I woke up this morning and had an immediate thought. Usually I slowly enter into coherent thoughts after waking up but this morning I had one shortly after opening my eyes. It was the date. February 19, 2014. That meant yesterday was February 18, 2014 which was exactly five months since Coleen’s death. And I went through the entire day without acknowledging it. I can’t believe that happened.
Coleen’s memory was all over yesterday and I thought about her and talked about her far more than I did on most days. I was with Maureen for a massage and we always talk about Coleen. Sometimes, we even feel her presence there with us and that room is a very special place for things like that. I also talked to my daughter Shauna on the phone last evening for quite a while and we spoke of Coleen repeatedly. We even talked about a conference being held in her honor and designing a logo out of the flower Coleen drew that I am using on this website and other places. Shauna did not mention the significance of the date. I wonder if she was waiting for me to say something first or if the date slipped her mind, too? I almost hope she forgot because then I wouldn’t feel quite so bad.
I exposed my writings and this website to someone new last night and talked to them after they read it. We talked all about the life that Coleen and I shared and how special she was and will always be to me. I also went back and read several of those articles myself and got wrapped up in the feeling and emotion of many of them. But through all of those things, I never realized that yesterday was the 18th.
For anyone who has read me here, you know how emotional I have been every 18th of the month. That day has been like a time bomb to me. The only thing worse than that is when the moon is full, or near full on that date. I admit that since retirement, I frequently lose track of the date because I simply don’t need to know it like I used to. That’s why I put any appointment or event into the calender of my iPhone and set a reminder. I didn’t think I needed to that for Coleen’s date of death, but I’m doing it now. I don’t want that to happen again. Or do I?
I have to wonder what it means that I forget the 18th. Is it a sign of progress in my healing that I didn’t fret and get all emotional about yesterday? I spent a lot of time with my memories of Coleen and remembered her fondly with several people. All without being consumed by tears and sorrow. Or does it mean that I am busying myself enough that I am letting go a little bit more than I thought I was? I don’t know. Either way, I don’t particularly like that I didn’t remember and I don’t intend for that to happen again. The perfect day would have been everything I did plus actually remembering it was the 18th. I might be getting better and I might be letting go, but an anniversary is an anniversary. Girls don’t like it when guys forget anniversaries.
I was walking past the greeting card aisle at the grocery store last week and I wanted to buy you a card. Like I have done every year for the past 33 years in a row. I never liked buying cards very much, especially if the card wasn’t for you. And even when it was for you, birthday cards and anniversary cards were never as much fun as asking you to be my Valentine.
I remember the first Valentine’s Day we were together. It was 1981 just about a month before we took that historic trip to New York City where I surprised both of us by proposing. I wanted to do something special that year and came up with two pretty good ideas. I bought a box of those silly valentines that little kids give to each other at school. I picked out ten or so of the best ones and mailed them to your house. Each on in its own separate envelope. So you got a pile of silly valentines in the mail and you thought that was funny. Your parents thought it was weird, but they thought that about me anyway. I also went to a bookstore in search of something memorable and a little more romantic than that. I found the perfect Valentine’s Day gift. It was a little red book titled “With Love From …” that contained lip prints of famous people along with their signatures. The book was virtually page after page of kisses. You loved it. I found it months ago in the bottom bookshelves in the dining room, dusted it off and put it in much more prominent position among other treasures. Right now it is sitting next to me and I am reading what I wrote in the book before I gave to you.
To the girl whose lips make this book so appropriate … from the guy who’s so glad he met them … 14Feb81
You know, Valentine’s Day was always a big deal to me. I loved picking out just the right card for you and would spend quite a bit of time finding the perfect one. One year I couldn’t decide between two cards so I bought them both. I was always looking for just the right combination of romance, sex and humor. Although I admit that some years I went strictly for romance. Valentine’s Day was the perfect day to tell you about love and how much of it I had for you. It was also the perfect day for me to add to your lingerie collection which I recall doing more than once. I loved our romance, it really never ended until …
I was cleaning our closet a couple of days ago and found more gifts from V Days past, both books. You always liked books and as much as I would have liked to, I couldn’t buy you lingerie for every holiday. In 1997, I bought you a little book called “Love Letters” which is all romantic correspondence from famous people. I’m not sure how much of this you read but it doesn’t look very worn. More interesting than the content, at least to me right now, is what I wrote inside the back cover. A verse of poetry. Remember that I used to do that sometimes? You never thought it was very good, you were probably right. But once in a while I would hit on some words that seemed right together. In this case, I thought I described part of you pretty well:
She’s gathering information
On a subject strange to me
She’s got magazines and printouts
And her curiosity
She’s got lights on in the bedroom
Informercials on TV
A book of coupons in her car
And a brand new recipe
Alright, maybe not the most romantic prose ever written. It got better though, in 1999 when I gave to you another book, this one titled “The 50 Most Romantic Things Ever Done.” It was supposed to be fifty romantic stories in one small book except I altered it. I typed an additional story, the 51st, and pasted it to the last pages of the book. That story was of you and I getting engaged in New York on your birthday in 1981. I always liked that story.
I know there are a lot of Valentine’s Day cards hidden in the drawers of our bedroom. I had a special place where I kept your cards to me and I think you have some in your top drawer also. I never threw any of those cards away and I never will. I have to ask you something though. Is it okay if I don’t read those cards this year? Can I just leave them where they are for maybe another year at least? I want so to see them again, read what we wrote to each other on the days we celebrated our love. I just don’t think I can do it this year. I hope that’s okay and you understand. I’m doing better but I know I’m still too wounded and fragile right now. Can I save them for next year?
They say the holidays are the hardest. We got through those and they weren’t as bad as I thought. But the next three, starting with tomorrow, are going to hurt a lot. Valentine’s Day, your birthday and our anniversary are all wonderful days, some of my favorites. But I’m going to need a lot of help with them. Valentine’s Day was always special with you, in some ways maybe the most special. I’m just going to celebrate that one for now. I’m not sure how you will celebrate with me, but I hope you find a way.
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 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.