A Lesson For All Men. And Boys.

 Blackberries.  Cobbler, sauce over ice cream, by the handful.

 Pullet eggs.  And big girl eggs.

A project.  The ending was rather unexpected.  But a happy surprise.

Something feels amiss.

Duh.

Obviously many things feel amiss around these parts but there is this niggling feeling I have that I've been unable to pinpoint.  A feeling of fear almost.  Unsettled and mildly phobic.  A feeling of vulnerability to the most extreme level.

Once again, duh.

I think I figured it out though.  It's because of Bill.  Or rather, the lack of Bill now.  Had he not been the always-present, always-supportive, always-encouraging guy that he was, I suppose I wouldn't feel so bereft right now.  For the majority of my life (see http://juliekp71.blogspot.com/) I've had Bill's support and confidence as my foundation.  He never discouraged my ideas (except about redecorating or furniture rearranging).  He always offered authentic praise and encouragement.  I never, ever doubted his complete acceptance of me.  I knew he loved me unconditionally and would do anything to protect me.  He never missed an opportunity to tell me I was beautiful or a great mom or the best wife.  He put me first.  Always.

So fellas, here's my advice:  Be like Bill.  Treat your wives or girlfriends just like Bill treated me.  Trust me on this.  Girls dig guys who are devoted and full of adoration for them.  If you can't invoke these feelings willingly and with ease, then maybe you've got yourself the wrong partner!

So anyway,  it's no wonder I'm feeling bereft.  The only place I can feel comfortable now is in my home.  With my kids.  It's a bit compelling that I feel this way.  I used to like entertaining and socializing and being around people.  Bill always said that I would talk to anyone.  Not so much anymore.  It's not that I'm lacking confidence in myself, though it was much easier to feel confident when Bill was around to boost me up.  I just feel vulnerable and pretty defenseless.  Always on edge and waiting for people to critique me.  Am I grieving correctly?  Am I parenting correctly?  Am I living correctly?  Am I widowing correctly?  I suppose with time I'll move past those feelings and maybe not even care what other people think.  But for now, I feel too exposed and raw when I'm out of my element.

My single priority (and it really is the only one) is raising these kids and doing it the way Bill and I intended to from the beginning.  I've said it before and I'll declare it many more times I'm sure, but my world is very small.  Very, very small these days.  But I am comfortable here in my little world.  I can supervise and manage, nurture and teach, and encourage and love in this small space, bolstered by Bill's example.  There's not much elbowroom or space for guests to spread out in this realm but it's quiet and allows me to just breathe.

But it is alone.  And that's a word I don't think I'll ever get used to.

3 years.

When I woke up this morning, it occurred to me that I have lived in this house for exactly three years.  That's 1095 days, give or take a few days when we've been out of town.  That's 36 months and 7 percent of my life.  That doesn't sound like very much, does it?  Well, here's another set of personal statistics:  I've been visiting this house for 63 percent of my life, spanning over 27 years.  Bill has been gone slightly over 8 months.  That's a wee bit more than 2 percent of my life.  But, that same 8 months also represents 22 percent of the total time we've lived here.  So to sum it up, I've been familiar with this house for 66 percent of my life, have lived here for 7 percent of my life, and lived without Bill for 2 percent of my life.  I've been alone here for nearly 25 percent of the total time we've called this our home.

Give me a calculator and a few spare minutes and I can figure out anything!

I'm glad Bill was able to spend a few years where he loved to be, doing what he loved to do.  Not everyone has the opportunity to accomplish that.  Certainly, his desire to live a quiet and simple life (rather than a life spent chasing after self-importance and hoarding of material goods) allowed him to accomplish this goal.

I only wish those numbers above could read differently.  I'd love for him to see the Maple trees change colors and drop their confounded leaves (on the roof and in the gutters) again.  I'd love for him to watch the corn tasseling in the garden.  The baby chicks grow into real egg-laying ladies.  Little black calves born.  Flowers grow and then wither in the late summer heat.  Spotted fawns turn into young bucks sporting velvet horns.  Girls grow up and begin their own amazing lives.  Boys grow taller than their own Dad.  New drivers.  New achievements.  New memories made over simple pleasures. I'd love to have him see my hair get a little grayer with each passing year.  Sitting on the front porch.  Together.  Just watching and laughing and living.

I guess I'll just have to be content with my 63 percent.  If I had to do it again with the knowledge that there would never be more than 63 percent......

you can be certain that I would indeed.  Because, after all, isn't 63 better than 62?

What Not To Do. At Least If You're Me.

Don't watch any videos from the past.  Was it actually real?  I can't tell anymore.

Don't attend funerals.  Especially when it's for an amazing person who leaves behind an equally amazing legacy.  The beauty of a life well-lived is inspiring but the grief that follows in death is heartbreaking.  Absolutely heartbreaking.

Don't revisit.  Places.  Songs.  Memories.  Dates on the calendar.

Don't stare into the eyes of a confused and mourning child.  You do not want to see the fear and sadness that crowds out curiosity and blissful ignorance.  Especially when you can do nothing to make it better.

Do not think about the future.  Or what the future "should" have been.

