Bridget, Leonard and Megan

Jack and Michael are my gifts from God.  They gave me a reason to get out of bed in the morning, to still have hopes and still have dreams.  Jack wanted a brother so bad that he would cry at night.  He was afraid that his children would not have uncles.  Uncles were an essential element in his mind; he had 13 uncles and 11 aunts at the time.

About a year after Michael was born, I saw a contest for the cutest picture on a “Little Debbie” cake box.  I sent in a picture of Jack holding Michael so gingerly with a huge smile on his face.  I’m not sure what first prize was but we won second prize and were the proud owners of a brand new purple and green calculator.

Michael is eight years younger than Jack.  Rick and I threw caution to the wind one night and I was pregnant with Jack but the second baby was much longer in coming.  I was so traumatized from having Jack that it took five years for me to even consider having a second baby.

 As a teacher I tried to plan the “April, May, June baby” which would give me a maternity leave and then jump back into teaching.  Mating season began each year in July.  After seven years of thinking I was “fertile Myrtle,” I finally went to the doctor.  After several procedures, I was back in business and finally pregnant with Michael.

Jack had waited so long for his little brother.  One day I was walking down the hall at his school with his teacher and Jack dragging behind; he was in second grade.  Mrs. Cardiello said, “I hear that you’ve picked Leonard for a name.” “What?” I was a little shocked. “Actually his name is going to be Michael,” I said, glaring at Jack.

When we got in the car, I looked at Jack and said, “Okay, what’s the story, Mister?”  “There’s a boy in my class that I don’t like and my friends would make fun of the baby if he were called, Michael, so I called him Leonard,” he explained.  “Jack, you don’t even know a Leonard.  Where did that come from?”  I asked.  “Television,” was all he said.

I had wanted girls after all my brothers but God gave me two beautiful, kind, loving boys.  Jack was to be Bridget and Michael was to be named Megan.  They still tease each other about their pseudo names.  Regardless of Jack, Michael, Leonard, Megan or Bridget, they are my precious boys.

I Choose to Remember...

I kept the survival count going and by Halloween the weather was turning cold but I pressed on.  We went to Karen’s and Paul’s house as we always did for Halloween.  It was a tradition since Jack was little.  We drove over the neighborhood and walk the streets with Michael; we never really went that far.

Jack was off with Matt and Christine scouring the neighborhood for every last drop of candy they could manage.  When they would finish, Jack and Mike and I headed home.  It wasn’t too bad handing out candy in our neighborhood; we never really had that much traffic.

It was sad to be without Rick but each day and each holiday brought us closer to the first year being behind us.  Before we knew it, Thanksgiving was upon us.  It was odd to be there because we felt the hole that was left but it was also good to be with Rick’s family.

For my boys, it was the normalcy of cousins and “hide and seek” and running around the house and in and out that made it a good day.  Listening to their uncles and aunts talk about their dad was what the day was for. Who else but the Roszels could fill the void a bit with memories and love?

Paul gave his mom a photo of Rick and him, standing together outside our hous,e which she hung in the dining room/family room.  I may have even taken the picture. It was not my favorite; his face was swelled from the steroids and he looked pale.  Paul loved it because it was of the two of them and rare because Rick didn’t want his photo taken at all while he was sick.

I’ve grown accustomed to the photo after all these years.  It was not the way I chose to remember Rick and it was not the way I wanted Jack and Michael to remember their dad.  The picture showed Cancer winning.  I will always remember him as that big, tall, strong, handsome man with crystal blue eyes and the perfect smile with that gentle, loving way of his.

Life is Difficult

When Rick and I were dating, I happened to read, The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck.  “Life is difficult.” This is first sentence in the book.  It is a relief to know that things are going to be tough.  I didn’t expect everything to be hunky dory.  I was expecting the good with the bad.  We spoke before we got married.  We knew being married was a decision of the head.  We knew that we wouldn’t always feel the head over heels feeling.  Making the decision of the head would keep us together even when we weren’t feeling “the love”.

Rick and I were happily married.  We had the normal tug of war waged about silly things but nothing ever serious.  We always fought fairly.   One of the things that we kept sacred was the fact that the other was cherished more than anything else in the world.  In the middle of fights, in the midst of children, in the issues of family, the other person was more important.

