Just Reporting from Seven Years In...

No matter what - I am different and I celebrate that different.  I am quite clear - I am me and I must treasure me.  Nothing else matters.  It is liberating - OMG - 40+ years later and I am finally liberated - shall we all have a big :-) and yet is is true. 

My joy, my happiness, my well being, ME - I - ME - they do not depend on anything or anyone but me.  Oh sure, I still get caught up in the old tapes, the old dramas, the old habits...yep, that's living on the planet.   Living here in this skin - breathing - being here is a blessing.

Filled with wonder and gratitude.

Kisses and Hugs and Kisses and Hugs (as far as the eye can see)

Wordless

Decisions....

We all are called upon to make decisions - every kind of decision - some very easy (do you want fries with that?) and some more difficult (do you want to remove your unconscious husband's respirator?).

Six years ago I was called upon to make that decision.  To literally have another's life in your hands is frightening beyond words.  What a terrible dilemma  - never mind that we had discussed this and agreed that we would never let the other be incapacitated to that degree.  

Never mind that Tom's right brain was destroyed - it was blank on the MRI.  The neurologist said she didn't think he could wake up because of the extensive new damage coupled with the damage on the other side of his brain from two previous strokes.  Never mind that the Doc felt that even if he awoke he probably would be deaf, blind, have limited, if any, higher functioning.  Never mind that Tom was already frustrated by the deficits caused by earlier CVAs.  Never mind, never mind, never mind.

I looked at those MRI's many times over a day and a half - with my dear sister Lisa and then with my dear sister Joan - guided by the neurologist, a no-nonsense chinese-american woman.   She returned to show the MRI when I needed to see it; each time she patiently described what I was seeing on the image.

Even though I knew what Tom wanted - how gut wrenching to finally say, "do it" - I stood by the bed while they took the breathing tube out of his throat - holding his feet with one hand and clasping Joan's hand with the other. 

It was the right thing to do; the fulfillment of a sacred commitment and promise - I hope that I am never called upon to make that decision again. 

The Journal

I have been keeping journals since I was 18 years old and before that it was diaries and the like.  I have a journal that I faithfully kept (and wrote in nearly everyday) for the first six months of my widowhood.

Writing in it was one of the only things that kept my sanity - as much sanity as one can have at that point.  I tuck that journal away and bring it out once a year - this is that time of year.  I have only read it four times now,  this year is the fifth time.  There is so much pain on those pages that it sometimes has almost scorched the skin off my face and yet, it is a chronicle of faith and pain and love and life after death. 

Tonight (or to be more exact, this morning - since I cannot sleep - it is now November 11th) I began to read it again.  Here is an entry from that journal - the photo above was taken on the day this was written.  A frigid day at Fort Snelling - I can still hear the sound of my heart pounding as I walked against the wind - uphill to that place for the first time - hand in hand with my dearest sister and friend.....

December 11, 2004 - 4:20 pm

Hello My Darling, 

Today I went to see your grave for the first time - Lisa took me and the beautiful grave blanket that I had made - it is covering your memorial spot right now -------> and now I know for sure, for real:  you are no longer in your body.  

Your headstone says, "Our Strength and Our Guide" - You were just that you know.  The past few years have been ------------>

Oh, I am so fortunate to have had you with me these past few years - they were years of challenge, of love, of laughter, of sorrow, of (stroke-induced) deficits, of joy, of courage, of our marriage.

I know how tired you were sweetheart.  You of the beautiful smile.  

I cooked Latkes last night - it was the fourth night of Hanukkah - Susan and Bonnie came to eat with me. When I opened the cupboard to get the food processor I realized that "my tall guy" just isn't here anymore - I guess I need a kitchen with shorter cupboards.

Today when I stood at your headstone - oh my god - wanted to lie down on that grave blanket and never get up = out there on that cold and lonely field - I wanted to lie there like I could hug you forever - lay down with you for eternity.  

