Category: Musings

General Thought Posts not related to specific topics

California – Not a Bust – Too Much Fun!

This is the first of three posts for “California – Not a Bust” chronicling my trip to CA for my sister’s birthday. These posts will publish on successive days beginning Saturday, June 24, 2023.

Why Trip Out?!

My California Dreamin’ sister just celebrated a milestone birthday. My Hotlanta sister wanted to be there for the celebration. I chose to go to satisfy birthday wishes for both. Hotlanta’s birthday falls on the anniversary of Pam’s death, May 12th. I wanted to give her a special gift so that she knows that I totally differentiate the two events. Making the trip was a win, win, win for the three of us and we got to see several family members as a bonus!

Getting there was fun – but not even half!

Planning well in advance reduces travel stress. But I was pleasantly surprised when I arrived in Sidney, NE the first evening to find that there were no rooms available anywhere close. Glad I had a reservation! It turns out that a matriarch of the Cabela family died a few days prior. The funeral was scheduled for the next day, but the viewing and Wake began the evening I arrived. I thought it was funny seeing several men in black suits, white shirts, and skinny black ties come out of the motel as I was entering. Lots of hustle and bustle inside.

Mary Cabela was one of Cabela’s’ founders. The Cabela family is from the area and is large. Apparently the motels were packed with extended family, friends, and probably a host of loyal customers.

My son and I were in the original Sidney Cabela’s in 2002. It was a sprawling one-story structure that looked like a strip mall on the outside, and a maze of rooms with various “departments” of sporting goods of nearly all types spread throughout. Cabela’s has since sold to Bass Pro Shops.

Day two brought a nearly immediate smile as the topography quickly changed to bluffs and pastures west of Sidney. The flats of eastern Nebraska faded in my rear view as I rose further above sea level, viewing small flocks of prong-horn amongst grazing cattle, some near enough to catch their gaze, others like polka dots in the distance. Too much fun!

Mountains loomed like low-level storm clouds in the distance as I approached Cheyanne, WY. Snow pack was still prevalent atop the taller ranges to the southwest. Before long I saw snow near the highway as I continued to gain altitude and began to weave my way through the rocky ranges.

To my delight, mountains surrounded me for the rest of my journey to Salt Lake City, my second stop. Wind and rain welcomed me as I traversed the city, ending up on the west side where I could see the Lake’s low water level from my motel room. Wind and rain continued into the night, the American flag in front of the building snapping so loud it woke me in the middle of the night.

The morning brought calm, sunny weather, ideal for the next leg of the journey. I drove along the south end of the lake for miles, as it transformed into salty desert landscape, flat as a table top, with mountain ranges surrounding both near and far. I didn’t realize that I was heading for the Bonneville Salt Flats until I came to the exit for the flats and the Bonneville Speedway. Though I’d traveled through here in 2006, I didn’t remember seeing them. Too much fun!

I continued west to Reno, NV through mountain passes and vast desert land, smiling the whole way. Fair weather, comfortable car, Goin’ Mobile.

I wish I could say that the entire journey to the south of the bay on day four was a pleasure. But as expected, California driving is not a California dream! Traffic picked up as I approached the state line, headed toward Sacramento. On west from there for a while then a sharp turn south toward San Jose. Traffic. Interstate parking lots for no apparent reason. Yep. Just what I expected. The one positive part of this experience was the presence of flowering shrubs and Eucalyptus trees in the medians and along the shoulders of the interstate. Unfortunately, I couldn’t gawk for fear of hitting another sardine in the tin, or the or the tin itself!

My sister chose to fly to CA, approximately nine hours door to door. I chose to drive three and a half days. We arrived at California Dreamin’s house within an hour of each other. Let the party begin!

Stay tuned for part two of California – Not a Bust posting on Sunday, June 25th

Another “Lick and a Promise”

As this post is broadcast, I’m driving on the home stretch of a nearly two week trek to California and back. It’s been a great trip with excellent family connections, celebrations, and interesting side trips. All material for future posts.

