Since You've Been Gone

My Dear Sam:

Today marks the first anniversary of your passing from this world into the next.  Words can never come close to expressing what my life is like without you.  This year has been full of firsts, starting a week after you died with our 29th wedding anniversary.  You almost made it and I found your card you bought me in the Jeep when I was cleaning it out.  Then it was your Birthday and the Buddy Guy and Johnny Lang concert you bought tickets for and were looking forward to.  Mary, Jay and I went and I could feel you there with us.  I have to admit I really like Johnny Lang.

 Last week I finally sold the Fat Boy.  Perry's bought it and I had a nice chat with Dick Perry.  We sat in his office and talked about you and your Dad and how they called you Junior and about the Knuckle head that was stolen from Uncle Vern's barn.  He tried to find Gordy Cole so I could talk to him but to no avail.  I remember the last time you went there how disappointed you were that it wasn't the same.  Dick told me he did not recognize you until you had left.  He was sorry for that.

Father Jim said Mass for you today at Nazareth.  That is such a beautiful chapel, so grand, yet peaceful.  The homily spoke to friendship when Christ said you are no longer a servant, but my friend and how Christ laid down his life for us and wants us to have an intimate friendship with him.  We were best friends and I can't remember how many times I wished it was me who was sick.  I would have gladly died for you.  You got angry every time I mentioned it.

I feel you with me a lot of the time.  You have helped me in oh so many ways.  Like when I need help starting the lawn mower and snow blower, and finding things that I have misplaced.  I hope you hear me when I tell you I love you every night before I go to bed.  I know you are in heaven, please put in a good word for me as I am looking forward to seeing you again.  You are ever in my heart.

Baby Steps

When I went to bed the night of May 13th, 2012, I didn't know I would wake up alone.  (Although I could argue that I have not awakened as of yet.)  They say that the day before your life changes is just like any other day.  My life, as I knew it over the last 30 some years, had changed forever.  That morning I began my journey into unknown territory, by myself.  My companion and best friend who helped me through everything (even when he was terminally ill) was not by my side.

The first couple of weeks were  spent more or less on automatic pilot.  On the phone with insurance companies, funeral homes,  thank you notes.  People wanted to see me, get together, you know, keep me busy,  I don't know what I would of done with out them.   I looked for answers that no one seemed to have.  I wanted to know when this God-awful pain would get better.  It didn't matter what I did or did not do, nothing helped.

Every once in a while I would notice that for a short time, I would feel a little better.  Just for a few seconds at a time, but it gave me hope.  In an effort to relieve some of my pain one Saturday afternoon in June, I sat in Sam's chair and let out a couple of blood curdling screams.  It was me reacting to the the horror that I felt being alone.  If the neighbors heard it they did not say anything.  I wanted to be with Sam so badly.

Grief is a journey.  No one grieves in the same way.  There is no set time.

Faith, Family and Friends (not to mention my therapist)  have all played a big part in my trip back to normalcy.  It is a new normalcy, one without a husband.  I had my wedding ring cut off my finger (before it became a medical emergency)  a few weeks ago.  I am thinking  of changing my Facebook page status to Widow (really?)

Here is how I am dealing with most things.  I am trying to face my fears head-on, not avoiding them.  I am weighing all my options about where to live and realizing that I can change my mind if I chose to.  Decisions will be made by what makes sense at the time.

And here is how I am doing on my journey through grief.  I am somewhat at peace right now.  I moved Sam's big picture and his ashes off the mantel and into our bedroom.  There is a sense of comfort I get from sleeping with him in the bedroom.  He is with me, I feel him every minute of every day, but I am not looking at his picture all day long thinking of happier times.  I have gone back to work, so I am busy, I am going to Mass more regularly, and I find strength in that.  It cannot be done all at once.  I find solace in my small victories (like getting the bathrooms organized) and being able to drive by Allegan General Hospital without thinking about us going through those doors together for his treatments and the Village Inn where we ate a lot of our meals.  These may not sound like much, and it has taken the better part of nine months, but you have to start somewhere and go at your own pace.

