My Prayers

Prior to Rebecca’s death she and I were pretty ambitious people. We had a number of goals that we wanted to achieve. Rebecca had begun the school psychology program at Fresno Pacific. I had been working toward being accepted into the Wharton School of Business, the top Executive MBA program in the country. It’s a pretty big deal to get into this program. Their average graduate gets a job offer between $175-325k per year upon graduation. It’s not that I am a super genius that would get me into this program but rather a combination of my college GPA, work history, test scores and there were a few other criteria that I happened to meet. In retrospect these goals were likely for our (or my) own self gratification and aggrandizement. To say that Rebecca’s death caused a total paradigm shift for me would truly be an understatement.

I used to despise working for UPS. I think I just felt like because I was a commercial pilot and flight instructor. I have or was working toward a Bachelor’s degree. I felt like I had much more to offer life than spending my days wrestling around with some dusty old boxes, breaking my back in a beat up old truck—this is not how I envisioned my life. However as time has progressed since the death of my sweetheart I have learned a great deal about myself, who I am and what I want in this life.

As I think most men do, I believe I was trying to find my own identity through my career. I found myself wanting and craving to achieve certain goals in life as if this would somehow say that I, Jared Leonard, was here and I mattered. I believe that it was Maslow, in his theory of hierarchy, that called this status people are looking for self-actualization; or in layman’s terms, the need to build a legacy. Some people seek to find their identity or “center” through their work or their spouse’s work. Some find it through their church by jockeying for positions, status and recognition. Others may try to find their identity through the money they have, the house they have, the cars they drive, people they associate with, etc.

This time that I’ve had since Rebecca passed away has truly been a time for introspection and self inventory. I’ve tried to examine the deepest, the most core points of my beliefs. I’ve had to ask myself if the ladders of success that I had been trying to build were even leaned against the right wall. Are these ladders of ‘success’ going to take me and my children to the place that I most inwardly desire to be? Where do I want myself and my children to be?

I think most everyone would say that they want happiness for themselves and their children. Yet they do things that contradict that very prospect. I think this was what I did while I was married. I felt like I needed to achieve all of these….things, in order for Rebecca to love me or to feel like my children would love me. I wanted to create this legacy for my posterity to be able to look back upon and say, “Hey my dad (or grand dad) was.. [insert something important here].” This was me. This is what I thought I needed. Rebecca was an ambitious person too. She wanted me to be successful and for me to achieve the things I desired. However the difference in our perspectives was that she didn’t define me or equate her love for me by what I did for a living, by the things I accomplished or any status I may have achieved. Her love for me was absolute. She told me repeatedly that she didn’t care what I did for a living. The problem was that I did. I felt like I had to be somebody in order to mater or to qualify for her love when the reality was that I had already achieved it.

Herein lies one of my deepest regrets regarding my relationship with Rebecca. I wish that I had of slowed down and not stressed so much about finances or achieving….whatever. I wish that I had of listened to Rebecca and accepted the fact that I don’t have to be defined by what I do or how I appear. To me it is nothing short of the utmost tragedy that I didn’t learn this lesson until after she was gone. I hope to be able to apologize to her someday and express my deep regret for not listening to her wise counsel. For now I just try to live and raise my children in a way that would be pleasing to her and in a way that an all knowing, all loving Heavenly Father would be pleased with as well.

One last thought that I want to share before I close this entry. When talking to my fellow widowed friends, just when I think that I have heard the most sad, most tragic story, someone else seems to share something that makes me think, “Gosh I’m glad I don’t have things as bad as that person.” There is another grave marker just a few steps away from Rebecca’s grave. I had seen the man come and bring his lawn chair on holidays and anniversaries. After seeing him several times I decided to go talk to him. I asked him who he was visiting. He told me it was his wife and only child, a daughter. He went on to explain how just a few days after his daughter’s 16th birthday she had gotten her license. His wife and daughter had gone for a drive down the freeway. While driving the daughter lost control of the car killing both his wife and only child. He told me “I lost everything (that mattered) that day.”

Each day when I pray, I truly pray that my children come home safe to me. I did this before but I think that was what the scriptures called ‘vain repetition.” Each day I try to savor the time that God grants me with these precious children that I have in my care. Each day I try to remind them how much I love them and how important they are to me. Unfortunately for us we have learned that in a few short moments a life can be blotted out and so we must savor the time that we have today.

Naturally Handicapped

Today is my girls’ birthday. Happy Birthday ladies!! I got up extra early to make them pancakes and prepare their favorite breakfast. They were so happy and their faces were just glowing when they got up to see their favorite breakfast foods in front of them—warm and ready to be eaten. I’m always glad to be able to do these things for my kids. I can feel during these brief moments that I’m doing alright as a single parent. I took cupcakes to both their classes and they were just elated to see me there and have their classmates singing Happy Birthday to them.

As some of you know I’ve worked especially hard at learning to acquire new skills that I did not have prior to Becca’s death—things that I leaned on Becca for, e.g. doing my girls’ hair, doing deep household cleaning, brushing up on my rusty cooking skills, etc. I think I’ve done alright at keeping things together. However one of the things that I have learned during this whole widowed experience is that I am just naturally handicapped with this male brain of mine.

One of the recent experiences that come to mind is my son’s birthday which was last month. Three days before his big 10th birthday party I was having knee surgery. Prior to my knee surgery I wanted to have everything ready. I had vacuumed the whole house. I shampooed the carpets. I polished the kitchen floor and had gotten all my inside cleaning done before I went under the knife. I had the cake ordered. The food was ordered. I had the tables and bounce house/slide confirmed with the party rental place. Invitations were sent out. Other than some minor cleaning outside I was ready…or so I thought.

