Warning: I’m only a month out from loss and I’m still raw. So this post is pretty unvarnished, and maybe a little angry. That’s where I am. Please read with that understanding.
You’ve just lost a loved one. You’re in shock, reeling, and numb. Just to put one foot in front of the other is too much effort. These are the times you need friends and family around you. You know they are well meaning, but some are just a beat … off.
My family and I are all too familiar with loss. A little more than a month ago, we lost our 15-year-old nephew and, while we were blessed with caring friends and family, there were also those who created additional stress and pain. Oh, how I pray I’m never one of the sinners, but I fear that at some point, like most of us, I have been. Some of these may sound harsh, but I believe it’s important to protect the feelings of the grieving, at nearly all costs. So, please don’t:
Ask me questions about practical matters. Don’t ask me where the silverware goes, or what you should do with the food tray that just arrived. Figure it out yourself. If you know me well enough to be in my home at a time like this, I probably trust you to make the decision. I’m likely going to tell you I have no idea anyway.
Place social expectations on me. I actually had someone say, on the day of the loss, that it “isn’t nice to have x lying around when you’re having people over.” What? I’m not having people over. I just lost someone dear to me. Anyone who judges my house at a time like this needs to leave. Now.
Play social games. If the last words we spoke weren’t friendly, stay away. Period. This isn’t the time to mend fences.
Try to sell me stuff. Really? I have to say this? I don’t care what it is — your makeup, your clothing line, or your church. This isn’t the time.
Be nosy. Don’t prod me for details, or conduct your own interrogation. It’s highly unlikely that those details matter now.
Gossip and speculate. Just don’t. If you don’t think that’s hurtful, you’re wrong. Trust me on this. We hear about it. How we grieve is our own business. We really don’t need your input.
Be overly theological. I don’t need a lecture on God’s will, or a Bible verse, or anything other than “I’m so sorry. My prayers are with you.” This is not the time to strut your spiritual stuff. Trust me, if I remember anything you say, it’ll be a straight-up miracle. Exception: If you’re a minister that I know and respect, you’re exempt from this, but you probably know not to do this crap anyway.
Expect a thank-you note. This is an absolutely awful expectation. If you expect a thank-you note for bringing me dinner when I’m devastated, please keep your damn casserole. I’d rather accept help from those who expect nothing. Our society (especially the South) needs to put an end to this. Bring your casserole and put a note on it that says, “Don’t write me a note.” If that bugs you, it’s a sure sign that your heart isn’t in the right place.
We’re all warmly grateful to the saints who kept our kitchen organized, brought and prepared food, kept us stocked with paper products, snacks, and easy pickup foods, and gave us hugs, cried with us, and protected us when we needed it. Rather than caring about social appearances, their priorities were to serve and comfort us.
Pray for us. Tell us a funny story or memory about our family member. Share a photo we may not have seen. There are no words, but “I’m so sorry,” does nicely.
P.S. Please add your own “Don’ts” in the comments. I’d love to know your stories.
Just yesterday, I marveled at the fact that I didn’t feel a bit blue this week.
The first two weeks in June are always difficult, as the anniversaries of two loved ones lost occur within days of one another; my sister-in-law (killed in a car accident June 9, 1999) and my dad (died of a sudden cerebral hemorrhage June 13, 1993). And this year, they fall in the same week, which culminates in the celebration of Fathers’ Day.
Yesterday I realized I hadn’t really felt the familiar sense of loss and heaviness that is usual for this time of year. I decided that maybe this year it had been long enough, and I was over it.
But it hit me between the eyes. Today. It’s not long enough.
Not long enough to lose the ache of loss, to stop thinking about the experiences we haven’t shared.
Not long enough to forget his nickname for me, his lovely white hair, or the wisdom with which he’d have helped us through difficult times.
Not long enough to forget her laugh, and the way she played with my young daughters, or to wonder how many selfies they’d have taken together.
Not long enough to forget how much he loved to watch the Cardinals play this time of year, and how thrilled he’d have been to know his two daughters saw them play a World Series game at Busch.
Not long enough to forget about the mother she would have been, the friend she was, and the sweet times she treasured with my mother.
