52 Weeks

"...Memories of that day are both a blur, and horrifically clear. Writing them here, I remember the fear that consumed me. The reality one faces when losing their person. George was my person. I’d spent nearly my entire life with him. And still, 52 weeks later, I miss him to the depths of my soul..."

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The Last "First" - A Birthday of Memories

The last “First” is tomorrow. Daughter, Niece, and Smile Sister have planned a gathering of family and friends – my village - who have provided the soft landing spot for my free fall into widowhood. Our home will once again be filled with laughter, music, food and drink. All the things George loved so much. There were other options available to me.  Staying in bed all day, or taking another road trip with Charlie, the Goofy Golden. Perhaps dinner with son and daughter. But for this first birthday without my Kahuna, my heart - and his voice in my head – knew I needed to be surrounded by love and happiness. The peace I feel in the energy of so many people in our house will top off my fuel tank as I prepare for the first “Last” – the day I whispered, “I love you, honey. It’s okay to go. I’ll be okay,” just three weeks later. That Day…

Happy Birthday, Disneyland style. 2017

At some point I have to sidestep this grief journey and acknowledge Paula 2.0.  Paula, party of one. She and I have been cohabiting my body and emotions for almost a year now. Paula 2.0 is my future. Instead of the pragmatic, unwelcome guest her presence usually conjures up, I have to learn to embrace this new persona. Paula 2.0 is strong, smart, mindful (thanks to an extraordinary 10 week course in mindful meditation), capable of making important decisions - and artful at disguising her loneliness with a veil of light-heartedness and laughter. Our journey together will be the yin and yang of emotions. Two dance partners taking turns as the lead. For now I feel like Ginger Rogers, dancing backwards and in heels.

This widowhood dance with my new partner can only truly be understood by those who, sadly, have had to lace up their own shoes. Just when I think I have mastered the combination of steps, I stumble. All choreography is lost as I frantically try to straighten my ball gown and regain my balance. I never know what will trigger the flood of tearful memories, puddling on the dance floor and sending me tumbling. And the dance partner who had kept me upright for so many dances is no longer there to catch me. Eleven months of agonizing practice has helped, and while some steps may never be mastered, I think George is applauding the new version of The Lovely Paula Marie – missteps and all.

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.

 

My Kahuna's final birthday gift to me. 2018

The true gift was the card – not the printed words, but George’s personal message – in barely legible cursive, filling the entire blank inner leaf, if not more, of the card. Love notes of reflection and happiness. Gratitude and promise. Humor, and my Kahuna’s incomparable wit. Read aloud with love and laughter, and punctuated at the end with a hug and kiss. So many hugs and kisses. so many cards. I saved them all. Valentines. Birthdays. Mother’s Day. Our Anniversary. I recently sat and re-read each card’s message – his love notes to me – recalling the beautiful life we shared for so many years. They are priceless. They were his everlasting gift to his Lovely Paula Marie.

The family joke was, everyone sounded like a second grader trying to read aloud George's "challenging" handwriting!

I wonder what George would have written in this year’s card.  I poured through some of his letters and cards, and took excerpts from past birthday messages (George’s words in italics). Here is the love note his words created... 

Paula my love,

Here we are again. I can’t imagine what I would do on March 30 each year if you weren’t in my life. I love you so much and I hope I tell you that enough times during the year. Thank you for spending so many of your birthdays with me…

I’ve had the good fortune of writing quite a few cards to you on your birthday. I am so very lucky to have you in my life. Not too many people get to have their best friend with them every year as I do. No one knows how much I love you, and how much I enjoy you, enjoying your birthday…

Our life is certainly anything but routine, except for our wonderful routine of celebrating birthdays - that just doesn’t change. You always make our individual day special and I want you to know how special you are to me... Life’s perfect ain’t it? I love you. Happy birthday...

This year marks your new career (1996 – I had left my teaching profession to open an educational toy/teaching supplies store). Yet some things didn’t change… your “self”, including but not limited to; beauty, your consistency at being the best wife and mother, your compassion and forgiveness. Let’s face it, you’re still perfect. We love you. I love you, Spencer (our Golden) loves you, the whole world… OK, I’ll stop, or you’ll get embarrassed,,,

For me your birthday is like our anniversary. We celebrate our years together and continue to be thankful we have each other to spend our birthdays with. Love and kisses from the guy you have put up with for the last 38 years…

Happy birthday to you; you survived another year with me. I know it has been difficult. I am always impressed with your week long birthday celebrations. Some people won’t even talk about birthdays. You embrace them. I guess most would if they never change year to year like you. You found the secret to staying forever young. That’s because it’s in your heart. I think I’ll ride along with you!

Happy Birthday! Love to my favorite girl (How do you like that closing?)

