It's time...

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Me and my Alabama boy.

On this day forty-five years ago, I met a boy from Alabama—and the adventure began. It was a magnificent journey to be sure, one full of laughter, joy, challenges and discovery.  We meshed our lives and as only the young and naive can do, stepped out with nothing but a song and a prayer. God was gracious. I can’t express how much I longed for our lives and ministry together to continue. Forty-five years simply wasn’t enough. We had things we still wanted to do, dreams to fulfill and many more chapters to write. It’s now been eight months since the Hubs left and went on his own adventure without me. He’s gone on ahead and I can only imagine what God has him up to. But where does that leave me?

Here’s how I’m going to answer that. It leaves me the one left on this side of Glory to continue what we started. A life of ministry. Now, where there used to be three of us, now it’s down to two. Just God and Me. After eight months of mourning, longing, and wondering, I’m about to take the first steps back on the path. Next week, I will step onto foreign soil for the first time, a dream Gary and I had planned on doing together. I am part of a mission team going to Guatemala for seven days. Our service will include time at an orphanage, helping at a medical clinic and teaching God’s word. Personally, I will be conducting a puppet workshop, teaching high school students how to teach biblical truths to youngsters with the help of scripts and puppets. The scripts I’ve written have been translated into Spanish and the puppets are all packed up and ready to go.

Years ago, the Hubs and I had planned on doing mission work in New Zealand. During our college years, we studied and prepared ourselves for that day. That day didn’t come. Hence, we learned early on that our plans may not always ‘gel’ with God’s plans. Instead, we found ourselves in ministry at a small church in Illinois. In Illinois, we met two couples that were forming a stateside mission team to plant a church in Wisconsin. Wisconsin still wasn’t New Zealand, but then I guess God knew what He was doing. We continued to minister to that church we helped plant for thirty-eight years. On the day he died, Gary was still their minister.

Finally, it seems God is going to let me out of the country. Oh, how I wished the Hubs would be joining us, but I’ve gotten used to God’s plan’s trumping mine. So, it’s time. It’s time to pick up my life. It’s time to remove the shroud. It’s time to honor my husband and our life together by carrying on what we started. It’s time to take God’s outstretched hand once again and say, “Here I am send me.”

“Father, I’m humbled by Your faithfulness, awed by Your timing and down-right amazed at Your persistence. Thank You for finding a spot for me to serve. Thank You for Your healing hand. Thank you for all the good in my life. And, thank You again for the love of a good man. Help me to do you both proud.”

Amen.

After...

In my "after" Zella still plays soccer.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Life goes on. It’s a hard realization to swallow, but true. No matter how important, how loved, how gifted, how admired a person is, when they leave this world, while the sun and moon may flicker and countless tears puddle into an ocean, a day will come when life must get on with it. For the one who has lost, that day comes much too soon. Pushed, pulled and prodded, we are coaxed back through the fog to a place where car horns still honk, bills still accumulate, and grass must be mowed.

In my "after" hostas reappear...

My before life was lovely, lively, and will be forever cherished. My after life is an obstacle course, a heart thumping time of high jumps, rope climbing, and falling flat on my face. At first, the best thing I could say about it is that it kept me busy chasing my own tail. Staying busy was my salvation during those first excruciating months.

I am slowly realizing that the after is all I’ve got now, and I am confronted with the hardest choice I’ll ever have to make: Should I allow my after to dig my grave, or should I hold it up by its feet, slap it rudely on its behind and wish it God’s speed.

I’m painstakingly choosing the latter. But how do I start? What do I throw out, what do I keep? What are my dreams now? Am I allowed to dream them alone? Who am I without my soul mate, my partner? Who do my friends think I am? Are my friends still my friends? Do I travel? Do I stay put? I have an uneasy feeling that my after has a gangly twin named what now?
 

I can’t see my future clearly and hopefully no one expects me to at this point. I am a woman who has been sealed into a plastic bag. I can’t breathe, or see, or move very well, but somehow I’m supposed to get on with it and make a new life. Will I ever be able to poke holes in this suffocating bubble?

... and fern unfurl their wings.

I hope so. I think so. Lately, I feel I have tumbled forward a little bit. The pain isn’t that searing flash anymore, but it has left a whopper of a blister that gives me fits. The fact that life moves on must play a part in the mourning and the healing, don’t you think? How sad it would be if with every death something in nature forgets to bud. Or, when someone dies, children stop playing. Or, when we mourn, the birds no longer sing. What a horrible after that would make. I fear we’d never, ever recover.

