Set It Down

When my wife died in late 2010, and after taking care of all the legal matters, paying the bills, arranging for her cremation, notifying Social Security, trying to exist through Thanksgiving and her memorial service that provided closure for almost everyone but me, and barely tolerating the loneliness and heartache through the Christmas and New Year holidays, the reality of her death and my new and different life crashed down upon me…and the weight was staggering.

I wasn’t sure I’d be able to survive it, nor did I want to. Each passing day proved to be just a little worse than the previous day. The weight of bearing the grief, the sudden aloneness, and the guilt that I might done more for her, grew each day. I wasn’t bearing the weight of the world on my shoulders. The world was going on around me…and without me. The weight of my grief, loneliness and guilt was bringing me to my knees where I’d weep uncontrollably in the privacy of my home several times a day. I began to pray that I’d simply die in my sleep so it would end.

For weeks I did nothing except exist, disappointed that I awoke in my bed day after day. The only thing that kept me going was a routine that I could follow without thinking. Late at night, just after I’d set up the coffee-maker to brew a pot of coffee at 6:00 a.m., I’d fall into bed between 1:00 a.m. and 2:00 a.m. physically and emotionally exhausted. I thought of nothing as I laid in bed and suddenly it was four hours later. I’d get up, make my bed, use the bathroom, put on my sweats and head for the kitchen to pour myself a just-brewed cup of coffee. I’d open the blinds in the living room and sit staring out the window, waiting for the first light of day. Just to break the monotony, I’d shower every other morning just after my first cup of coffee. On the day I didn’t shower, I’d head to the home office, turn on my PC, open the blinds, and scroll through my emails. I’d hit Facebook, play a few games, have another cup of coffee, and fix my breakfast. After breakfast, I’d clean up the kitchen, do my dishes, pour myself another cup of coffee and sit in the living room again. On those days I showered, I’d get dressed in a fresh pair of sweats, pour myself another cup of coffee, and head for the office to my regular thing. In between coffee, my shower, breakfast and my computer, I had grief attacks that would leave me weak and drained.

The rest of the day was spent watching TV, weeping, staring at the walls, sitting at my computer, writing in my journal, fixing dinner, cleaning up after myself, and falling into bed exhausted. The following day way similar, as was the following week. It was like the movie, Groundhog Day. I’d change my sheets and do all the wash every other Saturday for something different to do. The only time I’d leave the house was to go grocery shopping, maybe fill up the gas tank on the car or truck and pick up my meds from the pharmacy. I hated leaving the safety of my house. I felt raw, as though people could tell by looking at me that I was only half of what I used to be. I wanted to be invisible so people couldn’t and wouldn’t see me because I thought they could see the jagged hole in my chest where my heart and soul were ripped from me. I felt vulnerable. I felt that people would look into my eyes and see the sad eyes bloodshot from crying and wonder what my problem was or think I was a wuss or some sort of weakling for not manning-up to my problems and carrying on.

The burden began to lighten somewhat when I began attending my bereavement group sessions. They started in February, a little over nine weeks after Lou died, and it helped immensely to be among others who were experiencing the same emotions as I, especially since two other men were in the group. I was not the lone male. Because the bereavement group sessions were once a week for two hours, I used that day, Tuesday, to run my errands. I drew strength from the group, and they helped to make it easier to face other people, and for me to “fake-it-until-you-make-it.” Though I still felt as though I was missing my soul, I began to simply smile at people in the store. I didn’t have to talk with them, I could simply smile at them. Most of them smiled back at me, especially innocent children. They couldn’t tell I was trying to cope with the loss of my wife. They couldn’t see the hole through me because my smile drew the attention away from it. It helped me hold up long enough in public to not have a personal melt-down. Baby steps, but steps none-the-less.

