C is for Cancer

Two weeks after Rick died, my mom and I were sitting in the back yard on the patio.  It was a beautiful day.  Our backyard was the perfect hideaway.  Our six foot privacy fence kept the world around out of view.  We had two huge maple trees that made a canopy shelter over most of the yard.  When summer rolled around, I would frequently take my paper outside with a cup of tea and read in the solitude.   This particular morning my mom was outside with me and Michael was climbing on the fort showing off the great daring feats of a three year old.

The phone in the kitchen rang and I hopped up to answer it and then walked back outside.  It was my sister.  She sounded calm but something was wrong I could tell from the sound in her voice. The first surprise was that she had breast cancer.  I was totally flipped out.  I know it wasn’t all about me but it sure did feel like people around me were beginning to fall to pieces.  My dad’s cousin had died two weeks before Rick and I was worried for my sister.   She really sounded quite calm; she had a plan and she was going to make best of this.

She went to Columbia University Hospital in Manhattan and was going to be completely rearranged.  The doctors would do a bilateral mastectomy and then a tram flap.  This is a procedure where a plastic surgeon removes muscle, fat, tissue and skin from the patient’s abdomen but keeps the blood supply intact.  Then the flap is burrowed into the breast area and attached to the chest, making a breast mound.  The surgery requires a breast surgeon, a plastic surgeon and a micro-vascular surgeon.  Patricia was looking forward to a firmer, uplifted future with a flat stomach to boot.

Patty sounded pretty excited about the procedure when I spoke to her on the phone.  My head was reeling from the news but she sounded like she had it under control.  A few days later she called back to tell us about the second surprise, that she was pregnant.  We were excited and worried at the same time.  Patty was very calm about the whole situation. It never crossed her mind to terminate; this baby had saved her life.  She would not have known the cancer was there if she hadn’t been pregnant.  She still says today that Romy saved her life.

Pregnancy and breast cancer do not really mix, particularly if the lesion is estrogen positive as levels sky rocket during pregnancy.  High levels of estrogen can feed the lesions, not good.  Gone were the plans for a flat stomach and firmer upper regions.  The game plan was to wait out the first and second trimesters and in the third trimester do a lumpectomy under local anesthesia.  It was a long wait, but she was ready when the day arrived.  The pathology showed DCIS (ductile carcinoma in situ) which meant non-invasive cancer.  Patty delivered beautiful baby by C-section on December 22, 1999, Romy Jane.  Her doctor put Patty on Tamoxifin an estrogen beta-blocker following the surgery and is fine now eleven years later.

Patty’s ordeal caused me to freak, yet again.  I had just had a mammogram seven months prior to this but I wanted another one and made an appointment with Dr. Passan, my short surgeon who had treated both Rick and me.  I had the mammogram done and of course, they called to say that it wasn’t normal.  Next they did a sonogram to check it and then later in the summer the doctor recommended a needle-core biopsy.

I was not too happy with God at this point.  To be honest my fun meter had been completely tapped. It really felt like a sick joke to throw me into yet another drama of cancer.  All I could think was that my boys need a parent and I needed to get through this quickly and quietly; they didn’t need to be worrying about me.  What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.  I was so tired of being strong!

I Know Where Daddy Is...

I decided that I couldn’t go back to my church after the whole mess with how unresponsive they were to us.  There were no parishes that were close that I liked; they were extremely conservative and so I decided to go out to Steve’s church in Purcellville.  They had a wonderful music program and we enjoyed the Saturday night mass.  We saw a lot of Steve as a result.

Michael was pretty well behaved in church considering his age.  I just needed to separate the two of them and they were okay for the most part.  The parishioners got used to seeing us there and it was nice to feel a part of a community.

One day, we had arrived early and were sitting in the pew waiting for mass to begin.  Steve had been hearing confessions in a room off the side of the altar.  When Michael saw Steve coming out, he said, “Mom, I know where Daddy is.” I asked “Where?” “Daddy’s up there behind that big thing where Uncle Steve is.”  “Oh!”I replied.  “Tell Uncle Steve when he comes by.”  When Steve stopped to say hi on his way to get prepare for celebrating mass, Michael told him.  “Go see,” Steve said.  Michael and I walked up to the altar and checked behind it and in the confessional room but we didn’t find Daddy.  Michael seemed satisfied. 

