Tag Archives: Love

18 ……

…… is the number this year.
Eighteen.

It’s a large-ish number.
A child born on the same day Jim died is now getting ready to go to college.
That puts it in a clearer perspective.

But 18, like 17, is so much better than 10.
Or 5. Or 12.
Or the worst of them all, 2.

This day used to have so much power.
It used to bring me to my knees.
Not so much the day itself but the days leading up to it, starting with Thanksgiving.
That used to be the start of my “death march”.
(For those not in this club, the death march refers to the days surrounding the death date. Maybe it started with a diagnosis, or an “I’m sorry” from a doctor, or maybe it began with a significant event, like mine. We didn’t spend our last Thanksgiving together because I was exhausted from returning the Sunday before from a mission trip to Kenya. We were supposed to go to my inlaws’ farm for the holiday, but I wasn’t up to it and one daughter couldn’t get off of work so I sent Jim and the boys to his parents’ house for the holiday and the girls and I celebrated at home. I’m so very thankful that I sent him. It would be the last time they were together.)

Sadness and depression used to creep on me at Thanksgiving and then hang around to spend Christmas and New Year’s with me. It was awful.
But I noticed last year that I hadn’t been sad at Thanksgiving. In fact, I hadn’t been sad for a few years.
My death march has faded away.
And that is wonderful.

I don’t look at December 18 in the same way anymore.
Sometimes I see it and don’t associate it with anything at all (like earlier this month).
It’s actually a big day in my extended family because it’s the birthday of my sister, brother and step-dad.
Which means that they’ve had a few very sucky birthdays because of what else it is.
I hope that they’ve started enjoying this day more now.
I have.

Don’t get me wrong.
I still think of Jim every single day.
I miss him every single day.
I wish he were here every single day.
But …… he’s not.
And I can’t live like he might be.

But I can live a life that would make him proud.
I can love my children and grandchildren for both of us.
I can enjoy the time I have with my family and friends and make the most of my time.
I can support the people and causes that I care about, knowing he would be at my side if he could.

But mostly, I can remember him with love and joy.
I can feel peace when I think of him.
I can feel secure in knowing that I had more love in 27 years than many people get in a lifetime.
Of course there will always be moments that bring tears.
But thankfully they are few and far between now.

That’s what 18 years has done.
Thankfully.

The Lack of Touch ……

1 Reply

…… has changed me.

First, you should know that this is not something I sit around thinking about. It’s not something I ponder, obsess over or even mourn.
On a regular basis.

In fact, I hadn’t really thought about it in years.
And then one day recently …… I did.
It was after I went to Texas to stay with my grands for a few days while their parents when out of town.

I need to regress a bit for some backstory.
I came from a pretty affectionate family. We kissed and hugged on the regular. Still do when we see each other.
Jim came from a …… a family with German ancestors. On both sides.
Nuff said.

However, he was very affectionate towards me and the kids. And with my family.
And so it went.
Until almost 18 years ago.
And then, all that affection from him was gone.
In the blink of an eye.
And slowly but ever so surely, the kids’ German DNA started kicking in.
(It had already kicked in before then for a couple of them.)
Kisses were pretty much gone, replaced by hugs.
And I was okay with that because a good hug is usally better than a kiss.

Time went on, as time tends to do.
The kids moved out and on with their lives.
And touch moved out with them.

And now, I have realized that its absence has changed me.
I forget to hug.
I’m usually surprised when a friend opens up their arms to hug.
I totally love it, but I’m surprised.

Funnily enough, my grandkids have helped me to forget to hug.
A few of them are not huggers and thankfully, their parents don’t force them to hug people when they don’t want to.
I’m proud of them for that.
But truthfully, it also makes me sad.
I miss those hugs I never got.

I never expect anyone to hug me.
So on this past trip to Texas, I forgot to hug my daughter until the day after I arrived, when it occurred to me that I hadn’t done it.
It bothered me.
Yes, seeing the grands is exciting and distracting …… but still.

I did it again when they came to visit me here a couple of weeks ago.
When I remembered, I started to ponder.
I have lived alone so long now that I have forgotten to hug.
Or maybe, just maybe, I have made myself forget.

When I really sat with this, I thought that maybe, in order to not miss touch …… I forgot
about it.
I blocked it.
Perhaps I thought that you can’t miss something if you don’t remember it.

But the body is a pretty amazing and complicated thing.
I don’t know what any “professional” would say, but I can say with 100% certainty that any widowed person or parent who’s lost a child will tell you that the body has a remarkable memory.
Even when the mind doesn’t.

So when I sat down and made myself remember …… I was okay.
I can think about the lack of touch and hugs (long, strong hugs, not those awkward side things!) and not feel sad.

