Category Archives: Grieving

Flight of Time

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One of my favorite singers, Eydie Gorme, sang a song so thought-provoking that several years ago I wrote out the lyrics and filed them in a manila folder under “Time”, which was the name of her song.

She sang, “Back when I was young and summer was forever, ‘good’ was your first name.”

Nate on Healey StreetFor most people, good times fill their youthful years, along with hope for a happy future. I love looking at this picture of Nate taken in early 1971, because seeing him there in our first apartment, dressed as he is, floods my mind with good-time-memories. He was finishing law school, and I was teaching first grade. Although we had very few possessions and minimal money, it was all good times.

And then the clock began moving, ticking even as we slept. Nate graduated, we moved, he became a lawyer, I became a stay-at-home mommy. Seven kids grew up, went to college, moved away, and made us proud. We had weddings and then grandchildren. And in what seemed like a quick minute, time ended, at least for Nate. And my time as his wife ended, too.

Eydie sang, “Time, when did you begin trading your tomorrows for worn out just-todays?”

In January of 2010, when I’d been a widow for three months, I remember sitting in a chair at twilight, my hands in my lap, doing absolutely nothing but listening to the tick-tock of a wall clock. Immobilized by sadness, I didn’t know what to do. It seemed appropriate to just listen to time slipping away. I was worn out by grief, and life had morphed into a series of “worn out just-todays.”

The same wall clock is still ticking today, but I’m feeling much better. Sitting in a chair doing nothing isn’t something I want anymore. I remember Mom saying, as a new widow, “Life will never be the same.” I’m sure that thought floats through the mind of every new widow or widower who has had a satisfying marriage. It dominated my thinking for a long time, too.

It’s true that life can never be the same after a mate dies, and I know I’ll never stop wondering what today, tomorrow or next year would have been like, had Nate been with us. But today, tomorrow and next year can be good again. It’ll just be in new ways.

Eydie sang, “Time, you rolled into years, years that left me walking, when you began to fly.”

WalkingTime is indeed flying, and I may be walking rather than flying, but sometimes a long walk can turn out to be a really good time.

“The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong… but time and chance happen to them all.” (Eccl. 9:11)

Praying and Praising with Mary

  1. I’m thankful my nausea is mild after today’s chemo. Also, my painful feeding tube will most likely be replaced next week.
  2. Pray for strength and energy to cope with non-stop commitments for a week or so.

Wrapped in Comfort

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In the years after Nate died, I gave away most of his clothes, many of them to distribution centers helping the homeless. There’s one piece, however, I’ve decided to keep… and to wear. It’s his navy blue, terrycloth bath robe.

Nate's robeNate wore this robe daily. Throughout 2009 when he was plagued by severe back pain, he couldn’t wait to get out of his business suit each evening and into the comfort of this bath robe. Usually the transition was made immediately after our 7:00 PM dinner by way of a hot soak in the tub with a good book.

Once in a while I’d get frustrated watching him abdicate the hustle and bustle of family life in favor of undressing and moving toward a prone position that alleviated back pain. I even grew to dislike the navy robe, which for both of us represented the end of his day. I’d ask, “Are you getting ready for night time already?” Now, of course, I feel bad about the implication of my question, but I hadn’t known the extent of his pain.

These days, as I wrap myself in his “giant towel,” I think comforting thoughts about Nate. I ponder the absence of his back pain and know he’d smile to see how I’ve come to appreciate his robe. I also imagine how he’d laugh if he could see me in it, the shoulders droopy and the belt nearly going around twice. But he’d be glad I’ve finally discovered there’s comfort in that terrycloth.

Many of my widow pals say they find a warm refuge in wearing a husband’s jacket, shirt or socks. It sounds silly, especially if we never shared our men’s clothing while they were still with us. But it’s one of the few remaining links we have to our partners, and because of that, wearing their clothes takes on special meaning.

Scripture tells us God is a good comforter. He provides his Holy Spirit as a soothing balm from our insides out, supplying comfort deep-down in those places nobody sees. Jesus said that when we mourn, he’ll see to it that relief comes to us. (Matthew 5:4) One of the many ways he’s comforted me is by coaxing me into Nate’s robe.

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles…” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4a)

Praising and Praying with Mary (on their anniversary today)

I thank God for 47+ years with Bervin! May the Lord bless him (and our marriage) through this cancer challenge.

Leaving a Legacy

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Today found us doing what we always do on Memorial Day: driving to Chicago’s Rosehill Cemetery to visit the family graves. This year we only had 13 family members due to holiday work schedules and faraway family locales, but the day was important anyway.

Laughter at the cemeteryMary initiated a discussion of shared memories, one for each name on the tombstones beginning with the baby for whom the plot was initially purchased. He died in 1911 at only 20 months. Our sharing about little William was minimal since none of us had known him, but most of the others brought forth many memories.

Memorial Days of the past have often been somber or even difficult, but this one was punctuated with laughter. Funny stories abounded, and I can’t remember a more humorous celebration of those who had gone before. As always I loved hearing stories about Nate, and many shared.

Toward the end of our time together, Mary and Bervin’s son Karl voiced something we’d all been thinking. “Mom,” he said, “you didn’t think you’d be here today, did you?”

At the cemeteryMary had to admit he was right, but there she was, feeling well and looking good. It was cause for further rejoicing.

Later Mary and I had a long conversation about the day. “Was it difficult,” I said, “to be at the cemetery, now that cancer has entered your life? What were you thinking?”

“….that I’ve gotten good at taking one day at a time,” was her quick answer. “It’s the only way to handle this.”

She talked further, remarking how today’s cemetery trip prompted her to consider the spiritual legacy she’ll leave behind when she’s gone. “I don’t feel I’ve done enough,” she said. But before I could refute that, she continued. “I guess little becomes much when you put it in God’s hands.”

“You know,” she said, “only God knows how much longer I’ll live. When I think about Memorial Day a year from now, it seems very far away. But life is made for the living, and I’m going to do my best to live well on each of the days God gives me.”

She talked about the beauty of the cemetery and the dramatic greens of spring, how she hadn’t noticed the intensity of nature’s colors until cancer came.

“God has blessed me every day,” she said, “and has given me far more good days than bad ones. I intend to count my blessings and be grateful for each one.”

Folks with cancer have two choices: they can get mad or get glad. Mary has chosen to appreciate life more than ever, now that death has threatened. And that’s a mighty good legacy to leave.

Legacies“All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” (Psalm 139:16)

Praising and Praying with Mary

  1. Praise for a great weekend with kids, grandkids, and beautiful weather
  2. Praise for a godly heritage
  3. Pray against nausea after tomorrow’s chemo infusion