I sit alone and strain to hear the sounds around me. They are far away, but I hear enough to convince me there is movement out there. Yesterday, I walked out on my deck and was surprised by the sweet smell of lilacs. The fragrance gently broke through my sorrow and coaxed me a little closer to ... what?

In my "after" lilacs will fill the air...

After is now where I live. My days and times are in God’s holy hands. They were before, however, I shamefully admit I didn’t notice it as much.  I’m convinced my Master has a plan. I will try not to whine. I will try to  be brave. And, I’ll try my best to allow God to lead. When I fail at all of the above (and I will), I’ll go sniff a rose, or dip my toes in the pond, or go climb on the John Deere and become one with the grass. What else can I do? This is what after is all about.

... and Josh will still sneak selfies on my phone.

deb

Thumped up the side of the head

Not that long ago...

THE LULU CHRONICLES

I’ve been on a seven-week sabbatical/journey. I’ve put quite a few miles on my car. Atticus, my labradoodle pup, has become quite the traveler; Sprawled out in the backseat, he seems content to snooze around the country. I’m home now and some things seem better and some are worse. Let’s start with the good: I feel stronger emotionally, mentally and even physically. I look back over the first few weeks after Gary’s death and I honestly do not know how I functioned. Now, seven months into the loss, those first days seem like a miracle. I woke. I dressed. I ate. I visited with friends. I went to church. I saw to business. I even smiled on occasion.  And, miracle upon miracle, I managed not to harm myself. Oh, I never had suicidal thoughts, but I am amazed that I didn’t accidently walk out in front of a car, or when driving get the brake and accelerator mixed up. I’m surprised I didn’t eat bananas with the peel still on them. Today, I’m more aware of my surroundings, and my days are a little more intentional, a tad more structured. I’m even thinking about cooking for myself. While I could probably eat cereal two out of three meals a day, my body is starting to yearn for something a little less Cheerio-like.

Spiritually, I’m beginning to find peace. For the first time in my life I truly understand the Apostle Paul’s words when he said to pray without ceasing and to not quench the Spirit. I have been in constant communication with God for seven weeks, maybe longer. Sometimes it all takes place in my head and heart, and other times it looks like I’m talking to myself ... and answering myself. I can’t shake God, and His Spirit is using me like a rumpus room. If this mourning thing is going to work for me, The Spirit must be given free reign. Some days our encounters are like swallowing Castrol oil. Other days, it’s like a cool cloth to my forehead. No matter which, I’m beginning to hear the whisper of Holy Words and feel Divine thumps up the side of my head, mostly when I’m at my most vulnerable. I think this is a good thing.

Now for the bad: I still hate this. I keep wanting to wake up and it all be different. Gary is alive and he’ll be home from work any minute. The numbness is wearing off and the pain is solidifying around my heart like drying cement. Yesterday, I sat out in Gary’s shop in the barn and begged him to come home. Today, out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw him at his workbench. The longing for him has deepened to a level that I have no words for. I think only angels would know how to speak of and spell this kind of ache. I’m not privy to that language yet.

So, the work of healing and mourning continues. I’m thankful for the time away. This house hinders me and heals me all at the same time. I must get away from it, but then after a while I feel myself running back towards it.

LuLu sits in the garage waiting. I haven’t had the heart for a bike ride yet. Maybe it’s time. Maybe pedaling down the road on a pink bike is the next step toward the thing that’s next. Gary gave me this bike three years ago for my sixtieth birthday. Maybe The Spirit thumped him up the side of the head once and made him buy a pink bike. Maybe.

deb

A warm night...

Mom & me

THE LULU CHRONICLES

I stood outside in the dark while a warm, wispy breeze kissed my cheeks. Overhead a quarter moon hovered while its reflected beam drenched me in soft light. Stars fluttered against the velvet sky vying for my attention. Atticus sniffed the Bermuda grass tracking smells and textures as only a puppy can. All was quiet. My mother was asleep. The day had been long, especially for an 86-year-young woman who had spent the afternoon visiting her husband of 68-years. Dad now lives in a nursing home fifty miles away.

I’m in Memphis again. In a few days I’ll be bringing my mother back to Wisconsin with me for a visit. She has reluctantly agreed to the trip. She is uncomfortable leaving my dad for too long, even though they no longer live under the same roof, and even though he is well cared for when she is away. But, she needs to come with me. She has grandchildren and great-grandchildren who need to love up on her awhile. While they will delight her, I know her heart will be here... with her husband.

