Widow...

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Who am I now?

I am a widow. How strange to write that out loud. I grew up doing various service projects for the widows of my home congregation. My mother was a wonderful example of this and taught her children well. Every Christmas my church youth group would make fruit baskets and deliver them on Christmas Eve to all our widows, along with a few carols as well. Mom always took me to the nursing home to visit a widow here and there. I watched her sing, massage feet and bring gifts to these little, old women who had lost their husbands years and years before. My favorite widow was Sister Parks. She was from England and I could listen to her for hours as she told story after story of her life across the pond. She was a rather large woman, so when she told me about her life as a ballerina I was enthralled. I used to help clean her house and wash her windows while my dad and brother mowed her lawn. When Gary and I first started dating, after my parents, she was the first person I wanted him to meet. She adored him immediately. Her first words to him were, “You have such luscious lips!” It became one of my favorite things to remind him of over the years.

In those days, church folks took seriously the admonition of James’ inspired words: “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress, and keep oneself from being polluted by the world.” (James 1:27) Since I lived in Florida, there was never a short supply of widows to look after. So, it is so strange to me, that now after all these years I am one, a widow. Back then those women looked so old to me. Some had been widowed for more than thirty years. They were always short, always had blue hair and always smelled of rose water. I remember being drawn to their fragile hands and the wedding rings they still wore. The gold bands had worn thin from wear and age, but were as much a natural part of the finger as the knuckle. To remove them was unthinkable. The ring represented a life not forgotten. The ring was a testament to a love cherished still.

I don’t know where I fit in this. I’m younger than the widows I knew back home. I don’t think I have blue hair… yet. And, I smell more of sweat from my excursions on LuLu, the pink bike, than rose water. So who am I now? How am I supposed to act? Because I have no husband does that mean I have no voice? Am I now someone who needs others to look after them? I don’t know this role. It is as unfamiliar to me as my now empty house. I shared a mission and a ministry with Gary for forty-three years. What happens to my mission now? My ministry? Will I be forced to surrender my talents and calling because I no longer have a husband? We were a team, a whole package. Our strengths and weaknesses complimented each other. He was left-handed. I was right-handed. He could sing. I could write. He could preach. I could teach. We both loved, and gave, and served, and… now what?

I am a widow. Half of me is missing. Should I just wait for someone to bring me a fruit basket?

wid·ow ˈwidō/ 

1. a woman who has lost her husband by death and has not remarried.

2.  a last word or short last line of a paragraph falling at the top of a page or column and considered undesirable.

Silliness...

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THE LULU CHRONICLES

The Hubs & me

The good news is that I am healing. The bad news is that it is slow going and quite painful. However, I am hopeful. I’ve experienced little glimpses of reflected light as if Someone has run their hand along a thick curtain, parting it ever so slightly. Just beyond and out of reach, I briefly catch a sliver of color and feel a small breeze. Just as quickly the curtain closes and it’s gone. But I saw what I saw and it brings promise.

Other things have begun happening that have given me an indication that life, my life, will proceed. Silly things really. But you see, silly and ridiculous, have always been a part of who I am, who we were. Gary and I shared a life that was not only lovingly, but also full of fun and oddities. Like the time an eleven dollar roast disappeared from our freezer. One day it was there, the next day it was gone. I accused our sons of swiping it for some special effect for one of their home movies. They denied it. I accused friends of sneaking in and taking it just to mess with us. They denied it. The mystery of the missing roast has never been solved—even after I reported it to the police department (much to the embarrassment of my sons). Or the time Gary and I were in the car when we spotted this fiery balloon-like thingy floating in the sky. We followed it through town, chasing it down streets and avenues until suddenly, it just disappeared. It was like we were the only ones who saw it. No mention was made on the news or in the paper. But we were convinced we saw a bonafide UFO. That’s our story and we sticking to it.

Well, yesterday, my puppy, who has developed a naughty habit of jumping up and grabbing things off the counters, swallowed my contacts, case and all. Later in the day you should have seen my optometrist’s face as I tried to explain to him what happened to my contacts and why I needed an appointment right away. I could have done without his smirk and the eye rolls. Don’t worry Atticus was fine. Everything passed on through, if you know what I mean.

