One Thousand Sunsets in the Widow-hood

In what feels like another lifetime, I noted on my iCalendar that today marks the 1000th day since I said goodbye to George. While I don’t remember exactly when or why I instructed Siri to calculate and mark this date, I know myself well enough to understand my intentions. It would be a day of reflection, marking the absence of my Kahuna with a progress report - my term paper on life in the widowhood. As year three approaches, I could offer wisdom and insight, and celebrate the re-invention of his Lovely Paula Marie. And I would imagine George’s heavenly pride in his delicate flower, applauding her broken-hearted hardiness.  Well folks, as we all know life doesn’t come with a playbook....

Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined what life would be like on this 1000th Kahuna-less day -  a nation and the world in the throes of a deadly and catastrophic pandemic that has killed millions worldwide, crippled the economy, left millions jobless, destroyed businesses, and has left us masked, un-hugged and sequestered for 10 months. Science fiction and horror genres became our reality in a story too outlandish for even the most creative fiction writer.

Then came the unthinkable, unbearable loss of my first-born - my Scott - my happy, kind, always smiling son, lost to suicide 54 days ago. His death and the circumstances around it left me broken. Again. Speechless. Haunted by if only’s and what if’s. The Covid quarantine was perfectly suited to my need to be alone. Phone calls from my village went unanswered - there were no words to be spoken. Invitations to socially distanced meet-ups were declined. George’s pillow, my nightly spooning partner, would now share bed-space with the LA Dodgers blanket that draped Scott through life support before his donated heart, kidneys and liver were recovered to give life to others.

Losing Scott opened a new door to a different grief.  A mother’s grief for the baby I cradled. The little boy whose “owies” I kissed to make it all better. The teen I argued with over curfews and homework assignments. The son with whom I shared a dance and whispered in his ear how proud of him I was.

My Beautiful Boy

It’s also a grief of blank pages. I realize now how much I did not know - especially when Scott retreated after George died - and it adds to my heartbreak. He left so many unanswered questions. My sweet son with the big smile is gone, and so are the last chapters of his story. Lost in the conversations we didn’t have…

Today I set the intention to resurrect my blog with insight and wisdom gained on this 1000 Day journey as Lonely Paula Marie. But writer’s block set in as I poured through pages of notes I had been writing these past months. What usually comes easy felt forced. Unauthentic. Life as I knew it, as recently as 54 days ago, had been hijacked. 2020, and the first 13 days of 2021, had rendered me hopelessly unfocused. Was I struggling because there was nothing left to say? Was my 1000 day prophecy meant to be my closing credit? I stepped away from my laptop, poured a glass of wine and walked outside to view the sunset. And I got my answer…

George and Scott both loved the beauty of winter sunsets, with their golden yellow-oranges as the sun drops below the horizon. For many that’s the finale. BUT…if conditions are right, and if you have patience, your reward awaits as the sky erupts with a pink-purple brilliance that defies description. Tonight was that night.  Photos can’t capture the spectacle, but tonight’s sunset was just what I needed. My heavenly boys were speaking to me, and I knew what they were saying. Don’t walk away from something you love. Be patient. Sometimes the most beautiful moment is delayed, but the wait is worth the time you give it.

So, my dear followers, thank you for reading this far for basically a request to wait a little longer! I want to share with you some of my breakthrough moments, valuable lessons and mindful teachings that have helped me navigate life in the widowhood. It promises to be bumpy, as I now feel my way through the loss of Scott.

Most importantly, I want to thank YOU. While grief is often a solitary journey, I have made it this far through the weeds because of the unwavering support of my village. Family, Friends, Casual acquaintances whose compassion and kindness have filled my heart with gratitude. I thank you all, and invite you to stay tuned. 

 

Maui Sunset Bliss 2016

My Heavenly Golfing Goofballs

The Book Of Paula - The Next Chapter

Something is happening. I’m feeling a change in the wind direction of my life...maybe it’s time.

George’s BEST friend must have sensed it too. Last night he sent me this message. I sobbed as I read it. I could feel George. I miss him so much. But I think I’m ready to begin the next chapter in “The Book of Paula”. Thank you, Barry...

“...My belief that you know a good (human) when you see one was personified by my lifelong friend George. We were two of the good ones who were great friends for 57 years.

I always claimed to be his best friend, but his tragic passing last year taught me not to think so highly of myself.

I was a good friend, but his wife of 43 years clearly was his best friend who had her years of past happiness come crashing down last April, simultaneously collapsing the path of future happiness that she had envisioned. Past and future all put asunder in one awful moment.

But as sure as we emerge from the cold dark nothingness of the universe into this life, so do we all return to the place from which we came. Each of our lifetimes is but a book of chapters in the story of life.

Just as certainly as there were many wonderful chapters in the Book of George, most of which coincided with wonderful chapters in the Book of Paula, the Book of Paula now continues to be written.

As the chapter on loss and grief comes to a close it is exciting to envision the possibles for more happy chapters to come.

Such a wonderful person, surrounded by wonderful people would seem destined to find a new happiness in the yet untold chapters of her life.

Be happy with yourself, try not to waste a tear.

Find happiness with your loved ones, that is why we’re here.

Cherish all you thought was golden, let all else be forgot.

Marvel at past and future in the eyes of your grand little tots.

Be happy for what was, be hopeful for what will be.

You can’t know what the future holds, you’ll just have to wait and see.”

I think I’m ready. And I expect more tears. Every day. More firsts lay dead ahead. His Birthday. Valentine's Day. My Birthday. Tears still fall daily. In this next chapter in the Book of Paula, I hope the tears water my new garden of life. I know it's what George would want. It's time to Bloom.

