Since You've Been Gone~ 5 Years

Well, Honey, here we are at the 5 year mark since you passed away.  It is just you, me, and time here to commemorate this occasion.  Not sure what to do.  A part of me wishes we could raise our glasses and make a toast.  Maybe to wish each other some form of congratulation.  It really should be that way.  It may sound strange, us, clinking glasses to your leaving this world.  All I know is, I was able to survive thus far, and that has got to be worth something…

I mean, it hasn’t been easy.  Trying to embrace life became my own battle of survival.  I don’t think I am all the way there yet.  Not sure anyone gets “all the way there” in this world.  But, I have come a long way, went out on a limb or two and took some chances.  I learned to laugh in rough situations.  Began to think about my future and make decisions for me. 

As you already know, I tried dating this last year.  Only one person, and you know that took a lot for me as I have not been with anyone since you.  It was, shall I say, interesting?  I didn’t stay closed off and I opened my heart, so I am proud of me for that.  It was nice to feel pretty in someone’s eyes again. 

Still, I will never forget your eyes.  How blue and sparkly they were, the way I could see your love for me within them.  So far, Baby, you have been the best man that I have known.  Such a stand up person.  I don’t overly romanticize our love, because I also remember the look in your eyes all those times I annoyed you as well.  I still wish you were here.  I still draw hearts on my misty bathroom mirror for you.  This morning I saw the snow fall, in big heavy flakes, and my heart went to thoughts of you.

Everything I do, from raising the children, to taking care of our home and even opening my heart, I still feel that you are my confidant.  You are the person who really knows what’s going on and what it takes for me to do these things.  I believe that you help guide me.  Thank You for that.  Even though you died, I know you never truly left me. 

Let’s raise our glasses, Baby, and make a toast.  First, To Life~ which brought us together, what an amazing thing life is!   In its complete beauty that people and their generous spirits can impact the hearts of so many others.    To Us, My Darling~ and all the things we have accomplished and are still working towards no matter how simple, profound, easy, or difficult.  And Finally, To You~ for guiding me along, never abandoning me, and to your beautiful blue eyes.  

Until we meet again, my love,

~Breathing

L O V E

"If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life."

Oscar Wilde

Dear Darling, Happy Valentine's Day.  It has been three years and two months since I have kissed you.  I miss you, Babe.  I dream of you often.  As the years have passed~ Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter continue to flow as scheduled.  The children are growing, fine young people.  Our home, still safe and comforting.  The river so surreal, a beautiful gift everyday.  Sunrise and sunsets, with birds flying and making sounds.  The fish jumping upon waves of diamonds.  Clouds, kissed by light, whisper and beckon .  

The Stars, though, as beautiful as they are, To me, do not shine as brightly.  However, the Moon, is as mystical and glowing~ as ever before.  Blooming and ever-changing, like a Rose.  

I could go on and on.  Words really can't explain the transformations that occur moment by moment in the daily life.  For You, words do not have to.  You penetrate my heart, existing in all that my senses allow. ~~~Breathing~~~

“There is a time for departure, even when there is no certain place to go.” 

Tennessee William

****Hello, this is Breathing, I just wanted to Thank You for all the support you have given to Pulmonary Fibrosis, as well as me.  My 'counter' indicates 13,208 people have come to my blog, from many different countries.  I hope our family's experience has helped to raise awareness.  I do know this blog has helped me through such a difficult time.  I have shared with you our experience and have never held back, because most of this I typed in 'real-time'.  Now, I have transformed a bit since my husband's passing.  Not too much, but just enough to somehow realize that I have many thoughts that are better realized in my own time.  I will not post as much here, but anything that seems newsworthy to our cause will not be ignored.  Thank You my beautiful friends.  You show support just by coming here and reading this:

The word "pulmonary" means “lung” and the word "fibrosis" means scar tissue – similar to scars that you may have on your skin from an old injury or surgery. So, in its simplest sense, pulmonary fibrosis (PF) means scarring in the lungs. But, pulmonary fibrosis is more serious than just having a scar in your lung. In PF, the scar tissue builds up in the walls of the air sacs of the lungs, and eventually the scar tissue makes it hard for oxygen to get into your blood. Low oxygen levels (and the stiff scar tissue itself) can cause you to feel short of breath, particularly when walking and exercising.