As time passed and the ‘official’ sessions ended, most of us decided that we weren’t ready to face the world alone after only eight weeks, so we continued to meet. For two weeks we met in a basement conference room of the St. Francis Hospital, then for two more weeks in the nearby Federal Way Library, but we couldn’t take food or drink there, so we decided to meet in a small restaurant for brunch. By that time, eight of us remained of the original twelve in the bereavement group. After twelve weeks, we were now meeting in public. One more small step.

By my birthday in April, I was beginning to feel good about myself. I could think about Lou and not cry. I could think about her and have good memories of things we did, the way she looked, our vacations, and the time we spent together. I missed her terribly, but I felt as though I was beginning to live again, and this time, I was living for myself. The burden of grief was getting lighter. There was a small down-side to this, though. There were times I felt guilty when I became conscious of having some fun and enjoying myself, even if it was something small like going to a movie with a friend. This guilt took the place of grief in that burden I was carrying, even though Lou had given me ‘permission’ to live without her. One of those memories was a conversation we had before her brain tumors began to steal her memories and motor skills. She told me that, if she should die, that she wanted me to go on living, to find someone new to love because I had too much love left in me to go to waste. I even felt guilty for remembering that conversation.

By the middle of May, a year after her tumors were discovered during a routine PET scan that caused us to cancel our vacation, I decided to go on that vacation we had planned. It was a rather bold step, I thought, but I felt the need to get away, to see new things, to go somewhere I’d not been before, and do it by myself. So I made my plans, let people know, packed my truck, and in June was on my way. The first day on the road was the worst. It was my first vacation in twenty-eight years without Lou beside me. It rained for much of that first day on the road, but I saw the most beautiful rainbow as I was coming out of the Siskiyou Mountains. I turned to Lou to comment, and all I saw was a vacant seat. She wasn’t there. I wept for the next fifty miles. By the time I reached Medford, the sun was out. I missed the exit to the Holiday Inn Express but took the next one and began to double back, but I saw a Day’s Inn near the freeway on-ramp and a classic car show in their parking lot. I stopped there and they had one room left, a suite on the top floor, so I took it. They not only gave me a discount for being a ‘single,’ I got to see a classic car show in their parking lot. The day ended well, and the trip only got better from there.

I was on the road for two weeks, making stops in Paradise, California South Lake Tahoe, California/Stateline, Nevada, through the Gold Country to San Jose, visiting with my niece and her family, my nephew and his family, and then my sister-in-law (Lou’s sister) and her family. We took side trips to Carmel and Monterey, and then I drove home. I drove 2,000 miles and took 1,400 photos on that trip. By the time I returned home, I felt like a new man, my own person, and at ease with myself. I had become confident in myself again. I didn’t have to force myself to smile at or talk to people…total strangers…anymore. My friends welcomed me back. Though I was alone, I no longer felt lonely. I no longer ached for Lou, though I missed her. I was happy for her because she was no longer in pain, and I was happy for me for the same reason!

After two weeks at home, washing the truck and my clothes, mowing the lawn, doing some weeding and tree- and shrub-trimming, and cleaning the house, I was on the road again for another two weeks. This time I went to Lakeside, Montana on Flathead Lake for Lou’s family reunion. I had not planned on going, but Lou’s two sisters had called me and urged me to go because I was the family’s ‘last link’ to her. They welcomed me as part of the family and told me they weren’t going to let me out of the family. They are my family, and I love them all! After the reunion, I had no firm plans, so I decided to poke around the area. I drove into the hills above Lakeside and saw stunning and expansive views of Flathead Lake. On a whim, and since I was so close, I drove to Kalispell and on to Glacier National Park because I’d never been there. I entered the park and decided to drive the Going to the Sun Road to Logan Pass, then continued east down to Sunrise, across the highway from St. Mary Lake. I stopped for dinner there, and on a whim, inquired about lodging at the hotel there. All their rooms were full, but the young man at the front desk checked the park’s hotels via the internet and found a vacancy at the Lake McDonald Lodge, either by good fortune or perhaps Lou had something to do with it? Regardless, I took it! I paid for it at Sunrise and then drove back across the Going to the Sun Road to Lake McDonald. When I checked in at the lodge, I found my room was in one of the Lake McDonald Lodge cabins facing the lake. It was a very good day.

