A year of changes...

July 8, 2013, Steve’s last day on this earth.  It’s hard to believe almost a year has passed yet, in the same breath, it seems like this has been the longest year of my life.

I believe I have learned a great deal in this past year, some good, some bad.  I have stubbornly chosen not to listen to the sage advise written in every book on grief.  You know the line, “One should never make any major changes during the first year of a spouse's death.”  

Well, let’s see, I bought an 8 year old rescue dog two months after Steve’s death. I bought, sold, remodeled and moved all within 4-7 months after July 8th.  I admit it was a huge, huge limb when I bought a very cute, but very impaired 1972 Chevy Side-Step pick-up truck.  That whim gave me 17 days of sheer delight, but ended up costing me not only a chunk of change, but my pride as well.  I guess one might say I blew it when following the “Grief Manual.”

I will say that adopting Lucy Belle was one of the best things I have done this year.  I have found that I was able to transfer some small part of my roll as caregiver from Steve to my fuzzy, rather needy old dog.  

A little jewel here, when you have lost someone you deeply love, it’s best to fill that empty void with a dog.  I’m a little ashamed to admit that I talk to Lucy out loud, all the time.  I find myself telling her about my day, my sad moments, quirky little stories.  I tell her how adorable she is, talk to her about how much I love her and I realize, in a very broad sense, I’m talking to my dog in much the same way I visited with Steve.  Is this a little crazy?  Maybe...just glad I don’t hear Lucy talking back, or we’d have a big problem on our hands.

I’ve written about the moving and changing of homes ad nauseam, so all I will say is, that while it was a difficult move, it was exactly the right move for me.  Often people would ask me, "Wasn't so great to remodel this home?  Wasn’t it so fun to get to pick out all the new fixtures, appliances, colors, making it my very own?"  

Honestly, no, there was nothing fun about any part of this process.  I think it is hard to find joy in much of anything during this first year of loss.  My decisions were fuzzy, I was fairly nondescript in my choices and none of it seemed of any importance. I was simply going through the necessary motions without Steve by my side to make it a fun experience.  I know this is a part of grief and I was fortunate to surround myself with great friends and a contractor who helped me make just the right decisions.

I am happy in my new home and I will say that once I started moving our things into this house it quickly felt right, good and comfortable.  It is now my home.

The bad truck I owned for a full 17 days before it cratered.. lesson well learned.  As Brooke told me, while I sick to my stomach having made such a horrible purchase.  “Mom, it could have been worse.  I mean, what if you had spent $5600 and gotten a really bad face lift instead of a really bad truck?  Then you would have to go through the rest of your life looking surprised.  Be thankful it was just a truck!”  I hate it when my children put me in my place.

So those were the landmark changes of my year.  There have also been subtle transformations that have simply slowly evolved during this year.  I wonder if this is true of others who have lost their spouse?  That suddenly you notice your normal has shifted.

Our bed, now my bed.  For the longest time, I slept only on my side of the bed.  I would put pillows, books, stuff, anything on Steve’s side, hoping by doing so, it wouldn’t feel so empty.  Today, I find myself sleeping right in the middle of my bed.  When did this subtle shift take place?  

I’m not sure I could give you an exact date.   All I know is every night after I turn off the lights, I place my hand gently under the covers and touch the cool sheets where Steve should be.  I will myself to feel the warmth of his body, his hand on top of mine.  I want to feel his heart beating, hear him tell me he loves me and have him kiss me goodnight.  Instead, I’m left with only the memory of this special nightly ritual.  It is then that I roll over into the middle of the bed and whisper into the empty pillow how much I love and miss Steve.  Oh please, those of you who still have your partners never take this gift for granted.

Cooking dinner.  I don’t.  Steve and I had our roles in the kitchen.  Steve always cooked the entrée, while I made the salad, veggies, bread.  We would listen to our favorite music, sip wine while we cooked and laugh.  Often I would grab him and make him dance through the kitchen with me.  Steve was never a dancer, but on these nights he never turned me down.  

Now, I don’t “do dinner.”  I stand at the refrigerator and I graze.  On rare occasions I will not sit, but prop myself on a barstool and “dip” (as in chips and dip), but sitting down to a dinner I have actually cooked, nah, I’m just not there yet.