Also, pulmonary fibrosis isn’t just one disease. It is a family of more than 200 different lung diseases that all look very much alike (see “Causes and Symptoms” below). The PF family of lung diseases falls into an even larger group of diseases called the “interstitial lung diseases.” Some interstitial lung diseases don't include scar tissue. When an interstitial lung disease includes scar tissue in the lung, we call it pulmonary fibrosis.

The most common symptoms of PF are cough and shortness of breath. Symptoms may be mild or even absent early in the disease process. As the lungs develop more scar tissue, symptoms worsen. Shortness of breath initially occurs with exercise, but as the disease progresses patients may become breathless while taking part in everyday activities, such as showering, getting dressed, speaking on the phone, or even eating.

Due to a lack of oxygen in the blood, some people with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis may also have “clubbing” of the fingertips. Clubbing is a thickening of the flesh under the fingernails, causing the nails to curve downward. It is not specific to IPF and occurs in other diseases of the lungs, heart, and liver, and can also be present at birth.

Other common symptoms of pulmonary fibrosis include:

• Chronic dry, hacking cough
• Fatigue and weakness
• Discomfort in the chest
• Loss of appetite
• Unexplained weight loss

The Pulmonary Fibrosis Foundation is here to help you understand what it means to have pulmonary fibrosis. You can always reach us through our Patient Communication Center at 844.Talk.PFF or by email at pcc@pulmonaryfibrosis.org.

~~~~For my Baby, On Valentine's Day~~~~

"FIELDS OF GOLD"

You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in fields of gold

So she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold

Will you stay with me, will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we lie in fields of gold

See the west wind move like a lover so
Upon the fields of barley
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth
Among the fields of gold
I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I've broken
But I swear in the days still left
We'll walk in fields of gold
We'll walk in fields of gold

Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold
You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in fields of gold
When we walked in fields of gold
When we walked in fields of gold

Everywhere

For the man who wandered
Beautiful lost soul  
So many places on the road
One of your words when we did part, was for me to move on
Put it to start
It was everywhere that you wanted to be
Most importantly, Inside of me 

On my roams
I have seen the mountains 
Seen the sky
Not a day comes that I don't ask why
Where you are needed to be 
So far away from me

I sprinkle the dust like stars in the night
Watch as your beautiful spirit takes flight
Beneath my feet
Earth's ebony 
Soft as a whisper
From my hands the powder blew
Sweet is the breeze
As my spirit flew.

~Breathing~


Dear Hubby, How am I doing?  I hope you think I am doing alright.  You said you wanted your ashes in some of the places we have roamed.  But, I thought it was more of a joke, because you and I have been to so many places.  I don't know how I would start to do that. I have tried in my own little way to fulfill your wishes.  So far, in the last two years, you are in: Cannon Beach OR, Donner CA, "Lovers Rock" NV, Wrights Beach CA, Santa Cruz CA, Snake River ID, City of Rocks ID~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm not here to answer your call right now~

After my husband passed away from Pulmonary Fibrosis, I could not bear to cancel his cell phone line.  Talking on the phone was so much of our relationship, kind of like our life-line.  He worked out on the road and while he was away, we called each other with every new day to wish each other a good morning.  We called one another every night to bid a good night.  We called each other in the middle of the day to talk about whatever we were dealing with at the time.  It was a way to find out if we were safe and not a day went by that we did not speak.  

So, when he passed away, my youngest child and I decided to leave his phone line alive.  It helped us both a great deal.  My son would often call his phone while having a hard day at school.  Meanwhile, I would call my husband's line to wish him a good night or to tell him my car had broken down and I just needed to talk. We called his line every birthday, wedding anniversary and Christmas.  On New Year's Eve, my son and I would dial into my husband's voice mail and put the phone on speaker and listen all the messages we had left.  They were mostly tearful whispers and inaudible crying, but we could still make out the words we were trying to say.  

I finally discussed with my son that we should think about cancelling his line.  My son agreed.  After all, deep down we knew that most of the time we talked to my hubby, it is through our hearts and not on a ten dollar a month phone line.  We recorded my husbands voice mail message on another device and then I took the big step to call my phone provider and let them know.  

The customer service provider apologized for our loss and  indicated that we would not have to pay a cancellation fee for that line if the person was deceased and asked the date of my husband's death.  
