A List.

It's only Monday yet I'm already tired.  Two boys playing baseball.  Oh, and did I tell you that Sarah is playing T-ball now too?  Normally I'm not an advocate of T-ball, but this year I really believe that Sarah will benefit from an organized activity that doesn't include me.  Today was Jon's first practice.  I couldn't find him when it was time to go, but then I saw him running up from the tree that Bill is buried under.  He told me that he had to "talk a few things over with Dad" before his first practice. Gulp.

I want to make a list tonight of some things I want to remember about Bill and I.  Just things I don't want to forget, or maybe just things I feel like thinking about right now.

We used to go to this adorable coffee shop in Albany called Boccherini's.  We each got a mocha (with tons of whipped cream) and split a piece of cake or cheesecake.  We did this almost every week when I would visit him at school.

One time when we were fishing in the river below his Grandparent's house, I jumped off a cliff because I didn't want to fall.  I believe there is a witness to substantiate this story.  Anyway, I think Bill was sure I was going to die on impact, but when I didn't, he laughed so hard I think he wet his pants.  Whenever he talked about that incident he would undoubtedly laugh hysterically.  He's probably still laughing.  Maybe in Heaven you can replay memories on a screen?

On our honeymoon, I had food poisoning after an unfortunate Burger King meal (Woodburn, and I was starving after the wedding).  I spent the night puking in the hotel bathroom.  In a honeymoon nightie too!  Somewhere I have pictures.  Really.

The first time we left Madeline for a night (she was 18 months old), we spent the entire time fighting.  I don't even remember what about now.

The first time we left Jack and Madeline for the night we stayed at this swanky place in Depot Bay that boasted outside jacuzzi tubs.  Against the rules and probably my better judgement, we put bubble bath in the tub and ended up flooding the yard with bubbles.  Like so many bubbles they were blowing across the jetty.  Like so many bubbles you couldn't see the grass in the yard.  Like so many bubbles they were blowing across the sea wall.  We sat inside (not in the jacuzzi--it was too bubbly) and laughed and laughed.  I'm surprised we didn't get kicked out.

When Bill lived in the rundown apartment in Dallas, fondly called "The Slums", we regularly visited the local tavern across the street and adjacent to the Polk County Courthouse called "Rio's."  Often times we were the only patrons.  Bill and his roommates were there so often that they became friends with the bartender.  There was pool, video poker, and cheap beer.  Oh, the debauchery!  I still remember the jukebox songs we played.

When Bill moved away from "The Slums" and into a duplex in Monmouth the following year, he created a little garden, complete with fish pond, on the side yard.  Remember that, Gilly?

Once, when he broke his collarbone in a baseball game (making an incredible diving catch), I had to take him to the ER.  I think he was 16.  After they immobilized him and gave him some pain killers, I had to drive him and two of his teammates home.  From Portland.  And I had never driven in Portland before.  And then he barfed on me and in my shoes while I was on 205.

When I was pregnant with Madeline and he was finishing up school, we would go for a walk every morning around Monmouth.  We would walk and make plans for our future.  So happy and excited.

For our entire marriage, Bill knew that when we sat together on the sofa to watch a movie, he must rub my feet.  He would just instinctively start rubbing. Gosh, I miss that!

Every single morning, before he'd even said a word, he would lean over and kiss the top of my head.  I'm not much of a morning person so he knew not to speak.  

Just Stop and Think.

People ask me how I am doing.  That is a perfectly normal question to ask someone in this situation, but I also think it's too simple of a question for such a complex issue.  What do people expect me to say?  I suppose there are two answers people would probably like to hear.  First, that I'm doing just plain awful because some people need to see pain and drama in order to recognize the severity or depth in this particular situation.  Other people wait for me to say that everything is fine, thus I suppose assuaging their own pain and lending to a feeling, albeit false, of relief and comfort.  Relief and comfort for whom?  Them?  Me?

I bear no ill feelings toward anyone who asks this question.  Quite the opposite, really.  I understand that it's hard to know what to say and that this simple question just seems to lead the parade of words that emit from one's mouth when the conversation begins.  It goes like this:  "How are you doing?" and then all eye contact is avoided during my answer.  Maybe a squirmy, uncomfortable, awkward silence will follow too.

