Monthly Archives: December 2009

What’s missing?

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So far, I’ve had seventeen years as a child, four years as a college student, three years as a working single, forty years as a married woman and one month as a widow. The lion’s share of my life has been spent thinking like a wife, and I know with certainty one month isn’t long enough to think single again.

In answering people’s questions, I’m still using “we” instead of “I”, even though the other half of my “we” is gone. Saying “I” reminds me of a line from an old song, “One is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do.” Back when I was single, I didn’t feel lonely at all, but having been a couple for so long, suddenly I feel it.

Today I sent an anniversary card to some dear friends. Despite our anniversary coming and going with only half of us here, it wasn’t difficult to celebrate with another couple still in tact. The hard part came when I signed the card. The words, “Love, Margaret and Nate” rolled right out of my pen before I could stop them. It’s hard to remember to sign from just me.

But the worst adjustment is learning to talk about Nate in the past tense. I catch myself saying, “Nate loves holiday ties,” then needing to correct myself. “Nate loved holiday ties.” It’s almost not worth saying at all.

Other things must change, too. When my cousin Calvin was here at the time of the funeral, he gently reminded me that the categories of our marriage Nate used to handle will now have to be handled by me. For instance, Nate always made the coffee, put salt in the softener, arranged the vacations and handled insurance policies. My cousin told me, “If you can’t do what Nate used to do, ask someone to help you, so those things aren’t left undone. But you can do a lot of it yourself.” The problem comes in even noticing what needs doing when you haven’t done those things for forty years.

While Calvin was here, we left the house for several hours and returned to find seven big candles still burning on the mantle. Nate would never have stepped out the door without first blowing them out, but I didn’t even notice.

Calvin also said, “I know Nate made sure the house was locked up each night. Are you doing that?”

It hadn’t occurred to me. Actually, the house hadn’t been locked for two months. My cousin was right. I had to wonder what else was undone because of Nate’s absence. I remembered back to Thanksgiving and realized I’d invited all the same people as always but neglected to give anyone an arrival time. Nate had always done that with phone calls, touching base with each one ahead of time. Our guests ended up calling and texting me that morning asking, “What time is dinner?”

The day after Thanksgiving it occurred to me we hadn’t talked to the far-away relatives we usually call on each holiday, and of course the reason was that Nate always did the phoning. I might take a turn on each call, but he was the one who remembered to initiate them.

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Nate also was my news informant. He read four newspapers every day: The Chicago Tribune, The Daily Herald, The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times. He gave me the condensed version, wanting to talk current events. Since Nate’s death, I’ve been woefully uninformed. We don’t have television at the cottage and can’t get a clear radio signal, so I haven’t seen or heard a newscast in weeks. This was never a problem, with Nate keeping me up to date.

These are the little surprises of widowhood. Piled one on top of another, they make for a sad day. Solved one at a time, they bring hope.

“For the Lord grants wisdom! He grants a treasure of common sense to the honest. For wisdom will enter your heart, and knowledge will fill you with joy. Wise choices will watch over you. Understanding will keep you safe.” (Proverbs 2:6,7,10-11)

Staying Sane

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I remember the day Dad died. I’d never seen anyone die before, and it was traumatic. He’d fallen backwards onto concrete, breaking his pelvis in 13 pieces. Although he was 92 and ought not to have been immobilized, there was no medical choice. Nothing was going to put his pelvis back together except traction and time, although the doctor knew other health issues would arise if Dad lay still in a bed too long.

Two weeks later, still in traction, he began battling the consequences of being made to lie still: blood clots, mini-heart attacks, bed sores, threats of stroke. Eventually his kidneys failed, his lungs filled with fluid and as he died, he gasped for air, unconscious but struggling to breathe. When this happened, I looked away. It was awful to see him gasp in a choking way, even though it lasted only a few seconds. I panicked and cried, “What’s he doing?” In short, I acted badly.

After we learned of Nate’s terminal cancer, I thought back to Dad’s death scene. I told myself, “I’ve got to do better than that. I want to be Nate’s partner in suffering if I can, and I want to stay focused on him and his needs, all the way to the end.”

