Time Like a River

Another 25th has past and we moved on to starting the fourth month. So far that date doesn't hurt any less as the months have gone by.  I was very low this weekend and haven't figured out the exact reason as yet. Usually I can determine the trigger but not this time. There just was such sadness and tears quite close to the surface. I think much came from thinking about events in March, especially those surrounding the new bishop consecreation, which was supposed to be the "biggie" event for that month. I also am so very aware of Ben's birthday coming up next Sunday. There are so many happy and funny memories about that day over the years. It is already a hard day to think about and it isn't here yet. I will be so glad when the time comes that I can enjoy the memories. Right now it is such a waste to have them and not want to let them out of the bottle because they are too painful in their never-to-be-repeated joy.
I spent some good time  today cooking up a lunch for Chad's birthday. It is a really selfish treat for me for I so much enjoy cooking things I can't really justify cooking for myself, the dogs, and the garbage disposal's fill.  We are having pulled pork sandwiches, broccoli slaw, eggs stuffed with goat cheese and chutney (Ben's favorite deviled egg), a variation on caprese (made with two colors of cherry tomatoes,  fresh mozzarella pearls and fresh basil), and a Meyer lemon tart for dessert. I will take the leftover pork as sliders down to Wichita for Sunday supper. The house smelled so good from the pulled pork and BBQ sauce! the light lemon scent at the last was just the right touch.
It is now 2:30 AM and the thunderstorms for the night have set in. I think we failed to generate a storm last night which is the first omission in quite a long time. Molly is even beginning to get used to the noise and lightning flashes and is sleeping on the floor at my feet. We are back into the hot, hot and humid sunny days pattern which killed off the last veggie garden. I'll cross my fingers the veggies endure the weather this time since I think it is too late to replant one more time.
The church golf tournament is over which closes another chapter of things Ben and I did together. I think the ending of the golf event is probably the root of the sorrow. It is time flowing away carrying me farther from where I want to be  and with whom. It is also the season of flooding - on the river and in my emotions - in both cases the flood comes no matter what wall of defense is put up.

The Spring that Wasn't is Finally Over

We have just completed the first day of official summer. I say "official" since we have had the oppressive heat and humidity coexistent with midwestern summer once the cold, chill of our non-spring passed. More accurately EVERY time it passed, since we went through several cycles of a far-from-typical spring. I went outside in the morning to see that the vegetable garden has for the most past dried up from an excess of night rain and early AM sun and heat (almost sounds oxymoronic). I think it more accurately steamed to death but the result is the same - a return trip to the nursery to gather what plants I could and a replanting of them set for today.
I am not over my outburst of last posting. I feel I sounded too whining , as in "why me?' which is an attitude I dislike and try to avoid. I really think I feel more "why them" especially in regard to the grands and their hurt.. And I do accept that bad things happen to good people, but I also believe that no matter what the intellectual comprehension we sometimes carry our emotions a little high and feel more deeply the inadequacy of our understanding. I think that is where I am. I want to see clearly what I can not.
I do believe that faith is most active in the space between rational thought and that which is beyond understanding. Therefore I must wrap this situation in faith. Sounds good. I have a small framed picture on the wall of what is now my office. It has an illustration of a bird on a branch and notes at the end of a narrative  words to the effect that faith is when you have reached beyond what is known and  one of two things will happen: something will be there to stand on or you will be taught how to fly. I found that picture when my brother was dying from ALS. We crossed that point of faith many times over those years as his condition changed only to meet it again in a new situation. It has comforted me in the intervening years and I pray it does again. Truth be known faith has been as much of a roadmap as I have had these past months and I think I am being taught how to fly. Unfortunately, I also remember my learning how to fly aircraft and recall that there are mishaps and incidents and days when your mind doesn't wrap around the necessary processes no matter what.
Now that it is summer we have passed through almost three months of this new life - a first trimester as it were. No, I reject that image. I think the only new life image I can deal with is the one I found for our church widow(er) group, "the third half of life". It is what and how I feel - the cup missing the saucer, the broken set,  the leftover part, as well as the one who is given the task of making something beyond what was planned for in life once the life as known has ended. I see all sorts of possibilities of growth in that role.  I have thought again these past days about Ted Kennedy and the so called Kennedy curse. I recall the common understanding of the curse was that so many Kennedy's died untimely deaths. I held a different notion in that Senator Kennedy endured the curse of having to lay to rest so many of those dear to him. I felt I understood it then and now know that I do.
So it seems that the tasks are not finished, or even imagined in most cases. I must puzzle out how to live this new 3rd half of my life, learn to deal with the curse of losing so many of the nearest and dearest to me - and most gone before their appointed years, have faith that I will be taught how to fly. So, while Ben takes up, what I whimsically call, his heavenly entry level upper management existence and learns all that he must, I, earthbound, am learning, too. It will take more than just one more season but when I reflect on the passing of summer in a few months I will feel some additional insight and understanding or I will fly better.