The next day I had breakfast at the lodge, checked out, and decided to hike up to Avalanche Lake, then back down to Avalanche Creek before driving to and walking around Apgar Village. From there, I drove back to Lakeside on Flathead Lake. It took another week for me to get back home from there because I spent a couple of more days at Lakeside driving and hiking around the hills above Flathead Lake, then stopping in Coeur D’Alene to drive down the east side of Lake Coeur D’Alene. After entering Washington, I stopped in Moses Lake before finally driving home. Once again, I had been to places I’d never been to see things I’d never seen, and all because I wanted to. This time it was a 1,400-mile road trip with another 1,400 photos taken. I finally felt complete again.

I’d been home for a few days getting clothes and truck washed, the lawn mowed and the house vacuumed, when I realized I was living in a museum…a memorial to Lou where I was a familiar guest. It was not my house, it was our house but she wasn’t with me anymore. I wanted to make some changes to make the house mine, yet I felt guilty about it because I was somehow betraying her memory. I began small…I started on one dresser. To make it easier, I went through both her things and my things. I sorted them into three piles…keep, donate, and throw out. I kept none of her things and less than half of mine. It wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. I went through a smaller dresser of hers and did the same thing, and then the last dresser. The closet was next. I did the same thing there. I went to the guest bedroom and went through the closet, an armoire, and her make-up table. I filled up the bed of my pickup to the top of the canopy five times with clothing and other possessions I didn’t need five times, and took all those things to the Federal Way Multi Service Center. They didn’t sell those things, they gave them to battered women, to both men and women who had been out of the job market for one reason or another, who had been retrained in different fields, who needed nice clothing for job interviews so they could once again fend for themselves. I was glad Lou’s and my things could be used in this manner.

At first, I felt guilty that I might betray her memory. I thought I might lose part of her by giving her things away, by not holding them sacred. But what would I do with them? I couldn’t use them. They’d be going to waste, they’d be a constant reminder of what was and would never be again. I didn’t want to carry that the rest of my life. I began small, with her clothes, the clothes she loved, the clothes I remembered. It took some time, but after they were gone, I could still remember her in them, how she looked. The clothes were gone, but not the memories. The clothes didn’t make those memories, her stuff didn’t make those memories, we did and I didn’t lose them. It was reassuring, and that made going forward easier. It made giving up my own things easier, too. If I hadn’t used them or worn them in several months, they went.

Adding to some of the guilt about wanting to let Lou’s things go, I ‘met’ someone online at that time. Her name was Debbie and she responded to something I wrote in a bio that I posted on a dating website because I simply wanted some female contact. I commented back. We began to email each other, sometimes three times a day. I enjoyed receiving her emails, reading her descriptions of her family, what she liked, and how real she sounded. I wondered what it would be like to meet her in person. I was reticent about mentioning it because what would have been Lou’s and my twenty-ninth anniversary was rapidly approaching. I wondered how I would fare on that day.

Our anniversary fell on a Sunday in the middle of August, and I decided that I would stay home from church on that day because I didn’t know how I would feel or react. It took some of the pressure off me. When I awoke that Sunday morning, I laid in bed and waited to see how I felt. Aloud, I wished Lou a Happy Anniversary and waited for the sadness to wash over me. I was puzzled when it didn’t, even though I missed her. I got up, put on my sweats and went to the kitchen to brew my coffee. I spent the day remembering her and us, reminiscing about all we did together from the beginning to the very end, and thinking of all I learned from her. I was glad I decided to stay home alone that day, but that day turned out to be a celebration of remembrance instead of a day of mourning. I realized that I looked forward to each new day. I wanted to feel the wind in my face and experience my new and different life with my eyes wide open. I felt new, I still felt young, I still had things I want to do, places I wanted to go, things I wanted to see and experiences I wanted to live and feel. I knew I could…and wanted to…love again.  I was finally setting the load of grief and guilt over what was, down. I was beginning to live my life, my new and different life, as only I could, as Lou would have would have wished for me. Life was getting better every day.

