I don’t want to look back; not really. Those days this time last year, were not fun days – they were scary days filled with uncertainty … and always the shadow of the Grim Reaper stalking us.
It is a hard time to relive.
A sad time to remember.
And, yet – in those moments that my mind forces me to see; and my heart feels again the cracking that would eventually break it, I also see my husbands face through my tears. I loved that face.
I loved that man: I love that man, still; and I always will.
And every once in a while, the reel master of Memory Lane makes an unannounced visit to see what condition my condition is in.
This time last year – today, was filled with shaky promise. We knew that OHSU was Bob’s last chance for recovery; this was the “make it, or break it” place. OHSU is a learning medical facility:
OHSU Campus: sits on a high hilltop, and gives a very commanding view.
OHSU Campus is huge. It literally covers the entire hilltop.
OHSU Aerial Trams; seeing these things jet back and forth (either at the hospital, or simply driving through Portland over the years) always made me think of ‘The Jetson’s’ futuristic cartoon ;-)
OHSU ranks high in the list of “the best hospitals & the best physicians available in the USA” for their cutting-edge knowledge and procedures; the specialty of OHSU is their research and successes in dealing with and handling critical and fatal illness/diseases. The way the physicians, medical teams, and personal room staff worked together to tackle thorny issues with innovative ways was a blessing to us: they were confident & humble – they treated us like we mattered (at Peace Health, back home, we were treated by the ER doctors like we were nothing – one attending doctor even yelled at us); the physicians, though obviously more knowledgeable, listened to us: they included us in the process – and because we, and Bob’s wishes, were respected; we felt safe placing Bob’s life, and our future, in their capable hands.
We had arrived at OHSU the previous afternoon (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/11/some-semblance-of-holiday-cheer.html), and it had been a whirlwind ever since, with consulting physicians in and out of Bob’s room asking us questions, conferring with each other about options and, scheduling exams/tests … always exams and tests, no matter what hospital. I was glad Bob was there: for the first time since being thrust into that medical hell, we were beginning to feel hopeful – here, the physicians & surgeons are the best of the best in their fields of expertise: and the outlook they gave us this day, last year, was a very positive one. Peace Health, locally, was in over their heads from the get-go … and they admitted as much; they told us from day 1 that Bob needed to be at OHSU; but there was no bed available at OHSU, until November 24th.
This day, last year, the consensus among the members of Bob’s medical team assigned him, was that “with proper nutrition specific to Bob’s personal needs, and the removal of the gall bladder, he should be ‘back to his old self’ within a 6 mo/1 year span of time.” That optimistic & positive diagnosis was worth the trip. All we ever heard at our local hospital back home, was doom and gloom talk; which left us hanging by our fingernails and trying not to dwell on cremation destination. The attending medical team also agreed with us that while they can help with pain management, only Elohim can heal – medicines and surgeries cannot heal. We felt confident in their helpful support.
This time, last year, there would be 10 days left of Bob’s life.
Life, as we knew it was forever altered.
And, though I find myself today reliving memories I’d rather not, I do understand that this painful trip down Memory Lane is necessary to my full healing. I do cry when forced down this lane (I MISS him SO!), but I am no longer gasping for breath when my thoughts “go there”.
I am trying valiantly to honor my husband by rebuilding my life bit by bit on the foundation of love he gave me. We had a good life. We had a passionate life. We loved each other with a love that transcends the separating gap death placed between our parallel worlds (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/11/quantum-widowhood.html).
And I go about tending to daily business in my new life. I have, to the best of my ability, “pulled it together”: I have successfully dealt with/eliminated assholes in the business sector, as well as the familial sector of my new life: my bills are paid/up to date, and my personal life is in order. I can now drive myself further than 10 minutes into town to do quick grocery grabbing – I have, since May, actually driven on a few lengthy daytrip ventures: Bob & I were always day-tripping – I want to get back to that. I enjoy cooking again; I only cook for myself, but I engage in daylong cookathons; cooking meals that I break down and freeze. I have made friends; friends I made without Bob … solo friends, for my new solo life. And I have staked my ground where candy scott and ron cook are concerned: I put an effective halt to their bullying tactics and, thanks to the kid’s liberating antics towards me, I have decided to stand and fight for my right to live here at Heron Pointe in peace and safety – candy and ron killed my husband with the stressful fall-out of their paranoia and egomania ridiculousness … but they have a fight on their hands if they think for one minute I will go down without a fight. All that said, my new life may look solidly put together, but the reality of the situation is that widowhood leaves me feeling somewhat unsettled; and feeling hallow inside.
