Chutes and Ladders

My favorite childhood game was Chutes and Ladders. My kids and now my grandsons play it. The purpose of the game is to make your way to the end, avoiding the "chutes" along the board. If you land  on a "ladder"you get to move many steps forward. If you are unlucky enough to land on a "chute", you slide backwards to where you were several rolls before. Then once again you try to move forward and hope that landing on a ladder will jump you forward past your original spot.

This is what my journey through grief is like. The die rolls, I move forward one move at a time. Sometimes I land on a ladder and "Whoosh" ....I'm  way out front. Then, as has happened the last few days, I land on a chute and "Zoom"...I'm back to the beginning again.

Yesterday I opened a drawer ,without thinking ,that contained Glenn's wallet and other things that he stuck in his pocket daily. That led me to notice all the signs around the house that indicate that he lived here with me and not that long ago. Our wedding rings that now sit side by side in my jewelry box, were on our hands 23 weeks ago. His writings on the calendar, his boots in the closet, the cords for his now silent devices, the love note he left me on our chalk board. "Zoom" ....down the chute I went. Once again I realized how gone he really is. And he really won't be back. Somehow different levels of my subconscious keep relearning that, even after I think I believe it.

Thankfully I had an appointment with my awesome therapist today; truly she is a gift to me. What a safe place to grieve. She helped me see that this is how I feel,right now. And that it is okay. Maybe it will get better.  And that while I probably will never get over it, I'll get used to it. I liked that. No matter what the future holds, Glenn will always be in my heart. And that maybe I'm doing better than I think. 

Tonight I am  doing much better. Lots of online laughs with my amazing friends, Boo and Attie are rolling and chasing around the house,  and I'm looking forward to see my kids and grandsons this weekend. 

Tonight I landed on a ladder during the journey.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted

Apparently there is now a piece of technology called "Google glasses" or something like that. And here I think I'm cool owning an IPad and knowing how to tell my students to "share the doc" with me. Besides I don't need those glasses right now because I've got some internal high-powered specs on, ever since June 16th. I feel like the lady from "Romper Room" who used to look through her big magnifying glass and pretend she could see everybody out there in TV land. I view life in 3-D these days.

I spent the morning with my family. No, not my biological family, but the people in Glenn's last job at Emmanuel Episcopal Church in Alexandria, Minnesota. It is about 90 minutes from here; 90 minutes that have come to be dear to me. Glenn served Emmanuel twice a month for the last three years. Those of you with teenagers know that often it is in the car where the most meaningful conversations happen. And so it was for us those last few years. In the business of daily life there wasn't the quiet time to share stories of the past, good and bad, and to dream for the future. I had taken to being the driver; on the way down, so that he could meditate and finalize his message; on the way back so he could unwind and we could process the morning. The long miles of farm fields in between  led to many intimate and touching conversations and reminisces from both of us.

I knew I would attend church there today, because in our faith tradition, it is All Saints Sunday. The Episcopal church considers our hymns another way of praying. And so when the organ started playing, "For All The Saints", the "theme song of this day, I didn't make it through, "from whom their labors  rest", before the tears came.Unlike the Roman Catholic Church, we don't pray to saints to intercede for us....we go straight to the top:). We do acknowledge and celebrate those who have been martyred in the faith, known or unknown,  and they have their own feast days, including today. But our focus on this day is two-fold; first it is to recognize the "small s" (they aren't really called that) saints who have gone before us, and secondly, to welcome and pray for the newly baptized .

When I wrote Glenn's obit, I said that he "joined the communion of saints." Those were words I grew up with. I know what it means now. The Rev Linnae Haeg was the priest at E today. She and Glenn were due to mentor together, and he held her in very high regard. Her sermon spoke to how even the members of the early church didn't behave well, and yet were referred to as "saints." And how in the Old and New Testament the word "faithful" is used interchangeably with "saint." She said, "A saint is not someone who is made holy, but one who is blessed by God."

Yes.  Glenn Derby was human. Not perfect.  At all.  Even as an ordained priest, he knew his flaws; a human who made mistakes in his life, was forgiven and redeemed, and therefore blessed by God. The cycle of faith.