The following day, Monday, after three weeks of corresponding by email, I asked Debbie if she would meet me for coffee in a safe and public place. I wasn’t sure if she would accept, but she did! It began as coffee (and tea for her) at 11:00 a.m. on Wednesday, turned into dinner at 7:00 p.m. two doors down, and then the restaurant was closing too soon. We spent the following Saturday together hiking around Paradise at Mt. Rainier photographing the scenery, followed by dinner at a small restaurant just outside the park entrance, and it closed too soon, also. We met for dinner the following Monday, and by Wednesday we decided that we were a couple.

Seven years later, I am so grateful for my new and different life, and my life with Debbie. I am in love for the last time in my life, and that love continues to grow daily. None of this could or would have happened had I not acknowledged my loss, accepted the invitation to my bereavement group, taken the time to grieve, to get it out, and to finally stop carrying the grief and the accompanying guilt with me without losing my memories of Lou and our twenty-eight years together. It sure didn’t hurt to have Debbie accept my invitation to meet for coffee, either!

It took a while, but I was finally able to set the grief and guilt down, walk away from it with a clear conscience and a light heart, and begin a new and wonderful life without it. I am truly blessed.

After The Holidays

A very belated Happy New Year to you all! The big “holiday stretch” …Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and the New Year…are done, and a new year has begun. To some, it brings a bit of a let-down, to others a sense of relief. Halloween is the beginning of the holiday stretch, even though most stores begin marketing Thanksgiving even before Halloween. Kids begin ramping up for the coming holidays and they drag their parents with them. After all, beginning with Halloween in October, there are holidays every month for the following three months. Anymore, stores don’t honor each holiday as it comes. They go for the jugular…Christmas…and begin marketing, “planting seeds” in kids’ minds, even before Halloween with the latest and greatest toys, games and electronics so they’ll begin hounding their parents. Then they begin advertising pre-Christmas sales, pre-Black Friday sales, post-Black Friday sales, last minute Christmas Eve sales, in efforts to sell it all. Whatever is left goes on sale after Christmas. Then there’s the “bring-in-the-New-Year-with-this-big-screen-TV” sale. They never miss a marketing opportunity.

The let-down feeling can stem from many things. The sales are over (though they are never over). The Christmas decorations come down and get packed away for another eleven months. The house is back to ‘normal.’ The kids go back to school. Parents start a new year by going back to the same old grind. Life goes back to ‘normal.’ The sense of relief can also stem from many things, even the same things that give people the let-down feelings. The Christmas decorations come down, are packed away for another eleven months, and the house returns to normal. The kids go back to school. Parents go back to a ‘normal’ schedule of work. With a sigh of relief, life settles down and returns to ‘normal.’

Then there are a very special group of people who feel relief because they managed to survive the ‘holiday stretch.’ They began the stretch with trepidation. They went through each holiday remembering it the way it used to be: Halloween with their children, and grandchildren, passing out candy together and marveling at the Trick-or-Treaters in their costumes, preparing for and celebrating Thanksgiving together and with family, and preparing for, decorating for and celebrating Christmas together and with family, and finally, bringing in the New Year together. They remember the things that were so “special” to them…the sounds, the scents, the songs, the ‘new’ traditions they began as newlyweds, the moments of quiet spent together…that they no longer share. So, who are these people? They are widows and widowers who are going it alone. They are people who have lost their life partners, people who have lost the loves of their lives, to death. Yes, most have loving families with whom they spend the holidays, but it’s not the same without that lifetime partner, that spouse, that special one that they chose to love, and who chose to love them back. That is a most special and cherished bond, a special love because each chose the other. Unless one has lost a spouse or mate to death, I believe it’s almost impossible for anyone else to fully understand that feeling of loss. Only then can a child, no matter the age, understand the loss a surviving parent feels when his or her spouse passes away.

