When Something of Great Value is Lost

I awoke this morning with a low grade case of the weepies - like a computer virus running in the background just waiting to make a break for it.

So strange, I was jolted awake at 3 am and instantly remembered 3 am five years ago.

Once all the tubes and machines were removed from Tom - his room got eerily quiet; compared to the preceding days and nights it was almost silent. No more millions of docs, nurses, respiratory therapists, neurologists, etc, etc, running in and out of the room at all times of day and night. The toughest decision I will ever have to make was done and we were waiting for something else now.

That last night the ICU nurses, who had become our little family, fixed everything so I could sleep in the same bed with Tom. There I was cradled against him like so many times before - his arm draped around me, my head on his chest.

I spent most of the night reliving the amazing things we had done together and telling Tom how much I loved him. I must have dozed off and at 3 am, Cheryl our night nurse came in to check on us. As she was leaving she said two things I will never forget - "I don't know what you are saying to him in here but every once in awhile the heart monitor really picks up :-)" and as she was walking out the door she said something that I came to understand so well in the months and years ahead - "enjoy his warmth."

Oh weeping shadows on the wall. Of course there are tears; we cry and feel terrible when something of value is lost.

I saw the Soul Reader yesterday and it was wonderfully amazing. I had a personal training session yesterday and I am having a massage at home this afternoon. I am happy that I have learned to take care of myself and have left the acute days of grief behind.

For those of you who are still in that agony - there is hope. I have been visiting a lot of widow blogs this week and I weep with you and hold you. Your raw pain resonates with me - I do remember and I will always remember those darkest of days. If you are reading this know that the widows' walk gets easier over time and different days are ahead. I wish I could sit quietly beside you and give you a hug, a tea, a glass of wine, a listening ear, a hand to hold. I send my heart across the miles between.

I am grateful for each of you, I am grateful for all my sisters and brothers who have been with me and I with them in these last five years - I am blessed beyond belief. I am grateful for the incredible transformation this grief journey has brought to my life and I am heartbroken that I had to lose the love of my life to get here.

I am sure there is more to come today................

My Guy

THOMAS W. MURRAY
April 23, 1935 – November 14, 2004
(Text of the Ramsey County Bar Association Memorial in Tom’s Honor)

We are here today to pay tribute to Thomas W. Murray - a beloved husband, a proud and loving father, a patriot, a consummate professional, and a kind and decent man.

Tom was born in North Dakota, although having lived 64 of his 69 years here in St. Paul, this wonderful city of ours truly was his home. While the circumstance of a North Dakota birth foreclosed him from native St. Paulite status, he approached it far more closely than those of us who claim residency for, say, a mere 30 years or so.

It was here in St. Paul that Tom grew up, attended school (all the way through law school at William Mitchell), returned from four years of service as an Air Force officer, raised his three sons, pursued his career, lived first with the mother of his sons and again with his soul mate and widow, Suzann.

It was here in St. Paul –

• that Tom diligently and lovingly cared for his aging mother;
• that he faithfully and successfully served employers that included two of this city’s great companies: Twin City Barge and First Trust Company of Saint Paul;
• that he concluded a dedicated and distinguished career, confident in his accomplishments, and with then good health and renewed vigor, embraced retirement from the work-a-day world as a long-awaited opportunity to pursue – with his beloved Suzann – new adventures and to resume postponed adventures (including his love of flying).

It also was here, however, that Tom’s dreams were interrupted by the fortuity of ill health – a stroke not many months after his retirement. It was that event – and how both Tom and Suzann responded to it – that told all of us as much about Tom as we had learned about him the many years of prior association.