When we did battle, I always remember thinking that I could never take back words that came from my lips.  We didn’t sling the past at each other; we didn’t take advantage of the other's weaknesses.  We also had and kept an intimacy of those sacred things between us.  The real intimacy of our marriage was in keeping us to us.  We trusted each other.  

If we had a list of tenets it would have included:

• Always fight fairly
• Leave the past in the past
• Never say anything that you can’t take back
• Keep in mind you are fighting the one that you cherish the most in the world
• Pick your battles
• Don’t take pot shots at your love’s weaknesses
• Sometimes it’s better to go to sleep on your anger; you may wake up in a better mood and a new perspective
• Don’t run away; stay and face the music
• Sometimes you really do have to say sorry

When Rick was dying, we were acutely aware of how people overlooked their gifts.  Many people around us didn’t seem to appreciate the fact that they had life before them.  Rick would sometimes say, “They have no idea what they are throwing away.”  Listening to others complain about a spouse was difficult for him.  It seemed unfair that we had a happy marriage and we were on the brink of losing each other.

We were fortunate to have the relationship that we did as many people never have that in their entire lifetimes.  We were rich.

Escape

I could have used some serious help with what to do with myself at this point in my life.  There were my boys, school, family and lots of time to stare at four walls.  In order to survive as a single mother of two, I decided that I needed to have one me-night a week or I was probably going to go out of mind. 

The problem with being the single mother of two was the fact that I didn’t know any once else who was available to hang out and so I needed to learn to be comfortable with me.  This was actually a training of sorts.  I booked my nephew each and every Tuesday night for babysitting.  The boys were thrilled and I got to be concentrate on me.

I had never been to movie by myself.  Going to the movies had always been a thing to do with someone.  It wasn’t hard to actually go by myself; it was dealing with the pathetic feeling of being alone, widowed.  Once over the hump, I began to enjoy chick flicks galore.

The mall was a place to go but there was a limit to the endless walking and window shopping that I could do.  One night I decided on getting a make-over, a first for me.  I felt self-conscious but hung in there and was pleased with the outcome.

We never had the luxury of being able to pamper ourselves because we always thought something else was more important.  It was hard to focus on me but this survival instinct kicked in and made me pamper me.  If all I did was work and take care of the boys and stare at four walls, there wouldn’t be any me left.

I decided if I had to be alone, I was going to make the best of it.  I wanted to do things that I would never have had the opportunity to do if I was still married to Rick.  My first indulgence was to buy a slew of movies that I had always wanted but never bought; this started my chick flick library.  I bought Sleepless in Seattle, French Kiss, Crossing Delancy, You’ve Got Mail, Moonstruck, and Return to Me.  I enjoyed them over and over again

Luxurious linens were also on my list of indulgences.  If I had to sleep without a husband, I needed to be comfortable and cozy.  I bought a feather bed and new comforter set.  It was toasty as could be.  I felt surrounded by softness and warmth.

As October crept by, I began worrying about the holidays.  I just need to get through the first year and it will feel a little better.  I kept repeating to myself.  Thanksgiving meant dinner with the Roszels; we always stayed down here for the holiday.  I was dreading Christmas but decided that if I didn’t stay at home, it meant that I’d face being without Rick the next year. 

Staying meant facing our grief which I felt was the wise thing to do.  You can run but you can’t hide from it. I went to a travel agent and booked a flight to Disney World.  We had plans to spend Christmas at our home, go to Grammy’s for dinner and then go straight to the airport from there.  It sounded like a plan.

Chapter Three: How to Select a Headstone

Chapter Three of the Rules of Widowhood would be “How to Select a Headstone.”  On the day I went seeking headstones, I threw Michael in the van and took off for Manassas to a place where they sold them. On the way, I called Steve at the office and said, “Okay, Stephen, how does one pick a headstone and what do you write on it.”  “Cha-ching!” he responded laughing his head off.  “Be serious, Steve!” I yelled.  “Why are you doing this now?” he asked.  “Because I have to get it done,” I told him. He said, “Why?” “Because you crazy Roszel people will badmouth me if I don’t get a headstone for his grave. I remember walking around that dumb cemetery.  I remember those people badmouthing the families of those that didn’t have a headstone.” I explained.  I think you should write, “Cha-ching!  Rick would have loved that,” he said.  “You have been no help.  I’m here so wish me luck.”  I said as I hung up.

