Everywhere I go today, I will hear people saying “Happy New Year.” They have no idea.
I don’t mean they don’t know what they’re talking about. They know about what they’re saying and we all say those words this time of year every year. What they have no idea about is who they are saying those words to. I’m not claiming to have had the worst year of anyone alive because I’m sure I haven’t. I will say with confidence though, that 2013 was the worst year of my life and I am anxious to have it all behind me.
The birth of a new year is really nothing more than a new number. For most of us, nothing changes much. We all make resolutions and claim that we will somehow modify our behaviors when the clock strikes 12:00. Those resolutions don’t last long and really have nothing to do with a new year. But still, we identify the dawn of a new year as the perfect opportunity to make changes and to create things new and different.
We all know that 2013 brought the deaths of my wife and mother. I also lost an aunt. My mother suffered a catastrophic stroke and although still alive, she was not going to recover and would be living in a vegetative state. It was my job to inform her doctors that she would not want to be kept alive under those circumstances. For the ensuing seven days, she was in a Hospice bed and I watched her die with Coleen and my brother Jim at my side.
Although well into her first year of her Stage 4 diagnosis, Coleen was doing well at that time. She had undergone chemotherapy and was then taking an oral chemo drug. She was tired a lot but completely functional and self-sufficient. I know that those hours she spent with me in my mother’s hospital room were not good for her though. She had to be thinking about her diagnosis and what her future would look like. Coleen was strong for me during the entire ordeal of my mother’s passing. She helped me make the end-of-life decision, supported me emotionally and with her presence. Of course she planned and orchestrated the post funeral service reception we held at our house. Her selection of caterer and food was excellent as always.
Coleen’s condition worsened shortly after that and three months after my mom’s death, I lost her. And I have been on the mend ever since.
2013 was a ridiculously painful year for me and I am happy that it will soon be ending. Some would say it’s time for a new start, but I won’t say that because I have already made a new start. I have already become something new. A lesson to be learned from such loss is to move forward with purpose. A lesson to be unlearned from loss is to spend excessive time in sorrow and sadness. A loss as devastating as a 33-year-old love fest with your soul mate is not easy to rebound from. I expect to never completely recover from that. The wound may heal but there will always be a scar. But if ever somethings good can come from something so bad, I believe in certain ways, it has for me. I believe that I have discovered things I would not have. I believe I know things now that would have remained unknown to me. I have met many wonderful people I would have never known. I have discovered a new ability in myself to communicate and to extrovert myself to people I don’t know. I have released a pent-up creativity that I am still learning about. I have become closer with my children and them with each other. I have learned to let myself happen.
These are all things to come out of a terrible and painful situation. My perfect world pitch is that I would have met with all those fates without losing Coleen. It’s not necessary for me to say that I would trade all those new things for my old life back with her at my side. But I can never have that so it doesn’t matter. What I do have is myself and my newness and my family. I have my new role as patriarch and mentor and grandfather. I have my new friends and my new interests. I have many of my old ways but they have been garnished with new discoveries.
I even made a new friend last night that I would not have otherwise met. We spent several hours over a couple cocktails and never stopped talking. At the end I gave her a real kiss and a Hershey’s kiss wrapped in red foil. I told her I wasn’t sure if she would let me kiss her, so I brought a candy kiss to give her just in case. Something old like flirting, that I miss so much, with someone new.
So you see, even though it was still 2013, I have already started somethings new. In part to dim the past, in part to brighten it. Happy New Year, 2014. Let’s get it on.
At the Hospice seminar I attended a few weeks ago, they talked about how to cope with grief and the holidays. One of the recurring themes mentioned was to “make new memories.” The concept was not to just lock on to all the memories of the past, all the memories you could no longer relive with the person you made them with. But to move forward with new times and new experiences. Move forward with new memories.
Christmas ended up being like that. I don’t think it was a conscious effort by me or anybody else. It just turned out that way. I didn’t walk around trying to make new memories or looking for some around every corner. They just kind of happened on their own. Just like they would have done if Coleen wasn’t missing from them. Just like if she was there beside us making them with us. Which of course, I think she was.
Coleen was the centerpiece of Christmas this year, even in her absence. I was talking to a friend named Judy who lost her sister in 2012. This was Judy’s second Christmas without her sister and she commented “We felt her presence just as strongly as we felt her absence.” I would say that pretty much sums up the general feeling at our Christmas Day family gathering. We all got together just like we always did and just like we would have done if Coleen was with us. Some of us shifted our roles to fill some of the void created by Coleen’s absence. She was always very active in organizing and orchestrating days like these and although she was irreplaceable, we had to find ways to replace her. Lindsay took charge of the menu and delegated food assignments so that everyone brought something. Karen seemed even more social than normal which was something Coleen excelled at. She was also very attentive to Samantha and Claire and seemed to be a little bit more than just Aunt Karen to them that day. I also tried to more social, more of a greeter, working the room and trying to talk to everyone as much as possible. We all felt Coleen’s absence but nobody said it very loudly.