The last few nights I have laid in bed and I memorize your body - your sturdy calves, your tiny butt, your strong chest to lie my head upon, your sensitive fingers, your long, elegant feet.  Those feet that I kissed after you passed.

Remember how frustrated you were that it was difficult to cut your toenails in the aftermath of the stroke and how I would cut them for you?  How I would say - "when we are both old, you will cut mine too - we will cut each others' nails."  And you would smile.

I remember the mole on your forearm that made me nervous.  Your craggy face that showed your character, your life, your compassion, your intellect,  your wit, your love.  Your easy smile - you who were so quick to smile - a genuine smile.  Your 36 inch waist that you were proud of - a 6 foot 3-1/2 inch tall guy who would never have a "gut" - you were adamant on that point.  

You had such a built-in sense of responsibility. You held yourself accountable to those values and those things that were important to you.  We had shared values - we saved and we loved.  You loved me to the bottom of your heart and that is about the only thing that can keep me grounded at all right now.  

Remembering your physical being - your strong thighs - your ears (I cut the little hairs that grew there) - your smile, your great booming laugh, how you laughed.  Oh how I loved having a tall husband.  Remember when I would watch my weight and lose a few pounds - when we would hug you would pick me up, swing me around, hug me tight and say, "wow, I really feel it!"  

Right now, I am sitting on the kitchen stool and right behind me is our "big hug place."  It will forever be a place in this house that I cherish.  It is also our dancing in the kitchen spot - filled with so many memories.  Standing on my tip toes to be engulfed in your arms and say, "it's so nice to have a tall husband" and you would smile that big loving smile. 

I feel your arms around me and surround me - oh if it could only be so.  I miss you so dreadfully, my heart is broken in tiny pieces, my life seems pointless, I love you forever and a day.  Suzann

 Here I am nearly six years later - in a new life that I have hand-forged from sorrow and the desolate wasteland of widowhood.  I am happy.  I have a satisfying life - good work, wonderful friends, family of blood and choice, and dreams for the future.  And yet, tonight I say, I will love you for forever and a day and never as long I am breathing on this planet will November ever come without remembering this man that gave me so much, who taught me so much and who loved me unconditionally until his own last breath.  I am a fortunate woman and I celebrate the life of Tom Murray - Namaste.

Wishing

 

I know that Valentine's Day is a made-up - Hallmark Card holiday.  I know that it drives us widders (and others) crazy.  I know real love and it is not a cheesy Hallmark kind of thing.

Today is five and one-quarter years or 1,919 days since Tom died.  I can trace back in my heart and soul how far I have come on this journey.  I remember the first year - OMG!  I was a walking zombie - walking with tears streaming down my face most of the time (or weeping at the slightest or absolutely no provocation).  

Today I think of the amazing things that so many people did for me.  On that first Valentines Day in 2005 - I walked into my office, sometime in the late afternoon, to find an incredible bouquet of red, red roses sitting on my desk with a card that said, "Happy Valentines Day from Tom and Me - Love, Lisa" my dearest friend and Evil Twin - who was the first person to arrive at the hospital after both of the bad, bad strokes.  The first person I met when I arrived in Minnesota in 1988.   The woman who gave me sapphire and diamond earrings "from Tom" on my 60th birthday.  One of the people I treasure beyond measure - today and forever.

Last night I watched the movie, "The Time Travelers Wife," which is adapted from one of my favorite books.  At the end of the DVD I couldn't help but wonder:  what it would be like to be able to hold (really hold)  Tom one more time, even if just for a minute.  Today, a few tears have been shed for my love - he whose body is forever gone from me.

It is true that I will love and long for Tom until I leave this earth.  I continue to be filled with deep appreciation that I was given the gift and gave in return, unconditional love.  That love and the grief journey have forever transformed me and transformed my life.  I am a strong and independent woman.  I have good boundaries and I give of myself to others.  I am filled with gratitude at the enormous blessings in my life.  