"December 15th", I responded.
"Okay"  she said, "December 15th of 2013."  
"No, it was actually December 15th, 2011."   Realizing that two full years had gone by.  

I began to explain why we kept the phone line alive and that I had not been ready to cancel it until now.  She said that it was perfectly understandable and that she too, had dealt with the loss of her father and still wishes she could hear his voice.  She cancelled the phone line with no issue and we ended up sending tearful wishes and blessings to each other.  She was very kind.

I still have my husband listed on my speed dial.  I can't imagine anyone else's name listed there.  

Twisted Knots

Hi Babe, It is me.  In December it will be nearing the 2 year anniversary when you departed my arms.  Only a few months away.  I have been working along my little path and even when I can't see where it is leading, I have been sure to stop and soak in the beauty around me.  For that alone, I know you are proud of me.  Fall is now here and the leaves on the trees are changing color.  The coolness in the air surrounds.  

I have been maintaining and managing to the best of my abilities.  The house is buttoned up with the exception of one repair that I would like to make before Winter sets in.  If I can get that completed then all my homestead goals will have been fulfilled for this year.  The garden has been the best it has ever been.  It was a record year.  I think it was because I laid straw down to keep the weeds out and it worked very well to hold the moisture in for the plants.  

The river bank?  It is still the same river bank, growing as wild as ever.  Although two trees, the same ones you kept cutting down so it would not obstruct our view, came back. They were growing big!  So big, in fact, I knew it was something that I had ignored and once they began to take over, I contemplated just letting them grow.  I wondered if I should just let them grow and tried to imagine not seeing the water from the house anymore.  I thought it might be a blessing as a windbreak.  But, deep down I knew I was just justifying keeping those big weeds around because I didn't know how to remove them.  So, I made a phone call and had someone cut them and immediately was glad I did.  I vow to catch them early next Spring so that they will not grow out of control anymore.

You have really changed my life.  Given me the opportunity to see what my own capabilities are.  I am even thinking about my future.  Trying to imagine in a very real way what I would want the second half of my life to look like.  I can only see a foggy outline.  Snippets of things like me still living and taking care of our home, River-Rose.  Each year living more simply and naturally.  I realized that I only envision myself doing tasks that make me extremely happy- only have to do with the family we once had.  Now, our immediate family has dwindled as my oldest has left the nest and our youngest has just become a legitimate teen at 13 years old.  I try to imagine what the house will sound like when there is no one to call out to.  What type of thoughts will roam through my brain as I live my existence alone?  Will I be comfortable with the stillness?

I realize that you and I had an age difference and that is why we joked you were the geezer.  Still, your life ended too short from Pulmonary Fibrosis at age 50.  Which is an age that I think is still very young.  When I transfer that to being a widow at my age, it seems I have a long road to walk down in solitary.  This is not how I pictured things would be for me when you and I were healthy, before this disease came into our lives. At the same time, the idea of being alone does not cause me enough discomfort to want to be with anyone else.  To the contrary, it actually prompts me to discover how I can be more at peace with myself.  To perhaps imagine finding a different kind of joy in my journey.  And that is why I contemplate.  I realize that I must imagine what things I want to bring into my life that will fill my future days.  I cannot be complacent in a comfortable area.  If I would like my life to be a journey of joy, I cannot wait for joy to knock at my door, I have to reach out and work for it.  

Money, travel, clothing, things, may bring a little better sense of security to ones mind, but it doesn't change what lives in our mind and soul.  I have picked up and left and driven for days.  I have found the most beautiful, exciting, and serine places.  In the wrong frame of mind, none of it filled me.  I could have the ocean outside my window, sitting in a beautiful room, and still be filled with twisted knots.  

Just a thought, My Love.  Thank You for bringing me to a moment in time that I have been forced to be truly honest with myself.  Even though I have not discovered the answers, the period of discovering purpose is a gift in itself.

With All My Love....

The Boat and The Stick

