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.