Gone

Being at the beach was a chance to be alone with myself. This is probably the hardest part of being widowed.  I still had the boys around me but I had the opportunity to walk by myself and stay at the house and to stay in my bedroom alone.  Suzy, Steve and Grammy allowed me time alone by taking the boys with them. A small act was so huge to me.

At times I couldn’t turn off my brain; I couldn’t stop thinking.  Many people told me that getting through the first year was the hardest.  I could see that.  Each time the boys and I experienced a day, it somehow always brought to mind how it was different from when Rick was there.  There was no road map for being suddenly without Rick. I could not see anything clearly. Taking on a new identity that didn’t include my husband was like pulling off my skin.

There is something so soothing about the beach; the air, the wind, the waves, the roar, the crashing, the sand and shells washing in and out, all served to quiet my mind and my heart.  I felt empty as I walked day in day out without Rick. 

I had one week before school when we returned.  I had a plan for Jack in place and had met with the school in the spring.  I decided to take them on.  I called and made an appointment with the principal.  I brought Steve with me as I was afraid that I would fall apart.  He wore his “power suit” (his priestly collar) and I wore a pink and white gingham dress.  People stared at us as we walked in the building.  We were brought into a conference room; the principal, the dean, his counselor and a central office rep. were there.

I had already been to see a lawyer who specialized in educational law; I had the attorney send a letter to the Loudoun County Superintendent and the principal on my behalf.  I was quite a lunatic at that point; it had only been about two weeks since Rick died and I was determined to make Jack’s seventh grade school year much more positive. 

I was expecting the meeting to be way more hostile than it ended up being.  I was very calm and collected. The Central Office rep. told me that they had some personnel issues to deal with at the school and the principal wanted to ensure that Jack had a better year.  They agreed to put some supportive measures in place.  The principal was very accommodating and hand-selected Jack’s teachers for the fall.  I did see a copy of my letter in a file on the table in cautionary yellow.  I guess they got my message.

The Beach

Going to see Dr. Passan for the follow-up to the mammogram was difficult.  He had just been a huge part of Rick’s story and here I was plopped in his office for what could be a bad story ending.  He was handling me very gingerly.  I think if I had been another patient he might have just suggested waiting to see.  I was not in a wait and see frame of mind.  I was in a take them both off right now frame of mind.  All I could see was more cancer and my boys without either parent.  Yes, I was a little over the top but I had just been through the mill.

Dr. Passan tried to reason with me concerning the mastectomies.  He said that I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be making that kind of decision that I was a young woman and that I could opt to have the needle-core biopsy.  It sounded simple but it made me antsy not to have this resolved.  I decided to take his advice and scheduled the procedure.

My parents came down to stay with me and my dad drove me over to the Rockville, MD center where they performed this procedure.  They took me in and had me get the gown on and then did a mammogram.  The doctor there explained that they needed to have three coordinates in order to be able to do the biopsy.  I would go into the procedure room and then get sent back for another mammogram, procedure room, mammogram.  Finally, they determined that they didn’t have three coordinates and told me that I needed to return to the surgeon. 

I was overwhelmed with the thought of my children being orphaned and this was not resolving itself very quickly.  I made an appointment for the beginning of September with Dr. Passan and headed for the beach with the Roszel’s; Suzy, Steve, and my mother in-law were going down and invited us to join them.  I just had to put it all behind me and worry about it when I returned.

I bought an Alyson Krauss and a Dixie Chicks CD and started playing them in the van, loud enough so that even I couldn’t think.  Jack and Michael were so tired of hearing them by the end of summer.  It was torture for them.  I listened to them when I walked, drove and just hung out.  I suppose it was a coping strategy.

Suzy usually rents a place at the beach every year around the middle of August and she and my mother in-celebrate their birthdays there.  It’s a tradition.  They generally get the same house every year but this year they had a different house.  It was close to the beach, just a short walk. 

This would be my first trip to the beach without Rick.  I tried to see ahead to the problems I would encounter.  Each of the boys would carry their own things.  I bought a beach chair with a strap for carrying; I brought a small cooler with drinks and snacks for the boys and a small umbrella with a strap and carrying case.  Michael and Jack brought their own towels and we brought a mesh bag for toys; it was perfect.  I didn’t think I would be able to do it but it turned out fine.  Jack complained a bit about carrying things when it was time to go home but I told him he should not bring so much the following day.

