reflection – Gather by Image

Saying Goodbye

I shared this on Social Media on July 7, 2022:

Today was a deeply sad day for the kids and me.

Over 14 years ago, Timmy Gaige and I met Benjamin Joseph Saunders-Gaige at a Homeward Trails adoption event, and not long after he came to live with us. Tim made him an email address and a Facebook account, and let him up on the bed when I was traveling for work. We took him camping, and basically any place we could get away with. We knew we drove some people crazy with our obsession with him…. But then he always won them over!

Almost 11 years ago we started bringing home strange new beings who took all of our time and attention. Yet he watched over them. And always (from the beginning through today) his Dr. Julianne Fisher was there for us and for him.

Nearly 17 years, a million squirrels chased, walks, hikes, runs, pats, kisses, belly rubs, tears in your fur, 2 surgeries, countless roadtrips. You were my constant companion. You loved my babies like your own.

I know how much you missed Tim. How much you lit up when you heard his voice on video after he was gone.

I know he is waiting for you on the other side of that rainbow bridge. I will miss you so much, BJ, as do your human siblings, but I know how happy you are to be together again with the tall one. I will dream of your reunion.

I can’t wait to see you again, it’s only a matter of time. I will take my time… I have more living and loving to do, but I will see you both again when my time is up!

#always

I have no doubts or regrets regarding how we handled the end of BJ’s life. It was his time, and I am so glad that he was able to go peacefully, with a mouth full of chocolate – kisses and reese’s – surrounded by the ladies who have loved him most. Here are some photos of the end that I didn’t share on social media:

Saying Goodbye surrounded by those who love him with our whole hearts.

I remained calm and steady here up until I held his paw and said to him “Say hi to Daddy for us.” And then the tears flowed.

It’s not the first time I held someone I loved until they stopped breathing. Different, yes. But there is something universal and other-worldly about those last breaths. Something about being with someone you love at that moment when they cross to the other side. Something beautiful and gut-wrenching and breath-taking and indescribable.

Even though I knew then and know now that it was for the best, that he went in the best possible way, and I am so grateful for that – it doesn’t lessen just how much I miss that companion. When I am the first one home, I open the door expecting to see him. I still expect to see him next to me when I wake up. I thought the loss of our dog would be dwarfed by the incredible weight of the loss of Tim. I was wrong.

What an incredible testament to the boundlessness of the human heart’s capacity to love.

Afterall, grief is the price we pay for love. (I believe Queen Elizabeth II is creditted with this one.)

The price is high, but I will keep on paying it. There is no other way.

Five years

A while ago I received a beautiful save the date in the mail for my cousin / Godfather’s daughter’s wedding. It caught my eye immediately with the date:6/11. That date always jumps off the page. I am excited today to celebrate a new marriage, young love, and I hope dearly that they experience the same beautiful union, with all its messy pieces that I lived (hopefully with many more years). At the same time, I hold Tim in my heart in a special way on this day. In a quieter way than his birthday, perhaps, but in a way that is deeply meaningful for me.

Recently, I saw a note in a widow’s group that said “When’s the last time you took a moment to appreciate how far you’ve come since your loss?” – Jen Santaniello

Five years certainly seems like the right time to pause and do that. While its hard for me to quantify how far I have come, I can certainly see how far the kids have come. My ability to shepherd them through life on my own, is certainly a thing I would have deemed impossible for the first 35 years of my life. I hold that as the greatest measure of how far I have come, but there are small, less measurable ways that I have evolved that I know Tim would truly appreciate. Reflecting on those allows me to see “how far I’ve come.”

I read this in the book I am reading this week, and it deeply resounded with me:

“All will be well”….
And when I had recoiled at how trite and superficial that sounded.. she’d said
“I don’t mean that life won’t bring you tragedy…
I only mean that you will be well in spite of it… there’s a place in you that’s inviolate. You’ll find your way there when you need to and you’ll know then of what I speak.” – Sue Monk Kidd (The Book of Longings)

It is my greatest desire to honor his life, all that he loved and held dear, while living my own life to the fullest, honoring all that I love and hold dear, and ensure our kids are held and safe, as they continue to become.

Life check

There are a lot of memories for me today… 5 years ago today was the last time I heard Tim’s voice. It was the day that I decided to take him to the hospital, and he never came home. I wrote about this a bit in my letters: A year without your Voice and Another year without your voice.