I felt her presence, though. Christmas is a day Coleen belongs in and as far as I’m concerned, will always be part of. It’s a day custom-made for her. With all the giving and family, food and love. And of course the memories. I felt her very strongly today, especially through our granddaughters. They were very busy opening gifts and playing with new toys and games. They were also very social with so many people around paying attention to them. Every time I looked at them, which was often, I thought about their Grandma and her absence and her presence. I could see her in their eyes, sparkling with wonderment. I could hear her in their laughs and picture her sitting on the floor with them reading one of their new books. Making new memories.
Lindsay made each girl a memory book with photos of them with their Grandma Coleen. I know it was hard for her to do but they came out beautifully. Karen helped the girls unwrap the books and read them aloud. I stood behind her with a quivering chin. Pretty soon Coleen’s dad was looking over Karen’s shoulder to see inside. And Lindsay was gathered around. too. It was one of those happy moments that made everyone cry. Looking back at such beautiful moments and looking ahead to when the girls look at them later. It was impossible not to feel Coleen’s presence then. And her absence.
All told, I think the family had a good Christmas Day. Not great, but good. I did, too. I was with family all day and I know that helped me. Too much alone time would not have been good. I was at church Christmas Eve then spent the night at Lindsay’s house where I experienced the girls and Santa Claus. I picked up Patrick at the airport Christmas morning and came home. I resurrected an old Betty Crocker augratin potato recipe modified by my mom that I used to make for family gatherings. Then it was back to Lindsay’s for the Christmas Day party. With Patrick in town and Shauna and Al visiting over the weekend, I have not been alone in several days. I think I am ready for a little bit of that.
This Christmas I put an old ornament on a new tree. I made an old recipe for people who had never tasted it. I drove a new car to familiar places. I gave my granddaughters a puppet theater and puppets so we can play with them when I come over. I received beautiful texts from two wonderful new friends. I opened precious gifts from my children. I lived the miracle of Christmas through the eyes of my granddaughters. I watched people celebrating with such sadness. I was without Coleen for the first time in 33 years. I’m not sure how many of those will become memories. Maybe they already have. After all, You never really know when you’re making one.
Sometimes I walk around like I know something that other people don’t. Other times I am sad enough to cry. Sometimes I am riding some kind of crazy adrenalin experience that makes me feel very confident and aware. Other times I am sad enough to cry. Sometimes I think I have interesting lessons for people to learn from and other times, I am sad enough to cry.
With today being Christmas Eve, I don’t know what to expect but I have already been sad enough that I have cried. And it’s not quite 7:30 in the morning. I have some things to do today but it’s far from a hectic schedule. I will be working out, going to the grocery store, ushering at my church’s 5:00 Christmas Eve service then going to Lindsay’s house for a sleepover. There will be enough lapses in activity to leave ample time for sadness if I allow it. Which I probably will.
People keep asking me how I am doing with the holidays but without Coleen. I say I’m doing okay, staying busy and all that. Truth is, when I stop and think about it, I hurt pretty badly. I am also very sad. I tell you that because you care enough about me to be reading here. I tell you that because it is safe for me to say it to you. As much as I try to disguise this Christmas season, my truth is I am deeply saddened by Coleen’s absence and I miss her immeasurably. If I had to put a number on it from 1 to infinity it would be infinity times infinity. That’s a lot.
Sometimes, I am okay. Throughout most of the activities leading up to Christmas, I have performed satisfactorily. I made a Christmas list, bought what I needed, wrapped my gifts, put up a tree and some decorations and sent Christmas cards. Pretty much everything I would have done anyway, probably more than years past. I also bought a new car, hosted Samantha for a sleepover, visited my friends from work, and helped decorate my church. I held up well emotionally through most of that except when I put that bell ornament on the tree. Not exactly a jammed packed schedule, but busy enough to keep me busy. It’s getting closer to crunch time now. All of a sudden, this is Christmas Eve morning. Normally, I would have gone to work today and come home early. Coleen would have been at home doing some last-minute preparations for this evening or tomorrow’s dinner. We wouldn’t have been hosting that but she would have assumed command of it anyway. She would have been making a list of what she needed to do and what she needed to buy and she would have wanted to sneak in some yoga or video workout of some kind. (Since you aren’t here to see me, I will tell you that I just walked away from my typing and thinking in search of composure. I found some under a very hot shower where I went to hide. I find hot showers very cleansing in more ways than the obvious. I also cleansed my breathing passages with something called a Neti-Pot and a couple hits of an Aromatherapy inhaler. I feel much better, at least for now.) Things would be in some state of disarray when I came home but Coleen would rally and we would somehow get to church for the 5:00 service on time. Then we would spend Christmas Eve with Lindsay and Mike and the girls and exchange gifts and drink champagne. We would come home tired and lie down together, in each other’s arms and fall asleep. Thankful for all the ways we had been blessed.
