Two people can get very comfortable with each other
after thirty-four years of marriage. Our
nest was finally empty and my husband, Ron, and I were enjoying our warm and
contented, quiet and peaceful life together. We had worked hard, he more than I, and every
so often he would figure our finances calculating the exact date we could
retire and still live well on our savings.
Every day was harder and harder on him physically for he suffered with
fibromyalgia, a chronic disorder that causes pain and tenderness in the muscles
and soft tissue, as well as insomnia, fatigue, and any number of other
problems. On top of his daily ration of pain from the fibromyalgia, he developed
the flu at Christmastime. He seemed
to recover from everything but that nasty cough that wouldn’t let go.
Ron
worked in the defense industry in Pascagoula, MS (Navy ships; Aegis weapons,
etc.) and although he knew that everyone is replaceable, his boss did not want
any testing done without his watchful eye. It was not until February that he surrendered to go to the
doctor. Why? The Iraqi War began in March! By the time he sought medical
help, the cough had a firm grip on him and he was now diagnosed with pneumonia.
The doctor wanted to put him in the hospital but he refused. He had his five
prescriptions filled on Tuesday and called his boss that he would be out on Wednesday
but would return to work on Thursday. Thursday never came!
Wednesday
morning I woke to find Ron barely able to sit on the side of the bed. I begged
him to let me take him to the Emergency Room but he insisted that he wanted to
give the medication time to work. I called often throughout the day; he was in
a lot of pain. When I arrived home, he was sleeping. He got up once and we
talked for a short time then announced he was going back to bed. That night I
slept in the other bedroom so I wouldn’t disturb what little sleep he would receive.
Surprisingly, I slept peacefully, never waking, which was unusual for me.
Thursday
morning I woke and went into our dark bedroom to get ready for work. I passed
by our bed several times thinking that I mustn’t disturb him. I never noticed
the silence in the room. As I was
leaving for work, God spoke to me so clearly, “You need to try and wake up Ron.” When my
spirit heard the word “try,” I immediately
knew something was wrong. I couldn’t see him in the dark but when I touched
him, he was cold. I knew he was gone but I expected my continual shaking to
awaken him. It was February 20, 2003. He was fifty-six.
The day
continued with the 9-1-1 call. My pastor arrived and my church family took over
my every move. I was numb. I couldn’t think what should be done next. Thank God
for friends! I had to tell my children.
“Oh, God, how can I live through this day? How can I tell them they have lost their father when I still
had mine?”
My
children, Kristen, Russ, and Aaron arrived one by one; his mother and brothers
arrived the next day. The arrangements were made; the visitation would be
Saturday and the memorial service on Sunday. We marveled at how God buoyed us
through the whole weekend. I know the prayers of the saints sustained us. I
have pondered since then just how and why I did so well that day. I believe one
thing that was a tremendous blessing was Ron’s wish to be cremated. He had told
me for years if I ever put him in a box and put him in the ground, he would
come back and haunt me. At least that decision was made and out of my hands but
there were so many more to make.
Kristen
and I put together a memory table and a picture collage of Ron with each of us
over the years. It was comforting and very therapeutic to go through photos and
select memories of our wedding, his Navy days, building our home, fun times
with each of the children, and the precious few photos we had made of him with
his only grandchild, Emma, just four months old when he died. The memory table
consisted of all his plaques, awards, letters of commendation, and pictures of
the ships he had worked on over the years. We were able to share a side of him
most acquaintances didn’t know and many said how much they appreciated it. We
opened the memorial service to comments from family and friends. We laughed, we
cried, we were all blessed!
Ron
wanted to be sprinkled in the Gulf waters of MS where he loved to fish. I, too, have decided to be cremated and have
already made my arrangements so the children can follow through with the same measures
for me. This has also been very therapeutic and I give praise to God for His
comfort and peace during those first difficult days. God is sovereign and I have received great comfort from the Lord in many
ways. Among them knowing:
· Ron is no longer in constant pain from fibromyalgia.
· God knows the end from the beginning and I trust and
believe that His wisdom has prevailed.
· God could have aroused me that night; awakened my
spirit to go to Ron, but He let me sleep so peacefully it was almost as if He
and Ron were having a special time of their own together; sort of like they
were taking care of business.
