I don’t have to make the bed
Or share the covers.
Dinner on the couch works just fine.
I can make my own schedule
Or follow no schedule at all.
But I don’t hog the covers,
And I’ll make the bed in the morning.
I’ll set the table, even for one,
But save a place for you in my mind.
I’ll mark the days until your return,
Because I don’t ever want to get used to
Being alone.
I hate spiders. Poisonous or not, doesn’t matter. I won’t even clean up a dead one if I can help it. I think it has to do with how many legs they have. Those creepy little legs.
When I was cleaning cobwebs out of the windows in the front of the house, I should have been mindful that I could be disrupting someone’s – um – home. But I was in the zone and very focused on wiping and vacuuming every edge and crevice, and was thus surprised when a spider skittered toward me out of nowhere. Much squealing and shrieking ensued. (By me. Not the spider. At least not that I could hear.) As he landed at my feet, I jumped and danced and swatted at him with the end of the vacuum attachment. The brush at the end was too soft to destroy him, so he got away.
Mark heard the commotion and came to see what was going on. As loud as I was, I’m sure a few neighbors were also concerned, and the open windows didn’t help. Once he determined that all was well, he turned to go back to what he was doing. But I asked him to stay while I started on another window in the next room. You know, just in case.
I noticed that just having him in the room allowed me to work faster and with more confidence than I typically would have after such an encounter. I knew if I woke another spider, he would spring into action. I had nothing to fear simply because I was not alone.
What are you afraid of? What is it that lurks in the dark corners of your mind and comes out at odd times to paralyze you with fear? We all have them. You are not alone.
And there is no need to be alone.
I know that if the tough times come, I have a group of friends who will rush in to help. Even when I tell them “I’m fine. I have it under control.” (Perhaps the most common lie in the world.) They are available when I need them, and I for them. And that fact alone allows me to go through life with a little less fear, a little more confidence.
Cultivate friendships. Make time for fellowship. Don’t allow yourself to be too busy for dinner with a friend. Don’t let an imperfect house keep you from inviting someone over. That way when you cry out for help, you can be sure someone will hear you and come running.
Even if it is only to kill a spider.
To the kind undertaker
Who gave me
Such a helpful list of things to do,
To get done.
Some are obvious:
Call the life insurance company,
Cancel the cable subscription,
Bank accounts, credit cards,
The mail.
Oh, here’s something I didn’t think about –
Voter registration.
Thank you, Sir.
You seem to have covered it all.
But I still have questions,
If you have a moment.
Like,
When is it acceptable
To throw out all these flowers
Without seeming ungrateful?
Am I required to press a rose
And keep it forever
So I never forget to grieve?
When someone asks
How I’m doing,
What is the correct response?
There’s a range, you know,
Between “I’m fine” to
An outburst of tears
That will only make us both
Uncomfortable.
I really don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable
Around my grief.
Is it acceptable
To get right back to work?
Sometimes there is comfort
In routine.
Is it acceptable
To stay in my pajamas all day?
Sometimes that is more comforting
Than routine.
A lot of my time,
I avoid objects that spark memories.
Other times,
I want to gather every family photo
And pile them on top of me
Like a sepia blanket.
Will I ever find a proper balance
Between these two urges?
Who do I ask
For that special recipe,
Instructions on my golf swing,
The name of that one song?
I have taken enough of your time.
You have been most kind,
But you have other folks to help,
So please go attend to them.
I will always have more questions,
And I guess it’s time for me to start
Answering them myself.
Here are the thoughts Jean and I shared at Mom’s memorial.
Jean:
As often as we are advised to not take tomorrow for granted, most of us, myself included, have a habit of doing exactly that. I was convinced that I had the next ten, even twenty years left before this day would come.
I’m grateful, at least, that I had one more opportunity to see Mom once we realized that she didn’t have much time remaining. During that visit she expressed a feeling of guilt over her parents and questioned the care that she provided during their last years, fearful that she’d not done enough. I emphatically told her that she went far beyond expectations. For more than eight years she sacrificed her time, her health, and her life so that my grandparents could spend their final years in dignity and comfort.
Years before caring for her parents, she took care of me and my sister throughout our childhood and teenage years. I also went to her with my troubles, whether they were serious incidents or emotional distress, and I always found solace in Mom’s reassuring words. She never belittled me over my feelings or told me that I was being overly dramatic…even when I was.
She raised me according to Christian principles and was often strict, a source of frequent irritation to a rebellious teenager wanting just to be like everyone else. My Christian upbringing originated with Mom, as she patiently set an example before my father who, during their first years of marriage, viewed the Christian life as a suffocating bore. But her pressure-free testimony gradually led to a conversion that has grown into the devout faith he has today.
Throughout her years of Christian living Mom used her time in ways that gave her life purpose. And though we didn’t get those ten or twenty years that I once assumed were guaranteed, the time Mom did have could not have been more worthwhile.
Stacy:
There were so many things Mom and I wanted to do. For one thing, she still needed to finish unpacking her new house. We’re gonna talk about that when I see her again.
She wanted to meet all of you.
She wanted to find a new church and begin serving.
She wanted me to take her to Hamrick’s. Tuesday is Senior Day, and she loved a good discount.
She wanted to help with the Thanksgiving cooking and for all of us to be together for the first time in years.
We got to do some things.
We had dinner together every night.
She had my chocolate peanut butter smoothie every morning.
We watched every episode of The Chosen. Peter cracked her up. Jesus made her smile.
She met some of you during the move. She met some of you in the hospital.