And this is really why that drive became dear to me. When my kids were young and he was a parish priest, he always left the house early to prepare for both services. I wasn't privy to his prayers and meditations, because I was trying to feed the pets and get the kids to church. For the last few years when we pulled up to the church in Alex, he would take my hand and pray, and his final words before we got out were always, " Lord, may I be the first one changed by the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart."

I close with the third verse of my favorite childhood hymn, from which language  you can tell that we truly are the Church of England, "I Sing A Song of the Saints of God"

"They lived not only in ages past, there are hundreds of thousands still; the world is bright with the joyous saints, who love to do Jesus' will. You can meet them in school or in lanes  or at sea, in church , or in trains, or in shops or at tea; for the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too."
Comforting words on the journey.

Happy Memories

I was reflecting tonight on the events leading up to a little scruffy dog coming to live with us seven years ago today.

At the time, I was struggling. My children are six years apart in age, and so I spent a long time mothering and nurturing-from1981 to 2006. I love being a mother, and I have loved every stage of their lives, including now when they are successful, independent adults.

But in the fall of 2006, I was having a true case of empty- nest syndrome.  My sweet boy Christopher had left for Hamline University, and he never looked back. And while I was so happy for him, finding his niche, I was missing being a full time mom for the first time in 25 years.

Glenn had just retired, and he was struggling with how to fill his days in a meaningful way too.
He spent lots of time just hanging out.

Which is what brought him to HART that Halloween day in 2006. A friend of mine's dad had recently surrendered a Great Dane to HART ( Heartland Animal Rescue Team). Glenn loved big dogs and went to "visit". He sent me an email that he and Solomon were on their way home.

I came UNGLUED. We were in the process of selling our house to leave  our options open. We weren't sure if we would remain here. We were planning to rent an apartment while we worked it out.
I literally FLEW out of school mad as a hen. I couldn't imagine what he was thinking....we can't have a Great Dane in an apartment!

I pulled in the driveway, and there was my daughter, who was still living in Brainerd at the time, holding a darling little dog that resembled Benji from the movie.

What a trick! He saw this dog and knew that it would help me make the transition to the next stage in life, by giving me something to train and care for. The dog was heaven-sent. He caught on to the schedule of our household and fit in as if he had always lived there. And he always has.

While we pondered what to name him, a trick-or-treater rang the doorbell and yelled, "Boo!" Right then we knew....

Ironically I recently adopted a cat (who thinks he is a dog) and I named him Atticus, after the protagonist in my favorite novel, To Kill A Mockingbird.  If you know the novel, you will chuckle that I now have Atticus and Boo living with me. :)

Throughout this time in my life, I am amazed at how life pieces itself together without realization, until you reflect on it with hindsight. Then the pieces all start to make sense.

Lessons on the journey.

Three wishes

Three wishes is a common motif in many pieces of literature across many cultures.

These are my three wishes tonight.

1. I wish hadn't been sleepy and unalarmed when Glenn felt sick that night. Even if it wouldn't have made a difference, which I know logically it wouldn't have, maybe then I could truly believe it in my heart now. 

2. I wish I could have said goodbye and had a chance to tell him how much I loved him one more time. While I was busy doing CPR and calling 911, he left me forever.

3. More than anything tonight, I wish he was still here with me. I miss him so much.

Waking up

18 weeks. My daughter kindly wondered aloud this weekend when I thought I'd stop counting. I have no idea. It's kind of my nature to put things in chronological order according to major life events.

I do know that I feel a bit like Rip Van Winkle. I'm starting to wake up a bit. Life is getting a little less foggy.

I have been so blessed on this journey to have the support of family and dear friends. Indeed, I truly believe I would not have survived without them. But the reality of human nature is that life moves on. People, even those closest to you,  want to see the person they love moving forward. And at work when aquaintances say, " Hey! How are you?" , most often they are greeting you and really don't want a Debbie Downer answer. I get that. And since school started, I have tried to be emotionally anonymous at work. It's a coping technique.