Only You. Only me

206 days. 29 weeks. Almost seven months. Each day the reality seers more deeply into my soul. New rituals and routines. Acceptance of the quiet house - our house - devoid of his boisterous presence. On occasion some mundane moment takes me back to before That Day. To be specific, it was the hour long drive home after lunch with a friend. In a dreamlike moment, I suspended reality and imagined George at his office – strong and in charge – as I headed home to prep dinner and await his arrival. Feeling content. Looking forward to sharing our day’s events with each other over a glass of wine, with Charlie at George’s feet. The old normal of so many ordinary days. I knew this wasn’t my new reality. For as long as I could, I let myself forget he is gone, and lingered in the warmth of his presence. Ignoring the looming reality - he wouldn’t be home this night. Almost seven months…

George was born in the 50s, and his Baby Boomer musical preferences never veered far from the decades just before and after – except, perhaps, his infatuation with Linda Ronstadt! From the big bands introduced to him by his parents, to Elvis, Roy Orbison, and The Everly Brothers, my Kahuna loved his Happy Days inspired playlists.

One song was George’s anthem to me - his Lovely Paula Marie. Only You, by the Platters. It would be the song he’d request at our high school reunions. The first song on the mix tape he made me as an anniversary present - along with an emerald and diamond bracelet! It would also be the last song we danced to, on his birthday just weeks before That Day.

The room was filled but in this moment it was Only Us

This week, “Only You” took on a whole new meeting. “It’s only you now, Paula”, would be my reality self-check in a week of anxiety, illness, tragedy and fear…

The anxious moments awaiting results of the Midterm elections were my first, unanticipated Only You moment of the week. George and I were politically aligned in our commitment to the principles of equality, compassion, and acceptance. His fiscal conservative/social liberalism countered my “bleeding heart” at times, and his encyclopedic knowledge of the Constitution provided welcome insight. He also knew many judges and guided me through the laundry list of judicial candidates. We would discuss of the pros and cons of each candidate, and argue the often confusing intent of each proposition. As I sat down with my sample ballot and election guide, I felt the void. I sat alone, did my research - left many judicial candidates un-voted for - and took a solo walk to the polling place. “It’s only you now, Paula.”

We Voted! 2016

The week also brought my first “real” illness since That Day, courtesy of an adorable 15 month old. Her croup became Gigi’s bronchitis – a fever-chills-Kleenex-box-emptying few days of misery. I missed my Kahuna-nurse, checking on me and bringing comfort with his strong hands - and a cold cloth to bring down my fever. “It’s only you now, Paula,” rang in my already ringing ears. I trudged downstairs to find some tea and soup, called Daughter for advice on the timing of taking Tylenol and Advil, snuggled up with Charlie, and realized how my single/solo friends fend for themselves. It was all so new to me!

Waking up in the pre-dawn hours to the news of yet another senseless massacre of innocent people, just miles from our home, sent me reeling. Twelve innocent lives taken by a mentally ill white man with access to a gun.

#Enough

I would soon learn my friends knew some of the victims. Another thanked God her son had elected not to go to Borderline club that night because he had a late work shift. Still others knew the local sheriff and first responder killed by the gunman. I lay in bed – alone - and broken once again by the absurdity of this country’s love affair with guns. I was without my Kahuna to hold me tight as I cried for the grieving widows, and the parents awaiting news and fearing the worst. “It’s only you now, Paula.”

Two hours later, these brave first responders were on the fire line. #indebted

No sooner had I returned home from the nearby freeway overpass - hand over my heart as the passing motorcade carried the slain officer - did the sound of sirens fill the air. My obsession with the news prompted me to check my Pulse Point app to learn of a vegetation fire a couple miles from me. Just minutes later a plume of smoke rose behind the house. Within hours, my level of concern was raised as the ridge behind me displayed the eerie red glow of the approaching fire. The unmistakable sound of automated phone alerts throughout the evening didn’t put my mind at ease, although none were mandatory evacuation notices. As a SoCal native, this wasn’t my first brush fire rodeo, but it was the first without my protector. My rock. “It’s only you now, Paula…”

Too close for comfort!

Getting closer...

“Mom you need to evacuate!” Daughter texted as wild Santa Ana wind gusts advanced the flames along the hills just east of me. Her friend – an experienced “evacuator” - implored me to pack a bag and collect valuables “just in case”. Their concern left me grateful – and anxious - and feeling very, very alone. A momentary panic set in, exhibited by wandering aimlessly, room to room, trying to wrap my head around what I would take if I had to evacuate. I channeled my inner Kahuna and shook off the panic. “It’s only you now, Paula. Take a couple deep breaths and gather your wits – and the essentials – pets, papers, pictures, prescriptions.” I packed a just-in-case bag, felt relief at the sight of the waning red glow out the window, and fell asleep after a long “Only You” day.

My Kahuna was packed too!

My Only You moments brought their fair share of tears and, in hindsight, demonstrated the strength I hadn’t realized I have. I added four notches to my widow’s belt and cinched it a little tighter around my survivor waste. I know George was with me, and imagine him feeling comforted knowing I am finding my new self.

Next week brings its next Only You moment. I’m pulling up my compression socks, lacing up my shoes, and heading out for my 16th 3-Day, 60 mile walk. George and I walked thousands of miles training and participating in this event since 2002, and walking without him will be emotional. I’m bracing for a flood of memories – and a fair share of blisters! As I walk, I will have plenty of time remembering the man who made me his Only You.

A kiss at Mile 20

I had my Only You for more years than many of my readers have lived! How truly grateful I am for 50 years of Kahuna hugs, kisses, and partnership. Honey, you were my dream come true, my one and Only You.

Let me make one thing clear. Since That Day, I have never been truly alone, unless by choice. My village has been “with” me whenever I need them. The depth of their love, support and assistance is humbling. They have helped soften the grief that will always be a part of my life.