Mind you, what we already knew about Tom was far from insignificant:
• he was smart and insightful – a fine judge of people who knew how to size up a challenging situation;
• he greatly enjoyed tennis and golf, but like most of us, was very fortunate to have a day job;
• he was a patient and empathetic teacher and mentor . . . someone who always had time to counsel and guide the Trust Company’s newer officers;
• he dressed well – conservative, understated, and proper – but with a certain elegant flair . . . the “right” dress shirt, even once in awhile with a gold collar bar;
• he was a man of great integrity and impeccable commitment to the highest ethics of the legal profession – he treated his colleagues and clients with dignity and respect;
• he was the first (and we believe only) officer of the Trust Company to drive a Porsche – and he loved that Porsche, at one time telling Suzann that he wanted to be buried in it – only to be reminded by Suzann that such an arrangement likely would not be viewed favorably by the authorities at Ft. Snelling;
• he deeply and unconditionally loved his sons, David, Paul, and Mark, and was immeasurably proud of their accomplishments;
• he genuinely liked people – to whom he naturally offered a smile and an encouraging word;
• he was social and reveled in friendships.

Tom was a longstanding member of the “Heart Association,” whose membership included such luminaries as the late, great Judge Edward J. Devitt. The active core of Heart Association was, and remains, lawyers from Briggs and Morgan and officers of the Trust Company. As family and careers have caused paths to diverge, Heart Association nonetheless has remained a significant common thread.

While many of us have drifted from the frequent meetings of younger days, an annual event of ongoing significance is the Christmas holiday gathering at the McNeely residence. It was a poignant event in 2004 – Tom was not in attendance. He was looking forward to it – which he specifically mentioned to Suzann just a couple of days prior to his fatal stroke. We all were looking forward to seeing both Tom and Suzann at McNeely’s again this year because it was at the last few of these events that we learned even more about our friend Tom Murray. It was here that we saw year over year the courage and commitment that both Tom and Suzann brought to his stroke recovery. It was here that we saw confirmation that adversity deepens love for those who accept one another unconditionally. It was here that we deepened our understanding that life is what it is – not merely to be accepted, but to be embraced.

Tom nearly achieved the allotted three score and ten years. During that span of life’s lessons learned – some painfully, most joyfully – the fundamental humanity and goodness of Tom Murray was established, and we all are better for Tom having shared his life with us. We find Tom's spirit - and solace for our loss - in this prayer of an aviator:

Eternal Lord, who makes the winds and clouds obey Your will and who protects the eagle in his flight and the dove seeking safety, uphold me as I soar into the sky and fly above land and sea. Pilot my ship safely through the air, and give me nerves which are steady and relaxed, a mind, calm and composed, as I sail on to my destination. Give me a successful take-off and at journey’s end a safe landing, that no harm come to me and those entrusted to my care.
Hold Your protecting hand over me as I pass through storm and clouds.
Above all, keep me in Your grace and favor . . . and let my last landing bring me safely into Your presence. Amen.

(Presented by John B)

Another Day

It is 1825 days since you died. How can that be? Yes, I have walked, stumbled, staggered, whimpered, raged and wept through the agony of the first years of the grief journey to arrive here this morning. Yes, most days I now feel squared away - more balanced - more integrated about your leaving. Today, not so much.

I have been awake since 3 am. My heart is bruised - it is not a superficial wound. It is deep. It is lasting. To make it even more "interesting" - I have that inexorable tape loop running in my head today. You on the floor in the bedroom - the paramedics - the ER - the ICU.....and on and on it goes - until 4 days later - the unthinkable, I kiss your beloved feet after your spirit has passed from the body you no longer need.

The fiery cauldron of grief stripped me bare; burned me beyond recognition and shared its dark truths with me. One thousand eight hundred twenty-five days - I am transformed. Most days I appear perfectly normal - my newly grown skin, while tender to the touch, hides the scars inflicted by the blows suffered during the most intense parts of the grief journey. The pain now is different - it is very deep within - and balanced by the knowledge of what we were privileged to build and share. Unconditional love.

Today, I want to howl and scream and whimper all at once. I laid in bed and wept in the middle of the night and early this morning. My heart is broken and it will always be so. Oh yes, there is life after death and new life after widowhood. But life will never be the same without you.

Always in my heart - never far from mind.........

