Leaning Over the Edge of the Abyss

Three hundred twenty one days into this, and I realized that I am no longer afraid of falling.  The fears I once had have left me.

I spend a lot of time trying to decide what I should do next.  I never had to think about how I spend my time with him.

Living Without

Normal: conforming to a standard; usual, typical, or expected

Around here, life is normal.  In fact, everything seems normal for minutes at a time.  This is what I expect.  This is typical and expected now.  There are days that I don't cry. There are days I do nothing but cry. Most of the time I am totally lost. 

He left us February 7.  Oh my God!  

Letter to Our Children

May 10, 2012 

Dear Children of Ours,        

            Thank you for being.  I don’t know how I would have made it through the past few months without you.  Each of you has brought more than a little sunlight into my otherwise dark world.

            I can’t imagine how you must be feeling because my daddy was not exactly a hands-on parent.  I loved and respected him, but I never really knew too much about him.  He was aloof, to say the least.  Mom raised us.  Daddy was more for show.  When Lesli was born, he became a simply spectacular papaw.  So, although it broke my heart when he died, it was nothing like what you are facing now.

            To the best of my knowledge, our family is the best!  I don’t know anyone else who has faced the same challenges we have faced, but I do know of other families who have scattered over less.  You are full of your dad, and I am humbled by your ability to get along even in times of stress.

            Chuck and I never imagined you would turn out so well.  Naturally, because you can’t see the end when you are standing at the beginning.  Each of you has brought special challenges and faced unique difficulties.  You are all successful, shining examples of what Love and persistence can do for a self-absorbed little human.

            Lesli, You were totally crushed when we didn’t take you with us on our “Honeymoon”.  I don’t know why I wasn’t smart enough to anticipate that, but I was caught completely by surprise.  You forgave us quickly, and then spent the next couple of years learning how to manipulate your Mamaw and Papaw into telling your Daddy that he shouldn’t try to get you to go to bed at night.  Remember all those trips from Memphis to Knoxville when you knew our house rules were thrown out the window somewhere over the Cumberland Plateau on I-40 East?  It was tough every time we headed west back to Memphis, but you survived.  In fact, many of the skills you have today began to flourish when you left the “Lesli World” in Knoxville to live in “Jim & Ann World”.  Not every lesson was pleasant, nor did they all help.  You and I learned many of them simultaneously. 

            J, You were -5 months old when your Daddy packed, loaded, and drove the truck to bring us to Memphis.  I was not what anyone had hoped for Chuck to marry.  As if it wasn’t bad enough for him to married a divorced single mom.  He met me in a bar, and I was a Democrat!  I was a product of public school, & neither of my parents had graduated from college or high school for that matter.  I’m aware that the Chambers’s family and friends had hoped that I was a wild fling.  They seemed sure that Chuck’s love for me was not real, and our marriage would not last.

            Lesli, J, and I traveled to Knoxville at least twice a month for a couple of years.  It made no difference to me what anyone thought of my blatant disregard for what society saw as my failure to keep house.  Daddy worked three jobs, so we hit the road.  Even though my mom and dad were not happy that we were so far away, they became incredibly supportive.  I kept waiting for your dad to see the light and take us all home.  That didn’t happen.

            Chris, you were -5 months old when your Daddy packed, loaded, and drove several trucks to Beaverlodge.  It was a small house, all ours, and I loved it!  Our trips to Knoxville gradually spread to about one a month.  Our living expenses had increased so I began to keep more than just Matt.  Our groceries, gas, and entertainment were all paid for with babysitting money.

            The three of you were our purpose!  God was on the throne in our lives and you were arrows in the hands of a warrior.  Our quiver was full.  Daddy and I covered all of you every day in prayer.  We were in Church every time the doors were open.  Both of us were students at the University of Memphis, or Southwest yet we rarely failed to eat dinner as a family around the table in our dining room.   The food was what we could afford, cooked to the best of my ability 5 nights out of 7.  I remember lots of chicken, rice, and broccoli.  Saturday night was mostly homemade pizza night. After I accepted a mystery shopper offer once a month we enjoyed Dominoes delivery.  Sunday meals were a combination of leftovers, either from our kitchen or Ann’s. 