I had some family come about an hour before the party was scheduled to start to help with last minute preparations. As they were cleaning up outside my daughters were beginning to stir with excitement in anticipation of the kids soon to arrive. That was when my daughter asked the big question, “Where are the decorations? We need a sign that says, ‘Happy Birthday Elijah’, we need balloons, we need pictures on the walls.” Oh man, I hadn’t even thought of decorations. Who thinks of this stuff? …girls do. It’s funny to see some of the age old Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus dichotomies unfold within my home with girls that are so young. I mean I certainly didn’t train them to think of this stuff; half the time it seems like they are so aloof that they don’t even pay attention to what’s going on. However at times like at Elijah’s birthday I am suddenly reminded that despite the fact that they are nurtured one way, their feminine nature seems to come out anyway. I love it!!! Personally I like girly girls. I like the fact that they play in the mud and aren’t afraid to get dirty. Yet at the same time when they are getting ready to see their friend Joey they want to put on their body glitter and lip gloss. It’s just cute.

Another example that I think accentuates the fact that I am naturally disabled due to this male brain of mine would be when I am doing their hair. My girls like for me to do their hair nice. They like it when I do the fancy braids, rollers, curlers, the hair care products, all that stuff. When I actually take the time to do a fancy hairstyle they always want to go and ruin it by shoving in bows and clips and ribbons in their hair. Personally I’m just glad that I conquered the task of getting their hair looking good. Yet to them, a girl just isn’t fully dressed without….accessories. For some reason my brain just stops at getting the hairstyle done. They like the hairstyle but then they have this insatiable need to go put a bow or ribbon or a clip in their hair. It makes me crazy but it makes them happy so I just deal with it.

In further examination of the aforementioned examples I can’t help but think that there most certainly has to be other things that my kids are missing out on by not having a mother in the home. I have done my very best to try and compensate for those things that I can think of. However just like the bows in their hair and the decorations for the parties, there are just some things that I wouldn’t even think to do because my brain doesn’t work that way.

For the most part in this entry I have referenced my girls but I acknowledge also that my son is missing out on that feminine influence as well. In addition to losing his mother he has lost his maternal grandmother (she died a few months after Rebecca). He will likely soon lose one of his maternal great grandmothers soon. His cousin Liz has not been feeling well lately and so there has been this slow ebbing away of female influence over his life since his mother died. I do my best to teach him that we treat our women differently—we treat them special. We have to be gentler with them and talk more kindly because their feelings get hurt quicker.

I have tried to teach my son how to dance with his sisters. My thought was that it would teach him how to hold a lady, be firm yet gentle. I felt that it would teach him to read her body language and also just learn patience. Rebecca and I used to love to dance together (Oh how I miss that!!! I miss holding her and reading her body language. I miss holding her body and knowing exactly how she wanted to be touched. Whew, I’ll stop now). Anyhow, dancing is something we’ve always enjoyed doing as a family.

The bottom line is I just worry about these kids. I worry about the things they miss out on by having a naturally inept father. When I was a flight instructor we used to say that they worst mistakes a pilot can make are the ones they don’t know they made. The thought behind that is that if you know you made a mistake you can correct it and take appropriate actions in you subsequent flights. If you make a mistake and don’t know about it that mistake can lead to larger ones thus compromising the integrity of each flight. Most aviation accidents are not caused by one single mistake but rather a series of poor decisions. Herein lies my worry as a single parent, just that there are things that I am not doing, not for lack of desire, but rather my brain just doesn’t work a certain way.

Piano

I have this picture that I’ve always loved. It is a picture of Becca sitting on my lap while I played the piano. It was taken at her house in Laie, HI. I suppose I like it so much because it reminds me how Rebecca used to thoroughly enjoy listening to me play. She would sing and I would play. We could go on for a while. I mostly play classical music and don’t really enjoy playing for people to sing with. For me, it is just much more enjoyable to play Chopin rather than pounding along to a church hymn for people to sing along to.

When I proposed to Rebecca I wanted to be creative and do something out of the ordinary. I had three ideas originally. My first was to take her snorkeling and let her find the ring. Then have in permanent marker on my chest, “Will You Marry Me?” I was a little unsure about how to get away with slipping in the water without her seeing my chest first. Then there was the factor of the ring. Certainly I wouldn’t leave it in the ocean. So I’d have to have it in my pocket and then pull it out at the last minute. Rebecca wasn’t a very good swimmer so I decided against this option.

I don’t remember the 2nd idea but I’m sure it was very creative and fun. It was the 3rd option that I went with. This idea was to send her on a scavenger hunt all around Laie. We had a class together at BYU. The plan was to fake being sick and leave class early. I had given the professor a note to give to her when class was over. When class was over, she read the note and the hunt was on. Becca loved surprises! I had our friend Mandy stay with her so that she wouldn’t get too far off track. According to Mandi, Becca was running like crazy trying to get to the next clue and decode the puzzle. I don’t remember all the places I sent her. I do remember the first one was at the Seasider on the BYU campus. I sent her to 3-4 places around the campus. Then it was to the Laie LDS temple for a few more clues. After that I had sent her to her house on Laie Point at the end of Naupaka St. I had a few clues around her house.

