Wedding Song - God Knew That I Needed You

Monday, December 16, 2019

FACING YEAR 2 AS A WIDOW – THINGS I HAVE GROWN THROUGH

One year ago, 2 days ago, I became a solo sojourner on Earth. When that happened, I remember feeling like a deer caught in the glare of head-lights: suddenly startled, momentarily blinded, and shockingly paralyzed in place.
Midway through the first year of widowhood, I started to regain solid ground as I started to reflect back on the first 6 months of the first year as a widow. Though it was always a hard and fast rule in our marriage that the past would remain firmly in the past, I broke my own rule and peeked backward occasionally. I needed to identify and note any progress I made forward – haltingly and limpingly - in order to figure out how I was going to deal with continuing forward.
Was there progress? Was the progress beneficial and useful going forward? So, facing my second year living widowhood, here is year 1 boiled down to things I learned/grown through in my first year as a widow.

Survival is possible. The first days and weeks after losing my husband I wasn’t sure how I’d survive, or if I even wanted to: Bob had been my whole life for all of my life – I fell in love with his face when I was 10 years old; I married him when I was 17 years old:
(https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/08/it-took-while-but-we-finally-got-there.html).

He had died twice – and returned to me again twice; before I was even a bona fide adult:
(https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/10/herbs-sorrowing-slide-show.html).

While we both walked the Valley of the Shadow of Death last Fall, we both knew he would not be returned back to me this time; Bob went Home last December:
(https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2018/12/goodbye-2018-welcome-2019.html).

And I was left to find my way out of the Valley and back to the Land of the Living … pretty much alone.

Bob had had the audacity to leave this planet during the holiday season ...

...people were unavailable; they did not want their holiday season (Labor Day through the New Year festivities) inconvenienced or ruined with my grieving. The absence of my husband’s physical presence in my life highlighted the cracks in my life’s foundation that could be ignored and somewhat patched when he was still walked among us as a flesh and blood man – now he is gone, and the cracks have widened, creating widespread chasms I am not sure can ever be breached. The pain of the loss of him in my life, and the ever-widening chasms was unbearable at times. I cried a lot during that time of walking alone.

I also became a no-nonsense-survivor - Bob is not here, I am the only one looking out for me:

I can look back now without crying, and see, that though it was scary – and at times, messy; that alone time serves as proof that I can do hard things … mostly because I HAD to, not because of some phenomenal strength of character. In fact, there were times when character was seriously slipping as I reconnected with the badass side of me I had buried after marrying Bob. I resurrected her, and I survived.


I do not believe Elohim is shocked with her resurrection; nor do I believe that Elohim is admonishing me to rebury her. At this point in time, I believe Elohim understands that I need her in order to blaze my new path in my new life. Elohim was with me in my past badass days – He is with me in my present badass days – and I do not presume to know what tomorrow holds ... so only tomorrow (if there is one) will know how He will feel about my badass self tomorrow. As of today, I make no apology for how others perceive my badass sass. I am owning my actions - and others will have to do the same; I will no longer carry the brunt of their actions.

There’s no more time for other people’s bullshit.
I am making headway.
I am a survivor.

And Elohim is in my corner. I am confidently moving forward.
My Inner Circle has changed. I really struggled with disappointment and hurt over the lack of cohesiveness with family and friends who were shallow at best … and just plain absent at worse. Bob had expected it, but hoped with his dying hope, that when he was gone, we could all come together to be the family he knew we can be. When he was gone, and they fell short (as we both knew they would), I felt abandoned. I KNOW: they weren’t there before, and they proved they will never “be there”, but hope springs eternal; and I WAS hoping - I was honoring Bob's hope. It was unrealistic, given their natures.

I have learned; I have grown.

I’m looking back today with a little more “extra grace.” And I’ve moved forward. Without them. As the raw pain abates and my bleeding heart heals, I’m recognizing with gratitude the new people that have emerged in my life as the others fell away. The people who are genuinely concerned about me … the people who are sincerely praying for me and selflessly wrapping me in their love-support-and friendship, have risen to the top like rich cream. So instead of floating in the turbulent sea of hurt; sucked under by disappointments, I am focusing instead on the new, beautiful sunshine of the people Elohim has placed on my path to walk alongside me.


I’m getting better at letting go of hurt, disappointment, and undeserved negativity. It is liberating.