But not this one. Instead I offer a lick and a promise of stories and travel reviews in the near future. It’s Friday night as I write, the last night in another motel. Not the right place or time to get it done. So, stay tuned for next week’s publication. I’ll try hard to make it worth the wait, and worth your while.

Have a great week.

On the Road Again

Hmmm. Sounds like a song. Oh, wait a minute…

But true, none-the-less. I was in the car for most of the week. It’s difficult to write while driving. Hopefully, I am gathering material for future posts along the way. Consequently, this will be a short post, what Pam used to call a “lick-and-a-promise” type of post (though she was referring to cleaning the house).

So I would like to take this opportunity to convey my thanks, once again, to all of you, my faithful followers, for your continued reading. But also for your continued positive feedback for my subject matter and my writing. Wut Javia, including my writing, sharing music, and other aspects of my life, has become an integral part of my grieving process. Not only is it an outlet for working through my thoughts and emotions, but a medium for honoring Pam’s life; the life of the most amazing, caring, and truly nice person I ever met.

Thank you. Without your participation and encouragement, this past year would surely have been a much darker, more difficult path to navigate.

My current travels exemplify the process of moving forward with life. With an eye on the past with Pam, I am purposefully opening myself to experiences that might become part of my new life without her. I know this is what she expected of me, hoped for me, and approves of. I hope that I can live the rest of my life in a manner that continues to honor hers.

Just before leaving, I turned to look at my living room and said, out loud, “I know you are not here anymore. But I am taking you with me.” I did smile.

(Happy Birthday, Cheryl!!!)

High Trestle Trail Bridge

This week’s subject was supposed to be Egocentricity. But I’m putting that on hold to recount to you my Memorial Day weekend excursion. I promise I will still be egocentric when I write about egocentricity later 😉

I had an opportunity to spend some guy time with my son Daniel last weekend. The rest of the family was visiting other relatives. As expected, we picked up just where we left off; debating the world’s problems, contemplating the origins of the universe, reminiscing about our many travels, and eating fun and fancy foods.

The rest of the family returned Monday and I enjoyed playing my music to an appreciative audience (special shout out to Claire and Ellie who listened intently for quite a while). We had fun around the yard and later, eating pizza. Unfortunately, reality intervened as they had to get ready for school and work the next day.

Tuesday was supposed to be a day to chill. But I had seen signs off the highway for the High Trestle Trail Bridge. I had always wanted to get on that bridge. But I never made it during my bike/trike riding days.

Summer of 2006 before my solo trip
My roadster – lot of miles. Lot of fun

With plenty of time on my hands I set off to find the bridge. In this case, Google Maps was not helpful. It took me to a trailhead miles away from the bridge, no matter how I phrased the location. I stopped in Polk City for directions and was sent to Madrid. Another convenience store attendant gave me good directions to the trailhead from there. 0.9 miles from there to the bridge. I finally made it.

Guitar on back, I took off across the bridge. High temperature, hot pavement, warm breeze. It was great!

A view from the middle. I could hear a heron or gull or some water foul, but I never saw it. Some interesting history of the railroad

Looking back

There is an elevated overlook just off the west end of the bridge. Turn right, walk up, and there ya go. I’ve seen the Saylorville Reservoir near here when it was filled with water from tree line to tree line.

I sat in the shade, unzipped my guitar case and began to play. Too much fun. A single cyclist ventured up to the deck, peered through the free binoculars, and left again. Play more music.

An older man on a recumbent trike rode up, dismounted and peered over the rail. He then approached me and asked if he could record my playing. His girlfriend plays flute and performs with her friend who is a harpist. I’m not sure why he thought she would find it interesting, but sure, why not.

I played about half of I Look Away, including lyrics, “when I can see what you’ve done for me…” We got to talking. He said he could relate to the lyrics in his new relationship. Not what the song is about, but that doesn’t matter. He related. Isn’t that what music and artistry is all about?! He lost his wife a year and a half ago. An aortic aneurism. Fast. It’s always interesting to find connections with people when one is willing to open up. I’m happy to have met this stranger and share some humanity with him!

