Everything that I have read and heard about grief, says that the holidays are the hardest times. I know that Halloween is not an official holiday. But except for my birthday, it’s the first signature day that I will spend without Coleen.
At our house and with Coleen, Halloween was more that just giving candy to some kids we didn’t know. It was an occassion and another opportunity for Coleen to wear her party planning hat. It might have been as simple as designing costumes for our kids when they were little, or not so little, or planning a costume party at our house, but she was always active this time of year. She bought the candy and decorations and carved the pumpkins. I usually had to start by opening the top and scraping out the inside, but she would be the artist, designing different faces and carving cats and things in them. On the porch with the candles inside, we had the best looking pumpkins on the street.
When the trick-or-treating started, Coleen preferred to kind of stay in the background. She knew I liked to hand out the candy and tease some of the kids, so she gave me that role. We had found some corny Halloween riddles and she thought it was funny when I asked the kids a question like “Why do witches ride on brooms?” (Because vaccuum cleaners are too heavy!) Coleen loved to see how the kids would react to my silliness. I think she laughed more than any of them did.
One year we had a combination graduation party/Halloween party when Lindsay graduated from college. Coleen rented a hall, took care of the food, guest list, basically everything except the music which was she always subcontracted to me. Her costume was “Cat’s Pajamas” and she was very cute with cat whiskers, ears and weraing a pair of flannel pajamas with slippers. I was a bearded lady.
We also had a houseful of strangely dressed adults one year for costumes, snacks, music and libations. In her planning, Coleen didn’t think that was enough so she hired a magician, too. That turned out to be a great idea. And speaking of her parties, although not a Halloweeem theme, we also hosted a Murder Mystery party with about eight other couples. She came up with idea and prepared the food. I did everything else. Coleen was very good at delegating work that supported her ideas. I was frequently one of the delegate-ees, which I usually complained about at first, but ultimately enjoyed doing. That Murder Mystery party ended up being legendary, by the way and people still talk about. “We’ll have to do that again,” they say. Well, not without Coleen we won’t.
Coleen’s go to costume was a gypsy which I loved because she was so sexy. I think she used that at least three times. One year we attended a friend’s party dressed as a pilot and flight attendant. She looked perfect in the part with a stewardess cap and a scarf around her neck. She even had a little tray with airline sized snacks and a glass of wine on it that she carried around with her. And of course that big smile of hers. So much fun. I couldn’t wait to get her home that night.
Although Coleen treated every one of her days like they were truly special, there were certain ones that she really lit up. Today is Halloween and it will always be one of her days to me. I have the decorations on the porch and bought the candy. And I’ll carve the pumpkin sometime late this afternoon just like she always did. And I’ll discover a new way, a new day to miss her.
Last night I attended a yoga class. It is a six week “Intro to Yoga” which I am taking for the second time. The first time I took this class it was given to me as a gift from Coleen. She always thought yoga would be good for me and of course, I was always reluctant to try it. The gift certificate had a way of forcing my hand and with that gentle persuasion of hers, Coleen got her message through to me.
Going there last night was a little strage for me. The studio, Healing Waters, was Coleen’s place. She took many classes there and made many friends including the owner and Coleen’s favorite instructor, Felicitas. Those two were of like minds and had much admiration for each other. Felicitas is the instructor for my Intro course and she is such a unique woman. She has a calmness and a peacefulness about her that is contagious to those she is with. Myself included.
By entering Healing Waters last night, I was entering a piece of Coleen’s world. I have been doing a lot of that in different ways. I have also found myself adopting some of her hablits, assuming some of her roles, her responsibilities. My daughter Lindsay said she is noticing how things are kind of shifting and people are redefining themselves to try to fill the massive void Coleen left us. I think that’s true of Lindsay and of myself but I can’t speak for many others.
Coleen was the matriarch of this family. She was it’s heart and it’s soul and her passing left much more than a void. To me it is more akin to a black hole in space. I don’t imagine that void will ever be filled. We might be able to mend some of the damage, to apply some bandages and maybe some emotional duct tape that will help. But none of us can ever be Coleen. She was much better at being Coleen than anyone else could ever come close to. She was at the center of things. Planning, guiding, counseling, advising, selecting holiday menus and vacation spots. She was the one everybody else deferred to. She was the one we all wanted to be with.
I have found myself shifting. I was never the patriarch nor do I necessarily want to be. In some ways my previous role might best be described as Coleen’s partner, her balance, security and foundation so she could be Coleen. I supported her, questioned her, challenged her, helped her and loved her. And she did all that for me. Now I can neither be those things nor receive those things and I have voids of my own to fill.
In some ways I think I am trying to fill them by taking on some of the roles of Coleen and even some of her lifestyle. There are certain things that are obvious as far as the day to day shopping, cleaning, laundry, cooking and changing the sheets. But other things maybe not so noticeable have been happening. My relationships with my children are different because their Mom is gone. I can’t replace her for them but I can be more attentive and be a better listener. I can try to offer the guidance and support Coleen did. I can make dinner sometimes. And I want to be a better grandfather to those two little girls who lost their Grandma and keep her memory alive in them.
