Seems that my head is clearest in the early morning hours. I’ve always been better in the mornings than later in the day. More productive and aware. I’m starting today, a Saturday, at about 6:00 AM which seems to be my normal time these days even though I no longer leave for work. But this morning, I’m not sure if my head is clear or foggy.
I’m beginning today knowing what the number is. I have full awareness that today is January 18th. I lose track of the date sometimes now that I’m retired, but I always know when it’s the 18th of the month. I know that days before it happens so I can start preparing myself for the eventuality of it. This is the fourth time it has been the 18th of the month since my wife died. I’m convinced that every month for the rest of my life, I will be saddened when the calender hits that date. I will pause for reflection and wrestle with the emotions of such love lost. I tell myself that it will get better as time moves on and as I move on. And I believe that. This healing thing is frustrating as one day one moment, I feel like I am making great progress only to have next moment destroy me.
I’m thinking now about events that have happened while the date became the 18th for the fourth time since September. I’m thinking about the life that’s continued without Coleen being part of it. What she’s missed. Actually, it’s what we’ve missed without her being here. Coleen was such a life force and catalyst of activity that she had a way of enhancing even the most uneventful events and making them more memorable. I was with my granddaughters yesterday and felt Coleen’s absence very strongly. Being their grandmother was a role comfortable to her, a place where she belonged. The happiness she felt being with those girls was always evident in the big smiles she wore around them. I miss her being with me when I am with them. I miss her being with me when I am anywhere. As much as I felt Coleen’s absence yesterday, I felt her alongside me. I was holding Claire and she felt Coleen’s rings underneath my shirt. She asked me, “What’s that Grandpa?” I told her they were Grandma’s rings and showed them to her. She liked them, thought they were pretty. I don’t know how much she understood but I told her I wear them so I could always be close to Grandma. I always feel close to her, and feel her, when I’m with our granddaughters.
Each day is a slice of life happening that she is no longer part of. Little events take on more meaning when we realize that we don’t have her to share them with. Like when our niece passed her driving test and got her license, she would have called her Aunt Coleen to tell her. Coleen and her sister Karen would have been on the phone chatting about the details of that event and other things for an hour or so. Instead, everyone misses out on that. Karen told me about it, but that’s just not the same for her, or me. Tonight I will be going to a party alone that she would have very much enjoyed. And the people at the party will be sorry that she’s not there because they would have enjoyed seeing her.
Much bigger things have occurred in the last four months that we have not had her here for. Events like my 60th birthday, my retirement, buying a car, Christmas, and a wedding. I am planning a trip to New York City this week to meet someone new to my life. Someone who will become very significant to me. Someone who Coleen should know. We made that trip to NYC together three different times including once in 1981 when we got engaged. I will miss her tremendously, so badly in fact, when I return there this week without her to meet our new daughter-in-law. That is a special event that I would much rather we did together. Coleen worked so hard on Patrick and fretted so about him. She, of all people, should have the privilege of meeting the woman who Patrick fell in love with. Not exactly part of everyday life, more like a once in a lifetime experience. For me, not for her. Not unless I can somehow summon her to be with me. Which I may not have to do. If Coleen’s spirit ever felt the need to be present for something, this would be it.
Today is the 18th of the month again and tonight the waning moon will be 95% full. Tomorrow I will wake up to the morning of the 19th and the cycle will begin again. I’ll be a little stronger by then. Still weakened, still fragile, but stronger. I just know it.
I was with Coleen today. No, really I was. We met at Maureen’s where I go for massage therapies. Maureen knew I had an appointment today and asked Coleen this morning if she could come too. I don’t think Maureen knew for certain how many guests to expect this morning at 11:00 AM until she started my massage. Then she found out pretty quick.
As for me, I wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary. When I first started getting massages, I was silent for the entire session. I wasn’t sure what the protocol was as far as talking and I was comfortable without words, so I did that. But the last few massages with Maureen, we have chatted almost the entire time. I enjoy talking to Maureen and don’t have many opportunities so talking during a massage seemed like a good idea. I was looking forward to a conversation with her again today but something happened to sidetrack that.
Maureen and I spoke briefly at the beginning about some product that makes your back feel better. I wanted to follow that up with something else but suddenly fell silent as if I was muzzled. It was almost as if someone was telling me to stop talking. That nothing I had to say could be as interesting as what was about to happen in the silence. Coleen used to tell me that sometimes, “Stop talking.” I shut up and listened.
Maureen’s hands and touch were familiar to me but felt different. It was her hands on me yet it wasn’t. I felt Coleen touching me through Maureen. It was Coleen’s soothing way of comforting me and she was using Maureen as her channel, her conduit to reach me. It worked. Oh My God! I have felt Coleen’s presence before but never this strongly nor for this length of time. It was a very emotional experience and I was happy to find a box of Kleenex Maureen kept under her massage table.