It was a hard time during that summer and I cried a lot.  Michael was my little cuddle-bug gave me hugs and Michael blankets.  I needed to have a little one there with me.  His little face would look at me while I was crying and he’s say, “Mom, why are you crying?  Oh that’s right, Daddy died.” One day, he came up with another announcement, “I know when Daddy’s coming back?”  Jack and I asked, “When?” “He’s coming back in a hundred years,” he would say confidently.  Jack would roll his eyes and I would just have to laugh and give Mike a squeeze.  He was my joy.  If you can't have a sense of humor, all is lost.

On the Road

My mom left that first week in June and it was difficult to be alone.  I just really needed to avoid staring at four walls.  I was much better off if I had a plan for my days.  One day, I went out to get the mail and found a letter from the insurance company.  I walked in and sat on the couch and opened it and started to rock and cry and rock and cry.  There, in my hand was a very, very large check made out to me.  I didn’t want it; this check felt like the thirty silver coins of Judas.  I wanted my husband and no amount of money was going to make me feel better.  The next day another large check appeared in my mailbox.  I was sickened by the thought of it.  What do you do with a check like that?  I had no idea.

I called my friend’s husband and spoke to him about it and he told me what kind of credentials to look for in a financial planner.  I needed all of this money to raise my boys with.  I finally decided to call Rick’s friend, Ron who was a financial planner.  He came over and helped me to sort it all out.

The first thing I did with the money was to pay back Rick’s sister,  The second thing I did was payback Michael’s babysitter.  Doreen was thrilled with the amount and they used it to by “soil” in Altoona, PA where they were from.  They eventually built a home there and move back near their family.

Next on my agenda was to pay off all our bills.  After struggling for so long with money, this gave me some feeling of security.  I would have returned the money people gave me but that was impossible so I had to settle for whatever God brought my way.  I would pay it forward.

My brother Danny and I went to the Toyota dealership and brought my two used cars to trade them in.  I bought a van; it was a demo with seven thousand miles on it.  It was reliable transportation and that was what I was going for.

They say you can never go home and I suppose that’s true but during that first year summer after Rick died, I felt like I needed to get out of Dodge.  I walked into my principal’s office five days before school let out and told him I couldn’t do any more.  He told me he was surprised that I lasted that long.  I had no desire to do much of anything.  I was sad, lonely and depressed.

I called my mom and asked if I could come to the lake.  “Of course,” she said.  I told my mom that I didn’t want to be a burden to them and that I would buy our own food and prepare our own meals so we wouldn't impose.

The lake house is on Cayuga Lake which is in Central New York.  Cornell University is at the Southern tip of the lake; the southern end is not far from Auburn, NY.  My parents bought the land on which they built in the early 60’s for about eighteen hundred dollars.  The trailer that we lived in was moved to the lake property and we went there on weekends to swim, picnic, fish and try to tame the foliage that grew on the lot. 

The lake is about forty miles from Cortland, where I grew up.  It is on N.Y.S. Rt. 90; the closest town is King Ferry which is a four-corner town.  One literally takes a left in the middle of a corn field and follows the dirt road as it winds its way down to their home.  Quite frankly, it is in the middle of nowhere.  They were the only owners who lived at their home year round.

The house is a three story home with two decks; it sits up on a hill overlooking the lake.  The view is gorgeous.  I have many happy memories of sitting out on the deck with my mom in the evening and watching the sunset while being dive-bombed by many hummingbirds that were angry at us for being near their feeder.

The house was built around 1997; my dad contracted most of the work out. There were two bedrooms upstairs with a full bath.  My parents’ bedroom with full bath, the kitchen, living room, wash room, powder room and garage were on the middle floor and the basement was a very large family room that opened out onto one of the decks.

I don’t know if I longed to be near my parents, my friends in Cortland or just not at home, but whatever the reason, it was a lovely place to go to settle my brains with my boys.  They didn’t ever want to leave.  We made at least three trips up that summer.  I had to go back to Virginia to take care of mail and filing of papers. We saw family and I reconnected with my childhood friends.  Talking about what happened was part of healing process that I needed to go through.  We had many adventures.  The boys sailed, swam, went boating, rode a tractor, played in the creek behind my childhood home, hung out with cousins and explored the lake.

You can never go home but being close to it was a comfort.

