Before the Storm

Written by RJ on December 18, 2013. Posted in Coleen, Healing

Before and After

Written by RJ on December 12, 2013. Posted in Coleen, Discovery, Healing

I moved to Buffalo from Cleveland in November of 1979. I remember because I was in Buffalo at Thanksgiving and trying to get back to Cleveland for the holiday through a severe snowstorm. I actually lived in Hamburg, NY, a little suburb southwest of downtown Buffalo. I chose Hamburg because it was on the right side of town and I could get home to Cleveland easier. I knew when I moved here that I would be going back frequently. After all, I had a daughter, mother, brothers and friends in Ohio. All I had in New York was a job and an apartment. I didn’t know anybody except some people from work that I was just getting familiar with. I was months away from meeting Coleen and for the most part, I was alone.

Much of that is different now because I know a lot of people. I have family here and some friends and neighbors. I don’t have the same bond with people from work now than I did in 1980 though because I don’t work anymore. That’s a funny thing because I love not working but I do kind of miss some of the conversation, banter and camaraderie of the workday. Now I spend that time either alone or searching for different ways to fill it. Don’t misinterpret this statement, I am not complaining or missing work. I’m just observing the differences.

Back in 1980, back BC (before Coleen), when I lived alone in Hamburg and didn’t know anybody, I had a hard time of it. Before moving here, I had lived alone in a small apartment in Cleveland and loved it. I was then recently single and was living it up. I also had a strong network of family and friends and girlfriends. For the first few months of my new life in Buffalo, I spent a lot of weekends in Cleveland because I knew people there and I was comfortable there. I would drive the 200 miles right from work on a Friday night and get there in time to hit the town or crash at my mom’s apartment. Then I would drive home late Sunday after squeezing in as much fun, family and friendship as I could in one weekend. In Buffalo I was lonely, in Cleveland I was popular. When not in Cleveland, I would often have company from there over the weekends. My mom and daughter came a lot as did a variety of friends.

Technically, I still lived alone after I met Coleen, it just didn’t feel like it then. I mean, we were together so much and she was at my apartment so often, after a while it seemed like she was living with me anyway. Especially after I moved from Hamburg to a duplex no more than seven minutes by car from Coleen’s house. She would come over after work or sometimes already be there when I got home. We would cook dinner (or she would and I would watch), listen to records, watch black and white TV and talk. Always talking about something, that girl. There were many nights that Coleen wouldn’t leave until early the next morning. Bars closed in Buffalo at 4:00 AM and I think that was her excuse with her parents. I loved everything about that time in my life but I could hardly call it living alone.

So now I’m trying to remember what my life was like living alone before I knew her. It was great once we met but not so great before. I remember drinking a lot of scotch then. I didn’t cook anything, eating mostly frozen convenience foods or pizza. I came home from work and listened to records. Of course on most days I didn’t come home from work right away, stopping first for cocktails with Norm and Steve from work. I didn’t do anything closely related to exercise or healthy living. I smoked and drank and didn’t come home at all. Spent what little money I made recklessly. I wasn’t happy.

Living alone today is very different from living alone in 1980. In fact the only thing similar in living alone then and living alone now is that there is no one else in the house. Everything else is so different. This time around I have a whole house, retirement, the internet, DirecTV, Netflix, MP3′s and my iPhone. Technology and information abound. I have better books to read, more movies to watch and home theater equipment. I have knowledge, experience, maturity. I have children, grandchildren, family and friends and a whole history of life right where I sit. And I have my memories. That’s pretty different. And you would think it would be easier.

But back in 1980 when I was living alone and had none of those things, I didn’t know anything about Coleen. I didn’t know that the end of my loneliness was near and I was soon to meet my soul mate. The way I look at it now, that was an advantage to today. Then I was living alone before her. Today I am living alone after her. Even though I was without her in 1980, I didn’t know that. I didn’t know what I was missing because I didn’t know she existed. I didn’t know what good was lying ahead for me, what would make me safe. Things are very different now living on this side of her.

