Category Archives: Remembering

Buying a new calendar

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Every November I buy a new calendar, and last week I did it again. What will be written on the 2010 calendar by the time we come to next November buying the 2011 calendar? Time marches relentlessly on.

Last week I talked with our children about the two months immediately past, with my current calendar in front of me. My purpose was to use a green marker to highlight everything that happened to Nate from the September 22 discovery of his cancer to his November 7 funeral. While we were living those six weeks, the days were so full we didn’t have time to write everything down.

The kids and I went back to those tumultuous days and recalled details. “That was the day we found out. That was the day he had the big scan. That was the day he fell for the first time. That was the day his friend visited. That was the day we started with Hospice.” On and on we talked while I wrote all over the little squares on my calendar. It felt like we were honoring Nate’s suffering by recording the details of his decline in indelible ink.

green ink on calendar small

One day about half way through the six weeks of cancer, I remember saying to Nate, “You’re not the only one with a death sentence. We’ve all got one. It’s just that we can see yours on the calendar, and for the rest of us, it’s still written in invisible ink.”

Each year when I buy a new calendar, I put the old and new together on a table and flip the pages, recording significant birthdays with an orange pen. “Luke, 38. Emily, 37.” Adding one more year as I write each name on the 2010 calendar is a sharp reminder of our inability to stop time. Nate used to tap the glass on his watch with his index finger and say, “Nobody beats this guy.”

All of us are given 24 new hours every morning except for that one morning (known only to God) when each of us will be given less. For Nate, that morning was November 3. He was given only until 7:35 pm, which was when time ran out for him. Back in September or even October, none of us knew that day or that hour, but now we all know it. Likewise, none of us knows the day or hour when time will run out for us, but it is known God.

Most of Nate’s battle with cancer took place in October. At the beginning of September, when I’d flipped ahead to October to see what was coming, there was no green ink. As a matter of fact, not having a child in school for the first time in 36 years, we were unbound by any rigid schedule and had begun planning our first trip away from our newly emptied nest. The only hindrance was Nate’s painful back, so our trip was going to be close and short, to Greenfield Village near Detroit.

Little did we know our October trips would all be in the other direction, from our tiny little Michigan town to Chicago’s Loop for doctor appointments, medical tests and radiation treatments. We never made it to Greenfield Village. Although our calendar was packed with activity, none of it was planned by us or known ahead of time.

As I look at my new 2010 calendar, its pages clean and white,  I wonder what will be written on its squares. As Mom used to say, “Only God knows, and he won’t tell.” The only way to move from one calendar to the next without being swamped with anxiety is to consciously put every little square under the control of the omniscient God. Since he already knows what will be on the calendar, it’s best to put him  in charge.

“The length of our days is seventy years—or eighty, if we have the strength; yet their span is but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away. For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night. O satisfy us early with thy mercy; that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.” (Psalm 90:10, 4, 14)

Thankful for what was lost

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We’ve all heard the old adage, “We don’t appreciate what we have until we’ve lost it.” In losing Nate, it wasn’t quite like that for me.

Back in 1991, Nate and I were “under the gun.” His real estate investment firm which had been doing exceptionally well had gone under, thanks to a governmental law change lawmakers promised they wouldn’t make but did. We had seven children under our roof then. Among them was an extremely strong-willed pre-schooler and a teen in full rebellion with police issues and court room drama.

The other children all needed attention, too, and our dinner table included ages 18, 16, 14, 10, 9, 3 and 1. Money was extremely tight (think stranglehold) and tensions ran high. I wasn’t understanding Nate’s pressures, and he wasn’t understanding mine. It wasn’t that we were fighting. We just tried to avoid each other, a recipe for marriage disaster.

I grew nervous about what might happen in our relationship but not enough to humble myself and reach out. I did wonder if we might be going over the brink, which terrified me. Being a stay-at-home mom with seven dependent children, I knew I had to do something. I decided I’d try to look on the bright side, and since everything around me looked dark, I’d have to look back to a time when things had been better.00000052

I thought about when I’d followed Nate around like a puppy dog and loved every minute with him. I had old journals to prove it, in which I’d written at length about my endless infatuation. So, one middle-of-the-night when I was up feeding the baby, I decided to make a list of every positive quality Nate had. I wrote an upbeat title on top: “Nate My Mate, a Great Date.” I didn’t feel happy as I approached the task, but in my heart I knew I didn’t want my marriage to fall apart, as difficult as it was.

I started with some bare-minimums and thought I’d only be able to think of five or six good things. Once I got started, though, an amazing thing happened. The list grew.

