Discovery. As in I made one this morning. Yep, just sitting here finishing up a post and looking at my list of potential topics and a few photos of Coleen and me that are lying around here looking for a home. Discovery. It’s almost like an epiphany, like something that’s been floating around almost stealth-like. I knew it was there but I didn’t know what it was. I may still not really know what it is but I think I might be on to a part of at least.
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.
I don’t know how I got drafted into this project, but I’m glad it’s over. At least I think it’s over. My sister-in-law Karen came up with a brilliant (to her) idea for Christmas gifts for Samantha and Claire. She thought it would be nice if they had photo albums with pictures of them and their late Grandma Coleen together. Karen thought it would be a nice keepsake for them.
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.
Today I did things that in previous years Coleen would have done. We are fast approaching the Christmas season, actually we are right in the heart of it, and that was a time that was both stressful and enjoyable to Coleen. As it is to most of us, I guess. Some of the things I did today that she would have done:Today I did things that in previous years Coleen would have done. We are fast approaching the Christmas season, actually we are right in the heart of it, and that was a time that was both stressful and enjoyable to Coleen. As it is to most of us, I guess. Some of the things I did today that she would have done:
Talk to Lindsay about hosting the Christmas Day family gathering, what was on the menu and who was bringing what.
Went to the locally owned toy store in our village and bought Christmas gifts for Samantha and Claire.
Reminded myself that Katelyn’s birthday was in a few days and took the appropriate action to get a gift to her on time.
Made a Christmas gift list and purchased or ordered much of what is on it.
Gathered an assortment of toys and clothing to donate to needy children.
Made several year-end charitable contributions.
Gave my niece Mackenzie a ride to work.
Took a Philodendron plant that Coleen loved and nurtured to a florist to get re-potted. It was getting root bound and I didn’t want to lose that plant.
Went to yoga.
Admittedly, not everything listed has to do with Christmas, but they all are things that Coleen would have done instead of me. I would have been at work letting her worry about most of that. Of course now it’s part of the responsibility I have inherited from her. Part of her void that I have shifted to accept. Part of me being a little bit Coleen.
I don’t know what to do about Christmas. I just don’t know. Part of me just wants to cancel it altogether or just sleep through it all. Of course I know that can’t happen. If my brief history since September 18th has taught me anything it’s to not run for cover in times like this. It’s healthier for me to take everything head on and know that my new life is different from my old one was. The difference is I am without her and I have changed and will continue to change as a result.
Part of that change is how I act or who I am on days like Thanksgiving and Christmas or more personal days like birthdays or anniversaries. I had my 60th birthday just a few weeks after Coleen passed and that was a very hard day. Thanksgiving just happened and although I had some very difficult moments that day, on the whole I thought the day went pretty well for me emotionally. I’m nowhere near ready to think about her birthday or our wedding anniversary yet. Those come later.
But isn’t Christmas different? I say yes, it is very different. Christmas isn’t just a day, it’s a season that lasts about a month. There are Christmas things that happen all around us all the time during that interval. Buying gifts, making lists, greeting cards, decorations, trees, wreaths, music, wrapping paper, cookies, shopping, making plans. And that all happens before Christmas Day. Then the 25th comes along and it’s family, gifts, food, wine, laughter and love. But the holiday season doesn’t end there either because we have another week of the Christmas hangover running into New Year’s Eve and Day. I don’t mean to sound bitter because I have mostly enjoyed all of that commotion through the years. But this year, every one of those activities is going to remind me of something Coleen. And it’s not that I don’t want to be reminded, it’s that I don’t want to miss what I’m being reminded of. I don’t want to miss how Coleen was for all those things. She had a certain way of dealing with each one of those activities that was unique to her. Certain ways that I will always cherish, laugh about, and never forget.
Each year she would hand me a pad of paper and a pen and say “Okay, we need to make a list for Christmas,” and I would write everyone’s name and we tried to think of gifts to buy them. Then she would shop intermittently throughout the coming weeks and collect a pile of bags in our bedroom and closet. And somehow that would all turn into a wonderful Christmas. It was not unlike her cooking style in which she would transform a kitchen full of chaos into a beautiful and delicious dinner. Some of the gifts wouldn’t get wrapped until Christmas Day and I had to do most of the wrapping because I “was so much better at it” than her. Although sometimes it seemed haphazard, Coleen always pulled everything together by Christmas Day, including the menu for dinner. That was her self-imposed responsibility and nobody was allowed to mess with that. Sometimes she would tell me in advance what she was planning and I would say “Isn’t that going to be a lot of work?” And she would say “It’ll be fine.” Or when she said she wanted to serve beef tenderloin and I said “Isn’t that going to be expensive?” Her reply? ”Oh, so what, it’s Christmas. And besides, it’s only money and we’ll make more.”