The Peace that Passes Understanding

Rick’s family likes to spend Memorial Day at the Knights of Columbus.  They decided to get together.  We drove over by ourselves and met the everyone there.  The boys and I got out of the car and started to walk up the hill to find them; we were carrying lawn chairs, a blanket and a small cooler. 

The K of C  has a pool to the left and a huge building to the right with grass going up the hill.  At the top of the hill to the right they have the barbecue tent set up for this occasion; it was quite a spread.  When we were climbing the hill with our things to join the family, I looked up and saw Rick and my heart stopped. He was walking across the hill from the tent toward the pool.  He had his baseball cap on.  I could see his beard, glasses; it was him.  My mind was playing tricks on my head  It was his brother, Paul, who looked so much like Rick.

I didn’t tell anyone what I had seen and just kept walking.  It freaked me out to get that emotional jolt. I frequently woke in the morning and forgot that Rick was gone.  I put my hand out to touch him in bed and he wasn't there. It was like the dream I would have about my grandmother or grandfather; when I would wake, I wasn't sure it was real or a dream.  The mind is a weird thing.  It was in those moments that I would have to picture Rick, lying on the table in the hospital after he died with his ear turning blue. This was the image in my memory that would convince me that I knew he was dead.

People do say the most incredible things to the grieved.  I tried to remember that no matter what they said to me it was delivered with the best intentions.  Such was the case of Jack’s two teachers.  I knew that they wanted me to know they had also suffered great loss and I am sure they did.  However, each person is on a separate path and may not be comforted by stories of your loss.

A friend of Rick’s mom came up to me during the picnic and said, “Jane, how are you doing?” I replied that we were doing okay.  “Jane, my husband, Harry died 17 years ago and it hurts as much today as it did the day he died.  I just stood speechless looking at her.  “Thanks,”  I said.  In her heart of hearts, I am sure she thought she was trying help. However, I couldn’t help but think that this help was not helping.  

About a month after Rick died, the boys were sitting at the kitchen table and Jack made an announcement.  “Mom, I feel so much better!” “Jack, I’m so happy for you.” I replied.  It was the day he turned the corner on his deep grief.  He was still dealing with it but this was significant for him.

 It reminded me of that song, “I’ve Got That Joy, Joy, Joy down in my heart.”  The verse that includes, “I’ve got that peace that passes understanding, down in my heart, down in my heart, down in my heart I’ve got that peace that passes understanding down in my heart and I want to give it all to you.”  I wanted to take his peace but it was going to be a long time for me to reach it.

Insanity

Jack wanted to go back to school after a week and I had already sent Michael back to daycare.  Since Jack was going, I figured I could go to school too.  I walked into my building a little late after the buses had arrived and there was my principal in the front office.  He was a tall man, handsome, with blue eyes and a mischievous smile.  He saw me open the door of the office and he said in a huge voice, “You’re back!” With wide open arms he leaned over and gave me a big bear hug.  He was wearing his royal blue wind breaker with the name of the school it.  It felt soft against my face.  He took me into his office and we chatted for a few minutes.  He asked me how the boys and I were doing and I got him caught up.

He asked me if I was ready to be at school.  I told him I was going to try it but I would let him know if it was too much.  I went down the hall to my office and took a look around.  I had order a LOT of books and they were boxed and piled high in my room still waiting to be opened and sorted through.  Time seemed to have stopped.  I had been through a war.  I got started on straightening up my room and waved to people as they went by my door.  It was difficult to focus.  I had to get through the first day back and I was going to have to navigate it without losing it every time someone asked how I was doing. People were great; they respected my space.

I started in on the books.  Each title was a set of six books; each box had about 30 titles.  Each one had to be stamped with the school name, leveled with a color-coded dot sticker and banded with a rubber band.  I sat in the middle of the pile of books and just kept on going. 

The hours ticked by and before I knew it, it was almost time to go home.  I was in the office near the end of the day when I got a call from Jack.  “Hi Jack,” I said into the phone.  “Mom?” he was crying. “What’s wrong, Jackie?” I asked.  I was beginning to feel the panic.  “I went to science class and she gave me an interim,” he managed to say in between gasps of crying.  My motherhood went into overdrive.  I was very calm to him.  “Tell me what happened.”I said.  “Well, I went to science class and Miss Avery walked up to me before she started teaching and handed me the interim.  I got a “C,” he was still crying.  “Jack, don’t worry; it’s okay.  I will call and talk to her, just calm down and relax.  I’ll be home soon.  Love you.”