Love and kisses forever, Georgie

P.S. Yes I know my hand writing has not improved, but it’s not getting worse! I’m glad you judge me for my other attributes and not whether you can read my notes!

Love always, your Big Kahuna

If he were to write a card to mark my Big 6-8, I think George would add the following love note to his LPM…

My Lovely Paula Marie,

Happy Birthday. Remember, I am always with you. Love never dies, and our love will last forever. You have always doubted yourself, but I have always believed in you. Be strong. Be confident. Be the person you have always been. Paula 2.0 is going to be fine. I want to see  you dance again. And I am never far away.  

Love and kisses from he who kisses you most! Me

My Kahuna. My last birthday, 2018. Love and Kisses Forever

I've moved! Read my latest post HERE.  Tales from the (Widow) Hood

My Future Is Not Yet Written....

It's time. Nine months since That Day, and I'm taking my thoughts to a new blog - TALES FROM THE (Widow) HOOD.  Please Subscribe, and follow my journey of rebirth and discovery.

This blog will continue as well. While widowhood has branded me, I refuse to let it define me. I am almost eight years into my journey through this decade. I hit a life changing speed bump, but I'm still belted in. Thank you for accompanying me!

Keep Calm and Widow On!

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.

We Wish You Were Merry, Christmas - an Ugly Christmas Sweater Tale

Grief is my constant companion this holiday season. It’s the ugly Christmas sweater of human emotions - and hard to ignore. People see you wearing it and aren’t sure if they should complement you - “Gee, you look great!” - or pretend they don’t notice. You smile - even laugh occasionally -  knowing that hideous sweater is drawing attention, when all you really want is the beautiful cashmere number you loved and wore for so many years.

I'm pretty sure I owned this sweater in the '80's!

I won’t lie. These “first” holidays are tough. Family and friends are doing what they can to help soften the heartache, and I sincerely appreciate their kindness - and their invitations to join them for a bit of holiday fun. If only I could flip a switch and turn off the grief. I feel terribly guilty when I don’t accept an offer…

Last night I made it halfway to a long planned event, then pulled into a parking lot and sat with my aloneness, before turning around and heading back home. I knew I wasn’t really going to be alone - several of my “villagers” were awaiting my arrival - but I just couldn’t do it. In that moment I missed George too much - a Friday “date night” kind of occasion. Without my Kahuna in the driver’s seat, telling me I looked beautiful. Dancing to the slow songs, my head nestled in his chest, and swinging to our trademark moves when the music was right. I couldn’t face it – alone. I drove home, sent an apologetic text, and took off my party clothes in favor of pj’s and some hot tea. Charlie stayed close by, as he does when I’m “mopey”, and I imagined Friday nights of my past life. Oh what a difference.
 

One invitation I didn’t turn down was the delightful Christmas program of my firstborn Grand. Now a seasoned actor at 4 and a half (he was a donkey last year) Master M had a lead role as Joseph in this year’s Christmas performance along with the other 3-4 year old wiggly, giggly tots.

He had been practicing loudly recently, and nothing was better than his mash-up of song lyrics - "We wish you were merry, Christmas" - (and a perfect tile for this blog!); and "Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle on the way." In my lap sat my youngest grand - Sweet Baby K, a vision in her Christmas plaid party dress and black patent Mary Janes.

But even that event tugged at my broken heartstrings...

Driving, alone, to the church brought back memories of last year’s program. It was my first public, solo appearance, and I recalled the sudden outflow of tears as I walked in to see our then 3 year old grandson perform his first Christmas carols. George was in the hospital last year, on dialysis, awaiting results of the multitude of tests that would eventually reveal the deadly truth. Being at the church without “Grandpa” last year was a gut-punch - and the foreshadowing of what would soon become my new, unwelcome reality.

Let me assure you that I do allow happiness and joyful moments to take center stage now and then. I get out of bed every day, find distractions to keep me busy, and play Christmas music loudly. I’m looking forward to Christmas Eve with the family, and Christmas morning with the Grands, eagerly opening Santa’s bounty. I talk to George regularly, and know how much he hates seeing me suffer through this Blue Christmas without him. So I push through the sadness as best I can. Memories of fifty Christmases past remind me how fortunate I was to be given the gift of friendship and love with my Kahuna.

In a few days I will mark the eighth month since That Day, when I kissed my Kahuna goodbye - four months after his oncologist told us, “George, it’s not good news.” George’s first words to me after The News? “Honey, I’m sorry.” He knew he was giving me the ugly Christmas sweater I didn’t want to accept. He hated it too, and vowed to let me return it - by fighting for his life. While the outcome was not what we were prepared for, I will always love him for the gifts he gave us all. Acceptance. Kindness. Generosity. Compassion. Dogged determination. And most of all, unconditional love.

