Better

 How can it be?

After 2 years since I held your hand, 2 years since you called me baby, 2 years since we belonged to each other, after 2 years… I love you better.

I know the mind forgets what it should.  And the heart remembers what it should.  Mine has.  I know it has.  And I love you better.

Along this walk I have peered into the man you are, the husband you were.  The gentle, the sentimental, the quirky, the murky.  Every last pound of you was made for every last inch of me.  And I love you better.

I wish that I would have loved you this much, this better, spaghettiiing in the kitchen, love-seating in the living room, computering in the office.  I didn’t know you then like I do now.  I do now.  And I love you better. 

I have tried to honor you, to share you, to keep you with me on this walk.  I have honestly relived and relived our happy marriage.  I have tried to right the wrongs, right the should-be-rights, and right the already-rights.  I have echoed I’m sorries, chanted I thank yous, and whispered I love yous.  I have held you tight.  And I am sure I love you better. 

And now, though the path is just as stretched, I’ll walk this walk of a widow, more stable, more able.  I’ll always envision you, always cherish you, always keep you with me.  Because I love you better. 

“I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.”
Elizabeth Browning

Endings

Endings leak tears for me. 

Visits, vacations, vistas and views… end in tears. 

Endings write books without more pages to say even more.  Endings shut gates, turn the combination, and walk away.  Endings wave goodby shortly after a hello.  Endings sneak up when everyone thought they were pretty far away.  Endings leave me… leaking. 

Of course endings think they promise beginnings, an imagination of happily-ever-afters, a new combination that leads to a sunny path, a promise of I’ll-see-you-soons, and lots of look-forward-to’s.  Endings must end so that beginnings can begin.

An ending began this walk of a widow.  Many endings on the walk have introduced beginnings. 

Visits, vacations, vistas and views.  Moving, memories, models and mentors. 

The end of this blog, for some reason, leaks more of my tears.  I tell myself, “Don’t be surprised, Kath, it’s another ending.” Nevertheless, I struggle to end the blog because I will miss even this much of Bill, of the man remembered in each post.  Beloved Bill. 

But here I go into beginning.  I will begin a turn on this widow’s walk.  I will record beginnings and launches and ideas with friends and family and Jesus who never end and only begin — with me. 

“(She) kept right on going because she kept her eyes on the one who is invisible.”
Hebrews 11:27

Love 2

Words fall in the ditch when it comes to talking about love.  There are none that completely express the idea.  But love rather themes this widow walk, and so… here goes a try with words. 

It started with a card wall.  The cards, full of love, came trickling then pouring in.  She asked her littlebear to start a card wall in the room so the husband and wife could feel that love every day.  It grew to cover a very large space.  Love. 

It continued when buddies sat beside the sick brother and shared stories and truths and emotions that aren’t natural for men to share.  The talk, full of love, helped him through each day.  He calendared each visit and visited his calendar.  Love. 

It flooded the home with food and flowers and plants, journals and books and gift cards, weed wacks and plumbing repairs and paint, slippers and quilts and lotions.  The smallest container to the largest pan, the gifts, full of love, met every need and every unaware-need.  Love.

It carried the family through a burial, a service, empty days, what-nows.  It set up chairs, arranged flowers, iced waters.  The care, full of love, behind the scenes, served them so unnoticed and so noticed.  That gal stores the I’m-not-ready-to-see-that-again.  This fellow paid for the oh-that’s-a-fee-too?  Love. 

And now.  Now.  It holds the widow tight.  It boundaries her.  It keeps her.  It reminds her there is more love.  The net, full of love, brings her along, includes in the group, accepts her offers, takes her on outings, calls her and calls her, keeps her from falling.  More than that, it overlooks her raw, it guards her heart, it holds no offense.  It walks ahead kicking rocks to the side.  It walks behind covering tracks.  Love. 

Love is an amazing power.  The slightest bit motivates another step on the walk.  And if this widow has a fear, it’s this: the slightest will slight and slight and slight away.  As time passes, so will love. 

Please don’t stop loving me.  Please love me. 

Rescue

 It happened when civilians from English shores motored out to swoop up escaping, drowning, hopeless Allied soldiers from the French seaport of Dunkirk.

It happened when Mission Control engineers in Houston devised a procedure for powering up the command module of Apollo 13 after it had completely failed, and the astronauts aboard were doomed.

It happened when God parted the Red Sea so the Israelites, under the pursuit of an evil Egyptian Pharaoh, could escape his treachery.

And it happened when I landed, from my steep fall of grief, into my Kbear’s arms.

Rescue.

Arms so big, so wide, so surrounding, I hardly felt the land.  Arms that wrapped me at unexpected, needed times.  Arms of strength and tenderness.  They held, kept, listened, assured, distracted, and loved like no other arms could do.  The arms of Jesus.  His arms.  His rescue.

During Bill’s hospice days, he would often say to me, “Kath, Kaela will help you.  She loves you.  She will stay with you.”  He meant through those directive words, she is your rescue.  Bill saw the waiting arms; he and God knew where my help would come from.

Kbear, you are my rescue.  Please don’t let go.  I can never ever ever thank you enough.  I love you.

Myturn

 When it’s my turn to walk the path alongside a widow, here is what I’ve learned to do. 