I guess it’s probably me that’s the main difference between 1980 and now. It’s what I’ve learned, how I’ve been loved, what I’ve lost, what I remember. It’s me taking all of those things, taking all of everything, and forming it into the new me. It’s me being on the “before” side of my next chapter. My next adventure.

Ornaments

Written by RJ on December 11, 2013. Posted in Coleen, Discovery, Healing

Every time I turn around, every place I look, there is a reminder. A song, a decoration, a memory. Something that says “Christmas” to me and reminds me of my sadness and sorrow and loss. I was at the Hospice seminar last week about grief and the holidays and they talked about Christmas as a day of the year. I couldn’t help but point out to the speaker there that Christmas isn’t just a day, it’s a whole season of events and activities and that is the part that I am trying to deal with now. The activities and traditions leading up to Christmas Day. In all the years leading up to this one, Coleen and I would share in all that and we would somehow manage to enjoy it. This year I am doing my best to uphold whatever it is that we would have done before. I made a gift list, I did the shopping, I talked to my daughter Lindsay, who is hosting Christmas Day dinner, about the menu. I was never extravagant about decorating the outside of the house, but I put up a few things on our porch and front door. I wasn’t sure at all what to do about a tree and inside decorations until a couple of days ago.

My granddaughter, Samantha had been hinting around about having a sleepover at my house. She did that a couple of times before with Coleen and me and liked being with us plus it was just her and she had all of our attention without sharing any with her little sister. Samantha has been talking about spending the night at Grandpa’s house for a while and she brought it up again just last weekend coming back from the North Pole. I told Lindsay that we could do it this week and we made plans for last night. After the plans were made I started thinking about what Sam and I would do together and I had a brainstorm. Maybe she could be my secret weapon and help me with the tree and some of the decorations around the house. I knew it was going to be very hard for me to do that alone because I’m such a basket case and uncontrollable sentimentalist lately. I thought having her around might numb some of that. I was right. It did numb some of it. But even adorable, four-year old Sammie, with all her sweetness and innocence, even she couldn’t numb it all. She did a pretty good job though and I got a lot more accomplished with her than I would have without her.

One of the Christmas traditions in this house that has always been dear to me is something that nobody else has ever known about until I told Sammie last night. In 1981, my mother bought Coleen and I a Christmas tree ornament. It was a little white bell with a red ribbon and it was inscribed, “Our First Christmas Together, 1981.” As the father of the house, I was always in charge of the annual Christmas tree installation, stringing the lights and unpacking the ornaments. I didn’t put all the ornaments on the tree, that was usually done by the kids and Coleen until more recent years when we have been empty-nesters. Then I did a lot of the ornament hanging, too. But all through the years, every year in fact, I made sure that the little white bell from 1981 was the first ornament on the tree and that it was placed in the most prominent spot, front and center, about a foot down from the top. Right where it would be noticed and seen. It always seemed like the most important ornament we had, the beginning of everything. And every year as the tree came down, I made sure that ornament was the last one removed from the tree and I carefully wrapped it in paper towels and put it away safely for the next year.

This year, even though I wanted Samantha to help me with decorating the tree, I wanted some privacy with the little white bell from 1981. So the day before she came over, I put up the little artificial Christmas tree I inherited from my mom. And the day Sam came over, before she got here, I brought the Christmas boxes up from the basement and opened the one with the ornaments. There was one right in the middle, right on top, wrapped in paper towels and very well protected. I unwrapped it and looked at it and held it to my lips. I thought of all the years, all the memories, all the love, all the laughter that bell has seen from its mount so prominent on our trees. It was right there, front and center, year after year and had stories to tell even I couldn’t recall. I am not ashamed to say how hard I cried with that bell in my hands, kissing it, making it wet with memories streaming from my eyes.