Today, I want to reflect on this past weekend. I chose to go out to Vegas with my 3 best friends from college for a reunion weekend and an all day Music fest: Lovers and Friends. I know that everything is a risk. Especially these days, with covid (less life-threatening thanks to vaccines) but still rampant. Especially, because we live in America.

My friend Anne was ready to go before the headliners, so we walked her to the gate and told her to get an Uber not the bus back to her hotel.

Shruti, Stacia and I went back in, to the main stage area for TLC (which was awesome). Next up was Usher, Ludacris and lil Jon on the main stage. It was a break so we sat down on the ground. There were a good number of people around us also sitting down. There was DJ music, so medium loud but the three of us were chatting. I was beat. Closed my eyes a few times. Trying to think if Stacia and I could convince Shruti to leave before Lauryn Hill, because it was a long day standing on blacktop that was hotter than the surface of the sun and I was whooped. All of the sudden Shruti says “Get up! Get up! Get up!” I look back and see a wave of humans coming at me in the dark. Shruti grabs Stacia, Stacia grabs me, I grip my water bottle and hat (which I ripped off my head) And Stacia for dear life and RUN! People were ducking and running but very little screaming. It was so scary but the crowd was so NICE! Everyone who touched me was gentle like they didn’t want to hurt me but wanted me to know they were there/ to move forward. We rushed towards the stage and ended up near the front, Shruti pulled us to side thinking of getting trampled and we ended up near a security gate to the VIP section and people started jumping it. No one knew what was happening but there was a buzz of possible gun fire. (Because we live in America) I strained hard to listen. It was absolutely terrifying. I’ve never been in a situation like that before. I managed to be afraid both of getting trampled and of being shot at the same time. People were trying desperately to stay together with their people, and also move in the right direction, and keep each other safe. Stacia started shaking with repressed sobs and I nearly lost it too. I immediately thought “I cannot let my children be orphaned because I wanted to go to a concert.” Somehow this steadied me. I knew I had to keep my senses sharp and remain in control.

When we got to the fence, Shruti struggled to get over it and people helped her. When we got over into VIP we were able to head towards a VIP exit but still no one knew what was happening. But we were ready to get out! We got back to the hotel where we parked, and asked security for first aid because Shruti’s foot was bleeding. Some random concert goers stopped and had bandaids, gauze etc in their clear plastic bag. Stacia and Shruti had some things in a locker, that we will never see again but thank God Stacia had her car keys! (She also had my sunglasses and I had everything else I brought, phone, wallet in my skirt pockets.) It took a long time to get out of the garage but we eventually made it home to Stacia’s house. While exiting we heard Usher and realized that they kept playing! But clearly, we were done.

The music was absolutely phenomenal, but it’s definitely my last festival. That’s not a risk I need to take. Earlier in the day, I thought the heat was the big drama. I will always hold close that in the heat of the moment, Shruti saved my life.

In all things, I wonder #WWTD. I know he’d have understood my desire to go. He’d have wanted me to see my friends. He’d have encouraged it. I went out to Vegas with those 3 when I was very pregnant with D in 2016. I am a person who knows deep in my bones that no matter what precautions you take – tragedy can strike. That even when you marry a man with excellent family history, who takes little to no risks, follows all the rules, avoids tobacco, drugs, motorcycles, firearms… you can get hit with a perfect storm of nearly unbelievable disease and he can die at 37 years old in the prime of his life.

I live in the balance between carpe diem and which risks are too much.

I came home today. I held my babies close. I told them the story. I held HIS babies close.

I reread tonight Another year without your voice and I am reminded how much I’d want to share not only our children, but this world we live in with Tim. I watched one of my friend’s husband’s respond to what we went through and I saw Tim. This, remains so true today:

I’d want to tell you about the disappointing things going on in our country and in the world… I’d want to hear your outrage – not because I want you to be upset, but because it always inspired me, and because I’d know there was one more white male in this country who GOT IT. I’d want to tell you what has happened with me, with my work, ask your advice, report on friends, with other family.. well, I’d want to tell you everything. But you probably wouldn’t let me get to it if we were short on time. All you’d want to hear would be our children. I wish you could see them now! I like to believe you can. I wish we could see you! I guess I do. I see so much of you in them every day. No matter what, you live on in us.
Another year without your voice

On the very same day that I experienced this, in Buffalo, NY, a city that my Tim loved with his whole heart, from his camp days – experienced a terrible white supremacist’s massacre in a super market in a predominantly black neighborhood.