I’m starting to embrace – and be thankful for – the shake-up of my inner circle. I need people around me who will walk with me, encourage me, and help me build a new life on the remnants of the old life … without stoning me with the fragments of my old life. People who understand what Yeshua meant when he said to the eager stoners of so long ago, “You, who are without sin, be the first to cast a stone at her” (John 8:7). Bob and I lived our entire life together with that Scripture at the forefront of every disagreement. Our 44 year marriage had some rough patches (ALL marriages DO; those who say otherwise are liars), but stones were not allowed to be thrown. I can say, with absolute truth, that our marriage was a happy and good marriage. We never used stones to tear each other down – we always used stones to build stairs to lift each other up.

Bob was more than my husband; more than my lover.

Bob was my best friend ...


...we built each other up because we loved each other unconditionally. There will never be another Bob - but I believe there are people out there with the same character traits as Bob exampled. In my new life, I want friends that share some of Bob's character, in my life.



Going forward, I want people in my life who will help me rebuild a good - and solidly good - life. My soulmate is no longer here; I don't need stone throwers ... I need people in my life who will love me at least half as much as he did. And stand beside me as he always did.


The pain doesn’t lessen. I cry softer and maybe even less frequently these days, but the pain really hasn’t been minimized. It’s just changed. There is more of an acceptance now. I’ve learned to live with the tear in the tapestry of my life that can never be “fixed”. There will never be another Bob – he was unique, he filled my life, and now he’s gone: there will never be another Bob. That tear will always be evident; my new life will not change … too much … the dynamics of my life tapestry; my new life will only help me live victoriously, and add color back into that tapestry. The pain is not as intense, but my heart is far from calloused; my wounded heart still bleeds, and misses Bob. I cannot say with any certainty that that will ever change. But I can assuredly know that Yeshua will be walking alongside me, helping me, in my solo sojourn.


Despite the occasional unexpected tears at unexpected times, and the bleeding pain that is not so intense anymore, I am content. Except for the loss of my husband in my life, I really do have a good life.



I will not ever be the same person again. 12 months into this new life, I’ve realized the old me is gone. She started disappearing with my husband’s physical death, and the falling away of shallow family and friends totally erased her. In her place there is emerging a new, developing person that begs to be discovered. She’s slightly familiar but not quite the fully recognizable badass me from the past. Year two is going to be about embracing her, defining her, and giving her full rein to become what my new life needs to live fully and successfully.


I miss him more now. Looking down the maw of year 2 on this solo sojourn, I see more reality than year 1 revealed. I see a long road ahead without Bob beside me, and the influence of him in my life, had on my old life. This new truth is a very lonely one: there isn’t much of my old life left, and very few people from that old life crossed over into my new life. I guess year 1 knew I couldn’t handle all at once all of the revelations year 1’s Period of Adjustment would require of me; so, the hard revelations came at intervals, making it easier to face the stark new pages of the chapters of my life story to be written in year 2
(https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/11/period-of-adjustment.html).


Memories fade. I have not experienced the fading of Bob’s voice, or his laugh (I still hear it clearly), the way he stood, walked, lay in bed (I still ‘feel’ these phantom sensations) – but the memories that will fade, are the memories we, as husband & wife, as a team, will never make again. Some memories will resurface at different times in life … like memories of making daytrips to the mountains of Washington and Oregon, that resurfaced the other day driving home from Scappoose and seeing clearly both Mt. Adams and Mount Hood in the distance … and knowing I’ll never have another memory of going daytripping with my husband ever again. I don’t want to lose those memories, and yet, they are fading. Bob is no longer here.

Other people’s grief, loss and pain affect me greater than before. I am now keener to the pain of other grievers. When I see a Flag-flying motorcade honoring a veteran, or I hear of someone who has lost their spouse, my heart isn’t just heavy, it’s shattered for them. I know what the grievers are experiencing – what they will be facing. While I was always empathetic before, I am more so now. I can truly identify.

Depression is a real thing and Faith is still a choice. I am thankful that I have not at any time been snared by the depression demon, but I will say that there have been at least 2 instances where I could literally feel depression starting to settle over me. Thank God for the strength of my Faith! I was able to shake it off without needing outside or pharmaceutical help to shake it off, but it was the real deal and I am thankful Yeshua was at my elbow to help me conquer it.