Baby steps.

My Funny Valentine

Today is February 14th, Valentines Day, 9 months to the day Sam Bond left this world for the spiritual one.  This special day is one more in a succession that I have spent alone since losing him.  Don't get me wrong, I am not feeling sorry for myself, just noticing the differences that my life has taken on since May.

As most of you probably know, Sam was a hopeless romantic.  From the first time we went out for a drink and he kissed my hand before he got on his Honda to ride back home, to the countless flowers with love notes attached, through our 30 some years together.  In truth everyday was Valentines Day for  Sam and I.  Before we were married he gave me a set of footie pajamas because I would get so cold at night.  I know I still have the note he left with them.  Last Valentine's day was a culmination of all his gifts and notes.  He took me to a beautiful dinner at Four Roses in Plainwell where we both had an excellent meal and dessert (of course).  I wish I could remember his exact words, but there were tears in his eyes as he explained the gift.  It was an oval blue agate cameo featuring a guardian angel protecting a little girl and he read the back to me which said,"God and I love you Theresa" and he slipped it around my neck and I have never taken it off since then.  He wanted me to have something tangible to hold and know he loved me after he was gone.

Today is hard, as are a lot of my days, but I try to carry on the way I know he wants me to.  He is with me always as I feel him.  He also left me with his favorite song by Adele entitled "Love Song" and when I hear it I know he is telling me of his love for me.

Thank you Sam, for devoting your life to me and my happiness, I will treasure our love always.

On Being A Widow

It is November 14, 2012, six months to the day I lost my Husband.  These past months have been filled with all sorts of emotions for me.  Emptiness, pain, sadness, loneliness to name just a few.  I am trying to adjust to being alone although it is not easy.  On Monday of this week I woke up feeling very sick.  I had a terrible headache, dizziness and felt quite nauseous.  I am not a person who likes being alone when I am sick.  For the last 30 some years I have had Sam who would do anything possible to help me feel better.  Needless to say not this particular day.   I was so sick I could not drive, so I had to rely on my family and hope they had the time to help me out.  Lesson learned?   Keep this stuff on hand.
So, at a time when I am actually loving this place again, I am seriously re-thinking selling the house.  It is a sixty mile round trip journey to Kalamazoo.

I find that I am much more industrious now that I am alone.  In an effort not to sink in a valley of tears
keeping busy is the secret.  It doesn't work all the time,  as some of my friends will attest to, after receiving calls with me on the other end, just needing to talk.  I am back to work selling real estate and there is something very comforting about seeing old collegues in a familiar setting, after so much change.

Here is another thing I have learned, grief cannot be handled alone.    You must reach out to others be they professional or not, but I recommend experts.  If you don't connect, go elsewhere, but keep trying.  At some point you must emerge from the darkness, it is what your loved one would want.  You must go on living your life, even though you only want to be with them.

I haven't changed my marital status on Facebook, or taken off my wedding ring.  I still tell him good morning and good night.   I so miss the guy in rose colored glasses I met 33 years ago at the "Y".

A Message From Heaven

I must be willing to give up what I am in order to 

become what I will be.

Albert Einstein

Death is a very scary thing.  I dare say we fear it mostly because we can not bear the thought of leaving those we love along with the uncertainty of what awaits us after we leave our physical body.  Is there a heaven or hell or purgatory?  What happens to our spirit, our energy when we die?

The week before Sam died, I experienced the worst headache of my life.  It was in both by temples and no matter what I tried there was no relief.  Finally on Wednesday Sam convinced me to go to the doctor.  Not really knowing what it was, I was given a Tramadol shot and after an hour or so it subsided a little, but came roaring back on Thursday.  I laid down in bed for a while, trying to get some rest.  It was then that I noticed a vision, I was in a near sleep state, and to my right I noticed a couple of figures, that I could not identify, there was a white horse fence between us and I knew immediately they were here for someone.  I must have fallen asleep after that, because I got up and had forgotten about the visit.  On that Sunday night we went to bed and Sam was dead approximately 1:30 a.m. Monday morning.  They were telling me that Sam would be going home soon.  