I mentioned that I was going on a little summer trip.  One of the things running through my mind was whether I should bring a teeny bit of my husband's ashes to our destination.  He used to love the area and it was a place we visited on our honeymoon.  Years before my husband was diagnosed and passed away from Pulmonary Fibrosis, we were discussing things like burial vs. cremation and our desires as far as that is concerned.  He always told me that he wanted to be cremated and since he enjoyed traveling our country very much, he also indicated all of the states he wanted his ashes spread.  I told him that was a bit inconvenient as they included practically all of the lower 48.  I remember telling him, that it's not like I would want to go on a cross-country trip after losing him and I found his wishes to be somewhat unreasonable.  He just laughed and told me to stand on a bridge and sprinkle him on a big-rig truck passing below, if that made it easier for me.  I would have never, in my right mind, think that it would be such a short time in the future that the idea of this would my reality. 

My son and I did bring a little of my hubby with us on our journey.  Sounds strange to say, but it was a couple of tablespoons.  We knew just where, if we were to do so, that we would sprinkle him.  The thing holding us back was the idea of letting him go~ even if it was just a little part of him.  The consolation I kept in my mind was that the real spirit of my husband did not lay in those ashes, but was alive and constantly with us in everything we did.  I knew my husband would have liked this.  In the same area I looked for a sign of his approval.  Within moments, I saw it.  Two pieces of driftwood.  One, in the shape of a boat and the second a very beautiful stick.  My son had been searching high and low for the perfect stick.  With the stick he drew into the sand the letters of my husband's name surrounded by a heart.  It took him more than an hour to do this as he made each letter big enough to see from the stars. 

I Would Do It All Over Again ~A shared story of John and Susan~

Susan wrote her heart out after the recent passing of her husband John.  She has been kind enough to share their story with us~

My Husband was given 18 months to live back on February 14^th, 2007.  He was diagnosed with Pulmonary Fibrosis, Pulmonary Hypertension, Emphysema and later with an AAA and A Fractured T12.  Eighteen months came and went.  Then, we started our ride on the roller coaster from Hell.  I watched the Love of my life change from a strong, hard working man to a man who spent 24/7 in bed.  Only able to get up to go to the bathroom and who had to wear a catheter for three years. 

He would try not to let me know how bad it hurt.  He would think I was sleeping and he would scream and be crying.  He had an e-coli urinary track infection for over four years.  Over six years and three months later, we would ride the coaster over and over again.  He would always get so close to dying- over 10 times and every time he would bounce back.   

There were things he wanted to happen before he left this world.  He wanted to see our sons again.  They came at Easter.  He wanted to live long enough to see the adoption happen.  The adoption was final on April 11, 2013.  He wanted my Social Security and Disability Insurance to come through, so I would have an income. 

Hospice took the choice for him dying at home away from me.  He had to be taken to the hospital on  Thursday, May 2, 2013.  Everyone kept saying- They didn’t know John.  He could bounce back just like before.  I didn’t think so.  John stopped breathing three times on his way to the hospital.  The hospice nurse was in the ambulance with him and gave him his Roxanol and his Oxygen would go up.  I had that gut feeling that this was it.  Six years and three months, at this point, seemed like a mere few days...

Around 4:45 p.m., I got a phone call that my Social Security and Disability Insurance had been approved.  I told John and he started crying.  I told him everything he wanted to happen, had happened.  He was able to talk as they tried to make him comfortable.  I had told the nurses that if it looked like he was going to go to wake me up, and at 2:15 a.m., they woke me up. 

I was laying beside him and I leaned over and laid my head on him and hugged him.  His Oxygen shot up to 77 and his heart rate 100.  I had stopped his passing.  I cried and cried because that meant he had to suffer longer.  The nurses said that he had enough medicine in him to put two grown men on ventilators.  He finally settled down and I talked to him and told him ~It was time to let go and go to Heaven.

He kept trying to pick up our Chihuahua, Poco, who died on March 13, 2011, and our cat Gizmo, who died in 1999.  I had just put on one of his favorite songs, Amazing Grace (My Chains are Gone) and was telling him that he wasn’t alone.  I was right there with him.  He lifted his head and glanced at me. 

I said, “It’s okay, John Baby.  I love you so much Baby.  It is finished.  The battle is over.”

He held my hand as we laid there.  He pulled his arm away and laid it on his stomach.  I hit the nurses button and they came running.  But, My Baby was gone.  I walked over to the window to look out while they took care of him.  I didn’t want to see his face. 

The nurses left the room.  We were alone.  I got my stuff together and as I was leaving, I went to his head and laid my face on his ear and talked to him.  Told him Thank you for 25 wonderful years and that I loved him and would do it all over again.  I kissed his forehead.  I started to leave the room, when, I had a very strong urge to look at him.  So, I turned and looked at him.  As tears streamed down my face, I smiled.  John had the most peaceful look on his face that I have ever seen.  No look of pain or torment.  Just Peace.  I am so glad I looked back.  It is a memory I will not forget. 