Fix and repair.  No longer when something is broken is Steve, Johnny-on-the-spot.  No, I have had to reach deep within and do my best to understand how things work.  I bought a lovely lime green, lightweight drill and I am now a master at using it.  I can lift or roll heavy objects using all sorts of new tricks.  I’m great with the electric hedge trimmer and I have bought a shorter 6 foot ladder that I give great respect when climbing.  

Travel.  This was one of the things Steve and I did best.  He would plan great trips and work out the itinerary.  Steve would research and I would nod, pack and go.  We went all through Europe renting cars and loved that it was just the two of us, together doing and seeing exactly what we wanted to, no tours, no groups, no cruises.  

Well, I’m back to traveling and have been fortunate to have gone on some incredible trips this last year.  The traveling has kept me afloat.  I find I look so forward to these trips, a break from the monotony of reality.  I also realize that no longer do I have my best traveling companion.  No longer is there that same unspoken pace and momentum that we had learned to do so well.  Now, I must learn to be a pleasant part of the group.  I have to be a team player and go with the flow, even if it may not be my flow.  Don’t get me wrong, I will say yes to anyone, anytime, anywhere  to whoever wants me to travel with them...it’s simply different now that Steve isn’t with me.

I think I may have finally grown-up.  I will be 60 years old in November and this is the first time in my life that I have lived alone.  I have had to face many challenges this year, a multitude of firsts and new normals.  I am finding that in almost 12 months I can do most things, I will do many things and I hope to experience many more facets of this life of mine before I’m through.

Most importantly, I have grown in my faith.  I have felt the comfort of God blanket me with his amazing grace.  I have watched as he has provided for me and our family, and I respect his love for me.  I have drawn closer to God because I have needed him, I have had to lean on him, and I have felt his presence in far greater ways than ever before. I am thankful for his for his mercy and care.

A year of changes, yes...but that’s life right?  Without change how does one experience all the aspects life has to offer?  Without change how does one grow?  Difficult?  Yes.  Impossible, never with God.

For what it’s worth,
Janet

Daniel 2:21 "He changes times and season...and gives knowledge to those who have understanding."

This time last year...

This time last year Lynn wrote to me.  I wanted to honor her thoughts and feelings concerning her father today. Steve was one of the greatest dads to ever walk this earth.  Here are her words...

Letter from Lynn...

By Janet Boswell — Jun 28, 2013 9:16am

Lynn emailed this to me yesterday afternoon.  It so described the incredible father Steve continues to be to all of his children, but more poignantly it speaks of Lynn's very special relationship with her dad. 

I asked Lynn if I could share her letter on this site and she kindly agreed.  Here are Lynn's words.

Hung up the phone, spent a few minutes crying, then realized that I feel like we’re living The Giving Tree – that Shel Silverstein book.  Like the boy who becomes the old man, all I want from my dad is whatever he’s best able to give me at this moment.  And like the tree, he has always, always been there with exactly what I need most.  For my entire life, I have received more than I could possibly need from him, in every way imaginable, with limitless love, support, encouragement, cheerleading, shared joy and so much more.  And now, even though he might feel like he has less to give, he’s still there with exactly what I need most from him – a laugh, a chance to hold his hand while I sit with him on the couch, a hug, the suggestion to visit a museum that he knows we’ll like (and that I’m happy to share with him when we get back), a kind word to my kids.

I know that sooner than anyone wants he’ll be with us in a different way, yet still very much with us and part of us so deeply and in ways that matter so, so much.  I also know that I’m very, very thankful to still have him here today, to talk to and hug and call and sit beside.

 I love him, and I love you.

 Lynn

I love you dearly Lynn.  You and David are the special part of Steve that will always want me to have you remain an important part of my life.  You are a wonderful daughter.  Your father loved you and David with all his heart.

My life is blessed because you are part of it.

All my love,

Janet

"Oh the Places You'll Go"...

Our eldest grand daughter, Elena, just graduated from fifth grade at Casis Elementary School.  Elena invited me to the graduation ceremony, enough said.

Bright and early Thursday morning Lynn and I showed up with a zillion parents and grand parents to wait for the auditorium to open.  Casis is a wonderful neighborhood school and both Lynn and Burton have been instrumental in making it even more special.