I am doing some of the things she loved like reiki and yoga and massage therapy. I am trying to make some of her recipes and taking dinner to Lindsay’s house. I am encouraging (nagging) Patrick to get married or put himself in a place of greater opportunity or both. I am adopting some of Coleen’s habits and characteristics like making lists like she used to, going to Wegman’s more than once a week, rushing so I’m not late for things, reading more than one book at a time, having a messy bedrom but a perfect bed. Last week in Florida I wanted to buy some souveneirs for the granddaughters. On any other vacation we would have done that together and Coleen would have had better ideas than me. I bought them each little beach bags, tie-dyed t-shirts and a little conch shells. I think she would have approved.
I am changing and will contiue to do so. Some of my changes will help fill the void left from Coleen. But none of us can replace her and how she thought and what she did. She was the only one who could be Coleen.
The hurt is changing, it’s different now. It has always been final but now it’s forever. I have defined one of my truths as: I’m never going to get over losing Coleen. People told me, people in the know, that sometimes the real grief doesn’t start until a month ot two after the loss. I thought the hurt had been pretty bad all this time and I don’t really want to think about it getting worse. Different maybe I could take, but not worse.
I have been revisiting many memories in my posts and articles here and in some ways I know that’s helping me with my healing. But in other ways it’s like cutting off a limb to save my life. I hope the result is worth it, but the process is brutal. The blog is a healer for me though. It’s a weapon I have to attck my loss with. When I write an article or even a sentance about Coleen that I feel is worthy, it gives me comfort to know that I am not just sitting back and taking this. That I have the means and the memories and the Kleenex to stand up to the pain and fight back. Words can be a powerful thing. I hope tears are, too.
My daughter Lindsay told me last night that things have been getting to her more recently. She lives a busy life and sometimes doesn’t have time to just sit down and grieve. In the car she has solitude and that’s where the emotions can be strongest for her. Her little girls, Samantha and Claire are adorable and being 4 and 2 years old, it’s hard to predict what they might think or say. The girls know that Grandma Coleen is in some place called heaven but they don’t know what that means. They know she died and they won’t be seeing her again. They don’t really understand that either. Last night I was visiting them and Claire, the 2 year old, had an orange. She held it up to Lindsay and said “Mama, just like Grandma,” because when Coleen would babysit, she always brought a supply of food and always had oranges that she shared with the girls. To hear things like that is a different hurt. It’s so sweet coming from her mouth but so bitter in context. Coleen would be happy I think, to know that her granddaughter associated her with a piece of fruit.
My brother Jim called me from Cleveland a couple days ago. I was in still in Ft. Lauderdale and he was worried about me. He was anxious for me to be home where I would be safer. On that phone call, he was grieving. Jim and I have always been close but even more so the past few years. He visited Buffalo often and had a lot of love for Coleen. As much as I tried to recognize how her loss effected everyone, often my own suffering would take priority. Jim was with me the entire weekend of Coleen’s services and was a champion of support to me and still is. But he suffered a tremendous loss as well. I know he grieved then but I also think it’s hitting harder now, just like those in the know said it would.
Think what you may about the afterlife. I am a strong believer, even stronger now. Coleen had a very special and gifted friend and adviser named Jillian who I will talk about in much greater detail later on in the blog. She deserves an article of her own. Jillan believes that the spirit of the deceased is strong for the first few weeks then gets busy with other things and becomes dormant to us after about a month. The spirit then returns to be more active. That time frame seems to fit and if a spirit kindles sadness and emotion, that might explain why our loss feels a little stronger for us these days.
I moved Coleen’s urn yesterday. It was on the dining room bookshelves. It still is but I moved it to the windowseat there where we get a healthy dose of afternoon sun. Sometimes Coleen would stand in front of that window and let the sun bathe her in light and warmth. It seemed her urn should be getting that, too. She also had some plants on that windowseat and they now surround her urn. There is one hanging plant, I don’t know what it’s called, that always annoyed me because it got so long that it dragged on the floor. She started it out as something much smaller and it took off. I have been paying speacial attention to that plant now making sure it get’s proper water and sunlight. It is no longer an annoyance to me but has became part of my memories. The urn is almost under that plant now, touched by random leaves and growth. Like they’re watching out for each other.
One of the things that keeps making me sad is when I change the sheets on our bed. That’s a place Coleen and I shared almost every single night and it was our sacred territory. We did a lot of talking, planning, laughing and loving there and now it’s just my bed. It’s emotional for me and when I change the sheets it’s as if I am stirring things up instead of letting them lie.
Coleen was very particular about our bed and how it looked. She wasn’t nearly as concerned with the rest of the room but that bed had to be right. She made a point of making the bed every day before she went to work, regardless of how late she was. And the sheets were changed weekly. The mattress was flipped and rotated every couple months and the comforter cover was washed and line dried outside as much as possible.
We got a different mattress last year. It was a queen size instead of the standard full that we had forever. I bought a set of conversion rails so we could adapt our brass headboard and footboard to fit the queen mattress. It gave us a lot more room in bed but the bedframe was never as sturdy as before and it never felt quite right to me. But Coleen liked the extra space and so we kept it like that.