Michael and I got out of the van.  He brought his Gameboy and we started walking around.  Elvis’s face, deer heads, Redskin emblems, praying hands, angels were all popular themes.  I couldn’t think of anything that would represent Rick for eternity.

I went into the office.  A pleasant gentleman with a kind looking face asked if he could help me.  I told him I was looking for a headstone for my husband who had died recently.  He explained that in general headstones were not set until at least six months after burial because the ground needed time for settling.  Who knew?  He then told me that I could order one and it would take ten weeks or more to be finished which would allow enough time.

He offered me several brochures and gave me the low down on pricing for stone and for cutting designs, lettering etc.  He encouraged me to walk around to get an idea of what I might want.  Mike and I went back outside and had another look.  There were wide, tall, light, dark, shiny and dull stones.  They had flower pots, photos of the deceased, crosses, medallions and eagles attached.  All I could think was yuck!  I didn’t like any of them.  I put Michael back in his car seat and started on my way home with my brochures on the seat.  It was time to think on it all.

I called Steve back and told him how depressing it was.  He encouraged me to wait.  I am not good at waiting.  If there’s a rotten job to do, I would rather get through it than have it hanging over my head.

That week I received in the mail a brochure for more headstones from a place in Emmitsburg, MD and on the back was a headstone with Celtic scrolling around the edge.  When I saw it I knew that was what I wanted.  “Forever In Our Hearts” would be written along with his name.  I called up the gentleman from the place in Manassas and told him what I wanted.  He told me to send him to the picture and he would design it and send me a proposal with a contract.  It was a done deal.

Chapter Two

Chapter Two of the Rules of Widowhood would include how long to wait before getting a headstone for the grave.  Since I didn’t have a book, I only had life experience to base this on. My life experience is rather strange considering my husband’s family.

The Roszel family is an odd lot.  Rick’s dad’s family came from right here in Virginia in a place called Welbourne.  I had no idea that I was marrying into a family with such a colorful and significant past.  My relatives were all in Ireland trying to make it through the potato famine.

In the spring of 1995, I was quite pregnant (7 months) with Michael. The family heard from a distant Roszel relative who was into genealogy.  I am not sure that the family had ever heard of him before and to be quite frank, I’m not sure how he is related.  I will, no doubt, have the details wrong but I will paint the picture of what happened.  There is a small town out in the country called Philomont.  It is north of Middleburg if that helps you place it.  There is a very small church called the Roszell Chapel in that town.  The story goes that Stephen George Roszel came over from France in the mid 1700s and established the church.  An actual history can be found on its Facebook site Roszell Chapel.

Well, in 1995 the church was celebrating a big anniversary of the chapel and wanted to invite descendants of the Stephen G. Roszel.  The family was invited along with relatives near and far to come to the service and to a small luncheon afterward in the town hall.  We attended and it was very interesting, not the kind of family reunion that came to my mind.  Many of the Roszels (Roszells, Rosells, Roszelles) had their family trees with them and they were checking and verifying their information with the next.  It was not exactly a “huggie, huggie, kissy, kissy” kind of family gathering.

The matriarch of the clan was a Janet Roszell Turner who was a Southern Belle with a Southern drawl and a booming voice.  She was an intimidating character, tall with beautiful white hair swept up on her head.  She approached me and asked me which part of the family I was from.  I told her I was married to Rick and the family connection.  She raised an eyebrow when I told her we were Catholic. 

Janet asked if people would like to go to the Roszell cemetery at the original homestead.  We drove a short distance down the road and assembled on the property which happened to be unoccupied and for sale.  The cemetery was in the rear of the property; it was overgrown and derelict with some of the stones toppled over.  Although we were dressed for church, some of the men trudged through the overgrowth and tried to right the stones.