I played for a bit more, then began the return trek across the bridge. Another successful, unanticipated excursion. Check this minor bucket item off the list. I made it to the bridge and back again. Sounds like another lyric or title. Hmmm…

Hope you all were able to enjoy your Memorial Day weekend as much as I. Now we look forward to new, or familiar, summer activities. Not too long until Independence Day. That is definitely one to cherish. Let’s not lose our independence. Take that however it strikes you. And thank you to all who serve and have served, both living and passed, and sacrificed!

Bear with me for another short story before I go. A few of my walking routes take me past a Frog Hollow Kids Campus, basically a large day care center. Sometimes the children are playing outside. Sometimes they wave or say hi. Sometimes I return balls and frisbees over the fence.

Yesterday as I was walking past, a boy asked “Can you honk your horn or anything?” I answered, “No, sorry.”, and walked away laughing. Kind of made my day.

As Ringo Starr would say, “Peace and Love!”

Touching Pictures

Pun Intended

Looking at pictures of Pam and me, in the house and in digital format, I realized that we are touching in nearly every picture. I’ve been holding on to this idea for the right time. I think it’s now. I hope you find them touching also.

I love this picture because, as with several others taken on our wedding day, I was looking at my lovely bride rather than the camera. Sorry for the poor quality. It has probably been scanned more than once.

Arm in Arm – What a beautiful bride!

I think we were living in Aurora IL at the time this pic was taken. Tom invited us to meet them somewhere North of the Quad Cities. A beautiful place. He used to take his kids fishing there, I believe. But notice how we are sitting. One hand waving, the other resting on my leg. Ah. Young(ish) and in love!

“God’s Pond” as Pam’s brother Tom liked to call it

On the Chicago River in a tour boat waiting to depart. Don’t we look cool! I think that is the Wrigley building in the background. This was a farewell visit to Kara and Chris before they left for a work assignment in the UK. Unfortunately, we never got the tour. The engine wouldn’t start and there were no backup boats available. But it was a fun time and, as usual, we also enjoyed being together.

I just keep thinking this was taken at The OP (Other Place) in Clear Lake, probably around the year 2000. We were happy. Shows, doesn’t it.

Christmas at our Mason City house. Definitely still feeling like newlyweds!

It may be hard to tell if we had our arms around each other for this pic, but I’m making the assumption. I consider this a record of the pinnacle of Pam’ career. When we moved to Mason City from Aurora so I could teach at NIACC, Pam got the Executive Officer position at the Greater Mason City Board of Realtors(R). Mike Romig was president of the board at that time. A few years later, Mike was nominated and was elected to be President of the Iowa Association of Realtors(R). This made the local association responsible for the annual inauguration gala in West Des Moines. As EO for the association, it fell upon Pam to coordinate the event. Of course, it went off without a hitch. And, of course, Pam planned and stressed, and coordinated and stressed, and detailed and stressed. You get the picture (no pun intended).

This picture was taken in the hotel ballroom. I had just surprised Pam with the necklace as we prepared to come down to the gala. I was so proud of her!

From Our Travels

Yep. Still close! I think I’ve shared this pic before. It was taken in the upper room of a converted barn restaurant in Grant Wood country.

Speaking of Grant Wood… Okay. It’s not us touching, but Pam is holding the farmer’s arm. That has to count for something. I’m pretty sure this was actually taken during a different trip than the one to the barn. The American Gothic House is well South of the barn.

Stone City General Store Pub is such a fun atmosphere with good food and a majestic setting along the Wapsipinicon River in Eastern Iowa. Pam and I went there on multiple occasions as it was a peaceful, picturesque drive easily fit into a day trip. Still glued at the hip. The years only strengthened our bond.

One of my all-time favorites! Taken just a few years ago this picture epitomizes the long-lasting love Pam and I shared, even as some PD symptoms emerged. Holding hands. Looking into each other’s eyes. Smiling lovingly.

I loved life with Pam. We enjoyed our life together. We loved being with each other. What could be better?!