Then I remembered what I deeply, deeply miss but forgot …… and the tears came.
Just as they are now as I type these words.
I miss being held.
Being held because I’m sad.
Being held because I’m sobbing.
Being held because I’m angry.
Being held because I’m hurting.
Being held because I’m happy.
And yes, being held because I’m loved.

The lack of touch has changed me.
But it hasn’t changed my body’s memory.

It’s Been a Minute ……

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…… since I’ve posted.
More than a minute.
I guess it’s time (past time) for an update.

Last year I really thought that I was going to leave NY and move to Tulsa.
As I told you.
But then …… there’s no other way to put this …… the election happened.
And I knew that I couldn’t move to a red state.
I’ve lived in one for the majority of my life …… over 50 years …… and I was done.

Last month I went to Tulsa and closed out the apartment. Unfortunately/fortunatley I met several people in my building during this visit that I hadn’t before. They were all lovely people and I would’ve enjoyed getting to know them more …… had things gone differently.

Okay, change of topic.
Here’s a quick family update:
Grandchildren: 7 (5 boys, 2 girls, 10 (11 next month!) to 20 months, all live in Texas.
Oldest child lives in Philadelphia and is doing great.
Youngest child lives here in NYC and is doing great.
The rest live in Texas and are doing great.
I wish I could magically move them here.

I realized that NYC is THE only place I’ve ever lived that makes me excited to get back.
Don’t get me wrong …… I’ve always been happy to get back home, no matter where we lived, because that’s where my family/heart was.
And I was happy to return to them.
I was happy.
And that’s saying something because (I hesitate to tell you this, but I don’t think I’m alone here) …… I have not been the same kind of “happy” for almost 18 years. But that’s a whole ‘nother post.

Whenever I’m traveling, no matter where or for how long, if you see me stare off into the distance, and then smile broadly, it’s most likely because I’m thinking of going back home. Truly, the thought of flying back into the city ALWAYS makes me smile. I always look forward to returning.
I love this city.
I’m at home in this city.
I’m happy in this city.

Eight ……

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…… excruciatingly long years that seemed to have flown by in a heartbeat.
I know that most of you get that.

Eight.
How is it possible?
How is it that Daughter #1 went to, and graduated from, school for her Masters degree?

How is that Daughter #2 worked for a year and then did the same thing?
How is that she’s been a foster mom to the most precious baby boy for over a year now? And she has her own home?

How is it that Daughter #3 has worked in Texas and New York while getting her Masters? How can it be that she’s engaged to be married in less than 3 months?

How is it that Son #1 graduated from high school and college and has a wonderful job and life in Dallas?

How is it that Son #2 survived his teen years, graduated from high school, went to barber school and now lives in Austin where he loves his job and his life?

And how is it that Son #3 made it through middle school, high school and is now in his third year of college at our favorite school, Oklahoma State? How is it that I’ve attended at least three Homecomings there?
At that place where we met.
And fell in love.

How in the hell is it that this all happened without him?

Eight years ago …… this day …… I thought that my life came crashing to an end.
And in a sense, it did.
That life died with Jim, just as part of me died with him.

I have missed that man every second of these past 8 years.
I have cherished our memories, our children and our blessing of being best friends, as well as husband and wife, these past 8 years.
I have loved him with all of my heart these past 8 years.
That won’t stop.
No matter how many years go by.

That doesn’t mean there’s not room in my heart for more love.
Fortunately, hearts grow bigger.
If you don’t believe that you’ve never had more than one child. 🙂

Now eight years later …… here I am …… still alive.
Not only alive, but thriving.
Happy.
Joyful.
Blessed.

The “before me” would never have believed that I would make it this far.
The me that was left behind 8 years ago would never have dreamed this would be my life now. That me didn’t …… no,couldn’t …… see a future for herself at all. She saw nothing but cold, inky darkness.
For what felt like a very long time.

Eight years later, the blackness is gone.
Most of the time.
Every once in a while a rogue wave roars over me, knocking me to my knees.
But not down.
And definitely not out.

In that way, I don’t think I’m so very different from any other human.
In spite of being blessed, there are still times of grief.
There are times when that night eight years ago comes charging into me. And it feels like I’m right back in that hospital room.
Saying goodbye without knowing it was really goodbye.
I hate being back in that room.

Thankfully that doesn’t happen very often.
Mostly just once a year or so.
Usually around this date.
Around this day.

Eight years.
It’s amazing.
And horrible.
All at the same time.