Poor Jack, Rick’s illness had set him on a back burner.  I had been absent as a mother and his father had died.  This was his first day back to school; his emotions were on edge and then this.  I was really hot but I called the school.

When Miss Avery got on the phone, I told her that Jack had just called me to let me know what had happened.  “Mrs. Roszel, Jack’s grade dropped two letter grades and it was my responsibility to inform you,” she said.  “Are you out of your mind?” I asked. "His father died two weeks ago; this is his first day back and you felt that you had to give that to him in front of his peers?”  “Mrs. Roszel, my brother died when I was in my twenties.  I understand grief,” she said.  “I am sure that you cannot begin to understand his grief or you would not have thought it important to give that to him today,” I said in a bit louder voice.   “Mrs. Roszel, it was my responsibility to inform you of his grades,” she said.  “Well, thanks, next time give me a call or mail it!” I hung up on her.

I called the dean of sixth grade.  I had already butt heads with her earlier in the year.  I explained the situation with Mrs. Avery.  “Mrs. Roszel, Mrs. Avery did need to deliver the interim to you to inform you of Jack’s grades.  He had dropped two grades and it is required, she explained.  “Mrs. Woods, Jack went from an A to C; his father has been dying for the past 13 weeks.  Do you think that might have something to do with it?”  I asked.  “Oh, Mrs. Roszel, I understand your pain.  I had a miscarriage while pregnant with twins.  I know how grief can be hard to handle.  I went to a grief group for parents who lost children,” she said.  I was astounded; I could hardly believe these two women had just equated their loss to ours.  I was dealing with two idiots.  I hung up on her too.

When I got home, Jack had calmed down but I wanted to talk with him.  My nerves were shot from everything I had been through.  I was developing TMJ from clenching my teeth at night and I had forgotten how to relax my face.  “I asked him what was going on?” he started crying again.  “Jack, this is not a big deal; we just need to get through the year.  Can you hold on?” I asked.  “I think so, he said.

In the next two weeks, the sh.. hit the fan.  Jack began to bring home reports of missing work from school and I was getting phone calls from all of this teachers.  Now, a saner woman would have stepped back from all of this and said to herself, “Self, this is because your child has been stressed out and you were unavailable for him.”  I was not that wise woman; I kind of went bananas.  Poor Jack, I was flipping out and his school was not being supportive.  He was so behind in his work that he was drowning.  It was not my proudest moment as a mother.  I was freaking out; I could not see the forest for the trees.

We were at Rick’s mom’s house one day when it all came to a head.  I left rather abruptly with the two boys in the van and drove home, screaming at Jack like a wild woman.  When we walked in the door to our house, it hit me.  This is so stupid.  I do NOT need him to suffer anymore.  This is over!  He is going to finish the work and I am pulling him out of school.  This is not about him completing work.  He needs time to grieve.

"Jack, get all your stuff out of your room, and bring your backpack and any of your papers that you can find.  We are going to get this all done today.  We will do this together," I told him.   I figured they wanted the work done, I was going to do it and I did.  We spent several hours completing all the work.  He went to school the next day and didn’t go back.  I called to let the dean know he would not be returning until the fall.

Another Shock

My mom was so content while she was with us; she read and did her puzzles and hung out.  She was another body in our house she made it easier to face each day with her as a buffer against the reality that Rick was gone.

Jack’s birthday was on the fourth of June and my dad was planning on coming for the weekend.  Rick and I always celebrated our kids’ birthdays with Karen and Paul.  My dad arrived and that afternoon.  He was very happy to see my mom.  Steve, Karen, Paul and the cousins came for the party.  It was a beautiful night and the sun was out until late.  The kids were playing in the backyard and Karen asked me if Jack could spend the night.  I was fine with it if he wanted to go. 

Jack was very excited about going and I went into his room to get him packed up.  He ran and got his toothbrush.  I packed his pajamas and a change of clothes.  We said good bye to them and then they all got in their van and left.  I put on the kettle to get my parents a cup of tea.  We were sitting in the living room when the phone rang.  It was Karen; she was crying and talking loud and fast.  I had no idea what she was saying.  She told me she was bringing Jack back over.  I was alarmed but had no clue what was going on.