I don’t really remember what most of the clues were but I do remember the last two. The first of the last clues was, “Look to the 88 keys of my heart for your next clue.” Of course she went right to the piano. The final clue was. “Please come take this very high, final leap of faith with me. We’ve made this jump many times together but this time you will have to do it alone. There you will find your final clue.” This of course meant that she was to jump off of Laie Point by herself. This is about a 40’ jump into the choppy ocean. Becca was not a strong swimmer and later told me that it was very hard to make the jump because she was so scared. When we had done it in the past there was always a large group of people. This time she was all alone. I don’t think she would have normally done it but the excitement of what was to come out-weighed her normal logic and reasoning. So she took the plunge. When she landed I had been sitting in a cavern underneath the cliff that she had just jumped off of. So prior to jumping she couldn’t see me. However once she landed and resurfaced she could see me standing there in the cavern. I was wearing white pants and a Hawaiian shirt. I helped her out of the water. I waited a few seconds for her to catch her breath and then I proposed to her. So of course she was already out of breath from swimming, she starts chocking on the water and she starts crying. But then she replies, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” (I knew she’d see things my way).



Why do I bring up how I proposed to Rebecca? Among the many clues that I scattered across town I tried to incorporate things that were specific and unique to our courtship. I don’t know why my piano playing was so significant to our courtship but Becca and I both have fond memories around that instrument. I thought it was especially significant that that was the second to last clue. Then finally doing something totally wild and crazy that she wouldn’t do for just anybody was also significant. (Marriage to me wouldn’t be anything else).

Besides our apartment living phase, we pretty much had a piano throughout our marriage. I think it was a symbol, to Becca especially, that we were a family. I remember sitting around the piano in our previous house. We had obtained guardianship of Rebecca’s sister, Lela. The twins were about a year old and Elijah was about 4 years old. I had sat down and started playing some Christmas Carrols. The whole family migrated toward me and eventually we were all singing together. It was a moment of such happiness. Later Rebecca cried and said, “We are a family.” Sort of funny that it was only after 5 years of marriage that she really felt that. I mean I know she felt that before. I just think that in that small moment it was a glimpse into the future of what she’d always hoped for. Thinking back to the first apartment we were in, used furniture, old beat up cars. We were very happy but that’s not really every girl’s fantasy. However over time you build and create the family that you desire. I think it was just being in our first house, the kids were happy, she and I were happy, it was a subtle moment but that moment seemed to speak volumes regarding how far we’d come along.

As I said before, I don’t particularly enjoy playing for people to sing along to. Rebecca and our children are just about the only one’s I’d do it for. It was sort of strange but after Rebecca passed away I quit playing the piano. I would sit down. Read the note. Touch the keys (no sound). But I never played. When Rebecca died she just took so much of me with her and I felt like that part of me was gone too. It was as if I was just afraid to feel what I feel when I play the piano.

It was roughly a year after Rebecca’s death that I finally decided I felt okay to play the piano again. I would play for short periods but would quickly lose interest. The passion was gone. It just felt dull and void. There was no longer anyone to encourage me and frankly I was just bored of it.

Typically I would start to play after the children had gone to bed. I didn’t particularly like playing while they were awake because they always wanted to come and bang on the keys while I was playing. They would harass me about insignificant things so I found that in the evenings after they were in bed was the best time to practice.

Despite my lack of not ‘feeling it’ I would push myself to play anyway. It wasn’t until maybe 2-3 months after I started playing again that I sort of took a break for a week or so. That was when Elijah said to me, “Dad, why haven’t you been playing the piano anymore?” I smiled and said, “Oh, I didn’t know you guys noticed.” He replied, “Oh yeah, I love it when you play. It makes me so happy and I love listening to it as I fall asleep.” So I decided, hey, it’s time to get serious about this piano business again. I suppose now my children will be my audience.

On Monday this week I had put the kids to bed and immediately came out to start playing. I was just in the mood to play something different so I started playing patriotic hymns. While I was playing America the Beautiful my little Rachel slipped out and came to sit on my lap. She said, “Dad, I know this song.” She then started to sing along. Eventually Lauren slipped out to tattle that her sister was out of her bed. I told Lauren that it was okay, Rachel and I were just playing and singing together. I think Lauren thought, “If Rachel gets to get out of bed to sing. I will too.” Before long all three of my kids were standing around singing while I played. It felt so happy. It just felt like for a small moment that even though Rebecca was gone we were happy again. I just felt at peace and that everything we were doing was right where we should be.

Another Anniversary

Yep. Oct 14th 2000 is mine and Rebecca’s wedding anniversary. I never know what to do on these days. To me these days don’t feel like something I want to celebrate or lament or…anything really. However no matter how hard I try to ignore the fact that today is another significant day in mine and Rebecca’s history it always seems to surface to the forefront of my mind one way or another.

Yesterday I was writing a check for my daughter’s field trip and when I looked at the date I saw, October 13th. I thought, “Oh great, tomorrow is my anniversary.” Should I take flowers to her grave? How about I take a couple of days and head to Hawaii? Sounds good to me. Like I’ve said before I think the best thing for people to do when they are grieving is to do whatever comes natural (as long as it is safe and legal). Last year would have been mine and Becca’s 10 year anniversary. I had to work. After work I went and laid down next to her grave and had a long conversation with her. I took flowers and just enjoyed a long quiet conversation. It was actually really nice being at the cemetery late at night with no one around. It allowed me to speak openly—something I typically don’t do.

This reminds me. I’m not too much of a ritualistic type person. I like to go with what feels natural and right at the time. Going to Rebecca’s grave throughout the first year was nice. At times I could feel her close to me. Then as the second year approached I felt less of a desire to be there. I mean, I just don’t ‘feel’ her there anymore. I feel much closer to her when I am doing things to help our children—and quite frankly I think my being with our kids is exactly where she would want me to be.

One of the last times I was in the cemetery a scripture started playing in my mind. It doesn’t totally fit but I do believe it is appropriate. The scripture that comes to mind is one that is found in Luke 24:5. This is after Jesus had been crucified and was placed in the tomb. Saturday was the Sabbath and Sunday was the first chance that Mary Magdalene had to go and see the Savior’s tomb. When she arrived the guards were gone and the tomb was opened. When she looked in she began to weep. There were two men who asked her, “…why seek ye the living among the dead?” In this particular case Jesus was actually resurrected. His body and spirit had been reunited. As far as Rebecca goes, obviously her body will remain in the ground until the morning of the first resurrection. However her spirit dwells somewhere else.