When it was time for me to roll onto my back, I asked Maureen for a minute to compose myself. I told her that everything today so far was so emotional. She said, “That’s because Coleen is here.”
I was glad Maureen told me that because I certainly felt it. I liked the confirmation from her that it wasn’t just my imagination. I felt Coleen all over me today. I heard her voice through Maureen’s hands and I felt her love and protection keeping me safe. When Maureen leaned into my back with her forearm, it felt like Coleen was climbing on top of me. I told Maureen that this place, the room we were in, was where it all started. This was where I came three days after Coleen’s passing. This was where I first felt her presence. This was where Maureen first said the word “safe” to me. I will never forget her telling me, “It’s alright Rob, you’re safe here.” I was safe here, and I am still safe here. Coleen knows where to meet me.
Maureen finished my massage and it was every bit as mystical on my back as on my belly. Every bit as emotional. She placed my right hand over my heart chakra, then put my left hand on top of that. I felt my own heat transfer from my hands to my heart. It was reiki.
Maureen explained to me afterward that she had asked Coleen to come today. She said sometimes she has a way of influencing spirits but it doesn’t always work. I’m certainly glad it worked today. I don’t know how many people are as fortunate as I am but I can’t believe its more than a handful. And it might be none. I mean, just look at me and the blessings that surround me. I have a team of talent, encouragement, understanding and support that world leaders would envy. I am enveloped by love and compassion. I am so humbled.
Maureen has been with me on my journey since before it even began. She helped Coleen through various massage techniques to comfort her body and soul as her earth journey neared it’s completion. The bond that she and Coleen developed on her massage table remains strong enough for them to communicate even now. She once said to me how much she wished she had known Coleen before Coleen gat sick. I wish they had known each other too because I know they would have been very good friends. Maureen is one of the special ones who understands people and spirituality. She is one of those sages I am so fortunate to know and have in my corner.
I told Maureen today that I loved her and I meant it. I can’t think of a better way to say how I feel about her. It’s the perfect expression. Love doesn’t have to mean being in love. But there is a larger emotion than “like” and for me it’s “love.” And I love Maureen. She brought Coleen to me today, setting us up like it was a blind date. She comforts me and makes me safe and gives me gifts and counsel unimaginable. How could I not love her?
I always try to keep my ears and eyes open for messages. In the last three days I have seen or heard several things that I have interpreted as messages meant for me. A wise sage once told me that if seems like a message, it is a message and I have subscribed to that belief ever since.
I found this on facebook two days ago. It is the quote from Glinda, the good witch, to Dorothy about her red slippers. Glinda said, “You’ve always had the power, my dear. You just had to learn it for yourself.” Is that right? Do we all possess the power lying dormant somewhere inside us? Are we all learning the lessons necessary to unleash it and let good come from it? Do we know when we have the knowledge or is it just automatically released when the time is right? I believe all those questions apply to me and my answers are yes to all of them except the last one. That answer is we don’t get to decide when we have learned enough to recognize our power. It decides for us.
At my reiki therapy and consultation three days ago, Rebecca and I spent considerable time discussing some of my discoveries and where they might be leading me. We are both excited about my future in writing, speaking and communicating my message to those who have also suffered loss. Rebecca is very encouraging and supportive and keeps telling me that I have something special happening. Just as we were sitting down for our post-reiki debriefing, she held out a small box of cards and told me to select one. I took one from the middle of the box and she opened it to find a quote from Walt Disney, “If you can dream it, you can do it.” Disney took a lot of criticism for his dreams but he stayed true to himself and accomplished much more than anyone thought he would. I’ll never approach Walt Disney’s accomplishments, but a dream is a dream.
An article I read recently listed several ways that the spirit of a departed loved one communicates to those of us left behind. According to the article, one of the most common methods is through song and music. II now that my daughter Lindsay feels that her mom talk to her through the car radio,sending her sial songs at species times. I recall one incident after Coleen’s funeral brunch. We had all gathered at Lindsay’s house and I was tired and emotionally drained and took a few minutes to lie down on her living room couch. She had her television tuned to a music channel and as I was face up on her couch, the bright sun flickered through the leaves on a tree in her front yard. The sunlight was playing peek-a-boo through the leaves, alternately shining brightly in my eyes then hiding behind a leaf. A new song came on the television called “Blinded by the Light.”