But I certainly was not the only recipient of Pam’s touching love. Please allow this great pic of Pam and daughter Kelley to represent the love she had for all of her family; never shy to hug nor demonstrate her love and care, be it with cards, food, smiles, or just by listening.

Arm in arm. It was a good day.

Touching pictures. They mean so much, and demonstrate so much. It is nice to be in touch with good memories. May I say, again, how much I love Pam and miss her?

Commemorative Camping – Part Three- To the Bridge and Home Again

This is part three of a three-part article being published on successive days beginning Saturday, May 20, 2023

The Bridge

The route to Pam’s bridge, as I like to call it, is familiar. Not only have I traveled it a couple times in the last year, but Pam and I had traveled the same route on the way to family reunions and visits in the past. With temperatures in the lower sixties and grey, somewhat foggy skies, the weather well suited my general disposition as I approached the family farm, and thus the bridge, on the gravel roads coming from the Northeast.

Though I’ve been to the bridge enough times to remember how to get there, I was further aided, especially in terms of distance and time, by my now well-functioning Google Maps. Even so, anticipation swelled as I approached. First, the tree line along the entrance road, the farm house, and some outbuildings. Then, turning west to see the winding creek and guardrails along each side of the rural gravel road.

Numb! No tears. No words. Just me, blankly staring into the water just as I did a year ago. I dropped a daisy branch and watched it float north, turning east and out of sight as it wound its way onto the family farm property. I tossed another, the only yellow daisy branch. To my surprise, it stuck in the mud next to the water looking as though it was planted and meant to be there. A thin ray of emotional sunshine.

I tossed a third branch and enjoyed the calm as it floated away and, once again, out of sight. I pictured how Pam’s ashes filled the stream as they, too, followed the same waterway to the north, then east into the farm. Just as she had wanted.

Three more branches. What should I do? I had wanted to bring living daisies to plant but was unsure whether they would make it even a year. So I decided to “plant” a branch at each end of the bridge’s guardrail. The ground was soft, and gravel loose enough from recent rain. Yeah. This is good!

Now I’m down to one daisy branch. But I’d been there only a little while, definitely not ready to leave! So I plucked each flower stem and slowly dropped each one in its own time into the water, watching as they floated northward. Still no tears; no words. But maybe a little more at peace with letting go, as I have the flowers. Moving on without Pam and yet having her with me all of the time, just not as either of us had wanted.

Alice’s Restaurant

No, not the one in Arlo Guthrie’s song. It is, as far as I can tell, the only restaurant in Creston, Nebraska. We held a luncheon there after the family memorial service at the family church last year.

I’d had no coffee nor anything substantial to eat yet, so I sat at the bar, ordered and enjoyed a burger, fries, and lots of coffee. There were few people there and I appreciated the solitude of the moment to reflect on my visit to the bridge. Now I wept. I wept for the finality of Pam’s passing. I wept for her not being with me to visit the people and places she cherished so. I wept that Alice didn’t remember that we’d even been there the previous year. It’s over. The deed is done. It’s time to go home.

Home Again, and Bad Weather

Yep. I was ready. I charted a backroad route only to find that it would take nearly seven hours to get home. That won’t do. It was only about five hours mostly on Interstate. An uneventful trip that had me home just around 5pm. No weather, no battles. Good to be home. Something to eat, and unload the car. Sorting and drying equipment would wait another day. This night I would try to come to grips with the emotional roller coaster of, well, the last few weeks, and the truncated camping weekend.

By now, I just had to know. Opening the weather app on my phone revealed the wisdom of my decision to pull up stakes that morning. Tornado warnings in eastern Nebraska on a direct path toward Louis and Clark State Park. As the evening unfolded, watches and warnings flooded the screen. Though there were no tornadoes reported in the area, it was clear that high winds, heavy rain, and hail marched through the campground slowly, taking a while to pass through where I would have been. Whew!

My brother-in-law sent me this picture taken near Freemont NE last Friday afternoon close to where I’d traveled. This is the same storm that proceeded NE toward L&CSP.

Less severe storms made it to my home in the overnight hours. I opened a window by the bed and listened to the thunder and rain, watched the lightening flash, and smelled the rain soaked air. Another reminder of things Pam and I enjoyed together.