Eight years.
Eight years of bad.
Eight years of good.
Eight years of growing, loving, learning and finding joy again.
Eight years of knowing that God never left my side.
Even during the times I couldn’t feel him.
Probably especially during those times.
Eight years of grief.
Eight years of blessings.

A lot can happen in eight years.
And though I couldn’t even think this 8 years ago ……

I’m looking forward to what the next eight hold.

People Say ……

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…… they won’t forget.
But I think they do.

Not that I blame them.
Because life marches on.
For everyone.
And if you don’t live it every single day …… how can you not forget?

This is the month that the American Heart Association holds their annual Heart Walk. Last year our school district in Texas participated in the walk. They did more than participate …… they formed a team in Jim’s name.
When I received the email asking if I’d be ok with that …… I was speechless.
And touched to the depth of my soul.
Because they remembered.

Jim died of an aortic dissection.
In perfect health one minute …… at death’s door the next.
Four months later, his mother died of complications after having valve replacement surgery.
The American Heart Association is close to my heart …… no pun intended.

This year Team Eggers will walk again.
They still remember.
And it still brings tears to my eyes.

I hate asking people for money.
I’m not very good at it, so I try to do it only two times a year.
Once for this walk …… and once in December around the time of Jim’s death …… for my beloved Soaring Spirits.
The organization that gave me hope and continues to do that for millions (yes, millions) of other widowed people.

So this week I wrote a post on Facebook about the walk, and shared the link of my donation page.
I didn’t make a big deal about it.
I just shared it and asked people to donate.
In memory of Jim.

Maybe I should’ve made a bigger deal.
I don’t think anyone checked out the link.
One person “liked” my post.
And she’s a widowed sister.
She also tries to raise money each year to fight the disease that killed her husband.
There are a lot of us out here.

And there are a lot of causes asking for money.
I get that.
And I get that time marches on.
I also understand how memories fade.
Heck, sometimes I can’t remember what I did last week.

Maybe I should take lessons in fundraising.
Or maybe I should stop bugging people about donating.
I certainly wish I didn’t have a reason to want to raise money for the Heart Association.
I also wish that I didn’t live with the memory of that night.
Almost eight years ago.

Yes, some memories fade.
Some …… never will.

Sometimes I Wonder ……

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…… if Jim would be proud of me.
Of our family.
Of how I’ve done.

I wish that I could answer in the affirmative. 100% yes, of course he would.
But I can’t.

Our children were all at such vulnerable ages when he died. I think they’ve questioned so very much since that day almost 8 years ago.
I myself have had my fair share of questions. And my fair share of shifts in beliefs.

I don’t pray the same way I used to.
I don’t believe some of the things I used to.
Fundamentally, I still believe that I am a follower of Christ.
But I no longer pray for specific outcomes. Instead, I pray for peace, strength and love to surround people who will need those things.
I don’t believe that prayer changes the outcome.
If I believed that, then I’d have to believe that God sees some people as better than others.
That some people are worth saving, while others are not.

I can’t, and I don’t, believe in a God who thinks that way.

If some of the beliefs I used to hold have changed, then how can I not think that my children’s beliefs have changed?
Of course they have.
I just wish they hadn’t changed so much.

I can understand the changes.
Truly, I can.
Our life was one way.
And in a matter of hours, it was not.
I can understand how that can change a person.

I just wish that these changes didn’t scare me.
Didn’t make me feel that I, in some way, have failed my children.
Because I do.
100%.

Maybe if I hadn’t grieved so long and so hard, their beliefs wouldn’t’ have changed.
Maybe if part of me wouldn’t have died the day Jim died, they’d still hold on strong to their faith.

Or maybe none of this would’ve mattered anyway.
My children are individuals, with their own thoughts, their own beliefs, their own faith.
And maybe, if Jim were still alive, they’d still be struggling with their own individual beliefs.
Maybe.

I’ll never know.

All I know is that one day we seemed to be a family of one faith and one belief …… and now we are not.
What could I have done …… what should I have done …… to avoid this?

What would Jim say?

I wish I knew.

Or do I?

Misplaced Anger ……

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…… is something I’ve been dealing with lately.

Now before I continue, I need to say that there is no finger pointing contained in this post. I’m not writing about anyone personally. I’m writing about my feelings, which are mine, and mine alone (although some readers will perhaps relate to them).
When I read about good things happening in the lives of my friends, I truly am happy for them, no matter how else I also feel.

Now, where was I?
Oh yes …… misplaced anger.

Has anyone else noticed that there are a boat load of wedding anniversaries in the summer?
Well of course there are. There always have been. Always.
I’m sure that in the past 7 1/2 years there have been just as many as there are this summer. But for some reason, I’ve never noticed them as much as I have this year.