Do not close your eyes at night, waiting for the silence and dark to quiet your mind and give you rest.  Instead, that pause makes it all come rushing at you, smothering.

Here's a Little Story For You.

I think maybe I've shared a bit of this story before but it's just so good that I need to explain it all in better detail.  I know it has inspired me and I hope it sparks someone else to action as well.

I also need to explain that I'm not publishing names in this story.  The sweet souls that I'm writing about would not want to be set on a public pedestal.  I believe they would be most content knowing that their generosity and kindness were inspiring others while they still remain anonymous.  They're sort of like a secret club--thugs of love, if you will.

So here's my story:

One afternoon, late this winter, I was surprised to find a rather large package waiting for my on my front porch.  I looked at the return address and had no idea who the sender was.  In fact, I only know a handful of people from the town this package came from.  Perplexing, but intriguing.  When I opened the box, I was greeted by a bevy of goodies:  cards with encouraging messages, books, sweet treats, generous gifts to be used for fun outings.  All of these special gifts were given to my family with the hope of offering us a little bit of joy and hope during our dark days.  But the most incredible gift was the offer of friendship and support for me while I navigated my new course in life.  Promises of prayers.  Encouraging words.  Expressions of shared grief.  No one expected anything in return from me.  This amazing group of girls just gathered around my family and pledged their love and support.

And each month since then, there has been a package on my doorstep.

I cannot express how touched I am by these selfless and giving women.  I appreciate their friendship so much and the funny thing is, I don't even know most of them.  Really.  I wouldn't know who they were if I were standing next to them.  I have had the opportunity to meet several of these friends in person and spend time with them and am awed by their willingness to accept me into their group with no reservations.  Like we've been old friends for years and years.  I'm in awe, I tell you.  Just in awe.

So here's what I've learned from these ladies:  be generous and loving and willing to shoulder the burdens of those around you.  Offer unrequited support.  Expect nothing in return.  Be creative in giving.  Pray.

This concept encourages me greatly.  It inspires me to find someone I can offer some part of myself to.  Sometimes it might be financially, sometime it might be a gift of my time, and other times it might just be sitting together in solidarity.  Do something for someone else and do it expecting nothing in return.  Heck, do it anonymously.  And then keep doing things.  For your kids, your husband, your friends, your neighbors, the lady in the grocery store, the man at the oil change place. We have ample opportunities presented to us daily.

Don't worry about looking foolish or stepping on someone's toes.  Really, wouldn't you rather make someone smile and help them to experience a tiny sparkle of joy in their day instead of missing the opportunity all together just because you were afraid?  Be bold.  Step out and take chances.  Trust me on this--no one is going to complain about kindness.  And if they do complain, maybe they just need a little more love heaped on them until they smother underneath that heavy, cloying, deep layer of love.

That might be going a little too far.

6 Months.

It's been six months today since I saw you.  Since I talked to you, actually.  That's half a year.  It seems like forever but at the same time it seems like you were just here.  Your presence is sort of like that sparkly trail that follows behind a shooting star or the glittery bits that fall after the fireworks fade away.  It's still there but slowly getting dimmer.  But you're still bright and shiny and living in my heart.

Hey, we got your other cow.  The herd you always wanted:  one bull and two cows.  There should be some babies on the way beginning in the fall.  You would have loved those babies.  Jon is just like you and is already talking about baby cows and 4-H.  First thing he did is head down to the field with a bowl of grain in order to get familiar with Beatrice (that's her name but we think we'll call her Beezus.) and spoil her.  Sissy still plays that game you taught her where she lets you grab her horns and shake her head around.  Bud moos at me whenever I'm outside--he's like a big dog.  You would hardly recognize Jon.  His legs have grown about 6 inches and he's getting so big.  He still wears those gloves and the wrist bands, but he's always been a little peculiar, hasn't he?  He looks like you more and more all the time.  I see you in his smile and in his eyes.

You'd be proud of how hard Jack has worked to keep things looking nice around here.  He's already put up all our wood for the winter.  He used his 3-wheeler and that little trailer to do it all--it took about 20 loads!  The pump broke again so I had to get it rebuilt but Jack was able to install it with no trouble.  He also installed a new fence energizer and adjusted all the gates.  I'm so glad you taught him those things.  He reminded me the other day that the roof needed to be de-mossed so we'll be adding that chore to the list.  That list just never ends, does it?  Jack's laugh is your laugh.  I hear it and it is you.

Madeline registered for school in the fall.  She's been working on a schedule for the past several days.  How can we have a child who will be in college?  Weren't you and I just hanging out at Rio's and playing video poker just yesterday?  Geez.  Her trip is coming up quickly, in just about a month.  I remember when you took that same trip.  It seemed like you were gone forever, even though it was only 3 weeks.  I better understand "forever" now.  Don't you think your Grandma would be happy to know that Madeline is going on that same trip?  She's a good kid, Bill.  She has your temperament and ease.

Sarah has two new loose teeth.  I wish you were here to pull them.  You know how much I hate those loose teeth.  She's growing so tall and she's so sassy.  Just a wild, passionate, eclectic kid.  Exasperating, sure, but so fun.  She talks about you every night and reminds me that you love me.  Still.