It would take a couple more days for me to tether myself back in reality, grounded in what has become my daily routine of writing, walking, and playing my music. I have much to accomplish and personal and family events to look forward to. All a bit tainted by the vast emptiness that once was filled by Pam.

My notes for this post include the statement: “Passing of a significant day doesn’t make a significant difference.” Thinking about it now, I’m not so sure. A little more looking forward. A little less looking back. How weird are our lives?!

In case you missed them, back to part one or part two of this story.

Commemoration Camping – Part Two – Camping is a Battle Too

This is part two of a three-part article being published on successive days beginning Saturday, May 20, 2023

Louis and Clark State Park

Continuing with the theme of minimal planning, I did not research L&CSP to an extent beyond choosing a campsite on the outside of the loop, along the water. It was difficult to tell from a map and a couple photos what I was actually paying for. So I was surprised to find that the last section of the drive to, and the campground itself, were very flat! Not in the hills at all. I should have known. The park is situated next to a bend in the Missouri River that was separated, by design, many years ago from the current river course to shorten and straighten the river for commercial traffic.

Arriving about 4pm on Thursday, the sky was threatening and the wind whipped up from the open waterway. First things first. Setting up the tent presented challenges in the wind. I was proud of myself for single-handedly securing all the stakes and tiedowns, thinking that I would weather a storm.

Across the Campground
The Campsite
The Tent – Ready!

Not yet hungry, I played guitar for a while but thought I should prepare food, as it was beginning to sprinkle. Finally an opportunity to try the Mountain House Italian Pepper Steak I’d purchased last year (I see now that it is “currently unavailable”). Boil water, fill the bag, wait 10 minutes, eat with a spoon. Good backcountry victuals! I enjoyed it and hope I can find more for future travels.

The wind continued into the evening and through the night. I turned in before 10pm, just as the rain began in earnest. It rained for several hours. There’s no sound that compares with hard rain and wind on a tent fly. One always wonders if the stakes will hold and whether the water will stay outside the tent, both from above and below. Fortunately and happily, the tent held. Unfortunately, my sixty something bladder was closer to its limits. Very fortunately, there was a lull in the rain during which I was able to keep that liquid outside the tent as well. Ha!

One lays down, and rises, earlier when out in nature. The rain had ended by morning. All I could think about was the weather, and wanting to get to Pam’s bridge on the anniversary of her death. I had a bunch of daisies to toss into the water, to float away into the farm as did her ashes almost a year before (Memorial Day Weekend last year).

The weather forecast was a priority. Earlier in the week a 30% chance of rain and storms was predicted. By Thursday, it was 60%. As I checked the forecast this Friday morning, there was now a 95% chance of strong to severe storms developing by late afternoon and early evening. I knew that I didn’t want to be in a tent during, nor have my car subjected to, hail and even stronger winds than I had endured the night before. I made up my mind to strike camp as soon as I came back from the bridge, and figure out the rest of the weekend from there. I decided to skip making coffee and get on the road. I was not yet out of the park when I realized my stress level was elevated just pondering whether I had time to make it to Nebraska and back before severe weather erupted either at camp or along the way. Turn around. Pull stakes. Say goodbye to L&CSP.

I was thrilled to find that the only wet parts of the tent were the fly, the stakes, and the tiedown lines. Even the tent footprint was dry on both sides. I’d rarely seen that in the past after a rain. A little ray of sunshine in an otherwise gloomy (emotionally and atmospherically) day. Knowing that I would probably be headed home from NE, I didn’t worry much about the packing, just making sure I hadn’t left anything behind, that it all fit back in the car, and that it would not rattle around too much as I drove. I hate that!

And so I headed west toward Nebraska, drinking Frappuccino and munching oatmeal raisin cookies. It would be after my visit to the bridge before I ate a meal.

Stay tuned tomorrow for Commemorative Camping – Part Three- To the Bridge and Home Again.

In case you missed it, back to part one of this story.