The day after he died, the telephone rang.  I picked up the receiver and it kept ringing, I hung up and still rang, one long ring.  I had to unplug it to get it to stop.  Sam was telling me he was okay.

Monday morning October 22, I was sitting in my chair watching television when I happened to look at my running shoes on the living room floor.  The right one was sitting flat on the floor, the left was on its side a little ways away.  All of a sudden the shoe on its side moved a little and flipped back onto its sole.  It looked like someone had hit it with their foot as they were walking by.  Sam was telling me he is here with me.  He has helped me start the lawnmower and find things numerous times.

We all have our Guardian Angels that watch  over us and Sam is mine.  He is with God and me and his loved ones who have gone before him.  The universe is vast and we have no idea what is within it that is beyond our understanding and what we know as reality.

 "Eye has not seen, ear has not heard, what God has ready for those who love him."

Death Comes Knocking

Sitting here on the deck overlooking the lake, I am painfully aware that my sweet Sam has been gone two months. Sixty days, sixty good mornings, and good nights and I love yous, and at least ninety bowls of oatmeal with brown sugar (he ate it almost three times a day toward the end).


Even though we knew he was terminally ill, we were lulled into believing we had more time.  He seemed to be holding his own.  It was a shock to everyone when he started hemorrhaging  and dropped dead on the bathroom floor in the wee hours of May 14th.  With him he took the better part of me - he was the best part of me. Knowing he is not coming home again is the harshest reality.  There is no joy in Muddville.


I am trying to adjust to being alone and find the silence or absence of his voice deafening.  I am overwhelming lonely for him.  This house we found and lived in the last year and a half that he loved so much, no longer has the appeal it did when we shared it.  The boat is gone, his beloved Harley Davidson is for sale,  and our kitchen remodeling must be finished by others.  He worked so hard to get it done for me.  They tell me that life must go on, and I hear Sam telling me, "Don't cry all the time when I am gone."

Disappearing Essence

When I went to get a tissue this morning, two popped out and left an empty box.  Not so unusual, huh?  We do it everyday.  But this box was the one Sam used, it sat on the coffee table by his chair.  It probably sounds odd, but when I throw the box away, it feels like I am disposing of a part of him.  It still sits on the coffee table.  The sheet that covered him on his last night is still on the bed, I still smell him on his chair. It is so terribly difficult to write about this, but I somehow feel the need to communicate what life is like without him.  Maybe it will help me heal.  So when you see me out and about, don't be afraid to come up and give me a hug, I will know what you mean, because only you, my friends and family, can help me get past the loneliness.

On Being a Mom

Mothers Day.   The holiday was created by Anna Jarvis in 1908 and she promoted it, until 1914 when Woodrow Wilson made it a National Holiday.  By the time she died in 1948, the holiday had been so commercialized, she wished she hadn't  founded it.

 I became a Mom at age 24, in 1974.  I grew up in a small town and mostly, you got married and had kids.  Some of us went to college, but it wasn't a necessity during that period.  When my Son came into the world, I relied on my Mom for a lot of guidance and help.  I didn't work and was a stay at home Mom for a while.  If it wasn't for my Mom, I would have been lost.  "What did you do?" I would ask. or "What would you do?"  She always gave me good advise on which I could base my decisions.  We enjoyed the time we spent together.  She taught me how to can fruits and vegetables for my family, and we went grocery shopping together every week.  It was wonderful.  

No Mother is perfect.  By virtue of taking charge of another life for eighteen years you open yourself  up for a lot of heartache and criticism. We do our best with what we have and what we know at the time.  But the rewards can be gratifying.  My biggest reward from being a Mom is the two adorable grandchildren my Son gave me.

On this day, I am blessed to still have my Mom with me.  Thanks Mom for your solicited and unsolicited advice through the years, I listened either way and really enjoyed the time we spent together when Andy was a baby.

Happy Mothers Day!