Not long enough to forget what he taught me about love, that it isn’t dependent on how well we behave, what we wear, our grades, our jobs, or anything else … it just is. And when it is, it envelops us, holds us, cherishes us, sacrifices for us, and comforts us as nothing else can. It’s enough.
No, it hasn’t yet been long enough. And today I realized it won’t ever be long enough.
I’d rather feel the familiar ache and shed the tears than forget one moment. Because the memories are precious enough.
It’s weird when my birthday is on Thanksgiving Day.
My birthday is the one day each year when I give myself permission to be a little selfish and indulgent. I get control of the remote, choice of meals, and I don’t do dishes, laundry, or any other housework. I love reading the birthday greetings on Facebook, but give myself permission not to do any work. My mom makes homemade chicken and dumplings for me and my entire extended family gets together for a big meal.
I hate how this sounds, but the truth is, my birthday is about me.
Thanksgiving is about everything but me. It’s about being thankful for how richly I’ve been blessed; beyond what I need, what I deserve, or anything I’ve earned. The good things in my life have nothing to do with any goodness in me; they are all gifts that God, in His generosity, has bestowed on me.
To consider Thanksgiving on my birthday is a bit like Dr. Doolittle’s pushi-pullyu, a “gazelle-unicorn cross” which has two heads (one of each) at opposite ends of its body. When it tries to move, both heads try to go in opposite directions.
It’s tempting to think about gratitude in the days and weeks that lead up to Thanksgiving Day, forget about it in the Black Friday madness, and wrap ourselves up in Christmas preparations. Birthdays don’t give us that option.
Yesterday was my 55th birthday. I’m still 55 today, and I’ll be 55 until I’m 56 this time next year.
I also hope that I’ll be just as grateful throughout the year as I have been for the past few days.
My birthday isn’t about being 55 for a day; yesterday I became 55.
The dictionary definition of become is
to come, change, or grow to be.
I hope that through my 55th year, I will continue to grow to be more grateful for the extravagantly blessed life I enjoy. I hope I’ll think more of others and less of myself, and that by the next birthday I’ll be less focused on my own comforts and pleasures and more resolved to improve the lives of others.
Tuesday, February 19, about 8:45 a.m. Just a bit more than nine months ago.
I was about to leave for work when my phone rang. I recognized the number as Jim’s old cell number and wondered why on earth he was using it to call me.
The answer came when I accepted the call. His work cell phone was no longer his, nor was his office. The CFO had informed him that due to a reduction in force (RIF), his position as vice president, software applications, was being eliminated. Along with 24 others, including one additional vice president, he was ushered out of the building by security and told to return on Saturday to clean out his office.
Somehow we both managed to get in touch with our girls, our families, and others who needed to know. I decided to stay home from work that day just to be with Jim and offer support. But there was no need.
Jim wasn’t coming home just yet. He had already planned two coffee dates with people from his network and would visit several recruiters before the day was done. When I came home after work, our dining room had been converted to what we jokingly referred to as The Office of Transition. The centerpiece was replaced by an aging iMac, and the table was already littered with papers, business cards, notes with phone numbers, and numerous unfamiliar items that had formerly lived in his office. By the end of the first week, he had already found several good job leads in Memphis. Not bad for an introvert.
The higher you go in management, the fewer positions are available, and we knew this would be a long process. After a few months, we prepared ourselves for the possibility of moving away from Memphis for the next opportunity.
We decided to think of it as an adventure in empty nest living. Maybe we’d live in a small miniscule downtown condo in Chicago; a rambling stony house with a beautiful pool in a Houston suburb; Minneapolis, where we would finally get enough snow for my taste; a home within walking distance of the beach in Jacksonville, Florida; or maybe in a city like Roanoke, Birmingham, Atlanta, Louisville, Nashville, or … St. Louis. I could almost hear the crack of the bat in Busch Stadium, where we’d have season tickets.