            I was not at all happy when it became obvious that Chambers & Chambers Construction Company would not be enough to support us.  We needed to get out from under our house note.  Ann & Jimmy had bought the property on Cotton Plant, and there was a rent free house available.  I had already lived in the backyard of my in-laws and knew that it would probably not be a bed of roses.  Ann & Jimmy had decided that I was a good enough wife and mom, but we were still not bosom buddies.  Daddy and I had learned better communication skills, so we decided to give it a chance. 

            I wasn’t pregnant for this move, but I wasn’t all that enthusiastic either.  I helped, but again, Chuck did most of the work.  We continued the course.  You three children were our most important job.  Whenever we were together, you were our topic of conversation.  Every decision we made involved what was best for you.  We stood together at your bedroom doors and prayed every night.  We asked for God’s wisdom to raise you according to his purpose.  We went to marriage and parenting Sunday school classes, listened to Christian radio, and spent time learning from others who had successfully raised Christian men and women.  We graduated from college, but never stopped being students.

            Our lives were good.  We lived, loved and laughed every day.  We continued to share meals at the table and worked together at everything.  You grew.  You grew and grew and grew. 

            I became a teacher, Lesli became a wife and mother, and J and Chris became high school & Junior High School students.  We had to leave our Cotton Plant house.  I don’t know how long Honey knew the move was inevitable, he never told me.  I learned in October on a Monday, that we would need to move Saturday.  I was crushed.  Once again, daddy packed, loaded, and moved us.  He also began to build this house.  April 1, 2000 we moved in here.  Phil hired your dad, and for the first time ever, we knew every 2 weeks he would receive a check.  We didn’t make enough to live here, but at least his pay didn’t depend on whether or not a house sold. 

            August 2000, J entered the 10^th grade Chris began the 9^th grade, and I went back to Shelby County Schools to work with Mrs. Spencer.  Our evening meals became less frequent, and our finances tighter.  I had no clue that we had not qualified for a home loan.  Jimmy used a Quit Claim to transfer the loan out of Chambers & Chambers Construction Company to us.  Our house note took all of my income and part of Chuck’s.  We lived on credit. Our love grew.  We began to think that we had done a good job raising three children.  Each of you was involved in rich relationships through church and school.  Lesli was a phenomenal wife and mother.

            We witnessed some of our friends’ children make tragic choices, Matthew B. became an addict, & got arrested a few times, Annie called the police on her dad, but you three were making pretty good choices. 

            Fall, 2003 we headed into the storms.  Jimmy was diagnosed with lung cancer, Phillip was murdered, Jimmy died, Lesli divorced.  I questioned God.  We grew closer as a family and closed in ranks.  Your daddy grieved deeply the loss of Phillip and his own daddy, but he reassured me daily of his undying love and commitment to us. 

            It has been almost 9 years since our world flipped on its axis.  Daddy and I continued to stand amazed at who each of you became.  You were adults, and we were proud!  If we had known how well you were going to turn out, we would have been arrogant jerks. 

            There was never a time that we believed we could raise you alone.  Apart, neither of us had what we needed.  Together, we were the best blend of parenting bathed in prayer.  Decisions, big and small were thoroughly discussed.  Our pride in you as you ventured out into the world was huge. 

            When you were growing up, there were times that one of us would be losing our cool, but the other knew just the right thing to say or do to solve the problem. 

            Daddy talked about moving you all out so he could walk around naked, but he loved being involved in all the details of your lives.  When you lived away.  He worried and fretted over you just like I did. 

            I don’t know how many things he told you in confidence, but I do know that not everything was exactly true.  Your dad had a tendency to embellish.  He rewrote many stories to suit his purposes.  Every time I heard of a “don’t mention this to your mom” I went crazy.  I have never believed family secrets were a good thing.  I finally came to simply accept them as something he needed.  

            So, here we are.  Life has taken us on roads we never wanted to travel at breakneck speed.  How could heartburn kill our Hero?  What is up with that?  It doesn’t make sense that a man dedicated to loving God and his family, a man who worked so hard for anyone who needed help, a man who shared everything he owned died so young. 

