What’s missing?

Posted on December 4, 2009 by Margaret

So far, I’ve had seventeen years as a child, four years as a college student, three years as a working single, forty years as a married woman and one month as a widow. The lion’s share of my life has been spent thinking like a wife, and I know with certainty one month isn’t long enough to think single again.

In answering people’s questions, I’m still using “we” instead of “I”, even though the other half of my “we” is gone. Saying “I” reminds me of a line from an old song, “One is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do.” Back when I was single, I didn’t feel lonely at all, but having been a couple for so long, suddenly I feel it.

Today I sent an anniversary card to some dear friends. Despite our anniversary coming and going with only half of us here, it wasn’t difficult to celebrate with another couple still in tact. The hard part came when I signed the card. The words, “Love, Margaret and Nate” rolled right out of my pen before I could stop them. It’s hard to remember to sign from just me.

But the worst adjustment is learning to talk about Nate in the past tense. I catch myself saying, “Nate loves holiday ties,” then needing to correct myself. “Nate loved holiday ties.” It’s almost not worth saying at all.

Other things must change, too. When my cousin Calvin was here at the time of the funeral, he gently reminded me that the categories of our marriage Nate used to handle will now have to be handled by me. For instance, Nate always made the coffee, put salt in the softener, arranged the vacations and handled insurance policies. My cousin told me, “If you can’t do what Nate used to do, ask someone to help you, so those things aren’t left undone. But you can do a lot of it yourself.” The problem comes in even noticing what needs doing when you haven’t done those things for forty years.

While Calvin was here, we left the house for several hours and returned to find seven big candles still burning on the mantle. Nate would never have stepped out the door without first blowing them out, but I didn’t even notice.

Calvin also said, “I know Nate made sure the house was locked up each night. Are you doing that?”

It hadn’t occurred to me. Actually, the house hadn’t been locked for two months. My cousin was right. I had to wonder what else was undone because of Nate’s absence. I remembered back to Thanksgiving and realized I’d invited all the same people as always but neglected to give anyone an arrival time. Nate had always done that with phone calls, touching base with each one ahead of time. Our guests ended up calling and texting me that morning asking, “What time is dinner?”

The day after Thanksgiving it occurred to me we hadn’t talked to the far-away relatives we usually call on each holiday, and of course the reason was that Nate always did the phoning. I might take a turn on each call, but he was the one who remembered to initiate them.

newspapers, 2

Nate also was my news informant. He read four newspapers every day: The Chicago Tribune, The Daily Herald, The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times. He gave me the condensed version, wanting to talk current events. Since Nate’s death, I’ve been woefully uninformed. We don’t have television at the cottage and can’t get a clear radio signal, so I haven’t seen or heard a newscast in weeks. This was never a problem, with Nate keeping me up to date.

These are the little surprises of widowhood. Piled one on top of another, they make for a sad day. Solved one at a time, they bring hope.

“For the Lord grants wisdom! He grants a treasure of common sense to the honest. For wisdom will enter your heart, and knowledge will fill you with joy. Wise choices will watch over you. Understanding will keep you safe.” (Proverbs 2:6,7,10-11)

Remembering the good… and the bad.

Posted on December 2, 2009 by Margaret

Tick tock, tick tock, time is passing. In one sense that’s good. My widow friends tell me time will be a healing instrument. Today I view it as my enemy, because it’s dragging me away from the living, breathing Nate. Many times every day I yearn to look back, because when I do, there’s a holding on to him for a bit longer.

At the moment of death one month ago, Nate and I were physically touching. I sat close as those wispy last breaths moved from his mouth into the room and then dissipated. While the kids and I looked back and forth from his face to his chest searching for any tiny movement that might indicate he was still living, I continued to stroke his arm and hold his hand. His skin slowly grew cold and his fingers became stiff in mine as death shouted, “I won! I took him!”

I stayed in literal touch with Nate’s body for a few more minutes, even though I knew it was foolish. He couldn’t feel my tender caresses. We’d all known death was close and saw it hovering at the edges of his face, ready to pounce. But until it actually did, he was still a present husband and father. He was still ours. Once he died, he belonged not to us but to eternity. And to Christ.

Nurse Gina, Sky, Nate, me

When Nate was living a human life like the rest of us still are, he belonged to Christ then, too, but we somehow shared him. After he died, we no longer had our share. He was only ours in used-to-be. This was definitely second best, but I’ve tried to remind myself today, on the one month anniversary, that second best is still high on the list.