And speaking of faith – it has been tested this year. I haven’t lost it, but there have been many times where anger surfaced and I’ve been very close to losing my sanctification; and several months where I was disengaged from Elohim because my mind and heart was numb with grief and I didn’t feel anything for anyone. I was simply existing and doing the best I could to put one foot in front of the other without thinking too hard about how to do that. But I always knew Elohim was close at hand … and He always knew that sooner or later, I’d shake off the effects of grief funk. I have always, since I was 8 years old, trusted Elohei 100% with my life; trusted Him to be in my life 100% no matter where my life was at, or where it took me during the course of my life. Being bumped from Wife to Widow could have sent me spiraling in a direction where Jack Daniel and the Marlboro Man could have easily moved in and set up camp – but that never happened. I honestly did not even feel a twinge to invite them to come sit with me. I am thankful that in Yeshua I have good council, and in Elohim I have solid footing. The past 12 months have been testing months for sure, but I chose to grab onto my faith as my husband slipped away from me and entered into his new life beyond the clouds; and I chose to grab onto my faith as the foundations of my old life crumbled and fell away … and Faith held firm: it never wobbled.

Faith in my Faith is still my choice for moving forward in my new life.

God is good all the time – and all the time God is good.

There are still moments that come out of nowhere and take my breath away. Time doesn’t heal all wounds, and time doesn’t make the heart and mind any smarter. There’s evidence of this belief nearly every day. There are times during my day – like example: I was working on a project one night, and got excited about the way it was coming together and looking good. I wanted to share it with Bob because he always gave me good input and encouraging feedback. I smiled, thinking of his smile when he saw it, and got up out of my chair and half way down the hall … before I realized he was no longer back there, sprawled across the bed, watching his silly redneck programs. My feet came to a slow halt and the smile faded from my face. I didn’t cry; but I was startled that I had forgot he was no longer here in the flesh. Moments like this, can continue to steal my breath away.

Grief amnesia is a real thing.

There’s no more time for other people’s bullshit. When raw grief cracks you wide open and leaves you helplessly exposed, you quickly learn what’s worth hard work, what’s worth your depleted emotional energy, and what’s not worth any of your time or energy at all. Year 1 has revealed there’s no room for other people’s bullshit, or trauma drama in my life anymore. It has taught me the importance of focusing on things that really, truly matter. I have learned – up close and personal – how fleeting our time on Earth is; and I am determined to make what little I have been granted, count for all it is worth. I don’t know what the future holds for me, but I am determined to live it laughing more, being loved the way I deserve to be loved, and appreciating the small moments more.

It’s still a long road ahead, one I can’t look down for very long periods of time because spending time trying to foresee or trying to mentally manipulate the future is futile. Heading into year 2, it’s still very much a 1 day-at-a-time scenario. But, I, am setting the pace now. Sometimes that pace will be slow and painful; and sometimes I’ll surge ahead with speed.

But I’ll keep moving forward, one step at a time.


Those who want to come alongside me on my solo sojourn are welcome: those who don’t, don’t have to … and I won’t drag then along. Elohim walks with me; some people are uncomfortable with that. I can't help how they feel. I will continue walking, and learning, and growing, and getting comfortable in my new life - with Elohei.


Elohei is REAL - I will not argue that fact with anyone. Anymore. A.T.A.N.Y.T.I.M.E.

Life is short.


Life is gone in a heartbeat.

My life is mine, and it is an important life as long as Elohim grants it to me. No one else gets to judge how I live ... or what they perceive I did in my past life/will do with my new life. They are NOT Elohim, no matter what kind of God-complex they are feeling.

There’s no more time for other people’s bullshit:
(https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/11/hitching-up-my-wagon.html).

I am taking the lessons learned, and the new growth with me into my new life with the advent of 2020.  And we will see where it goes.

We will see where it goes ...

Sunday, December 15, 2019

Merry Christmas Mr Bean | Full Episode | Mr. Bean Official

MOD CROCHET CHRISTMAS HARD CANDY CROCKPOT DUST COVER

This past year has been a year I wouldn’t wish on anyone. For me, it has been 12 months of learning to live solo after being in a couple relationship for 44 years – that relationship came to an end December 14th, 2018; and I have spent the past 365 days learning to solo with a broken wing (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2018/12/widowhood.html & https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/12/1-year-since-bobs-been-absent-from-my.html).