Having Jim home each day was new for me, and we began to develop routines. In the late afternoons, we’d both take a break and watch Gilmore Girls together. Some days I’d work from home and we’d head to the patio to work and enjoy the outdoors. Many mornings he made coffee, and I loved waking up to the smell. We counted the days until the opening day of baseball season, and the Cardinal games meant we always had something to do in the evenings. When Sara Ann moved back in with us, he was here to spend time with her and help her move, and he enjoyed taking walks with the dogs.
There were times that it felt like too much, as if the house would fall on us and we’d be left standing in the midst of fallen walls and shattered windows. When our girls were small and they were afraid, I’d tell them that nothing is as scary as God is strong. In their childlike faith, those words were comfort; in our adult doubts and fears they brought peace as we realized we were not alone. Over these months we were reminded that faith is more than just church on Sunday morning and a check in the offering plate. We learned anew that beyond every disappointment there’s a bit of new wisdom and that God is always, always faithful. I knew I’d grown when, after a particularly difficult no on a potential position, I realized I wasn’t upset or angry, but confident that the right opportunity would come, and excited for something better that must be in store.
From the moment I caught my breath after that phone call in February, our faith gave us an underlying peace, as we knew that God was with us, He was in control, and that the important things in our lives are not things. As the hymn reminds us, morning by morning new mercies I see. And we did. Some large, some small.
Jim’s old iMac, which should have long since stopped working, is still going, though frustratingly slow. His car needs $1200 worth of work, none of it critical, and will likely be done by whomever we sell it to after the holidays. My freelance work picked up so much that for a while I had no downtime. We were taken to dinner too many times to count, and spent long hours lounging in my sister’s pool. In May, my mother treated me to a incredible trip to New York, and in October my sister and brother-in-law took me to a World Series game in St. Louis.
Family “picnics” after church in a meeting room we borrowed. Some of the best-tasting peanut butter & jelly sandwiches ever.
But most of all, God gave us four seasons of faithfulness: spring flowers, home-grown tomatoes, beautiful sunsets, cool breezes, and fall leaves of every color. There is nothing that He cannot use for good, and He has outdone himself in our lives. Growth and learning always follow adversity, and to have faith is to be assured that divine good will ultimately outweigh earthly struggles.
The happy ending
Last week, Jim began a fantastic new job at a Memphis-based company. It’s essentially a raise, a promotion, and carries the added perk of an I-240-free commute each morning. Next week I’ll celebrate my 55th birthday. Yes, in my kids’ eyes, and probably many of yours, that’s old. But I like to say that no cancer survivor ever complains about getting older. Each year is another year of life that cancer didn’t take away.
Another year of wisdom — and 365 more days of new mercies.
… and I love that I don’t live in a bubble in which everyone agrees with me, lives like me, and thinks like me. If we’re never challenged, how on earth do we grow?
If you don’t have friends with whom you disagree, you’re missing out on far too much of life’s color, on perspective gained from hearing other points of view from people you care about.
Life is not one-sided, it’s not monochromatic. One of God’s best creations is the rainbow, which represents the spectrum of all colors.
Do you have friends from different walks of life, different stages, different lifestyles? If not, find some. Life is so much richer when you see all of the colors.
Funk has at least three meanings: it is defined as a genre of music, a foul smell, or a dejected mood. I’m kind of familiar with the first definition, all-too acquainted with the second (we have dogs, remember?) and am currently experiencing the third.
I’ve thought twice about writing about this, because I like to stay positive, I try not to moan about my (mostly first-world) problems, and, as a person of faith, I sometimes expect myself to be brimming with joy at every moment.
That’s a load of crap.
We all have adversity; Jim and I, like everyone else, have endured our share, from serious illness to loss, and, now, unemployment. And though I do have an underlying peace, that doesn’t mean I feel like smiling all the time. In fact, recently I haven’t felt like smiling at all. I’m seriously bummed out for three reasons:
Job. Blah, blah. Jim hasn’t found anything yet, which isn’t surprising or even particularly concerning. He’s at a higher level than he was last time he searched for a job, and those jobs are harder to come by. I know he’ll land somewhere awesome. I’m just ready for it to happen. Now. It’s hard on him not to have an office to go to every day — somehow, the Office of Transition (aka, our increasingly cluttered dining room) just isn’t the same.
