Surviving Valentine's Day

I don't think I've ever been so aware of the advertising frenzy surrounding Valentine's Day, and the media attention given to this, what I consider to be, minor holiday than I was this year. I suppose it's not surprising, since this is the first time in nearly 50 years that I have been without a serious "love interest." Granted, there are Valentines for parents to give to their children; for children to give to their parents; for students to give to their teachers; and for friends to give to their "just friends"; but, let's face it, we all know that the true focus of Valentine's Day is romance—at least, from the perspective of advertisers and the media.

The funny thing is, Art and I never really did much to celebrate Valentine's Day. When we were first married, he had a job that paid him once a month on the 15th of the month. Unless we planned ahead, we were lucky to have enough money left to buy each other a card, let alone a gift. Over the years we may have occasionally exchanged gifts, or gone out for a special dinner, or, more often, cooked a special dinner at home. After he retired and moved to Florida, we did start going out with friends for a special Valentine's Day dinner; and, when Norman Love opened up a chocolate shop nearby, Art started giving me a box of delicious, and decadent, chocolates; but we never made a "big deal" out of it (no diamond jewelry or long-stemmed red roses).

Now that I'm a widow, I have developed a new found sympathy for the Charlie Brown's of the world. Many people, under normal circumstances, may be perfectly contented with their "singleness." Some may have even chosen to remain single, because they value their independence. Others may not have chosen to be single, but have lost a spouse through death or divorce. In either case, when Valentine's Day rolls around, thanks to the wonderful world of advertising, it's difficult not to feel a bit like a "loser."

"I Dreamed a Dream"

In my dream, he was standing there,waiting for me with his arms outstretched and smiling his beautiful smile. "I missed you so much," I said as I ran into his arms. "Life is too short and 10 days is too long for us to be apart." The dream was so real that I thought I could feel him hugging me back. But, of course, he wasn't. It was just a dream after all. This isn't the first dream I've had about Art since he died—and it's not likely to be the last—but it was the most real and it left me with an overwhelming feeling of sadness that I couldn't shake all day. Just another aspect of the grieving process.

I'm really not into analyzing dreams, but it did seem strange that I had the dream the night after I arrived in Honolulu for a vacation (and to spend some time with my college professor daughter who was there chaperoning a group of students) and I was going to be there for 10 days. I suppose the dream reflected my mixed emotions about making the trip. On the one hand, I needed some time away and I was looking forward to spending time with my daughter. On the other hand, it was a long way to travel by myself and the destination was Hawaii—my favorite place in the world, and a place where Art and I had vacationed three times before. I knew I would have to deal with some memories, but they would be happy memories and, because Art and I had never spent any time on Oahu (we preferred Maui), there weren't likely to be many "triggers" there. Of course there were more than I expected.

Although my vacation started with an unsettling dream, I was able to rest, relax, and have a nice time. My daughter and I didn't travel to Honolulu together, and while I was there, she was busy with the students during the day, so I had quite a bit of time by myself. Taking this trip gave me a taste of what it might be like to vacation alone—to make all the arrangements and fly that long distance alone, managing the luggage and the tips and the hotel; to walk beautiful beaches or explore new places alone; to eat alone and sleep alone in a hotel room… I'm not sure I'm the type, but I guess time will tell.

Art and I had already planned how we were going to celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary. We were going to go to Maui with the whole family. I never dreamed we wouldn't be able to do that.

Over another hurdle

Everyone tells me that all "the firsts" are the hardest, so now that Christmas is over, I guess I can say I survived another "first."  Actually, I found the weeks leading up to it, and the days following, to be more difficult than the actual day itself. I found the pre-holiday frenzy, with all the talk about cards and gifts and holiday entertaining, somewhat stressful, probably because I wasn't participating in any of it. That really should have been a good thing—I think I've done my share of complaining about the commercialization of Christmas in the past—but I just couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing out on something.


Because all four of my "kids" were planning to fly down to spend Christmas with me, we decided to forgo gift giving, so there were no presents to buy. I did intend to send cards this year—something I hadn't done last year because of Art's illness—and even got the cards I'd purchased in a post-holiday sale two years ago out of storage. But in the end, I couldn't bring myself to do it. That turned out to be the most difficult part of the holidays for me. As cards began to arrive in the mail, too many of them were addressed to "Mr. and Mrs.," a painful reminder that there were many friends from our past lives, friends we only communicate with during the holidays, who did not know that Art had died; and, because I didn't send cards last Christmas, many of them didn't even know he'd been ill. Before another year goes by, I know I need to communicate with these friends, all of whom Art and i cared about even though we didn't communicate regularly. That is my New Year's resolution. 


Thanks to my wonderful adult children and their significant others, and my sister and brother-in-law, Christmas eve and Christmas Day were filled with good food, good company, and an abundance of love. To honor Art, we put candles in empty red wine bottles, and felt his presence. There were tears, of course, but there was more laughter than tears. And that is just the way Art would have wanted it.