            I ask you, each of you, to continue to honor your daddy.  Please ask yourself every day, how can I live today in a way that would make him smile, and say, “That’s my child.”  Whether you realized it or not, every day, he lived his life in a way that would be an example for you.  Every day, you were his purpose.  I was the love of his life, but you were his legacy.

            I will love you forever. I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living my babies you’ll be.

Heartless

Today marks Day 111 of life without heart.  He was my heart.

Grief is NOT Linear

Honey,
I've been talking to you constantly, but I have yet to hear one word from you. That makes me sad.  Please find a way.  I miss you so much.  I'm trying to learn how to live, but it's hit or miss.
I had no idea how hard it is to be the "surviving spouse".  It requires more than I ever thought possible.
OH, that whole thing about stages of grief is a riot!  Not funny, like: Ha! Ha! funny, more like: funny insanity funny.

The Kübler-Ross model, commonly known as The Five Stages of Grief
 http://tiny.cc/fuxldw

The short version is DABDA which stands for denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.  I vaguely remember watching a movie about a comedian who did a stand up comedy about those stages of grief.  Yup, with my off-color sense of humor, I could probably create a comedy routine, too.  I just don't think anyone would laugh.  

What I have realized is a show stopper.  Grief is not linear.  

I think I have always understood that, but not REALLY KNOWN IT.  Now, I get it.  I REALLY KNOW IT!  I live it.  Every day, I manage to live every stage several times.  They aren't in any particular order.  There is no timer. Linear would be nice.  Beginning at Anger then ending at Acceptance seems like a map.  You get to acceptance by following the directions.  Ha!  Double HA! HA!  

Now, I know with every fiber of my being that the journey through life has no path. 

"I will love you forever. I'll like you for always. As long as I'm living, my Honey you'll be."

Love,
Babe

Taking it Hard

Is there a gauge that measures how difficult life is now?  Where is the scoreboard for projecting the level of how hard it is to continue living after losing my hero.  What does it mean when someone says it looks like my son and I are taking "it" harder than my two other children?  What can anyone see that can compare the depth of pain in four different people?  Is there a rubric for that?
Maybe I missed the pbs special.

Tragedy and Trivia

After experiencing some truly tough tragedies, Honey and I realized that to have enough emotional energy to waste on little things meant our life was pretty good.
Tragedy puts trivial in perspective.
Here's our scale:
If it can be fixed, replaced, delayed, rushed, changed, ignored, solved, or discarded it is not a big deal.
Anytime we found ourselves fretting about how much it was going to cost or how long it would take, or how hard the work would be to fix something, we chalked it up to the minor details column.  If it can be fixed, it is going to be okay.  Quit whining and deal with it.
The Big Deals are obvious.  Everything else is dryer lint.  Just rub your finger along the screen to collect it.  Roll it up and toss it in the trash.

Freedom

Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.

Survive

As soon as I saw my Honey's blank eyes, I have been frantically repeating thoughts.  One of the ALL CAPS questions has been forever been coupled with the most horrible realization ever.
"He's gone.  I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT HIM! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?"
Without ending, this has drummed in my head all the time for 69 days.
"He's gone.  I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT HIM! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?"
I've screamed them. I've whispered them. I've spoken them out loud to almost everyone I know.  More than that, however, I have heard them.
"He's gone.  I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT HIM! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?"
They are like the bass that gives a song it's power.  Underscoring every waking moment and many of my sleeping moment I walk, sit, stand, drive, eat, shower, cry, and laugh to the rhythm of:
"He's gone.  I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT HIM! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?"
Tuesday, while reading Hatchet  with my class I realized the answer.
I'm going to survive.
I still breathe to the tune of the truth.
"He's gone.  I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT HIM! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?"


"I'm going to survive."

The list of huge gaping holes Honey left behind continues to grow and gape.


"I'm going to survive."

Firsts

April 8, 2012

Easter Sunday

            Every first brings its own set of issues.  The first morning after Honey died was the first time I realized that I was waking to a worse nightmare than any I could experience while sleeping. My precious son, J sat in my room waiting for me to awaken.  He knew it would be terrible and wanted to be there for me. 

            The first time I had any real important decisions to make without him was at Memorial Park.  Lesli, J, Chris, and Carol went with me.  Every time the man would ask me a question we (family and I) had not discussed, I asked them.  Together, we made the necessary decisions.  Together, we stand strong.