It is hard for me to rationalize the fact that exactly one year ago, Coleen and I picked up my Mom and took her to Christmas Eve service with us. And now they are both gone and tonight I will be going alone. Last year my mom was her usual edgy self when we took her. She didn’t like where she had to sit with her walker and thought the service was too long, which it was. She fell asleep a couple of times, too. But it was the first Christmas Eve I had spent with her in about 20 years. I didn’t know it would also be the last. Oh, boy. Some things are better left not thought of. That ‘s one of them. Here’s another one: That was also my last Christmas Eve with Coleen. I am only telling you that because you already know and it won’t surprise you to find out.
So what’s it going to be for me? Sadness or joy? Pillar of support for others or emotional wreck? Probably a little bit of everything. It’s impossible not to take joy from my little granddaughters and I will be there with them tonight and tomorrow morning when they discover what Santa left for them. But I also know that later on, they will each receive a memory book of photos of them and their Grandma and that might make everyone cry. I will be happy to be with them and Lindsay and to see my son Patrick as he returns from NYC for the holiday. I will try to be brave and strong for everyone, using some of my newly discovered powers of healing and helping. But I will crave the comfort of my family and my friends at church and from the church itself. I think I will be a little bit of everything.
Sometimes I know exactly where I am going. Other times I am sad enough to cry. But I am always listening for a whisper, always looking for a light.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m not going to let that keep me from doing it.”
I said that to some friends I was talking to after church yesterday. I had just handed them one of my new cards as I explained why I thought I should be a guy walking around with business cards in his pocket. The couple I was speaking with, Paul and Tish, knew Coleen rather well. We had dinner at their house on two occasions and they dined at our house once. Tish and Coleen were both involved in non-profit organizations and Paul was a social worker, like Coleen. The four of us seemed to get along quite well and we had many things in common. We were friends through church but could just as easily just been friends. I don’t know why, we just never got around to it I guess. Different schedules, distance maybe. For whatever reason, we never got to be as close as we could have.
After the service yesterday, I approached them as I have not seen them in some time. I had not seen Tish at all since Coleen’s passing and wasn’t even certain that they knew about her. Our conversation was very warm and friendly but Coleen didn’t come up until I mentioned her. We were only a few minutes in to the conversation but it was as if Paul and Tish didn’t want to mention her for fear of how I would react. They were protecting me. Once I acknowledged Coleen and my life after her, they seemed a little bit relieved and were quick to join in talking about her. It could have been my imagination, but I got the sense that Paul and Tish became more comfortable once I spoke of Coleen and talked about how I was coping with her loss. It seemed that what I had to say was also making it easier for them to think about her. As I said before, we were never best friends but we all knew each other well enough to share some fun evenings and Coleen’s death was a loss for anyone who knew her. Nobody wants to say goodbye to a peer. I got the feeling that by talking about Coleen, I was helping them as well as helping myself. I have been getting that feeling more and more recently.
The day before, I was again at church helping with the Christmas decorations. One of the other volunteers was a woman named Mary who had lost her husband of 47 years, Joseph, over the summer. Mary had sent me a beautiful sympathy card for Coleen and wrote a very heartfelt note in it. She had also knitted a prayer shawl for Coleen back in 2007 when she was first diagnosed with breast cancer. Coleen loved that blanket and took it to all of her chemotherapy treatments and it became a constant healing companion. It covered her the night of her passing. I had an opportunity to talk to Mary in church that day and started the conversation by thanking her for her card. I also told Mary about the prayer shawl she had knitted for Coleen and how she had it on at the end. Mary was touched by that. Then I started talking to her about her loss, about how hard it must be for her without Joseph. I shared some of my feelings and pain and that’s exactly what our conversation developed into. It was a sharing. We both suffered catastrophic loss and were both trying to find ways to cope and heal. We were both discovering our new-selves and talked about that. I think Mary had a sense of that happening with her but when I mentioned it by name, when I said that I was developing a newness to myself, she seemed to light up and recognize that same thing was developing with her.
