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!

The End Of An Era

We are nearing the two year mark of Sam's cancer diagnosis.  It has taken a serious toll on both of us, most of all Sam of course.  As I've stated many times before, he has a positive attitude that I am sure helps keep him going.  It is an attitude of gratitude.  We were talking at breakfast yesterday about how he tries to keep in mind that he is dying and there by enjoying each day to its fullest.  Not grouse about what he doesn't have, but what he has been given.  What some would think little things, but to him  very important things.  The fact that we are home, able to enjoy our precious grandchildren, finding that home on a lake at a great price, the ability to enjoy the rest of our life at a place we could only dream about before.  He is still employed for a company that can be best described as his "family".  Still being valued both as an employee and a person,  he takes that very seriously  not wanting to let them down.

It is a miracle in its self that he is still with us.  He has beaten the Mayo prognosis of three to six months, the Bronson ER docs of six months from October of last year, and he amazes his cancer doc every time she sees him.  His biggest setback was the motorcycle accident in October.  When that happened, a decision was made that he would sell the bike.  It shocked Dr. Liepman when she found out Sam was Harley guy.  "Where's your  pony tail and tattoos?" she asked.  He definitely does not fit the stereo type.  Never smoked or drank.  (So why did he develop head and neck cancer?)  Another mystery.

Sam has had a motorcycle since he was fourteen years old.  He loves the feeling of  freedom it gives him.  The wind (and bugs) in his face, the thrill of speed with nothing around you, the overall sensation.  When we met he had a Honda, when we married he bought a Yamaha and then after working the strike at James River, he bought a Harley Davidson with his extra money in 1986.  Only three years into our marriage, I quickly learned about his love affair with Harleys.  The pecking order was 1. Motorcycle 2. Theresa. When walking by the motorcycle, you had to clear it by at least three feet.  You weren't allowed to sit on or touch it either.  And so it went, a Harley Soft Tail, Road King and Fat Bob over the 29 years of marriage we have shared.

When we had to move out to the Pacific Northwest in 2004, he made sure that his motorcycle was shipped out for him.  While he was there for three months by himself, that Harley was his main source of joy.  He would go out after work and look at neighborhoods, houses and best of all, ride through the Columbia River Gorge, the Coastal Mountains to the Pacific shore in Oregon.  By the time I got out there he had a great site seeing trip for me.  He has a collection of Harley T shirts that fills a whole dresser and two boxes and has managed to collect around fifty die cast models.  When you thought of Sam Bond, you automatically thought about Harley Davidson.  He always had custom pipes, so the neighbors knew when he left for work in the morning and I would always listen for the bike when it was time for him to come home.

Giving up the motorcycle is another transition that this hideous disease has brought into his life and the one that most troubles him.  Who ever buys this bike will get a nice one, cared for by tender, loving hands and appreciated for the great piece of machinery that it is.

Live to ride and ride to live.  Amen

'Tis The Season (2011)

"There are two ways to live your life.  One is as though nothing is a miracle.  The other as though everything is a miracle."  Albert Einstein

Well here it is, about 10 days until Christmas.  The halls are decked, the tree is up, everyone is looking forward to the big day.  This year is very special as it is our first Christmas back in Michigan in 7 years.  We can't begin to tell you how great it is to be back home.  We bought a live tree, a blue spruce, never had one of those before, and it looks terrific in our living room.  Sam wanted to have Christmas at our house, so that is what we are doing.  It will be a little crowded but I don't think anyone will mind. The Grand kids came over and we decorated the tree and had KFC for dinner.  A good time was had by all.

My joy is tempered by the reality of Sam's health.  I want everything to be just the way  Sam would like it for the holiday and I want to remember every detail of the day.  We no longer look at the future in terms of years, it is now months.  But we try to remain optimistic, who knows, we have witnessed many miracles in the last two years, maybe we can eek out one more.

  The biggest miracle of late was after his motorcycle accident in October.  He laid the bike down to avoid hitting another car and bruised his right lung (the bad one), broke three ribs and punctured said lung.  His condition was dire and the trauma docs were very pessimistic about his chances of leaving the hospital.  There was talk of a ventilator and they said once on it he probably wouldn't come off.  He was using oxygen at such a high rate to keep his levels up, that if his numbers continued to drop  he would need the ventilator.  He worked really hard at his breathing exercises which built up his lung capacity. We were told that we were out of the woods and we couldn't believe it.  He was still very oxygen dependent so when his numbers started down again, the docs sent in a Palliative care doc who talked to us about the big V again and nursing homes, and hospice.  Good Lord is this really happening again?  So after speaking to Dr. Kavenaugh about Hospice, we were sent home with oxygen and when go home we signed up for hospice.  After three days, Sam was no longer oxygen dependent and he was discharged from hospice care.

Fast forward to week of December 19th.  This just in:  "Ginger" Sam's kidney has decided to go into reject mode.  We actually thought we would get through November and December without a trip to the hospital.  No such luck.  He had to start dialysis immediately, so he was admitted to the hospital on Monday.  Wednesday of that week on my way home from the hospital, the car decided to have transmission problems.  Many times I thanked God I was in Kalamazoo, not Chicago when all this was taking place.  I have my Son here to help me out.  So here is what might be considered miraculous in this latest development.  Now that Sam's kidney function is compromised, he may be eligible for some clinical trials for his cancer.  Worst case scenario he can have much stronger chemotherapy that they had to avoid due to his transplanted kidney.


I hear Christmas always comes whether you're ready or not.  Well it came, I only had one melt-down when I couldn't find the good silverware.  With our family all around us, we dined, talked and laughed our way through the special day.  We have the most marvelous Family for which we thank God everyday and if he happens to bless us with another miracle,. well that wouldn't be so bad either.

"C" Is For Courage

"Courage is being scared to death...and saddling up anyway."

I                                                                                                          John Wayne

I was going to edit out the meat in this picture, but you know how much I like to bring a smile to your face, so here it is, a 42 ounce piece of Prime Rib, (I know it looks like a beef roast, but it isn't) that Sam enjoyed on our 28th Wedding Anniversary at Skip's Place in New Buffalo.  We hadn't been there in almost 30 years and we had a blast.  Oh and by the way he ate all of it.

Over the last couple of years I have been witness to countless acts of courage.  Not people running into burning buildings to save another, or the like, but what some people might call small acts.  I have watched my dear Husband, endure the most radical surgery, horrendous radiation sessions and endless chemo therapy where it was almost too much for him to bear..  After his last treatment he drove home and the next morning we left for Lake Michigan for what could be our last Family vacation together.  He would not hear of cancelling it, even though he never did go outside the whole time, but he was with us.

He pushes himself beyond his physical limits to complete a task on a daily basis.  I watch in awe as he eeks out every moment of his day to prove to himself and others that he is viable to all of us.  Every time he is asked how he is doing he answers with a big smile.  "Great!", or "Not bad for a dumb ole farm boy from Gobles".  Truth be told when his IQ was tested some years back it was in the 130's.  To say he is my hero is a huge understatement.  He is my life, the reason I get up in the morning.....

Now that the cancer is back, we are facing it together.  I try to go to treatment with him every week and I watch and listen as he keeps everyone at the Cancer Center in stitches (sometimes at my expense).  But right now he is here with me, with us, and  we are enjoying every minute we have together.

There has always been a lot of talk about the purpose driven life.  We wonder to ourselves why we are here on this earth, at this particular time and place.  It has never been more clear to me that I have been put here to help Sam through this,  to love him, comfort him and be with him, on this, life's most difficult journey.