After the diagnosis while I was wrestling with the reality of the news, I asked God why. Not in an angry way. Not with a shaking fist. I just really wanted to know what the plan is. Would we get to do more? Would she get to enjoy the house we had all prayed for? What about a new church, Thanksgiving, and all of our other plans?
As I prayed, I began to see Grandpa and Granny’s faces in my mind, peaceful and whole. Full of joy. I felt the Lord say to me, “What I have for her better than anything you and Knoxville have to offer her.”
I can’t argue with that.
Pat Knoke was one of the most intelligent people I have ever known. Now, she would disagree because she never thought of herself as smart since she didn’t finish school. But she was sharp, quick-witted, wise, and even cunning.
She was an avid game player – clever at cards, Scrabble, dominoes, or anything else you invited her to play. And how she ever solved those cryptograms, I’ll never know! She was logical, tenacious, and crafty, yet always gracious in winning or loss. On team games, she often suggested the winning play, then would turn around and give all the credit to her teammates. But she didn’t mind losing, so long as you played fair.
Perhaps that is what made her the perfect match for Ron Knoke. He’s a strong personality who typically needs to be in charge. She honored him in a way her generation understood so well. She met his every need, even providing what he didn’t know he needed. Many have remarked through the years on her ability to suggest an idea, let him think it over, then congratulate him on the idea once he had agreed to it. “Oh, that’s a good idea, Ronnie” she would say in a matter-of-fact tone. It was a skill that many executives wish they had, the skill of leading from behind.
Throughout it all, there was plenty of humor. She was so funny, and the joke always seemed to come out of nowhere. Whether it was her and Grandpa playing jokes on each other in front of the butcher, or quick jabs among us at the house, we all laughed a lot. My favorite always came on the wedding anniversary we shared. They would call me and Mark to wish us a happy anniversary, and she was quick to point out that he and I are just rookies. And I would always ask, “So, are you going to keep him?” to which she would reply that she was still keeping her options open.
She did not need to be first, or the best, or in the spotlight. She was happy to be beside the man she loved, with the family that was devoted to her. She was happy to let you do the talking, would give her wise opinion when asked, and was fiercely loyal to her family, her friends, her church.
When Grandpa and Mom made the hard decision to move her to Brookridge so she could get the care she needed, he took it especially hard. They had never been apart more than a few days since 1950. When I called to check on him, he told me he thought she would be all right there. “Honey, I know they’ll take good care of her. She is the sweetest, kindest person I know, and everyone who meets her can’t help but love her.”
He has never been more right.
It sits on the shelf.
I haven’t played it in years,
Not since that awful day
I broke the news to you.
It was a new album
Freshly freed from its packaging,
The first few notes beginning to play
When you walked in,
Worry showing in your eyes.
You asked me to explain
Why I had been so quiet
Withdrawn
Lost in thoughts that carried me
Far away.
We sat down
And I told you everything
How we nearly lost him
To the darkness
That had been chasing him down,
About the failed attempt,
The early morning phone calls as proof of life,
A visit to the doctor
Everything he should have told you
Himself
But couldn’t.
He lacked the courage to break your heart.
He left it for me to do.
I had no tears left
Having emptied myself long before
So I looked on
And held your hand as you wept.
I don’t know how long we sat there
Together.
The music had stopped playing long before.
I hadn’t heard a note.
You often don’t realize the weight of the burden
Until you set it down
So another can help you carry it.
I rose
And put the album back in its case.
It has been on that shelf ever since.
No need to play it.
I have other music to enjoy.
You may never know
How much you have taught me
About life,
About love,
About myself.
You may not understand
How much you have
Brought me to life
Given me life
More full, more complete
Because you are a part.
You may not comprehend
How much you have
Shown me love
And how deep and pure
My own love can be.
You may not realize
How much you have
Shown me about myself.
Good and bad,
You point it out
And I am better for it.
You may not know
What you mean to me.
But I’ll give my life,
My love,
Myself
To show you.
I have rearranged
the party
we had already
planned
and which
you were
probably
wanting to attend.
Don’t be mad
at me.
It will be so fun
and so perfect.
This grief is different
Slow and labored
Private.
Open grief will come later.
Now
It comes to me through daily reminders
That you are leaving.
In some ways
You’re gone already.
Sometimes
On the good days
You pop back in for a visit.
The light returns to your eyes
You sing along to favorite old songs
Recite a poem
Tell me a joke so well worn
That I know the punchline by heart.
I laugh anyway
Not at the joke
But for the joy of hearing you tell it.
There is a film of tears behind my laughter
Because I know
You’re just waiting to leave this all behind.
Leave me behind.
So I smile for you
But labor through my grief
Slowly
In private.
Looking up the road
For perhaps the third time today
Thinking back
To that last conversation
Replaying it over again
On an endless loop that
Distracts the day
Disrupts the night
What he said
What you said
What you wish you had said
What you wish you hadn’t …
Shading your eyes in the sun
Straining them in the dark
To where the road disappears.
Empty.
Your mind peeks carefully
Into a future
You don’t dare to imagine.
Hope.
Just enough to keep you watching
Praying
Recognizing that this
Is between him and God.
You wait.
A puff of dust
A glint in the light
A figure
Plodding steadily toward you
Toward home.
Now so close you can see his eyes,
Those eyes that always make you smile,
Now showing fatigue
Born over miles of regret.
You take it in
The beautiful sight of him,
Then pull him in.
Big embrace.
Healing.
You can plan the party later.
You’ve been planning it in your heart all this time.
Right now
You hold him.
No words are necessary
Because no words could be enough.
Thoughts from My Hammock 