Karen drove the van into the drive and walked up to the house with Jack.  He looked very sobered for a birthday boy.  Jack came and sat by me.  “What’s up?” I said as the tea kettle whistled.  “Jack, please go turn it off, hon?”I said.  Jack went into the kitchen and Karen started telling the story.

 “We were driving down our street and we could see all kinds of emergency equipment in at the end of the court.  We couldn’t figure out what was going on.  When we got near our house, the police didn’t want us to go all the way down.  Paul told them that we lived at 120 and they let us through.  When we got out of the van, Lori, our neighbor walked up crying and told us that Kendall had drowned in the Valencia’s pool.  I just can’t believe it; she was only eight!” “Who is Kendall?”  I asked. 

Karen explained that the little girl lived down the street from them and had come to swim in the pool next door. Her mom walked her down to the Valencia’s house; she wanted to speak to Valencia’s so they knew that Kendall couldn’t swim.  Evidently, the kids were playing “Marco Polo" and she slipped underwater and nobody noticed.  When Kendall was finally found, someone called 911 and sent a person across the street to get Pam, a nurse, to help.  Pam tried to resuscitate her but Kendall was already dead.

“My kids are a wreck!  I can’t believe they have had another friend die; this is the third and with Rick.  It’s too much.  I have to get back.  I thought Jack would prefer to be here tonight,” she said as she stood to say goodbye again.  “I’m glad he’s home, thanks, Karen,” I said and she left.

My parents sat with Jack and me and he told us what he saw.  "There were a bunch of trucks and lights flashing everywhere.  Everyone was crying. I knew Kendall, Mom; she played on the street with us,” he said. I gave him a hug and asked him if he wanted some tea.  He was okay but it had rocked him.  “I can’t believe she’s dead, Mom,” he kept repeating.  “I know, Jack, I’m here; it’s going to be okay.” I said.

The Friend Who Just Stands By

My mom was a treasure hunter.  She loved yard sales, rummage sales, flea markets, junk shops, thrift stores and even antique shops; although she was convinced there were no finds at an antique shop.  Peggy would get on a “kick” as she referred to it, where she would start buying a few of something and then she’d have a collection going.  Throughout her life she was known to collect tea cups and saucers, tiny primitive dolls, colored antique bottles, and antique silhouettes that were framed. She also had a large collection frames that she was "going to use one day" but never seemed to get to that day.

Mom came to visit Rick and me when we moved into our tiny house in Sterling.  It was Memorial Day and scorching hot. Jack was turning two on June 4th and they were there for the party.  We had air conditioning,, but it didn’t seem to help either of my parents, just knowing it was hot outside made my mom hot.

My mother’s philosophy of visiting was “always make a good showing; don’t come empty-handed".  Whenever she came to visit us, she brought little trinkets for Jack and Michael and a little something for Rick and me.  On this particular visit, she brought a black-framed poem.  It had a lacy-looking design on the outer edges of the poem with burgundy behind it; the writing was done in black on a yellowed white background.  It was probably a hundred years old.  The poem was entitled, The Friend Who Just Stands By; I loved it.  It hung on our wall for many years in the living room until I needed it.

I had so many people to thank for supporting us in so many ways while Rick was sick and dying.  The entire staff at my school sent food, money, the dinner after the wake, letters, and cards.  I tried to think of an idea to send thanks and then I remembered the poem that my mother had given many years before. I was amazed that it said everything I needed to say. I copied and printed the poem to give to everyone in my school.

The Friend Who Just Stands By

When trouble comes your soul to try,
You love the friend who just "stands by."
Perhaps there's nothing he can do.
The thing is strictly up to you;
For there are troubles all your own,
And paths the soul must tread alone
Times when love cannot smooth the road
Nor friendship lift the heavy load,
But just to know you have a friend
Who will "stand by" until the end,
Whose sympathy through all endures
Whose warm handclasp is always yours
It helps, somehow, to pull you through
Although there's nothing he can do.
And so with fervent heart you cry
"God bless the friend who just stands by'!"
-Author Unknown

It was hard to think about all the people who did not wish to be identified, not because I needed to know who they were, but because I felt the need to express the gratitude that I felt.  I already pledged myself to helping those in need in the future.  I knew God would speak to my heart when it was my turn to pay it forward.