Stress. He’s stressed, I’m stressed … everyone knows about stress. I find myself much more easily overwhelmed these days, and it gets worse when things pile on. Having to put Molly to sleep, a stupid branch that fell on our roof and cost $200 to remove, and the computer Jim uses, which is much better at displaying the spinning beach ball than loading a Web page; little things, big things, medium-size things. They all add up to make us want to scream.
Pain. I’m not just talking about psychic pain, though there’s plenty of that. I have a long-standing herniated cervical disk that has begun to bother me again. And by bother I mean torment. It’s nearly impossible to sleep because every position hurts, and it’s torpedoed my summer running program. Lack of sleep brings irritability, inability to focus on a task, and discouragement at my low level of productivity.
I share all of this to say that sometimes we need to trust others enough to be transparent, to be real, to stop saying, “I’m fine” when we’re really not. I have people in my life who like/love me whether I’m wearing my happy face or not, and if you’re one of those, I’m grateful. If you’re not, well, you probably stopped reading at the third definition of funk.
OK, the thought vomiting expression of frustration is over now. I realize and appreciate how blessed we are to have amazing supportive friends and family, not to mention faith. I think otherwise we’d have both lost it for good by now.
This past Sunday we were at an outdoor event, and after a brief summer thunderstorm, there was a lovely rainbow, which I realized only comes after the rain.
We’re still standing. And if you made it this far, you’re awesome. Thank you.
One of the things I’m proudest of is the fact that Jim and I will celebrate 26 years of marriage next month. No small feat to find someone who will put up with me for that long.
We have learned a lesson or two in the process, so I thought I’d share a few.
First, you must understand that we are two people who could not be more different. He is an Excel ninja; spreadsheets make me cry. And not in the good way. When we did our premarital counseling, they gave us a personality test. I was terrified. Knowing what the results would be I was afraid they would tell us, “Whatever you do, do not get married.”
The results of the personality test are summarized in the chart below.
Despite my trepidation, the counselor actually told us we were perfectly matched. He explained that we would provide balance to one another.
And we have. I’m the one with 10,000-foot dreams and visions, with no clue how to make them happen. Jim is the guy who loves intricate charts and putting together complicated things. He actually reads those directions that come in the package. I find them boring and unnecessary. This is why I help open the box, leave the room, come back when he’s done and say, “Oh, that looks wonderful!” See how that works?
One year later, we returned and took the personality test again. Here are the results of the follow-up test.
Each of us had grown toward the middle. The goodness of marriage is that it causes you to stretch and grow in ways you wouldn’t otherwise.
Here are my five tips for a wonderful, long-lasting marriage ways to avoid driving one another insane:
Don’t expect your partner to think like you do. It’s like trying to teach a pig to sing. It’s impossible and it annoys the pig.
Try to stretch. I’ve learned to be a bit more practical and he’s learned to let go and dream a little. Sometimes.
Honor one another’s strengths. I used to do the bills, which is stupid. I’m terrible at that sort of thing. Now he does the bills and I find fun things for us to do so that we will have more bills.
Find common interests. I’m smart. I got him hooked on Cardinal baseball. Enough said.
Don’t sweat the small stuff. It’s a cliche for a reason. Ask yourself, “How much will this matter in five years?” Because chances are it won’t and five years go by much more quickly than you think.
Right after “I do” is when you start preparing for the empty nest. Practice these things consistently and, after you’ve raised the kids and they’ve got their own lives, you’ll have a great time together.
Unremarkable. It means ordinary, lacking distinction. Not something we generally consider a compliment.
But medical terms are strange. A test result that is negative is usually a good thing; positive means you have whatever awful thing they are testing you for. So unremarkable is a medical compliment. As in, the biopsy done during my surgery is unremarkable. Which means I do not have cancer.
Yesterday was my follow-up appointment and my first time out of the house since the surgery. I was excited to actually see something past the end of my driveway. Jim took off work and Sara Ann came along too. I did my hair, put on makeup and a clean t-shirt with my warmup pants and off we went.
I had looked forward to that appointment as the day the doctor would tell me I can drive again and medically clear me to get on with my life. Unfortunately, I still don’t feel like driving, leaving the house was so exhausting I needed a nap afterward and I’m still very slow and weak. The patience I wrote about last week? Um, I still need to work on that.