~Susan Stevenson Lee~

The Grief Channel

A year went by.  I wonder, where did it go?  Yes, I survived, but what did I learn and was I truly present in the moments that have passed?  I try to remember exactly how I felt or what I was doing at this time last year.  I can't.  Only snippets come back to me.  I remember last year, on New Year's Eve going to bed early.  I remember the relief of sliding into bed and pulling the soft blankets around me, laying my head on the pillow.  I remember sleep was my only haven -and even then, it was a minimalist haven, at best.

My husband passed away on December 15th, 2011, from Pulmonary Fibrosis.  He was the love of my life.  The only person that knew all of the real me.  When he was alive, I had somehow elevated him to hero status.  In my eyes, he was the only one who defined intimacy.  My partner, my mate. 

I was in denial, looking for him around the house.  Still, opening my bedroom door and seeing a faded image of him in blue-jeans and glasses, smiling, as I came through the door.  Then, poof!  The image is gone, he is no longer there, and the impact of that would immediately bring me to my knees.  No!  Where did you go?

I was in auto-pilot mode.  Like a zombie, moving slowly in my mind. Coiling up his oxygen tubing.  His glass of water on the nightstand.  Folding his glasses.  Fluffing his pillow.  Looking at those stupid meds on the table.  Those were the first to go and I bagged them up with disgust and anger. 

Then I would look for him again.  It was as though I had misplaced him.  I can't find him anywhere.  I still feel that way.

Then, the crying.  Constant crying.  Not the kind your mind thinks about before hand and then the tears come.  No, it was just the immediate tears before the brain has a chance to catch up.  The grief, palpable.  It was physical.  The tears during the day, then at night.  At bed, my mind ripping through the tangible love and experiences we shared was like torture.  Then the sleep comes and I see him, he comes to me.  Upon the first collective consciousness of morning, a thud in my chest and the tears come again.  It goes like this, on and on. 

Despite the physical ache and heart wrenching longing for my husband, there was also a parallel feeling that somehow he was watching me.  I could just feel it.  Even from the very moment that his eyes lost their sparkle and I knew he was gone.  I felt him watching me. 

Everything I did from that moment on, there was a deep feeling that he was seeing it all.  There were even moments within me that I felt shy about this.  In our marriage, although we shared the most intimacy I had ever experienced, we also had established a certain level of manners and respect for each other.  There were just things we did not do in front of each other.  Great.  Now he has the advantage of seeing all of those things about me.  But, what could I do besides just being me?  I hoped that wherever he was, he had a deeper understanding of human-nature.

Somehow months passed, although, my emotional disposition had not.  I stayed in a foggy, grey area within the recesses of my mind and heart.  Stuck repeating the same day, every day.  I told myself that grief has no time limit.  I knew in my heart what I was doing is what I needed to do.  All the while, I still felt our connection, I still felt he was watching me.  I began to consider what things where like from his point of view, wherever he was...

Just for one second, I contemplated the idea that he was truly watching me and it wasn't some sort of trick my mind was playing on me.  What if he was somehow still connected to me?  What if he died, but still had his own thoughts and feelings?  What if he was checking in on me and maybe flipping through others he cared about, too?  My mind imagined him flipping through TV stations of all the people that he loved.  His children and mine, his mother, ex-wife, siblings, best friend.  I could see him doing that.   Just checking in to see what's going on and seeing our daily struggles in a place he no longer dwells.  Then he gets to my channel.  There she is crying.  There she is grinding her teeth at night.  There she is crying again. Over and over. The Grief Channel plays the same thing all the time.

One day, I was blogging on the computer and the feeling came to me that he was watching me again.  A feeling of approval came over me, as though this made him happy.  I realized that I want to make him proud.  We are still in a relationship.  When he looks at my channel, I want him to beam with my progress.  It was a turning point for me.  It was the moment that I realized I had to fight to add more texture and experiences back into my life, so that I could share it with him.  To be honest, I haven't stopped crying, he knows that.  But, I have added other things into my life in addition to the crying.  Such as laughter, silliness, and love.  I have changed the channel.  The more I do this, the more proud I feel he is.

Somehow, I am here.  A year later.  I survived.

The Big Hill

I'm a list maker.  I always have been.  I save all my tablets of lists from over the years so that my grandchildren could read about all the mundane things a person did, back in the old days.  When my family was young, I made lists for shopping, homework and chores.  When my hubby had his trucking company, I made lists of repairs and maintenance, lists for taxes.  I think my hubby liked this in me.  I made the lists so he didn't have to.  If there was something he was forgetting, he could always look at my list - or the 'honey do' list that I made for him :)