The terrifying experience made me realize just how much I need to appreciate my life. It is, of course, a thing I should have learned 5 years ago when Tim’s took the craziest turn. But all of the things I worry about daily can be reduced to nothing when you consider the sanctity of life. May we remember that, appreciate it, and fight for it always, not in cells that are growing as a part of a woman’s body, but full, live humans of every race, religion, orientation, gender identity.

May we all offer each other every day the same love, grace, and respect I experienced from the Lovers and Friends festival-goers of May 14, 2022.

Four years

Recently, a friend told me that a friend of hers (who I don’t believe I’ve ever met) said “How long has it been?… almost 4 years? She’s not seeing anyone now? What are you doing to help her with that?”

I have found that there is a continuum of widowhood. At least on the observation (judgment?) scale. Its “ooooh, too soon” to “mmmm, when is (s)he going to move on?” There is no set time when the switch flips, but as soon as it does, you can FEEL it. Not internally, but in the way others treat you.

There have been things in the last 4 years. Flirtations, situations, intimacy. I have no regrets. Things happened when they did, why they did, for reasons that I can not explain, and yet for which I am very grateful. The first was, by all external observation “too soon.” And yet, I am extremely grateful for it. It was just what I needed, when I needed it. It was joy, excitement, sadness, distraction, but most of all, it helped me understand myself so much better than anything else could have at that time. I guess I could say it was a revelation. It was about me, and not about only my loss. And when it needed to be over, it was so very clear to me, in a way that it would not have been for a younger version of myself, for a pre-Tim, pre-children version of me. In that time, I was telling myself I was only surviving, but I found that I wasn’t only surviving, I was fully living, and I was getting to really know who I am. If anything, I was falling in love with myself. Another situation was just as rewarding. It was good for my heart, fun, and freeing. It may have been cut extra short by global pandemic, and yet helped with that too. It was truly always on a timeline. And in all things, as a mother, my children – their happiness and safety – come first, and other choices fit around that.

I told someone else recently that my father died last year, and their first question was whether my mother would remarry. I immediately found this an interesting and (to me) unexpected response. Like, do you remember you are speaking to a widow at this moment? I’m not sure he did. He was thinking of when his own father died, and that his mother did remarry. And that’s ok. I understand that we live life relative to our own experiences, what we know, what we understand.

On Glennon Doyle’s podcast, We can do hard things, she and Amanda were talking about the question “What happened?” Their topic was specific to infidelity, and the end of both of their first marriages… but Amanda talked about how awful that question is, and specifically because its never for the person being asked, always for the asker (I am paraphrasing – I 100% recommend listening to the actual podcast We Can Do Hard Things). Amanda talked about the person asking wanting to know what happened, so that they can understand, analyze, diagnose how it happened, so they can mentally come to terms with how it won’t happen to them.

How MUCH I identified with this. I had to laugh, too. Imagine Tim’s response if I told him I identified with a podcast about infidelity. He was the most fiercely loyal human I have ever known, he would have been initially aghast. But he also never lived through the aftermath of the love of his life’s death, and I know he’d have a lot of grace for that unknown. I had a very intelligent friend ask me if the fact that Tim lost his hair so young was a sign? Was it the cancer? I couldn’t even believe he was asking me this…. and yet I did. I understand the NEED to look for a reason, or for a sign that we all missed. I understand looking for that comfort. It may not be a luxury I have, but it doesn’t mean I don’t understand it.

I am, always, who I am because I loved Tim, and because I lost Tim. Not just because of our children that I am raising, but the forever imprint on my heart, my being, and my knowing. He is present in the decisions I make for our family, and I have silly moments when I think of him and it stops me completely still. We move forward as a family, always letting each other become who we were meant to become. I can not wait to see who our children will be in each next step in their lives. And I also look forward to learning who I am becoming.

My mind is open, my heart is open, and I continue to do just “the next right thing.”

