Lifelong Friends...

“A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow.” 

― William Shakespeare

It’s been 50 years since I was in the 3^rd grade.  We celebrated our 40^th high school reunion last October.  I believe God began planting seeds of friendship over all these years for just a time like this.

Four of us, Donna, Ann and Louann and I just returned from a wonderful trip to St. Petersburg Florida.  Three of my lifelong friends from elementary school through high school planned this trip as a gift to me, a get away from the reality of my life these last few months...maybe even years.

We haven’t really kept in constant touch over the years.  Each of us has lived in different cities.  We married, had careers, children.  We would see one another every ten years when a reunion would roll around.  We would get together and amazingly, as good friends always are able to do, we would pick up right where we left off.  We could laugh about old times, share heart aches, the pains that life had brought us and always comment on how blessed we were to have each other as friends for life.

Last summer and fall as our 40^th Reunion began taking shape we all began communication again.  We would call, email, text about how excited we were to see one another, we caught up with each other’s lives and made plans to meet Friday night before the big event on Saturday.

These conversations however were different from our past years had been.  My three wonderful friends came to understand more of Steve’s cancer and the rocky road we had been traveling the last 4 years.  It was then that I noticed that deep, abiding friendship from years past began to surface.  I started to see ripples that formed, as when a rock is tossed in a lake start slowly at first and then begin to widen and grow as they embraced their love and concern for Steve and me.  Telephone calls became more frequent.  Care and support grew strong and deep and my heart opened to these three amazing life long friends.

The Reunion came and went.  Fortunately I was able to attend as Steve was in a place where I could leave him for short intervals.  Oh we had fun reminiscing!  Then too quickly it was time to leave, to go back to our homes, our lives, our husbands.  I felt an emptiness as I drove home that day, a feeling that these friends who had been a part of my past, my childhood, my easy going teenage years were now to be lost for another ten years.

But as Shakespeare said these “friends understood where I was” and they did not abandon me.  They called and wrote often after our October Reunion, God’s seeds were sprouting.  The love and support was there throughout some of the toughest times I hope I will ever have to go through and they remained constant.

The evening before Steve’s Memorial Service we had friends and family gather at our home.  I will never forget looking up and seeing the familiar faces of Donna and Ann standing there with tears and visible pain written all over their faces.  

There is something unexplainable about the death of someone you love with all your heart.  When that separation occurs you feel like the entire world should stop because your world has stopped.  Time stands still and all that matters, all your focus is on your incredible loss, that void, that hurt.  So when others who care and love you draw near to you, when they take the time to come and stand along side you and want to share your pain and are willing to allow their world to stand as still as yours has--well, that is love, that is friendship at its finest.  This is a gift that will never leave your heart.

Louann was heartsick that she was unable to attend.   Her calls and outpouring of love were present throughout.  I believe it was because of her inability to come to Steve’s service that the idea of the trip began to take root.

It was a matter of days or maybe a week before this wonderful get away way was put into motion.  Donna arranged all the plans, Louann provided 1^st class plane tickets...all I had to do was show up...what a gift!

Donna and I drove into Houston early to meet up with the others.  We had some time to kill and decided to drive through our old neighborhood.  We drove by our childhood homes, our elementary school, junior high school.  We stopped and walked through our neighborhood swimming pool.  We talked and talked about the memories that surfaced as we drove.

An odd melancholy settled over me, I felt like I was rewinding a movie of my life in slow motion.  I felt an ache for my parents, who are now both deceased, remembering them as I did when I was a little girl.  I felt a gnawing of tenderness from the innocence of my youth and days that were so simple and uncomplicated.  I’m now 58 years old.  I have been through a divorce.  I’m a widow.  I have two grown children and grandchildren.  Where did the time go?  How did those endless days of my youth seem as if they had happened to someone so unlike the person watching this movie of my life unfold?

Finishing our tour of the past, we drove to meet Louann and Ann.  I shook the cloak of melancholia off and brought myself back to the present.  I found myself smiling because I realized it was all those years in between my childhood and my what? now middle-age that had molded and shaped me into the person I am today.  Have I had some rough times in life, of course, haven’t we all?  But the blessings, oh the blessings...my children, grandchildren, 18 of the most wonderful years of life with Steve and my friends.  My friends, both those of my past and of my present “have accepted who I have become and still are allowing me to grow.”  I never want to go back and relive any age, but instead, find joy in whatever my future holds. 

