulevard-of-broken-dreams.html).

That is how I feel when this grieving sorrow creeps up on me.

I don’t actively court misery: it just happens. Out of nowhere. For no apparent reason. I can’t seem to stop it before I am caught in its grip.

106 days out of every 356 days for the rest of my life I can expect this?



I want to move forward. I really do.

I just d.o.n.t.k.n.o.w.h.o.w.

Please, Elohei …

I shagged my hair the other day because I like my hair layered. And then I cried when I got home because a memory came hot and swift of how Bob loved my hair. He liked it long. He liked it shagged:

Remembering how Bob loved my hair shagged was an emotional connection … so I slipped into one of his roomy tees. Although they are very big on me, I always liked wearing Bob’s tees, polo's, and woodsman flannels shirts. Man! I miss my man!

He liked to touch my hair ... run his fingers through my hair. I remember how upset he got one afternoon when he came home from work and noticed I had cut my hair into a cute, short, pixie style. He wasn't even all the way in the door yet, and said, "What have you done to your hair!" Our daughter was an infant and I didn't want to be dealing with long hair while tending to infant needs that were pretty much on-going with barely a break to drink a hot cup of coffee; so I whacked my hair off so all I had to do was wash and comb it: d.o.n.e. Then I could take care of my baby and have time to play with her too ;-) I told him, "It's only hair, Babe; it will grow back. But I have a baby to take care of now, and THAT takes priority over hair." It took Bob a while to get over my short hair. I never cut it again, except to tidy the ends.

Though that memory warmed my heart, it also hurt.

Help me rise above the sneaker waves that are sure to roll in from August 30th to December 14th and threaten to suck me under.

Every year.

For the rest of my life.

I used to love Fall & Winter months.

I don’t even think I like them anymore.