We walked around the property, saw the slave quarters and tried desperately to peek through the windows for a glimpse of the inside of the building.  Next, Janet announced that we could go over to the original homestead which had the Welbourne cemetery next to it.  We all hopped in cars and traveled down a dirt road past horse farms and farms and turned into the drive of a sprawling farm with cornfields.  About halfway to the door to the farm the lead car turned left and drove right into the field and then stopped near a stone fenced graveyard.

Janet hopped out of the car and led everyone through the gate to the Welbourne family cemetery.  She walked around proudly explaining who each ancestor was.  “And ova he-ah lies Colonel Richard Henry Dulany of the Confederate Army… and ova he-ah lies  lies Sarah Debutts Roszell who married Stephen George Roszell  after the death of her first husband"… (See theUpperville  Colt and Horse Show for references on Colonel Dulany).

Rick and his brothers were fascinated with the rich history of their father’s family.  After the twentieth grave explanation, I headed toward the gate and found my mother in-law there under a tree.  We looked at each other and rolled our eyes.  I said, “You’ve seen one grave; you’ve seen them all.”  “Exactly!” she replied.

After the tour, Janet invited the family back the next summer for the Roszell Graveyard Picnic.  “How exciting,” I thought, “NOT!”  It is held every two or three years in the graveyard at Welbourne.  Rick was all excited about it.  It is literally a picnic (bring a dish to pass) in the graveyard, just the right spot for eating lunch, swapping genealogies and cleaning up the graveyard.

During this surprising day, while walking around the cemetery, Janet badmouthed several of the Roszell relatives for having failed to put a gravestone up on a relative’s grave.  This crazy story is what influenced me so greatly to get a gravestone ordered before fall.

The Ring

One of the things that bothered me was my wedding ring.  I felt foolish wearing it and I felt foolish at the thought of taking it off.  There should be a book, Rules of Widowhood.  I had no idea what to do.  I didn’t feel married, that’s for sure but I also didn’t want people to look at it as if I were casting Rick off.  In the end I think I waited about four months.  I guess it was ridiculous to worry about what anyone else thought.  It was funny that even though the ring was off my finger the impression on my skin was still there; it didn’t disappear for a long time.

I am not superstitious but I come from a long line of superstitious people.  All four of my grandparents were from Ireland and they were very superstitious.  Nanny, my father’s mom used to scare the daylights out of me with her stories and superstitions.

My brother, Tom and I were both married in the same year, 1984.  My mom offered Tom my father’s (Jimmy’s) wedding ring and she offered me her wedding ring.  It was a beautiful 24kt. yellow gold band with a milgrain edge.  It was a lovely gesture to pass the rings on in the family.  I actually plan to do the same thing some day.  We bought Rick a new matching ring.

When Rick died I did have the thought of the cursed wedding ring go through my mind, cursed because both of our husbands had died and perhaps my mother’s ring held the curse.   I know, kind of silly but at the same time, my grandmother probably would have thought of it and said it too.  I know that I’m not cursed and the ring wasn’t cursed but I do have an active imagination,

Belonging to No One

The start to school was fine.  It got me up and out of bed and off to work every day.  I still had this looming issue with the mammogram hanging over my head.  I went to see Dr. Passan in mid September.  He said that he should take it out which was fine with me.  My surgery was set for September 26^th; it was outpatient at the Falls Church facility. 

He had me sign the consent forms in the office;  I sat down with the clipboard while he entered data on the computer scheduling me.  I looked at the form and saw emergency contact and lost it again.  I don’t belong to anyone!  Rick is dead.  Who do I put?  Who cares?  I started into a spiral; he looked at me and asked me what was going on.  “I don’t know who to put down.” I said through my sobs.  “Well, put anyone, a friend, a relative.  It doesn’t really matter,” he explained.  It matters to me; I used to belong to someone, now I don’t belong to anyone.

In the end, I put my sister in-law, Karen down as my contact and was hoping that she would be the one to take me.  It was done.  I was scheduled and had less than two weeks to wait.  I called Karen when I got home and she agreed to take me.  I called my niece, Stacy and asked if she would stay with me that night to take care of the boys.  I didn’t want them to know what was going on.  I told them the truth; I wasn’t feeling well and Stacy was going to spend the night.