The Things I Took for Granted

I don't think I ever took my husband for granted, but since his death, I've realized that I did take for granted many of the things he did for me, especially after he retired. Nearly every week I discover something new he did that is now my responsibility. The list is endless: he took care of the pool and did all those chores that are unique to Florida—like power washing the lanai, outdoor furniture and other places that are prone to developing mold; he washed the windows on a regular basis; he took care of my car, making sure the oil was changed, tires rotated, and the insurance and licensing was up to date; he changed the air filters in the air-conditioning system and arranged for the yearly inspections; he handled the finances and paid the taxes; he took out the garbage; he opened jars that were sealed too tightly, got things down from high places, did the heavy lifting…And he always, ALWAYS, put up the Christmas tree. He took it down too and put everything away—neatly, in special storage boxes. That alone made me the envy of all my women friends.

On a bad day, I'd say there's not much to envy about me now. But on a good day, I realize how much I've learned about living alone and dealing with the everyday issues that I never even thought about before, because Art took care of them. I've learned a great deal about myself too. During this past year, I've found an inner strength that I never knew I had. I guess that's something to celebrate.

Counting Blessings

At first glance, it didn't seem like I had much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. My life has changed in ways that I couldn't have imagined a year ago, and I wasn't in the mood to celebrate anything. But, I busied myself making pies for Thanksgiving dinner at my sister's house and, in the process, I began to realize how much I do have to be thankful for.

I was immeasurably blessed to have had Art in my life for nearly 50 years. He was a truly good and loving man who gave me a far better life than I could ever have imagined when I was growing up in a small, blue-collar town in Western New York. Together we were blessed to have four children who have grown to be successful, happy, loving, and caring adults. When Art became ill, they all took time from their work and other responsibilities to come to Florida to be with their Dad while he was in the hospital. For 24 days, in shifts of two, we made sure Art was never alone in his hospital room. When his health improved and he seemed to be on the road to recovery, they all came back together to spend quality time with him. We were hopeful then, never imagining that it would be the last happy time we would have with Art as a family. Looking back on it now, I think that was a blessing.

I am blessed to live near my sister and brother-in-law who have been with us every step of the way. I can never begin to repay them for all they did for us during Art's illness, including spending their 50th wedding anniversary with me in Tampa where Art was receiving treatment at the Moffitt Cancer center.

I am blessed to have wonderful friends and neighbors who have demonstrated their love and support in countless ways—helping with the pool, arranging to have my palm trees trimmed, surprising me by cleaning my lanai while I was away, cooking me dinner, inviting me to join them for movies, and lunches, and dinners out, and so much more,  As one neighbor told me, "If you let us share in your sorrow, maybe it will make it a little easier for you." They have shared in my sorrow and it has made it easier for me.

Life threw me a curve when Art died five months ago. I don't know what the future holds for me, but I do know I don't have to go through it alone.

Two Steps Forward, One Back

When someone loses a loved one, everyone says, "Remember the happy times." We've all said it. I've said it many times to friends who have experienced a loss. I've been trying to follow that advice since my husband died, and at times I've been successful.  But for the past couple of weeks I've been finding it difficult to keep myself focused on happy memories, because the bad times are still too fresh in my mind. It was a year ago in mid-November that Art was diagnosed with stage IV non-Hodgkins Lymphoma and spent 24 days, including Thanksgiving, in the hospital. Although he rallied for awhile, and there were some happy moments, he died just 7 months later.

I've been trying to focus on the 47 years worth of living memories that we had together—moments when Art was healthy, running, playing golf, drinking a glass of his favorite red wine, listening to his extensive collection of jazz CDs, and enjoying happy times with friends and family—but memories of the dying moments keep coming back to haunt me. I know this is all a necessary part of grieving. I understand that it's not a linear process, but some days that just doesn't help.

Food for the Soul

There wasn't much good in the news this week. There were the senseless murders at Fort Hood and in Orlando, the national unemployment rate rose to double digits, and our lawmakers and TV and radio pundits continued to bicker over healthcare reform while millions of Americans go without health insurance. News like that doesn't do much for your mood, especially when you're already teetering on the edge of depression, as I have been all week. Thanks to 24-hour news—in my humble opinion, one of the worst things that's ever happened to us as a nation—it's difficult to avoid the bad news and almost impossible to find any good news. It's hard not to lose faith in your fellow man when you're constantly bombarded with images of yellow police tape cordoning off the latest mass murder site, and of people shouting cruel invectives at each other over something as fundamental as the right to have access to good, and affordable, health care. It makes me want to shout, "Life's too short. Trust me. I've learned that lesson. Can't we just try to get along? Can't we look beyond our own selfish interests long enough to see there are people all around us who could use some help?"

Yesterday, my faith in mankind was restored, at least for a little while. A good friend recruited me to work at an "Empty Bowls" fund raiser for the local Harry Chapin Food Bank. Colorful pottery bowls, made by local high school students, were sold for $10 each, and everyone who bought a bowl could have it—or a take-out container—filled with one of at least a half dozen kinds of delicious soup donated by local restaurants. Volunteers of all ages were on hand to sell tickets, serve the soup, clean up, or do whatever else was needed. Musical groups from the local schools provided entertainment while their proud parents and grandparents looked on. The weather was perfect. and people were happy to be there  supporting a good cause. I was happy to be there with my friends helping out in some small way. And, at least for those few hours, all seemed right with the world.