-Ray of Light Through Worn Wood - continued

One day, I had a chance to connect with a part of me that I had not seen in a while.  My younger sister, the only relative who lived in the same state as myself, offered to watch the kids over the weekend.  I jumped at the chance.  Soon it would be time to drop the children off at her apartment in the Avenue's, a historical and lovely area located in downtown, Salt Lake City.  I was still packing for my little jaunt into the mountains.  The 1987 Bronco, had the back seats pulled down to accommodate for everything I would need.  Which wasn't much, I was a light packer when it came to camping.  Also, I needed to save room for my fly-rod, float-tube, and waders.  So, besides a sleeping bag, I mentally went down my checklist. 

It was only an overnight trip, so I decided to bring a pair of black sweats to go beneath my waders, in addition to what I was currently wearing.  Faded blue-jeans, black socks with white tennies, black tank beneath a white T-shirt and a grey sweater tied around my waist.  My auburn hair, in a pony tail and tucked into a black baseball hat, and not a stitch of make-up on my face, was fine for me.  I'm not going to a fashion show.  If I were lucky enough, I wouldn't see another soul the whole time. 

I packed my cooler with a few simple items.  A gallon of frozen milk.  I always used this technique to help keep other items in the cooler cold.  In the morning, I could always drink the part that thawed, eaten with a package of Hostess powdered sugar donuts.  I threw in a couple limes.  They were going to be perfect to squeeze on the Rainbow Trout I was going to catch for dinner tonight.  Sweet Corn in their husk.  Tonight, I will throw them on the fire coals for dinner as well.  That reminded me.  A Duraflame log.  I consider this a luxury.  I would gather wood and make a pyramid of it in my fire pit, all on top of a chipped piece of Duraflame for easy starting.  Back in the day, when I used to camp a lot, the whole log of Duraflame would last me nearly two seasons as a fire starter.  Oh, and of course, a gallon of drinking water. 

I then, threw a red frisbee in the back of the old Bronco for my dog, Jade.  She will use this as her dog dish and share all of my food and water.  At the time, I had read that if you feed your dog from a frisbee it teaches them easier to catch the frizbee in play.  My dog, Jade, a Black-Lab and Blue-Healer mix, never did catch on to the frizbee game, so I'm not sure how well that technique actually works.  But, she was a hell of a companion, up there in the mountains.  I thought this as she stood there, big grin on her face and tail wagging....

****

photo via

Chapter One -Ray of Light Through Worn Wood -

**** The passing of my husband due to Pulmonary Fibrosis has left me walking around this Earth with what feels like a heavy weight, to the very core of my being.  Since he has been gone, I still smile, I still dream, I still appreciate the small wonders that unfold within each day, but all while always aware of the weight in the center of my chest.  It is hard to describe, even for myself.  After much thought, I believe it consists of many memories of 'us' that pile on top of one another like a heavy quilt, rich in colors and fabric.  The quilt is so heavy because I carry it alone and I am not used to this, as this beautiful quilt of memories was something that he and I carried together.  ****

-Ray of Light Through Worn Wood-

From the day I handed Rick a slice of cake at my neighbor's birthday party, I hadn't thought about him at all.  I never correlated that this person would be someone who impacted my life.  I had plenty to worry about on my own.  Two small children, 7 and nearly 2, that I loved dearly.  The children's father and I split, over a year ago.  The statistics on marriages that survive a child born with a serious illness are never very good, and ours ended in divorce.  My youngest child was born with a heart problem that was serious enough that I was given the option to terminate the pregnancy when it was discovered by medical professionals.  But, I couldn't do it.  So, two open heart surgeries later, here we all were, the children and I. 

I lived in a house that looked similar to all the other houses on my street.   I picked this house, not for the house itself, but for the grand, mature trees that lined our street.  I loved driving up that street and feeling as though I was under a canopy.  My ex felt as though he needed to find himself and lived in a modern apartment across town.  At the time, he was just trying to save himself from whatever weighed down his spirit and as a result not much thought had gone into what type of support would be given to the children or myself.  I was struggling to get by.  None of the day cares would take my youngest, who at the time was on oxygen to help open his pulmonary arteries.  The children's prior Christmas, consisted of used books and stuffed animals from the local thrift store and of course an orange.  Strangely, they remember that Christmas to this day. 

Time had passed and every day a new problem arose with the house.  My neighbor used to make fun of me for hammering in wayward nails with a rock that I found in the garden.  What was I supposed to do?  The children's father never had a tool box and now it was up to me to get this nail into the wood.  Every night, I cooked the most amazing meals, things I remember my grandmother cooking when I was a child.  Of basics that could be found in even the most sparse cupboards.  I also planted my first garden.  I had always wanted one and thought that I needed help to do it.  But, I found that it was something I could do on my own.  We always had plenty of carrots, tomatoes, cabbage, and mint.  In the evenings, I sat on my porch, which stared into another neighbors back yard- divided by a chain link fence.  I sipped mint tea and gazed at the sunset with the sound of my, and the neighborhood children, playing in the yard and thought, this was about as perfect as life could get...

****

Take care of all your memories. For you cannot relive them.

-Bob Dylan

Still Crazy After All These Years

Have you ever entertained the idea of just going nuts?

I've often felt so overwhelmed that I thought about "Just Losing It".  So, sometimes I fantasize on the luxuriousness of the idea.... Hmmmm.  Maybe the first thing I would do is just put on some deep-red lipstick, all crooked and stuff.  But, no, that's not going to work, I only wear pastel lip gloss and if I have to go to the store to buy my supplies of lipstick -then forget about it.

Then, I thought, well... I could run down my street, naked.  First, I have to wonder, where would my running destination be?  Also, I really need to do some crunches before this escapade.  Too much work. 

