A Work in Progress

A Walk on the Beach

The day is clearly more than half over, as I turn around and consider the various trails of footprints stretching out behind me. I can identify the path that leads to the very spot where I stand. I’ve always embraced the mental imagery of the Christian poem “Footprints in the Sand.” So, as I approach one of the more difficult times of the year (leading up to the anniversary of my husband’s death), I find myself considering the path I’ve walked, and the times when that journey has felt particularly solitary.

I can picture the shadowy images of those who once walked along with me and now are gone. Certainly the footprints of the one I hold most dear ended abruptly and far sooner than I ever could have imagined. Yes, my steps seem to have faltered there, strides shorter and prints deeper as I considered the new challenges ahead. I laughingly tell my sons that I have shrunk an inch (or more) in the last several years because of the downward pressure of the weight of the world on my shoulders. I credit those same young men for walking with me through the toughest of times. (And yes, I can identify THEIR footprints clearly. You don’t grow to heights exceeding 6’4” without growing feet to match!) It’s exciting to see their path has separated from mine a bit, striding confidently in the direction of their own adventures.

Truth be told, though, the footprints don’t lie. We may walk life’s path alone. But, during the most challenging of times, I suspect you will find, as I have, that others in your life walk alongside on a path that is just a bit closer to yours, providing a listening ear, and a shoulder to lean on. One of the most powerful parts of the grieving process is when you realize you are now healed enough to offer that listening ear and supportive shoulder to someone else.

Straightening my shoulders, I feel just a little more prepared to turn and take the next step forward. Ahead of me, the sand is untouched, waiting for me to continue.

Ghosts of Mondays Past

My dad died suddenly in January of 1998. After meeting my mom at the hospital that night 13 years ago and then taking her back to their home, mom’s overwhelmed mind fixated on the fact that someone needed to take the garbage down to the curb and my dad was not going to be able to do that anymore.

I remember it vividly. I walked the large can down to the curb, all the while looking up at a sky filled with stars. In the immediacy of my grief, they seemed huge and I felt so small.  I knew my mom would need help and that her care would fall largely to me.  I remember talking to the stars that night, promising my dad that I would look out for my mom.  Little did I know that in less than 15 months, I would also be adding the titles of widow and single mom to my job description. 

But, I never forgot.  And, with the help of my sisters and especially my two sons, I was able to keep that promise. We had several years of good times (and challenging times). When mom got older, she moved into an in-law suite built on to my home and spent her last several years enjoying her grandchildren’s choir concerts, band concerts and basketball games. When she lost her battle with lung cancer, my sisters and I were with her.
   
It’s Monday night here, the night folks on my street put out their garbage cans.  Since my dad's death, the walk down to the curb and back has been the time when thoughts of my folks are uppermost in my mind (longer strolls when it is warmer, and quick visits on cold nights like tonight!!).

During the last several months, I realize that the ghosts have lost their sadness.  More than that, they are no longer alone.

Meandering down and up the driveway each week, so many other important 5-minute snippets come to mind now too.  When my sons were younger, we tended to trundle the cart down together (even if there was only one cart to push).  How could I forget…

...my younger son, A, always having to be first back up the drive (it must be a youngest child thing!). No matter how hard I would try to fake him out, I was never ahead when it counted;

...on snowy nights, watching the boys and our (then much younger) border collie climb up the snow hills created when the driveway was plowed. Some nights the dog was too scared to climb back down without a push (or two);

...watching my older son, C, lope up the driveway and realizing for the first time that he was no longer a boy, but was well on his way to becoming a man;

...the boys hooting and hollering as they and the dog chased each other around the front yard in the spring and summer;

...having heart-to-heart conversations about life and death, more easily had when the darkness would hide the tears in our eyes; and

...realizing again and again that the only constellation I know for sure is Orion (thank goodness for the three stars in his belt!).

It's a great reminder that we are never alone. So, take a moment – embrace the ghosts who have walked with you, even during the most ordinary and unremarkable times in your life.

Leaving Your Mark

It’s a standard “exercise” – when it comes time for your obituary to be written, how would you want it to read?

In the busy-ness of our day-to-day activities, it’s an exercise we probably don’t consider often.

Yesterday was “cemetery day” for me – the day when I place holiday wreaths at the graves of my late husband and my parents…  two different cemeteries, a long drive in between them.  Plenty of time to think.

I stop at my husband’s gravesite first.  In the past, I’ve pretty much ignored the fact that my name is already engraved on the headstone. For some people it might seem comforting to know where their final resting place will be.  For me – it sort of gives me the “willies.” For whatever reason, I really SAW my name on the headstone yesterday and that image has stayed with me.

Obviously for people who don’t know me, my being on this earth will simply be marked by this engraved headstone.  But, will I leave something more for family and friends?  I sure hope so.

Dealing with the loss of a spouse at an early age has probably given me a bit of a different perspective on death.  Our boys were both fairly young when we lost their dad.  I immediately determined that his name would NOT be discussed in hushed tones or, even worse, left out of conversations altogether. Over the years, I’ve shared stories to help paint a picture of him for our sons.  Actually, I’m sure there are a few stories I’ve shared that their dad would rather have been left UN-shared.  Oh well. J

The gloomy rainy day of yesterday (which perfectly matched my mood for the day’s activities) has given way to the first visible snowflakes of the winter season today. A season changes, a page has turned. A new chapter will be written.

I guess it’s time to shake the gravestone image from my head.  I certainly won’t live my life specifically to leave a good obituary when I’m gone.  But, I really hope there are some stories that will be shared – something that keeps me alive in the hearts and minds of those I love – funny stories as well as serious ones – something more than an etching on a gravestone.

Editor’s Note: With the coming of the holidays, this might be a less cheery message than one might expect to be posted.  However, it comes from the heart.  And it might be a gentle reminder to give the best gift to those you love – the gift that keeps on giving – the gift of yourself.

31 Days of Self-Care (Day 11 for Me!)

Playing a little bit of catch-up on my blog tonight.

During the last 2 days, I have been in my car alot.  Driving through rural Ohio, abundent sunshine and frigid temperatures, with the soundtrack from Mama Mia! playing at high volume.  I had ample time to let my thoughts wander through a variety of subjects.

But, both days, I happened to be on the road as dusk approached.  And, both days, I had the privilege of witnessing the most impressive of rising full moons.  As it just cleared the horizon, the moon was huge and glowing and beautiful.  Instantly, I couldn't help but think back to a similar moon.  I was just a kid, and we were driving home from my grandmother's home after a visit.  As we rounded a curve, I remember the almost frightening huge moon, visible through the front windshield (I, being the youngest, of course had to sit in the middle of the back seat-yuk!).  I was thinking of that moon from my childhood tonight -- and realized very suddenly that tonight's moon is the very SAME moon I remembered from so many years ago.  Wow, much of my lifetime had passed, wars had been waged, presidencies have come and gone, the world had changed in incredible ways due to technology -- and still this same beautiful moon shines down on the earth.

At times like these, it is difficult not to feel very small and unimportant.