It seems so long ago but at the same time just like yesterday.

Steve was home on his second week of hospice. We were at the week before Easter. We hosted a family egg hunt here at our house. It would be Steve’s last Easter, no matter how hard we prayed.

We were blessed to be the hosts of all the major holidays in 2020. Thanksgiving and Christmas. Back “then”, as if it was so long ago, Steve was still battling back. He helped with Thanksgiving dinner, and made the Christmas ham.

Who knew it would be his last hurrah? His joy of cooking, seeing the entire side of my family, but I’m so grateful that things worked out this way.

In November of 2020, we had actually taken our last trip, to our happiest place on earth… the winery.

Those who knew us best, knew what we were talking about. It was Childress Vineyards in Lexington, NC. We went there so often, the employees there became our friends , part of our extended family. So, I’m grateful he got to visit it one last time. It was his last trip.

Now back to the week of the egg hunt.

That weekend, our son and his wife brought us their electric recliner. It was so great when others were thinking of Steve and wanted to help make it all easier for him and me. It was another pivotal week, as all the weeks from that point on were. He only used the recliner once or twice since it quickly approached the point where he no longer had the use of his legs. The doctors told us that as the tumors multiplied, he would lose the use of them. And that was this week, right before Easter.

We were fortunate enough to have my brother’s wheelchair and my brother-in-law’s ramps we had built for his visit 2 years ago. So, we were able to make his watching the egg hunt possible. It took 3 of us to get him lifted into the wheelchair, we rolled him out the front door, down the sidewalk, into the back yard. And of course, it was a damp and cloudy day in Pennsylvania, so he was cold and not his usual self.

Little did I know, this was the last day he would get out of bed, to celebrate a family tradition.

Steve was still eating fairly well. I tried to give him more well balanced meals but made sure to ask him what he was hungry for. It was like he was on death row waiting for that last meal. I didn’t know when that would be, so I tried to keep it interesting. I honored all requests.

The hospice nurses would come Monday, Wednesday, Friday and then on Tuesday and Thursday, they would come and give him his baths and shave him. Make him feel like a man again. And he loved the visits.

In between hospice visits, numerous family members and friends paid him a visit. Some days, he was too tired and had enough of the visits.

This would be the last week that he could feed himself. But, he still ate.

Once upon a time, not so long ago, we were living our dream life. Once upon a time…

What is my response to someone who has no idea that I lost Steve? They didn’t even know his name. They never met him. They don’t know what he did for a living. They never shook his hand or saw his smile. Yet they assume he exists, he’s just at work or at the store… or just “out.” 

I had a contractor over the other day. The project was to install new garage doors. It was the last project Steve and I had talked about on our infamous “list.” We would choose one thing, save for it, then get it done. 

These garage doors were ordered before Steve died. Due to the shortage of everything, it took the better part of 10 months for them to arrive. 

The contractor was installing them and I told him I came within days of canceling before he called. After all, while I’m going to enjoy the benefits, Steve’s not here to see the final product. Some things aren’t important if you have no one to share with. It’s just a thing that needs to get done.

The man proceeded to tell me that we ordered one of the best quality they offer and he was sure my husband just wanted to please me…. 

And there you have it! 

What do you say?

Do I be honest and tell him my personal business? That could set me up… either to be taken advantage of, or get some sympathy and maybe throw something into the deal for free. 

What do I say?

Do I not say anything and just agree with him? YES! My husband wanted us to get what I really loved. And just move on after this. 

What do I say?

Do I not say anything but talk about Steve in the past tense? For instance, “he would have really loved this.” And then, would the contractor really pick up on it? Probably not. That leaves the door open – am I divorced or separated? I’m neither of these.

What do I say?

Do I say he’s going to love this, like when he gets home from wherever he is? 

At the end of the conversation, I sauntered up the small hill to the house. Tears were starting to run down my cheeks. I knew the story of the garage doors and how they came to be. At the same time, I knew how we… the new Steve and I …. are still coming to be. I knew he saw them, loved them, and he was saying “Honey, as long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

That happiness was bitter sweet. Check that off the list, but it was the last thing Steve physically had a part in. I know he’ll always be a part of my decisions, because we’re a team. He’ll guide me. 

I think, in the end, I can’t worry about what I say. People are always sorry because that’s the societal thing to say. But, they don’t get your heartbreak, the hurt, the emotions which you can’t control over silly garage doors. 

What do you say?

Sometimes it’s best to say nothing at all.