One big blessing is our many happy memories and 196 photo albums that prove them true. My sister and I have said, “Looking at the old photos, you’d think life was nothing but parties and vacations.” Of course we know better. Neither of us took pictures of children having temper tantrums in the store or doctors sewing stitches in the emergency room. Our recollections of Nate are much like the photo albums. Gradually memories of stress, failure or disappointment, even just ordinary moments, will fade like old photographs left in the sun. Even now, during the first month, we talk only of the positives.

In one sense, wicked death did have its way and “took him” on that November evening. But the full truth is that death was merely the gateway into a different (and much better) life. Does a resident of heaven make new memories? If he does, then we’re not part of them. Maybe, because heavenly living is out of time and space, we’ll be able to fit into those memories when we get there, as if we’d always been there, too.

In the mean time, our selective memory of Nate’s past is protective and caring, and we’ll try to keep him from moving from humanity to near-divinity. Could memories of our regular husband and father morph into something akin to perfection? I hope not. I long to remember the real man, not a fictional version. Of course it’s good to be positive, but we also know God uses the hard stuff of life, the stuff not in the photo albums, the stuff we shy away from remembering, to produce what’s best and most valuable in every life. So if we find ourselves remembering any bad days, that’s good, too!

“We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed. Through suffering, our bodies continue to share in the death of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be seen in our bodies.” (2 Corinthians 4:8-10)

Christmas is coming.

Posted on December 1, 2009 by Margaret

Do we decorate for Christmas this year? I’m not sure. Decking the halls doesn’t seem appropriate, because bringing out brightly colored ornaments doesn’t fit well with grieving. Santa Nate, best

Yet I see the lights of the season and find them comforting. How many Decembers have Nate and I sat near the Christmas tree late at night, talking in the warm glow of the colored lights? I can feel his arm around me even now as I remember, and can almost taste the spiced tea we used to drink with our stocking feet up on the coffee table at the end of a busy day.

Now I’m someplace new for the holidays, a different house with a different living room, and no specific spot where the Christmas tree “always goes.” Before we moved earlier in the year, we annually committed decorations gluttony. Our small cottage couldn’t handle it all, so I gave away half. Now I look at the 13 boxes left and realize their presence in the house is creating a dilemma.

While running errands yesterday, I pulled into a nursery displaying 100 Christmas trees set in neat rows. As I stood in the middle of that man-made pine forest, I couldn’t muster up even a smidgen of Christmas spirit. But this afternoon a realtor friend stopped by to see how I was doing. During our conversation he mentioned a neighbor of his, “out in the country,” who sells Christmas trees. “You have to cut your own, but if you choose an imperfect one, she’ll discount the price.” Should we buy one?

As one of my widow friends counseled, “Many times in the next weeks you’ll come to a decision point. Ask yourself, ‘What would Nate do?’ It’ll help you decide.” We’ve already experienced this. After Nate died, our seven children and two in-law kids gathered to ask, “What happens next?” It was a question with several answers due to our recent move. Which town? Which cemetery? Which funeral home? Or a church? A memorial service? A funeral? A private or public burial? During the discussion, every question was quickly answered by asking another one: “What would Papa want?” The rest was easy.

So here we are at the holidays with a new set of questions, and God keeps bringing to mind one particular Bible story. King David’s baby boy was terminally ill, and he couldn’t help his little guy, despite having power and riches. David was beside himself with grief. He wouldn’t eat or bathe, wouldn’t change his clothes or leave the house, slept on the ground, wept continually and begged God to let his baby get well. But the baby died.

Afterward, David accepted the death as God’s will, knowing his son was healed after he died. The king got up, washed, ate and was emotionally strengthened enough to comfort others who were still mourning. I think God put this story into my head to remind me again that just like David’s child, it was God’s will Nate not recover from the cancer, and it was his will he go to heaven to receive his healing. The Lord has also reminded me of the many blessings surrounding Nate’s life and even his death. The cancer concluded in a way we wouldn’t have chosen, but because we continually committed Nate to God’s care and keeping, we know God’s choice, which was Nate’s death, was for the best.

Christmas card pic 1990

So, about the decorations, we don’t even need to ask, “What would Nate do?” We’ll simply rejoice in the birth of Christ, maybe more so this year than ever before. After all, he’s the One who opened heaven so Nate could enter in. And if decorations add joy to the season, then we will decorate.

“’Is the child dead?’ [David] asked. ‘Yes,’ they replied, ‘he is dead.’ David got up from the ground. After he had washed, put on lotions and changed his clothes, he went into the house of the Lord and worshiped. Then he went to his own house, and at his request they served him food, and he ate. ‘While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept. But now that he is dead, why should I fast? Can I bring him back again’?” (2 Samuel 12:20, 22-23)

“On those living in the land of the shadow of death, a light has dawned… For to us a child is born, to us a Son is given. He will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” (Isaiah 9:2, 6)