Today I was driving to church with a Pandora music channel playing in my car. The second or third song that came on was “This Must Be Love,” by Ricki Lee Jones. It is a fairly obscure song and there is nothing profound about the lyrics. But Coleen and I always played a lot of Ricki Lee Jones music and this song was especially meaningful to us. It was part of the soundtrack of our life together. When it first came on today, I reached for the button that would skip the current song and play the next one. I loved the song but didn’t think I was ready to hear it yet. Then I stopped myself and let the song play and let myself melt into the memory of it. I laughed into the subtle tears that leaked from my eyes as I remembered the times that song played in our house.
As if that wasn’t enough, the next song to play was. Coleen wasn’t as much of a Fleetwood Mac fan as I am but she liked much of their music. One of my favorite songs is called “Gypsy” and it’s one of those Stevie Nicks classics that kind of keeps moving along and has abstract, mystical lyrics. I have heard “Gypsy” hundreds of times but for some reason, it sounded a little different when it came on today. Maybe it was my state of mind from the song before or maybe it was me remembering the times that Coleen dressed as a gypsy for Halloween parties. Or maybe it was the new message I was hearing. The song lyrics as a whole make little sense to me but there are several lines of lyrics that are very much on point and seem to have new expression for me today:
She is dancing away from you now
She was just a wish
And her memory is all that is left for you now
Lightning strikes
Maybe once maybe twice
And it all comes down to you
I still see your bright eyes bright eyes
And I’ve always loved you
And it all comes down to you
It all comes down to you
Directions, instructions, advice, guidance? Messages in music? From facebook and tear-open thought-provoking cards? In the moon and in my dreams? The messages are everywhere. All I have to do is pay attention and let my awareness work.
I wonder if it’s normal to use certain behaviors with the intention of trying to keep someone alive. If people psychologically put off saying goodbye to someone who has died by keeping things in place and refusing to change arrangements.
Not only do I think people do it, I think I am doing it. Coleen passed away almost four months ago. That may not seem that long ago but it’s also been 120 days. That means I have gone to bed alone and gotten up in the morning alone 120 times. That means I have spent 120 days thinking about how much I miss her and that I’m not going to see her again. It sounds different to me that way even though it’s the same amount of time.
So why haven’t I cleaned my bedroom closet? It’s funny that I said “my bedroom closet” because Coleen always referred to our bedroom as her room. Anyway, all of her stuff is still in the bedroom closet. I haven’t removed anything except some sweaters that I took off a shelf and put in a box upstairs. I only did that to make room for some sweaters of my own. Other than that, it’s all the same as she left it. Shoes piled in a corner, clothes hanging, some purses and bags on the floor. I have enough room in there for my stuff but it would be more comfortable with the extra space I guess. Especially on the shelves.
If I clean out the closet and send her clothes to a charity, am I saying another goodbye? If I leave it all alone, am I somehow trying to keep her alive? I already know from the experiences of selling her car, donating her winter coats, cleaning the bathroom, and going through some drawers that stirring up memories from that can be very painful. I think that’s part of why everything still remains untouched.
Some of her things I have left out like books and mementos on her nightstand, her yoga mat and a small table she used for meditation. I admit they are almost like a shrine to her. I take comfort in all that stuff being exactly where it is. It doesn’t bother me to see it and it’s certainly not in my way. But am I secretly prolonging her life? Delaying saying that goodbye? Tricking myself into something that’s not real? I guess that’s up to a psychiatrist to determine.
How about her urn? That might be an interesting case study in closure, or lack of closure. Coleen’s urn and ashes are still in my dining room atop the window seat under two windows. It sits there innocently surrounded by some very healthy plants that I water and care for. Every once in a while I touch her urn. It’s a very smooth marble and it feels good to touch it. There have also been times when I have knelt and placed my forehead on it, kissed it and shed tears. I like having it here but I know the day is coming that I’ll have to say goodbye to that as well. I’ll have to say goodbye all over again and that will come with more pain. I almost regret not burying it last fall after I bought the plots for us. That goodbye would have already happened. Coleen and I agreed that she would be remembered in that little cemetery she used to ride her bike through and it’s my job to take of that. It will be better for her parents and family to have a place to go with flowers, prayers and memories of their own instead of me hoarding her in my dining room. There is light perpetual in that cemetery that will shine upon her.
I often think about how Coleen would have done things if our fates had been reversed. She was not as sentimental as I am and I believe it would have been easier for her to rid herself of my possessions without developing emotional attachments. That’s not to say she wasn’t at all sentimental because she was. Just more pragmatic than me. She would have dealt with my loss better than I am dealing with hers and many of the issues I have would not have troubled her nearly as much. She would have her own set of difficulties and grief but she would not wrestle with the same things I do.