Remember that elderly person that lived in your neighborhood? The one who maybe you found annoying. You would try to skip past their house as you walked, jogged or were out with your dog. Maybe you were in a hurry to get somewhere, but whenever you passed they would see you, want to stop you for some chit-chat. So you would try avoid their house. It was as if they could smell you coming by, they knew your routine… And now I get it.

It’s not that they were creepy or nosy or busy bodies… they weren’t stalking you. They were just watching and waiting. I know, it still sounds creepy. But…

Now I get it.

Chances are they lived alone. Their spouse had passed on. They might be confined to their home for lack of driving or transportation. They did the same things every day, at the same time, without fail. 

And now I get it. 

They were looking forward to someone passing by on a regular basis, like clock work, to help pass the time. To have someone to talk to. 

And now I get that. 

My father had a stroke, and multiple mini strokes. He was confined to being home after that. I was raising 3 children under the age of 7, and still he would call me every day, all the time, and want to chat, for what felt like forever. He would call my mother-in-law, and every person he could. I would talk as long and as much as possible but, sad to say, I remember asking my mom to get him to cut it back. I’m just being real. Yes I did. She said she didn’t know what she could do. She was still working full time. I regret being self-centered but she didn’t complain. 

And now I get it. 

Why do I get it? Because even though I consider myself young at 61, that’s me now!

I try to settle into a new routine that basically just involves me. I can change it up anytime, but I understand them now.

They’re lonely, they have no one to talk to at home. But when they find someone, it breathes a little life back into them. And we listen, take a deep breath and think, “there’s ten minutes I’ll never get back.” But you gave them ten more minutes of life… and you didn’t even know it. 

And now I get it. 

I find if I text someone, I can have a full blown conversation with them but then I have to mentally disconnect from texting or else I could go on and on and on. I try not to appear at all like I’m desperate for any kind of conversations. I realize their lives are busier than mine and I don’t want them to see the next text and say “Aw jeez, now what?”

But I understand why that elderly neighbor might need the conversation, and why my dad did. Now I get it.

I look outside our house a lot. It’s winter, too cold to be outside, but I can’t continuously look at the walls of our house… our “cottage,” as Steve and I would often call it. I love it so much, it gives me comfort and it’s my new world – maybe because I feel closest to Steve here. Maybe that’s why most elderly don’t like going into a care facility. 

Now I get it.

I always look for things going on in the neighborhood. I hear a chainsaw or machinery and wonder where the action is. I’m also a free security service! I’m not nosy, but that’s all I have. And now I get it.

I look and wait for the mail to be delivered. The truck has a familiar and particular sound. I get excited, even though I have the app and can check what is going to be delivered to me today – I was someone’s priority today. Thank you USPS! 

And now I hope everyone has gotten it. 

What if you were the last person that they talked to on your walk? Or the last person they set eyes on with visual contact, just being friendly… 

I was the last person Steve laid eyes on and the last to see him alive. I was the last to talk to him. 

Now I get it. 

So, when that individual, whether young or old, friendly or otherwise, no matter what they say or their tone, they may have been to emotional places where you haven’t or have yet to experience.

I hope now you get it, too.

I don’t think I’m one of those people who are totally helpless. Granted, I don’t know everything about any one thing, but I think I’m pretty self-sufficient, and sometimes I’m just looking for some validation.

Here’s my situation: My daughter lives 3000 miles away in California. So there are a lot of things I don’t bother my daughter with, because she’s in an entirely different time zone. So most of the time I just try to text her with the important things because she can’t help me with some of the smaller things or the things that you do to maintain a household on a daily basis.

My son, on the other hand, is local and close by. He lives less than 20 minutes from us so I will often just text him with little stupid stuff because we’re in the same time zone. I text him about the things that I’ve done on my own without needing his help or anybody’s help, and he feels the need to always respond. I told him, look, if I really need you to respond or if it’s an emergency, I will let you know. I don’t expect a response for every little thing, sometimes I just want to talk or text just to get it out of my own head.

But sometimes I do wish someone would tell me, “Good job, Mom. I’m glad you could climb onto the roof and change that spotlight.” Or “I’m glad you figured out how to correct whatever was wrong all on your own.”

There are so many other widows that don’t have a clue, and that’s okay. But I try my best not to be a burden on anyone. I never have in the past, and I don’t want to in the future. There are so many new things I have to do now on my own, or figure out on my own – for example, I had to insulate the pipes for the winter and get all the equipment ready for winter storage. In the past if I was doing something like this, Steve would always compliment me and say, “Honey, you’re doing such a great job” on maintaining the lawn. Or “The gardens look so good, you’re doing a great job.”

