Category Archives: Widowhood

Doggie Defender (by Jack)

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After reading yesterday’s post, I feel the need to make a case for myself in reference to the issue of protecting Midge. In last night’s blog about fear, she glossed over the idea of me playing a key role in looking out for her. Although I’ve always been aware of her needs, during these last nine months since Pidge died, I’ve made that JOB ONE.

But lest you think I’m all “give” and no “get”, I want to set the record straight. My doggie pals and I agree that food is of utmost importance, but immediately after that comes affection. And Midge gives me plenty of that. Every head-pat, back-stroke and tummy-scratch puts heaven on earth for me.

And speaking of heaven, that brings me to the subject of God. I am a deeply spiritual animal, and I do agree with Midge that God is in charge of us both. However, if she experiences fear for any reason, I believe God has put me next to her to leap into action. If she is in need, the Creator will prompt me to tend to it. So don’t think he and I aren’t working in tandem on a regular basis.

Another “get” for me is Midge’s voice. All of us dogs thrive on happy talk. She speaks to me often, and I hang on her every word. Knowing I’m her only audience doesn’t mitigate my pleasure, and I eagerly expend wag-energy letting her know this.

Last night she sat down next to me on the floor, and we had a lengthy conversation. She cooed about how much she loved me and instructed me to live a long time. I’ll be eight in October and am feeling my age, but I promised I’d do my best. As we conversed, she used words; I used my eyes and tail. We understood each other perfectly.

Once in a while Midge is displeased with me, and it breaks my heart when I mess up. For example, last week I got nature’s call after she’d gone to bed. Even though we’d taken our regular midnight walk, several hours later an unexpected urgency came over me.

The next morning I heard her talking loudly to me from the basement corner where I had tried to hide my mess. Since then, I’ve been too embarrassed to go down there, even when Midge does. But I do wait for her at the top of the stairs.

As for protecting her during a break-in? I faithfully demonstrate my ever-readiness each time someone approaches our front door, using my loudest voice (which otherwise is quiet) as a sample of what I’d do in an emergency. If I sensed a smidgen of fear in Midge, I’d be all over an intruder. Some people say I look like a bear. That suits me fine, especially if it would terrorize someone threatening my Midge.

I’m a fortunate canine. Many of my buddies lead aimless lives without direction or purpose, but I’ve been given a calling. So, in conclusion, no one needs to worry about my mistress. Until God takes me to heaven, I’ll protect her like a ferocious, intimidating bear protects its cubs.

“Love always protects. Love never fails.” (1 Corinthians 13:7a,8a)

Afraid of the Dark

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As a young child, I remember being afraid of the dark — not exactly the dark, but of what might be hidden in it. One night I cried with gusto from the upstairs bedroom, hollering for Dad to come and save me. When he appeared in the doorway, I wailed out my problem. “A big bear’s in my closet!” I said, pointing to the half-open door and the darkness inside.

He confidently walked toward the closet, calmly telling me there was no bear in there. “I’ll prove it to you,” he said.

Although I wanted to believe him and he’d never lied to me before, I was trembling as he reached for the door knob. Scooting into my covers till they were up to my eyes, I shouted, “Watch out!”

He bravely reached into the darkness, pulled the string to turn on the light and said, “See? There’s no bear.”

Squinting from my twin bed, I inspected the closet from a distance. And there was the clothes bar with all my familiar-looking dresses hanging on it, and no bear. He was right, and I could relax. With Daddy in the house, I felt safe.

Several of my own children have gone through periods of fear, virtually always at night. As a three year old, Klaus wouldn’t sleep in his room alone but insisted on bunking with seven year old Linnea. Then, when Hans was three, he wanted to sleep face-to-face with Klaus, who had grown into a fearless four year old.

Some of my widowed friends have struggled with fear too, after their husbands died. Although most men would be no match for a robber with a gun, most wives feel secure anyway when sleeping next to them. But once a mate has died, imagination alone can be fear’s invitation to come on in.

On several occasions since Nate has been gone, fear has crept into my bedroom with me. Climbing onto the bed at night is still the loneliest moment of every day and sometimes produces fear. “Did I just hear something? Is someone coming?” (It took a while to get used to acorns thumping on the roof or cracking on the gutters.)

But what’s a widow to do? She can get a big dog like Jack, but far superior to that is to call on the God from whose eyes nothing is hidden. Scripture tells us fear doesn’t come to us from the Lord but is an emotion from our enemy, Satan. Bringing the Heavenly Husband into a mental confrontation with fear is to replace anxiety with peace, just as my earthly Daddy did for me years ago.

Having confidence in God’s ready presence is a definite help during fearful moments. And being certain he is with me when it’s dark outside the windows or just dark inside my emotions is even better than owning a big, barking, protective, snarling, attack dog.

”For you are my lamp, O Lord, and the Lord will lighten my darkness.” (2 Samuel 22:29)

Playing Games

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The death of a spouse prompts so many changes and so much confusion that life can resemble the old group game “Fruit Basket Upset.” The game proceeds in a gently rambunctious manner until someone calls out, “Fruit basket upset!” At that, every person in the circle of chairs has to leap out of their seat and try to find a different chair before there are none left unoccupied.

The death of a family member is much like that, especially in the case of a spouse/parent. During a marriage, life bops along with lots going on, husband, wife and family members running here and there, meeting commitments and following to-do lists. Then suddenly the husband/father dies and it’s like the crash of “fruits” in the middle of the circle, people feeling shoved and pushed in their attempts to scramble to a “new chair.” In “Fruit Basket Upset,” this kind of chaos is fun. In life, not so much.

This morning after waking up and staring at the ceiling for a while, I got up and turned around to make the bed. Then it occurred to me that it didn’t really matter whether I made it or not. Who would care? No one was going to see it but me.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, fighting the temptation to lie back down. The first thing that popped into my head was a picture of Nate turning down his side of the bed at night time, just before climbing in. It was a good moment of every day, no matter what had happened between leaving the bed early in the morning and returning to it later that night. And he loved the idea of pulling back the covers. It was as if everything had been properly prepared for this appealing moment.

Now, of course, things are different. He won’t be turning back the covers, and I didn’t really care if the bed was made or not. Climbing into bed used to be an “ahhh” moment of relaxation and peace. Now it’s a time when the world has gone dark, the night stretches long and I miss Nate being where he always used to be. It feels like I’m in the middle of a “Fruit Basket” circle after all the places have been taken, wondering where to turn next and what steps to take.

Although we’re left without our usual, familiar places in life, none of us has really lost the game. We haven’t been eliminated as a chair-less game player would be from “Fruit Basket Upset.” It’s just that Nate’s death has necessitated writing new rules of play, and we’re trying to walk away from the “upset” part. We’d rather play a different game anyway… like, say, “Candyland”.

“Candyland” has greater appeal than “Fruit Basket Upset.” It’s a peaceful game that leaves strategy up to the game-makers rather than the game players. And the truth is, Nate has actually won it already. He’s by-passed the negatives of Molasses Swamp and Cherry Pitfall, not just to reach Candyland’s Home Sweet Home but to arrive at a whole new kingdom where the sweetest home imaginable awaited him. And there aren’t any beds to make either, because there is no night there.

As a matter of fact, this new home is “delicious” in every way, surpassing Gumdrop Mountain and Lollipop Woods by such a long shot that it’s not even on the game board.

“The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and will bring me safely to his heavenly kingdom.” (2 Timothy 4:18)