But I know that those feelings have to have an outlet. So I finally made an appointment with a much recommended therapist here in town. I wasn't disappointed. Her professionalism has given me a safe place to work through my grief.

And what I'm realizing, in reliving some of it with her, is that there were parts of that evening and the weeks after that I either don't remember, or I just now remember. For instance, I must have unlocked the door for the paramedics, but I have no recollection of it, nor do I remember any phone calls made that evening. It is important to recreate it, in order to be complete with it. I'm finally letting go of the fact that I could have changed the outcome, and why I thought I could. Almost. I still want to own it somehow. Mostly what I remember from the summer was not being able to breathe.

I'm starting to awaken. Now, I know what I'm ready to change, and what I'm not ready to change. For example, I spoke with a jeweler about having our rings made into a single piece of jewelry. I'm not ready for that yet. A few changes in the house decor? Ready.
I put away most of his clothes in the back closet this summer and thought  I was done with that task, and then I found  a trunk full of winter clothes etc. I sighed and shut it for a different day. Wasn't ready.

I'm waking up. I'm able to work through my grief in appropriate ways so that I can function in the rest of my world.  I'm compartmentalizing. That's a good thing.

Starting to awaken on the journey. One day at a time.

Phantom limbs

The other day someone posted this on Pinterest and it really spoke to me. 

 "In French, you don't really say " I miss you"... you say, "tu me manques " which means, "you are missing from  me"...."

There is such a distinction in that statement.

I miss Glenn every second of every minute of every hour. But, as Robert Frost so eloquently said, "Life goes on". I no longer feel that desperate grief. 

I have worked hard to keep living life; new routines, furniture arrangements, a new feline family member, and even a new hot tub.

 Although it was hard going back, my days at work are full and mostly happy, spent with dear friends and energetic eighth-graders. 

My auto-response still imagines telling Glenn news from the day, and sometimes I still reach to call or email him during the day, before I remember that he is missing from me.

I feel as I would imagine  people who have lost a limb feel; their conscious mind knows that their arm or leg is missing, and yet, "phantom" pain makes them think their  limb is still present.

Most days I don't spend time in lonely grief anymore. For the most part I've started to believe my truth, and I'm creating a new life. 

But I have a "phantom limb" named Glenn.

He is missing from me, but I still feel him with me.

Radiant love.

It is Sunday today. It has been 16 weeks today. It would be four months if our calendar didn't throw in some five week months. Thanks Julian calendar :).

Normally I would be suffering. Instead,  I have enjoyed a very peaceful, grace-filled day.  I did all my have-to-do errands yesterday.

On reflection, I think I know why. Once again it is the witnessing of grace; the belief that Glenn and I based our marriage upon, that continues to bring me such peace. The beauty of grace is that it is freely given; in our faith it is a gift from God.

Last night, in the midst of some absolutely horrendous weather, I saw grace in action again. I was fortunate enough to witness my friends Chris and Karole become legally married by the state of Minnesota. Let me clarify that six months ago they would not have been allowed to marry. Last night's celebration was not about a "civil union". It was about love and commitment to each other forever. Grace was present.

They lovingly placed a chair in the picture tent, painted fuschia in honor of Glenn. It held a candle, flowers and his picture with that s###t eating grin he always had. If you have been my FB friend for awhile, you would know that Chris and Glenn had an eternally long battle about painting one of our chairs at the fire pit fuschia. It was so touching I had trouble finding words. Grace in action.

Grace. Glenn was a huge football- playing , testosterone filled GUY with just as big of a heart. His heart led him to fully embrace love and marriage for all. It was a journey for him- he worked through it. Fortunately we belong to a loving and inclusive church that supported this journey, and he ended up believing it with all that he was.

He used to tell me that our friends who are gay were  such a gift to him, because they put faces and humanity above the politics.; he loved them for the humans they are, not for whom they chose to love. Besides, Chris Kelly.....he loved your laugh. It was only matched by his own. And Audra? If you are reading this, know that Glenn thought you were the gentlest soul he ever knew and said so every time we saw you.

Yes. I feel radiant love today in the presence of grace.

It's all part of the journey.