When my hubby was diagnosed with Pulmonary Fibrosis, my list making really went into action.  This is where my expertise kicked into gear.  I made lists for medication, bathing, food, topics to bring up to the doctor.  Lot's of stuff to list!  When my hubby was on hospice, I made more lists having to do with the end of his life.  Some where things I knew that I would need to do, other lists I took dictation from him.  Call so-and-so.  This is what I want for you and the children, ect...

I started doing this a long time ago, because I had trouble sleeping.  I would toss and turn and think of the things that I thought needed to be done.  I realized that writing things down eased these feelings and would help me sleep better.  I also felt that it was my way of taking care of others.  To know what was expected of me and what needed to be done.

After my hubby passed away, I made a list of 5 small things that were actually huge.  They were some of the biggest things, I knew in my heart I needed to do.  Some of the items had to do with finances, others had to do with the children, another healing.  This list, for once, I didn't write down.  It stayed in my head and I tossed and turned many-a-night.  These were such large things to me, that one could simply give up due to the overwhelming feeling and sometimes I really wanted to.  The things on the list were also connected to my life with my darling husband.  A way to make him proud of me, if that is possible.  So, I couldn't walk away from this list.

Today, I completed that list.  I should feel proud and in some ways I do.  I actually think the list has got me through this last year.  It gave me a reason to go on.  Now, I have finished it.  I climbed a big hill and now am sitting on top of it, feeling not proud, but sad.  I never thought of what I would do after climbing the big hill.  I guess I will sit here and ponder it for a while. 

Our Story-Chapter 2 (continued)

"Are you sure?"  I ask.

"Yes."  He said, "We might as well get it done." 

Hands shaking.

 "I'm scared.  I can't believe I'm doing this."

"You just got to get in there."  He assures me.

I dip the razor into the coffee cup filled with water, still hesitant, I ask him if I should trim it with scissors first.  He shakes his head  'No'. 

He curls his top lip tightly down and tilts his chin up towards me.

And I say, "Okay, here goes...."

I press the blade of the razor to the top his mustache and make small motions downward. 

"You can press harder if you want."

"Well, I don't want to cut you." 

My eyes shade over in a misty way, the way they do when tears are about to come.  He then changes his lips into an exaggerated kiss pout.  It looks funny with all the soap.  I lean forward and plant a big one on him, soap and all. 

He, then goes back into the shaving position.  I take a deep breath and firmly press the razor against his mustache and draw downward.  Making small motions and taking more of his mustache off.  Dipping the razor back into the coffee cup, I walk to the bathroom for a change of water.  Pouring the cup into the sink, I watch the remains of carmel-colored hair slip down the drain. 

"Oh, C'mon, you know you have been wanting this for a long time."  He teases.

His mustache had long been a source of teasing between us and there were moments that I really, really, did want to shave that thing off.  He had his mustache when I met him and it was nice and trim and grew down the sides of his mouth and stopped at his chin.  A few years into our marriage, apparently he decided (without me) that he wanted a full Sam Elliot type mustache.  The kind that grew all in one length and would cover his entire front lip. 

I would make jokes, like-  When it gets long enough are you gonna braid it?  I would complain that in order to go in for a kiss I had to go 'under and up' just to find his lips.  When he drank his chocolate milk the whole front of his mustache would become soaked and separate into two dripping points and I would say, "Ummmmm, you have a little something on your lip."  There were times I suggested he get some wax and twist his mustache upward.  It went on and on. 

Every year, on my birthday, he would walk out of the bathroom cleanly shaven and the sight would nearly cause me to faint from shock!  It was kind of like his birthday present to me.  I actually loved when he did that because he had the faintest scar on the right corner of his upper lip.  I found it so sexy.  The rest of the time, the mustache was there to stay.

As I leaned across him, removing more, I knew he was right.  The mustache was getting in the way now.  Especially since he had to wear a cannula for his Oxygen. 

We both knew we would never see him again with that mustache and we also knew that from here on -I would be the one to shave him. 

"Well, Honey, I never really meant all that and now I wish we could keep it." 

While making the last stroke, 

revealing that little scar I liked so much.