Here it is, now 18 years old:

  • nice teeth
  • blond hair
  • good looking
  • intelligent
  • a good list-maker
  • confident at work
  • remembers to do what he said he would do
  • organized
  • good physical stamina
  • physically coordinated
  • willing to lead
  • willing to study the Bible
  • willing to discuss any topic with me
  • flawless honesty
  • studies each child
  • interested in each child as an individual
  • willing to help with homework
  • knows everything about academic subjects
  • great memory of facts, history and family history, remembers names
  • good decision-making ability
  • not put off by hard office work
  • doesn’t need much sleep
  • desires to be a good husband and father
  • is sensitive to my requests of him, does them first
  • great sex partner
  • doesn’t give up when discouraged
  • sets high goals
  • puts me on a pedestal
  • generous with money, doesn’t spend on self
  • courteous, with good manners
  • interesting conversationalist
  • makes friends easily
  • wants to provide for our family

After I made the list, I felt terrible about my selfish attitude. On paper, Nate was a great catch, and I wanted to get back to those brighter times. It was two more edgy years before we decided to start counseling and an additional eight months before we felt our marriage had been healed of the wounds we’d caused each other.

As we approach our first Thanksgiving without Nate, I could never be thankful for the wretched cancer that took him away, but I can definitely be thankful for the 40 years we had together without the cancer. He and I came to appreciate each other anew 18 years ago, and it started with a middle-of-the-night list. As a result, I’m grateful this Thanksgiving that I’m not saying, “I didn’t appreciate who I had until I lost him.”

“Don’t let anyone capture you with empty philosophies and high-sounding nonsense that come from human thinking and from the spiritual powers of this world, rather than from Christ. Let your roots grow down into him, and let your lives be built on him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness.” (Colossians 2:8,7)

Fruit Basket Upset

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Today is the third Sunday since Nate died, and each one has been the most difficult day of the week. He believed in a six day work week but was always with his family on Sundays, no matter what. Maybe that’s the reason its miserable to sit in church without him next to me and painful to eat Sunday brunch when he’s not at the head of the table. It’s distressing to see the empty chair where he used to read his Sunday papers and sad to order our traditional Sunday evening pizza without him managing the event.pizza

The last three Sundays have been full of tearful moments and heavy grief. First choice would be to stay in bed curled up under the down comforter, cozy and warm in a familiar place. Even without Nate next to me, I would be alone rather than in public. The truth is, Nate’s death was only a blip on the screen for most people while it was an atomic bomb for me.

But that’s the way it goes. Logic flies out the window for the person who’s in the grieving process. I call it a process, because it takes a while to get through it. The other day I looked up the stages of grief, wanting to know where I was and where I’m headed. The seven stages are: 1) denial, 2) pain, 3) anger, 4) depression, 5) turning upward, 6) reconstructing life and 7) acceptance.

After studying the list and detailed descriptions of each stage, I concluded I’m in all of them simultaneously. Stage one, denial, is occurring when I expect Nate to walk in the front door with his empty coffee mug and say, “Hel-lo-oh” in the mini-song he used to sing each day. Stage two’s pain came in church this morning as I watched the couple in front of me hold hands and look at each other. Stage three, anger, is the one stage I haven’t yet experienced, but I’m on the alert for it.

Stage four, depression, is why I wanted to stay in bed this morning, and stage five, turning upward, is the peace I feel walking on the beach. Reconstructing life, the sixth stage, is what’s occurring when I project to filling out forms and wonder which box I’ll check: Mrs, Miss, or Ms. And the seventh stage, acceptance, is happening as we look through Nate’s personal financial records to find the data we need.

As for anger, who would be the recipient? Over the years, I’ve prayed many times asking God to keep me from ever being angry at him, no matter what circumstances would come. Sure, he could have healed Nate’s cancer on this earth rather than in heaven. Yes, he could have prevented Nate’s body from becoming sick in the first place. But as I’ve watched the Lord pour abundant blessings on our family in ways that would not have happened without the cancer, I can’t complain. Besides, Nate was able, by going to heaven, to take a pass on some of life’s toughest battles: increasing pressure in his law business, stenosis of his spine that would have caused a life long decline inch by inch, financial stress and the myriad difficulties of old age. How could I quibble with God over sparing him all of that?

So I suppose experiencing simultaneous grief stages is the way life will go for a while. It reminds me of a childhood game called “Fruit Basket Upset.” Everyone sat in chairs forming a circle around one person in the middle. If that person shouted, “Fruit Basket Upset!” everyone in the chairs jumped up and ran to a new chair. While they were all colliding in the middle, pandemonium reigned. And that part, the pandemonium, is what grieving a loved one is like.

The good news is that eventually everyone in the game finds a new chair, and order is restored. Life will, in due course, be like that for me. The fruit-basket-upset of grieving will change from a pandemonium of emotions to a new place in life’s circle. Even Sundays will once again become a day of joy and satisfaction. Friends who have already experienced widowhood tell me so, and I believe them.

“You [Lord] have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever!” (Psalm 30:11-12)