After 11 months/12 days/1 hour & 50 minutes, my new life does look newly restored and running smoothly: outwardly, things are pretty stable and solid – bills are paid on time, I bathe regularly & my hair is washed; and sometimes styled neatly, I move through my new life smiling, laughing, putting one foot in front of the other; to strangers watching me, I am a recreated vision of widowed success. I returned to life without traipsing down the proverbial alcohol or prescription drugs rabbit trails, I still have the house & car – albeit the kids & grandkids (their choices, not mine), I am socially active (platonic friends, no FWB) – reacquainted with old friends, made new friends, joined 2 Senior Centers; and I’ve ventured back into Bazaaring events. The condition of my conditional life looks pretty darn good – aside, from the physical death of my husband & the total loss of my entire family nucleus – my {‘life of luxury’ – yes, some have referred to my life as that} may even be enviable to some; but, things are not as they appear.
Aesthetically, I suppose my new and evolving life would look good to those watching it: those who don’t really know me. Those who know me, my intimate friends that have a front row seat in the theater of my unfolding new life, know that inside me – the part of me no one sees but Elohei and Bob ever sees, the landscape is bleak: it is a clean canvas, constantly under construction … and more often than not, erased and reworked. Only those who have come alongside me to walk with me – those who chose to remain in my life, understand there is more to the developing picture than what strangers see.
Where there used to be unbridled joy and happiness unlimited, there is now disquiet and emptiness. My eyes (Bob always loved looking into my eyes), are dull now since the light of them went out of my life last December as Bob’s spirit left this Earth: they shone with love for him. Only him – and he is now gone; they shine for no one anymore. There is an emptiness in my life that I don’t know how to fill: before Bob’s essence left me, I did not know a person could be swallowed alive by a sorrow that is born in the depths of the soul and bourne under a weight so heavy it literally drains you physically.
Of course, before Bob came into my life 45 years ago, I did not know about love either. I did not know that love could consume a person with a fever that could never be quenched – a passion so hot it could cause sparks to arc between 2 lovers when eyes meet across the room. Before Bob came into my life and livening it up with his love, I did not know that even death could not dull the fever. I did not know anything at all about love until Bob loved me.
Likewise, I did not know anything at all about death until I watched my husband losing his grip on life – until the spark of life went out of his beautiful eyes; and I saw the essence of him leave his earthen vessel with one expelling breath.
There is an emptiness inside me today that I don’t know how to fill.
That emptiness was once filled to overflowing with the presence of Bob. And Bob is no longer here. The echoing and aching emptiness is disquieting. Who knew that nothingness could be so loud and so painful.
My thoughts are still centered on him. My eyes still search for remnants of his existence. My nose misses the odor of him – his aftershave, his bath bar; his personal sweaty manly scent after a hard physical workout. My ears long to hear his voice. My body aches for his body – his touch, his embrace, his loving ministrations. Sometimes the intensity of missingness revives the rawness of widowhood emotions and threatens to consume me from the inside out, and I am less engaged in my own new life because of reliving those death watch days.
Thankfully, those gut-wrenching days are no longer following back-to-back in a daily slideshow. But I have noticed a pick up in the reviews since August 30th, and I’m thinking my mind’s eye will be held hostage by the reel master of Memory Lane Revisited until the turn of the 2020 New Year.
Last year, today, the Specter of death was in the shadows, and OHSU was holding out hope to us … this year, today, the reality of death is inescapable.
This time, last year, there would be 10 days left of Bob’s life.
I need the comfort of Yeshua now; through the first of the new year, more than ever before as against my will, the reel master in the recesses of my mind, keeps playing the agonizing slideshow of Memory Lane past.
It is part of the healing process. And I am only able to stand and watch it play out because of the mercies of Elohim, “Blessed be Elohim the Father of Adonai Yeshua Ha’Mashiach, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, Who comforts us in our tribulations, that we may be able to comfort those who are in trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by Elohim.” (2 Corinthians 1:3 & 4).
It is a sad reality that in my new life I do have Comforters who understand what I am dealing with - it also a sad reality, that given my new life status; I too, am in a position to help others who are new to this unwanted walk of life.
It is a sad reality that in my new life I do have Comforters who understand what I am dealing with - it also a sad reality, that given my new life status; I too, am in a position to help others who are new to this unwanted walk of life.
I am comforted in my widowhood. And I am eternally thankful – without Elohim’s faithfulness and mercies, I would not be able to stand against the loss of Bob’s presence in my life. Elohim’s loving-kindness fuels me, and Bob’s everlasting love fires my jets.
I am blessed.