I do talk to myself, in first person, though.  Yes, I answer myself, but that is good, too.  Sometimes, I am my own best friend.  So, that doesn't count. 

How else shall I go just, absolutely, nuts?

I thought about developing a twitch in both my left-side shoulder and eye.  That would be a fun one.  Especially on public transportation, or at Wal-Mart.  But, it takes a whole bunch of physical effort to do so all day, which seems extremely difficult and taxing on the body.

I figure, If I have to plan my crazy-ness, then it's not meant to be.  At least, not at the moment.  It should be something I don't have to think about or even realize is occurring, right? 

So, I rebel.  Big time!  I stay up way later than one should on a work night. Sometimes, I garden without gloves... that's right!  I really get in there with the dirt and my fingernails. 

For the most part, I tell all of you my real feelings...Now, is that nuts or what?

How do you really let it loose?

photo via

Reconciling the Two of You

"You know, a year is a long time to be sick" a person once told me in regard to my husband.

I really didn't think it was.  To be terminally ill within a period of a year, seemed like a pretty fast course of events in my eyes.  After all, it is not as though my husband was immediately incapacitated the moment he was diagnosed with Pulmonary Fibrosis.  As a matter of fact, he only went into the doctor's office thinking he had developed allergies...

The illness occurred in stages, as well as his acceptance of what was happening.  He had always been a very active man.  He took care of everything.  To everyone who knew him, and even to himself, he was strong.  I can tell you, I have never felt so safe and secure with anyone else.  Being that he was a bit of a traditional person, this worked out nicely.  He was my protector.  His physical strength led to the belief that he was emotionally the same way.  Dependable and strong.  Which was true as well.  At least, he worked very hard to be so.  I think he tried to give me the best of himself. 

These things do not immediately change when diagnosed with a disease.  The disease itself did not truly begin to reveal itself until a good six-months later.  That was when everything he did began to take a great deal of effort.  He was gallant in his will to hold onto his strength.  But, in stages and degrees, his strength began to slip away from him.  Within each degree, he suffered greatly emotionally.  It was so hard for him to believe that this was happening.  It was hard for me to believe it, too.

By October, I knew he had become a different person than he was before.  He needed me.  He always had needed me, although now he needed me to help him through the rest of his life.  I took a leave from work.  I didn't want to do this because it meant he would not have much more time, and how could I possibly accept this?  The logical side of me knew it was time, but my heart denied it all the way.  All the way up until the day he passed away, in December.  

Now, when my heart and mind goes to him, I think about all the things we did in our years together.  We are active.  Moving.  Always moving.  Now and then, my mind and heart jumps to the other spectrum -his last days.  All the things I blocked out as they were happening, come back so fresh it fills my eyes with tears.  Him, carried into the bathtub for his last bath.  The few steps he was able to take before resigning himself to bed, for good.   

I know this is hard to hear.  Especially if you are reading this and have Pulmonary Fibrosis.  The interesting thing is that it affects each person differently and many have found ways to live a flourishing life and go much further than my hubby and I did.  This is hard for me to say, too.  But, I have to be honest to my experience.  What I am currently struggling with, is how this disease could have changed my husband so quickly?  I was there with him, but still can't seem to believe what has happened.  My heart can't seem to reconcile the vast differences in memories I have about one person.

Since You Have Been Gone (6-months)

Dear Babe,

I can't believe that is has been six months since you passed away from Pulmonary Fibrosis.  Honestly, I can't believe that I have survived this long without you.  I constantly miss your touch, laughter, comfort.  I look for you in all things and everywhere I go.  Sometimes, I think I see you in a bird in the garden, a sunset, or the way the light dances across water.  Sometimes, I think I feel you in a warm breeze, or a caress across my hair.  Sometimes, I think I hear you in words that other people speak, in music and in silence. 

I still write to you every morning.  Small messages, or questions that you only know of.  I look for your response throughout the day.  

You always apologized for your perception of me taking care of you while you were sick.  I always told you that this was the easy part, the hard part was going to be living without you.  Everyday there is so much difficulties, trials, yet beauty.  Life is bittersweet.  For moments of loveliness, I wonder why you can't be here.  In moments of hardship, I wonder why you can't be here.  Life, for me was so much easier with you here.  You provided the humor and comfort that only a husband can do.  Memories that only we can share. 

Everyday, I look outside the window and think about all of the things that you have given me.  Your efforts, of course, so much more apparent after you are gone.  You really did try to change my life by simplifying it.  By taking me to a place where nature is supreme and it's beauty is within the land and water.  You knew this is what my soul needed and you worked very hard to give that to me. 

You took me everywhere, so that I may see all of our beautiful country.  Showing the the promise that all places contain.  Of the mystical, rural, isolated, busy, or wondrous places that we have been, you also showed me that the most blessed place is the place we called -home.  I miss sharing that with you.

You probably already know this, but with everything I set out to do, I think of you.  I wonder if I am doing things the right way.  You always did such a good job at anything you set your mind to and you always finished everything you started.  Since you have been gone, our oldest graduated high-school.  The youngest has been such a help as we navigate through our grief together.  He sure misses you!  Oh, I finished the dock.  I know you really wanted to get that done.  I still planted the garden.  As for the river-bank, I have made the choice to let it grow wild, but we still have the path down to the Willow.  I guess, you can see that I am just trying my best.

I haven't felt you as frequently as when you first passed away.  Sometimes, I wonder if that is because my perception is changing or if  you truly are not here as often.  I think it might be a combination of both.  The other night, before sleep, I was wondering this and realized, that in life, you spend so much of it traveling because you enjoyed the sights and experiences, so why should that be any different for you on the other-side?  But, please do not forget to check in, because I will always need you. 

I love you with all my heart!

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?"