WE ARE NOT PROMISED TOMORROW

The Last Day of My Old Life

On November 10, 2004, I had just returned from Philadelphia after a visit with one of our children and our new grandson. I had a miserable cold. Tom stayed home from Philly - he was recovering from cataract surgery and it just wasn't practical for him to travel right then. We planned on taking another trip east in the next couple of months anyway. (Note to self: if you think you are in control you are delusional).

Today, I am trying my best to remember what that day held. I am sure Tom and I had coffee together and he had his cinnamon roll. I know I went to work that day - I have no idea what I did. We had just moved into our new office space and so I probably organized my desk and files. I was not involved in a leadership transition having just finished the Way to Grow transition the end of October. (another note to self: at times we think our work and activities are so crucial - HA!)

I know I came home in the early afternoon and took Tom to the Ophthalmologist for his final check-up on the cataract surgeries - there had been two in the past three months. When I drove up in front, Tom came out of the house - he looked so handsome. He was wearing black jeans, a black cotton sweater over a beautiful yellow button-down shirt, black loafers and his leather bomber jacket - and of course, a big smile on his face.

The doctor pronounced Tom's eyes healed. In fact, his eyesight was so improved after the new lens implants that he no longer needed glasses. He died with those brand new eyes.

The rest of the day was just like all the rest of our days. We probably had a glass of wine and ate a nice dinner. Tom was coming down with a cold (caught it from me) and so we went to bed early. Take nothing for granted.....like I said - this was the last day of my old life.

More to come...................

Thinking........

About the past - so many happy memories. The birthday that Tom handed me a beautifully wrapped gift and inside the card he had written, "I love you. P.S. I hope you like the earrings!" I did and I still do = I wear those gold hoops whenever I need a little boost or an angel on my shoulder. But oh, how I laughed and how we hugged.

That was the last birthday (June 25, 2000) I had before Tom suffered his first stroke. On July 11th we were having dinner in a local restaurant and Tom fell over at the dinner table - we were busy planning our wedding anniversary trip - one second he was there and the next he was "gone". Tom had just retired on May 1st - poor guy never had an opportunity to do the things of his dreams.

Life was never the same again but oh it still was sweet.

We worked hard together in recovery - over the years we reinvented ourselves and we reinvented our marriage. We fulfilled those vows about "in sickness and in health" and oh how we loved.

It was not perfect - I do not have Tom on some big old pedestal. We had plenty of challenges. Many days I stopped on my way home from work and paused at the top of Mounds Park to take a breath before going home to care giving.

Tom had plenty of frustration at being cognitively impaired as a result of that stroke. He had spent his career as an air force officer and attorney - now he couldn't keep a check book. Oh yes, there was enough frustration to go around. There also was boundless love - the kind of love that defies the odds - the real stuff. Deep and lasting.

Today as I continue my vigil - I am thinking about all the blessings, about the dancing in the kitchen, about "camping on the floor in the living room" watching the Mississippi roll by outside the big, big window. About falling asleep warm in embrace and awaking in a big pile of quilts - about so many things that were. I am blessed beyond belief to have these memories. The beat goes on.............

Remembering Michael

Today is the one-year anniversary of the passing of my dear friend, mentor and brother in spirit, Michael Groh. Michael was a unique, dynamic and adventurous soul - a true entrepreneur, a brilliant strategist and (at times) overwhelming presence. I was fortunate to meet Michael in 1993, right at the outset of my tenure as the Executive Director of a statewide child abuse prevention organization. Michael had been involved since the late 1970's as a supporter, consultant, advisor and co-creator of bringing this *at the time* very special parent-driven program to our state.

After our first lunch, Michael volunteered to become an advisor to the me and to the organization, which was experiencing very serious internal problems. He not only served as an advisor - he became our strategic planning consultant twice in the nearly 10 years I served the organization and helped us to develop a more positive culture in the early days. He was on hand to help identify obstacles to success and brainstorm possible solutions but he also ALWAYS helped to point out and to celebrate our successes no matter how big or small. Michael was good at calling BS and good at helping us think new thoughts.