Our trip to St. Pete’s was tremendous!  We stayed at a beautiful refurbished hotel, The Renaissance Vinoy.  We ate at fun and exotic restaurants.  We spent a morning under a cabana by the pool, there was never a moment of silence as we had way too many years to tackle.  We sat for hours in big comfy rockers on the wide veranda overlooking the bay, drinking wine, laughing and crying.  This is where we again found that deeper level of kinship that women are so good at achieving, when friendships are so very remarkable.

 

I will admit, it was difficult to say good-bye.  This was the first time I had taken a trip and come home to an empty house.  Steve was no longer here to welcome me, to ask me all his funny questions about how much trouble we’d gotten ourselves into.  I found the house, my home echoed with emptiness.  This is something that will take time to overcome.  This is my new normal.  This is my life now, but it’s a great life and one worth living every moment to the fullest.

Thank you Donna,  Ann and Lou for blessing my life with your friendships. 

As A.A. Milne wrote “We'll be Friends Forever, won't we, Pooh?' asked Piglet.  Even longer,' Pooh answered.” 

My Widow's Veil

During the Victorian era, there was certain mourning behavior developed for women.  Concealing black clothing along with heavy veils of black crepe were supposed to be worn for two years by a widow.  She was not allowed to exit her home without her full black attire and her weeping veil. 

  

Well, thank heavens times have changed, however after two months of living without Steve, though I never actually wore the heavy black weeping veil, I continue to feel like it cocoons me.

Oddly, the day of Steve’s death replays in  vivid technicolor in my mind.  I continue to remember distinct smells.  Smells of sickness mixed with sanitizing disinfectant.  I was trying desperately to keep Steve’s surroundings germ free.  

I remember complete detailed conversations with the Hospice doctor, nurses, friends, relatives, with Steve.  I can hear him clearly calling my name and then feebly trying to express to me that he needed to get up or wanted a peanut butter and jelly sandwich! 

I recall the immediate drop in temperature each time I walked in our bedroom to check on Steve, touching his face and brow and thinking how could he be so clammy and damp when the nurse was wrapped in a quilt to keep warm?  His familiar gray t-shirts, now cut down the back for ease in getting on and off were stained with perspiration, as his weak, frail body was struggling to survive.  The shuttered windows, kept out any sunlight, it was so drastic from the sun streaming through the windows in the rest of our home.  

I still hear the whirl of the oxygen machine as it coursed into his lungs, yet that labored, shallow, rattled breathing was the sound that reverberated loudest through the air, now echoes in my memories.

I so wanted to curl up beside him and hold him close, but I sensed he was too uncomfortable to be touched.  When I would brush my fingertips across his brow, gently pick up his hands and touch each finger as if trying to read poetry in braille, or softly kiss him he would murmur thank you, but there was a clinching of his jaw that told me my touch was too painful, so I would walk away not knowing where to go.

I have regrets about that day.  If I had known it was his last I would not have busied myself with banal chores.  I walked that morning instead of spending time with my husband.  I watered wilting summer plants when I could have been soaking in my seconds with him.  I made numerous phone calls to ensure I had nursing care to help me the following day when hospice was to leave.  I journaled instead of sitting with Steve because I could find no place where I felt I should be--I have regrets.  

The biggest regret that I replay over and over every night before I fall asleep is the hour before he left this earth.  Steve’s condition had worsened suddenly.  The Hospice nurse was making calls to bring in equipment to catheterize him and suction his lungs.  I was in the bathroom getting ready for bed.  Steve became restless, he was struggling to communicate but it was clear that he wanted all the “talking” to stop (he wanted the nurse to be quiet).  I asked her to step into the living room to make her calls.  Steve’s restlessness and agitation continued.  He muttered to me it was time to turn off the lights and come to bed.  Oh, this is my biggest regret, I relive it daily...if only I had stayed with him, if only I had turned off that light and climbed in our bed beside his hospital bed, then I would have been with him the moment he left this world...if only.  Instead, I told him I would be “just upstairs, the nurse would be sitting in the chair by his bed and she would call me if he needed me for anything”...I turned off the lights, I spoke with the nurse to get an update on the equipment delivery and I went back to Steve.  