So, to answer that question:

Stop and think back to when you had been married 20 years, give or take a few.  Remember that feeling?  Or remember when you were a newlywed or when your children were young and required full time care. Remember how that time in your life felt?   Imagine a beautiful life, full of love and fun and happiness.  Put yourself right there in the middle of that and think of the history that had to go into making that life.  Think of the trials and victories that went into creating deep, meaningful memories.   Think of an entire world, created by and lived out by two people. Remember all of the feelings that you felt from living that beautiful, hard, full life.  Really, really try hard to remember how it all felt.  Then, erase one of the people.  Poof.  Gone.  Not gradually, but suddenly.  Just gone.  Here today, gone tomorrow.

That's how I feel.  Alone and uncertain.

I still have our children.  That makes me happy. We're all here together and we're all healthy.  That is good.  I have the life that he wanted us to live and worked so hard to provide for us.  That makes me happy too.  So I guess you might even say that I am happy.  But what is missing in it all is Bill and the security he provided to our family. That makes me unhappy.  Understand?

For the past 20 years I have been a wife and a mother.  I have been raising our children, caring for our family and home, and been the perfect wife to Bill.  (shhhh--don't burst my bubble here)  We chose, together, to live the way we live.  I would stay home to take care of things and school the kids and Bill would work outside the home to generate the income necessary to fulfill our needs.  Suddenly I'm faced with the need to make decisions about our future that I never imagined I would have to make.  At least not right now.  I have a child perched on the threshold of adulthood and college but I also have a child who is barely kindergarten age.  I have a child who needs his dad to finish teaching him about sharpening saw chains and where to drive wedges in the tree he's falling.  And another who needs his dad to show him how to throw a curve ball and how to sit back and wait on that curve ball when he's up to bat.  I need someone to tell me, again, his family history so I can pass it on to our kids.  I need someone to show me, again, how to change the filter in the pump house.

So, how am I doing?  I'm trying to figure out in what direction my future is headed. Alone.  How can I support my family?  Am I even capable of such a thing?  After all, my skills of bread baking, homeschooling, and stain removal are hardly marketable.  What potential employer even cares that I've successfully potty trained 4 children?  That I know how to grow and preserve my own food?  That I know how to teach a child to read?  That I can manage a large household with relative ease?

Still wonder how I'm doing?  I worry about how my decisions will affect my  kids.  They don't need or deserve anymore changes in their lives.  Can I balance everyone's needs all by myself?  Seriously, all by myself?

So there is the answer to the question.  I'm doing fine, considering.  But if you really, truly want to know how I'm feeling, put yourself in my shoes for a moment and consider how you would be doing without your best friend at your side, pulling and pushing, encouraging and admonishing you, to keep on going.

Another Week.

I won't mince words here.  There's really no need.  I miss Bill.  Every.  Single.  Day.  I had a sweet memory of him today though.  I was driving through downtown Salem this afternoon and I remembered how I used to work at the Euphoria Chocolate Co. located in the mall.  I always worked Sundays from 11:00 til 6:00. Most weeks Bill would stop by for a visit (and chocolate!) on his way back to Monmouth.  Starting about 5:00 I would anticipate seeing him walk down the escalator outside the shop window.  I was so happy to see him when he got there.  He always said I smelled good after work, which I suppose I did, it being a chocolate shop and all.  Sweet memory.  I talked with a friend this week who, unfortunately, understands my world all too well.  She wisely told me to become the "keeper of the memories" either by writing them down or by telling them enough times that they won't be forgotten.  Wise words, indeed.

There were some difficult events I had to muddle through this past week.  Jack's first baseball game was the hardest one.  Bill should have been there.  I also had to give the final approval for Bill's memorial stone. Should I say it's beautiful?  That he would like it?  I don't really know what I should say.

Rather than sinking into this pit of despair and grief that waits so quietly in the margins of my life, I'm trying awfully hard to find the spots of joy and bits of grace that could be otherwise overlooked. I'm looking, really I am.

I had the most lovely visit with a new friend.  Someone who inspires me and who I believe can teach me a thing or two.  I believe the Lord plopped this friend right into my lap. From all the way across the state, this friend brought with her the kindness and love of a whole group of amazing ladies, all of whom welcomed me into their lives with love.  They have left me speechless with gratitude.