Coleen loved Christmas and making it special. We spent so many Christmases together, this one is going to be unbelievably hard. So many memories to overcome. They are wonderful memories and I know that in time I will look back at them with so much fondness, like I am trying to do here. I’m just not sure if I will be able to conquer all the sadness this year. Last night I was talking to Felicitas, our yoga instructor. She asked me about my plans for the holidays and if I would be with family. I told her that we would all be at Lindsay’s house for Christmas Day and she was very pleased that we would be with Coleen’s parents and family. I said, “Of course, it’ll be just like always except for Coleen not being there. Just like we did at Thanksgiving.” It’s what we do.
And now it’s what we’ll always do. We’ll make plans without her but her influence will always be part of them. We’ll be guided by her and by the comfort of asking “What would Coleen do?” She will always be with us in so many ways.
This is a drawing of me that Coleen and Samantha did together. I wasn’t actually there when they did it, but it looks to me like Coleen did the outline and Samantha colored inside the lines. I like how I am represented with my curly gray hair, blue eyes, glasses, yellow neck to match my shorts, and what appears to be a bottle of either beer or root beer in my hand. Probably beer and judging from the color of the bottle it’s either a Molson’s or maybe Sam Adams. Wonder how Samantha picked that color.
I found this artwork lying around the kitchen after they created it and made sure that it went somewhere special. It meant a lot to me but I didn’t have time to properly deal with it then so I put it away until I was in the right frame of mind to bring it out. I’m glad I waited because back then, I didn’t have a venue like this to show it off. Now it’s on the whole internet and everyone can see what great artists I hang out with. I just wish those girls would have signed their work. Much more authentic that way.
Not many people know that Coleen always wanted to be an artist. Except maybe me and her friend Sue, the Painter. Coleen took some art classes and purchased an easel and a bunch of paints and art supplies. I always thought she had a gift but she never made a very big priority of it. If I could guess, I would say that it is something she wished she spent more time on instead of working so hard.
I still have all of those art supplies here. There are colored pencils, paper, lots of paint and brushes and that easel, too. Some are in the basement and some are upstairs in a closet. Someday soon, I will give them all to the Girls so they can play with Grandma’s unfulfilled hobby. I know she would like that. Just some more gifts she left behind.
Two weeks ago I returned to one my safe places. I only have a few of those sacred spots where I can be myself, unconditionally me. Where I don’t have to be strong if I don’t feel it. Where I don’t have to be funny or anything else that might be expected of me. I can just be me in that moment. I like that.
Maureen is my massage therapist and she is the first person who made me feel safe after Coleen passed. In fact, Maureen was the first person to use the word safe in it’s true context to me. “Don’t worry, Rob. You’re safe here.” And I have felt that ever since. I was there again today with her for my third massage AC. I’m safe with Maureen because she listens to my heart when I talk to her. She hears more than just my words and she understands. I can be emotional when she has her fingers in my hair, I can feel Coleen’s fingers there. Maureen knew Coleen well and she made her safe, too.
I am safe in my bedroom. I was afraid it would be filled with sadness wall to wall, haunting me with pain and anguish through the night. Instead it is a haven of safety and comfort. Where I can go to feel Coleen and remember the hours we shared there talking and laughing. And sometimes more than just that, depending on her mood. It is safe because her things are still there. Her books, her notes, her clothes and items hidden away that I have yet to discover. I will always find her in that room, her bedroom, her space. And I will learn more about her.
I have found safety in our church where people I hardly know put their arms around me and console my sadness. I have gone there alone during weekdays when it was empty and knelt in a pew and prayed for Coleen’s safety, her safe passage to the next stop. I have wiped away tears praying for strength to continue without her and to be strong for my family. I can go there with no preconceptions from anyone. I can sit alone or stand out. I can sing aloud or kneel and cry. I always thought I would be able to go there when Coleen was gone and I would be able to feel her there. I was right about that. She healed there once. We both did and now I am trying again.
I am safe when I go to Reiki and visit Rebecca and when she asks me to tell her how I feel. I am safe when I trust Rebecca to guide me into meditation where I discover things that were undiscoverable to my previous self. Where I can hear the unheard, see with my eyes closed, and fell the breath of a whisper against my cheek. Aware of all. Conscious of nothing. It’s safe to hear her tell me about my changes and encourage me to be confident in my new self.
I am safe when I go to yoga at Healing Waters. It is at a beautiful property alongside a creek and surrounded by trees and it is truly one of Coleen’s special places. When I enter the studio I think of all the moments Coleen spent there, working on her technique and her spirit. Coleen studied yoga for years and it was always a very strong and positive energy for her. When I am there, sharing the same space she once filled, I think of her and I can feel her with me. A few times I have gotten very emotional during the relaxation part of yoga. That’s the time when I creep into a meditative state and let go of being conscious. Sometimes that’s when I can feel her the most.
I am becoming safer in my house, no longer worried about being alone here. It is becoming more of my house with a healthy dose of Coleen and the days of our family and dog living here. There is safety in the memories of those times. There is safety everywhere. And the further along I get in this journey I think more and more places will start to feel safe for me as well.
