A Day in the "After" Life

Four weeks. 28 days. I consider each day a success when I climb into bed and can congratulate myself for getting through the past 24 hours. An “X” crossed off on the post Kahuna calendar.

While my heart has yet to heal, the realities of life won’t wait patiently for the pain to subside. Bills must be paid. Phone calls returned to clients who haven’t heard The News about the man they trusted with their legal matters. A day in the “After” life has taken a turn toward everyday routine, with the ever present and heavy weight of my Kahuna’s absence. It’s a strange juxtaposition of the ordinary “then” and the half-empty “now.”

The Clients: For as many active clients who received The News, at least as many have not. Past clients with new issues who innocently pick up the phone and leave a friendly message for the man they came to know as a trusted friend and advice giver. I brace myself before returning every call, knowing what’s about to take place…

 “Hello, this is Paula Hultman, calling on behalf of my husband George Hultman. I’m sorry to tell you that George passed away suddenly on April 19...” The surprise and shock on the other end of the line leads to momentary awkward silence, and attempts at responding to what they’ve just heard. If I haven’t already started crying, now is the time my replies are sabotaged by the always-just-below-the-surface emotions that mute my voice. In every call, I hear from clients how much George had meant to them. He was clearly more than a lawyer – he changed lives with his compassion and legal knowledge.

The Bills: Calls to financial institutions and credit card companies are equally challenging. George’s business affairs were something he “protected” me from. He was a master at manipulating the ebbs and flows of a sole practitioner’s cash flow! On more than one occasion he told me it would drive me crazy knowing how his system worked. Now I know what he was talking about! These calls go something like this, after the ever present and annoying automated phone tree tango and eventual scripted greeting by the human who was randomly selected to take my call...

Me: “Hello I’m calling about account xxxx.”

She/he: “And who am I speaking with?”

Me: “This is Paula. Hultman”

She/he: “I’m sorry I can’t talk to you about this account, I need to speak with George.”

Me: “George died suddenly and I’m calling about his account.” (at which point the lump in my throat makes its presence known)

(Dead silence as the unsuspecting customer service agent scrambles to pull up the correct condolences script.) “One moment please while I transfer you to the right department.”

At some point in the ensuing conversation my voice cracks and the words no longer come out in any recognizable form, thus adding to the awkwardness of the situation.

I’ve done this enough now in the past few weeks to start noting which companies have done a better job of training their staff for these calls! By the end of each conversation I am drained and weirdly amused by what had just transpired!

The Cards: My day continues with an abundance of wonderful cards and messages that arrive on a daily basis – along with those pesky bills. The personal notes in the cards have brought me tremendous comfort and heartfelt tears. I have developed a strategy of collecting the cards for a couple of days and finding a time to sit down and read each card and marvel at how wonderful My Kahuna was to more than just me.

The Walk: Oh Charlie, how his goofy Golden presence has helped these past 28 days. At some point we go on his walk- which is more of a sniff and saunter that a calorie burner! It’s a nice diversion and a great chance to get some fresh air for both of us. He’s become quite the couch potato. Well actually he always was a low energy boy and still sleeps in his bed in George’s office when I am working in there. I miss George on these walks. It was something we did together for so long. Occasionally I run into a neighbor who wants to make sure I’m doing all right, and once in a while I meet somebody who hadn’t heard The News. I consider it a good walk if I get home without having had to use any of the Kleenex I carry in my pocket.

The Meals: I haven’t mastered the art of cooking for one yet. In reality I haven’t really tried. “Eat healthy,” the doctor admonished me. I consider it healthy if I can get in one protein shake a day! Otherwise I’m surviving on lunch date leftovers and a stockpile of frozen soups. I resorted to using the dishwasher as a drying rack for the few dishes that collect each day!

The Silence: I had naïvely thought once we returned from our family trip to Maui, I would somehow be better adjusted at home. Not! After the three ring circus that is a trip with three grandchildren (ages 9 months to four years) and four adults, returning to the silence of this empty house is deafening! George loved TV. Old TV! He knew every station that played TV series from the past, and spent a good deal of his last few months revisiting his childhood favorites. There were days I wished he would just turn the damn thing off! Careful what you wish for! I see his empty chair and long for another episode of Cheers or Superman, yet I sit in silence not really interested in any TV and unable to focus on a book. I’ve been working on the eulogy for George’s upcoming services as well as a video slide presentation. It seems I just wallow in the grief right now - even when I don’t think I’m wallowing!

The Nights: I’m writing this tonight in bed. This is when I miss George the most. A king size bed without my king-size Kahuna feels very empty. I feel vulnerable and so very alone in the still darkness. I still sleep on “my side” (too bad I can’t wash one half the sheets!) and caught myself tonight arranging the extra pillows in a way that mimicked his back next to me. Eyes closed, I massaged them gently, imagining his broad shoulders. protecting me from things that go bump int he night. I fall asleep hoping he will visit me again.

The Grief: A dear friend gave me a wonderful book, Option B written by Sheryl Sandberg, who lost her husband suddenly, and recounts the PTSD-like grieving process along with insight on how to survive it.  I read the introduction and had a good cry, then set it down. I’ll pick it up again – soon I hope – but for now there is an odd and unexplainable need to FEEL my sadness, and in my case, to overshare my journey in this painful “after” life.

During my pity parties I remind myself that I’m not the only one who has lost their love. I’ve seen other people survive it. I just never realized how deeply they must have been grieving when I assumed they were “better” and seemed to be carrying on with life. I know at some point I’m going to be better at coping with my new normal. Now I also know it’s possible to conceal heartbreak from the world while feeling totally empty inside.  I’m a very public griever and you are all my grief support group! Thank you for listening. I feel better. Good night!!