“…I chased desire, I made sure I got what’s mine…. and I continue to believe that I’m the one for me. And because I’m mine, I walk the line. We’re adventurers in heartbreak so that our final destination we lack…We’ve stopped asking directions to places they’ve never been. To be loved, we need to be known, we’ll finally find our way back home. And through the joy and pain that are life’s brain, we can do hard things” – Tish Melton

Three years

I remember so vividly three years ago today. There are times when I could not tell you what I had for lunch yesterday, but those last moments in the hospital are crystal clear. I mentioned in June 11th is coming. that right there at the end I sang to him our wedding song, and I told him, “I will not make a big deal of this date.” I knew he would hate that. And I’ve tried to maintain that… plan the memorial sporting event around this time of year / father’s day, plus “celebrate” father’s day. And I managed again this year to not tell the kids what today was… I didn’t think I would get away with it this year, because A mentioned it the other day, “isn’t June 11th the day daddy died?” But she did not mention it today, and I did not bring it up. I told them there was a special end-of-the-school-year treat coming. And it did – we had an ice cream truck come to our cul de sac! They loved it!

Tim and I once took part in an “ice cream Thursday” tradition at work, and today being the ultimate “ice cream Thursday” brought me some joy. It also brought the opportunity to celebrate the end of this difficult school year, with three months of the kids at home, all of us at home, staying safe from the corona virus. We were delighted to have other neighbors come down for the ice cream truck, including R’s first grade teacher!

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But I can not help that this day hits me hard. As much as I want it to be just any other day. The date is everywhere. I wrote the date on a million forms and papers, had it engraved several places. The date is engraved in my heart. And try as I might to not make a big deal of the date, it ends up making a big deal to me. So many memories flood in. The whole day feels heavy. Tim loved me so much for who I am, I am sure he would forgive me for this. This guy here, his son. This week I mentioned daddy while we were in his hammock together, and D turned to me and said very seriously, very matter-of-factly “Mama, my daddy – he is always dead.” It surprised me as he has never said this before. But it is also simply true, however much I hate that this is his reality.

I am sad that due to the corona virus, we will not be able to celebrate with friends and family at the memorial sporting event this year. But I am hopeful that we will be able to do that next year. This time in history that we are in right now also feels very heavy: emerging into summer, and a phased re-entry into a “new normal,” and trying to imagine what comes next.

I so hope that this time brings transformational social change that we desperately need, change that makes it a better, kinder, safer world for every single citizen on earth. I know that is what Tim would want for the world his children live in.

Three years, and so much has changed. We have all changed – me, and each of the kids. The world around us is changing fast. I hope we continue to change with it. I have no doubt that Tim’s light, life, and spark will be in our hearts always. Always.

“You have stolen my heart

And from the ballroom floor we are a celebration

One good stretch before our hibernation

Our dreams assured and we are, we’ll sleep well… sleep well… sleep well… sleep well”

~ Dashboard Confessional “Stolen” (Our wedding song)

Saying Goodbye to Dad

It was a difficult decision in this environment, and a risk, I know, but I decided to leave the kiddos for several hours today and head up to PA for my dad’s < 10 person funeral mass.

The absolute saddest part of dad’s passing was the timing. Dad had been ready for a long time. Before Tim died, I spoke to him about how much I wish that across the country we had Death with Dignity options. Imagine if Dad could have made his own choice? He would have made it years ago, and gone to rest peacefully, surrounded by the support of his family. My heart breaks to think of the sadness and the confusion of this time. I can only imagine this is the case for many other patients in care facilities across the country, who can not understand why their family members are not able to visit. Death is always sad for those of us left behind. It is a heavy weight to carry. But I like to imagine a world where the suffering can find their way home in peace, in a manner and time of their choosing.

I am glad that I was able to go today. I wrote and gave the Eulogy, which I will share here. I may have broken my own connection to the Catholic Church in 2016, but I can not deny that Father Ed did a beautiful job with Dad’s mass. He had met dad, and he read carefully the background on Dad that my sister-in-law, Gaby, provided. He incorporated those thoughts beautifully and connected them to both readings and the gospel in his homily. My sister, Jean, and my Aunt Kathleen did a beautiful job with the readings, my Aunt Dolly with the prayer of the faithful and the Church staff who joined for the piano and singing did a gorgeous job. The pianist went so far as to add a few chords of ‘Somewhere over the rainbow’ at the end after hearing the end of the Eulogy. And my mom, who I hate to welcome to widowhood, was her strong, beautiful, elegant self.

Here are the words I shared today with the small crowd allowed for the funeral mass. Mom hopes to have a burial that more can attend in the future.

Good morning.