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On Memorial Day, my Husband and I would take the long road out to the town's cemetery and place flowers on his Father's grave.  Somehow, over the years, we made a date of it.  We didn't just buy flowers.  We held hands and entered the store, and purchased soil, a living plant and a perfect planter; in which these flowers would live.  Then, on different times, I had the fortunate (depending on how you looked at it) honor of placing the arrangement under my coat, while holding on to my Hubby's waist as we took the '72 Harley Sportster out, as our primary mode of transportation.  I loved placing flowers on his Dad's grave. 

Sometimes, when the weather wasn't quite right (or later in my marriage -when I knew better) we took the pick-up.  The year, 2010 was like that.  We took the pick-up truck. 

Afterwards, he said to me as he did every year, "Do you want to go for a little ride?"

I nodded, yes, and always welcomed this moment. 

It was time we would drive around and look at old, country-farm houses and play the game, would you live there?  "Yes!  I would live there." 

The fields just turning to a beautiful green....

In the same year about 5 months later, my husband was diagnosed with his illness.  But at that time we just talked in the car without a care in the world about things that sometimes, couples do... 

"I would not want to be buried.  Would you?"  

"No",  He said, "I want to be cremated."  

So, it went on from there.  Discussing all of the things that we so wished.  Not in a very practical manner.  I remember him saying that he wanted his ashes spread everywhere.  He was a truck driver and knew how he felt, keep in mind...

I had to narrow it down.  "What do you mean, everywhere?"

But, still, he had a wide range of area from Texas to Hershey, PA. 

I remember kidding him and saying, "Thanks a lot.  You sure don't want to make that easy on me..."

and he said, "Nawwwwww.  Just sprinkle me off of any, old bridge".    

I can't help but remember that.  Who would have known that within Fall of the same year he would be diagnosed with a terminal illness?  Also, I think about why couldn't he have simpler plans, like myself.  Just sprinkle me into the water off of the Santa Cruz Pier?

Falling Backwards

The other night I had a dream about being in my Husband's truck.  This was one of my most favorite places to be.  He was a long-haul truck driver and together we have had many adventures on the road.  I have always loved the promise of beginning a new trip and everything that the road ahead held for us.

In my dream, I was in the driver's seat behind the wheel. 

(I reality, I never drove his truck, as I simply would not have a clue how to do so.)

 I am backing the truck into a parking spot, when, in my dream I suddenly had a feeling of falling.  From a distance, I could see myself in the truck and it is precariously perched on the tiniest tip of a very tall and steep mountain.  The whole trailer of the truck is hanging off of the mountain.  I am in the truck and trying with all my might to keep the truck on the top of that hill.  But, gravity gives way and soon the truck and I are falling backwards. 

The next thing I know, my son and I step out of the truck into a sunny and sandy location.  It is a little town.  We step into a house which is simple, bright and clean.  It is pretty there. 

I, then, looked at my son and said, "This isn't so bad.  Let's make the best of it."

That is all I remember of my dream.  I wonder if it is subconsciously how I feel after losing my husband to Pulmonary Fibrosis.  Trying to hold on and work so hard to save the things that my Hubby and I built together.  Our house, family, dreams.  Sometimes feeling as though no matter how hard I work for these things, there is a sense of falling backwards.  I also wonder what would happen if I just let that occur.  Would I find myself in a spot that I would say,
"This isn't so bad.  Let's make the best of it?"

I Love You

My husband was a very romantic person. 

As I mentioned in Roses Are Red , the first year we dated, he literally, sent me a dozen red roses - every week.  Who does that?  

My hubby did. 

Do you know what is interesting? 

I refused to tell him, "I love you." 

For long into our relationship, I just apologized because I had to be sure before I said it. 

I told him that when I do say those words, it is a promise from my heart. 

That was true. 

After about six-months of dating, 

When, I really noticed the beautiful laugh-lines around his eyes,

I knew I was done for...

I did say those words to him.

 "I Love You."

You know what?

I meant it.

I have been having an especially difficult time with the idea that, in this lifetime, I will not see my husband again.  I am not angry at him (yet) or at a Higher Power (yet) for this fact. After all, it is not my husband's fault that Pulmonary Fibrosis has taken his life. 

Lord knows, my hubby did all within his means to stay here -with us.  A higher power must have some kind of plans for my husband's spirit, that is of greater importance to my, little-own, needs.  So, I do not waste energy on this. 

 I do spend a lot of energy thinking about all of the moments that he and I shared together.  I guess that is where I am at.  Sometimes, I feel like I am watching a black-and-white, homemade film of our life together, in my mind.  I wonder, where does this leave me?  Now, where I stand, what am I supposed to move forward with? 

Today is such an overcast day, not a glimpse of sunshine to be seen. 