            My first Valentines’ Day was bittersweet.  Lesli and her dad had already planned my gift. Lesli had bought an Infinity necklace while shopping for Chuck’s present for me for Christmas. After she explained to him what it represented, he wanted to save it for Valentines’ Day.  February 13, Lesli explained its history and her struggle.  She had decided that it might be best to give me plenty of time to cry and still be able to wear it to school the following day.  Oh, Honey, I will love you forever.

            Spring Break brought many painful firsts.  It was the first time I would have a holiday without my darling husband, and it was the week of his first not living birthday.   

            Saturday morning, we had planned a first family outing.  It was a trip to the shooting range.  Because he is gone, I no longer feel safe.  He was my security, and now he is gone.  I feel the need to reapply for a handgun carry permit, but it has been a while since I have handled a weapon. Before signing up for the class, I want to refresh my memory of how to use a gun.  Chris bought ammunition (several kinds for several hand guns).  We all got in the cars and traveled across town for about 30 minutes to the Range.  We went inside, signed up, and began our 20-minute wait.  It took me about 3 minutes to begin crying.  Before long (5 minutes) it was obvious that I was in ‘buckets of tears’ mode.  All three of my precious children assured me that they wanted to go home.  We had done all of that for me to cry and go home.  I love my kids.

            Later that same day I drove to Kroger for milk.  I sat in the car and cried for half an hour before surrendering to the obvious.  I wouldn’t be walking into the store that day.

            Sunday brought me one day closer to Honey’s birthday.  It is the day I would have made sure his birthday would be happy.  He liked country ham and rolls, hot (not mild) sausage, and cheese omelets.  I would have teased him constantly about what he wanted to do that day.  I would have made sure that everyone knew his birthday was Monday so that everyone who wanted to call would remember.

            Monday, March 12 would have been Chuck’s 53^rd birthday.  I expected to be sad, but I wasn’t prepared for angry. I read some really stupid words. His Facebook page became a source of rage for me. I spoke my mind to several people and unfriended more than I know.  I also decided that it was time to share my feelings.  I published a blog with the 25/26/27 things that shouldn’t be said along with my response to the 25/26/27 things that shouldn’t be said. 

            By Tuesday, I was aching to return to school.  I got busy on the yearbook and watched some really different shows on the television.

            Today is the first Easter without my Honey.  I have no joy. Instead of celebrating the Resurrection of Jesus as our Savior, I question the existence of God.  Gone is my deep faith and belief in a loving God.  In its place I have doubt, anger, and disbelief that seems to grow with every first. 

Tears

Sometimes it begins as a whimper. 

I feel it in my throat, and I’m always surprised when I hear myself before I realize I’m crying.

Sometimes the thought precedes the tears.  That is usually when I scream! 

Sometimes I’m talking and my voice becomes shaky. 

The words get trapped in the tears, and if I keep talking, I’m going to keep crying.
Sometimes my nose begins to sting first. Then I get a lump in my throat, and when I cry it hurts.

Sometimes I can stop within just a few minutes. 

Sometimes I yell, and scream until I am exhausted. 

Sometimes I sob for a long time.

Sometimes my tears are like a reverse rainbow.   

I see a happy picture of a time full of promise, and I cry because we loved.

“There is a sacredness in tears. . . .They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief...and unspeakable love.”

Washington Irving

My Response to the 25 26 27 28 29 Things That Don’t Need to be Said Alternate title: “You Shared Your Thoughts Here are Mine”

My Response to the 25 26 27 28 29 Things That Don’t Need to be Said

Alternate title: 

“You Shared Your Thoughts Here are Mine”

I understand that every word was said with the hope that it would help.  Some of them are valid suggestions.  Some of them are an obvious attempt to come alongside me and be my friend.  Some are best printed on a bumper sticker and placed in a demolition derby.  Some come from bumper stickers, and you believe it is your job to repeat them.