As I stood outside the other night I thought about how much my mom and I are going through right now, and how similar our journey has become. Under the protective glow of the moon, I laid the comparisons out before me as if they were two columns on a sheet of paper. I lost my husband in October of last year. Dad was put into the nursing home a month later. My husband died. My mother’s husband has late-stage Alzheimer’s. I miss Gary’s presence, his voice, his laughter, and his touch. I miss our conversations. Mom misses all those things about my dad as well. While he is physically still here, and she visits him regularly, her husband is not. They have not had a real conversation for quite a while now. 

I always thought when my parents grew old Gary would be here to help me. He loved my mom and dad and made his feelings very clear. Never in a thousand years did I think I would have to do this on my own. 

The other night I felt the stars wanting to encourage me. As they blinked and twinkled they conveyed a wonderful rebuke and reminder, that silly girl that I am, I was not doing this on my own. I was not doing this stage of my life as I had planned it, but I was here and now as our God ordained it to be. I don’t want to get into the discussion of what God knows, or what God allows, or Yada-Yada-Yada. Those kinds of conversations hold no meaning for me now. God is. He is the Beginning and the End, and everything in between. Cancer killed Gary. Alzheimer’s has taken my dad. And, neither one of those diseases can bully God. 

I sat outside the other night for a long time. Atticus thought he was quite the lucky pup to be allowed to roam the yard (and the neighbors’ yard) without restraint. In the quiet something dawned on me: God knows what He’s doing. I’m going to relax now... or at least try. I’m praying my mom can too. She’s been through so much. She loved Gary. She loves my dad. I want my love for her to be something she can now rest in a little bit and visa versa.

I stared at the moon for quite awhile. I want Gary to be up there somewhere. I want heaven to be between here and there. I want it to be as lovely as a dark night, a bright moon and sassy stars.

God chose him...

THE LULU CHRONICLES

April 18, 2014- Birthday Girl rides a roller coaster.

So, okay, I turned 63 on April 18. Yet, another ‘first’ since the Hubs has been gone. I was three months older than Gary. He liked telling everyone he was married to an ‘older woman’ during that three month period. Cradle Robber was his favorite pet name for me during that interlude. I always breathed a sigh of relief when, on July 10, he turned the same age as his old lady. We had a lot of fun with this running joke the past forty-three years. Of course, I wished it could have continued at least until I turned 103 and he followed three months later.

Years ago, I bought the Hubs a sun dial engraved with Robert Browning’s infamous verse, “Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be...” It never crossed my mind that we wouldn’t get to grow old together. I don’t think it ever seriously crosses any of our mind’s that we’d be cheated out of that experience. Intellectually, we know death will happen and it will happen to one or the other first. Yet, emotionally, we hope we’ll be exempt, or that maybe the rules will change before it can happen to us. Or, maybe the Lord will come first and save us from the unthinkable.

I think that’s okay. We are nothing if we are not a people of hope, and a people who believe that our God will come, is coming, and will someday actually be here. I was hoping and praying that He would come before Gary and I had to say good-bye. He didn’t.

I’m the one left. Gary and I had many late-night conversations about this before he died. We even talked about this before he ever got sick, and we both agreed that I would probably be more capable to handle being alone than he would. At this point and time, I want to officially renege on that decision. I don’t feel capable at all. What were we thinking? Just because I can cook for myself and know what all the buttons on the washing machine do, does not make me the best candidate for roaming the earth without my soul mate. Gary was the spiritual giant in our family. I was the tag along. If it weren’t for his loving patience and gentle spirit, I would have gone off the deep end a long time ago. But, here it is: God chose him. And, He must think I need a little more work.

So, I’m now 63. Gary will not be catching up in three months. He is on a different timeline these days. It looks like it’s me who going to have to do the catching up now. He has seen God’s face. I’m only longing to. He knows the secrets and the mysteries of the universe. I’m still reading the Words and trying to figure out what they mean. He has found the Throne Room. I’m still trying to get the map open. He has kissed the Scarred Feet. I am still looking and trying to follow the footprints.

My birthday came and went. And, when I laid my head down at the end of the day, I was pleasantly surprised to realize that it had been a really nice day. Maybe Gary wasn’t wrong. Maybe I can do this. Maybe.

deb

Every good moment...