OMG What Were You Thinking?

Dear God,
This is Joyce. I mean no disrespect but please, it's been almost three months now and I am still wondering: Why did this happen? What is the lesson in all of this? What did I, and more importantly my children and grandchildren, need to learn? I don't get it yet. Will I? Will they?
 We just had a not so good Father's Day. My son got a gift that he actually wanted and a loving card but signed only by his mom. My children and grands didn't get to make visits or calls to Poppa. They had their hole in the heart feelings back to the forefront - again. And they know it is the bad season where they will not feel  better until they are past his birthday on July 3rd. Poor Zach had to read a birthday card for the first time signed only by his Gams and had a renewed feeling of loss. I have believed for many years there is a lesson in everything, but I am not seeing anything of this magnitude we needed  to learn. I never, in 49 years, let the sun set on an argument or left him without an "I love you". I don't think I am that evil and I know he wasn't and surely the grands didn't earn their pain. Why then? I want so much to gain something positive from any experience but I can't see the good in this situation - or even a worthwhile negative. There is just a void. I learned voids years ago as the rest of my family died. I didn't need to lose Ben to know loss.
[Maybe I just got a sign that I should not be writing this. We are in the midst of a thunderstorm and all the lights went off. Sorry, God, I'm not through yet.]
For some reason these past two days I have had two thoughts running through my mind. One is the question of what  the lesson is in this and the other is the old hymn "His Eye is on the Sparrow". I can't understand the why of those two converging thoughts either. But I must say I can only conclude for now that He missed a sparrow. His eye wasn't on "our sparrow" and now there is a whole flock adrift.
Please God, what were you thinking?

Sentimental and Misty Eyed

Today has been one different kind of day. I returned a phone call from Friday to find out that EAA is wanting to honor Ben by putting his name on the Memorial Wall at Oshkosh during this year's convention/fly-in the last week of July. We spent many years dedicating the last week of July/first of August at the fly-in. I went to Oshkosh after the BFA National championships as long as I was active in ballooning. we camped in the huge camp ground using a tent, pop-up camper, motor home and camping trailer over the years. The kids and their kids came different years.A lot of memories center on that week. It had been an idea in Ben's mind  for a long time that he would like to have his name on the wall at Oshkosh. In fact, that wish came sooner than the desire to be interred in the church memorial garden. That phone call alone would set memories firing in my mind for the rest of the day, but there were other things to do, too.
I bought a car yesterday. It is a candy apple red Escape. I don't know how the manufacturer labels the color but my favorite car was my candy apple red country squire station wagon when the kids were little and my sentimental heart melted when I saw this one. My old Escape, while a true favorite, had high mileage, was out of warranty and therefore had nowhere to go but down. I thought a 2011 would be good to get since it would be a year older than a 2012 when it was first taxed, therefore a little less money to the taxmen. All changes seem to be hard and make me sentimental. I get there again for the times we had enjoyed together in the old Escape. so I had the old pull in the opposite directions exercise to repeat once again. It is the hesitation waltz danced once more around the floor. In fact, it literally was this morning when I took Emma to band camp. The radio was on the classical station and a classic viennese waltz was playing and I found my mental image of Ben and me dancing at one of the Liberty Symphony waltz nights twirling in my head. We so enjoyed those special evenings! And we were good dancers together. Somewhere I even have a trophy to prove it.
The good thing is that I can once more risk listening to classical and classic pop music again. Until this morning I had avoided them quite thoroughly because of too many memories that I couldn't bear to think about. This time I welcomed them. I think that's progress. I don't know if I'm ready to hear "My Finny Valentine" as yet - I sang that to Ben every Valentine's Day for 49 years, but, nonetheless progress.
I also revisited the MO state department of vital records to ask where the certified copies of the death certificate were. You may recall a post about them in April. Still waiting. I sat on hold while the recording counted down that I was the 6th caller in line, 3rd, 2nd, 1st. . . . And finally I was talking to a human and I strongly and firmly let go my ire (no, I didn't yell, but I was FIRM). I felt it was an insult to all families waiting for months to get the records without which there was little progress they could make regarding the business of death. I got a live one! She found the records were ready and she would get them off tomorrow! She promised! I hope I can believe her! She sounded nice and didn't insult me or Ben's memory so that alone made things better.
I called back a woman who knew Ben from the Conservation Commission and who wanted to once again pick mulberries off our tree. She answered "Hello, Ben!". That immediately told me I needed to tell her something she didn't know.  I think I will probably spend the rest of my life telling people that sad news. That, too, makes me misty eyed, which it probably will for the rest of my life.
I found out the poisin ivy poisin spray did kill the rose I gave Ben for his birthday a long time ago when I  first started on my rosarian antics ( it was my first English rose) somehow that seems oddly appropriate - both in the same year.
I went on to work on the roses, helped Kelsey plant three more in the garden by the shop and then lugged branches off the sidewalk until I melted in the heat and humidity.
as I said at the start-quite a day./