Getting back to my original question, I do not think I am doing anything wrong by my actions or lack of actions. It’s probably true that I feel like I’m keeping things alive by not ridding my house of Coleen’s clothes. I realize though, that’s not how you keep someone alive. Not with clothes and urns and books on night stands. The real ways we keep people alive is by talking about them and remembering them in stories we tell and lessons we’ve learned. It’s in the photos we look at that trigger all those wonderful memories. I honor Coleen everyday in the way I think and talk to people and father our children. Her values are part of me and part of how I keep her alive. She’s alive in the recipes I make and the writing I do. Not in a car or a closet. She’s alive in her children and granddaughters. She’s alive as my inspiration for growth and discovery. When I say I want to help those who have suffered a devastating loss, much of that is her helping people through me. She’ll always be alive in the messages she sends me and through the moon, the wind, and the light.
Writing is funny in its own little therapeutic way. When I started this post, I wasn’t sure where I was going with it or exactly what I was going to say. Then thoughts became words and words became a sentence and before long I reached my own resolution. It’s like some kind of self therapy. Like talking to myself.
This morning I was at my daughter’s house to watch my beautiful granddaughters for a few hours. I love having time alone with those two even if they can be challenging. I was looking forward to seeing them this morning as it was the first time I have visited there since Christmas when I gave them a puppet theater and some puppets as a gift. I am very proud of that gift because it inspires make-believe and creativity in them and because it’s something we can all play together. After all, who doesn’t like make-believe and creativity.
I am a replacement babysitter for the girls. A substitute. Coleen used to watch them on Friday mornings so Lindsay could go to work. Coleen always liked going there and it was good therapy for her. Those granddaughters, “The Girls” as they are usually referred to, were very special to her and she was a wonderful grandmother. It was a perfect role for her. When she went there, she spent most of her time reading to them or playing games. I’m sure she did a lot of teaching and telling stories. I know that her visits were food related because almost everything Coleen did had a food element to it. She was on and off different diets and would usually take food from home with her wherever she went. When she saw the girls she brought extra so she could share with them. Those girls are always hungry.
Coleen’s maternal grandmother was named Kitty and she was quite a character. Coleen had a very strong bond with her. Kitty liked to gamble and play board games and tell stories to the kids. She was around a lot for the holidays and family parties and sometimes we would just have her over for dinner. Coleen would just decide and ask me to pick her grandmother up on my home from work. I never met her paternal grandmother, Rose, but Coleen would often reminisce about visiting with her as a child and spending quite a bit of time with her. They read, cooked and talked together. Coleen always had a very, very strong sense of family and her grandmothers played important roles in her life.
She carried on that tradition with the girls. Everything she learned from her own relationships was transferred to her new role. Plus much more. Coleen was very loving and affectionate with her granddaughters. She didn’t get that from Kitty or Rose. That was something different she brought to that role. She was a wonderful grandmother and would have gotten better with age. I’m certain of that. I have stated before that the single thing that gets me the most riled and pissed about Coleen’s death is that those girls got robbed of her as a grandmother and will never experience that magic Coleen would have spun on them. And not only does that make me angry, but it makes me very sad. It’s one of the things that causes the most emotion in me. It always has. I was surprised a few days ago when at my Hospice bereavement session with my counselor Lynn, she got me to admit that to her. I started talking about the relationships death stole from Coleen and those innocent girls. I wasn’t surprised that Lynn got me to open up about it. I was surprised that I didn’t cry. Don’t get me wrong, I felt like it and my chin quivered and my eyes watered. Lynn could see the emotion I felt without having to see the tears. She knew what I was feeling and what I was saying.
I know that I am trying to make it up to the girls for Coleen’s absence. I can’t replace her and I can’t be her, but maybe I can keep her fresh in their minds and talk about how much she loved them. It’s part of my role as grandpa to them. And today when I was there, I did some things that may not have reminded them of Grandma, but certainly reminded me of her. Like when Claire crawled into my lap with her blanket and a book and I read to her. I saw Coleen right there with us smiling. And when I peeled an orange for Claire just like Coleen used to do for her when she came over. And when I patiently watched Samantha make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich by herself, I could picture Coleen there instead of me, gently assisting without Samantha even knowing she was being helped.
Coleen was with us for a while this morning. I felt her strongly early on, shortly after I arrived. Probably making sure I was there on time and the girls had plenty to eat and were behaving for us.
I found this on facebook two days ago. It is the quote from Glinda, the good witch, to Dorothy about her red slippers. Glinda said, “You’ve always had the power, my dear. You just had to learn it for yourself.” Is that right? Do we all possess the power lying dormant somewhere inside us? Are we all learning the lessons necessary to unleash it and let good come from it? Do we know when we have the knowledge or is it just automatically released when the time is right? I believe all those questions apply to me and my answers are yes to all of them except the last one. That answer is we don’t get to decide when we have learned enough to recognize our power. It decides for us.