(Here I ad libbed that before I started I wanted to mention that my immediate family had joined a video chat the previous evening to wish my 18 year old niece a happy birthday and we had agreed… as weird as this funeral mass is for all of us here – the size, only a few immediate family members – it would have been right up dad’s alley).

We, here in this room today, and others that could not be with us, we are Dad’s legacy. Most significantly, Mom, Joe, Jean, and I (and our spouses and children) are dad’s greatest legacy. Even though he couldn’t always show it the way we might have liked for him to, it has always been clear to me just how much Dad loves each and every one of us.

At my first job after college when someone would accept a new position and be moving on to the next adventure, we would celebrate (sometimes roast) them with a top 10 list, Letterman style. At my husband’s Celebration of Life, we developed a collection of things that “we learned from Tim” particularly for our children to have for years to come.

So today for this small group of us gathered here, I will share the top 10 things that I learned from Dad, whether directly or indirectly…

The value of family, resilience and perseverance. I know how much it meant to Dad that he and Mom got to fulfill a longtime dream of visiting Ireland together, where they met some of dad’s cousins and saw where his mom was born.
The value of education. Dad always made it clear how important he found education of all kinds. The love of a good book! And a library! Dad was a lifelong learner. And it’s not surprising then that my sister, Jean, is an educator.
The value of hard work – whether this be at school, work, around the house or in the yard, where my brother, Joe’s nickname for Dad – “Johnny Flamethrower” – came. Dad’s favorite tools may have been his lawnmower, leaf blower, and subsequently lighter – to light the leaves on fire… eventually only on the county-approved days.
The value of understanding and appreciating cultural differences. This was something I think Dad struggled with personally all his life. He made a point to talk to me about gender and racial equality in particular, as well as the damage of prejudice, and every year he looked forward to signing right up for the Church and Synagogue interfaith community sessions.
In a similar vein, Dad taught me the value of a good debate, of challenging the status quo, of pushing yourself to think differently then you’ve been taught to think.
Dad taught me that it may never be too late to reinvent yourself. This was something Dad did over and over. Brother, son, friend, soldier, Stone Container worker, husband, Philadelphia Police officer, father, Wharton School Business student, Blacksmith/farrier, rubber stall mat installer, woodworker, chef, grandfather, student of history and law.
Dad taught me the importance of mental health. Mostly, that mental health and challenges with it are very real. I learned through him the damage of secrecy, and with it the value of transparency, openness and speaking the truth.
Dad taught me that It’s never too late to bury the hatchet… When Dad’s brother Hugh was sick, I went to visit him at his home and he told me and Tim about Dad coming to visit him in the hospital. They had not spoken for many years. Uncle Hugh looked me in the eye and said “if roles were reversed, MaryBeth, I don’t know if I would have done it…. He was the bigger man.” Nothing in all the years of my life could have prepared me to hear those words. I was shocked, but I was also incredibly touched, and those words have stayed with me.
Dad shared with me words he often recalled from his sister, Patsy… Regarding burial for GrandPop Saunders, and whether it be with Grandmom Saunders, or in a plot where in the future Grandmom Mary could be buried with him, Dad said Aunt Patsy told him, “Johnny, let us appease the living, rather than the dead.” Dad and I spoke of that many times and it stuck with me. Based on the life I’ve lived, those words have been incredibly important to me.
For many years, on the second Sunday of December, my family would go cut down a Christmas tree. Whenever we would do this, Joe, Jean, and I would wait to hear the words Dad always spoke “Just remember, the farther you walk out, the farther you need to walk back.” We laughed about it a lot, but it’s a valuable lesson in life.

When I was young, Dad and I enjoyed watching The Wizard of Oz together, and he made me memorize “Somewhere over the Rainbow”. He’d even record me singing it on a little black tape recorder.

I hope you are somewhere over the rainbow, Dad. I know a couple people who will be happy to show you around. May you be at peace. May you be at home. There’s no place like home.

Let me tell you about right now

Dear Tim,

Here it is, 2020. We are still in our house. You’d recognize it with only a few changes. But in the past few weeks, the world has changed rapidly.

Are you ready? Please sit down. They cancelled March Madness.

They also cancelled / postponed the Olympics. The Olympics. This is the first time that has ever happened. (Which of course you would already know.)