Eventually, I got it on the tree. It’s in the same place it is every year, but it’s on a different tree. We always had real evergreens. This year it’s a table top artificial. I have learned a lot about things being kind of the same but in different places. Like new branches, like my life, like same things in new places. It seems to make sense about my bell from 1981, too. As I was hanging it, I was having some trouble getting it to face out the right way so I twisted the branches of the tree to let the bell be seen and read properly. As I was fussing with the branches where the bell was hanging, it suddenly started ringing, seemingly by itself. I admit to jostling things around there a little bit, but not enough to cause that kind of commotion from a little white bell. It rang though, almost like it was being tickled, almost like it was laughing, almost like it was alive.

When Samantha came over later, she had a gift for me and it is now a new tradition. Lindsay had ornaments made with Coleen’s picture on them to give to family members and I got the first one. It was in special wrapping paper (a white bag that said “I love you Grandpa” with beautiful artwork) and came with a hand-written note from Samantha. She helped me hang the ornament on the tree and it’s beautiful there. I then showed her the little white bell ornament and explained what it meant to me and my secret tradition. I think she liked knowing that.

I admit to having lost my way a little bit with this post. The bell represents so much to me though, always has. It is just one of the many activities and facets and days of the Christmas season and there are so many more. They will come at me, sneak up on me, surprise me when I ‘m not looking. But they won’t be ignored. I will not hide from the things that made holiday seasons special for my baby and me. I will make the lists, do the shopping, wrap the presents, help with dinner and play the music. I will do it without her. I will do it with her. I will do it because of her.

Being Loved

Written by RJ on December 5, 2013. Posted in Coleen, Discovery, Healing

I never read about this in the grief brochures or articles I have seen. Nobody mentioned it to me. Maybe nobody else knows about it? Nobody before me has ever figured it out? I doubt that. They tell you about the emptiness you will feel and the sheer pain of your loss when your spouse dies. They list loneliness, sadness, anger, depression, denial and others as part of grieving. Discovery.

For the past 33 years I have been one of the lucky ones. I was in a club, a pretty exclusive club I think. I was loved. I don’t mean loved like someone just saying that. I mean loved like being the love of someone’s life. I mean loved like unconditional. I mean love like being the strength and the beacon that someone counts on. I had the constant fulfillment of being loved by someone who I loved just the same, just as much. And, oh my God, what an awesome feeling that is. What a priviledge and an honor. I don’t think I can capture the warmth and fullness that creates in words. It’s almost a satisfaction that you are important and half of a wonderful relationship. And that you are loved so much.

My discovery is all that is missing from my life now. I already knew that Coleen was gone and I was focusing on how much I miss her all the time. How much she meant to me and all those wonderful years of memories. And how her passing has taken such a large part of me with her. But today is the first time I realized that another part of the loss, another piece of what’s now missing is that I’m no longer in that exclusive club where you are loved. I lost that, too. So the hurt isn’t just from missing her and not having her here to love. It’s also the feeling of not being loved that is killing me. That’s the other half of the equation. That’s another one of my truths.

The intimacy, hugs, kisses, waking up in the morning, coming home, phone calls, being part of her day. Making her happy, making her laugh, seeing her smile, being her husband, listening, loving, talking, sharing. Boy, I miss that stuff. There is nothing quite like being loved. That can’t be replaced. That’s another limb that fell from the tree. Will it grow back in a different place with different shade?

My discovery is probably not all that special. It might be something everybody already knows and I just now figured out. Like me being late for the party. To me though, it explains a little more about why I feel so sad sometimes. And the more I know, maybe the better I can understand and heal.

Here’s what I mean about being loved.

Grandma Coleen

Written by RJ on December 5, 2013. Posted in Coleen, Healing

I was kind of ambivalent about the idea but I wasn’t going to stop her either. Lindsay also thought it would be nice if the girls had a little remembrance like that. But Karen discovered she had one problem putting her little project in motion: she didn’t have many photos of Coleen and the girls. So she asked Lindsay and I for some help with content for her photo albums. Lindsay agreed but when she went to research her archives for shots of her mom and her daughters together, she also found very few to choose from. “You know how Mom was, always taking care of something or getting the food ready. She wasn’t in a lot of my pictures.”