On the personal front = Michael became my friend. He supported my decision to leave the organization and helped me to see my way to developing this consulting business that lives and thrives today as the Dendros Group. We had many, many lunches - especially sushi - and many, many long phone and park bench conversations over the years. We were there for one another in our individual loss and grief journeys - we were present and stood witness to many personal triumphs and achievements. I miss him dearly.

Today - I celebrate Michael's life. Michael worked nationally and internationally for more than 40 years helping nonprofit organizations and their leaders make tough decisions, formulate and implement strategy, develop strong income streams, and most importantly step into and live up to their highest aspirations. Michael - thank you for being in my life - it was and remains a blessing. Rest in Peace. You live in our hearts forever.

Nine Nine O Nine

Tomorrow - the anniversary of the day Tom and I married. Tom loved our wedding date - when we set it he said, "nine, nine" how can I ever forget. I think he was talking about more than the date. :-)

We reveled in our nine, nine, ninety-nine celebration without a thought that one of us might not be here for the next set of "9's".

Last night I laid in my bed and longed for my husband - I know, I know in the deepest part of me, I know he is gone from this earth - yet I just want to hold him and be held in his arms one more time.

I have walked this path of grief, of pain, of healing, of coming to my own terms of the loss of the love of my life. The days of wild-eyed wailing are over. And yet, last night I hugged the pillow and cried - not the gut wrenching sobs of the past - but the tears born of the ache I will always have for HIM - my man, my companion, my friend, my teacher, my love. Remembering.

Rest in Peace

My dear, dear Aunt Rosemary died this morning. She was my only Aunt and one of those people who make an indelible impression on your entire life. She was a women of her generation. She married my Uncle at age 15 just before he shipped out in the Navy for duty in WWII. There are photos of the two of them looking so young - he in his uniform, she in a gathered skirt and white blouse - arms around one another. She adored him and spent her life serving him. A woman of her time.

Auntie had four daughters and worked so hard - she never complained and so many, many people took her for granted. She was the patient rock of the family. She was the constant - the North Star. It wasn't until she began to decline into what was thought to be dementia that her husband began to pay much attention.

I feel so fortunate. The first time I went to Seattle for a visit - V took me to visit my Auntie and we had time to bask in one another, to sit together and laugh and hug and love. I brought tons of food and we shared a meal. Her dear voice and smile rests in my heart and soul.

Recently, it was discovered that Auntie did not have dementia but rather had been having mini-strokes that were robbing her of her capacity. She has been in skilled nursing care for the past month and finally just let go. The last time I spoke to her about a month ago - she said many times how much she loves me and how she always believed in me and how she will always love me. I feel the same. Auntie, I send my love and gratitude across eternity.

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

I awoke early on Thursday, November 11, 2004 - Tom had moved upstairs sometime in the middle of the night because he was coughing. Upstairs, I sat on the edge of the guest bed; we commiserated over our colds, hugged and made plans for our respective days. I made coffee and brought it to him in bed. We talked about Thanksgiving. It was just a normal day.

I had a meeting with my business partner so I hopped in the shower and got ready for work. It was a chilly morning, I wore my nice black sweater and black pants. I was thinking about my meeting with JSB and listening to Public Radio. Tom had moved to his big chair in the den and I refilled his coffee. It was just a normal day.

I was to meet JSB for breakfast. Tom was still saying his nose was "running like a faucet." As I was gathering my things to leave, I asked, "do you want a hot breakfast?" His answer was,"that would be good." Tom usually had a roll and juice with his coffee and prepared his own breakfast after my departure. However, this morning he wanted a breakfast meal cooked by me.

On the spot I decided that fixing Tom breakfast was more important than being on time. I cooked: steel cut oatmeal with blueberries, juice, whole grain toast with butter and homemade jam - all on a nice wooden tray with a cloth napkin. He ate on his TV Tray in the den. He gave me a delighted smile. I sat and we chatted for a bit. It was just a normal day.

When I left, Tom reached up his arms with a smile and gave me a big hug and kiss. His last words as I left were, "you look beautiful; I love you, honey." It was just a normal day. The last normal morning we would ever have together.

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