If you’re on Facebook then perhaps you, too have noticed.
It’s been constant.
I dare say that it’s been daily.
Friends wishing their spouses a happy anniversary.

Again, I’m very happy for all of my friends who are married and who’ve had anniversaries this summer. Truly.
But …… all of these posts have started to trigger something inside of me.
And that something is anger, pure and simple.
I’m not proud of that, but it’s there.

With every additional post I can feel another log thrown into the furnace burning within.
A slowly building fire that starting to gain strength and heat.
It’s probably also kind of a greenish color.
Because I’m jealous.
Every time I see a post that says a couple has been married over 25 years, the fire becomes a deeper green.

I don’t feel angry towards any one person.
Not a human person, anyway.
But I surprised myself when I finally realized that I’m angry at God.
Or should I say …… I’m still angry at God.
And getting angrier.

There’s a second thing going on that’s been stoking that angry fire inside of me.

Have you seen a new TV show this summer called, “Answered Prayers”?
If you have, and you’re widowed, then you know where I’m going with this, don’t you?

It’s on TLC and is hosted by Roma Downey. She and her husband produce it.
I know that they are Christians and that they’ve done a lot in faith-based movies and TV. And I’m glad about that.

But this show …… this show makes me angry. Or maybe, I make myself angry when I watch it.
But it seems to me that it tells only half of the story.

The show features 2 or 3 people a week and their true stories about life and death situations that happened to them.
All of these stories have had happy endings. People are brought back from the brink of death, or rescued from sure death accidents …… because of prayer.
And not just prayer.
But “answered prayer”.

God heard their prayers and said, “Yes”.
And these people were healed, rescued, saved, etc.
Happy, happy endings.

But here’s the rest of the story, as Paul Harvey would say.
God doesn’t always say yes.
Sometimes he gives you a big, fat, “NO”.
But that’s still an answer.
Isn’t it?

This show makes me feel …… strike that.
When I watch this show I feel the same way I feel when I hear someone say, “If you’d only had enough faith …”; “If you’d only prayed hard enough …”; “If you’d only truly believed …”
Yes, I’ve personally heard all three of those partial sentences. They start out the same: “If you’d only …”.
And they end the same: “God would’ve saved him”.

Is it any wonder that some people turn from their faith, and others never approach faith at all, when their loved one dies and they hear something like that?
From “Christians”?

Nothing stokes the anger inside of me as fast as those kind of words.
Nothing brings my anger level from zero to a million faster than those people.

And this show, without giving the other answer, without giving the rest of the story, really does make me feel white hot anger.

From my experience (and I can only cite mine) God gives three answers to most of our questions:
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Wait.” Which will ultimately end in either “Yes” or “No”.

God, much like most human parents, sometimes says, “No.”
Yet loves us as much as those who received a “Yes”.
The answer has nothing to do with the love.
I have no doubt that He loves me.
In spite of my anger.
And maybe because of my anger.

To claim that, because people prayed and someone escaped death, God heard and answered prayer …… is to tell already hurting people that God only hears some people.
And he evidently doesn’t hear them.

Who wants to follow that kind of God?
Who can feel love from that kind of God?

And who can give sound Biblical evidence of that kind of God?

That’s not the God I know.
That’s not the God I love.
That’s not the God who loved the world so much that sent His only son to die for EVERYONE.
Every.
Single.
Person.

So, while I’m happy that these people were saved from death …… I’m going to stop watching “Answered Prayers”.

Because it’s time for me to finally let go of my anger.
And because God did answer my prayers that day/night (and thousands of others’).

He said, “No”.

“She’s Going to Be Famous” ……

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…… is what a woman told me yesterday while she was petting Gracie.

Daughter #1 was in town and we were down in Hell’s Kitchen at a flea market and I was schlepping Gracie around in my bag. It was blazing hot and I think she was still tired from our two mile walk through the Park the day before.
She also doesn’t really care for walking where there’s traffic and a lot of people.
Oh, and hot cement.

So yeah, she was in my bag. I thought she’d draw less attention that way, but she has some inborn talent for drawing attention no matter where she is. She also has an inborn talent for making people smile. And even, dare I say, making some people happy.
It’s a gift.

It’s a gift more humans should have.
Or maybe work on.

But I digress.
Evidently, if this woman has a talent of foretelling the future, Gracie is going to be famous.
From her mouth to God’s ears.

I told Daughter #1 that maybe I should just sit in Central Park with her, day in and day out, to see if maybe a talent scout will discover her.
I’m pretty sure we both thought that would be a huge waste of time.