I have imagined you with this ultimate set up in heaven where you are finally not limited by any number of screens… you can have ALL THE SCREENS, see ALL THE SPORTS at once! Except now – all the screens go black.

Now, are you ready for this? The girls – our first and third graders – are not going back to school this year. Their last day of school was to be June 12. Your memorial sporting event was to be the day after the last day of school, June 13th. I have no idea if that will happen. But I do know now that the last day our girls were in school for the year was MARCH 12th instead! And when they left that day, a Thursday, they had no idea they wouldn’t be back the next day. Also, understand that was less than 2 weeks ago! That’s how much and how rapidly the world has changed in the last 2 weeks. It’s a world you would not recognize.

People are dying. This virus is spreading rapidly in every corner of the world. Our healthcare systems are not equipped for this. Do you remember when we lamented in November 2016? May he never have anything big and important to lead us through as a Nation? Well. Yeah. Here we are. And it’s exactly as bad as you would imagine.

Many times throughout this pandemic… because that’s what we are dealing with here – a Global Pandemic. For real. That is not melodrama. That is actually what it is. A Global Pandemic, called Coronavirus, or COVID-19. Many times throughout this pandemic, my anxiety builds in my chest. All of the possibly possible “what ifs” go through my head in an intricate mental gymnastics. Honestly, the “schools closed for the rest of the year” news today caused me to need a good heaving cry in the shower. The anxiety builds because it is so much, for all of us. It is a lot. Because people are dying. Because people are getting sick – and if they get better, their lungs may be forever weakened. I learned a lot about lungs when you were in the hospital. Because people are not following the rules. Because some of the rules keep changing. Because the economic effects are devastating, life-changing, unimaginable, unprecedented. Because I need to not get sick. Because I still need to provide for these three. Pay the mortgage. Survive. Parent alone. Because at the end of the day, when I turn out the light, your side of the bed is still empty. Because you are still gone. I can imagine what things would be like if you were here. (For sure, I know our lawn would look amazing right now.) But that is not helpful. Because you are not. You will now always be gone.

So I allow myself the good cry. The heaving sobs in the shower. And then I ask myself “what would Tim do?”

And then the calm. The calm that helps me take it one day at a time. Because everything is changing so fast – worrying about June will not help me today. It will not help me get ready for tomorrow. You would tell me to worry about nothing else – simply make sure the kids are OK, that they are safe. Do whatever I need to to keep them healthy, safe, loved.

I promise you that I will do “the next right thing” – whatever that is. I will keep our babies safe. I will try to make the best decisions for them. And I will try to stay sane in the process. Whatever that looks like.

Every day there is new bad news. Every day it feels like we are living our worst nightmare. The mantra in my head that plays over and over goes like this,

This is not my worst nightmare. I’ve already lived through that.

Because I have. That’s the only thing I can say about the loss of you. I’d still take it back if that were a thing in my power… but since it is not… I appreciate the resilience it’s brought in me, and especially in the kids. We are a resilient people. The craziest part may be that when we lived through our worst nightmare, we looked around, and the world just kept spinning. But now… This is a nightmare for everyone! We are not alone. I am touched by all the people who have reached out, though truthfully there is very little any of them can do for me right now. I am grateful for what we have. I am grateful for who we are – who we are because we had you, and who we are because we lost you.

This is where we are right now, Tim. I wish you were here. Every day, I miss you. You would have gotten frustrated, probably even more than me – but you would have taken on home-schooling with great enthusiasm. In a few weeks, we will be celebrating what would have been your 40th birthday. In isolation. A day which by any measure you ought to have been here for.

But then, you never saw a world without March Madness and the Olympics. And maybe a small part of me is grateful for that too.

Love Always,

MaryBeth

Happy Anniversary

Dear Tim,

When my facebook memories came up today, they included our last Anniversary spent together… at Peterson’s Ice Cream Parlor and the nearby park.. with a ~ 6 week old baby, and a 3 and 5 year old! You are drinking a Peterson’s milkshake, pushing kids on the swing, getting on the seesaw with the girls, pushing D in his stroller. Deferred a celebration to an October Sunday when my sister’s family was in town for an Anniversary dinner. It was lame. And yet, I smile knowing that even if you ever could have known it was the last, you wouldn’t have wanted to spend it any other way. Ice cream, and the people you loved the most. The memories also included your wishes to me “to my lovely and talented wife”, a pic of me with the girls: “A family, three years in the making. Happy Anniversary to my wonderful wife.”