Now it wasn’t my intent to go into any kind of deep theology. However I will say that it is because of my belief and I don’t really feel a great desire to continue going to the cemetery regularly. I feel close to Rebecca by going through pictures, reading her journal, sharing stories about her, smelling her perfume, going to places that she would like to have gone, working on our family biography. In fact today I will attend the temple in the morning. I’ll work on our family biography. Then tonight I will take the kids to Rebecca’s absolute favorite ice cream store. That to me sounds far more fulfilling and like a much better way of inviting Rebecca’s spirit into our home rather than taking a lawn chair to the cemetery.

People grieve in different ways. People may look at my method of dealing with my anniversary and think I’m a little loony. That’s okay. They can deal or not deal with their grief in any way they choose. This is just what feels right to me.

Clueless

Yesterday I went in for my knee surgery. The nurse was asking me how long it had been since my wife passed. I told her it has been 2 years now. She asked me, “Is that still hard for you?” My thought was, “This person probably doesn’t have a clue what real loss is like.” I wasn’t upset by the question. The truth is that prior to Rebecca’s death I didn’t have a clue what real loss was like either. I suppose I’d just never thought about it.

I joined a couple of widow groups through facebook about 3-4 months after Rebecca’s death. I think I was just going mad by the deafening silence that seemed to ring throughout my house. As part of one of these groups there was a section for people who were in different parts of their grief. There is a section for 0-6 months, 6-12 months, the second year, and finally beyond the second year. I absolutely hated transitioning from the 1st to the 2nd group. Then again from the 2nd to 3rd group. I think this was in large part due to the fact that I felt like people were subconsciously thinking that I was getting over Rebecca’s death. Certainly there are new difficulties and challenges in transitioning from one group to the next. Each time period seemed to carry its own set challenges. Now that I am in the final group it seems that this is the stage where you are supposed to move on. I have dealt with a lot of the grief. I have helped the kids deal with a lot of their grief. I think for the most part we are in the acceptance stage and now it is time to move forward.

Moving forward, what does that mean? Does that mean I’ll somehow no longer be saddened by the loss of Rebecca? Does that mean my kids are ‘over’ the loss of their mother? Of course not. I think for me it just means picking up the pieces of my broken heart and trying to invite happiness back into our home. Not that I’ve been trying to exclude happiness as part of our home but at times I feel a sense of guilt in being happy.

The other day I was at the eye doctor having my glasses fitted (as if I’ll ever wear my glasses). The lady that was helping me was telling how she and her husband were getting ready to go to Hawaii the following week. Of course I volunteered how much I love Hawaii and how that was where Rebecca and I fell in love. She asked a few questions about how long I’d been married. I explained that Becca passed away 2 weeks before our 9 year anniversary. She asked a few questions about Rebecca's death. By this time a few other ladies who were standing close by started listening in on the conversation. I suppose I was just in a good mood that day but I was actually able to talk about it without crying. Before the conversation ended the lady who was originally helping me said, “Well, you seem to be doing really well and like a happy person.” I just smiled and walked away. Inside I wanted to cry. I felt as if I was disrespecting Rebecca by not weeping for her. I wanted to say, “NO!! I feel terrible inside.” I didn’t know what to say. However I did feel guilty like somehow I was saying that I was alright with her death. I believe herein lies the difficulty of transitioning to the acceptance stage of grief.

The Year Mark...

I’ve had several widow friends ask me for ideas regarding how to mark the anniversary of their spouse’s DOD, date of death. My typical answer is usually “Whatever comes natural.”

Last year when I was approaching the first anniversary of Rebecca’s death I wanted to just ignore it—pretend that I was unaffected. As the days approached however I couldn’t help but recall the roller coaster of emotions that I was feeling the previous year on the days leading up to Rebecca’s eventual death. I remembered hearing those words from the doctor that Rebecca had slipped into a coma while being transported to UCSF and that she wasn’t going to make it. Still I held to the belief that I would be able to ignore that date, September 29. Sure enough though on the evening of September 28th the anxiety was building up far too much and I knew exactly what I needed to do to appease my grief.

Early the next morning I packed my bag, got a sitter for the kids and headed to San Francisco. I wasn’t sure what exactly I was going to do but I wanted to be in the place where Rebecca was when she actually died. I drove the whole way up there, about a 3 hour drive, unsure of what I was doing. It was like an automatic response. I wanted to walk those same steps of the hospital where I paced back and forth on the 13th floor bewildered with what I should do. I wanted to eat the same crappy food in the hospital cafeteria. I wanted to walk up and down Parnassus Ave. I wanted to go and pray in the small grove of trees west of the hospital where the UCSF student housing was. It’s hard to say what I was looking for. Perhaps I just wanted to cling to those last few moments that I was able to hold Rebecca’s hand. I’m not sure. It was just what I felt like I needed to do.

After I got there I walked the places I wanted to, eat the food I wanted to, and did what I wanted to. All of that was done in about 30 minutes. I sat in the hospital cafeteria eating my salad and pie asking myself (and Rebecca), “Now what?” That was when I decided that I wanted to take flowers and notes of appreciation to the staff on the 13th floor. Throughout the first year after Rebecca had passed I felt very strongly that despite the fact that Rebecca was unconscious during her whole stay at UCSF she was always appreciative of the kindness and grace that the hospital staff offered to her and me. With that thought in mind I walked down the street to a flower shop, bought 3 large bouquets of flowers and a fist full of Thank You cards. I wrote personal cards to Dr Chung and Dr Peters. I wrote personal cards to the 3 nurses who cared for Becca directly. Then I wrote one to the entire ICU staff.