At the resort

When my father died, my brother and I were ‘there’ for mom. We took a leave from our respective jobs and went to Whidbey Island to be with her. We handled everything except her grief; we took care of all the legal and financial matters, and we took care of all the arrangements. We let her grieve and were there to sit with her, to let her cry on our shoulders, and listen to her as she begged God to tell her why He took her husband, our father, and listen to her sob as she asked, “Why did you leave me, Kermit?” Speaking only for myself, I set aside my grief over the loss of dad until I went to bed, and only then allowed myself to feel the emptiness before I fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. What compounded the difficulty was that I was married to the mother of my two sons, and they were almost four- and one-year old at the time. I know she had a difficult time trying to care for both, because I heard it every day when I took the time to call her. All I can remember her asking is when I was going to come home. I know that she had no idea how I felt trying to take care of my mom and grieve for my dad, my mentor. I don’t believe she ever understood how I felt until her own father passed away years later, and I finally understood what my mother felt when I lost my wife to cancer in 2010.

But now the “holiday stretch” is over, the New Year has begun, and that brings the special days anew, like Valentine’s Day, Easter, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Independence Day, various birthdays and anniversaries, until the next “holiday stretch” begins once more. All those special days will be faced alone or with other family members or friends, but they will never be the same because life has changed for the surviving spouse. It is a different life now. Each of those days, each of those remembrances, may bring waves of loneliness or melancholy, and that is part of the new life. The first year, that Year of Firsts (the First Valentine’s Day, the First Easter, the First Mother’s Day, the First Father’s Day, the first birthday, the first special day without a spouse or a life partner), is the most difficult. For some, it truly does get easier as time passes. For others, I believe time and life will help ease the pain, though I don’t believe anyone ever forgets.

I have witnessed (and have personally experienced) confusion, sadness, aversion to personal contact, loneliness, tenseness, and anger among those experiencing their first holiday season without their spouses. It is all natural to have those feelings. When the holidays pass, there is a natural let-down, a relief that they have survived the holidays, and with that comes a tiredness and sense of wistfulness and melancholy. To those experiencing this, let it happen…go with it. Let it wash over you and through you and follow its path as it leaves you. You will feel a sense of calm and you will realize that you feel just a little stronger. Be aware, too, that it will take as long it does because it is personal. There is no set amount of time in which this will happen, but it will happen in its own time. Please believe me when I say that life gets better, you will get stronger, you will become the person you want to be, and discover new things that you like to do, if you take the time to let it happen. Be patient with yourself and seek out others…even a group…who have lost a spouse or life partner. There is strength in numbers, and you will feel safe with them. Through it all, if you have faith in God and pray for strength and peace, please don’t stop. It helped me to know I wasn’t totally alone.

For those who have friends who have lost a spouse or life partner but have not personally experienced that loss, I would ask of you to not try to push your friends back into “life,” or try to make them feel better. This will happen only when your friends are ready. You can’t fully understand what they’re going through or the emotions they’re feeling. The only thing you can do is to try to include them, “be there” for them, be patient, and let them talk if they feel like it. Above all, if they are friends, treat them that way. They are trying to figure out who they are all over again, they are trying to understand and get used to their new life as one, and these things are only going to happen on their time, not yours.

To A New Year! May it become better as the days pass. Some people make resolutions for the New Year…and they are mostly forgotten by the end of January. I think a good resolution to make would be to begin to appreciate the “little things,” like the smell of a rose, the taste of a great cup of coffee or tea, how beautiful a sunset can be, a moon-rise over the water, the smile of a child, the sound of a bird singing, or the look on a friend’s face when you tell them they are appreciated and loved. Life really is all about these “little things.”

Did You Have A Thanksgiving?