Now, I still recognize it on social media. I got flowers because I knew A would want me to have them, like if you were here! A friend and neighbor got me flowers! I broke out the wedding wine glass and a bottle of Chardonnay from the vineyard where we got married to toast to us.

It means a lot to me when people say, “Happy Anniversary.”

This one is a funny milestone. I miss you every single day. And there are times of year that are harder for me than others. Particularly the Mother’s Day to Father’s Day time and the Winter holidays. But this milestone. Somehow, to me. It’s still a happy one.

I recognize that the idea of a Wedding Anniversary is to celebrate another successful year of marriage! And yet, I can’t really do that anymore. Because really, for the last year, I haven’t been married. And yet, its still the anniversary of our wedding, and it makes me happy. All the memories do. It is a good day to hold them close to my heart.

As I said in my first Anniversary post, what an honor it was to be your wife. I miss you every day. Every day, in some way, I grieve your losses, my losses and the loss of you from our children’s lives – their losses.

But today, is a happy day. I am so touched when people say “Happy Anniversary” to me. Yes, its terribly sad that you are not here to celebrate it with me. But it is still our day. And to me, it is still happy.

Wherever you are, my love, Happy Anniversary.

I love you, always,

MaryBeth

Where his body is (a letter to our children)

Dear A, R, and D,

I know there are many hard conversations ahead of us. Some, I can never imagine. Others, I know will happen one day… and I always think “that day is not today.”

Maybe its true that I have already had the hardest conversation… but that doesn’t make the future ones easier.

D, I often wonder how the understanding will have played out for you. When you are grown, and look back, you will surely never remember a time when your father was alive. But, how will you remember your understanding of death to have taken shape? To be honest, I can’t say how I want that to happen for you. When we were at the beach this summer, there was a day when you and I and A, walked back from town together, hand in hand. R was ahead of us on her scooter. We were talking about where in the beach house you left your daddy doll (I try always to know since you will not sleep without it – thank goodness we have 3!), when A said something about Daddy the person and you said, “where IS Daddy?… Big daddy?” and I realized it was the first time you’ve ever asked that. I said, “well, Daddy is in Heaven…” Annabelle piped up and added to it, and we both talked about how great he was, how much we miss him, how much he wishes he could be with us. But I really don’t know what of that you understood. I don’t understand what Heaven is, so how can I really even try to explain it to you? Recently, you looked at the picture in your room and said “I am wearing blue, and Daddy is holding me.” I stopped what I was doing and looked at the picture and said, “that’s right, D, you are!” There was no more, but it pierced me. I wanted that photo right there where you could always see it, and see his face, and how happy he was to be with you! And here it was having that desired effect. I think. I don’t know. I never know how to do this.

Recently in the kitchen alone, R, you looked at me so earnestly and said you don’t know where daddy’s body is. You said “I don’t understand what happens to us when we die,” and I answered honestly. “I don’t understand either. But here’s what I believe…”

The other night, we were at the pool with friends. The big kids did a play, and there were zombies. Later it came up about a smell… “couldn’t be the zombies! … What? … Zombies are dead! Have you ever smelled a dead body?… No!? … Gross.” My whole body went rigid, wondering whether any of the 3 of you heard… what you might say… what questions you might ask me.

Because here’s the thing. It’s been two years and none of you knows what happened to Daddy’s body. I’ve explained that he died. That he’s gone from this earth. That he’s in our hearts. That he’s in “heaven.” I know you understand that you will never see him again. When I was young, as long as I can remember I went to funerals. I grew up Catholic, where funerals are part of the social experience. Where open casket viewings are common, traditional. I grew up going to Mass on Sundays, and more often than not going to the cemeteries after for my parents to visit their parents, for me to visit with them – my grandparents. I remember going to funerals. The Mass, the viewing, the open casket, the procession line, the cemetery, the lowering into the ground. Unfortunately, your dad and I never spoke very clearly with each other about our exact wishes upon death because it was the furthest thing from our minds. Before our youngest child even finished nursing, or his first year of life, before our oldest child finished Kindergarten, the idea of one of us dying and the other needing to deal with death was unthinkable. And yet, your father was a passionate, opinionated man and I did know exactly what he would NOT want.