 As we walked along the path to the school it soon became quite obvious that much time and creativity had been put into the theme of this day.   “Oh the Places You’ll Go” by Dr. Seuss.  

Whimsically placed along the sidewalks were six tall poles, these poles zigzagged along the walk.  Everyone stopping at each pole to find their child’s photo.  The top of each pole was titled, Kindergarden through 5th Grade.  Below, each classroom had its own row full of the class pictures from each year.  What fun it was to see how each child had grown and changed in these short six years.  Even more fun to watch these children run from one pole to the next spotting themselves and marveling at the metamorphosis that had taken place.

The auditorium was standing room only as the 5th graders solemnly marched in to “Pomp and Circumstance.”  If that wasn’t enough to get the tears rolling the students then sang a very sappy (Elena’s words) song, “Wherever You Go.”  Lynn and I were reaching for Kleenex and this was only the beginning.  The principal then began and ended the ceremony with quotes from “Oh the Places You’ll Go.

While his words were meant for the 5th grade graduates, something stuck such a cord deep within me.  I wonder if Dr. Seuss really intended his readers to be adolescents or were his words truly meant for anyone entering a new phase of their life? 

 "All alone!  Whether you like it or not, alone is something you'll do quite a lot!"

Oh how alone I felt in that moment, the room was brimming with people, yet all I could think of was, how I wish Steve could have been there.  He would have been so proud of Elena, of his daughter, of the entire family.  He would love to see the accomplishments of Dylan, as well as Elena, to know how with every passing day they grow brighter, more curious, kinder and more thoughtful.  Steve is the one who should have been sitting by my side, not the stranger sitting next to me.  “All alone!  Whether you like it or not”...is something I feel I have been “quite a lot.”

“You'll get mixed up, of course, as you already know. You'll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go. So be sure when you step. Step with care and great tact and remember that Life's a Great Balancing Act. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot with your left.” 

Mixed up, confused not knowing quite where to go or what to do.  Was Dr. Seuss writing these words for me?  How many times during this last year have I felt I have stumbled and fallen, not “stepping with care and great tact”...remembering that “Life’s a Great Balancing Act?”

I have often felt that once Steve became sick, my balance was off.  The scales of our lives had tipped too heavily on my side.  I felt weighed down with decisions and responsibilities that I was not equipped to handle.  Now that Steve is gone, I realize it is up to me to step with care and purpose, reason and intent.  

Easy?  No, but I feel I’m learning to be “dexterous and deft.”  Much like a tightrope walker, I feel I’m finding the taught rope under my feet and with each step I pray my footing and my decisions will be wise and surefooted.

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who'll decide where to go...” 

Oh Dr. Seuss, this is where I might question your words.  While it is up to me for the “direction I choose” and to “know exactly what to do”  I’m thankful I have a faith that enables me to believe in a God who is bigger than me.  I believe if I allow him to work within me, he will walk through this life right by my side, so that I’m never really alone. With God’s gentle wisdom and love, together we will know “where to go” and “what to do.”

The principal’s ending words, Dr. Seuss’s words, were the boost that I needed to hear, to enable myself to move forward.

“You're off to Great Places!

Today is your day!

Your mountain is waiting,

So... get on your way!” 

While I often question what my future will hold.  I find it somehow threatening to realize that I’m living a life as a widow now.  I often feel myself sinking in a mire of self-pity, wishing with all my heart that Steve were still right by my side.  The reality is, Steve is gone and I must fill my future with purpose and intention.  So, here I go Dr. Seuss, along with all he other 5th Graders at Casis.

“I’m off to Great Places and Today is my day,”

“My mountain is waiting...I’m on my way...”

 For what it’s worth,
Janet

Psalms 118:24  “this is the day that the Lord has made: let us rejoice and be glad in it.”

Summer at lake Forest Falls...

Growing up in Houston and my family spent most of our summers at our small lake cottage north of Houston across from what is now Lake Conroe.

This was a small private lake, but big enough for water skiing and lots of fishing.  My best description would be that it was an “On Golden Pond” spot.  Surrounded by tall pine trees and wooded areas.   

There was a small island at one end of the lake that had been roped off for swimmers.  Families would dock their boats at the island.  There were a few picnic tables under a shady pavilion, a diving board and long dock to lay and bake in the summer sun.  The homes were all modest and the lake was small enough that we grew to know all of the families that had summer homes surrounding this little bit of heaven.