Yesterday was Thanksgiving Day here in the U.S., a day of turkey with all the trimmings, or ham with all its different trimmings, or lasagna…or whatever…and a day of football games and perhaps old movies. People celebrate so many different things…and rightly so, because the first “thanksgiving” was probably just a feast put on by the Pilgrims from the Mayflower and the Wampanoag, who probably crashed the party but were welcomed and even provided deer meat for the feast. President George Washington, by proclamation in 1789, called for the last Thursday in November to be a day of Thanksgiving to nationalize the tradition. In 1939, President Roosevelt wanted to change the date and make it earlier because he thought it would be good for consumer spending, but some states disagreed. Finally, in 1941, congress enacted legislation that President Roosevelt signed into law making Thanksgiving the last Thursday of November. This information is courtesy of Politifact.

This Thanksgiving was, most likely, a day celebrated with family and/or friends. Yes, we were memorializing a tradition that most people really know little about. Our ‘traditions’ are probably much more centered around food, family and football. But what about “thanksgiving?” What about being thankful for what we have? Leading up to this holiday, I’ve read a lot negativity from “the few” about Thanksgiving being a ‘white privilege’ holiday, about white foreign invaders taking everything from the indigenous people of North America (Indians), and so on, and honestly, I could not care less about what they write or say about the non-political correctness of this holiday, nor will I ever be guilted into paying reparations for anything that was done over four hundred years ago, or even a hundred sixty years ago…or yesterday. No living person now can be held responsible, or should be held responsible, for what happened then. It happened. Time to move on, get jobs, and quit whining. Someone always has it worse. What concerns me is what’s happening now in 2017.

Debbie and I celebrated our Thanksgiving at home, quietly and happily. We had a leisurely morning, having our tea and coffee, some breakfast, and relaxing. Then we hit the kitchen and I got to be sous chef, doing some slicing and dicing for our Thanksgiving dinner of scalloped purple potatoes, farro-caramelized onion-mushroom dressing, homemade creamed corn-and-oyster casserole, and ham. Debbie assembled and cooked it all, and it was delicious! Neither Debbie or I had ever tried using purple potatoes for scalloped potatoes, nor had we ever tried the farro dressing or the creamed corn-and-oyster casserole before, but they all turned out great and are “keepers,” as far as I’m concerned! We do love to try new recipes. After that, we sat and binge-watched a few episodes of This is Us, just enough football to see that the Washington Redskins beat the New York Giants, and then topped it off with a recorded episode of Wheeler Dealers as they bought, restored and sold a 1989 Ford Escort RS Cosworth. It was a beautiful, eclectic, and peaceful day for us. I am so thankful for Debbie.

We all celebrate our holidays in similar-but-different ways. As I get older, I begin to realize that I have much to be thankful for because of the things I’ve survived and all the personal losses I’ve had. I believe a lot of people are that way, especially the older they get. I am thankful to have survived rheumatic fever, bad choices, Vietnam, a plane crash, and so far, my diabetes. I’m thankful to have loved and learned what I did during twenty-eight years of marriage to Lou, who passed away seven years ago. I am so thankful that I live in a country that allows me the freedom and opportunities to own a comfortable home, to have more-than-basic amenities like heat, lights and (eye-roll) internet, a bank account, a refrigerator and pantry full of good and healthy food, a dependable car, and the freedom and ability to write and say pretty much what I want to. I am more thankful that I am in relatively good health, am retired and have some means to remain so. I am thankful that I had parents who raised me in a loving home, instilled in me a good work ethic and taught me that nothing in this world is free except the air to breathe (until someone finds a way to tax us for that, too), and that whatever is worth having is worth working for. I am thankful to have music, love, life, family, friends, faith in God, and that I can still sing a little, to name a few things. I am most thankful for Debbie. I am thankful for ALL these things, my family and friends, and for Debbie every day!

What are you thankful for? I don’t need to know this, but I believe that you do. By the way, thank you to whoever reads this. May your thanksgivings happen every day.