My response:

1.     The only place I think would be better is right here with me

2.     You seem to believe you are making a point.  I don’t get it.

3.     Seriously?  So in time a decapitation heals, right?

4.     I will never get over it.  I may learn how to carry it through the rest of my life.

5.     Does that mean what I think it means? I will now begin trying to die.

6.     Holidays in Heaven.  Heaven!  Holidays!  How Funny!

7.     Oxycontin conquers pain.  He was not suffering. I am not glad he is gone.

8.     I didn’t realize I could choose anything other than grief.

9.     As if I have a choice.

10. You do not know how I feel.  That’s ludicrous!

11. I don’t know how I do it, either.

12. So, is it really all about you?

13. He loved me and wanted to take care of me forever.  He did not want to leave.

14. He understood how important he was to me.  He understood sorrow.

15. We all grieve differently.  I would be dishonoring Chuck if I didn’t work.

16. Ha ha ha!  You think?

17. Maybe you should talk to yourself.

18. Again, do you think I have a choice?

19. A better choice might be a “magic wand”

20. Probably not, but thanks for offering.

21. I don’t know.

22. Oh My, I cry many times every day. I didn’t know you were causing it.

23. This is my new normal.

24. She died with her old Chuck.

25. Lost.  Their “HERO didn’t make it.” Now they worry about their mom.

26. Fun? I’m confused. Explain that word to me.
27.  F...You!
28.  Seriously!  This one simply shocks me into an uncharacteristic silence!
28. Ha! Thanks for telling me, I couldn't tell.  

The 25 26 27 28 29 Things That Don’t Need to be Said Alternate title: “Share Your Thoughts Only if You Can Handle the Response”

The 25 26 27 28 29 Things That Don’t Need to be Said

Alternate title: 

“Share Your Thoughts Only if You Can Handle the Response”

This is a collection of things I hope I’ve never said.  If I have said them, I sincerely apologize.  Please forgive me.

*Caution!  Read at your own risk.  These words may be direct quotes from you.

**Seriously, if you have thin skin, maybe you should skip this part!

***For real!  Are you sure you want to continue?

Okay, you were warned.  I will not accept responsibility for your hurt feelings.  I am simply reporting.

1.     “He is in a better place.”

2.     “When Jesus returns, death will be conquered.”

3.     “Time heals all wounds”

4.     “You will get over it.”

5.     “You will be with him again some day.”

6.     “He is having his birthday/Christmas/Easter/insert holiday in Heaven.”

7.     “Aren’t you glad he is not suffering any more?”

8.     “Give yourself permission to grieve.”

9.     “Take all the time you need.”

10. “I know how you feel.”

11. “I don’t know how you do it…”

12. “My (fill in the blank with anything) died, and I …”

13. “He would have wanted you to be happy.”

14. “He wouldn’t have wanted you to be sad.”

15. “If I lost my husband I don’t think I could get out of bed.”

16. “You might be depressed.”

17. “Maybe you should talk to a grief counselor.”

18. “Go ahead and cry.”

19. “Have you asked the doctor for an antidepressant?”

20. “Will you call me if you need anything?”

21. “What are you going to do with (fill in the blank)?”

22. “I am afraid I will make you cry.”

23. “When are you going to get back to normal?”

24. “I miss the old Patti.”

25. “How are the kids?”

26. “You need to get out and have some fun!”
27. "What did you do to cause this death?"
28.  How did he die?  Was he alone? Were you with him? Was he awake?
29. "You're fine now."

Don’t Know What to Say?

Don’t Know What to Say?

To be honest with you, I don’t know what to say.

When I see you and want to speak to you, I usually say the automatic, “Good morning, How are you?”  I know as soon as I’ve uttered those words that politely, you will respond with the same phrase.  That is when I’m at a real loss for words.

Do I tell you the truth?  Daddy raised me to believe that honesty was the ONLY choice.  Mom raised me not to say anything if it isn’t nice.  Chuck taught me that even when you are miserable, you should keep going.  You should take care of business, and whining about your unpleasant situation isn’t going to change anything, so you might as well accept your deal and invest your energy helping someone else. 

I generally tell you, I’m okay. 

When you ask me is there anything you can do for me, I don’t want to dismiss you, but honestly there is nothing that can help me.  I’m lost.  I’m trying to function in this world without the half of me that I loved more than life itself.  The only thing I need is gone.

 I accept the love that came with your offer and tell you I will call you if I need anything.  I won’t.

