‘Tis the season to be grateful, and this theme is coloring my every thought. A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about the benefit I get from writing thank you notes and letters. Now I’m thinking about people for whom I have no words to adequately express how grateful I am that they held me close and gave me what I needed when I needed it following the passing of my husband, Charles, in 2019.
First, I’m so very grateful for my family who held me close as we squeezed one another tightly in an effort to shield one another from the pain of our loss. Words can’t express how much I appreciate them for all they do to make it all tolerable.
Next, I’m so very grateful for all the friends and colleagues who let me know in one way or another that they had me in their thoughts, especially around special occasions such as birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays.
Neighbors Stan, Gail, and Tosh stood at the ready for the mundane and not-so-mundane needs. They epitomize what a good neighbor is like.
Without Carly, a gifted high school student, I would never have gotten the messages about Charles’ passing out to friends and family.
I gave my friend, Jackie Woods, who we lost this past July, the moniker, “my wiki,” because she helped me find my way from here to there in a new location. I didn’t have to experience everything for myself; she showed me what to look for, and what to avoid, and where to find anything that I might ever need.
I’m so grateful for Kevin Kruger, Stephanie Gordon, Olivia Jones, and Zafer Bebek, who shared their love by using their relative youth and strength to do some of the hard stuff of putting a huge dent in clearing a house and garage of many years of accumulations.
Then there are the “Magnificent Seven,” to whom I’m forever ransomed because of the lifeline they gently pushed out to me. In alpha order, these are the modern-day saints who exemplified what I can only aspire to be to a friend in need.
Paulette Dalpes had no time—just hours to spare—and yet, she flew across the country to be with me and to help me to jumpstart what I needed to do to begin my move from East to West. There were many errands to run, and I was not in a good place to drive. She chauffeured me hither and yon, never losing her upbeat attitude as I was no help in finding my way. Critically, she helped me take the first step by taking me to Home Depot—a place quite foreign to me—to get tape, boxes, and other packing materials. I thought I could work alongside her to make boxes until the tape gun that I was using took over and wrapped me up so I couldn’t move. She disentangled me and showed me what I could do instead of making boxes. Because of her, my personal journals were not abandoned to the trash heap like so many other papers and notebooks. She took great care in packing and labelling them so they would not be lost among all the moving boxes. It was during this period of loss that I stopped keeping my journals. Instead of writing my journals before going to bed, I talked on the phone with Paulette.
For Lin Eagan, no task was too large or too small, and no time was inconvenient when I needed her to help me prepare the house for sale. She left her house guests on a Sunday to take stock of what I saw as an emergency. Before the final inspections for the house, she insisted that I move West, as planned, and she would take responsibility for anything that needed to be done following the inspection. From touch-up paint to major issues, she took care of it all without any inclination that my house and I were a royal pain.
Shannon Ellis kept in contact with me throughout, and let me know that I could call on her any time and she would drop everything and fly across country to help me. Just knowing this gave me the strength to keep moving forward. When I needed help with business concerns that had always been taken care of by Charles, she gamely volunteered her husband to be my adviser. The gesture reminded me of how I used to volunteer Charles to do things for friends and acquaintances. She is a strong woman who assured me that I was strong, too, and would do what I needed to do to keep moving forward.
Deb Long was always at the ready to lend a hand, whether in the kitchen or at my desk. I would never have exercised so consistently if she had not been waiting for me to go to Zumba or take a long walk in the mornings. Her immediate and constant companionship were invaluable. She even shopped in her own closet for me when an emergency appearance caught me out-of-season as I waited for the movers to bring my clothes from the East Coast. At least once a week, I had a healthy meal because she would just show up at my door with food.
Jacki Moffi and her husband stood in line for hours at Verizon to return equipment for me, only to be told that the equipment wasn’t theirs and that Verizon had never heard of me. Suffice it to say that I no longer patronize that carrier. In the final moments of my life in Maryland, Jacki was the magic lady. After the movers, after the folks to whom I’d given many items, after trash handlers had gone, I discovered—on the last day before my flight West—that there were many items that had been overlooked or missed in the packing. These were not things that I could trash, such as a sentimental set of china, and yet I couldn’t leave them in the house. I called Jacki on a Sunday morning. I don’t know what I said, but she said, “Don’t worry, I’m on my way.” By the end of the day, like magic, problem solved.
If it were not for Caryn Musil, I would have no books from the extensive library that Charles and I had stocked over the years. There would be not one file from the five file cabinets of folders that I had painstakingly made following my retirement. She worked tirelessly packing these things. Because we were partners on a consulting job during this transition time for me, she was the listener over breakfast and dinner as I coped with my loss. All of these women and my family were wonderful supporters and listeners, but Caryn was with me on the train, at our hotel, at every meal for days at a time. Because she and her husband have been married the same amount of time as Charles and me, she had a deep understanding of what I might be experiencing. Despite my stiff upper lip, my faith, and my façade of being all right, this poem that she wrote for me broke my heart:
The Fullness of Absence
Losing a husband who has been part of one’s life for nearly six decades
Is like trying to see with one eye,
Clap with one hand,
Hug with one arm.
You are not, but you feel as if you walk with a limp.
You begin to talk aloud to yourself expecting him to chime in,
Pose a question anticipating he will answer,
Need a flight scheduled but your AA is on vacation, and you
Long to be able to bicker about a small irritant that always caused sparks.
You smile as if in a mirror that has no reflection,
You move ever so slightly to the side of the bed where you used to find added warmth.
His soap remains in its appointed place in the shower, a revered totem to mark a loss.
His. Presence is everywhere, all the time, because of his absence.
The emptiness is felt because fullness was experienced,
Indulgently, lavishly, with abandon, decade after decade.
Your heart hurts in its brokenness, but it defiantly continues to pump.
Oxygen courses through your blood vessels reminding you he once made your heart race.
The pulsing rhythm calls you to move on, live on, because of the fullness
His absence commemorates.
Jane Spalding carried out her role as a friend as if it were a job for which she was being paid. She had a long drive to my house and, despite the rush-hour traffic, she always arrived by 8:00 every morning during the week we pushed to clear the house. She was there until evening, sorting, packing, telling me what to do next, and being my advocate with the contractors, the movers, and anyone else with whom I had to deal with. She was like the Secret Service protecting me from any source of danger. When I had to be away for appointments, she stayed at the house continuing to work and to respond to anything that might arise. She had good resources and always knew how to make a way out of no way. She epitomized the Guardian Angel that we all wish we had at one time or another.
These cryptic notes convey just a few of the gifts that these women who make up my “Magnificent Seven” gave me when I didn’t know what I needed until they gave it to me.
I’m filled with gratitude for all those who have filled my life with their generosity of spirit.