Today is the first real day of the rest of my life. I grieved hard for 12 months: now it is time to get back to living fully, as hard as I grieved.


I don’t know what the future holds for me; and I really have no plans at all for how to proceed forward, other than just placing one foot in front of the other and moving forward. It has been a loooong while since I have been solo with no responsibilities, other than just taking care of me.


What I do know, is that from this day forward … as in all the previous 365 days, Yeshua will walk by my side and see me safely through until I, too, join my husband beyond the clouds.



While I was thinking on the significance of this day, and all the implications of what this day means; I designed and worked up another kitchen appliance dust cover – this one is for my oval crockpot:

MOD Crochet Oval Hard Candy Crockpot Dust Cover; ribbon candy and asst. hard candies trim.
Counter top appliances line up ...

Designing these things keeps my mind occupied, keeps my hands limber, and adds color back into my life. And they are purposeful too – the dust covers will help keep the lids of the appliance’s dust and grease free. I only have one more to design and work up ;-)

Today I am moving forward in slo-mo mode – I always take a 3 day weekend. But tomorrow, I’ll grab the bull by the horns and set this new life in motion ;-)


It is hard no longer having your other half physically in your life anymore. But, like the song says, “Me? I’ll bounce right back and be fine and dandy. I’m barely getting through to tomorrow, but I won’t let sorrow bring me way down.”

Bob would not want me lost in sorrow. And our Faith encourages us to move past sorrow - sorrow is a part of life; and Yeshua, Himself, was well acquainted with sorrow while he, too, walked earth as a man - BUT, we were not created to remain in a sorrowful state.

And, I WAS thinking of this song, sung by Dolly, while my fingers were busy crafting this dust cover :-D

Saturday, December 14, 2019

1 YEAR SINCE BOB’S BEEN ABSENT FROM MY LIFE



This morning, last year, I was standing by my husband’s bedside in OHSU, watching him struggle to breathe. He wanted Southern Gospel music, so these are the songs I played for him on the ipad, that last morning:







I glanced up and saw my BIL Kerry standing at the threshold of the doorway to Bob’s room. He said he had slept in his truck in the parking garage. I said I was thankful he was with us, and that he could have slept in the room with me – it would have been more comfortable, I was thinking. Kerry came into the room and sat in a chair opposite where I stood.

My legs were tired from standing so long, so I went to my padded chair in the corner, under the window … the chair I had been sleeping in off and on since Bob was moved from ICU/ER Ward a few days ago.

We both watched Bob.

Suddenly, something changed in Bob’s breathing, AND I KNEW he would breathe no more, this side of Heaven.

I remember watching Bob breathe his last earthly breath out, and my head swiveling to where Kerry sat, and seeing Kerry suddenly jerk forward – back straight; eyes fixed on his big brother’s form. I said, “I think he’s gone, Kerry.”


I got up and walked over to the bed, and put my hands on both sides of my husband’s face; turning his face to me. There was no response. I looked at Kerry; and said again, “I think he’s gone, Kerry.”

Then my eyes lifted to the clock on the wall: 8:05 AM.

I was bumped from Wife to Widow on December 14th, 2018, at 8:05 AM.

It was startling. It felt surreal.


At that point, a nurse walked past the room’s open doorway and saw me standing by Bob’s bedside. What she saw on my face must have alerted her, because she came into the room and took Bob’s vitals … and gave me a pitying look. Then she went out of the room and across the hall to the Nurse’s Station.

Dr’s. Gilbert and Morgan soon appeared. Dr. Morgan came to stand beside me for moral support, and Dr. Gilbert asked me, “Are you alright?” I said, “Yes, I am okay. Death does not frighten us. I asked that I would be granted grace and strength to let Bob go, and Elohei answered my prayers; Bob is in Heaven now. I do not mourn because I know where my husband is – and I know I will be with him again, some day. And I know, that right now, his spirit is enjoying a new body that will never again fail him; and I know he is having the time of his life with Yeshua, the Life Giver.” She said, “You are a remarkable woman.” I said, “We serve a remarkable God. Thank you both for everything you have done for us while we have been here at OHSU: thank you for taking such good care of Bob. We both appreciated it.” Dr. Morgan squeezed my arm, and then they were gone … and the same nurse that called them came back into the room to inform me that a doctor would be in shortly to announce the time of death. I said, “the time of death was 8:05 AM” – and she said, “A doctor has to make the pronouncement, and the time will be when that pronouncement is made.” I just looked at her.