Commemoration Camping – Part One – Getting There is Half the Battle

This is part one of a three-part article being published on successive days beginning Saturday, May 20, 2023

Thoughts of going camping over the weekend that included the one-year anniversary of Pam’s death came as a way of breaking up a long drive to Nebraska while checking off a visit to scenic Loess Hills in Western Iowa. I had camping equipment I’d yet to use and wanted to experience camping again nearly a year after visiting Mammoth Caves and Green River Lakes last summer.

The Plan

Of course I had a plan, but a loose one compared to my preparations for most travels. Yes, I did create a Google route to keep me off major highways and on course. And yes, I did duplicate a camping/backpacking spreadsheet – but only to ensure that I didn’t forget anything. So, okay, at least in my mind it was not minutely planned. I fully expected to take it as it came, adapting to circumstances.

I would leave on Thursday the 11th with Louis and Clark State Park as my final destination that day. I prepaid three nights of tent camping. I’d make the trip to Pam’s bridge at the farm on Friday, the actual anniversary, then back to the park as a base camp for yet unknown (and unplanned) adventures Saturday along the Loess Hills Scenic Byway. Home again on Sunday.

The planning that I did do, and the anticipation of the journey, were enough to keep my mind from much of the detail, over the last couple weeks, of what took place a year ago. I was aware, though, that my emotions were lurking in the background.

A Sketchy Start

A misguided Google Maps was my first clue that I would, in deed, have to take things as they came, when my location was consistently about 1/2 mile off the routed highway. The pleasant female British voice kept telling me to take the next right, at every gravel road that would lead me back to the road that I was actually on! I had to dig deep into my troubleshooting bag of tricks over multiple stops, to solve the issue. On my third stop and fixit attempt, I forced a stop of the application, then rebooted my phone. I’ve not had any issue with it since!

New Providence Hardware

This would be a great trip to take a detour to one of the interesting stops recommended by a daily email that suggests restaurants and attractions one might want to visit, Only In Iowa. New Providence Hardware was on my saved list of places so I added an out-of-the-way stop on my way to Loess Hills. After all, I had all day to get there and was up for an adventure. I figured I’d have lunch there and then continue my journey.

I timed my departure to arrive around 11:30. But that was delayed by my stops to fix my location issue. So I got there around noon. New Providence was all of two blocks long with the hardware store and a bank flanking the only north/south road through town.

I hadn’t reviewed the article about New Providence Hardware for some time so it came as a bit of a surprise when I found no restaurant either in nor near the store. No lunch! But it was fun just to be there, including taking a toilet break in the basement with dirt floor and a plethora of old grinding and lathing equipment, and metal shavings on the floor. At least the toilet was clean.

I got to talking with Heather who must have grown up in New Providence. She knew that there had not been a restaurant in town for at least 25 years and that the “soda shop” next door could be rented for events and hosted a free will lunch on Mondays. That’s it. I bought a Hank’s Gourmet Cream Soda just because.

Heather smiled widely when I asked to take her picture. I took special pleasure in capturing the mannequin as well. I see now that I missed part of the head. Oh well. Heather was delightful with her information about the town. I returned to the counter on my way out to tell her that I’d used worse toilets in my time.

On to Louis and Clark State Park (L&CSP). I finally grabbed an Italian Wrap sandwich at a Casey’s in Nevada IA, washing it down with the cream soda. The rest of the trip to L&CSP was uneventful but pleasant as I rode into the hills of Western Iowa.

Stay tuned tomorrow for Commemorative Camping – Part Two – Camping is a Battle Too

Not Living in the Past

It’s true. I thought it would happen beginning a couple weeks ago, but I really haven’t been reliving the detailed events of a year ago. Sure. I’ve thought about certain things, but in general, I’m not.

However, one year ago on Saturday, May 7th (it’s a Sunday this year) reality became an unwelcome visitor. We’d been managing Pam’s pain for a couple weeks already, taking turns with a 24/7 rotation of turning her and keeping her comfortable. Hospice caregivers came only once each weekday in the mornings.