But I no longer have that validation. And sometimes I don’t think my kids or friends realize how hard I try to keep things maintained. In my mind, when I’m taking care of the household maintenance, it’s as if Steve was still here and giving me guidance or a pep talk.

I’ve had to figure this stuff out because I’m not helpless. I always feel I’m empowered and I’m capable of figuring a lot of stuff out on my own and I consider it an accomplishment. I just wish sometimes one of them would say “Good job, Mom. You’re doing great, but let me know if you need my help.” Just the acknowledgment that I’m doing stuff on my own, because I am capable and I can probably figure out most things. I’m not a hopeless widow that need someone here 24/7, and I really only need help when it comes to the big things, things that involve power tools like a chainsaw or a log splitter. Otherwise I think I’m doing pretty well, but I just wish sometimes I could get some validation.

My kids always get back to my messages in a timely fashion, but recently, my son seemed annoyed. He called me and said “Come on, Mom. I’m not busy, just get it all out, tell me what you want.” I had nothing important to share with him, just those little things that I was so proud of, or how my day went, or what I did. Then I realized, I must be annoying and a pain in the ass… He must be thinking “Now what?” and hates reading my messages.

So I decided to change that. I didn’t message him for 5 days. He finally called me to make sure I was okay. Obviously, I was. But I said to him – This is what it’s going to be like when I’m gone and you and your sister will wish I was annoying you two.

So, make sure you acknowledge someone’s smallest accomplishments, even if it doesn;t seem like a big deal. But always tell them… whether they’re old or young… that they’re doing a great job. It inspires them to keep going on to the next project… it validates that what they did was great… no matter what it was.

At what point do you stop saying certain pronouns? Specifically, plural pronouns – like “ours” or “we.” So many times I find myself saying “We talked about this… We decided on this…. This is our plan.”

When do people find it off putting? Do they think I’m crazy? Do they think to themselves, “She does know her husband is deceased, right?”

Of course I do, but when you’re part of a couple for so long, it’s hard to stop using group or inclusive terms. Just like for some of those who are newly wedded after being single for so long, you have to make sure you’re including your other half. Well, I’m in the opposite situation… a loss of my other half rather than a gain of another half.

I asked my sister in law who has been widowed for 6 years now – Does it ever change? It was called to her attention after two years that there’s no longer a “we.” But, to break that habit is easier said than done. And until you’ve been here, it is easy for you to say.
I’ve tried to take everything with a grain of salt if I felt someone said something to me that I thought was out of line.

Now that Steve’s gone, are you going to get your hair cut?
When are you getting rid of his toothbrush?
Will you ever sleep on his side of the bed?

The truth is, I don’t have an answer to any of these questions and I might never. Things will happen when it feels right, not because someone said it should.

And I’m sure I’ll continue to say those inclusive pronouns for a long time. And I don’t want to change that just because others think I should. If it offends anyone, it just shows our love and commitment. Even if I say “I” out loud, I know in my heart and mind, it will always be “us” and “we.”

I think most of the time, when I text someone, since I am now retired and most of our friends work, they will get back to me, understandably in their own time. I think therefore I am… alone.

But they are busy and have things going on in their lives. I get that. I think I am… alone .

But what if I never reached out to them? Would they reach out to me ? Are they wary of saying the wrong thing or are they afraid of not saying anything at all… I think I am… thinking all the time.

Sometimes the simplest of messages can be of the utmost importance… inclusion.

But now I’m not part of that club, I’m part of the widow’s club. Which in our circle of friends puts me in the 0% . No one else has lost a spouse. I’m the prototype, I’m setting the pace, the standard, if there is one.

Those that I thought would be my best support system, haven’t been there. The others are my rock. They touch base with me when they are able and are always supportive.

I’m finding about the different types of friends we have.

The doers. The sayers. The ones that promise. The ones that don’t call or text.

The problem is…

I think… too much… therefore I am… alone.

This whole CDC thing doesn’t make it any easier. But I’m not going to get deeply into that. Since, and we all always knew this, we are all going to die. I believe it was part of our plan when and where and how. I think about it all the time. I try to rationalize death but it will come to all of us… I think, when will it be my turn?

I’m trying to put some plans into place for the new year. I’m thinking about the household budget, traveling to see my daughter for my birthday, going to my nephew’s wedding in September. I think I’m the only one in the house who is thinking right now. It’s all on me… to think, therefore I have to make the decisions.

I’m thinking about how to keep busy over the winter to keep me motivated for spring. That’s my favorite season, spring. I was born in spring, I love the new growth that comes with it. I like a spring rain and seeing what’s coming up in my flower beds. I’d say that’s my hobby…. keeping up with our yard .