When she left, I said to Kerry, “The time Bob’s spirit left Earth was 8:05 AM; that is the time I will tell everyone, when they ask.” He agreed.

I called family members & intimate friends, and told them, “Bob’s spirit left his earthen vessel at 8:05 this morning. It was peaceful. It was easy. And it was dignified.”

A doctor arrived about 20 minutes later, and made the “official” pronouncement, and told me someone would be arriving shortly {to go over details} with me. In about half an hour, a nervous young woman arrived to ask me what I wanted “to do with” the body – organ harvesting? I said, “no – my husband was not a young man, and he was critically ill … and our Faith does not make allowances for that – there will be no organ harvesting.” She asked about disposal (she used politically correct terminology, but that is what she was asking), and I said, “My husband wanted to be cremated; I will make arrangements for that when I get home later today.” She wrapped up her rehearsed speech and left. I was thankful the questioning was over – for her, for me, and for Kerry … who could hear what was being said. Obviously, she was new to the necessities of bereavement fallout, and Kerry and I were grieving the loss of a loved one in our lives moving forward. We needed space.

Getting ready to leave OHSU and head home, I dragged a chair over to the bedside and stood on it: I am a small person, and the bedside was high – the railing came up to my chest when I stood next to the bed: I needed the chair, so I could stand on it and lean over the bed railing to kiss Bob’s lips and tell him I loved him and was glad he had been in my life for most of my life. I caressed his bald head, the side of his face, touched his lips with my fingertips, ran my fingertips across his chest and a down his arm to the end of his long fingers. So MANY memories! A lifetime ended. Love with nowhere to go anymore. A life tilted, with me wondering if it would ever be righted again …

And then, I gathered my laptop & ipad off the window sill, and packed it into the duffel alongside the padded chair in the corner, under the window. I zipped the duffel closed, pulled out the wheeled handle, gathered my coat, and walked out the door – glancing back just one more time at the manly form I had loved since I was 10 years old: the manly form that had housed such a vibrant life for 69 years, and loved me like a man for 44 years.

Kerry loaded my duffel into the back of his truck and drove me home. We chatted periodically, but basically; it was a very subdued drive back home. My car had been parked at Bob’s sister Merry’s house, so that is where Kerry took me. When we got to Merry’s, Bob’s mother and sisters were all there & we talked, and after a while I said, “I need to get to the funeral home to make arrangements, but I don’t think I should be driving, as emotional as I am. And, I think I’d like to be alone over the Holiday – I think I can get through this better if I don’t have to deal with people for awhile.” No one questioned my need for solitude: they heard that I needed space. Bonnie agreed to drive me to Steele’s Memorial Chapel (the local funeral home): and she was a tremendous help in helping me make arrangements there … and for helping me order Bob’s Cremains Box and Remembrance Urns for the kids & grandkids. The fellas at the funeral home were very kind and efficient – they said they would contact OHSU themselves, and that way I would not have to do that. I thanked them. After the arrangements for Bob was made, papers signed, and monies paid … I went ahead and took care of my future arrangements also: that way it is done, and the kids do not have to deal with it later on, down the road. Then, Bonnie drove me home; and we talked a little more about Bob and how he influenced and impacted our lives. When Bonnie was ready to go back to Merry's, Merry came and got her.

Bob was a good man. Bob was a loved man.

This morning, last year, somewhere around 1 PM, I was suddenly all alone. Facing an unknown and uncertain future. Alone. “We” had now morphed into “Me” … and it was a weird reality. My life, as I had known it for most of my life, had been undone – and there was no way to go back to that life.


I knew Bob’s mother was hurting – but I just couldn’t deal with her emotions when I was dealing with my own. I knew Merry, Bonnie, Rosie, and Kerry were hurting too – but I needed to focus on me right then, in the moment. I knew our kids were hurting – but I just couldn’t go there yet: I needed time for me to adjust to the loss of my husband, the loss of love, and the need for peace. I knew my grandkids were hurting … and our little grandson was confused … but I had to trust that their parents would help them get through it – I just couldn’t. I hoped everyone could understand my decision to separate myself and come to grips with how severely my life had changed. I didn’t care that I was being selfish – I NEEDED TO BE SELFISH at that time. The only person who ever loved me, who ever cared about me, was gone. There was only me now, who cared about me. I had to be selfish, or I would fly apart and never be whole again.