During a position change that Saturday, Mary, Pam’s sister-in-law and retired nurse, thought a hip bone might be out of place. So we called Hospice and talked with the nurse on call, who happened to be the lead nurse for Pam’s care. She came to the house within about an hour to examine Pam. It was not a bone issue. It was loss of weight/tissue/muscle. Good news – we hadn’t hurt Pam. Bad news – Pam’s condition was deteriorating.

As she was leaving, I took the nurse aside to mention quietly what Kara, Kelley, Mary, and probably others were noticing. There had been a marked change in Pam. The nurse agreed and told me she was going to start scheduling the case nurse for every day.

I was devastated by this news. Two weeks earlier the Hospice social worker told us that if/when this nursing schedule change is made, it meant that most likely Pam would not live longer than a week. She died five days later.

Equipped with this reality Pam’s brothers rescheduled their return flights home and I cancelled arrangements I’d just completed the day before to have Pam transferred to a care facility. Thus began the final watch.

This was a dreadful experience for us all. And yet there was such, I will use the term, ‘grace’ as we huddled in our small living room, taking turns visiting with Pam privately, and in groups. Family. Love. Sorrow. Pain. I realize now that I was in shock, barely functioning. Fortunately, others took over meals and transport as Kara, Kelley, Mary, and I as much as I could manage, took care of Pam.

Looking back, and in talking with some family members, I realize that we could not have done it much better. Pam had us all around her at the end. We took care of her and each other. Through it all, our bonds of family and friendship were deeply strengthened. Pam’s last loving gift to all of us!

May 12th is the first anniversary of Pam’s death. I hope you won’t mind if I take a week off. I have special activities planned for this coming week that I hope to write about afterward. But I think I need to take this time to concentrate on my grief process and contemplate how much I still love Pam and miss her painfully. My view has not changed one iota. Pam was an amazing individual, full of love and compassion. I was fortunate to have known her, loved her, and been loved by her. I know that those who knew her, especially her children, siblings, and in-laws, all feel the same.

“A gentle woman with no guile. That’s why I love you, Pamela Sue.” (The Song I Never Wrote for You)

Today’s take-away message in Martha Hickman’s Healing After Loss is:

“The journeys into the past always include a way back into the present, which is where I live.”

Pathetic, and a Random Act of Kindness

His day began typically, but with a heaviness of pain and sorrow that had been building for days. Morning contemplation with coffee. What could be accomplished today? First lawn mowing of Spring? Surf the Net? Practice music! Maybe a little laundry or floor sweeping just to try to keep up with the chores. Go for a walk. Those seem doable. And they were. But by mid-afternoon, having accomplished these simple goals, his brooding, the festering emptiness below the surface, was noticeably trying to break through.

This should not be a cooking day. It’s time to go out. Get out. Time to change surroundings, have a drink or two. Order something he wouldn’t make at home. But that lingering feeling. Can he muster the energy to get ready and go. And where? Not to his, or their, favorites. Don’t need to compound stress with nostalgia. Again, to the Net; “Restaurants near me.” Nope, that one’s too far. Don’t feel like what’s on ‘that’ menu. What about that new one? Not too far. Not much selection. But should be able to find something to go with a Moscow Mule or Bacardi cocktail.

Comfortable Spring evening, but a little on the cool side. He sees the gas-fueled flames around patio seating. That would be nice. Just a few others. Plenty of room to be alone without being alone. “Are you meeting someone?” asks the hostess. He extends his hand, smiles and says “I’m ‘Joe’. Nice to meet you. Now I’ve met someone. But I’m here alone.” Once seated he knows it won’t be comfortable on the patio, so he heads inside to be reseated.

Agreeing with the hostess on a table, there he sits. And sits. And sits. After ten minutes or so he goes back to the hostess and asks to have a server sent to the table. “I’ll let her know”, she states. Back to the table. And sits. And sits. Losing patience, he goes to the bar and asks to speak with a manager, who is there, and turns. “I want you to know that I just waited 15 minutes for a server to even come to the table. See ya!” and walked out the door. Well, that wasn’t helpful. Didn’t need anger and frustration on top of loneliness and emptiness. Now what? Might as well go home to figure it out.

