My little bit of Heaven

I love being out on our deck with Bella.
Morning coffee, morning meditation. Just sitting and swinging on the swing I used to share with John - and sometimes Toby. She used to love sitting between us in the morning while we sipped coffee and just talked.
I feel close to John out here.
He built this deck from scratch for us and I feel his love in every square inch of it.

We are gathered here......

"We are gathered here today to..."

It struck me the other day that these words usually start off two very important ceremonies in life - maybe the two most important ones - weddings and funerals.
So much planning goes into the first one - guest lists, color themes, flowers, venue, clothes - and on and on.
But the second one usually happens unexpectedly and in a rush. Often the details are things we have seen others do. It's not usual that the major participant - the deceased - gets any input into the proceedings.
It happens. But in my experience it's not the norm. We hate to think about these things. It's almost  a superstition. If we talk about it, we will cause it to happen. On those occasions when pre-planning takes place, it makes it so much easier for the ones left behind.
I didn't have that luxury. John died suddenly and without warning. We had not discussed much about ceremony beyond cremation and closed casket. So I did the best I could and I think the funeral I arranged was something John would have liked.
But then it came time to decide what to do with his ashes. We had never discussed that. Ever.
So I decided not to decide beyond getting a very nice urn.
But someday we need to be placed somewhere.
I too will be cremated and I want our ashes to be together.
But where I have no clue.
So a few years ago I decided pre-planning [in my case anyway] was in order.
I contacted a church a few towns over that had a columbarium [a room or building with niches for funeral urns to be stored - a new word for me], made an appointment to speak with a representative, and off I went.
It was an experience, to say the least. I don't know if it was typical but it was definitely different.
To start with, I was given a list of available spaces to choose from, each having a certain price allotted to them depending on location - higher on the wall was more expensive than lower, glass front cost more than closed, and so forth. I was having trouble maintaining my composure. I was starting to hear John laugh.

Then I was offered a "tour" to see where the real estate was located. Okay.
Off we went. The lobby of the columbarium building had piped in music and a "visiting" room. John was now laughing out loud. My guide then proceeded to show me where various people she thought I might know [local well known families] were going to be laid to rest as well as the space she and her friends had already purchased. It begged the question why I would have to know this. Surely we were not going to all party after lights out.
But I smiled and nodded my way through the walk-through.
Finally we went back to her office and she presented me with a price sheet and finance plan, expecting me to make a choice, implying if I waited too long, the choice spots would be gone. I felt like I was in a time-share presentation..
I excused myself to go to the ladies room. While in there I could swear I heard John yelling "Get out!" in between absolute belly laughs.
I went back in, told the nice lady I needed time to think and quickly left.
She called a week later and I let her go to voice mail.
John is still in his urn and I still have no pre-plans made.
Every time I decide it's time to try again, John just keeps laughing.

Wish I could go back in time

I wish I could tell my old self to take better pictures. To take more pictures of John. Of us.
You never think pictures matter until they are all you have.
I scanned a few more pictures today but I was struck by how many pictures I took that I thought were important at the time. Now I can't even remember what some of them were of.
And the pictures I took of John were terrible in terms of lighting and focus.
I am learning so much from the photography course I am taking. I just wish I could use it to help my old self.

April 1993

John continues to show up

I have been having grief surges again lately.
I don't know why. There are no anniversaries that I can blame. Maybe there doesn't have to be a reason other than I just miss John so much and that is never going to change or go away.
It's okay.
But despite all that, John is showing me that he is still here. He knows what is going on with me and he is helping me get by.
Cases in point:

• By a strange set of coincidences I found a new handyman a couple of weeks ago. The circumstances were so odd that when I realized the connection I literally sat back and said "Wow" out loud. This man is an absolute treasure and I know I can trust him with my house.
• I have been following a certain medium for several years. I have read all her books. I have a Cd series of hers and I went to see her give a very good presentation last year in Phoenix. For some reason her story just resonated with me and I fantasized about having a reading from her, knowing it would never happen because she is based out of Florida and rarely comes out this way. Plus, her waiting list is over a year long and my situation is not special enough to get her attention. Then last week, another set of circumstances happened and lo and behold, I have a reading with her scheduled for next May! 
• Finally, I have been estranged from my brother for many years. The details don't matter but I had given up on a solution and just resigned myself to loving him from afar. Then a few weeks ago, out of the blue at 5:52 AM John's alarm clock went off. Of course it woke me up. And just as quickly as it chimed [twice], it turned off. I didn't turn it off. I hadn't set it. The cats were nowhere near it and he cleaning ladies hadn't been here in several weeks. There was no earthly reason for it to go off. I ignored it. Figured it was John but could not think what it meant. Days later I realized that the time was the same as my sister's birth date. 5:52 = May 1952. Thinking maybe something was wrong and I should get involved, I texted my sister with a question about our mother who is now living with our brother. She didn't have the information I wanted so I decided to swallow my pride and emailed my brother. That was all it took. He was so happy to hear from me. We have reconciled and are emailing steadily back and forth now, mending the years. I have to believe my Honey was doing his best to get my attention for this to happen.