My principal looked at me when I told him I would be off on the Friday of my surgery and said, “You are the last person on earth I ever thought would be in here telling me this.”  “I know but it could be nothing.  I just want to be safe rather than sorry,” I replied.

So Friday rolled around and Stacy came to get the boys off in the morning and I went with Karen to have this surgery.  The plan was a needle location procedure.  I had no idea what was coming, good thing.  I was called into the mammography room and set up in a stool.  I had never had a stool when I was getting a mammogram so this was new.  They did the first films vertically and horizontally and then I was asked to just sit still for a few minutes in the chair with my right breast in the machine. 

Well, a few minutes turned into 25 minutes.  She came back in and told me they had to do it again.  Okay…this went on for three hours while I sat in the chair attached to the machine.  The radiologist came in and introduced herself after a while and told me that they were having trouble locating the lesion.  This was déjà vu; they had said the same thing when I went for the needle core biopsy. Finally, Dr. Passan came into check on me and to give me the status.  I had been in the chair for close to four hours.  They finally figured out that there were two lesions and that was why they had difficulty locating them. On the films, it looked  as if there was one large lesion but they were superimposed on each other.

Another radiologist came back in and put a special side on the machine so that he could insert a large needle into the first location.  Yikes!  Painful!  Next, they squirted dye in the needle. They took another film and returned to put in a second needle, then the dye and then placed a wire into the hollow needle and removed the needle, leaving the wires hanging out of me.  They did the same to the other needle.  I was finally ready to go! 

They walked me to the surgical area; put me on a gurney and then Dr. Passan came in to speak to me.  He said, “Only you, Jane, would get two for the price of one!  I’ll do a good job and take care of you.  Hang in there.”  I was pushed down into the room and remember counting back and then nothing.

I could hear voices when I started to come around.  “The doctor said her husband just died of cancer a few months ago; she’s been through a lot.”  It was the nurses in the operating room.  I faded out again.  When I woke up, Karen was with me and they were giving me juice and preparing me for the trip home.

I climbed into bed with my painkillers beginning their work and slept most of the weekend.  I was very sore.  My neck and back were out of whack from being in that machine and on that stool for hours.  However, I was happy it was over. 

 Dr. Passan called on Monday to let me know that they were benign, but the cells showed atypical ductile hyperplasia.  He explained that this could be found in many women, some develop cancer, and others don’t.  It was not a causal relationship between this and getting cancer in the future.  He wanted to see me again after another mammogram in six months.

Thank you, God.  I need to be here for my boys.  I cannot leave them; it would be too much.  Thank you for your mercy.

Marching On

Michael was happy to go off to Miss Doreen’s again when school started.  Doreen was very happy to see Mike again.  Doreen is a salt of the earth kind of person.  She is from Altoona, PA and is country folk.  Their family would often go up to the country for the weekend squirrel hunting.  “That’s good eatin’.  You’ens should try it,” she’d tell me.  Although I appreciated the offer, I would pass on the squirrel. 

Doreen had two children Cody and Bailey; both had strong personalities like their mom.  Babysitting allowed Doreen to be at home and involved in the kids’ activities like soccer and baseball.  She also participated in the PTA.  Michael had been with her since he was ten months old.  I felt very confident that he was in good hands there.

Jack was ready and looking forward to starting school again.  I had gotten a pager so that as soon as he walked in the door, he could page me and I would know that he was okay.  My school hours were 8:00-4:00 and Jack walked in the door about 3:30.  He was a little nervous about us being alone without Rick, but really, we were fine.

I started back on the Tuesday before Labor Day; there were four teacher workdays and the day after Labor Day was the first day of school.  Each year the principal started out with a staff meeting which was something I was dreading, but the sooner I got through it, the sooner it would be behind me.  I sat with my usual friends and everyone was pleasant and lovely.  After the meeting, it was off to the classrooms to get things set up for Open House at the end of the week. 

There was something about the rhythm of the school year that was helpful.  I also found that I loved the repetitive rhythm of going to church.  I suppose after living through the "storm of sickness." I was looking for something solid and reassuring.

