Save a Seat for Grandpa

I’m into month five of my Kahuna-less life. The finality – the emptiness - is sinking in. I have adjusted to the sound of silence in our home. Charlie has altered his routine to include an almost daily midnight walk upstairs to spend part of the night in our bedroom – something he never did when George was here. He sleeps on the floor on George’s side of the bed, and his presence as I round the corner toward the bathroom each morning is a welcome sight.

LPM's birthday, 2017 at Disney California Adventure. Our happy place. Cheers.

I am adept at pushing my grief further behind the façade of normalcy, but have yet to experience a tear-less day. My lifelong penchant for remembering the details of “what we did one year ago today” is now a pain-inducing reflection of how beautiful my life WAS, and how quickly our happily ever after became a nightmare of unthinkable proportions.

I also find joy. I know George wants me to be happy, and I am doing my best to please him. The joyful distractions are a constant reminder of my most cherished possession - my extraordinary village. Daughter, Son, Son-in-Law, Nieces/Nephews, Sis-in-Law, Cousins and Friends, Friends, Friends. Paula’s Angels. They deserve a future blog post! I cannot imagine surviving George’s loss without them.

There are three Angels on Earth who bring me joy with each smile, hug and “Hi Gigi!” - Mighty M, Rambunctious R, and Kewpie Doll K. The two youngest will only remember their wonderful Grandpa through our stories and photos. But M remembers...

Since That Day, M routinely poses questions – “Gigi, do you miss Grandpa?” “Gigi, do you wish Grandpa didn’t die?” I answer his questions honestly, and simply. We have also had more intense conversations, in which he has informed me, “My teacher said Heaven is way up high, so Grandpa can’t hear you,” to which I counter, “I’m going to keep talking to him anyway, because I think Heaven is at My House, like you told me one day.” After one particularly “heated” debate on this subject, I looked to the sky and said, “Hi Grandpa.” My Mighty M followed suit, and with a quivering lip said, “I miss you, Grandpa.” In that moment, I realized his questions to me were actually his personal feelings - "I miss Grandpa. I wish Grandpa didn't die." I knelt to hug him and we shared our love – and loss – of a wonderful man. M remembers…

George and I had a love affair with Disneyland. It was one of our first special dates, when admission and a book of tickets was a whopping $4.75. And parking was fifty cents! Today that will buy you a churro!

We introduced Nieces and Nephews and, later, Son and Daughter to the happiest place on earth. We loved seeing the magic of “Walt’s Place” through their eyes. Once they outgrew family visits to Disneyland, my Kahuna and I rekindled the child within us and continued our trips to the Magic Kingdom. We eagerly anticipated the day when we could start taking our grandchildren. Those adventures began when M and R were two years old. Sadly, little granddaughter K never had the opportunity.

Rambunctious R's first Disneyland trip.

Last month, seeking a distraction guaranteed to bring happiness, I made the decision to take M on a Disneyland adventure with “Geege” – his nickname for me. It was my first-ever visit to the park as the only adult, and at M’s ripe old age of 4 ½ , I was confident I was up to the task. Backpack, check. Water, check. Wet wipes for sticky churro fingers, double check! Ready, set, go!

My sweet Mighty M remembers his Disneyland trips with Gigi and Grandpa. His favorites? Spinning in the teacups. Driving the Autopia cars with Grandpa.

Taking in the sights of It’s a Small World (cue annoying ear worm!). Holding on to Grandpa as we sailed down the waterfalls on Pirates of the Caribbean (Drink up me hearties, yo ho). Flying in circles with Dumbo the elephant.

Now that he’s reached the height requirement, M’s interests have expanded to thrill rides on the relatively tame Disneyland roller coasters (cue a green Gigi!).

As we enjoyed the familiar sights, my little man recalled previous visits – and clearly felt the absence of his familiar sidekick. “I remember Grandpa at Disneyland,” he commented. It wasn’t an unexpected remark, as he has felt George's loss deeply, and is processing it as best he can – with the comfort and guidance of remarkable Daughter and Son-in law. His comment prompted a conscious effort on my part to “bring” Grandpa with us throughout the day, thus beginning a series of enthusiastic exclamations as we made our way from one attraction to the next – Me: “Do you know who loved this ride?” M: (at first puzzled with my query) “No, who?” Me: “Grandpa!” His face lit up as we enjoyed each ride, and I silently fought back tears as we shared our wonderful day at a favorite place.

Fist bumps with Pluto. Grandpa's favorite character.

Guess who loved the trumpet player!