Thank you to Lisa, and to Joan, and Patsy, and Missy, and Vanessa and Bonnie and Heidi and all the rest - you who know who you are - you, who have walked beside me on this widowed road.  I could never stand here today strong, whole and as healed as I am without each of you.  Namaste.

 

The Days of Remembrance

If you have been a reader of this blog for long, you know November is the month my husband died. I found him on the bedroom floor on November 11 and his spirit left his body on November 14. It is nearly five years since this journey of loss and bereavement began. In some ways it seems like forever - in some ways a few heartbeats.

In the early days of widowhood from the depths of misery and desolation, I cried out, "when will this be over?" It was a question I asked so many of the widowed that had walked the path ahead of me. I now know the answer to that question. It is "never". It changes but it is never "over" and I suppose it is not supposed to be.

This journey has left its mark. I see the invisible stigmata of widowhood writ large upon my life. I am not the same person who walked out of Woodwinds Hospital alone that Sunday morning. I am a better, more caring and more present person. I am stronger and more resilient. I have good boundaries and I choose carefully how I spend my time and with whom I do so. I have spent a great deal of solitary time the last 5 years and it has been important. I am not lonely (except for missing you know who) in fact, I relish my time alone.

I have wept more tears than I thought one woman could ever produce. I have been held close by my friends and held them close in return. I have been blessed with sisters and brothers of the heart and soul who have been my stalwart companions on this broken road of loss and grief. We have held each others hands as we traveled towards the light - even in the days of being in the black hole of suffering and mourning - we helped each other steer towards the light. My mantra from the depths of the black hole was, "what I am supposed to learn while I am down here AGAIN."

Today - I feel whole - I feel the loss of Tom has been integrated into my life. I am no longer broken. I will long for this man until the hour of my own death - I will shed tears, I will awake in the middle of the night and suddenly remember what was lost. My memories are sweet. I knew unconditional love. I miss my lover, my friend, my flyboy, my husband. And every year, this will be the time of remembrance. That is just the way it is.

Dreams

I have been dreaming every night and remembering big pieces of these dreams. They are vivid and colorful. Some are about my current client and some are about my future. And still others are about things of which I have no knowledge.

A week ago, I was dreaming that Tom was having surgery and that I was here in bed. "Oh no, I have to wake up and go to the hospital," I thought. Then directly on the heels of that thought was - "Oh no, Tom is not in the hospital, he is at work." As I "went back to sleep" = I was suddenly thrust into consciousness with the thought, "Oh my god, Tom is DEAD!' It was the strangest feeling. I awoke weeping and suddenly it was like it was all new news. I felt devastated and very disoriented.

Dreams - who knows.

I took this rainbow photo last Thursday night from my deck with my IPhone. I wonder what is at the end of that rainbow. Love and hugs to each of you.

Happy Easter

What a delightful surprise to open my mail box and find this lovely Easter greeting from Tor and Anna in Oslo.

Since I do not yet have a scanner, I took a photo of it this morning so I can share it with all of you. It has sat on my counter top the past few days and has brought many smiles and lots of fond thoughts of my dear friends in Norway. (By the way - Friday was Tor's birthday - drop by his blog and wish him a belated BDay!)

I am going to the cemetery today to take flowers in remembrance of my dear Tom. It has been a while since I have gone there. One thing, it is very difficult in the midst of winter and the other, Tom does not live in the cemetary. He lives in our hearts forever.

The cemetery is the public place that memoralizes Tom's life and marks the many loving and lasting ways he touched all of our lives.

Happy Easter to each of you who celebrate this holiday. Happy burgeoning spring to all. Namaste.

remembering...............

Four years ago tonight, this was the very last night that Tom and I would eat dinner together, hang out, talk, laugh and do the mundane things of life = together. November 10, 2004, everything was just our life. We both had colds - Tom kept saying, "my nose is like a faucet." We went to bed early - remembering.................