On to the place across the park from his house. He’d been there before, but not often. Good Mules! Probably get a burger and fries. That’ll work. He walked the 1/4 mile through the park. When asked “Inside or out?” he replied, “Hmmm. Outside chilly, inside noisy.” The hostess suggested the dining area beyond the bar was quieter. And it was. Sitting alone at a small, square table that would be intimate for two, but with chairs for four on its flanks. He takes off his hat and un-pockets his phone, unlocking the latter to the background photo of his late wife, propping it on its case’s stand. Some sort of connection, intangible companionship while he enjoys an impressive breaded tenderloin and two flavored Mules.

And yet the feelings fester, like lava rising in the cone. Smoke rises in the form of welled-up tears. Enough to pull the handkerchief – her handkerchief that he always carries – from his pants pocket. Covered eyes, gentle sobs. As if he’s hiding his grief from those around him. Maybe, maybe not. His server, Emma, does a good job checking in. When finished she clears the dishes and mugs.

Instead of returning with the check, Emma states that the bill has been paid. But by whom? “A very nice person who thought you might be having a bad day”. ERUPTION! He can no longer hold it in. No hiding in a handkerchief now. Emma gives an empathetic sigh and leaves him to his crying.

The fiery smoke billows as the minutes trickle by. Finally, as she passes, he asks Emma about the person who pitied him. “Do I know them? May I meet them?” The person asked not to be made known. “You don’t know her, but I will ask her and have her come over if she agrees.”

More time passes as the eruption settles to a constant heated surge. Then to a festering underflow. Eventually, to some sense of decorum. Guessing it’s time to leave, he tosses a ten-dollar bill on the table as an extra tip for the server, and in lieu of paying for the meal for which he had not had to. He thanks Emma on the way out. All the time wondering who it was that saw through his thin veil of normalcy. He’ll never know.

He nearly dropped to his knees with sorrow and uncontrolled crying as he made the lonely walk home. Was this a gift, or affirmation of his woeful state of mind? Does it really matter anyway? Hadn’t it been getting better? Will he ever be better again?

All he could do was collapse into his easy chair. No music, no TV. No changing into sweats or brushing of teeth. Silencing the phone, he cried himself to sleep.

As you surely guessed, this is the story of me – last Tuesday. You may not have seen my follow-up comment attached to last week’s post. It was a foreshadow of Tuesday’s meltdown.

I woke up Wednesday from bed (I finally made it there in the middle of the night) looking back in the third person on what had transpired the previous day. I couldn’t get that out of my head. So that’s how I wrote it, and have added it to my Writings page in addition to its appearance here in this post.

I felt numb all day. Exhausted from grief. Disappointed that my progress had turned backward, holding out hope that such episodes will erupt less often and with less ferocity. I still have that hope. But it’s going to be a long few weeks leading up to May 12th, the anniversary of Pam’s passing. I still find it difficult to look at her picture without crying.

April 21st, a Thursday last year, was the beginning of the end of Pam’s struggle with PDD (or Lewy Bodies). She woke shortly after midnight with bad dreams and pain, leading to a sedative and a move to her easy chair (the one I now use and reference in the story above). Later that morning I tried to get her up from the chair but her legs were frozen. I tried to lift her and she ended up gently on the floor. I finally got her back in the chair where she remained for to two days.

This was it. The day I always said I’d need help. So I started making calls; doctors, nurses, care facilities, and eventually Hospice. A Hospice nurse came Friday the 22nd (Saturday this year) and assured me they could help. Within an hour I’d signed the papers to make that happen. I had no idea then that Pam would not live another three weeks.

Kara and Kelley arrived Saturday morning. They helped me get Pam cleaned up, dressed, and “comfortably” in bed. The lead Hospice nurse came again to present their plan of action and examine Pam more thoroughly. Thank goodness K & K were there. A Hospice team would start coming daily the following Monday (the 25th).

This chronology brings us current with what happened one year ago as of today (Saturday). In Pam’s words, it’s still “bullshit!”