I still miss John. I am still sad. I would give anything to have him walk through our house door and give me a big hug and have life go back to the way it was.
But since that can't happen, I will be happy and thankful knowing he is still very much alive and still loving me.
'Til we are together again, Baby...

I finished my book!

I have been writing a book about John and me and about my experiences - spiritually and metaphysically - since he passed.
It's titled I Will Never Leave You.
It is now finished and gone through two complete edits.
Tomorrow it goes to my readers for proofing and suggestions.
Soon, it will be published.

These are the good ole days

Over the course of our relationship and marriage, John and I enjoyed many different employment opportunities. John started out [at the time I met him] as a case manager/therapist in a child and adolescent mental health clinic. Later on, he went to nursing school. I have always been a nurse but I have worked in many different specialties - psychiatry mostly, but also preemie nursery, surgical, medical, operating room, just to name a few. Not only was I a floor nurse but I worked my way through management from charge nurse to Head Nurse to Supervisor to eventually Director of Nursing. Later on I went back to school, got my degree and some additional training in legal nursing and forensics and started my own legal nurse consulting business. I think I enjoyed that the most.
But probably the most challenging episode was when John and I worked as agency nurses back in the late 80's to mid 90's. We were sent to places we would never have been otherwise. Because we could pick and choose where and when we worked, we chose to go to hospitals that required us to drive several hours each week and we picked shifts that paid the most. Consequently, our most lucrative assignment was in Hershey PA on the oncology unit. There we worked two 16 hour shifts every weekend driving two and half hours down from our home outside Wilkes Barre PA on Friday afternoon and driving back home on Sunday morning.
The upside to this grueling schedule was that we were off from Sunday to Thursday every week!
We had plenty of time to play and do other things and we were making what we liked to refer to as a "boatload" [at the time] of money. We were finally able to put money aside for retirement.
But we were able to enjoy our time together too.
We took a vacation every month.
We slept in. We relaxed.
We were in the process of remodeling our home and had the time to do it.
And we had time to just enjoy each other's company.
John said over and over that we were going to look back and call those days the "good old days". Except he said it in present tense at the time. "These are the good ole days." I remember how much that impressed me at the time.
He was right, of course [although now I refer to all my days with John as the good old days].
But what he taught me was precious. He was telling me we needed to enjoy those days for what they were when they were, not wait until years down the road and then pine for them.
It was a valuable lesson.
One of the things I remember about my father is that he used to always say "Some day".
Some day we would...
Some day we would have...
Some day we would go...
Most of the time he never got to do or have any of those things and he missed what was in front of him along the way.
He was the opposite of the "good old days" theory. He was wishing for what hadn't happened yet.
That's not a good way to live either.
And I was in danger of carrying on that legacy until John.
John opened my eyes and my heart and for that I am very grateful.
Every day is a good old day.
Even if it's swinging on the porch swing with your honey.
Or sitting quietly and watching a bird hopping across the lawn.
Or looking at a sunset and admiring the beautiful colors.
Life is to be lived, not wished or pined for.
John is not physically here with me now but I can still look at the world as if he is.
And I can be grateful for that gift he gave me and know it was given with love.

Widow Tunnel Syndrome

I have been on the computer way too much in the last week. Between a part-time job that I have [and enjoy!], working on my business with my two friends [From Grief To Peace], and just plain web-surfing, my mousing hand has started to complain - loudly!
So I have been trying to limit my time online - on the computer, on my iPad, and on my iPhone.
My chiropractor has suggested I wear a soft brace on my wrist and while it helps to alleviate the pain by keeping my wrist straight, it definitely restricts my typing ability - which is probably what she had in mind.
But all this denial of social access has got me thinking.
Why does all this online time call to me so much?
It didn't used to be this way.
I used to have a life.
Truth be told - I still do of course.
But it's not the same.
A few short years ago, I was living with the man of my dreams. Now I only see him in my dreams. My reality is I am a widow. My life has drastically changed. There is no longer someone to ask about my day - and for me to ask about his. No discussion of world events, no laughing over the latest antics of our fur-children, no talk of the weather, extended family members, the budget, plans, frustrations - nothing.
Just me and my shadow as the old song goes.
If I'm late coming from somewhere there is no one to worry why, no one to call to reassure.
And if I don't wake up tomorrow who will notice besides the furballs?
I am not trying to sound maudlin. It's just how things are.
Even though I have wonderful friends, the truth is they have their lives - and I have mine and mine is solitary.
And so I turn to the airwaves for a connection.
We all need that connection, if only briefly. "It is not good for man to be alone" - or a woman.
And so I have a pain in my wrist from communicating. The pain hasn't reached the proportions of carpal tunnel syndrome - yet.
I have dubbed it widow tunnel syndrome. Me at one end of my fingertips, the world at the other end.