My self-inflicted therapy for grief was writing personal notes to the medical professionals who cared for Rick.  It was easier than I thought it would be; I just sat down and got writing.  I wrote to every doctor that treated Rick, including the Grim Reaper.  Being the teacher that I am, I felt I needed to structure him for success in the future by imparting my thanks to him.

I met the Grim Reaper about eight years after Rick’s death and he seemed gentler; perhaps the years had softened his bedside manner.  He was young when he walked into Rick’s hospital room with that awful news..  I often wonder how someone chooses that career path; it has to be depressing.  He’s the numbers man - glorified bookie, tells you your odds and what the games of chance are available to play.  I hope he continues to soften further over time; life has a way of rounding out our sharp edges.

Teresa

I saw the family who moved in across the street.  It was spring and I noticed they had a young child.  We were on our track of life; they were on theirs.  A month turned into two and I was off for the summer and home every day with Jack (9) and Mike (almost 2), instead of teaching.  I still hadn’t met my neighbors across the street.  One weekday morning, I decided to make fresh blueberry muffins and take them over to introduce myself. 

I have always been a morning person and loved getting up with Rick to send him off to work.  Jack and Michael were usually "crack of dawn" type of kids so we were already up and the boys were playing in the den.  I baked the muffins and let them cool and then walked across the street; Jack stayed with Michael. It must have been around 11:00 a.m. when I rang the bell.   There was no answer so I left the muffins near the door and ran back across the street. Later, I had Jack bring a note to attach to the muffins.

Much later in the day, Teresa came across the street with her son, Aaron and met us. I apologized for disturbing them.  They came in and Michael and Aaron played for the first time.  Teresa thanked me for the muffins and we sat and had a long chat before our husbands came home. That was 13 years ago and the boys are still buddies and Teresa and I are still friends.

We share many interests.  Teresa loves books and is an editor.  She is a gifted, crafty woman; sewing, gardening, singing, guitar, the beach, shells, yard sales are a few of her favorite things.  Where I might know a little about a lot,Teresa is an expert at most everything she tries her hand at.  She is an impressive soul and kindred spirit.

Teresa was there when Rick died and tried to administer CPR.  What a nightmare for anyone!  How could I possibly begin to thank her for coming across the street and answering the call of friendship? I still thank her and she always tells me that it was an honor. I am so grateful that she was there; I think we both feel that we were bonded even more closely on that day.

I didn’t know anyone who had been widowed at forty.  It was difficult to know what I was feeling was normal.  People that knew me had no idea what to say to me except for Teresa.  My friend, Teresa would listen and just let me talk. She was so dear to me, a listener, a gem.  Teresa and I always got together over tea (our favorite, she’s a connoisseur) and just let me talk.  The poor woman spent hours and hours and days and days listening to me. When she did ask me questions, it was in the gentlest, non-intrusive way.  There is very little that can rock her boat.  She is a strong woman of God and lovely person.

For years after Rick died, Teresa would bring me the first rose bloom in her yard. She is an exquisite gardener and this was a treasured offering.  The first rose, continues to bring memories of Rick each year to Teresa.  Even if distance keeps her from delivering it to me, I know that the thought of Rick is there.  She is and always will be a true friend.

A Mother's Grief

About a week after Rick had died, my mom and I were sitting in the living room chatting.   She looked at me and said, “Jane, you marry whomever you want to, don’t listen to anyone.”  “Mom,” I yelled, “his body isn’t even cold in the grave!  She said, “I know, honey; I just want you to know that whatever you decide to do in the future, it’s up to you.  Don’t listen to anyone else.”

“Okay, Mom, where is all of this coming from?”  I asked.  “When your father died, everyone had their opinions about what I should do.  Peepop wanted to take care of us but I never really got along with him and I didn’t want to be under his care.  There were loads of people to offer advice but not a lot of people there to help.  Your Aunt Rose had said when I had married your dad that if Uncle Tom ever died, she would marry Dad (Jack).  He would never in a million years even consider going out with her.  Dad (Jack) was the one who was there to help me.  He was the one to take care of us because Jimmy was his brother.  He was having a hard time with the grief and it helped him to be around us.  It was the most natural thing that he asked me to marry him,” she explained.

