TALES FROM THE (Widow) HOOD

Thanksgiving memories... Early morning cuddles and the first “Happy Thanksgiving, honey” of the day. A morning cup of coffee delivered bedside, along with another kiss, and a quick review of the to-do list in advance of our Thanksgiving gathering. A morning walk with Charlie. Or Lucy. Or Tracy, Spencer, Bear, Katie, or Kitty - beloved members our four-legged fur family through the years.  9:00 am. The TV is tuned to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, while the aroma of sautéing veggies signals the beginnings of turkey and dressing prep. As I cook, memories of the Thanksgivings of my childhood fill my head. I feel my dad’s presence, emulating his culinary skills, from the precise vegetable dicing to the simmering turkey broth that will eventually flavor tonight’s gravy. Tables and chairs take their positions in advance of arriving loved ones. Furniture is moved to accommodate the additional seating for friends and family. No one should be alone on Thank...

Today marks 13 months into this new life I never imagined. I meet people now who didn’t know my Kahuna. Had not subscribed to the George and Paula Channel. They see Paula, Party of One. I am friendly and seemingly happy - but they have no idea who his Lovely Paula Marie was before That Day. The world (minus one) has moved on and accepted the fact that George is gone. His name doesn’t come up in conversation as often. Sometimes he’s not mentioned at all. People assume I am moving on too. It’s a “year after”, after all. I’m moving forward, slowly, but I can’t stop missing George. I want to hear more George-isms. Funny Kahuna moments. I want people to talk about him. I’m selfish that way… I’m starting to understand that there are two types of grief. Grief for the loss of George, and for the void he left in our lives - his dreams of fishing trips, baseball games and family vacations with his grandkids. His sage wisdom and father/uncle/grandfatherly advice. His goodness, an...

“Hi, Gorgeous!”  He often began notes that way. He thought I was beautiful. He made me feel beautiful. I miss that. His sweet comments as I came downstairs and into his view - dressed for a night out or a day in. His playful leers as I undressed for a shower. In his eyes I had no flaws. He was blind to all of the “soft, sagginess” of aging. I was always his lovely Paula Marie. He forever saw me as the 17-year-old girl who passed his desk as she timidly entered English class. And he always loved me just the way I was. He was my Mr. Rogers.

For better or worse, in sickness and in health... 52 weeks ago today. It’s Wednesday morning, and my always strong man is too weak to get out of his chair. His doctor instructs me to call 911. Best Friend rushes over. Daughter follows. She alerts Son.. We’re concerned, but hopeful. Is this really happening? The ER team is attentive and reassuring. IV antibiotics and platelets are now fighting the good fight. George is dictating text messages to clients, assuring them their upcoming court appearances will be covered by a colleague. As nurses prepare to move him to the ICU, I sense their sudden urgency, and feel the rising tightness in my throat and unsettling in my stomach. George utters what were to be his last words to me, “Here, honey, take my glasses,” as he is transferred to a gurney for a trip down that all too familiar corridor to the ICU. Neither of us realized those words would be our goodbye... "Honey, hold my glasses" - forever Hours later, Th...

·    10 Months   ·    43 weeks   ·    306 Days   ·    7344 Hours   ·    440,640 Minutes Today marks 10 months since That Day.   I’ve rounded the corner, nearing the homestretch toward the finish line of painful “firsts”. And that last turn was a double whammy! George’s birthday last week led me (and Charlie, my goofy Golden and constant sidekick) on a 400+ mile, 24 hour road trip to some of our favorite places. It was just us, and it was exactly what we needed. My Kahuna was with us. We both felt his presence.  Paso Robles, CA. His favorite winery Moonstone Beach, Cambria, CA.  Charlie, my  sidekick Three days later, my Valentine’s Day broken heart was comforted by an extraordinary outpouring of love from my Village. Cards, gifts, messages and dozens of roses, including 50 red roses from Daughter – symbolic of her dad’s last Valentine’s gift to me - r...

My name is Paula, and I am a Widow. There, I said it. The “W-word”. Checking "that" marital status box is still a gut punch. I am a widow who lovingly slips my wedding rings on my hand each day, while George's rings stay close to my heart on a chain worn around my neck. Like Elvis, my Kahuna has left the building, but my heart still beats to the rhythm of the lifetime of music we made together. I am a widow disguised as a married woman. And I am just fine with that, thank you very much. I have worn my scarlet "W"  for nine months. Am I adjusting? Yes. Do I laugh, find joy, and practice self-care? I do. Have I “gotten over” my Kahuna’s death? Impossible...  Nine months ago in a hospital ICU, I held George’s hand for the last time. As the respirator was disconnected and he took his final breath, I felt his grasp tighten ever so gently around my fingers – his assurance that he would always be with me. I know he wants me to be happy again. But I miss the “me...