By end of day, M was asking, “Was this one of Grandpa’s favorite rides?” My heart soared as I saw my little man turning his grief for what he had lost into the joy of remembering the fun he had with Grandpa. As we waited in line for the last ride of the day, he turned to me. “Gigi, I think Grandpa is here with us.” I couldn’t hide my joy, as I said, “I think he is too!” He looked to the heavens and shouted, “Hi Grandpa!” Be still my broken heart. My sweet M had found joy too. “Gigi, I think Grandpa just touched my head.” I thought the day could not get any better.

But it did! As he climbed into the cozy compartment of Big Thunder Railroad and sat down, I asked M to scoot over to make room for me. With complete sincerity, he moved only slightly before exclaiming “I’m saving a seat for Grandpa!”

We laughed with delight and screamed with surprise at each twist and turn. I held my Little Man close, and remembered my Big Man. Always sitting beside me. Keeping me safe. Celebrating the joys of our past, and guiding me through the sorrows for as long as it takes. Honey, I will always save a seat for you.

Grateful? Thankful? Depressed

This weekend celebrates the transformation of Casa de Hultman into a "faux fall" spectacular. As a native SoCal girl it’s my way of anointing every room with the symbols of my favorite season - while the A/C combats the hot Santa Ana winds, and backyard citrus trees bear the ripening bounty of oranges, avocados, and tangerines on their perpetually green boughs. Throughout the house, orange, gold and auburn replace the cool summer hues. Pumpkins abound, and happy jack-o’-lanterns await their October addition to the rites of autumn. By November, bountiful cornucopias will take their place on the mantle.

NYC 2016. Central Park in Fall. Nothing like it!

Our 2016 NYC trip, and "real" fall color. Breathtaking!

Do I want to decorate this year? I have asked myself that question over the past few weeks - my heart still aching as I wander through our home - alone. Am I ready to put up the reminders of the season we both loved, in my Kahuna-less house? I wavered between avoiding every reminder of what I lost, and going into "full-on" fall decorating mode as a reminder of what used to be.

Friendsgiving 2017. Grateful. Two weeks before The News

After some joy-focused meditation, and the realization I had to accept my new normal (I have come to hate that phrase), I made the decision to pull out the fall décor. Every dried/preserved/imported leaf, pumpkin and seed pod! I marked the Labor Day weekend by festooning the house with its usual autumn splendor.

There was one difference…

I struggled with the words used on decorative signage that had previously expressed my gratitude for this season of thankfulness. Grateful? Thankful? Blessed? In my current raw state, these words tugged at my heart. Don’t get me wrong - I am grateful for my village who is watching out for me and giving me space to grieve; thankful to my children and grandchildren for reminding me that George and I created a beautiful family; and blessed to have had so many years with the love of my life. But the predominate sentiment of this season of “firsts” isn’t found on any Pinterest page or home store shelf. Instead of Grateful, Thankful, Blessed, my sign would read Heartbroken, Lonesome, Depressed.

Stores abound with signage of the season. 

 As Daughter and I shopped for even more fall decor yesterday, I felt a tinge of resentment as the signage of the season bombarded my fragile senses and pierced my already broken heart. I turned my attention away from the words that imbued their sentiment, in favor of scented candles, metal baskets and dried flowers. Then I turned a corner to find this framed message...

This. Is/Was. Us.

"It was one of those love stories that people will talk about for years to come."

My Kahuna was suddenly with me. Reminding of me of all that I had been given in my lifetime. How grateful I was for walking into English class 50 years ago and meeting my best friend. How thankful I am to have found my perfect love. How blessed was the life we had together. And I realized he is always with me. He had led me to the Most Perfect Sign. Daughter saw me stop in my tracks and immediately offered consolation as I melted in her arms. I had the love story of a lifetime - and as I learned so suddenly - none of us know when our “lifetime” will end. The George and Paula love story is timeless. And life goes on, as do the seasons. This year of firsts will bring anguished tears of sadness, but I will surround myself with the decorations and symbols of the season my Kahuna and I cherished. And I will smile between the tears.

Keep Calm and Decorate, Decorate, Decorate!

I’m reinventing the meaning of Grateful, Thankful, Blessed this year. I’m not sure I can bear to see the words blatantly displayed in the house yet, but I know George is watching. He is GRATEFUL I am going to celebrate this season we both loved, THANKFUL I won't be alone, and BLESSED he made the most of his simple, yet meaningful life.

Here's to our favorite season, honey. Feel free to visit any time. I'll leave a candle burning for you.