"Peepop (my grandfather) was furious and thought that it 'looked terrible' for Jack to propose to me.  If I had listened to them, we never would have married.  It was what God planned for us.  Peepop refused to go to the wedding and forced Nanny(my grandmother) to stay at home even though she wanted to be there.  It wasn’t a good time,” she said.  “I want you to know that I’m behind whatever you decide and know that it is your decision.”  I was a flabbergasted, Okay, mom but to tell you the truth I’m not quite up to that yet.  I’ll be happy just to make it through the year.

I didn’t know anyone who had been widowed at forty.  It was difficult to know that what I was feeling was normal.  People that knew me had no idea what to say to me.  I found myself trying to make my friends feel comfortable with me.  Many people would ask me how I was doing and I would begin to cry.  I am quite literal; if you ask me that question I presume you are really looking for an answer.  “I made you cry.” I would hear over and over.  I tried to explain, “You didn’t make me cry; death is sad and hard to take.  I think there are a certain number of tears that have to fall before I won’t cry”

Over the weeks that my mom was with me, she shared many stories that I had never heard before.  She was widowed at 29 and she had walked through grief.  She had four children and had to survive for us.  Listening to her stories made me stronger;  I knew I would make it through this to the other side.  These were stories that I don’t think I would have ever heard under other circumstances. My mom shared her most precious gift; she shared her life, her memories, her love and her loss.

Forever

One of the first things that you will read in any grief book is not to make big changes in the first year.  My urge to purge was great.  I had to start; it was more because I felt that we were just thrown into Rick's illness and time stopped, nothing proceeded as usual.  It seemed like forever since I had gone through my own closet and dresser and drawers around the house; I felt like everything was a mess. I kept the advice close in my thoughts. As I went through things, I focused mainly on my possessions, not Rick’s.

Rick and I had a plan to get rid of our debt and to move to a larger home.  I decided to give myself a “pass” on not making this big decision because it was already a part of the game plan. Our time-line to move was about a year and that was what I was keeping in my head. We were very cramped in our little home even without Rick.

One thing I had saved in all the years we were married were the birthday and anniversary cards that we had given each other.  I had a box of memorabilia from when we were dating and I kept just about every anniversary and Valentine’s Day card.  I came across these in the bottom of a drawer.  Oh! What a Treasure!  Rick was a mushy guy with cards, not so big on saying things. He felt I should just "know" about his love but he made up for it in the area of greeting cards.

As I began to read the cards I was moved in a powerful way. I was sitting in a puddle of tears after about five of them: they were so touching to read. I felt such an assurance of our love for each other as I read.  I found many I had kept from his family and later gave them back to each.  I think it is important to know that the one who has died understood your love for them: this was why I gave them back to his mom, brothers and sisters.

When I was in high school, we had a family gathering in the spring in our backyard.  It was a barbecue and everyone was there.  Everyone in my family is a lot of people.  We were enjoying the weather outside and each other when my mom sent a message to all of us that she wanted to talk with us.  We gathered around the picnic table and she said, “I want you all to know that I know that each of you love me.  When my mother died, I wasn’t sure that my mother knew how much I loved her.  I want all of you to be assured that I know.”  My grandmother had died at least eight years before so this was something that must have been bothering her. 

We were all rather stunned as this was not my mom’s usual style to make announcements of love at family gatherings.  “Mom, we know that you love us too,” we said.  “That’s all that matters,” she said.

Two years ago, my mother was dying of cancer; she was diagnosed with four lesions in her brain.  It was inoperable. I flew up to see her at my brother’s in Syracuse  She was having difficulty walking and had just gone through radiation.  She was feeling the radiation and her hair was beginning to fall out. I shaved her head before I left; it was falling out in clumps. She was tired and dragging but tried to keep a stiff upper lip.

I was there at my brother’s house for four days; each day I was looking for the right moment to say it.  How do you say goodbye to your mother?  Leaving meant that I might never see her again.  As I was getting ready to leave, she was sitting on the couch;  I was putting my shoes on and hopped on the couch next to her and leaned over to her and took her hand. “Mom, I know that you know how much I love you.”I said through tears.  She said, “It’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

When Rick died, I knew that we loved each other and that there was nothing left unsaid; this alone was a huge consolation.  The cards allowed me to hear his voice again and his words soothed my pain.  I still have my precious memories packed away in the attic: some were saved and others tossed but he will always and forever be in my heart.