You all know that we had a celebration of life because Daddy hated funerals. We have a tree and bench (two actually in two different states) because Daddy didn’t like cemeteries. But you do not know WHERE his body is. And one day you will want to know.

So, here is the answer. He was cremated. This means his body was turned to ash, instead of being put into a box and lowered into the ground. Does this sound harsh? Both options sound harsh I think. But in one you can keep the ashes with you at all times – or you can spread the ashes out in the world in a place he would love to be. We are going to do both. And I can tell you for sure Daddy would not have wanted to be in a box in the ground. And here’s another thing. I made sure he could be in so many places. I used to tease him about his desire to go everywhere. He was a homebody who was also restless. He was no good at travel, and yet he dreamed of moving so much more than I did. He’d throw out options all the time. Let’s move to California! Buffalo, NY. Minnesota! Wisconsin. Boston – definitely Boston. Austin, TX. Ireland. London. Australia. New Zealand. It never ended. But the plans to move were never well formed. Just dreams he liked to mention. I wanted to visit these places, because I love to travel. Your father simply wanted to move there. I often wonder if somehow, he didn’t feel deep down in a place that never caught his conscious mind that he wasn’t here on Earth for a long time. So how did I make sure he could be in many places? When they asked me about an urn.. they mentioned they could do several keepsake boxes of ashes, and I asked how many. They didn’t know. I said as many as you can. So I have no big fancy urn on the mantle. I don’t need it to have him with us. We have so many other reminders of him visible in our home. I have all keepsake boxes. I’ve already given away the ones to Daddy’s family. To the other people who were blood and family and so special to him. Allow them to chose where their part of him should go. Stay close with them at all times – or spread in a place he loved of their choosing. But the others are still home with us. Home with us where he would most love to be while you are young. When you are old enough to read this, to get this information and understand it, all of you, then we will talk more about spreading his ashes out in the world in places he would most love to be. I have a small keepsake box for each of you. I will give it to you when you are ready. You can keep it with you, or you can spread it out in the world as you choose. Then I have 3 more. There is so much that can be done: keep, spread, and more… I’ve seen some add the ashes to an hour glass. Still others have had the ash made into jewelry of all types. I have a big trip planed for us when you are older to spread one keepsake box in a place far from here that Daddy and I loved, that we loved together, and I want to show you. I think I’d like to spread another at his tree with you all, if you agree, when you are ready to do so. And the last, I will save. And my wish is that you will share it with my ashes someday. I absolutely hope that you will have me cremated. If nothing else, to save you the money of a traditional burial! Mix some or all of my ashes with your dad’s. Either keep the commingled ashes with you, or spread them in a beautiful place where we’d love.

At the end of the day, it’s ash, it’s dust. Our bodies will be gone. But I hope that we will live on in you. Always.

So that, my dears, is where daddy’s body is. Some day we will let go of his ashes together. For now, they are with us. His spirit lives on in our hearts forever. The personality traits, quirks, mannerisms, and love that you have of Daddy’s – you have forever. Daddy is in our hearts. Always.

All my love, Always,

Mom

This is Eight

Our girl.

It’s hard to believe she’s already Eight years old. She made Tim and I parents and changed our lives. I will never forget the tears of joy Tim cried when he first laid eyes on her. When he first held her in his arms, I felt my heart grow so much I thought I might explode. The limitlessness of love was so obvious to me in that moment. How much I loved her, how much he loved her, how much I loved him, how much he loved me… I remember thinking I didn’t think I would love Tim more than I did on our wedding, and realizing just how wrong I was.

This year we had a big Harry Potter themed birthday party complete with potion making, Honey Dukes, donating socks to free house elves, a big sorting with a talking sorting hat, pumpkin juice, butter beer, and most importantly: Quidditch! Where I basically taught a bunch of elementary school students to play beer pong (minus the beer). She loved it all. Before the party, she looked around and said to me, “Daddy would have really loved this, Mom!” Her birthday, and every bit of the work was worth it. Her birthday, and yet to hear her say that was such a gift to me. It was true, of course. He would have loved it!

And how he would have loved to see her love it! This has been a big year of struggles and self-discovery for A, and she has a long road ahead. Things don’t come easily for our firstborn, but she has worked so hard, and has conquered so much this year. My heart explodes with love and pride for her, and I can only hope I can show her how much – not only I love and am proud of her, but how much Tim is as well.

We are ready to face all this year has and will throw at us, together.

This is Eight.

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