So instead, I’ve applied to have her trained to be a therapy dog. I believe she could be making people smile, who, for whatever reason health-wise, don’t have much to smile about.
We shall see.
While I’m writing this she’s evidently trying to dig to China through her dog bed.
I’m not all that confident of her intellectual ability to pass a course.
Any course.
Unless it’s for cuteness.

Oh, and she now has her own Facebook page.
It’s “Gracie Takes Manhattan”.
In case you’re interested.
I can’t blame you if you’re not.

In other news …… there really is no other news.
Not any “new” news anyway.
There is a bit of old news.

For the past couple of days my emotions have been brimming at the surface. You know, when you feel if anyone says, “How are you doing?”, the tears will flow over the dam?
There’s really no reason for it.
Other than the same one I’ve had for over 7 1/2 years.
I miss Jim.

Some days it just comes out of the blue.
I miss him.
I mean, I miss him every day. I think about him every day. But I don’t always feel emotional about it every day.
Thank goodness.

The missing of him rarely crashes over me now. But it does sneak up on me every once in a while, with no particular pattern.
As it has does done this weekend.
Maybe it had to do with D#1 going back home.
I don’t know.

All I know is, I was working at the theatre last night when my “boss” asked me what brought me to NY.
I get asked that a lot, and I rarely get emotional about it. I just tell the story matter-of-factly …… and say “thank you” when the person says, “Oh, I’m so sorry!” when I mention that my husband died …… and then I move on with the story.
I can’t leave him out of the story because he was in it from the beginning.

So I started telling her. And the tears started brimming, while I dug my fingernails into my palms, trying to keep them from falling.
I persevered and they didn’t fall.
But she saw them anyway.
Especially when I said that, yes, sometimes I feel lonely. But I feel less lonely in NY.
Still, loneliness can creep in anywhere.

So that’s where I am.
The tears fall as I type this.
I don’t feel particularly sad.
But, oh do I miss that man.
And always will.

I know that I am beyond blessed to live the life I live.
To have the children I have.
To have the parents and siblings I have.
And …… just as with Jim …… I never take any of this for granted.
Ever.
I knew every day that I was blessed to have him.
I know every day that I am still blessed.

But that doesn’t keep the missing of him from creeping up on me every once in a while and bringing forth tears.
Nor will it ever.

It’s the cost of love.
For there is a cost.
The deeper the love, the higher the cost.

But he was definitely worth the price.

Life Is ……

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…… something I never, ever thought I’d say again.
Ever.

Life is …… pretty darn good.
All in all.
All things considered.

I’m 7 1/2 years “out” from Jim’s death.
I will never be happy that he died.
Of course.

But I am happy.
Ironic, no?

Of course I’d give everything up if that would bring him back, but …… it won’t.
So I’ve chosen to move forward.
And to live life the way I would have wanted him to live it.
Fully.

I know that I am beyond blessed to be able to live my “after” …… my “second plan A” …… fully.
He’s responsible for that.
He planned ahead for the unimaginable.
He always took care of me …… of our family.
And he still does.
I will love him fully …… to the moment that I draw my last breath.
And beyond.

And who knows? I may love another man that same way.
I’m ok with that.
And I know that Jim is, too.

I’m in love with the city where I’ve chosen to live.
Beyond in love.
I am absolutely crazy about New York City.
Head over heels.

Who knows how long I’ll live here? I have no idea. I’ve learned to not plan too far in advance.
But right now, in this moment …… I want to live here.
And so I do.

I’m in love with all of my children and where they are in their lives.
It’s been a very, very long 7 1/2 years.
It’s been a long and arduous journey with some of them.
But right now, at this moment in time …… they’re doing well.
They are thriving.
None of them are perfect.
But neither am I.
And neither was Jim.
None of them live perfect lives.
But neither do I.
And neither did Jim.

I don’t wish for them to live perfectly perfect lives.
I wish for them to live fully, to live to their utmost.
I wish for God to lead them and for them to follow.
Whether they do or not is up to them.
I will love them unconditionally.
As a parent should.

I love being able to connect with widowed people.
I love helping them know that they are not crazy, wrong, or alone.
I love giving them hope.

I love that I’ll be doing that at Camp Widow West in a little over a week.
I can’t wait.

Life is something I never thought it would be again.

Life.
Is.
Good.

And I am blessed beyond measure to be able to say that.

Thank you, Jim.

Thank you, God.

	mysecondplana on 18 ……
	mysecondplana on 18 ……
	Cindy Trammell on 18 ……
	Saundra on 18 ……
	Lorraine on The Lack of Touch ……

My Second Plan A

After my first Plan A ended tragically, and all too soon, I came up with my second Plan A. It took a while, but now I'm ready to live again. And live fully.