Mike and Cheryl called sometime around nightfall. And just listened to me cry. For at least half an hour. No words were said by anyone. They are good people. They became my Tribe this day, last year – they became my Family, this day, last year.


And so, this morning, this year, I am reflecting on this day, last year, and crying some … not a waterfall like last year, but just slow tears. I am no longer gasping for breath either. But my chest does hurt a little where my amputated heart continues to beat with a halting pulsating tempo that sends out the message: “I miss Bob … I miss Bob …”



This morning, this year, I am thankful for friends who loved me and stuck with me – friends I wasn’t even aware I had, until they silently came alongside me; lifted me up, and helped me learn to live again. I am blessed.

This morning, this year, I am thankful for my BIL Kerry, who has become a brother to me and has helped me every month for the past 12 months – doing things for me that need doing with a man’s strength, and showing me how to do things on my own with the strength I have. Kerry is a good man, a kind man, a compassionate man. When I told him that recently, he credits those qualities to Bob’s influence in his life. I am blessed to have Kerry in my life. I was blessed to have Bob in my life.

This morning, this year, I am thankful for my SIL Merry. She has helped me several times over the course of these past 12 months. I am appreciative. I have been blessed.

And this day, this year … same as this day, last year, falls on the Sabbath day of Rest: the PREFECT TIMING on Elohim’s part. What a blessed memory!


I am truly blessed.


Friday, December 13, 2019

COMFORT CARE DECISION - When I'm Gone

This afternoon today, last year, was a hard one. I did not make another ‘executive decision’, like I had to do a couple months earlier in September, but it was hard just the same.

Bob had been struggling pretty severely to breathe over the last 2 days – the inhalers and nasal oxygenizer were not helping; and the bed had been lifted as far as it could be lifted to rise his head above his chest. This afternoon, last year, Bob had stopped breathing twice. Drs. Gilbert and Morgan had stopped by the room to ask him if he would prefer being put back on the breathing machine … and he shook his head “no”. They came back in a little bit, with the breathing machine Team and had them talk to Bob – explain the procedure and ask him again if he would like to go back on the machine: again, he shook his head “no”. Everyone left, with Dr. Gilbert telling me, “If he changes his mind, let us know.” They wanted to put him in suspended animation hoping the edema would eventually be controlled.

Bob knew it was hopeless and intimated to me that he wanted me to pray with him; I did.

I knew Bob would not change his mind.

So, at 2:27 PM this afternoon, last year, Nicole (one of the people on Dr. Morgan’s Surgical Team assigned to Bob), took me into the hallway outside his room, to talk to me. She said, “I am sorry, Mrs. Hargand, but we have done all we can do; there is nothing else we can do. The inhalers are not working because the spreading edema is pressing and his body is shutting down. He has refused the breathing machine … that means that he will now be placed on Comfort Care status. Everything will now be removed from his person, and he will be periodically given pain medication to keep him 'comfortable' through the process.” I refused to cry. I asked, “Should I contact the family.” She touched my arm in a sympathetic manner, and said, “Yes, I think the sooner, the better.”

She was kind. She was sad. She had come to love Bob in the short time we had been there.

So, that is what I did. I called Bob’s siblings, and our children and grandchildren; and told them what was going down. As I was going back into his room, a woman from the hospital’s Bereavement Program was entering his room as I was turning towards the door – we entered together. She explained what was happening to him, and I asked him one more time, “Are you sure you do not want the breathing machine?” Again, Bob shook his head ‘no’. Then I smoothed out his covers, and I said, “Well, then, you are going to be going Home.” The woman from the Bereavement Program looked at me and said, “You are a very brave woman.” I said, “I am not that brave … I love him. I will honor his wishes.” She stood with me as the nasal oxygenizer and the heart monitor were removed from Bob’s person.

I held my husband’s hand, and watched all this happening. And I refused to cry.

I would ‘keep it together’ until Bob’s spirit entered Heaven: so, help me, God.

Slowly, as time went by and family members started arriving, the little room began to fill up until it was pretty packed. A serving table was wheeled in with coffee, water, juices, and snacks for those who wished it: I, to this day, don’t remember if anyone ate or drank anything from that tray. I think I was numb; and mentally removed myself from the situation.