Jack had some very good teachers and I met early in the year with them to discuss his needs and to give them the background on what he had been through.  I asked them to keep in touch with me and they did.  Jack is a “man’s man”.  He adores my brothers and all his uncles and seemed to idolize his male teachers too.  He was doing his homework and feeling more confident in class and his grades showed it. 

Jack continued to play Fall Ball in baseball which is the lighter season.  He liked playing but the stress of coming home, getting his homework and studying done, eating dinner and getting ready to play a late game or practice kind of killed his desire to continue on.  I found it extremely difficult to participate in the “World of Testosterone” that baseball is even in Little League.  At least with Rick around on the weekends, he could help Jack to navigate this world.  It is a tight-knit crew of men who coach and whose sons play.  It can be tough on a single mom.  Jack decided it would be his last season to play.  His aunts and uncles came to cheer him on as they had in the spring season when Rick was there.

At the end of the spring season after Rick had died, his team made it to the league championship game.  Both Matt and Jack got to play.  It was at that game that the coaches presented Jack with a plaque which was a league award given to the player who showed perseverance during the season.  It was a lovely gesture but I couldn’t help thinking that this was the “Dead Father Award”.  Jack would have been much happier not to receive the award under the circumstances.  He recognized it too, and later said to me, “Mom, they just gave it to me because Dad died.”  “I know honey; they’re just trying to do something nice for you,” I explained. He said, “I get it, Mom, but it doesn’t make me feel better.”

Day by day we were getting through that first year and we just marched on…

Summer's End

A quick trip to the lake one more time seemed like the perfect thing to do before school started.  Mom said to come on up and I thought it was a good idea as I wouldn’t be able to get up there again once school started.  I liked to leave at four in the morning; this would keep the boys asleep in the car until at least seven, maybe eight.  We always stopped at the same McDonald’s to get a quick breakfast and then I’d hop back on the road.

In the middle of the summer I grew tired of the boys bickering in the car.  I bought a small nine inch TV/VCR and would put it between the front seats in the van.  Jack had the way back seat and Michael was on the passenger side in his booster car seat.   Michael was forever asking “How long until we get to Grandma’s, Mom?”  I would hold up a finger for each hour left.  “Oh, four, that’s not so bad,” he’d reply.  “Mike, it’s two more movies to the lake. “ How about my favorite? I’d ask. He’d say, Beauty and the Beast, okay, Mom.”

Disney’s, Tarzan had come out that summer; went to see it together.  It was more than a little sad for the three of us when we saw the mother die in the beginning of the film.  I bought the CD and we played it in the van.  Even though the movie was tough to watch in some ways the music was awesome and we sang and sang the songs in the van.

When I think of that summer, I see the rolling hills of Central New York, the crystal blue sparkling water of Cayuga Lake, the sun shining everywhere we went and  I hear the songs from my CDs.  Jack was so tired of hearing the songs that he complained incessantly about them.  I have to laugh when I hear his fiancé tell me that he loves the Dixie Chick’s CD that I played and that he still plays the music.  He’s more of a heavy metal kind of guy.

One evening the boys and I had been out and about; we returned to the dirt road that brought us down to the lake.  The road is a little rough in spots so I had to go very slowly.  Once I passed Mrs. Brown’s house and turned left I followed the road along the edge of the field.  Just as we started to go down the hill the road turns slightly to the left; I quickly stopped the van, and said “Look!” to the boys.  There, in front of us, soared a great horned owl; he glided above the road and then continued flying low to the field.  His body was black against the golden red sunset over the field.  We were mesmerized.  “What was it, Mom?” they asked.  “A great horned owl,” I told them, “he’s probably looking for a tasty treat in the field.”  It was a moment that stood still in time.  My boys, now 15 and 23, still talk about the night of the great horned owl.

My parents were out that night.  The lake house was dark but we let ourselves in the garage door.  The boys went up and got ready for bed and I changed clothes and then came down for a cup of tea.  I sat in the living room on my aunt’s couch and looked around the room at all my mom’s comforting treasures.   It had been a long summer, too long.  I couldn’t say that I felt ready to return to school in less than a week; it would be hard to see friends again.  However, it was the next step in getting through this first year of many firsts without Rick.  I could do it.