Thanksgiving: Sometimes No, Sometimes Yes

Here I am, long after Thanksgiving, still trying to write about thanksgiving, and I don’t mean the holiday. In four months, I’ll have been on this planet for seventy years. It sounds foreign to me because it really sounds as though I’m getting to be an old man, yet I most certainly don’t feel as though I’m that old…except when I do something stupid that pulls muscles in my back. I’ve been told I look like I’m in my 50’s, I feel better than I did in my 40’s, I still think like I did when I was in my twenties and teens (probably not a good thing), I have a pretty good memory (it’s why I don’t do things now that I did when I was in my teens), I’m in relatively decent physical condition, I still have my own knees, I still like to hike and photograph nature, I’m still not afraid to scale my 24’ extension ladder or get up on the roof when I must, I still take care of my garden and my yard…I still like to do a lot of things because I can. I’m very thankful for these gifts.

Through the years, I’ve suffered personal losses of people who were my world when I lost them…my grandparents, my dad and mom, and my wife of twenty-eight years…and dear friends I knew from school, from the army, from work and from church. I survived all that, as well as Rheumatic Fever, daring to swim a reservoir spillway in college, Vietnam, a plane crash that killed forty-seven people, diabetes (so far), and other things that might have killed me. I’ve not been thankful for some of those things, especially when they were fresh. Though I didn’t expect I’d live this long, I am thankful to still be here, thankful to be in decent health, and thankful to still have friends and love in my life. Those of us who are of this late-middle age or early-old age (as those younger view us…and as some of us view ourselves) seem to be more thankful now for what we have and what we’ve survived than when we were younger. I can recall many times when I wasn’t very thankful at all.

As I have aged, I have become more thankful in general. But as I look back on those things I was not thankful for at the time they happened, I am now thankful for the way they happened to me, but not necessarily thankful they happened at all. My first experience with losing a friend occurred when I was six. A playmate of mine, a six-year-old girl named Pam, quietly passed away from leukemia just before I…we…were to start first grade. I got to see her for the last time about a month before she passed. Mom took me to Pam’s house to play while she visited with her mother. We sat on the floor and played games until she got tired, then we said our good-byes. In less than a week she became too tired to get out of bed, and since her immune system was compromised, I couldn’t visit her anymore. Three weeks later, mom sat me down and told me that Pam had gone to sleep and didn’t wake up. She had just faded away and died in her sleep. Mom cried and told me that it had to be so difficult for Pam’s mother because she knew how she’d feel if she lost my brother, Jim, or me. It made me sad for Pam’s mother. At six, though, I was a little too young to comprehend much else, other than I would never see Pam again.

However, at age eleven I was beginning to understand when I lost my Grandpa Ellison to a stroke. From the time I was three, he took me fishing and taught me all he knew about it. At six, he gave me my first fishing pole, which I still have. He taught me how to use hand tools and how to safely use his drill press and table saw. He was gentle, kind and patient, and he loved me. He had a stroke that hospitalized him for almost a month. He was getting better, so the hospital released him to finish recuperating at home. Two weeks later, he suffered another stroke and died almost immediately. I wanted to go to his funeral, but I had to stay home with my little brother, Jim. I just wanted to say good-bye to him, but it was not to be. I missed him so much when died. I was not thankful for his loss. It was years later, though, that I became thankful he went quickly and didn’t suffer any longer than he already had.

My father and mother both passed away quickly and unexpectedly. My father died during exploratory surgery to see what had caused some internal bleeding…when the doctor opened him up, his unseen and unforeseen aortic aneurysm burst and he never regained consciousness. Ten years later, my mother passed away from a sudden, massive heart attack. In neither case was I ever thankful they passed away. In both cases, though, I was thankful they passed away quickly with no suffering. When dad died, mom, Jim and I were the ones who suffered…especially mom. When mom died, Jim and I suffered. It is always the survivors who suffer such emotional pain. We were never thankful for that. They died too young.

I’ve lost other relatives, both blood and by marriage, for which I was not thankful, either. Their deaths left gaping holes in my family. How can anyone be thankful for those deaths? I’ve lost friends, too. Some were high school and college friends, some were comrades-in-arms, soldiers, and some were friends from church. I’ve not ever been thankful for their losses.