My Widowhood Wilderness Journey with Grief is not so rough-edged anymore. I’m still bewildered some days, with the reality of my solo lobo life … but I’m not lost in grief anymore. The tears still flow, but not so hot – and not so heavily anymore; my inconsolable weeping has become quieted sobs a bit more controlled. My shattered self is rebounding and I am building my new life on the foundation of my husband’s love for me: the love he gave to me instilled confidence in me, and whenever I start doubting myself and my abilities to move forward, I can still hear his voice telling me, “You can do this Honey – I have faith in you.” And that makes me smile, and march forward.
I march forward in the battle of my life, determined to gain ground, but still feeling blown about … without direction. I am searching for purpose now that all past purpose of my life has ended: Bob is no longer here, the kids have abandoned me and taken their children with them – life as I knew it has been forever altered. And progress with establishing a new life is moving slowly. I know that I will find stable footing again; eventually. I know that I have the fortitude and the “stuff” to make it through this tunnel of grief into a restive and restorative meadow of sunlight and flowers. Bob knew it too. He told me, “I have no doubt that you will do it, Honey; you may kick things around a bit, but you & I both know that when you make a decision, whatever you decide to do is as good as done.” I know I want to live life fully again, without tripping over Grief. I know I do not want to live with a hallow ache endlessly. And I know that living fully and reining in the hallow aching is up to me – my future is entirely in MY hands now: I don’t have to figure anyone else’s considerations into the equation – anyone who seriously mattered to me before December 14th, 2018, are all gone now.
Since becoming a solo lobo, I’ve reacquainted myself with my old badass self to get through the trying days when people were taking advantage of me and my situation. But I didn’t particularly like that old me in the old days … and I’d like to shake her again and move forward without her badassery. But for the time being, I know I still need her in some small part if I am to keep the victory ground I have so painstakingly held onto.
I am still nervous looking into the hazy unknown; I grew used to having Bob by my side, walking through the maze of life together. Facing that maze now, solo, is more than a little daunting. I know I successfully maneuvered my way through it before Bob, so it stands to reason that I should be able to walk it successfully now. But my brain misfires now … scouring its data bank for the missing presence of Bob; and my heart confirms the obvious: Bob is no longer here. My brain is misfiring. The data is incomplete – my whole being is thrown off balance; and the concluding networking consensus among all of my essence is: that I don’t know what to do with me, without him.
This time, last year, Bob was still here on Earth. With me. We were playing the cards we had with poker faces, hoping against fate that we would pull a Wild Card again and be given another winning hand in this game of chancy life.
We lost the hand, and were forced to fold our cards by December.
Since our lives went different ways, to continue on in parallel worlds, I have created new rituals and ordinary ways too, to soothe my wounded heart and regroup my shattered life. I want to recreate my life that satisfies me and honors my husband’s memory. And at the crux of that rebuilding process, is the niggling question of ‘what do I want to do with my life’.
I don’t have a clue.
ALL of my previous life was based upon building/living a life with Bob.
But Bob is not here now. And my life is at loose ends … running in every direction, trying to find balance in an unbalanced world.
Despite the present unsettled chaos in my new life, I believe I WILL find balance again, and gain solid ground again.
Despite the present unsettled chaos in my new life, I believe I WILL find balance again, and gain solid ground again.
Because at the heart of this new life of mine, the foundation is still the same. And it is a GOOD foundation. Our life was built on a 3-cord basis: Elohei & us – 1 & 2 = 3. Because of that foundation, so solid and so true, I know I have the capacity to achieve whatever I set out to do. The issue isn’t my ability … the issue is the trepidation of the unknown; my spirit is disquieted. I am not comfortable making a move without Bob's input; without being able to bounce ideas off him, I lack the motivation necessary to move forward successfully. I know I need to move on solo; I don’t want to move on solo. I know I am simply living safely – but it’s risky safety: I am hamstringing myself and it is crippling my healing process.
I know I NEED to stop fighting the inevitable. I need to make peace with the new life I don't want, if I am going to live any kind of contented life in the life I have been given.
And so, I remind myself today that 45 years ago Bob fell in love with a 17-year old girl he called his ‘Lady’. A girl that he said had more grit than the badass attitude she’d honed to perfection; he loved me because he said I was solid – ‘the real deal’; pure, genuine, strong, level-headed – a person of substance. Last November, my husband told me he had complete confidence in me that I could weather the storm and come through it as strong and solid as ever. More than anything, I want to be the woman my husband told me he had every confidence I am; and I want to be the woman Elohim knows me to be.
And I believe I WILL BE.
A spark of confidence is catching, and the lively flame of hope eternal is beginning its healing burn as I am forced to sit through the restorative private showing of my personalized Memory Lane slideshow that will catapult me through to the other side of the grief tunnel. That cathartic flame is spreading like wildfire through the ruin of my old life, purging it and making it fertile for new growth.
When the healing restoration is complete, there will be nothing hollow about me anymore.