Once more, after talking with Mary, I felt a degree of satisfaction that I might have been of value to her. That my thoughts, words and experiences might have brought her a little more comfort than she expected to get that morning while helping make the church beautiful. It feels like I’m entering another stage in my process. I have already felt the love, had the loss, and continue to learn about the healing. But there’s a fourth element for me now. I’m calling it Discovery. I think that’s the last door to open. Now that I’m at that one, I am ready to take some of my lessons learned and teach them to others. I am discovering my new self and how vital I can become or have already become. I recognize how I am different and how everything looks and feels differently to me now. I am discovering what to do about it.
I will always be who I am and some of that will always be who I have been. But more of that will be in my discoveries of who I can be and who I have become. Maybe I can make a difference. Sometimes I hear a whisper.
Coleen had a sprawling plant hanging in our dining room window. It was a Philodendron plant and it was beautiful. She started it several years ago from little more than a seedling and nurtured it into a very impressive plant hanging from a shelf and touching the floor. I always thought it was a little too long as some of its leaves actually dragged along the floor. But that’s how Coleen wanted it to look so I just left that one alone. I put it in the category of her clothes piled up on a chair in our bedroom, a nightstand stacked with books and papers and a car that resembled a closet. Those were all just little nuances of who Coleen was and I was glad to accept them as part of her overall package. Always happy to trade some minor annoyances for the privilege of her love.
Coleen was very proud of her plant and often commented on how well it was doing. She paid a lot of attention to it and she told me that she even talked to it sometimes. On the rare occasions that she was away, I was always reminded to water that thing. Since she passed, I have been giving her Philodendron plant special care. It has been on a regular watering cycle and I have hung it outside a few times when it was warm enough so it could get some sun. I have been very careful and feel very responsible for the health of that plant.
A few weeks ago I noticed that it was getting root bound and outgrowing the ceramic pot it was in. I thought it should be transplanted into something bigger, but I was afraid to do it, thinking I would break something or kill it. So I decided to take it to a florist and pay them to do it for me. Then I had another idea.
What if instead of putting it in a bigger pot and me bringing it home and hanging it back up so it could get bigger and end up taking more floor space, what if I did something else with it? What if I had the florist take that beautiful plant that was so special to Coleen and divide into six smaller plants that I could give to Lindsay, Shauna, Coleen’s sisters and her mom. I thought that would be a wonderful way to share something so dear to Coleen as a symbol of her life perpetual in our hearts. I was very proud of that idea and when I told people what I was up to, it was hard for me to get the words out without choking up.
I picked my new plants up yesterday and Mary Ann from the florist shop told me an interesting story about Coleen’s Philodendron. She started by asking me if I believed in spirits. I smiled and said “Yes, all the time.” Mary Ann went on to tell me how busy it was on the day she was going to take on my project. Phones were ringing incessantly and the store was crowded with customers all morning. She finally decided that she had to take care of my plant and went to the backroom. As soon as she started working om it, the phones stopped ringing. She looked out front and their store was empty of customers. Mary Ann said it took her and another girl about 30 minutes to turn Coleen’s large Philodendron into six smaller ones. And not one phone call, not one customer while they were working on it. Then as soon as she had the sixth plant safely planted, the phone started ringing and the customers were back. But for the time required to perform the important task at hand, they were able to give 100% undivided attention to Coleen’s Philodendron plant.
As I have stated many times before, I don’t believe in coincidence. It doesn’t surprise me that some energy that we don’t understand might have had a say in how much business Petals to Please was going to do while the transplanting was being done. I certainly believe it. After hearing the story from the florist shop, I wondered if this was even my idea or if I heard a whisper from someone suggesting it to me. Of all the things I have done since Coleen’s passing, this might have been the most magical. The plants are still beautiful, just smaller but there’s more of them. I gave the first one to Karen last night and she loved it. Especially once I explained to her what it was and where it came from. The others will love theirs too and I will love giving them. I feel like I’m giving a piece of Coleen to some of the really important people in her life.
Don’t worry, I saved one for myself, too. It’s in the dining room right where it was before. Waiting for some sun, some water and a little talking to.
What if instead of putting it in a bigger pot and me bringing it home and hanging it back up so it could get bigger and end up taking more floor space, what if I did something else with it? What if I had the florist take that beautiful plant that was so special to Coleen and divide into six smaller plants that I could give to Lindsay, Shauna, Coleen’s sisters and her mom. I thought that would be a wonderful way to share something so dear to Coleen as a symbol of her life perpetual in our hearts. I was very proud of that idea and when I told people what I was up to, it was hard for me to get the words out without choking up.