About two months before her passing, Coleen had stopped sleeping in our bed. Instead she slept on the couch downstairs where she was actually more comfortable because she could be more upright. And then the last few weeks were spent in a hospital bed in our living room. That left me sleeping upstairs alone. Since I never loved that new mattress anyway, I changed the bed back to it’s orignal size and put the old mattress back on. Back to the original configuration from 1986. Back to the start. I wanted her back in that bed with me for one night, one hour, one minute. I would have settled for anything. Just to hold her again. There is a song, a sad song that I love and hate with the lyrics “Oh and I wanted to hold her, One more time …”
I have been sleeping fairly well since Coleen. Better, actually, than before. The past couple of nights have been different though. Two nights ago I tossed and turned and couldn’t get comfortable. I felt like someone was in bed with me and we were fighting for our share of the comforter. I wish that was the case. The bedroom door opened by itself that night. too. Must have caught a draft. Then last night I slept soundly. I started as I usually do, but before falling asleep, I was drawn to Coleen’s side of the bed. It’s funny but all the time that she has not been sleeping with me, I only sleep on my side of the bed. But last night was different as I drifted a little closer to the other side. I moved my head to her pillow then slid myself over a little more. Sleeping on her side, feeling comfort and peace like I was closer to her. Like I was where I belonged. Like someone was with me.
Of course I had changed the sheets earlier that day, too. Coleen always liked fresh sheets.
There were three days between Coleen’s final evening and the first day of her arrangements and they were very busy and hectic. People at the house, coming and going, Lots of talking, crying, emotions. Making plans for her wake then the funeral service. Lindsay, Karen and I spent a couple hours with the funeral director making decisions about dates, times, death notices, urns and so many other items. The next day Lindsay and I met with Mother Liza, the dean of our church who would be performing the funeral service at St. Paul’s Cathedral. We talked about Coleen a great deal and selected readings and hymns.
It seemed that there were people at our house around the clock. Lots of food was given to us by neighbors and friends, lots of mouths to feed. One of the many activities that was crucial to properly remembering Coleen was to make some poster board sized photo collages. It seemed that everyone had a hand in that and we needed them all. We have so many photos! Drawers, boxes, albums full and that didn’t include what I had on CD’s, hard drives and my iPhone. This was a daunting task.
We spent hours pouring over the collection, setting aside the special photos that we wanted to consider for the finished product. We went all through the last 33 years or so plus the childhood photos that her parents brought over. The vacations, holidays, birthdays, parties and just living life in general. At times it was a lot of fun to look back at that and other times so emotional that I had to look away or leave the room. My God, what a life we had together.
I kept waiting to uncover a specific photo. It was one of my favorite pictures of her. It was taken just before she turned 30. We were on vacation in Cancun and we took a ferry to a tiny island called Isla Mujeres (Island of Women) for the day. Once there, we rented a moped scooter and spent the day buzzing around the island and it’s beautiful beaches. Somehow we found this little seaside restaraunt called Maria’s and stopped there for lunch. This is where Coleen would have been able to enhance this story because her memory for details was unequaled and she would be able to recite exactly what she had for lunch and what wine she was drinking. I don’t remember for certain but I believe there were margaritas and a bottle of Pouilly-Pouisse on the table at different times that day at Maria’s. And we had fish and salad and a wonderful day. I almost crashed that moped once or twice after lunch but we managed to find our way back to the ferry and to Cancun. In the photo, Coleen was sitting at our table in her swimsuit and sunglasses, she had a drink in her hand, a red flower in her hair and one of those big Coleen smiles. She was beautiful.
During the photo collage process, I tried to keep calm waiting for that photo to materialize but it never did. I decided not to stress about it, that it was here somewhere and got missed with all the people looking through things and mixing stuff up. We ended up with three huge poster boards and could easily have had twice that many. There were wonderful photos of her. Just not that one from Maria’s.
On the second day after Coleen’s funeral service, I was up early. Her urn was on our dining room shelves kind of crowded with some other things and I wanted to give it some space. I started moving some of the shelf occupants around and saw on the top shelf another photo box. I remembered putting that up there several years ago under Coleen’s direction and remembered that it was empty. So I grabbed it and was surprised by it’s weight. I brought it down and took off the lid and saw it was full of photos. I reached inside and pulled out a fistful and looked at the one on top. You can probably guess.
I have a theory about that. About finding that box, about finding that one photo in that whole box of photos with my first try. About trying so hard to find it during those previous days.
I wasn’t supposed to find it then. Not when there so much commotion, so many people, so many other photos that it could have gotten lost in the shuffle. Instead, I was supposed to find it that morning when I was all by myself, when there were no other photos or people around to distract me. So Coleen and I could be alone together with it. And remember that beautiful day.
I was talking about this story and this photo and describing it the other day to my new friend, Jo. She asked me if I knew what it meant for a girl to have a flower in her hair. I said that I didn’t. Jo smiled at me and said, “It means she’s spoken for. She’s taken.” I liked that. And I like to think she’s still spoken for.