— Hold her.  Put tissue in her balled fist.
— Ask her what she’s feeling.  What she’s thinking about.

— Pick her up for church — and for anything else.
— Swing by unannounced and go for a walk. 

— Ask her what she’s feeling.  “How are you?  Are you hurting right now?”

— Look at pictures together.
— Remember together.
— Make the difficult phone call for her. 

— Quietly ask her what she’s feeling.  “Tell me about it.”

— Without her knowing, tell her sons or daughters or sisters to check in.  Tell them she’s struggling.
— Invite her over for a football game, or table game, or no game.  Invite her over.
— Send verses, talk faith, find Jesus.
— Pull her garbage dumpsters to the curb.
— Share funny goofy things.
— Sort out serious things.  Pay bills.  Make transfers.  Cancel accounts.
— Walk her to her car.
— Put a mug of coffee in her hands.
— Put a thoughtful card in the mail addressed to her.
— Pray with her. 

— Ask her what she’s feeling.  What she’s missing. 

— Grab her hand.  Wrap her shoulder. 

When it’s my turn. 

Win

 Win, loss, draw.  Mostly draws then.  Some losses then.  But all wins now.

Here were some draws:
-Bill gets abaga thick tortilla chips.  Kath gets abaga thin tortilla chips.
-Bill keeps all his clothes for… sometime in the outdated future.  Kath relegates overcrowdeds to boxes, corners, attics.
-Bill stockpiles ammunition — just in case.  Kath collects teacups.
-Bill plans two meals beyond the next two meals.  Kath slaps together a PBJ.
-Bill tells almost everybody almost everything.  Kath blushes and smiles.
-Bill plays golf.  Kath watches golf. 

Here were some losses:
-No, Kath cannot build a fire in the wood stove.  Somehow she cannot build a fire without smoke.  (Don’t fires smoke?)
-No, Kath cannot drive a stretch of the freeway.  Bill is not tired and really doesn’t need the music up loud or the window down.
-No, Kath cannot hold onto the rail because there could be disease causing germs.  Killer germs.
-No, Kath should not add salt.  Salt affects Bill’s blood pressure condition.  No salt. 

Here are abuncha wins:
-Kath has a toaster now.  The toaster oven is stored but probably won’t reappear.  Yea!  A regular, space-saving, no-dialing toaster.
-Kath takes a spin on her bike sometimes without her helmet.  She feels the wind in her hair.  Ooooh!
-Kath buys jars of lotion to finger it all out til the end.  She doesn’t drain pump bottles anymore.
-Kath eats charred burgers!  Those yummy black-around-the-edges, very well done, taaasty, give-me-another patties!
-Kath sits in the window seat and gets a better view of take-off and houses becoming legos.
-Kath runs in the dark, always with a light, but in the dark, and sees the stars, and hears the quiet, and feels the brisk. 

Kath wins now.  To be honest she would rather draw or even lose, but she’ll take a win.  All the wins.  And hope that Bill loves to see her win. 

July 4

 On this July 4, as the sky booms before booming time, I reminisce about roof top views of piddly fireworks that fed our celebration with small town thrills.  We weren’t picky; anything to mark the day would do.  But for me, close side-by-siding, in the dark, where no one else side-by-sided, marked the best July 4.  We were wide-eyed, in love, alone on the roof.

July 4 markers matter.  Hot dogs and apple pie matter a little.  Water skiing or mountain hiking matter a little more.  Side-by-siding matters most.  Year after year, side-by-siding makes a marker for any holiday. 

On this July 4, as the sky booms before booming time, I am side-by-siding on the roof, still so in love, in my heart. 

Suffering

 Suffering chose Job.  Suffering chose Kath.  Suffering chooses undeserving godly people.  We know he means to grow us up, to strengthen faith, to get our attention.  We know that God will have His perfect way with Mr.  Suffer.  We also know we are not exempt from Mr.  Suffer’s trail.  Somehow we find ourselves smack in the middle of gravel, rocks, boulders wondering what now. 

Step.  Just step.  Keep stepping.

How does someone, feeling unable to move in the midst of suffering, step on the Suffer path?  That someone does what she did before she landed on Mr.  Suffer’s trail.  Before, she read her Bible everyday, she prayed, she went to church.  During, she reads her Bible everyday, she prays, she goes to church.  She perseveres. 

Job, a godly man, talked to God before suffering chose him.  Then Job lost his stuff, his children and his comfortable.  He grumbled, protested, spewed, moaned.  To God.  Processing before Him, with Him, in Him.  Job prayed before suffering, during suffering and after suffering.  He sought God.  He persevered.  And God honored Job. 

Kath, a Jesus-loving gal, talked to God before suffering chose her.  Then Kath lost her husband, and not long after, lost another precious relationship, and let go of all things familiar.  She wailed and moaned and complained.  To God.  Kath prayed and sought God and persevered… she stepped. 

Today, 2 years on the Suffer trail, Kath is doing what she’s always done.  God has already honored Kath by gifting her with a deeper relation with Him and family and friends.  And if the trail never took a turn, Kath would just keep stepping.  Keep persevering.  She loves Him so much.  She loves Him because He loved her first. 

“But He knows where I am going.  And when he tests me, I will come out as pure as gold.” Job 23:10