Baseball.  The beginning of this favorite time of year for us.  I have spent so much time at the ball field, first as Bill's groupie then as a parent.  Actually, that's not entirely true.  Even before there was Bill, I was at the ballpark watching my brothers' games.  When it's baseball season, you know it because the evening light becomes a different color, the air is scented with spring flowers and grass, and the sky is all dark and blue and cloudy at the same time.  So many years I have spent watching ball.  Its familiarity brings me both comfort and sorrow this year.

A visit with an old friend.  This old friend knew and loved Bill.  He understood Bill.  He was around before Bill and I were married.  Heck, he was a part of our wedding!  So many happy memories with this friend.  Bill liked everyone, but he didn't always respect or admire everyone.  He admired and respected his Gilly. What I wouldn't give to relive just one night spent at "Rio's" playing video poker, feeding money into the jukebox, and drinking cheap beer.  This time I promise not to ask silly questions of the knife-wielding convict.

The generosity of a neighbor.  One who remembered a conversation he had with Bill last summer about his desire to learn bee keeping and who provided me with a bee hive to honor Bill's memory.  You mean you don't remember people with bees?  Maybe that's what's wrong with the world.  Bill would love having a memorial hive.    

Family gatherings where everyone, save for my eldest niece, was present. Bill would have thought this gathering contained too many Jacobys in one place.  He's probably right.  His presence was felt, but his absence was felt more.

Beach trips, baseball road trips, visits and meals with neighbors and friends and family, and generosity that continues to humble me.  These things fill my days and for that I am thankful.  Bill would also be so thankful to everyone who has provided us some offering of support and love.  Thank you to all who have just come, without invitation or expectation, and walked alongside us for a stretch on this damn road.

Barely.

Some moments it feels like I'm almost drowning.  Or suffocating.  Or nearly paralyzed.  Almost unable to pick up my feet and take the step to move on to the next thing.  Sometimes it feels like I cannot go forward.  My whole self feels made of stone or concrete, heavy and cumbersome.  My eyes don't focus.  In fact, none of my senses seem to work.  I see nothing around me.  I can't hear the subtle noises of spring outside my window. The scent of staleness permeates the rooms of my house.  My fingertips feel nothing but stillness and cold.  I sit and time and the world moves by me and I have no recollection of any of it.  I'm alive, living, but barely.

I cleaned up our room today.  Swept the dust (good grief there was a lot of dust!) from under the bed and did a general tidying up.  I found one of Bill's t-shirts underneath our bed, probably one that he had thrown on the ground after he had climbed into bed one night.  It's just been laying there.  I organized the collection of books he kept on his bedside table.  Bibles (of course), the FireFox books, some Hemingway, a few non-fiction history books. I read a few notes he had sent me from 1988.  I took out the nightgown that he bought me for Christmas last year.  Took it out of my dresser drawer and tucked it away where I wouldn't see it.  I couldn't even look at our closet.  Not yet.

How is it that he won't be back?  Didn't he just run down to the shop to fill the trailer with wood for the stove?  Wasn't he just out feeding the cows?  Maybe he just ran to the store to buy some soda to have with dinner?  Won't he walk through the door?  All day long I find myself thinking of things I need to talk to him about.  Things I need to remind him to do.  And then I remember.

I only set 5 places at the table now.  Just 5.

Busy.

It's been a busy few weeks around here.  Lots of little projects to keep us from being slothful (remember Bill's list?) or unproductive.  Nobody here is eating the bread of idleness, that's for sure!  I've been working in the garden:  planted early potatoes, a row of carrots, a row of beets, thinned last fall's onions and turnips, and weeded the garden in its entirety.  Oh, I watered the baby peas, too, as the ground was really dry and those wee sprouts needed a drink.  I cleaned up the chicken coop and attached a portable run so the ladies can still free range without pooping all over my yard.  There's nothing worse than chicken poop on bare toes.  Except maybe dog poop.  We're also waiting on the imminent birth of Sissy Cow's baby.  Any day now.  It's downright comical how much time I've spent peering at that cow's hind end.  I'm a certified cow butt expert.  Or at least darn near.  There's also a batch of baby chicks coming at the end of the week.  I need to get a temporary brooding coop set up for them quickly.  Aren't baby chicks just the cutest?  At least for a few weeks.