My wife of twenty-eight years, Lou, passed away here at home with me at her side. She spent her last seven weeks bed-ridden. Prior to that, she did suffer. Her brain tumors were stealing her memories and motor skills and she knew it. The tumors in her bones and internal organs caused her such pain. I was helpless and prayed so hard for a miracle cure. When that miracle didn’t happen, I prayed for her to not suffer, but that was not to be until she was placed in hospice care with me at home. My job, my life then was to make her as comfortable as possible during her remaining days, and to let her know she was home where she wanted to be, and loved. I was thankful she was not in as much pain because of the prescription pain killers, but I was not thankful that she was dying more every day, right in front of my eyes. No, I was most certainly not thankful for that. But I was very thankful that I got to make her last wish come true, though it caused me such grief. She died at home with me at her side.

Since then, time has passed and I have healed. I survived, I grieved, I leaned on God, I yelled and screamed in anger and loss at Him, I begged Him for respite from the pain and loneliness, and during my grieving, I realized that I really had a relationship with Him. Yes, I prayed a lot, but I talked to Him more than I prayed to Him. And when I was least expecting it, He answered me and my prayers, though I never directly got what I prayed for. Yet, I always received more than I needed when He knew I was ready. It took a while, but I finally healed. Some are not as fortunate. Some never heal, some will always carry guilt…whether real or imaginary…that they could have or should have done more. I carried some of that same guilt, too, but time, prayer and my boys made sure I knew that I couldn’t have done more than I did at that time. This realization was a cause for thanksgiving, too.

Yet out of all these losses, and because of them, I have gained so much insight, so much empathy and understanding for what such pain can do to those who survive those deaths of loved ones and friends. I am never thankful when people die, yet I am thankful to have gained…earned…that insight, empathy and understanding that came from my own losses. I have changed, I believe I have grown and evolved emotionally, and I believe I am stronger for it. I am thankful to have come this far, and it seems that as the years go by, I am becoming more thankful for having survived this long.

Several paragraphs ago, I wrote, “It is always the survivors who suffer such emotional pain.” Yes…and no. You see, there is one exception for me. There was once a man who died for me to save me. For you, too…for all of humanity. I am reminded of Him every Sunday when I have communion. I wonder at His bravery when I hear the words, “Do this to remember me,” that he told those around him at His last supper. For this, I am so thankful because I could never have saved myself.

But at the same time, I wonder how God felt when He saw His son take his last breath on the cross. I know that He knew…They both knew…that God, the Father, sent Jesus, the Son of God, to earth as a man to be tortured and die for our sins so that we may have everlasting life. I cannot fathom that. Why did He do that? Was it so, that through Jesus, He could truly understand the foibles, the pettiness, and the weaknesses of man, as well as how we can care, and love, and be gentle, and believe? How can God be thankful for the death of His Son? Can it be because after over two thousand years, we Christians remember His son, our Lord Jesus, and what he taught us? Perhaps one day we’ll know.

And now “that time of the year,” the ‘holiday season’ is upon us…that time that we celebrate Christmas with Black Fridays, massive sales, sell-it-with-sex TV commercials for perfumes, TV specials, jammed shopping mall stores and parking lots, worrying over what gifts to get the children and grandchildren, school plays and concerts, office parties, and gift exchanges. I’m sorry, but as I’ve grown older, I’m becoming less and less thankful for all of that. What I am thankful for is the fellowship and the getting together of families to celebrate Christmas together.

Yes, as I get older, I am becoming more thankful for things that are not things but, rather, matters of the heart…for sharing, for gentleness, for understanding, for giving, for kindness, for peace, for love. Oh! And by the way (lest we forget), it’s also the season that many of us celebrate that from which Christianity is derived…the birth of the Christ Child in a barn in a town called Bethlehem over two thousand years ago. I am truly thankful for that miracle! Thanks be to God!

Merry Christmas to all, and God bless us, Every One!