I’ve lost my husband. My life is unrecognizable to me. My compass hasn’t been able to settle upon true north yet. I’m trying to jump start my emotions and to feel less foreign in my own life. It has been three months and seventeen days since I last heard my darling’s voice. I miss our life together. I miss the tenderness, the conversation, and I miss the silliness. We laughed a lot.

Yesterday, I laughed all by myself. My dog ate my contacts. Gary would have loved that.

It’s something familiar. I’ll take what I can get.

“When the cares of my heart are many, your consolations cheer my soul.”

                                                                   ~ Psalm 94:19

Loneliness is not temporary...

The Hubs & me

THE LULU CHRONICLES

There’s lonely and then there’s loneliness. Lonely is wanting someone to talk to. Lonely is being in a much too quiet house by yourself. Lonely is missing someone who’s gone on a trip. Lonely is a rainy day. Lonely is a bare, leaf-less tree. Lonely gives you the blues. When you’re lonely, anybody will do. However, lonely is usually temporary.

Loneliness is a whole other ballgame. I thought I knew what loneliness was, what it felt like. After all, the Hubs and I had spent some time apart when one of us was out of town. When my kids started going off to college I missed them so badly it physically hurt. But I’m here to tell you, I didn’t have a clue. It’s just as well. Knowing too much too soon is never a good idea.

It’s almost been four months since I lost Gary, and I’ve had some lonely days to be sure. But what I’m experiencing now all these weeks later is foreign to me. It is a lot like one feels when they’ve lost an arm or a leg. There is this phantom nerve-ending thing that goes on that makes you think the limb is still there. Sometimes it’s an itch on the bottom of your foot and when you go to scratch it, you are painfully made aware that you have no foot. Or sometimes a sharp sting jolts through your arm like a lightening strike causing you to almost pass out from the pain. Your gut reaction is to grab your arm, but when you do there’s nothing there. Loneliness is like that.

It lies.

Just when you think you’re going to be all right, a smell, a song, or an item of clothing sends this shutter through your body and suddenly you feel their presence, you hear their voice, their laughter is just in the other room and you run toward it only to find that they are not there. They will never be there again. Loneliness is not temporary.

Neither is it fatal. We only wish it would kill us.

But, this is what I know so far: I will never, ever stop loving my husband. I will never, ever stop thinking of him in the present tense. I will never stop expecting to see him when I walk through the door.

I also know this: God knows that I know that He knows.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” Psalms 147:3

Tweezer-picking shrapnel experience

THE LULU CHRONICLES

After a short blackout period, I’m back. I needed to be alone in the shadows for a while. I needed to wander through my house, touch base with my family, and wrestle with God about some things. Grief is an unpredictable journey and there’s nothing about it that I can count on. I can’t say I’ll be done with it in six months and start checking off the days. Monday may be a good day, but come Tuesday I might find myself knee-deep in an emotional mire of quick sand. All I can say about the grieving process is that I hope it will not leave me as it found me.

I have had some small victories though. The other morning after a night of falling snow, I put on my boots, my gloves and my fur hat and marched out to the garage.  On the first try, I was able to start the snow blower all by myself. The Hubs would have been proud.

Over the holidays, I drove almost two thousand miles by myself to visit family and friends. One, long, rainy, icy afternoon I drove up and down and around the curvy roads of the Ozarks. With my pup, Atticus, riding shotgun, I felt Gary’s large hand over the back of my seat reassuring me that I was doing just fine, thank you very much. Real or imagined, I can’t say.

I have spent several weeks now alone in our house. After three months I think I can honestly say there is nowhere else I’d rather be. This is where Gary and I lived our life. This house, this road, this town, this church family. We lived here together. Our home was a true shelter, a place to be loved and to love. Although Gary is now gone, I am happy to say, it still is. Just this weekend these rooms were filled with many tiny feet and little people whose giggles rose like bubbles from the basement on up. Papa was certainly missed, but in those sparkling small faces, he could still be found.

My heart hasn’t learned how to beat properly without Gary. The hole his absence has created may never, ever close all the way. The path I'm on is slippery and ever changing like a moving, gliding staircase. On any given day where I end up isn’t always where I thought I was going, but at least I’m moving.