· God is in control of all things and if He had wanted a different outcome, we would have
had a different outcome.
· I know where Ron is and I know I’ll see him again some
day.
I’ve
since learned that those first few days were the easy part of this ordeal and
the hard part was just beginning. Our empty nest was not content anymore. I was
given books on grief from well-meaning friends. All they did was remind me of
the pain I felt instead of helping me to get relief from it. One friend
suggested that I should write the book
for which I was searching. Another recommended that I write a letter to Ron,
putting down on paper all of my feelings: anger, loneliness, regret, guilt, all
of it. Others suggested that I should attend grief recovery groups. All I knew
is that I didn’t want to have grief
or even talk about it . . . I just wanted
to have my memories.
Bottom
line, I didn’t do anything except go
to work every day and come home every afternoon to live in my bed . . . not my
bedroom, but my bed! I would watch
television, read the mail, take a nap, wake up, eat dinner, go back to sleep
for the night. I was thankful when the alarm would sound so I could get up and
start my routine again. Work gave me a reason to get up; to keep my mind busy
on daily duties.
At
home, however, there was still Ron—thinking of him, longing for him, lonesome
for him, and crying out to God to help me get through another day. Although my
desire for God’s Word waned, I still went to church because I had a
responsibility to conduct the open assembly for our Sunday School. God
faithfully gave me a message every week and I was able to share it but my heart
was somewhere else.
I
felt if I could make it to the first anniversary of Ron’s passing, I would be
over the hump and my life would finally fall into place again; my emotions, my
thoughts, my desire for the things of God, everything that had been numb for
one year would awaken and I would be alive again; but it doesn’t take one
year…it takes so much longer!
Three
months after that first anniversary was Mother’s Day. My children couldn’t be
with me but they all called and I assured
them that I would be fine! The tears began on Friday night and by Saturday
afternoon I was calling my pastor to withdraw from my church duties the next
day. He immediately put me on the prayer chain; the prayers went up and the phone
started ringing. Kristen called and said it was time I thought about moving to
TN to be closer to her. My first thoughts were, “I can’t leave my home, my job,
my church! My life has been here for 23 years.” I told her I
couldn’t promise anything but I promised that I would begin to pray.
A
week later while in the shower, I was again praying for the direction God
wanted me to take. The water was spraying down
and I actually felt God physically move across
me sensing Him saying so unmistakably, “You are released!” My house sold in
three hours, I gave six weeks notice at work, and I was in Tennessee by the end
of July.
Now, when I have the opportunity, I
tell other stubborn husbands, “If Ron knew he was leaving me a widow at age fifty-four,
he would have gone to the doctor sooner!”
If
God chooses for me to continue my life alone, then I bow to His will; however, I
still feel the deep loss of a continued life with my love. It is said that time
heals and grief lessens and life goes on, and it does during the day-to-day
activities; but the special days, the birthdays, anniversaries, Christmases,
and the day he died will never diminish. On those days I sense the glaring
reminder of how much I miss him and how I see my future alone! I say alone
by choice for I feel a reserved contentment as a widow. He was the only love of my life!
Ron never knew what to give me on
birthdays, anniversaries, or Christmas. When I got my ears pierced, he blessed
me with diamond, emerald, and opal studs. I told him what I really appreciated would be a nice card
that spoke from his heart and conveyed exactly how he felt.
Here is the last anniversary card he
gave me (Christmas 2002) before he died in February 2003:
For
Our Anniversary
Somehow,
beyond all expression, I knew right from the start
that
you’d be the light, the sweetness, the comfort in my
life, my heart . . .
Each
year we’ve journeyed together we’ve arrived somewhere new . . .
and
we’ve forged a bond of trust, creating one life out of two . . .
And
in countless tender moments of appreciation and care,
we’ve
discovered ways without words to nurture the joy we share . . .
So
today, as we talk about memories, I look toward the future we’ll spend
with
confidence in each other, in love without end.
Happy
Anniversary
Summer, 2011—
It is now eight years later and I
can say I have survived.
I am still single but I am not
alone.
My life is filled with God, family, and
friends.
I have three wonderful grandgirls
and my children are close by.
I am pursuing what I have always
wanted to do . . . write!
It is not a betrayal to say I have
thrived, but I do confess that I am content.
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