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The Hubs & me Anniversary camping in Door Cty.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

This week Atticus and I are in Door County, Wisconsin—a tiny slice of heaven if you ask me. Gary thought so too. We came here just about every October for our anniversary. It offers the beauty of Lake Michigan, bluffs, trails, a little bit of shopping, and good food. Sometimes we’d camp, sometime we’d stay in a resort or motel, and for the last few years, we were fortunate enough to celebrate in a condo some friends insisted we use. That’s where I am now.

I came to write. The latest book needs some editing. But, there’s something else I felt I needed to do here. I call it reclaiming.  It takes time and great effort, and I am also discovering, it takes the fortitude of a Viking to glean what must be gleaned from a season of mourning.  I feel this urgency to reclaim things and places that meant so much to us. I don’t want to shun them, or ignore them, or allow them to become taboo or sad.  Of course, some places and things will be harder than others, but it all must be done if I am going to be able to eventually reclaim my own life.

The Cleveland Clan- Door County- circa1985-ish

Door County is one of those places. We started backpacking here thirty years ago. We brought our sons here to teach them about nature, camping and a tolerance for shopping. We dreamed dreams here, made plans here, laughed here, and loved here.

 On Sunday, I took Atticus on a hike on the shores of Lake Michigan. So many memories were made on these trails and camping sites. At one section of the park there are some huge rocks lining the shore. When the tide is out, you can hopscotch quite a ways out from the bank. I felt called there on Sunday. I needed to hear the water lap over those rocks and the melody that only that tide can sing.  Years ago, Gary and I stood on that exact spot, kissed and promised ourselves we’d one day repeat our vows there. We did eventually repeat our vows, but it wasn’t here. So, today I built a tiny Stonehenge-like rock pile in honor of us, our life together, and my life now. And, I thanked God for every good moment He gave us.  It just felt right.

Atticus having a romp in Lake Michigan

Earlier Sunday morning as I was walking into Al Johnson’s Restaurant, another of Gary’s favorite places, I passed a young couple holding hands. They were walking close and laughing. I was suddenly struck with the realization that I knew exactly how they felt. I knew because I had done that with Gary. We had held hands and walked so close together a broom straw wouldn’t have fit between us. I know that feeling and it is wonderful. For a brief moment, it made my heart glad. What a blessed life I’ve had to have been loved and to have loved like that. I breathed a quick prayer for the couple I had passed, that they would know, as I do, that when you love deeply, there is nothing to regret.

Me, Atticus & Door Cty.

Seeing that young couple together did not make me sad. It made me thankful for every good moment. God is indeed near.

deb

It was spring today...

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Atticus- wet and happy

It was spring today. It may go back to being winter tomorrow, but today you could almost hear the soft, lime green tulip sprouts breaking through the damp thawed earth. It was glorious. It was all I could do to keep myself from scooping up a handful of mud and burying my nose into its mossy, cool, goopy smell.

 This is the first spring for Atticus the pup. Last week the pond was still frozen. Today, the ice is all gone and Atticus couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t walk on water. However, once he waded up to his chest, the call of the wild captured his soul and he realized that this was what he was born to do.

This is my first spring too. The first one without the Hubs. As I sat on the swing overlooking our pond, I ached to see him across the way on his tractor. I could almost feel his weight sitting next to me on the swing, the one that he had built. He loved putzing around this place. I could see him planting a tree across the pond, or sitting next to his burn pile in his ball cap, or gathering the limbs from under the willows that winter had coaxed down. I could hear him in his workshop tuning up his John Deere. Spring always got him chomping at the bit to get outside and work these three little acres of ours.

This afternoon it was just me. As the ground under foot yawned and rubbed the sleep out of its eyes, I missed Gary so much I could hardly walk. How he loved watching the earth wake up from the vantage point of South Moon. Yeah, that’s what we named this place. It’s taken from a book written by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, South Moon Under. This was our place. Our haven. Now what?

I sat for a long time watching Atticus romp like a schoolboy on a playground. As he discovered nature’s bounty in dead bullfrogs, damp sticks and open spaces, I pondered. I talked to Gary. I talked to God. I talked to both of them at the same time. I asked them what they were going to do with me. I wanted to know the plan. Neither one of them were real forth coming. A message is whispered through the willows and blown across the pond. Keep moving. Keep breathing in and out. Wait. Trust. Be still. Listen. Fear not. Go see if the tractor will start.

Gary would have liked Atticus, especially today, dripping wet, dried leaves stuck on his tail, and a soggy stick clamped in his jaws.

It was spring today. My first.

deb