God hasn’t exactly been cooperative, at least by my way of thinking. You''d think a Guy who in just six days could create an entire solar system from scratch along with the original prototypes of every living creature that ever was or ever will be, wouldn't have trouble mending a broken heart in under fifteen minutes.  During my blackout period I gave the Creator of the Universe the business a few times. Unfortunately, a clinched fist and a few sarcastic eye rolls didn’t persuade Him none. Apparently, we’re going to do this His way. I’m going to hurt until the hurting eventually stops. I’m going to cry until I don’t need to anymore. Loneliness will not kill me, even when I beg for it to. In the last couple of weeks I’ve finally come to terms with the truth that our Father is not a short-cut kind of God. The healing is in the slow tweezer-picking shrapnel experience. Not my will, but His. It’s always been His.

So, I get up every morning and wait on Him to show me how to do this. And every morning I wait and trust that He will come.

So far, He always has…

How did I get so lucky?

Papa & Paisly- Christmas 2012

THE LULU CHRONICLES

What I love about my life today: The forty-two Christmases that Gary Cleveland and I spent together. He loved Christmas, but he hated, I mean hated shopping and wrapping. He was very content to be surprised on Christmas morning along with everyone else, even with the gifts he supposedly “picked out”. However, the gifts he made himself were special. He loved tinkering in his workshop and coming up with the perfect gift. From doll wardrobes, to work benches, to woodcarvings, to weathervanes, little did we know how precious those gifts would become. And then there is the Christmas music. The man loved it all from traditional, to country, to hip-hop, to disco, to singing dogs and frogs. We’re even the proud owners of a Green Bay Packer Christmas CD— vintage 1985 or so.

And of course, Christmas 2012 was my favorite. I think we knew that it was probably our last together. Neither of us said it out loud, but we knew the cancer was gaining ground. So we made it special. We invited my whole family to pack it in a car and bring it North. Of course how do you sleep 20 people in a three-bedroom house? So, all summer long Gary worked on what we called the Bird’s Nest, the little room over his workshop. He insulated it, put in a new window and electric heat. He even decorated it himself—traditional rummage sale/man cave. Gary spent hours on this project and loved every minute of it. A couple of days before Christmas our family started rolling in. Great-grandparents, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews, cousins and grandchildren, plus eighteen inches of snow. What could be more perfect? The Hubs and I slept in Bird’s Nest and gave our bed to my parents. We were wall-to-wall people, stepping over puppies and children and wrapped gifts. Our kitchen was always full and the coffee pot never empty, at least not for long. It was glorious!

Christmas Tree- 2012

My favorite moment? Taking Gary’s hand each evening and tromping through the snow to our little nest. Gary had strung Christmas lights up there (they are still there) and when we climbed the stairs and entered the room, it was like every fun event we’d ever experienced together— camping, vacations, homemaking, parenting, building, growing and loving bottlenecked into that one toasty little space. Cozied up under a pile of blankets with the winter wind howling and icy crystals creating one-of-a-kind art on the windowpanes, I remember sleeping next to this bear of a man and thinking: how did I get so lucky?

Dear ones, enjoy your Christmas. Hug and hang on tight to everyone you love. Make magic happen this season. Nothing is too small to dote over and make a memory with. The Christmas tree, the stockings hung with care, the tasty treats, the hot chocolate, the sparkle of lights, the tiny hands, the rosy cheeks, the grandparents, the newborns, the wrapping paper and the quiet candle-lit moments. Embrace. Give thanks. Allow this season to take your breath away— for it will be these exact memories that will one day give light to all dark passageways and will gently escort you slowly back to what’s what: How did I get so lucky?

May our Lord shine upon you and give you peace. May His Son bring you hope and healing all the year through. May your days be filled with thanksgiving and breath-taking joy. And, may you never waste another moment.

Merry Christmas. Thank you for your faithfulness, encouragement and for walking with me on this journey. LuLu’s Chronicles will return in January 2014.

Blessings,

deb

He was here...