The little kids and I just returned home after a quick trip to Baker City to celebrate my nephew Max's 4th birthday.  I've always enjoyed the drive, long as it is, to eastern Oregon.  It never fails to amaze me at how the landscape changes so dramatically along the way.  Verdant Fir forests with winding streams, spectacular snow-covered peaks, pine forests, wind-swept high desert, desolate sage and juniper hills, colorful rock formations, back into more pine forests and mountains.  And that's just one route!  While in Baker, I also had the privilege of meeting the nicest group of homeschooling moms.  These amazing ladies (who I should explain had never actually met me--they learned of our story through my sister-in-law) sent me the loveliest, most generous care package a few weeks back.  Their thoughtfulness and words of encouragement made such an impression on me that I just had to meet them in person.  Gosh.  The outpouring of love and support from this group of women will forever be a bright spot in my life.  To extend their friendship to me, someone whom they did not even know but felt a connection to because of similar life choices and values, could only be a gift from God.  I will always believe that.  I only wish I lived closer and could spend more time with them all.

I should probably also take a moment to apologize to any persons whom I have not returned a phone call, email, text, message, etc. to.  I'm finding it all so overwhelming and responding to every single one is simply too much right now.  I just feel like cocooning with my family, keeping our world very small and simple.  Please don't assume my silence is based on anger or disinterest.  I'm simply too exhausted, both emotionally and physically, to play by Emily Post's (etiquette, you know) rules these days.  Just come by, anytime. Don't wait for an invitation.  My door is always open to our friends and we love company.  Come by and I'll make you a cup of tea or I'll put you to work scrubbing the fence or you can hoe a row of veggies with me.  Or we can sit and visit while the kids play in the sun.  Just don't stay away because you don't know what to do or say.  Love and friendship have this beautiful way of filling in the gaps and bringing light to the darkest days.  Just come.

Still Waiting.

I still wait up at night, thinking Bill will be pulling into the driveway sometime after 11:00.  I used to wait up for him and have a snack ready to share with him before I went to bed.  He would take a shower and watch TV for a while before he came to bed.  Sometimes he'd fall asleep on the sofa (he had terrible Restless Leg Syndrome that kept us both up) and stay there until early morning before he'd wander back into our room to complete his night's sleep.  I still look for his headlights reflecting off the garage.

I remembered something the other day.  It was a happy memory.  One that still feels real and palpable. I think it must have been April or May of 1994.  It was Bill's first year playing baseball at Western Oregon and he was playing in a weekend series at Eastern Oregon State in LaGrande.  It had been a bit of a rough winter for us--typical young adult relationship stuff, you know.  I'm pretty sure I was the main culprit, spending too much time exploring my options as a single girl who had lots of crazy ideas in her head.  That Bill was such a patient and understanding guy!  Anyway, back to LaGrande.  I had taken the weekend off of work and driven over east to watch the games.  Bill's dad had made the trip too.  I believe there was a piece of equipment or something that he needed to deliver in the area.  A logging carriage, I seem to remember, though those particulars don't really matter.  It was cold and one of the games was rained/snowed out so we came on back to the hotel where we were all staying.  It was the Super 8 on the north side of town, near the Walmart.  I remember a few of the boys (those darn baseball boys--they were always part of the trouble!) asking me to head out for the evening with them.  But Bill asked me to drive to the Haines Steakhouse with he and his Dad.  Looking back, I certainly made the better choice that night.  I don't remember much about our meal, though it was probably steak and it was probably good.  What I do remember is the ride back to LaGrande.  I remember the color of the sky and the way the mountains looked.  I remember lots and lots of cattle and cozy-looking old farmhouses dotting the landscape along the road.  I remember sitting between Bill and his Pop (that's what he called him) and feeling loved and safe and thinking that this was my future.  And being so happy and sure about it all.  I knew then that we would get married and that I loved him more than anything.  Not only did I love him and want to be with him but I also wanted to be a part of  his family too.  Marriage does not always ensure happiness within the extended family (though Bill was always sure my parents received the greatest gift in having him as their son-in-law!) but I felt that I was getting such a great package deal.  Yep, I remember holding Bill's hand in his dad's Ford pickup, somewhere near North Powder, and knowing that it was all good.  I know when I kissed him goodnight later on that evening that something had definitely shifted.  Bill asked me to marry him 3 months later.

Funny that such a simple event would be forever imprinted in my heart.  It's still so vivid in my mind.