So here are a few observations from week two:
Facebook is really, really awesome if you want to live vicariously through your friends.
Having surgery during baseball season was an excellent decision on my part. The Cardinals regaining first place would further enhance my recovery, I’m sure.
Hulu is my new best friend, Hell’s Kitchen is awesome and people who work in restaurants don’t get nearly enough appreciation. Especially if there’s a British guy yelling, cursing and constantly berating them.
There really is no limit to the height that dirty dishes or dirty clothes can be piled. This theory has now officially been scientifically tested. I’d have photos if I weren’t so embarrassed by our slovenliness.
As crappy as some people can be, the really good ones make up for it. And I seem to be blessed with a ridiculous number of the amazing kind of folk. The kind who bring you fabulous dinners for three solid weeks so you don’t have to think about what you’ll eat. And the one awesome friend who showed up with a bottle of wine and a 20-pack of Diet Coke “to fill all my beverage needs.” And then there’s the one who showed up today with delicious soup, right at the time I started getting hungry for lunch — and another who brought dinner and sat down for a glass of wine and conversation.
And it all started with my mom, the long-retired nurse who still has all the skillz. She came from Jonesboro the night before surgery and stayed with me 24/7 in the hospital. She knew exactly where to put the pillow when I rolled over so it would support my back. She slept so lightly that every movement of mine or squeak of the hospital bed had her asking what I needed. And she knew that her car would be less bumpy on the ride home than my SUV. She did laundry, cleaned house, fluffed my pillow, fetched my meds and took care of me. Some things never change.
And after all these years, I still find it humbling, comforting and … remarkable.
A good support system is a must. But it’s crucial to actually let them help. I don’t like being physically dependent on others and I feel guilty imposing. But family, friendship and community mean that sometimes we carry one another for a while and sometimes we let our loved ones carry us.
Mental rest is important too. My body is aching, tired and hurting. And my mind is as well. I had great ambitions for all the reading I’d do, but it’s hard to concentrate. Maybe it’s the anesthesia, the pain, the disruption in my schedule, but it’s hard to focus. I’m so glad that few people have need for anything my addled brain cells can put together right now.
Whatever you do, never Google a health issue. A couple of nights ago, I felt chilled and achy and started poking around on the Internet to see if that’s normal. Next thing I knew I was sure a trip back to the hospital was imminent and pictured myself in a post-op-complication-induced coma. Chances are if I’d read the instructions from the doctor I’d have been less freaked out. (Update: I’m ok. Probably just tired.)
Time. It does just take time for body and mind to heal. It’s funny how speed-obsessed we get. My DVR-addicted mind gets restless during a 30-second ad on Hulu or a TV commercial. I want my Web pages to load fast or I’m gone. Click. But beyond the common-sense things I can do to speed recovery, there’s no fast-forward button. Time to work on patience.
Stay connected. A lot of folks would probably tell me this is a good time to unplug. And honestly, I have to some extent. But I’d have missed so many sweet words and thoughts from friends that have given me needed encouragement and support. Letting go of connections now would be isolating and depressing for me. And the asynchronous nature of social media allows me to take it what I can handle and ignore the rest.
Freshen up. Find new interests. I’ve recently rediscovered my affinity for photography. Don’t ask me about F-stops and shutter speeds. I’ll relearn what I used to know about that stuff soon. For now, I’ve subscribed to some new sites with interesting and artistic photos and have been paying more attention to Instagram on the iPhone (where my user name is bethgsanders). Even a new TV show or two can be a breath of fresh air for the mind.
No doubt about it, I am getting better every day. I just wish I were getting more patient.
I just left a business networking event with accomplished entrepreneurs, consultants and more CPAs than I’ve ever seen in one place in my entire life. Although as a general rule, financial people scare me to death, these were gracious and welcoming folks and I enjoyed the event immensely.
The speaker for the evening was attorney Cary Schwimmer, who specializes in employment law. Though I’m a freelancer with no employees, there were still valuable takeways. Schwimmer outlined the top ten employer mistakes, which ranged from poor documentation of performance and disciplinary problems to the tax implications of employees vs. independent contractors. Information I won’t use tomorrow, but have definitely filed away for the future.
