Author: Marsha

Life circumstances certainly change us. For 25 years I shared life with someone. We went through wonderful times and dark ones. We supported each other through health and sickness. There wasn’t anything I couldn’t tell him or share with him and then our lives were forever changed in an instant. I preface my recounting of the events of the past 48 hours with this information because I believe it will shed light on my actions.

This weekend I found a lump on my breast. Now, I am usually a quick-to-react person, but for some reason I didn’t wish to borrow trouble and made an appointment with my doctor for Monday afternoon. I chose NOT to share this information with anyone except a close friend (who happens to have a nursing background) and my mother (because I needed some family medical history).

Following my visit with Dr. Walton a mammogram and ultrasound was ordered for first thing Tuesday morning. At the time, I was unsure if this was because she knew I was anxious or because she had serious health concerns. It is interesting the thoughts that went through my mind during this personal crisis.

That evening I mentally put my life in order. I knew my will was incomplete and needed to be filed. I even thought through how I would want to handle a crisis if, in fact, I heard the “c” word the next day. What surprised me was how pragmatic I became. My life became a laundry list of “things to do”. When it came down to it, my biggest concern was with my children. I never once shed a tear.

I spent the better part of the evening in a prayer-like state. I scoured scripture that might provide strength. John 14:1 Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. I had that—peace, yet I still didn’t want to burden anyone else until I knew for sure what was going on. At first this seemed a selfless act, as I found later, that was not the case.

Following the tests on Tuesday morning, I went home and waited. It was storming outside – appropriate, I thought. Several hours later the physician’s assistant called with the outcome of the tests.

“The results are negative. There is no mass; it is most likely an enlarged lymph node.” I heard her say with a confidence that calmed me.

“Could you repeat that,” I replied and she obliged. As I hung up the phone, a great sense of relief engulfed me—then the tears started. Why now? I thought.

Now, I was able to share with friends and family the happenings of the past 48 hours. They were not exactly elated that I had not told them. One friend even said that I had robbed her of the opportunity to support me. How fortunate I am to have such love in my life.

I lived a lifetime these past 48 hours. I learned that I could face life situations alone (though I am never totally alone) and still derive strength from my faith. I learned that though I can go through crisis alone, there is no need to. God has placed a wonderful, support system in my life for a reason. I learned a great deal about myself and my ability to find peace in the midst of a pending storm.

48 hours can change your life—just ask me. It can also define it.

This I know for sure.

I am an avid reader. I enjoy every aspect of reading and especially enjoy the way what I read affects what and how I write. I pride myself on viewing the world through a writer’s eye—not that I am an accomplished writer, but I have this egocentric need for validation in this area. This fact was significant in my decision to begin to blog. 

Though I enjoy the process of writing, I have come to the realization this practice of blogging has NOTHING to do with good writing and everything to do with searching for some meaning to what has happened in my life. With every stroke of the keyboard I find a new piece to the puzzle.

Words appear to have a universal connection. You see, pain is not exclusive to young widows. Working through life’s heartache is not limited to those who have lost a spouse.

So as I search for meaning through writing this blog, I drag the lot of you around with me. We climb to the heights of enlightenment and plunge to the depths of despair – collectively. I may not even know you, but we share the same journey to find meaning to the life we lead.

This I know for sure….

So how long can one keep up the charade of having it all together? How long can one pretend to know things for sure? Because tonight—-I don’t know much. I have little together and life seem to be in several stages of disarray. I am pulled in more directions than Gumby. Overwhelmed would be a gross understatement of how I feel as I sit here at my computer. It is in these times when I cry out—where I am the most vulnerable. 

Sometimes I cry out and all I hear—is silence. Sometimes I cry out and I have unbelievable support—that I am unable to acknowledge and sometimes I cry out and find the hand of the Father where it has been all along – steadying my walk caressing my face and calming my spirit. 

That “hand” can come in many forms. It can be a song, a poem, a phone call even a thought. It can be a friend stopping by on her way for a walk or an earthy father calling simply to say that he loves you. In order to experience the “hand of the Father” you must reach for it and embrace it. Action is required on your part.

I don’t know who Willerd A. Petterson is. I have actually never heard of him, but a fellow widower posted this beautiful poem on a website tonight and it became the “hand of the Father” in my life.

Slow Me Down, Lord

Slow me down, Lord
Ease the pounding of my heart
by the quieting of my mind.
Steady my hurried pace with a vision
of the eternal reach of time.
Give me, amid the confusion of the day,
the calmness of the everlasting hills.
Break the tensions of my nerves
and muscles with the soothing;
music of the singing streams
that live in my memory.
Help me to know the magical,
restoring power of sleep.
Teach me the art of taking
minute vacations—
of slowing down to look at a flower,
to chat with a friend,
to pat a dog,
to read a few lines from a good book.
Slow me down, Lord,
and inspire me to send my roots deep
into the soil of life’s enduring values
that I may grow toward the stars
of my greater destiny.