So I spent the better part of this morning going through digital photos to put on Snapfish and send to Lindsay. Normally I wouldn’t mind doing something like this except I had done a similar task a couple of months ago when we were memorializing Coleen. That time I was focusing on photos of Coleen of which I have hundreds. This morning, I was looking for photos of her and the granddaughters. I don’t have hundreds of those but evidently I do have a whole lot more than Karen and Lindsay. I had quite a few on my computer and scanned in some nice prints and ended up with about 50 shots. I hope that’s enough. Me and pictures don’t get always get along these days.

The biggest dagger through my heart, the one that opened the wound that I’ll never be able to close, was the thought of those girls missing out on their Grandma Coleen. And of her missing out on them. That remains the one thing that I am really mad about and that I’ll never forgive. I can learn to live with a lot of unfairness but that is by far the cruelest and unfairest of all. It’s my kryptonite. All through Coleen’s last year when we knew what was coming, I tried not to think of those little girls losing their grandmother. I though about everything else but I blocked that one out as much as I could. That was a concept that was too hard for me to handle so I kept turning away from it. That was the heartbreaker to me. And I know it broke Coleen’s heart, too. I don’t remember her and I talking about the girls losing their Grandma. It was just too unbelievably sad.

Those girls are so sweet. When she was sick and in bed in our living room, they kept asking if Grandma was feeling better and trying to talk to her and play games. One day Coleen and Samantha were at the kitchen table drawing and coloring. Samantha asked Coleen, “Grandma, what’s the matter with your body?” Coleen replied, “I don’t know, Sammie, but coloring makes it feel better.” Samantha seemed to be okay with that answer. I’m glad I wasn’t there for that conversation because it would have been more than I was capable of handling. Coleen told me about it later and she was so touched by Samantha’s honesty and how kids just stay in the moment and ask what they want. One day Lindsay and Samantha had some questions prepared for Coleen and did an Grandma Coleen interview. From that Samantha learned that Coleen’s favorite food to make was shrimp scampi, her best meal was pan-seared scallops at the Hyde Street Bistro in San Fransisco, her favorite vacation was camping at Acadia National Park in Maine, her favorite color was fuchsia, her favorite holiday was 4th of July, her favorite song was “Don’t Dream it’s Over” by Crowded House and her favorite quote was “You can only eat an elephant one bite at a time.” Coleen was also asked to describe herself using only two words. They were enthusiastic and positive. Unfortunately in that interview, Coleen got a little too tired to finish and there were a couple of questions unanswered. One of them was “What are you most proud of?’ That answer is so easy even I can answer it. She would have said “Mychildren.”

Coleen loved her family and her kids and her girls. I remember one of the Hospice doctors asking Coleen if she was afraid. “I’m not afraid of dying, but I’m afraid of leaving my family.” I know how perfect of an answer that was. She loved having her family around so she could cook for them and counsel them and love them. Sometimes Samantha or Claire will say something about Grandma Coleen and I love to hear them remembering something about her. Coleen was a wonderful grandmother except she was robbed of her time. The girls won’t have the benefit of her stories and advice. They won’t learn the lessons that she would have taught them about cooking or being positive or studying hard. They will miss her smile and her laugh and her love. Just like the rest of us. In ways I guess it might end up being easier for them because they are so young. But that’s exactly what makes it so hard for me.

This has been the elephant in my room since before Coleen passed away. It’s the subject I wanted to ignore because it was too painful for me to think about and it still is. I swallowed another dose of sorrow this morning looking at photos of Coleen with her beautiful granddaughters. At least I’m trying to swallow, in between the tears. But in a way I’m glad I looked through the photos again. Like before, the hurt gets a little less each time it’s confronted.

Here are a few shots of Grandma Coleen in action. She was always smiling with those girls. I can’t wait to see the photo album gifts from Aunt Karen.