None of us knew what to expect, not on any one day and certainly not in those final moments, whenever they would come. But I trusted God to strengthen us and bring understanding as we needed it. I sometimes woke during the night trying to picture the end, craving God’s preparation for what would happen and the role I would need to fulfill. I knew one thing for sure; I didn’t want to turn away from my husband the way I’d turned away from my dad.

As I prayed about the unknowns of my assignment, God seemed to impress on me that if I committed my mind to his keeping, everything else would be ok. The physical part would work itself out day by day, and I knew the emotional stuff would be accompanied by tears and sadness. But if my mind was submitted to God, I knew I could partner with Nate, no matter what.

Scripture kept me calm. The verse that helped most was Romans 12:2.”Be transformed by the renewing of your mind so that you may prove what the will of God is, that which is good and acceptable and perfect.”

I knew if I asked God to transform me by renewing my mind every day, I would be ready for whatever came. Another verse I prayed back to God countless times was Philippians 1:7. It said that if I called out to God, letting him know what I needed, acknowledging the blessings while I was in the struggles, his peace would keep my mind through Christ Jesus. I believed that meant he would keep me from being overwhelmed or unable to cope. He would keep me sane.

Often during those six weeks, along with the wake and funeral days that followed, I felt my mind tip-toeing around the edge of panic. But when that happened, I could almost feel God tapping me on the shoulder as if to say, “Remember what I told you. Claim the words again for your mind. If you stay focused on me, you’ll be filled with peace.”

Verse Plaque 2

God kept his word and kept me sane.

”Know the God of your father, and serve him with a whole heart and a willing mind; for the Lord searches all hearts, and understands every intent of the thoughts. If you seek Him, He will let you find Him.” (1 Chronicles 28:9)

Remembering the good… and the bad.

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Tick tock, tick tock, time is passing. In one sense that’s good. My widow friends tell me time will be a healing instrument. Today I view it as my enemy, because it’s dragging me away from the living, breathing Nate. Many times every day I yearn to look back, because when I do, there’s a holding on to him for a bit longer.

At the moment of death one month ago, Nate and I were physically touching. I sat close as those wispy last breaths moved from his mouth into the room and then dissipated. While the kids and I looked back and forth from his face to his chest searching for any tiny movement that might indicate he was still living, I continued to stroke his arm and hold his hand. His skin slowly grew cold and his fingers became stiff in mine as death shouted, “I won! I took him!”

I stayed in literal touch with Nate’s body for a few more minutes, even though I knew it was foolish. He couldn’t feel my tender caresses. We’d all known death was close and saw it hovering at the edges of his face, ready to pounce. But until it actually did, he was still a present husband and father. He was still ours. Once he died, he belonged not to us but to eternity. And to Christ.

Nurse Gina, Sky, Nate, me

When Nate was living a human life like the rest of us still are, he belonged to Christ then, too, but we somehow shared him. After he died, we no longer had our share. He was only ours in used-to-be. This was definitely second best, but I’ve tried to remind myself today, on the one month anniversary, that second best is still high on the list.

One big blessing is our many happy memories and 196 photo albums that prove them true. My sister and I have said, “Looking at the old photos, you’d think life was nothing but parties and vacations.” Of course we know better. Neither of us took pictures of children having temper tantrums in the store or doctors sewing stitches in the emergency room. Our recollections of Nate are much like the photo albums. Gradually memories of stress, failure or disappointment, even just ordinary moments, will fade like old photographs left in the sun. Even now, during the first month, we talk only of the positives.

In one sense, wicked death did have its way and “took him” on that November evening. But the full truth is that death was merely the gateway into a different (and much better) life. Does a resident of heaven make new memories? If he does, then we’re not part of them. Maybe, because heavenly living is out of time and space, we’ll be able to fit into those memories when we get there, as if we’d always been there, too.

In the mean time, our selective memory of Nate’s past is protective and caring, and we’ll try to keep him from moving from humanity to near-divinity. Could memories of our regular husband and father morph into something akin to perfection? I hope not. I long to remember the real man, not a fictional version. Of course it’s good to be positive, but we also know God uses the hard stuff of life, the stuff not in the photo albums, the stuff we shy away from remembering, to produce what’s best and most valuable in every life. So if we find ourselves remembering any bad days, that’s good, too!

“We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed. Through suffering, our bodies continue to share in the death of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be seen in our bodies.” (2 Corinthians 4:8-10)