Blog My Mind

  Last week I saw on a widow’s page I follow on FB (One Happy Widow) that she took her ring off within two weeks of her husband’s death and moved it to her right hand. She saw it as a sign to the world, “Hey, yeah, guess what? “I was a little taken aback, I think, that she could do that so soon. John has been gone almost seven months and I haven’t even thought of taking off my ring, even to move it to another finger.   So that led me to pose the question to a grief support group on FB about when others have taken off their rings, if ever. The majority of the replies were, Never! Just because s/he died doesn’t mean we’re no longer married! Some said they moved it to their right hand. Some said they bought themselves a black onyx band to wear on their left hand, and put their ring away for safe-keeping. I kind of like that idea actually, and maybe when the time is right, I’ll do that. But for now, it’s on my left ring finger to stay. Last month I had a meltdown in the Fred Mey...

  It seems fitting that I moved into a house I bought with my husband’s life insurance money just before Memorial Day weekend. John has been on my mind more than usual the past many days. John didn’t die in service to his country, but he spent all of his adult life in service to his country. He was always particularly thoughtful on each Memorial Day because he understood the sacrifice. He was present for a few final roll calls. It was one of the few things that could make my Green Beret cry.   I am especially grateful this weekend as I move into my home, sit on my deck, and sip a drink while I look out to my backyard. I have room to stretch. Neighbors yes, but nobody so close you can hear them fart at night. A buffer zone between me and other humans. The yard DD has to do her zoomies is bigger than she’s ever had. Once Dad and I put up the fence and install a doggy door, she’ll be free to zoom to her heart’s delight.   I know this is what John wanted for me, to be tak...

  “Hey, my wife needs a house. You have one to sell?”   “Yes, but it’s in Roseburg, Oregon. Nobody wants to live there.”   “Perfect! She doesn’t want to live there either, but she has to be close to her dad.”   This is the conversation I picture in my head of my husband, John, having with the owner of my new house in whatever realm they are both in now. The homeowner also passed away in November of last year and his heirs were in charge of selling it.   I was in town running errands and driving by properties when I first saw the listing on my phone. I saw the cross streets and thought it was in a completely different part of town. It was a part of town Dad told me to stay away from because there was a lot of drug activity there.   When I got home, I got another notification from Redfin about it, so I looked further at the listing and location. Not where I thought it was. It was at the high end of my price range, but given the square footage and lo...

If someone would have told me 20 years ago that I'd be flying to Tucson to meet up with my sister and attend my stepdaughter's wedding after my husband's death, I'd have asked what they were smoking. But that's exactly what I did. Honestly, I had been dreading the trip, because I knew just how hard it would be without John. But I couldn't have missed it. I asked my sister to fly in, both for moral support, and for a mini vacation for the two of us. I wouldn't have made it through the weekend without her.  Thursday's travel was a complete cluster fuck from the start. But, since John died three months ago, almost nothing has been easy or gone off without some sort of colossal hitch. So, as I walked through the airport cussing under my breath, I figured it was just par for my current course. After hours of delays, I finally arrived in Tucson at midnight, a mere eight hours late. As I got dressed for the Saturday evening wedding and did the last-minute wrapp...

  Months before my husband died, I watched a TEDx talk about moving forward from a loss, because there is no moving on. It made sense at the time, but now I understand it more deeply than ever.   Every day I get moments, reminders, that there is no moving on, but I do my best to move forward, one foot in front of the other, one moment at a time, one day at a time.   I hit a big milestone this week when John’s life insurance was finally paid. It took more phone calls than I can count, pissy emails to the agent who sold us the policy, threats of legal action, before they finally fulfilled their obligation to me and his kids, three months after his death. Having that behind me is the first step in allowing me to move forward. It was incredibly important to John that I was taken care of after he was gone. Maybe we can both rest easier now.   Today I got an email from an organization that was huge in John’s cancer journey, acknowledging a large donation from his dau...

  I want to write about how beautiful, horrible, rewarding, and agonizing it is to watch someone you love slowly die. I want to be so brutally honest, you, the reader will need to take a knee after reading. I want to write this because I want to help someone else who might be here one day. Because nobody told me how to do this. He should have been gone by now. My husband was given a six-month prognosis six months and 15 days ago. The colon cancer had spread and there were too many fronts to fight. John said enough was enough and got his affairs in order, as they say. He retired from his job. We flew to Tucson to visit the new granddaughter. We drove to Oregon to visit my dad. And we got used to our new routine of John home all day, every day. My me time suffered, even though John was trying not to be “underfoot.” We fell into the new steps of our routine quite easily, while we each silently counted the months. Then the pain started. The tumor in the pelvic bone was poking at hi...

 "You mean to tell me there are ten people in more pain than she is in," John told the ER intake nurse when she told him how long the wait would be. I heard him, but couldn't see him. I had my eyes closed, willing the pain in my back to go away. We'd been dating less than two months and I wasn't ready for him to see me at my worst. Next thing I knew, he was helping me to the parking lot and putting me in his car. "We're going to a different hospital." I sat in the waiting room, silently crying, embarrassed to let him see me cry. He stayed with me while I changed into the immodest gown (although he admitted later he was just hoping to see me nekkid). He found a warm blanket when I said I was cold. He waited in the hall outside the CT room and walked beside my gurney back to the ER holding cell.  That was nineteen years ago this month. It was the night I fell in love with him. It was when I knew he'd be my protector, the one who'd have my back,...