All I DO remember is nodding to those that showed up, and holding Bob’s hand while looking into his eyes that held mine, thinking, “soon he will be ushered into Heaven where he will be walking the streets of gold with our wolf, Precious, our Pomeranian Tyson, and at least 2 of our many cats – Sox and Chase, all of whom have been patiently waiting with Yeshua, for him to arrive and join them in that place beyond the clouds where we have been promised life eternal with no more pain or tears.”

And still, I refused to cry.

Bob was preparing to step off this planet Earth – I was determined he should do so boldly and confidently. I would be as strong as I needed to be until that happened.

I was grieving, yes; but I did not then … and I do not now, this afternoon, today … grieve as one who has no hope: I KNOW that I will see Bob again, when we are together again in the future. How long that will be, I can’t say. But I know that it will happen.

And this afternoon, last year – just like this afternoon, this year; truth be told, I was a little jealous that my beloved would actually get to see, walk, and talk with Yeshua soon, while I am left behind for the time being.

This afternoon, last year, I did not mourn – nor, do I mourn, this afternoon, this year. Instead, then, as now, I celebrate Bob’s life. Then – as he began to shed his earthen vessel … and now, because I know that for the past 11 months & 29 days, Bob has really LIVED like he never lived before. His spirit is enjoying being housed in a new body – specifically designed and created just for him; a new celestial body that will never age-wear out-or decay.

This afternoon, last year, I was sad: I won’t deny that fact. I was sad because I knew, while holding his hand in mine and ingraining his face in the data bank of my brain, that I would no longer be able to look at my husband’s handsome face, cuddle into his loving embrace, or hear his reassuring  and soothing voice ever again this side of Heaven. And, I was happy that his days of torturous pain and unrelenting agony was coming to an end.

I was thankful for all my Friends on FB that were praying for us – and had been praying for us through our ordeal. I was thankful that those who attended to Bob throughout that long night of solo journeying, were compassionate and tender with the love of my life. I was praising Elohim, that even in the end of his life, Bob ministered that faithfulness of the God he served – the God Who was ever present, covering Bob and I with His wings and giving us peace that passes all understanding.

The holy hills of Heaven were welcoming a faithful son Home. His father awaited him there. And Yeshua had a crown in his hand to place on Bob’s head when he walked through the Pearly Gate.

I was thankful that a good majority of family came to see Bob off on his journey. They came to say their farewells and to tell good stories about their son, brother, dad, and grandfather. There were some tears: mine, included; but mostly there was love and laughter as we gathered together. And once or twice Bob roused himself and looked at everyone. His hands were held, and his legs were stroked – his mouth was kissed, and his head was caressed. Love was lavished on Bob. He was able to step off this planet knowing he was loved, appreciated, blessed, and honored. He was able to enter into a new life knowing that he could rest easy with the assurance that we will all be okay while he is enjoying himself up yonder beyond the clouds where tears will never stain the golden streets of that longed for Celestial City.

After everyone left, and went home, I finished the Reuben sandwich Alyna had prepared for me at the Deli/Restaurant she manages – and I played music through the night and prayed with, and for, Bob (he could not talk, but he was able to hear). Bob liked Southern Gospel; so that is what I played the most of; with some easy-listening country music that spoke of the glories that awaited him on his fast approaching journey.

And, of course, I played Joey + Rory’s song, “When I’m Gone” because it is such a beautiful brave song that speaks directly to facing death and the day following death.

This afternoon, this year - just like this afternoon, last year, this song resonates and soothes:


I will not tell of what my eyes saw as my husband's body was shutting down - it is private and personal; and it is hard to watch someone's body die. It serves no purpose to describe those things to you. I will say this, that during that time, Dr's. Morgan and Gilbert, did come in periodically to check on me and make sure that I was not freaking out. I was not; but they were concerned because watching death happen is a hard thing to do, especially if you love that person, like I loved Bob. But, Elohim was faithful, and I was able to do it without hysterics. I wanted Bob to know he was not alone on this solo journey, and that I was there for him as always. I loved him; I would not fail him.

Bob most definitely got Home before me, but I will be following as soon as my chores here are done: I haven’t been clued in yet just what those chores are, exactly, but in due time I will be. And when I have completed what I was left here to tie up, I, too, will be going Home.