I took the flowers and cards to the person at the front desk on the 13th floor. I was so overcome with grief that I muttered a few words, handed her the stuff and walked away sobbing like a fool. I figured once she saw the cards it would all be self-explanatory for her and what she should do. I walked away feeling like whatever I just did, I was finished. So, I jumped in my truck and drove home.

I felt like I would make that an annual event. Then this year came. I couldn’t make the drive up there today but tomorrow I will make the trek to San Francisco. Once again I will offer some flowers and chocolate covered almonds as a token of my appreciation. Hopefully it will help the staff to realize while they can’t save everyone I, personally, will forever be grateful for the kindness they showed my wife during her last few day of her mortal probation.

Olfaction

Of all the five senses it is the sense of smell that is the slowest for our brain to recognize. Yet at the same time certain smells stay with us the longest. In fact most biopsychologists agree that ‘smell memories’ seem to be stored in a different part of the brain than that of visual, hearing, taste and touch memories. This is why when we go ‘home’, wherever that might be, certain odors can bring back a flood of memories. When we have a smell memory our brain can release certain neurotransmitters to either attract us or repel us from certain environments, people, objects, etc. This is why, for example, when I return to a place like New York or West Virginia, places full of distinct smells, I can almost instantly be reminded of many different memories.

For me, this time of year has many smell memories—some good and others not good. The one in particular that seems to stand out the most is the smell of stargazers. They have a very distinct, powerful smell and this happens to be the time of year that they blossom. Rebecca carried stargazers when we got married. So every year while she was alive I could walk through a store and as soon as I smelled those stargazers I would have a pleasant moment of remembering our awesome wedding day.

When Rebecca passed away I had to choose which flower arrangements to have on her casket. Before even opening the book to look at all the flower arrangements I immediately asked the funeral director if he had an arrangement of stargazers. He did. So without ever looking at anything else I knew that was what I wanted over Rebecca’s casket.

As I said before, stargazers have a very distinct and strong smell. I remember standing over Rebecca’s casket looking down at her. I wanted to touch her face. I wanted to smell her hair. I wanted to kiss her lips. Of course I didn’t do any of that because that wasn’t Rebecca. All I could see was the shell of the person that used to be my wife. All I could smell were those stargazers.

I’m not sure what happened to the flowers that draped Becca’s coffin. I believe they were left at the cemetery. However when I came home after the funeral I remember stargazers being all over my house. For weeks I would come home and immediately be overwhelmed by the blast of the smell of stargazers as I walked through the front door. I’m certain that it is the very intense experience of having them at Becca’s funeral that created a new smell memory for me.

Now when I walk through a store, someone’s house, by a flower shop, anywhere that stargazers might be I am overcome with a wide range of emotions. I immediately want to cry. In an instant I am back at that moment, standing over my sweethearts coffin preparing to close the casket. To me it smells of death and of love. When I smell it you may think I want get away from it. However that is far from true. I’m drawn straight to it and usually stand there smelling the flowers for long moments. I’m sure to passersby I must look like a very strange person standing there in the middle of Costco (or wherever I happen to be) holding the flowers practically up my nose, eyes closed, taking large deep breaths. When I smell that flower I can just taste the memory.

I’ve met many widows who have talked about how they still keep their husband’s deodorant, cologne, soaps, toothpaste, old worn shirts, etc. For me though, the second most powerful smell that reminds me of Becca is that of her purse—how strange is that!! When I smell it though, I smell her makeup, her hair, her lotions, her spending money (I actually do miss that sometimes). There is just a wide array of different smells in her purse that remind me of her…I love it!!!

I do keep her body lotion, Allure by Chanel, in my truck. Whenever I am driving and want to have a memory of her I pull it out and take a deep breath. It offers a moment of satisfaction however nothing seems to be as strong as those stargazers.

Validation

I think it is validation that I am constantly seeking. Yesterday afternoon I went to a podiatrist for the first time. I’ve been having problems with my feet, ankles and calves hurting really badly. I told him that the pain started a few months after my wife passed away. I explained how I was just so beside myself with grief that I would literally stay up until 3, 4, sometimes till 5 AM pretty regularly. I would put the kids to bed and then sit in my living room in prefect silence for hours just weeping. Finally after a few weeks of that I decided that I needed to start exhausting myself so by the end of the day I would utterly collapse from extreme exhaustion. That’s when I started running. I HATE running!!! It was all I could do though. I felt like Forrest Gump, “Run Forrest, run!!!” There was one night in particular I remember. My dog was just a puppy at the time (we got her about a week after Rebecca died). We had already ran that afternoon but it was midnight and I just knew my body wasn’t tired enough to sleep. It was pouring rain outside, I mean really coming down hard. It didn’t matter though, I knew the alternate was sitting up crying for the next several hours. So, I laced up my shoes and grabbed the dog’s leash. I remember opening that front door and my dog just looked up at me with her tail tucked between her legs and sad puppy dog eyes. I could tell she was just thinking, “You’re not really going to make me do that are you?” I just said, “Sorry honey, I gotta’ do it. I don’t have a choice.” So, we ran in the rain. We were both entirely soaked after only one lap around the block. She was a good sport though and stayed right with me. When I finally finished I brought her inside. I felt so bad for her that I dried her with towels and tried to blow dry her. I’m not sure if she hated the rain or the blow drying more. Either way though I’m certain she must have thought, “Oh great, I got a whack-job for an owner.”