The top mistakes shared a common thread — a lack of integrity. Failure to treat people with dignity, fairness and respect, lack of appreciation and nonexistent or dishonest communication. In an age where technology advances almost daily, I’m reminded that there is still nothing new under the sun.
In today’s economy, more of us are eating in than eating out. This suits me fine, as I love a crowd at the family dinner table — we’ve been known to squeeze as many as 14 people around our table for six. I enjoy having people in our home, whether it’s a Christmas party for 15 families in our home on five minutes’ notice and or a cocktail buffet for 45 after months of planning.
Our house is far from perfect; in fact there are several rooms that are somehow stalled in the redecoration process, but my guests aren’t coming for a home show. Don’t let that stop you from inviting friends into your home; just use what you do have creatively and focus on relationships and interaction more than the environment.
Here are my seven tips for lively, low-stress, fun dinner parties:
The House Get it cleaned up and ready several days ahead of time. Then you can focus on food and table prep rather than dust and dirty toilets. Once it’s ready, walk out the front door, and walk back in as if you were visiting for the first time. It’s likely you’ll notice things you wouldn’t otherwise catch.
Table Get it ready at least one or two days ahead. If you have more than one dining area, one table can be completely set up ahead of time. We use the kitchen table for appetizers, so I just stack the place settings near the table until it’s time to quickly set up.
Food Get to know mise en place. Literally means put in place. Do all of the food prep such as measuring, chopping, slicing and peeling before you begin to cook. Depending on the ingredients, some of this can be done a day ahead. Not only does this save time the day of the party, it helps you get a head start on the prep dishes.
Flow For a buffet, separate drinks from food to help with traffic flow. Serve from whatever space you have — I use the stovetop. For a sit-down dinner, Jim and I plate the food assembly-line style just before seating everyone so they don’t sit down to empty plates.
Plan for Extras You never know when someone will bring an extra person. For a larger party, I typically plan for about 10 percent more than the number of invited guests and enjoy the leftovers if we don’t need the extra food.
Relax There is no bigger party buzzkill than a stressed-out host. Your friends will remember the time with you more than the perfection of your house, the table or whether or not your sauce breaks. Keep it in perspective and don’t forget to enjoy the people.
Cleanup is Not Part of the Party I never let my guests do dishes. The last thing they remember should be conversation and good times — not the remains of someone else’s plate. Clear an area where dishes can be quickly stacked, then take the focus off cleanup — move to another room or serve coffee or dessert. Think of clean-up time as a way to unwind after everyone leaves; pour one more glass of wine and attack the dishes after the party.
In the last couple of weeks I have been awarded the highest honor ever bestowed upon me. (Please pardon my messy desk.)
My youngest daughter’s friends are at our house a lot, and I frequently drive carpool to various places, so I’ve gotten to know them pretty well.
Last week we had a big party for my daughter’s birthday, and about 23 of her best friends were in attendance. At some point, they always use my computer to get on facebook. One of the girls stuck a note on my monitor that said “Emily loves Mrs. Beth,” and “your Ro-Tel dip is yum yum!” then another friend followed suit with “Austin loves Mrs. Beth,” with a heart. The girls spent the night, and when I came downstairs the next morning to check my email, they had placed colorful sticky notes all over the front of my monitor, all with their names, declaring their love for me.
I haven’t really done anything spectacular for these kids; I make them welcome in my home, cook for them, drive them around and just hang with them and talk and listen. It isn’t work; they are great kids and so much fun to have around. But I don’t think it takes that much to make them feel loved, valued and cared for — listening to the things that bug them, letting them vent when they need to, encouraging and accepting them as they are.
Yes, teenagers can be difficult at times. But it is this tangible encouragement that keeps me going and I cannot help but smile when I sit down at my computer and look at my notes.
And the Ro-Tel dip: simple and cheap. Just throw two cans of Ro-Tel tomatoes and two pounds of Velveeta into a crock pot, turn it on and watch the feeding frenzy in an hour or so.