Papa Gary & Cian

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THE LULU CHRONICLES

Recently a friend was consoling me over of the loss of my husband. She said many wise things but there is this one thing she said that hit a nerve. I’m at the stage of mourning where I’m sensing that just saying Gary’s name makes others uncomfortable. They are not trying to be mean or thoughtless. In fact, I’m sure they are simply trying to be sensitive to my needs. But my friend advised, “Talk about Gary.” She went on to say that talking about him would make his absence more bearable.

I do want to talk about the Hubs, but whom do I talk to about him? And does talking about him truly make those around me uncomfortable or am I imagining it? At Thanksgiving, one night the kids and I were sitting around the table and began telling stories about their dad, just little things, sweet tidbits that made us tear up and laugh. It was like a cage door was unlocked. It felt wonderful.

Gary was here. He made such an impact. He was loved. He loved. He was funny. He was charming. He was compassionate and passionate. He was generous and wise. There are so many stories. I find myself wanting to tell someone about the very first poem he ever wrote me, or about the day he walked right into my speech class in college and sat down behind me. It wasn’t his class. He just wanted to see me. Then there was the time when our first son was born and he was so frightened and overwhelmed at the responsibility of being a dad that he took off on a long aimless drive for several hours. I was getting worried about him. But he came home excited and with tears in his eyes at the possibilities ahead of us with this child and the others to follow. Oh, and sometimes when the kids were finally asleep, he’d sneak out and buy us both a turtle sundae like at nine o’clock at night. It was our secret. On the soccer field his nickname was Rambo Rev. It was deserved. On family vacations he loved to drive all night with the radio blaring. The Eagles and Chicago were his favorite bands. He was a preacher and had the heart of a servant. When he’d get calls in the middle of the night he’d answer the phone like he’d been up waiting for their call. I was his first real girlfriend. I was also his last real girlfriend.

Not being able to talk about the one you lost to those who knew him is like someone putting duct tape over your mouth… and your heart. My friend was right. I need to talk about Gary to anyone who will let me. I need the healing that will bring. I need the validation that he mattered, he was here, that others miss him too. I understand it may be awkward and hard. However, I’ve never shied away from hard.

If you have any Gary stories tucked away, I’d love to hear them. If you’ve lost someone you love, I’d also love to hear about him or her. What did they do that made you laugh? What was their favorite food? Did they have a nickname? Did they give you one?

Say their name out loud. Remember. Allow the memories to do what God intended.

deb

Good People...

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THE LULU CHRONICLES

What I love about my life today: Good people. I am surrounded by good people. Even though I am seven hundred miles or so away from home right now, people I hardly know have shown me compassion. You see Gary battled cancer for three years. The minute the word got out that he was sick people fell to their knees and began praying for him—people we knew and tons of people we didn’t know. In church bulletins all around the country Gary’s name was placed on prayer lists. One time we were in a restaurant and a teenager we didn’t know came up to us and told Gary she had been praying for him. Some how she had heard about his battle and was so happy to put a face to the prayer.

This past Wednesday night I went to church with my mom and found myself being hugged by people I barely knew. Gary’s name had periodically appeared in their church bulletin for the past three years. Many had tears in their eyes. Some embraced me while others gently took my hand and patted it. One whispered in my ear some thoughtful, loving words. She had lost her husband over ten years ago. I was now a member of the 

-->sorority —a sister widow.

 To be honest, I dreaded walking through the doors. No one wants to be pitied. Sad looks and people fumbling over their words makes me feel like I should apologize for my sorrow and for putting them on the spot. At times I feel like the Elephant Man, remember that story? It was a great movie as I recall. A terribly deformed man hid in dark corners and back alleys with a ratty hood over his head because he was so hideous looking. I have a hole in my chest where my heart once was, that can’t be pretty.

However, everyone who has tried to comfort me from home and afar have gently removed the hood touched my wound and has not looked away. I wish this for everyone whose life map has been torn in two. Good people. Church folk.

I am encouraging anyone out there in the blog-o-sphere who has lost their way to run not walk toward a family of Believers. They are different. They are Spirit-led. They think nothing of putting others before themselves. Their arms are outstretched, their dinner tables always have room for one more, and as they say in the south, they can be counted on when you drop your basket.

Good people. How could this hurting, tattered world survive without them? How would I survive without them? How would I survive without them? I couldn’t. I can’t. God is good.

deb