At a moment in time when there is little I know for sure, the one thing I DO know is that the hand of the Father waits to be clasped within mine.

This I know for sure….

I just watched Dateline and the special “Football Wives” (see: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3032600/ ) Now, I am not usually condescending or even sarcastic (ok, I am sarcastic but…), PLEASE GIVE ME A BREAK. As I watched these women with their husbands, I found myself yelling at the television and thinking “WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM???” I know I come at this topic from a totally different viewpoint, but let me put things into perspective for you. LADIES, IS YOUR HUSBAND BREATHING IN AND OUT—IS HE LIEING IN BED WITH YOU IN THE EVENING???? THEN PLEASE STOP YOUR SNIVILING ABOUT A STINKING BALLGAME AND GROW UP!!!!

Now granted, I never had a husband who was so into sports that he had a room dedicated to the Fighting Illini—HOWEVER, I did have a husband, who like many in this report, worked hard during the week and was a fabulous father and husband, but when the Illini came on, he was lost in the moment. OK—for 2 to 3 hours a week he was unavailable to me—SO WHAT???? 

I found these women to be—well—whimpy. I would venture to guess, if the truth were told; these men, for the most part, take care of the kids while the wife ventures to the latest Talbot’s sale or Ann Taylor Loft promotion. These wives should be thanking their lucky stars that they #1 have husbands at all and #2 have husbands who OBVIOUSLY love and adore them. Have these ungrateful women give me a call. I am sure that within a few minutes I can put things into perspective for them. Do I sound a bit bitter—well of course I do, I would give my right arm to have my husband sitting in my living room—cheering on his sports team and paying little attention to me—knowing that within a few hours he would be sharing life with me again.

I guess my point is that LIFE IS SHORT. Make sure what you think is important—really is….

This I know for sure….

Wednesday of this week was incredibly busy for me. It is on these days I tend to add tasks to my “to do list” because I just work better under pressure. I know it sounds crazy, but I become more focused and I seem to accomplish more. So, after school, along with the five other errands I needed to complete, I went to the cemetery to replace the flowers on Don’s grave. I drove up to his stone, got out of the car, glanced at my father-in-law’s monument (who died less than a year after Don), I said a prayer then grabbed the flower containers from both stones to take to the florist to be refilled. When I arrived at the florist, I told the designer what I wanted in each container. It was as if I were picking out a new centerpiece for my dining room table. I was very “matter of fact” – devoid of much emotion; yet, I seemed compelled to complete the task perfectly.

When I got back in my car, I realized that I had just accomplished an undertaking that a few months ago was so emotionally ridden that I was unable to drive out of the parking lot for 20 minutes until I finished weeping. It was in that moment I realized I was experiencing healing. I actually smiled on the inside on my way home, knowing that Don would be very proud of the progress I have made. He would love the fact that I have been able to move to a new home, keep my church commitments, be a mother to the boys, maintain a semblance of dignity and begin to live again. He would be proud that the boys are excelling in their pursuits and that they are content and even happy.

Next week, I will go pick up the finished arrangements and take them back to adorn the monument marking the life of a great man. The actual physical stone deserves to be maintained in his honor, but the stone in the cemetery is not my husband’s legacy. The heritage of love and integrity he left for his family is a more appropriate monument to Don’s life.

Ever look into the mirror and wonder whom the stranger is staring back at you? Usually this is after a major life event or traumatic experience. Life seems to create in us this quandary as to who we are and what our purpose should become.

I have always been an independent, stable woman with a career I love and a zest for life and living. However, when I look in the mirror I no longer see that woman. Oh I get glimpses of her here and there, but the general essence of who I was is veiled. It isn’t that I am a totally different person; it is that those aspects of who I am, which I found familiar, seem absent. I find this disheartening, or should I?

Just because the person staring back at me in the mirror is unfamiliar, doesn’t mean she is unwelcome. It simply means I need to become comfortable with her again. I need to explore what makes her tick—how she lives, makes decisions—how she loves and how she takes on life. 

We evolve and change constantly. Life events and circumstances influence this change. I am not the same person I was before I was a mother.That experience molded me. I am not the same person I was before I experienced great loss, that event has shaped who I have become. 

As I work through this process of re-acquaintance, I am not sure if I become more content with who I am or if it is that I begin to understand myself better and thus begin to accept and even become fond of this “new me”. I believe it becomes a choice. 

I refuse to lose my sense of self. I refuse to allow this unfamiliarity to create within me insecurities that are cause for rash decisions or a sense of uncertainty. On the contrary, I embrace this new person and realize she is a collection of her experiences both past and present and is being fashioned to move forward into the “chapter two” of her life with a newfound appreciation for the outcome of life’s experiences.