Anyhow, about the podiatrist, I explained how shortly after I began running my legs started to hurt. My calves felt like they were going to explode, the movement on my ankles was very limited and my feet were just killing me. It didn’t matter though, I kept running. It was the only thing I could think to do at the time. I thought I could ‘push’ through the pain but after about two months my legs got so bad I could hardly walk. Needless to say, I had to stop running—my body just couldn’t handle it anymore. As I explained my situation to the doctor, someone I’d never met before, he turned to me and asked, “Were you training for a half marathon or a full?” I said, “A half.” He explained, “I know exactly where you are at. My first wife and I built this office together. She worked the front desk and did the billing while I started out as a young doctor.” He went on to tell me that she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer a few years after they started the practice and at the age of 35 she died. He said, “My whole world was turned upside down. I felt like when she died, I died (truer words couldn’t have been said). I got a dog a few weeks after my wife died and decided to start training for a half marathon. By the time the race came I was ready and completed a full marathon instead. I know exactly where you are.”

I just wept as I listened. He told me it took him 10 years before he felt ‘normal’ again. The funny thing is that he was such a nice, such a happy-go-lucky guy that I would have never guessed he had experienced any of this. He was just a very open, very gregarious person. While he was kind and talkative, he was real. That’s what I appreciated. He didn’t mince words or try to tell me that when he got remarried (10 years after his wife passed) things were all better. He told me that even now he feels that she plays a big role in his life. Everyday coming to his office he is reminded of her. He told me that while it has now been over 15 years since her passing he still keeps certain office files that she maintained. He said, “I’m still not ready to let everything go. So, I just have the office girls work around those files.” He told me, “I can still hear her nagging me when I am building molds for people’s feet ‘You’re using too much plaster. You’re going to have to clean that mess up later.’”

I just loved that experience!! I think what is at the core of what I loved most about the experience was the validation that I felt. I believe it was CS Lewis that called grief one of the most private emotions that people can feel. I believe this is why I seem to naturally gravitate to my widowed friends for support—they ‘get’ it. Without words being spoken there just seems to be a consensus of “yes, I understand.” This is why when I have an experience like I did yesterday it is almost like finding a precious treasure or discovering some undiscovered territory for the first time. For a brief moment I can connect with someone else’s grief and together, just by talking about our experiences, we can have this perfect moment of complete validation. Something that says, "You are not alone."

Who We'd Be Today

I haven’t shared with many people the fact that Rebecca was pregnant when she died. She was very early in the pregnancy (less than 6 weeks). In fact she hadn’t even gone to the OBGYN yet. After Rebecca passed away I didn’t really give it much thought. I was simply so overcome with grief and the loss of Rebecca that losing a barely developed embryo didn’t seem to bother me. However it was after the year mark that I heard this song by Kenny Chesney that the loss of that child really hit me. I started to think about how Becca was just a month into the school psychology program at Fresno Pacific when she passed. Had she lived we would have had another baby. She would be close to finishing her program. The whole thing made me wonder who we’d be today and how differently our lives would be.

Thoughts on Remarriage

Many people have asked me if I plan on remarrying. I suppose on an abstract/theoretical sense remarriage is a possibility. I have been on a few dates since Rebecca died and even had a pretty good time. However I find on the practical level the idea or remarriage scares me. It scares me for several reasons really. First and foremost I think about my children. I have to be practical and remember that while for Elijah there will be some memories of his mother, for my girls the memories will be very limited. So, this means that should I decide to marry again, the woman that I marry will have to be a mother to my children. This is not a divorce situation where a father figure (or mother in this case) can kind-a/sort-a be floating around in the background with occasional support payments. This woman will have to be the mother that my children will know and look to for love and guidance. She will have to be the one to teach my girls about their female….body/system. She will be the one to help my girls through preparing for marriage. She will have to be willing to care for my grandbabies as her own. She will essentially take on every aspect as a mother figure to three young children in an instant. This is no small task and will require a tremendous amount of work, patience and love.

Additionally, I have to be married to this woman. There is a reason that second marriages (both for widowed and divorced people) have a 70% failure rate. It is tough!! When I married Rebecca I wasn’t very experienced in relationships. Sure, I dated many girls but I think the longest relationship I ever had was about 3-4 months. I’d like to think that I was just better at sifting through the girls that weren’t very…interesting but who really knows. The truth of the matter is that I had no idea how rude, backstabbing, gossipy and just flat out mean girls can be (I’m not saying all girls are like this). Rebecca had told me about some of her friends and how purposely mean they were to their husbands. I usually just shrugged it off for the most part and would say something like, “That’s why I didn’t marry any of your friends.” Now though, as I’ve started to deal with woman on a different plane, I’m starting to be confronted with some of these characteristics. Anyone who knows me would know that I don’t do very well when people are mean. I don’t take kindly when people are purposely hurtful or vindictive. Since Rebecca’s death, I’ve had the unfortunate experience of being verbally abused, gossiped about, lies told about me, and a few girls just nagging me. These things do not sit well with me. Unfortunately it’s made me more of a pessimist regarding remarriage.

I often think back to when Rebecca and I started dating and got married. I had no idea what the hell I was doing!!! We were just a couple of kids (21 years old) going to college in Hawaii. What a perfect place to fall in love!! We had no pressures from friends or families. Every night I would walk her to her house on Laie Point and we would spend hours visiting. Every day we were snorkeling in Hanauma Bay or Turtle Bay, hiking Laie Falls, going to the Dole plantation, surfing, cycling, skateboarding, walking out to Goat’s Island, eating at the Seasider or just enjoying the beauty of Hawaii. Every day was a perfect day in paradise. It was THE PERFECT PLACE to fall in love!! When I proposed to Rebecca I knew with absolute clarity that she was the girl I wanted. I know I am painting a reasonably good picture of what a fantastic courtship we had but words really don’t do it justice. It was perfect!!

