You've heard the story before...husband dies and leaves his wife a healthy chunk of insurance change, the house is paid off, so are the cars, she no longer has to work. She works out every day to stay in shape. Lunch with the girls, church on Sunday, plays with her grandchildren and volunteers at the local hospital every other week on Wednesdays. She could stand to lose some weight, but then, who couldn't?
Funny how life twists and turns, like a cork screw piercing your inner core. My dearest, sweetest, most wonderful husband passed away in 2011 just six months after we moved to Pasadena, California where he had always wanted to live. Some dastardly creature hacked off half of my body and soul that day. Although I am a believer in everlasting life, my life, the one left behind, was devastated while he's up in heaven playing golf and strumming his harp before the Lord. Not such a good deal!
We never thought he would go first, after all, I was the one with juvenile, type 1, insulin-dependent, brittle-therefore-difficult-to-control diabetes. My five shots per day "habit" finally gave way to an insulin pump, nonetheless, diabetes is a tough life for those of us addicted to insulin or die. My dearest made life do-able.
Everyday he walked, he did 200 sit ups, he read the Bible and prayed, he made me laugh, he gave me foot rubs that usually ended up leg and butt rubs, (ahem, etc.), he was solid as a rock, a gentleman in a world that doesn't act honorably much anymore. After 31 years of marriage, he still opened the car door for me, he was funny that way, and I loved him with all my heart.
Nothing prepares you for your husband talking to you one minute, telling you "no, don't call the paramedics, I'm fine," then sitting on the couch with a heart attack, the next. Nothing prepares you for seeing your husband dead on a hospital gurney; his lifeless body devoid of his soul. He simply was not there. Nothing prepares you for your first walk down the street alone, vulnerable, completely raw from the shock of it. Absolutely nothing prepares you for the first night in bed alone after so many years wrapped in his arms.
So, I cried, then I cried some more. I prayed for strength, wisdom, fortitude, calm, peace. My sister bought me a teddy bear to hold, knowing that my dearest's nickname was "Bear." She wrote the obituary for me and listened to my sobs. She and her husband went with me to the funeral home along with our son, my wonderful stepson, my husband's sister and her doctor husband.
We began the meeting. My sweetheart loved classical music and I am a musician; it stood to reason we rent a piano in the little chapel. He loved the Lord, so we needed a pastor. He loved California, so we put our heads together and decided not to transport him back to Chicago to be buried. He loved to play golf, we found a lovely plot overlooking the rolling hills near Pasadena. (A lovely plot, as if it mattered to him anymore! He was already in glory!) And then it happened, the sickening reality of life, death, and money.
You see, my husband didn't have life insurance. We had no savings, no house, no cars. Between his heart condition and my diabetes, we could never 'get ahead' and most of the time, we were far behind. Behind in our taxes, our rent, our medical bills. I made good money as an independent recruiter, but that meant no medical insurance was available to me as a diabetic. We didn't spend lavishly, we didn't eat out, we just lived everyday as though it were a gift from God, because it is! We rested in the Lord's Goodness and did the best we could. And now it was time to bury my husband and I had no money.
Out went the piano, the pastor, the chapel. I would not consider cremation. And after it was cut to bare bones, my dearest sister and her husband, with contributions from the other family members, paid the $21,000 it cost to bury him with a short graveside service. My brother in law even served as the pastor and did a great job!
I actually sang at his funeral. His favorite hymn was "Majesty, worship His Majesty" and somehow, I sang it out in front of the guests because that is what he would have wanted. When it was over, I was over. How could I go on without him?
My sister gave me small tasks everyday, calling me from her home in the Midwest. "Make yourself a cup of coffee," or "today you will take a shower." I heard her voice through a fog, a resounding fog horn slowly guiding me away from the rocks and safely to shore. "Today," she cajoled, "why don't you try taking a short walk to the corner?" I cried some more., But I did it. Walking through a haze, tears rolling down my face, I walked to the corner. Someone selling a time share called out, "smile!" I kept walking. He called out again, "oh come on, it can't be that bad!" He smiled and winked at me, flirting a little. Before I knew it I grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him toward me, angry at the poor man for no good reason. Through clenched teeth I growled, "I just buried my husband. Don't tell me to smile." The poor man was mortified, I let go of his shirt and kept walking. So much for grace under pressure.
My diabetes took a nose dive but I really didn't care. Although I checked my blood sugar, stress causes extreme highs and lows. Adding more insulin through my pump when high, and drinking orange juice through the lows kept me alive.
Why was the sun still shining? Why was there still traffic in the street? Doesn't the world know it lost a great man? A man of wisdom and love? Will the world continue to turn? What now?
My siblings suggested my son and I attend my nephews's wedding in Atlanta, Georgia, then visit my mother and father in Wisconsin for awhile. After all, as an independent recruiter, all I needed was my laptop and Internet connection. Unable to think very well, I did it. The wedding was beautiful but heart wrenching.
Shortly after arriving in Wisconsin, it was determined my father had pancreatic cancer. I was asked to stay with him, and I did. I became the hospice caretaker for a year until this amazing man died. My mother and I watched this full of life man waste away. As my siblings and I sang hymns about our father's bed, he passed.
Shortly after my father passed away, my mother was diagnosed with Louie Bodies dementia. She had hallucinations, heard voices, saw faces in the rocks and ghosts wandering around the house. I was asked to stay through home hospice for my mother. Another year went by with hospital trips and horrible episodes of hallucinations. At one point, my dear, sweet loving mama grabbed a pen and threatened to stab me if I got any closer. She passed away eleven months after my father.
Is this the end of my story? Hell no. I'm alive and kickin. I have my Lord, my 'health,' my family and my friends. My God is everything. He will provide. He is the Alpha and Omega. He is the Author of all life. He knows how many hairs are on my head. He created me with love and talent and dreams that I have yet to achieve.
Although I studied opera in college and was very good, I couldn't sing after my sweetheart died. Finally, in 2016 I am singing again. I sing songs at independent and assisted living homes, memory care homes. I sing so they will remember how important their lives are; that they are proud members of the Greatest Generation. I take them on a Sentimental Journey, remind them to Smile, that I'll Be Loving You, Always, and that Bye Bye Blackbird is NOT about prostitutes!
Thank you so much for creating Steem. What an utterly fantastic gift you have given the world!
All my best,
Barnzorhon.