Vance and Laurie came for a visit.  It made me miss Virginia so much.  Can you believe I said that?  We made it a home, didn't we?  Even when it was hard we worked together and made a home for our family.  That's why I love Virginia.  Anyway, we just spent time visiting and took a little trip to Crater Lake.  You should have seen me driving the road up to the Lodge. It was my version of hell:  water on one side, cliff on the other side, winding road, high elevation.  I thought I was going to die.  Even Vance said he was a little scared.  I did it though.  I'll admit to you that I had a nice, strong glass of scotch once I parked the car and got settled.  We talked about you a lot.  They miss you too.

We spent a day at the beach with Gilly and Erica.  The weather was perfect and we just sat and ate chips and chocolate and visited.  We talked about you. The kids played together for hours.  You would have loved it.

I got a job.  I know how you felt about that but it's what I need to do.  I'll take the little kids with me at some point so that makes it better.  You weren't supposed to leave me and make me figure this stuff out by myself.

I helped Matt and Brandi paint their house this weekend.  It's Dolby's old farmhouse.  Seeing the transformation from old and shabby to clean and new makes me remember working together so hard to fix up this old house.  Gosh we worked hard.  You loved this house so much.  You loved the history and the character.  You loved the memories.  You loved the potential that existed in the future here.  Anyway, it was bittersweet to paint there.  Happy for the promise of someone else's future but so sad for ours. Plus, you know how much I love to fix up a house that doesn't belong to me!  I can go home and leave it behind when it's not mine.

It's been 6 months.  You really weren't supposed to leave me.  I need help raising these kids and working on the house and knowing when to put tires on the car.  I need help knowing if Jack is being safe with his new saw bar and if Jon knows gun safety.  Who will teach Jon how to hunt?  Madeline needs help choosing classes and Sarah needs her teeth pulled out.  What will happen if I get sick?  You're not here to take care of me.  How will I get up on the roof--I'm scared of heights.  I need you to listen to my ideas and tell me that I'm not crazy.  I need you to decipher political stuff for me and explain the parts I don't understand.  I need you to be snoring in bed next to me.

Six months seems like forever.  But I know that forever is still a long way off.

Heartbreaking.

Want to know what's heartbreaking?  When your six year old refuses to take off her Dad's old sweatshirt because she says, "It smells just like Daddy."  She sits on the sofa inhaling deeply.  Over and over.

I Do Not Leave My Children Home Alone. Even Though It May Appear That Way.

Maybe I should begin this post with a disclaimer.  This disclaimer explains that I am not suggesting women who work outside the home are making a poor choice.  No more than I'm suggesting that women who chose not to have children are inferior to those who do.  I'm not judging anyone.  I'm just sharing my situation and why it's difficult for me.  Seriously.  No judgement here.

So.  I had to get a job.  Let's not talk about it though because I'm not happy about it.  I'm grateful for the opportunity but I'm not happy.  Bill never wanted me to go to work.  Hell, if we're being honest here I never wanted to go to work either.  I took my work at home seriously and did a kick-ass job taking care of Bill, the kids, the house, the yard, volunteering where I was needed in the community, helping at church, etc.  It wasn't like I laid around watching TV and eating cupcakes all day.  But when a person finds herself in a situation like mine--no income, no property, a passel of kids to feed and clothe, a future to consider--changes must be made and personal dreams must be put aside.  So I got a job.

Today, while at this job, there was a small catastrophe at home.  I had left the kids sleeping (Madeline was at work) because they have had a busy few weeks and I felt they needed some time to lay low and just chill out.  So as my darlings were blissfully slumbering in their cozy beds, a well-meaning person came to my door to inform me about the minor emergency and was greeted by little Sarah.  This person asked to talk to me and Sarah says, "My Mama is at work.  I'm just by myself."  Nice.  Neither Jack nor Jon got out of bed to investigate this stranger who was standing at the back door.  But you'll be happy to know that Sarah did invite said stranger into the house.  Such excellent manners.  For the record, my child was NOT at home by herself--her older brothers were in the next room, ignorantly choosing to stay in bed instead of taking care of the business at hand. I am not a neglectful mother.  Really I'm not.

This is hard for me.  This is so incredibly foreign to me.  I am trying to honor Bill's wishes for our family.  I know what he wanted for us and how he wanted us to live.  I know his values and priorities.  I'm not sure I'm getting it right.  I'm also not sure that I have any other choice.

Think about this:  If you've always worked full time, imagine suddenly having to stay at home full time.  If you've always had plentiful resources, imagine finding yourself with not enough money to buy food for the day.  If you lived in a 3000 square foot house imagine being forced to move into a 300 square foot apartment.  If you lived in Hawaii and then had to move to Iceland.  If you had no children and then gave birth to or adopted five of them.  If you led an active life and then suffered an injury that left you confined to a wheelchair.   Yes, yes, I know none of these are life and death situations, in fact, I believe we refer to such problems as "first world problems".  But either way it cannot diminish the shock and pain that accompanies sudden, unexpected change.

I've had enough of this change crap.  No more.