It was a pleasant week.  Steve woke the boys up one night in the wee hours to see an eclipse from the deck.  They loved it and were so impressed.  I remember seeing shooting stars and staring into the vast skies that were sprinkled with stars.

Suzy took the boys down to Jockey’s Ridge to climb the dunes; it was great fun.  I stayed back with my mother in-law.  She also took Jack up in a plane.  He was ecstatic about it.    All in all it was pretty terrific week and it helped to not have to think about Rick 24/7.  Bit by bit, I was getting there.

I went walking by myself in the morning.  Sleeping was still a challenge so as soon as the sun was up I headed down to the beach and walked along the shore to the pier and back again.  I love being out so early when there are so few people around.  I wasn’t always this way; I am a beach convert.  When I married Rick, he dragged me to the beach with his family every year.  It was a little rough to be there with all those relatives.  I hated the sun, humidity and didn’t see the attraction.  I don’t know what changed me over the years.  One thing was the invention of lighter umbrellas that could be easily toted back and forth each day.  I also would only stay down for about four hours and then go to the house for lunch.  Going back in the afternoon broke up the day and I didn’t get so burned.

The Roszel tradition was to get down to the beach at 10 in the morning, plant yourself in your chair with your cooler of beers and bake in the sun all day, occasionally taking a dip in the ocean.  Let it be known that this tradition was completed without the benefit of children and so was short-lived.  Although Rick pined for the old days, when the babies started showing up, he realized the tradition was over.

I worried about the boys in the surf, especially Jack.  I didn’t like him going out by himself very deep.  I bought a good life jacket for Michael and made him wear it whenever he went in the water which was smart.  Steve would yell at him not to go out far and then a wave would come and send him flying in the surf.  He’d pick himself up with a dazed look and his hair full of sand; he’d be ready to head right back out there.  For some reason, Steve would call him a hard head.

Ants in the Pants

Before Rick got sick, I loved reading and gardening.  I was so out of sorts after his death; I had no interest in anything I had been before.  Reading had always been an escape for me; I felt that I had to alert and couldn’t afford mentally to escape in a book.  I didn’t have much focus and suffered from a terrible case of the “ants in the pants”.  It is a horrible thing to always be abuzz about something, always shaking my foot, always looking around, always worried about something.

Our lawn mower was not working in the spring when the grass began to grow.  I took it out of the shed and tried and tried and tried but it was not cooperating.  Our grass continued to grow and since I had bigger fish to fry, it just grew some more.  When our grass in the front yard became completely out control, my neighbor (the landscaper) came across the road and did my lawn too.  I was so grateful and at the same time freaked out about it.

After Rick’s death I felt immobilized.  I just couldn’t bring myself to get to the store to get the mower.  Every time my neighbor cut my lawn, I could hear him out there and I would sit by the front door on the floor with my back against the wall and cry.  Jack asked, “Mom, what’s wrong?”  “James’s dad shouldn’t be doing the lawn; we should.” I replied.  I just couldn’t get it together.  Perhaps it was because the lawn had always been Rick’s domain or that I just couldn’t face it alone.  Either way, it was extremely painful to listen to the mower outside.

I didn’t plant any flowers and didn’t even clean out the flowerbeds; Rick and I had always done those things together.  When I came home, I saw a mess where pretty pink impatiens had always greeted me on my way to the door.  I didn’t care.  I could see no joy in digging in the dirt like I used to.

When Rick was dying, I was afraid of losing him completely.  It was a pleasant surprise to have his thoughts in my head.  I thought I might not feel like I had a road map for this new life but he was there in my heart.  I could hear him, not in the way you might think I was going crazy but in the same way that my parents’ voices were in my head from a lifetime of advice and wisdom passed.  I didn’t know his thoughts would still be mine; I hadn’t expected it.

Even though I had decided to move in a year, I was also afraid of moving from the house where we had made our home together.  The thought of leaving made think of losing those memories forever.  My boys were happy at the thought of moving closer to their cousins which was the plan.  We were only a mile away on Poplar Rd. but I wanted to feel like Jack and Matt were in the same neighborhood.  I felt I needed the security of family close by.  It was a year away and I could only concentrate on one day at a time as I navigated this world without Rick.

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.