I’m wondering how I’ll feel come spring, but I can’t think about that now. First I have to face winter.

I think I made it through the Christmas holiday okay. After all, it was more about the kids and Steve receiving and seeing them happy. If they were happy, I think I was happy.

January 1, 2022 will be 8 months that Steve is gone. And I think… how did I make it through 8 months already?

I’m not going to lie, there are mornings that I linger in bed. I justify it as me being retired. This whole year – and any maybe beyond – is a learning curve for me. Like starting a new job and learning the ropes. I think I need to be hopeful and optimistic that I’ll be okay and I think I’ll do okay. And that’s all I can hope for.

I friend of mine told me just after Steve passed away and was offering support, I have to find a new me.

I think I can… therefore I am…

May 2022 shine brighter in your lives that the year past!

What exactly does that mean? We can and should be happy that we are spending the most joyous time of the year with those we love the most. But shouldn’t we do that always? Every time we get together? Do we need a calendar to tell us that “this is a holiday”?

Steve and I never did. We never used a calendar to tell us we needed to celebrate. We would get with our closest neighbors – affectionately known as “the hood” – and they would all come over and enjoy a great night of food, conversation, and laughs. We would start a fire in the fire pit on our patio and just enjoy the night. It didn’t have to be a special occasion… but friends are what make it special.

Even when Steve was home on hospice, I tried to celebrate our time together with special things that we didn’t normally do, because he wasn’t capable of doing those anymore, so I had to make it exciting. We had many nights of “couple massages.” Of course, he was the only one who got a message. But we both gained something. There’s nothing better than being tactile with your loved one in a new way. He couldn’t get out of bed after a while and it’s important to feel touch from another human being. His skin got its nourishment and I got to enjoy the pleasure of caressing him in his last days. What a happy feeling!

We had reserved Friday night as our “food challenge” night – who had the best chicken wings? Who made the best chicken sandwich? Or the best hoagie? I spent 2 hours picking up these darn sandwiches when all that was open was drive thru… We tried KFC, Popeyes, McDonald’s, Chick-Fil-A… in the end, Popeye’s was the winner.

I tried to make every day a holiday for him in his last days. Every day was a celebration – a celebration of life. I tried to wear cheerful colors… and Steve’s last week, as I could see the end coming… I wore nice tops, put on makeup, did my hair. I just thought that if he opened his eyes once more… he would see me… his bride … all polished up… ready to celebrate something.

Our last celebration was a hair tickle across his face which made him smile… and that was celebration enough… it was a happy day… a happy holiday.

We all know most of the time that change can be hard. We get used to our routine, the status quo. I do this, you do that. Over time, we know what to expect. Processes change at work – sometimes we’re happy about that, but sometimes we think “Why change it?”

Things change because that’s how we evolve… we survive.

I no longer know what to expect. I need to know how to survive. I’m pretty confident I will. But that doesn’t mean I like my personal change or ever wanted things to change. When people are married and going through trouble in their relationship, there are options. They can agree to go their separate ways and divorce, or they can agree to go through counseling, and they can agree to stay married… but when a life-threatening illness comes to one of us…. Our options are limited.

You ask for a divorce, you ask to be broken up, you divide things … and yet… no matter who it is tougher for it.. you survive… move on… but you’re still alive!

With illness and death, you’re left with very little choice in the outcome.

We never asked for one of us to die from cancer so we could live apart.

We never hoped one of us would die so that we could live a life as a single person.

We never wanted our status to change… and yet it did, and it was out of our control.

This may be why we sometimes hate change. My life now goes on without my best friend, my husband. And there was never a memo saying that our household staff needed to be reduced.

I find myself changing things here in our house daily… all the time… creating change, and I wonder why?

I rearrange my furniture fairly often. Steve was not fond of this but he didn’t hate it either… he just couldn’t understand why I would need to rearrange everything. I now find myself rearranging and configuring another way to use that space because I’ve always done that on occasions when I wanted to refresh a room. Or am I expecting a bigger change?

Bigger than losing Steve, am I hoping he’ll come back to complain about the furniture being rearranged?

It’s different now, because I know he won’t come to me and complain. But is it my subconscious wishing that things here were the same and never changed? That I had a choice in him dying… but I didn’t, and neither did he.

This my friends, is the hardest change to endure… knowing and watching your loved one die and knowing there was nothing you could change.

Steve’s birthday was on December 2nd. It was his first birthday in Heaven. If he were here, we would have had our own personal celebration… and I thought about how this special day has changed now. But I’m grateful that on this day in 1953, I was given a gift to be delivered to me in my life. And that makes me love change.