With that image in mind, oh how different things are now. Now I’m faced with innumerable concerns. The naivety of my first marriage is behind me and I am faced with uncertainty. I know before I met Rebecca the prospect of marriage concerned me. I mean I came from a broken family myself. My parents were divorced when I was 7 and I was raised by a single father. I wasn’t all that secure or knowledgeable in what marriage should be like. However when I met Rebecca and as we grew closer all those concerns, doubts and worries seemed to melt away as if they never existed. That is the hope that I cling to now. That someday I will be able to meet someone who can put my mind at ease so that all of these concerns melt away, just like they did the first time.

More reminders

The other day I came home and thought, "Why is this house such a mess? Why hasn't Rebecca bothered to clean it?" I can't believe that it has been almost 2 years and the thought of wondering where Rebecca is at (not realizing that she is dead) still come into my mind.

Today I was doing some home maintenance and I needed to borrow a tool from my neighbor. We ended up engaging in a long conversation and they were recalling that this month will be the 2 year anniversary of Rebecca’s passing. I think they were just trying to comfort me by telling me that they think I do a great job with my kids. “They always looks so well put together, hair combed, cloths aren’t wrinkled, etc.” Inside I just laughed. While I think for the most part I do alright on presenting ourselves well, inside most days my heart just aches and selfishly I wish that I had passed and Rebecca lived because she would be doing much better than me.

Anyhow, as my conversation evolved with my neighbors they were telling me about a widower who was so inept after his wife died that he couldn’t even run the washing machine. All his food comes from restaurants and he does zero cooking—don’t I wish I could afford that! They were laughing as they told me how on one occasion he forgot to close the rear door on his SUV and drove out of the garage breaking the door off his SUV Mercedes. Then on another occasion he totally forgot to open the garage door and backed right into it. While for my non-widowed friends these are probably very amusing stories, I couldn’t help but recall my own stories. I remember returning back to work shortly after Rebecca passed. On a few occasions I would be driving toward one city and end up somewhere totally wrong. I would drive for 15 minutes and think I had been on the road for 3 or 4 hours. I would have to make note of the time I left one UPS facility. It wasn’t uncommon for me to completely miss an exit and not even notice it for 30 minutes.

Then of course how could I forget the biggest wreck of them all. The time I flipped a UPS semi-trailer right into a power pole in downtown LA. I don’t remember what I told my supervisor but I do remember the fact was that I was just so angry cause I had driven by the correct street about 5x. I was so mad at myself cause no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t remember what I was doing. I could remember for brief moments but then my thoughts would just wonder and I would quickly forget where I was at and what I was doing. I got mad (at myself) because I just drove by the correct street…again. So I decided to make a quick u-turn before I got lost again. Well, you don’t make ‘quick u-turns’ with a 70,000lb truck. I flipped that trailer and it went right into a power pole (it had 15 lines running across it, I made sure to count after everything was settled). It was the next day that I told me supervisor that I just couldn’t do the job anymore. I’m just so thankful that nobody got killed or hurt but I just knew I couldn’t do that job any longer.

Widow-brain. It’s something that my non-widowed friends don’t understand. I’ve heard that divorced people can feel it to a degree but where I was mentally was just off the charts. I’m so grateful for people who would put notes on my front door reminding me of things I had to do that day because I was just so completely lost and confused.

Subtle Reminders

I’m always surprised when certain subtle events occur that seem to bludgeon my emotional well-being to remind me that I am still grieving.

This past week I was delivering to a retirement community. As I was driving through I saw an older couple, probably in their 80’s walking out of the main recreation center for this community. They were holding hands and talking. It would have been obvious to any observer that the man was genuinely interested in what the woman had to say. She was his queen and even at…however many of years together, they still loved each other and enjoyed the other's companionship. I couldn’t help but think, that was supposed to be Rebecca and I.

Now I’m certain that should I decide to remarry that I will take whomever I chose and treat them as my queen and love them as they should be. However, I can’t help but always think of Rebecca. We had such a great friendship that even when we faced difficulties at home we could often laugh and just enjoy being with one another. She was a dear friend and I can honestly say that during our 9 years of marriage, I never tired of her. I always found her deeply fascinating and looked forward to exploring new thoughts and ideas together. That friendship is what I worry most about finding again. It felt so unique and perfect that I wonder if it can be duplicated. Our personalities were just a wonderful union.

Why I do this:

Today was the first time that I attempted hot rollers in my daughter’s hair. I feel proud that I am able to do that for them. Rachel likes braids and so I’ve learned to do a variety of braiding hairstyles for her. Lauren likes other hairstyles like curls (I’ve done soft curlers in the past), the French wrap, a single French braid is acceptable, styles like that. I feel so glad that I can do these simple things for my children. Since Rebecca died I’ve had a variety of circumstances arise where my children and I have felt limited due to the fact that I am a single parent. Shortly after Rebecca’s death I decided that I wanted to learn better how to perform some of the things that I relied on her for. I didn’t want to slip into a typical widower mode of, chopping my girls’ hair, fast food every night and just general sloppiness. It would be easy to fall into that, in fact some weeks I do and I think most people expect it. In general though, I have worked painstakingly hard to try and make sure my kids don’t feel somehow inadequate.