He was sleeping but his breathing was so strained.  I sat on our bed and I prayed.  I asked God to have mercy on my precious husband, I asked that I had the confidence to trust God’s perfect timing.  I asked for strength to persevere the upcoming days, weeks, months.  His sister, Bonnie silently entered and sat beside me and we held hands.  I knew her prayers were heavy on her heart as well.  We silently cried and prayed as Steve seemed to sleep through this battle.  I remember wadding up a pillow and curling into a fetal position, Bonnie laying beside me, still so quiet.  The world and time stood still in that moment, fear and the unknown wrapped itself around us and we had only our faith to cling to for we were sailing into a dark unknown.

Finally, Bonnie told me I needed to go to bed.  Steve would be needing me in the morning, without Hospice our days were sure to be long and difficult.  Steve slept, I left to go to bed, quickly falling asleep.  Bonnie stayed with Steve awhile longer before going upstairs, that was around 10:40 p.m.  At 10:45 p.m.  the nurse called and told me to come quickly.  I let Bonnie know as I ran downstairs.

I entered our bedroom.  All the lights were on and Steve was propped up with the nurse at his side.  I felt immediately he was already gone but the nurse told me he was still with us.  I cradled him, telling him how much I loved him, what a wonderful husband he was, how it was time for him to leave us, how I was going to be okay without him, his job was done.  

Seconds later, another nurse arrived.  A delivery person from Hospice was to bring the necessary equipment, but this nurse was on her way home and our house was on her way so she offered to drop off the equipment.  We now had an LVN and an RN...a God Thing...most certainly.  It was seconds later that Steve was gone.  It was not a peaceful, natural death.  It was difficult to watch and one I will never forget, but I truly believe Steve’s spirit had left his dying body before I entered that room and what Bonnie and I witnessed was his physical body simply shutting down.

The Hospice nurses, gently asked us to step out so they might clean Steve up and change his bedding.  We made necessary calls and then were told he was ready when we were ready to see him.

Walking into that room, our bedroom and seeing my amazing husband lifeless on that bed was surreal.  I knew in my head he was gone, but my heart was clinging to someone who had begun to leave me almost five years ago due to a brain tumor.  I placed my head on his chest for the last time, but no longer felt the warmth of his body, no longer heard the beating of his heart or the sound of this gentle breathing.  His fingers no longer found their way to my hair or the nape of my neck.  Steve was gone...God had been merciful and blessed us all, he had taken Steve home.  His timing was perfect.

I finally went to bed around 2:00 a.m.  It was sometime during that night that I believe God must have gently placed that widow’s veil over my head because when I woke that morning and from then until today (two months later) I feel like I have been under this veil.  It is as if I am concealed, protected, screened.  I am shut off from reality, under a veil of fog, a screen from life.  I feel numb, I can’t remember things I have done or said.  I walk around the house doing mindless things that seem so important at the time, but the next day couldn’t begin to tell someone what I have done with myself.  I can’t concentrate on reading, television, I have no idea or concern of current events.  My circle of friends remains small, it takes too much energy to visit with friends I don’t know well.  Large groups are off limits to me, they are overwhelming.  Conversations are often left hanging in mid air, my sentences incomplete because I can’t remember what I was trying to say.  People talk to me but my “veil” keeps me from understanding or even caring.

Oh don’t get me wrong, I’m continuing to live my life.  I come and go.  I do get together with friends, go out to eat, take care of grandchildren.  I can laugh and enjoy myself and realize life, my life must go on.  I’ve made plans for the future, plans to travel, to move eventually, to get a dog...but my widow’s veil remains firmly in place.  I’ve tried to take it off, to leave the house without it, but it seems to follow me, to encase me, to shroud me.  

Maybe there is something to that old Victorian tradition of not shedding the widow’s weeping veil for two years.  Maybe experience be told, those who have gone before knew it would take time for a woman to fully grasp living life without half of who she had become.  Maybe, just maybe accepting this invisible veil and thanking God for the cushion of its protection, concealment and screening is a gift, one to be recognized and thankful for.  

God will know when it is time for me to lift my veil.  God will allow me to begin to enter life day by day when the time is right.  All I know is now my widow’s veil is firmly attached to me, perhaps because my mind continues to replay the day Steve left me and it is still painfully vivid.  I pray that day and those memories will begin to pale and my memories of my finest moments with Steve will begin to grow brighter.   

There is an African proverb that I have always loved, “As I go I am wearing you.” When I am eventually able to feel this about Steve is when I believe God will allow this veil to be lifted.  I will be able to fully experience life in technicolor again and I will forever be able to wear Steve in my heart and in all that I am.

2 Corinthians 3:16 “but when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed.”