This I know for sure…..mostly!

I may be telling stories out of the “teacher’s lounge”, but it is a little known fact that teachers love snow days as much as, perhaps more than, the students. It is the one time I sit, eyes glued to the bottom of the television screen hoping to see my school name scroll across. When it finally does, I find myself doing one big happy dance (on the inside of course as to not scare the children). I grab the phone; make the call to the next teacher on the phone tree, grinning at the giddy sounds on the other end of the phone. I feel like the florists delivery boy on Valentine’s Day.

I always have great plans for the snow day. I am determined to clean out the study, get my tax information together, launder the sheets on all the beds, work on the storage room and….well, you get the idea. I make lists and have the best intentions. 

Then, I sit at the computer to “quickly” check my email. As I look over at the nearby comfortable couch, I eye the remote control which seems to call to me. I hear it say, “What about all those television shows you have TIVO’d and what about the Lifetime movies you never get to watch? Are you sure you want to be productive today. I have much more fun things planned for us.” So, my determination disappears and I grasp the remote control sternly in my hand, sit myself on the couch and—I am not sure where time goes from there.

The next thing I know it is 3:30—the regular time I get home from work. That is a benchmark time for me. There is certain melancholy when I discover it is already 3:30 and I haven’t accomplished—ANYTHING. Wait one minute; I HAVE completed five Sudoku puzzles, read five magazines and watched hours of meaningless television.

What have I gained? Perhaps nothing except that I have REGAINED my sense of wasting time, an art many “grown ups” have abdicated to their teenagers. I have come to the realization that I am capable of frittering away time and have absolutely nothing worthwhile to show for it. I will admit, I am proud of myself. There are not many adults who can boldly stand and say “I wasted a whole, entire day”. There you have it – my confession. They say it is good for the soul.

This I know for sure….

I know you might get tired of me bringing up Henri Nouwen, but I simply can’t believe how much his words resonate to where I am on a daily basis. I receive his Daily Meditations and they are always inspirational or cause me to think or, well, both. If you are interested you can also sign up to receive them: http://www.henrinouwen.org/home/free_eletters/?m=1011221485028&p=oi They are taciturn (Rosanne will appreciate that-since she is the queen of verbosity) for those of us with a bit of an attention problem (like my entire family and most of my friends—LOL).

I was in the middle of composing a blog about the close relationship between joy and sorrow. The basic premise was that in order to experience true joy, you would have to also understand sorrow. I remembered that this topic was addressed in an early January Daily Meditation and sure enough—I found it. Nothing I have ever written has come close to explaining my feelings on this topic than the words from Henri Nauwen as follows:

“Joy and sorrow are never separated. When our hearts rejoice at a spectacular view, we may miss our friends who cannot see it, and when we are overwhelmed with grief, we may discover what true friendship is all about. Joy is hidden in sorrow and sorrow in joy. If we try to avoid sorrow at all costs, we may never taste joy, and if we are suspicious of ecstasy, agony can never reach us either. Joy and sorrow are the parents of our spiritual growth.” –Henri Nouwen-

Now, do I long to feel sorrow so I can also experience joy? NO! of course not, but I do acknowledge the connection. It is said that love is the universal language, but I am not sure that is the case. Unfortunately, there are people who may never experience true, undying love in their lifetime, but everyone will experience sorrow and pain. Perhaps these emotions are more universal then we would like to admit. The other side of this coin is that, the greater your capacity to feel the pain and work through it, the greater your capacity to absolutely experience joy. Though pain is not something I desire to experience, I concede that through sorrow I have the ability to recognize and experience joy more completely for I have endured the opposite.

This I know for sure….

I am so different than I was even 10 years ago. I am not the reactionary—I don’t jump to conclusions (as much)—I also lack a bit of the passion those traits encompass, but have gained a sense of discernment. Different qualities define who I am now. I have grown and hopefully learned. 

What defines me?

I am first and foremost a mother. 
My children define me—
not by what they do, but when they think for themselves, come into their faith or simply say “I love you mom”. 

I am a daughter.
Family defines me–
not necessarily by birth, but by the heritage I embrace with such pride.

I am a friend. 
My friendships define me—
not because they chose to share life with me, but because the character they exude reflects my uncanny ability to surround myself with exceptional friends. 

I am an educator. 
My students define me—
not by getting good grades, but by thinking outside the box, creating a beautiful piece of writing or simply being better members of our community. 

I am a Christian. 
My faith defines me—
not because of what tenants of my religion dictate, but the day in and day out walk which causes this world to hold the hope I long for

I am a widow.
Loss has defined me–
not because of mourning, but because of the strength gained, the capacity to empathize and the assurance that there is more.

I am a woman.
Life defines me—
not because I live it perfectly, but because I long to live it fearlessly.

This I know for sure….