This past summer when I took my kids on our long road trip, one day we decided to stop in Canon City, Colorado. We went there because it is home to what used to be the world’s highest suspension bridge, about 1,000 feet high. There was an aerial tram that traversed the canyon and there was a medium sized amusement part surrounding the bridge. It sounded fun so we went. In one part of the park there was a petting zoo and an area that you could ride a mule. The kids were excited to ride the mule. As we got to the front of the line I told the lady I had 3 children. She said they could go one at a time but in order to ride the mule you need to have 2 parents there, one to guide the mule and the other to stand next to the child as they rode along. I stood there for a moment perplexed about how to respond. As I turned to look for the kids the girls wondered to the fence to look at the animals to pet while Elijah had disappeared. I looked in all directions and he was nowhere to be seen. I started walking around the area and couldn’t find him. After about 3-4 minutes of looking I finally found him. I guess when the woman in charge of the mules said that you need to have 2 parents present it just struck a chord with him. He immediately turned and ran to hide so people wouldn’t see him cry. He said, “Dad, I don’t have two parents anymore so I can’t do things.” I tried to tell him that we could find someone to help us but he didn’t want to hear that. He wanted his mother.

Why do I bring this story of Elijah up? Well, there are some things that I can’t do because I’m a single parent; however there are many that I can. I’ve realized that while I miss Rebecca and long for the day that I see her again, I am not totally helpless. I don’t have to helplessly wait for a woman to come along and rescue my children and I from our misfortune. I have learned the true meaning of Philippians 4:13.

How long shall I grieve?

On Saturday I was traveling home from Exeter with the kids. Elijah turned to me and said, “Dad, I’m on Easter ‘vacation.’ It’s not a real vacation if I have to go to church!!” I chuckled at the implication of his statement. However it invited a prime opportunity to explain the real meaning of Easter and how it has nothing to do with Easter bunnies, eggs or any of the other commercialization and garbage that surrounds this holiday. Easter is about the resurrection of Jesus. Because Jesus died and was resurrected, each of us has the opportunity to see our loved ones who’ve pass away, people like our mother. Elijah could see where this conversation was going and he wanted no part of it. He put up his hand as if to silence me. He knew he wasn’t going to get out of going to church on Sunday, so to him the conversation was over.

The car fell silent for a few moments. The girls were just in a daze watching the cars drift by. Elijah had put his head down to take a nap. He was only resting for a few minutes when he suddenly jerked awake. He started sobbing uncontrollably. I asked him what the matter was. He took a deep breath and said, “It’s okay dad. I was just having a flashback.” Interesting to note that I’ve never heard him use the word ‘flashback’ before. Anyhow, I encouraged him to explain what the flashback was. He said he could so clearly remember his last conversation with his mom. Then me coming to pick him up from school to tell him that his mom was dead. Then the memory of the funeral; standing next to Rebecca’s coffin and seeing her dead. He remembers the note he placed inside her casket. He was seeing me close Rebecca’s coffin. Then having our friends carry her body away, taking her to the chapel and then to the hearse. At the cemetery he remembered watching her body being lowered into the ground.

My baby boy just cried and cried. There were so many things I wanted to say but I could do nothing but hold him. What else does one do in that moment? I mean all the logic and reasoning is thrown out the window in those very vulnerable moments. As many of you know, prior to Rebecca passing I had never lost anyone close to me. All of this grieving is so new to me. How do I grieve? How long do I grieve? Are these thoughts normal (most of the time for being widowed, they are)?

It’s been 18 months now since my sweetheart was taken from this earthly life. The sense of complete loss is sometimes too overwhelming. I think when I was early widowed I kind of had a timeline of how long I would grieve. I thought for sure that once I hit the year mark my grief would have tapered off and my heart would somehow be healed. Well, I’ve learned that there likely won’t be a complete healing of my heart in reference to Rebecca, at least not in this life. For now I just learn to manage my pain.

Another day

I just started this blog. I think part of my intent in opening my life up to the web with the possibility of other people seeing it was to share some the comic relief in this ongoing tragedy called life. Thus far I have only found myself wanting to share the difficulties of being a widower and talk about Rebecca. Perhaps this is my subconscious wanting to burst out. A very good friend of mine called me a 'silent sufferer' the other day. This thought was reiterated by my own doctor when he called me one of his more difficult patients. He said, "The problem isn't that you complain too much. In fact you complain too little." He continued, "I know that you are hurting inside; sometimes physically, sometimes emotionally. The problem is that you won't tell me how you are truly feeling unless the pain is well beyond what the average person can withstand." That may be true. I don't know. I just think that people tire of hearing me. It makes them uncomfortable when I continually bring up "my wife." I just can't help it.

The other day I was visiting with a friend while at physical therapy. She was telling me what it was like for her when her husband died when she was only 25 years old. She told me that she still (18 years later) struggles with what to call her first husband. Do you refer to them as "my late husband", "my first husband", "my baby's daddy"? What's the right answer? Personally, I feel that if I say anything other than referring to Rebecca as my wife I need to qualify the statement. There is just this insatiable need to make sure that people don’t think that I'm a divorcee or that she was some deadbeat wife. The whole prospect is insane! I'm certain that nobody other than me really cares how I label Rebecca. To me though, nothing could be more important.

Regarding this blog, I’m hoping that perhaps once I unload some of the grief that I feel regarding my sweetheart I can turn this into a funny blog to read. There are plenty of things that I hear and see as a UPS driver. The problem that I face right now is that I still feel so much anguish inside that it is hard for me to focus on anything else. My hope is that this blog can help me move past that.

Wow! I'm here.

I'm not sure what I'm going to do with this blog. I suppose catalog/journal my life as a widower who works for UPS. The reason I included the two items, brown (UPS) and widower, in my title is due to the fact that these two factors seem to dictate the majority of the comic relief in my life. It likely wouldn't appear to my average NWFs (Non-Widowed Friends) that widowhood would offer much laughter but I figure once you throw a single father in with twin girls....anything is possible. Then you add dating into the mix, just look out. Not that serious dating is a factor at this point but perhaps someday.