I grew up with my father teaching me to gig frogs along the dam’s bank, learning to drive our little red boat, waterskiing and tromping through the woods that surrounded Lake Forest Falls, and discovering that I have an undying love of all water, fresh or salt.

Every chance we got, which was often, as it was then an hour drive from door to door, I would take my best friend and next door neighbor Patty Sanders along with me.  Patty had long blond hair and fair skin, I the dark haired, equally fair skinned child.  It never failed that every first summer trip to the lake Patty and I would hit the water with old black tire inner tubes and bake ourselves to a crisp.  The next few days would find us lobster red and blistered, hiding from any chance that ray of that painful sun would touch our raw red skin.  All the while we sat inside covered in Noxema and bored to tears.

The teen years at the lake were so fun.  We quickly discovered “lake boyfriends” and their “fast boats.”  Our numbers grew as more of my high school friends joined the hot fun in the 
summertime at Lake Forest Falls.

By college, my parents bought a little nicer, larger home on the other side of the lake.  Still a modest cabin, this home sat on a large sloping grassy lawn right on the lake.  Large trees with swings and hammocks shaded yard.  We had an outdoor shower that was used all year round, there was something so wonderful about taking a hot shower surrounded by trees and woods!

The family grew and before long there were seven grandchildren that also grew to love this secluded spot.  I was the only sister not living in Houston, but every summer I would make the drive from Midland with Brent and Brooke to spend about 10 days at the lake.  

The cousins loved having their Papaw tell them stories of the bears and Indians living deep in the woods.  They would disappear for hours going on explorations and creating adventures that come only when you can lose yourself in the dim quite of nature.  My mother would spend hours in the kitchen preparing the most delicious meals for “all her chickens.”  Never do I remember her as happy as she was when we were all together.

I taught most of the cousins to ski on that little lake.  Waking up in those early morning hours of the summer the lake was smooth as glass.  We would bound down to the boat and take off.  Each year, as the kids grew, the skiing became a little more advanced as did our hours on that boat.

As I had summers before, my children were now experiencing late afternoons when my father would appear with an ice cold watermelon.  We would sit at that ancient splintered picnic table on the water’s edge and devour those cold melons.  Afterward my father would sneakily appear with hose in hand.  Shrieking laughter and lots of running, all would be soon soaked to the core, leaving us no other option that to run to the little pebble beach my parents had created, and jump back into the lake, swimming until dinner time.

If ever asked where the happiest hours of my life had been spent, my reply is always Lake Forest Falls.  I loved sharing my happiest childhood memories with my children and watching them discover and share that same joy.

I watched my parents enjoying the lake, working in the yard, fixing the dock, cutting tree limbs, burning leaves in the Fall.  I also watched as my parents grew old and frail, yet continued to love going to the lake, if to do nothing more than simply sit and soak in the simple beauty of it all.

My mother kept the lake for several years after my father died.  We would go with her from time to time, but his absence was too prevalent and soon the decision was made to sell the house.

Steve and I spent three days cleaning out the debris of years spent in that home...my treasures, my sweetest memories, in a way a bit of my soul were packed up and hauled off.  We thought about buying it, or keeping it in the family, but at the time, it seemed too difficult.  I think that is one of my biggest regrets.

This time every year, I find myself longing to be in that warm, comforting, very special corner of the world.  I want nothing more than to sit on the water’s edge in the early morning or around dusk, dangling my feet in the water.  I want to soak in every memory, every moment of those days that passed too quickly.  I want to listen the laughter of my children, hear the echo of my parent’s voices, smell the aromas of breakfast or dinner being cooked out on the grill.  I want to let that warm outdoor shower water run from my head to down to my feet...but life has a way of moving on and that bit of heaven can only be a memory now.

I want to take the time to go back and again.  I feel this summer just may be a good time to renew that part of my soul with those sweet memories of the past.  I wonder what I will find?  I wonderful if I will be able to conjure up those precious pieces of my past?  Will my memories be able to serve as the balm I’m so wanting?

They say you can’t go back home again, but I’m willing to give it a try, just once more.

For what it’s worth,

Janet 

Joshua 24:15  “But for me and my family, we will serve the Lord.”