Here, it is evening and the walls of my kitchen glow a bright salmon color, and is when I realize that the Sun is peaking out. 

 Just long enough to say, "Goodnight!" 

Rushing to the window, I make sure that am a witness of this. 

Then, sure enough the Sun is going down. 

Within the process of watching it recess, I think to myself, "My life with my hubby is exactly like this."

  How absurd it is of me to beg the sunset not to come to its fruition. 

What Time Will You Be Home?

I remember, shortly after my husband was diagnosed with Pulmonary Fibrosis he said to me,

"I have an idea.  Let's just go along with our lives as we always have and pretend that this (diagnosis) never happened." 

"That's fine in theory."  I said.  

"I wouldn't mind trying that, although how long do you think that will work?" 

We then had a long discussion about the pros and cons of denial.  As though denial is something we could "decide" to do.  Which is kind of ironic considering the discussion alone meant we were accepting what has occurred.  Throughout his illness, we both experienced different levels of denial.  Within the months that followed, he would toss and turn in his sleep and the next day, I would ask him if he remembered what his dreams were about. 

"I was dreaming about being on the truck."  Or, "I was at work."  Was his usual response. 

Months later, when he was unable to walk or leave his bed -it was my turn.  At night, I always dreamt about he and I holding hands and walking.  The dreams were so strong that when awaking, I would have to stifle my sobs, so that he would not hear them.

Even up to the few days prior to his passing I lived in a world of denial, while he, on the other hand, seemed to have come to a strange level of acceptance. 

He would say to me, "When I am gone, please take care of yourself.  Do not just settle for someone new.  You deserve the best." 

Meanwhile, I would say to him, "You can't die just yet, we haven't taken care of such and such...." 

I did not do the proper thing that most caregivers should do, giving him permission to go. 

I never did grant that to him.  It was a very selfish thing on my part and I knew it, but I just couldn't tell him it was okay to leave me.

The whole time I took care of his everyday needs and with my own two-eyes saw his strength leaving him.  We even discussed his wishes for after he was gone.  In advance, I went through the proper channels of arranging all of these things, just as though I was scratching off a list in my day planner.  Yet, I was in denial that there would ever be a time when he would physically leave me. 

My hubby died in my arms and I literally saw the light leave his eyes. 

But, I was surprised.  It took me off-guard.  Now, I wander around the house looking for him. 

I rush up the stairs to tell him about my day. 

I turn corners and expect to see him. 

I call his cell phone to ask, "What time will you be home?"

Thanks For The Ice Cream, Babe!

Naturally, after my husband passed on, my mind and heart has been filled with many emotions.  I walked around the house completely lost.   The strongest sense of desire to hear from him, to know that he was okay, filled my every being.  I did things (and still do) like talking to him as though he was in the same room with me.  After my morning showers, I write him little messages on his side of the misted bathroom mirror such as, "Where are you?" or "Are you okay?" and of course "I love you". 

One difficult night, I finally fell asleep and dreamt about him.  We were walking through some kind of airport together.  My hubby, myself and my youngest son.  My hubby was beautiful.  Blonde hair glowing and he had a slight smile on his face.  While we were walking, I was was talking to him in a very animated manner. 

What do you think I was saying to him? 

How much love him? 

Nope.

 I was riding him.  Completely yelling at him. 

I recall my exact words to him, "We used to do so many things!  We never do anything together anymore!"  Then, I mentioned his laugh.  "I don't even hear you laugh anymore!"  

The whole time I'm going on and on, as though we were having some form of a marital spat and he is just walking along with that little smile on his face not saying a word.  Next thing I know, the three of us head out of the airport through double doors.  Then we were outside, in a really cute, quaint, little town.  I felt my mood change and I thought to myself, "Let it go.  Stop being mad, it's not too late to enjoy the day together." 

I said to my husband and son, "Let's get ice cream."

Now, we are suddenly at an ice-cream shop looking at a huge variety of flavors.  We each chose a flavor, although I do not remember what kind.  Then we strolled along the wooden walkways of this cute little town.  Trees lined the walkway and there were storefronts with old fashioned awnings.  People were mingling around and the three of us just happily walked along, licking our cones.  

Then I woke up.

The dream was so vivid in my mind and it left me with a sense of being content. 

I felt grateful that we spent family time together, although I wished I would have said more wonderful things to him, instead of yelling at him.  That part, I wish I could have changed.  Nevertheless, the feeling of the dream stayed with me and after that morning's shower, I wrote on the misty mirror,

"Thanks for the ice cream, Babe!" 

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