Card Shops are Not Safe Places

I bought a book in the cathedral bookstore last Sunday. It was about the  "A, B, C's of Grieving " I haven't read it yet but when I happened to open it up, the page revealed headlined finding a safe place to grieve. Oh gosh I am doing it all wrong - I grieve everywhere, even when I don't want to and even when it isn't safe. The one concession is to try to hide it so as not to embarrass myself and others. Grief is my companion whispering in my ear as we go about, presenting me with new realities, offering memories unbidden.Sometimes grief yells into my ear calling my attention to sorrows I might have missed on my own "How dare you laugh, you're alone now FOREVER. Nothing is funny!!!" So I am rethinking this book and will read from it later. Maybe I need an etiquette book on grief/grieving but not yet, please.
One of the least safe places has been my local Hallmark card shop.  I have known this since my brothers died in 2000 and 2002. One has to be careful not to wander into sections of the birthday card aisle that refer to brothers, likewise for Christmas, Father's Day. Even Thanksgiving cards are printed for "my brother and his family". . . . Necessarily I had to risk the card shop earlier in May in order to buy a birthday card, anniversary cards for my daughters, and an assortment of Mother's Day cards. I steeled  myself and determinedly headed in the door to get all cards at one time on one trip. Tunnel vision is a necessity. When one glimpses a "wrong" or dangerous caption - STOP LOOKING . Consequently a tracing of my route through the store is erratic, at best. Abrupt stops and turns marked the progress down the aisles  Don't look right there are "from the dog" cards there and in our dotage our dogs gave each of us cards for every occassion. Some of my best cards were from the dogs. To my wife - won't ever get any more of them., Quick! look away there is a "to the love of my life", and  "to my wife" - won't get one of those again. And then I decided to wander a bit through the various departments of the store, something I used to like to do. OOPS, I ran into a 50th anniversary bauble, something I will now never need or get. I wanted that anniversary. It nearly was mine - just a little less than a year to go  and now it is out of reach. Tears well up. I get my purchases and return to the safety of my car to weep yet again. It gets better (Not!). June has Father's Day and that is followed by July 2, Robert's birthday and July 3, Ben's.
Maybe I won't be a diamond level card buyer this year.

One Foot in Front of the Other

I have been much occupied with the tragic Joplin tornado and the news thereof. Those of us in the midwest and especially those of us who have experienced near misses with tornadoes are drawn to such activities every spring when one strikes nearby.
We had an F-4/5 tornado whisk over Liberty a few years back. I say "whisk" because it bounced across the area and destroyed a bit and rose up again (I think responding to the hilly terrain) and then came back down sweeping clean houses from their foundations or heaping shards of lumber into piles where there were once homes. That event forever changed how I looked at tornadoes. I am an avid weather watcher and found myself outside staring skyward whenever we were told to take cover.  Ben joined me in this hobby. It was a good way to pass the time together commenting on various cloud formations as they passed, noting any wind changes, precipatation and other weathery things. On that particular day in May I sent the family to the basement and set about to reload the dryer to squeeze another load from it before the electricity went out due to the storm. I heard the classic freight train noise, went to the north window and looked toward William Jewell college and found I couldn't see my daughter's house across the driveway and, second shock, the reason why was the debris caught up in the air - everything from dirt to  chunks of wood was blowing about. It belatedly occurred to me that standing at a window facing the storm and debris was none too smart. I remember that thought every time I hear the tornado sirens go off  That vulnerability is now a part of my storm experiences.
Well, I watched Brian Williams and a parade of newsfolk descend upon Joplin and report  the magnitude of the aftermath of the storm for several days . On what I believe was one of his last interviews he talked with a young woman whose husband lost his life saving hers. He commented at the close of the story about her being one of the people who were trying to go on by putting one foot in front of the other. I found tears rolling down my face. I understand that feeling as I never did before. I thought I did get it prior to this spring, but I didn't. It seems almost cliche, even glib. Trust me, it's not. I met that reality and when you are devastated you literally put all your mental energy, your focus, into the act of moving one foot after the other, one step at a time. It is impossible to plan farther  ahead - "What are you going to do this afternoon, tomorrow, next week?"  I didn't know. I could only go a step at a time quite literally.
I wonder if Brian Williams knows how right he was.