TALES FROM THE (Widow) HOOD

Welcome to my new series of Grieflections - taken from the pages (and pages) of notes, until now unpublished. Thought bubbles, of sorts, from my widow's fog of last year, to the widow's brain of today.  Mindfulness studies taught me to look at thoughts as "writing on water" - recognize them, and reflect on how they manifest as sensory feelings. Be Curious. Observant. Accepting. Loving. And come back to the breath. The now. Mindfulness and meditation has been a gift. Writing has been my salvation to process the thoughts. And let them go - to anyone who may be interested in Life in the Widow-hood. February Feels How is it possible? I still catch myself in painful disbelief. But the daily reminders of widowhood scream the reality of my unintended life. The empty "side" of our bed. The recently emptied closet and bureau drawers. His chair, still holding his "scent", yet devoid of his presence. Writing has been my therapy, along with mindfulnes...

I recently shared this and other recent posts on my other blog, Not My Mother's 60 .  I still count the loss in months. Can it really be sixteen? Emotions well up as the 19th of each month approaches. George was always mildly amused with my penchant for recalling what happened a “week/month/year ago today”. I was his personal almanac of otherwise forgettable moments that somehow left an impression on me - worthy of my recall...  It’s getting easier.  16 months.  Every morning I wake up to your absence. The empty space in our bed. The void that will never be filled. I blink away the fog of sleep and accept it. You’re not here. The reality sinks in and I prepare for the beginning of another day without you. It’s getting easier.  I look at your picture on the wall beside the bed. Your eyes beaming your reassurance that I can do anything. I pull myself out of bed to begin my day. I fill the moments with ordinary activities and paint on my happy...

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.

Posted March 29, 2019 - the day before my first Kahuna-less birthday. "... Tomorrow morning will be tough. I won’t be awakened shortly after midnight with a hug and, “Happy Birthday, Gorgeous. Today is your day.”    There will be no birthday card propped up on the kitchen table, alongside a gift bag. We had everything we wanted, so gifts were not the focus of birthdays. George typically violated the “no gifts” pledge with a sweet surprise and a sheepish grin...and The Card..." READ the entire blog post HERE. My last birthday. Not a worry in the world...

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...