Merry Christmas, Darling. I miss you, and at the same time I “see” you. In every ornament on “our” Christmas tree. In the twinkling lights that adorn the home in which we celebrated so many holidays past. I hear you singing along with Bing’s White Christmas – the song you had to hear on the radio to denote the official start of the season. I feel you with me, and still sleep with your pajamas in my arms. I watch your memorial video to remember how much you were loved by so many, and will play The Night Before Christmas video I recorded, with you reading to the Grands last year. And I’m wearing my cashmere underneath the ugly Christmas sweater. Just for you.

Christmas 2016 

The "First" Christmas Blues

A year ago today. Our annual New York City trip to visit "Paula‘s Tree" and all the Christmas splendor the Big Apple has to offer. 

11/30/2017 Paula, George and Paula's Tree.
AKA Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree

George had not been feeling well. He’d seen an army of doctors since September, trying to figure out why he got winded so easily. Cardiologist. Pulmonologist. Internist. Nothing conclusive. New medications. No help. He just wasn’t himself, and we didn’t know why. It was enough to make me consider canceling our trip. But George wouldn’t have it. Besides, we were looking forward to showing our favorite NYC Christmas highlights to Sister-in-law and a lifelong dear friend. 

Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular. 

Those five days in New York City would be the last. Last visit to Paula’s tree. Last Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular. Last days unaware of the killer cancer that had been missed by doctors for months. Less than a week later, my world as I knew it ended. A year ago today…

I thought I could handle it. I thought surrounding myself with the memories and memorabilia of Christmases past would bring me comfort. I knew it’s what my Kahuna would want me to do...

He loved – I mean, LOVED Christmas. The music. The lights. Oh the lights! The tree we decorated together every year, while Bing Crosby dreamed of a White Christmas and Nat King Cole roasted chestnuts on an open fire. So many memories of so many Christmases together. As we adorned the tree, we would reminisce about the early years. We had both come from families who gathered - for food, for comfort, and to share the Christmas spirit. We loved carrying on that tradition for so many years, and always looked forward to a house filled with family and friends, culminating with our huge Christmas Eve dinner.

In 2016, we had decided to change it up a bit. That Christmas Eve party, we announced, would be our last. I sent everyone home with a memento from the bazillion decorations I had collected over the years. We made plans to start a new tradition with our immediate family. We would have a destination Christmas 2017, at a charming cabin nestled among snow-laden pines. The cabin was booked in the nearby mountains, grand baby number three had made her arrival, and we were ready to go – until The News derailed not only Christmas, but our entire life. As Christmas 2018 approached, I felt good about my decision to rekindle the Christmas Spirit – I KNOW it’s what George would want me to do.

I spy a blue glass ornament peeking from behind

Today I opened each box and carefully unwrapped the treasures, tucked away for safe keeping two years ago. It was different this year. Instead of heartwarming memories of Christmases past, I felt the heartbreaking reality of my new Christmas. I tried adding Christmas music to lift my spirits – until Pandora chose Merry Christmas, Darling, by Karen Carpenter, followed by All I Want for Christmas is You. A double whammy! Will I ever feel holiday joy again?

Got ornaments?

I pressed on. As Charlie watched, I readied the 10 foot tree for the arrival of friends I invited tomorrow for a tree decorating party – a strategic maneuver to ease the daunting task of ornament hanging! I opted to place all of the glass ball ornaments on the tree myself earlier this week. They aren’t fancy, but those old, tired glass ornaments are precious to me. They were the first ornaments George and I bought in 1974. A symbol of our first Christmas together. We always put them on the tree first, before all the fancy-schmancy ornaments took center stage. I don’t think anyone ever noticed them, but George and I knew their history. Now they mean even more to me.

I truly believed I was ready to embrace the holidays, knowing George was with me - thankful that I was moving forward. But with every peek into one of the storage boxes, I felt his absence. The biggest gut punch? His Christmas stocking. I left both of ours unwrapped, and said goodbye to that childhood carryover we both loved.

More than once I questioned my decision to “feel” Christmas this year. I went through the motions, as if completing a chore. I wanted to feel joy, but it wasn’t there. I closed the still half-packed boxes, carried them back to the garage, lit a fire, and cried. Damn you, Grief. You’re the Grinch, stealing my Christmas. But I’m going to persist…that's what George would want. 

Today's decorating efforts. Mixed emotions. 

Tomorrow, the light and love of friends will fill this house and lift me up. Christmas Eve will once again gather us all here to remember, to laugh, and count our blessings. Thanksgiving taught me I can feel happiness when surrounded by loved ones. And that’s when I feel George. He wants me to continue with the traditions we both loved. I may occasionally give in to the sadness this holiday season will bring, but I vow to honor my Christmas-loving, Santa-playing, Stocking-filling soul mate. 

Merry Christmas, darling. All I want for Christmas is you.

We were so happy. A week later we were so sad.