I know that you don’t know what to say or do.  I’ve been where you are.  I’ve wanted desperately to comfort a friend who is hurting.  I have said many of the same things you have said to me.  I have worried that I would say something that would cause my friend more pain.  Now, I know the truth. Words really can never again hurt me.

So, feel free to talk or not talk.  More than likely, I won’t hear you anyhow. 

The only proper response to hearing the news:  “Oh no! That really sucks!”

Here I Am

Saturday 

March 10, 2012

Here I am.  That is all there is.  Here I am.  I am not the great I Am.  I am simply, here.  More precisely, I think I am here.  Most of the time I am watching Patti to see what she will do or say next.  Will she cry?  Will she speak?  Will she answer questions politely?  Will she get up?  Will she get dressed?  Will she get where she is going on time?  Does she even know where she is supposed to be?  What is she going to do without him? 

Him. Honey. Prince. The Love of My Life. Chuck.

Him.  He was the air that I breathe.  He was life flowing through my heart with every beat.  He was my purpose, my reason, my sanity, my joy, my sweetness.  He gave me courage. He calmed my fears. He was my strength. He kept me sane. He is why I'm not a crazy old cat lady living behind a dumpster.  He empowered me to be able to do anything but he took care of everything so that I did not have to do anything.  He made me laugh and cry.  He joined me when I did either. 

When my world felt like it was perfect in every way, he was on cloud nine with me.  When I though there was no hope and didn't want to live, he comforted me with his presence.  His words never belittled my feelings.  He never told me I shouldn't feel that way.

I try to be who he would want me to be. I try with every breath to appear normal. 

I haven't known normal since July.

True love transcends life and death.

“No”

Patti

When Nurse Badnews walked into the room I noticed how crisply she walked.  As she told me she needed to talk to me about my husband, I thought then shouted, “No!”

Lesli asked, “Is he alive?”

Nurse Badnews answered, “For now.”

Lesli adamantly directed, “I need for you to stop talking and start walking.”

The nurse reluctantly explained to Lesli that she was waiting for me.  Lesli assured her that I would catch up.  Undoubtedly, we had totally different approaches to the trek to CT.  Lesli raced, determined to catch her daddy still alive, lingering, uncertainly between this life and eternity.  I meandered. I studied the tiles on the floor, the paint on the walls, the doors, and even my own fingernails.  I tried desperately to delay the journey into what I knew would be the most horrible situation imaginable. 

Those electronic doors at the end of the CVICU delayed Baby-girl’s race to her daddy.  Nurse Badnews waved, waved, and waved at the thing like it needed to be politely coaxed open.  It was an obstinate gate to the pit of despair.  I passed Nurse Badnews and pushed it unceremoniously open. 

If I must pass, then pass I must.

Lesli sped through with her unwilling leader following.  I sauntered.  Rounding the corner, my eyes were met by hundreds of people.  I saw Lesli slip through the door and heard her pleading with her daddy.  “Daddy, don’t go.  We aren’t ready.”  She screamed frantically.  “Come back!”  “No, You can’t go!”  “Daddy! Wake up!” 

I saw his battered body bouncing on the table before I saw his face.  CPR doesn’t look anything like what we’ve seen on television.  CPR is a violent assault on a body to force blood through a heart that has stopped beating. I saw his purple almost black face, his sightless, open eyes, and the mouth that would never again kiss my face.  I spoke quietly, almost a whisper “Please stop that.”  The athletic blood pumper looked my way but continued to jump up and down on my precious Honey’s chest.  “Stop!”  I spoke louder,  “He didn’t want that.  He is gone.”  The chest beater stopped. 

I think I walked over to the empty body that had claimed the life of my dear husband and gently rubbed his cheek.  I then turned and walked out of the room where my Hero had so recently breathed his last breath.

I looked around for him in the hall. I think I secretly believed I was in a terrible nightmare, and the man of my dreams would be able to comfort me.  Quietly, I walked away.  I stopped only when I heard questions.  I answered them.  With the exception of these three, I do not now know what they asked, or how I responded.   Eventually, however, I heard

“Do you want an autopsy?”

“Do you have any questions for me?”

“Is there someone you would like for us to call?”

My response to all was “No.”

The worst night of my life had begun and ended with “No”.