Through the Looking Glass

November 22, 2012

It seems the holidays are a mirror for what is working or not in your life.  The stress and pressure brings out the subtle nuances of one's personality putting a magnifying glass to each quirk or character.  When you add to it a recent loss of a loved one, the smallest issues can quickly explode out of proportion and cause complete break down.  The stress of a holiday can also highlight the hidden strengths and powers often set aside when unused or not needed. 

Yesterday was my first Thanksgiving without Ron.  It is important to point out that Thanksgiving was his favorite holiday.  He loved the food, the welcoming of people into our home, the football games and of course, the annual Thanksgiving Poker Tournament.  At the beginning of the holiday meal, he would stand at the head of the table looking down the two rows of guests, usually around 35-40 people in all, raise his glass and say "I just want to thank you all for coming today and sharing on this, my favorite holiday.  It's my favorite holiday because I get to look down this table at so many people, family, long time friends and friends we are just meeting.  This is is a home where everyone is welcome!"  He would then begin our gratitude chain.  He would say something he is grateful for then it would go around the table with each person expressing something they were especially thankful for.  It was a real feel-good moment where we all were in a place of contentment.  We would acknowledge those who were not with us any longer or who were temporarily away, due to wars and deployments overseas, logistics or other obligations.  He would sit and smile, give me a kiss now and again and enjoy the wonderful selection of foods.  Mostly, he would smile a lot.

Long before the meal, there were days of preparation that took place.  Both Ron & I would do the shopping, meal planning and  make sure we had enough of everything to feed the masses.  We did it together, as a couple and we were good.  I look at all I had to do to prepare for Thanksgiving this year and realize, I am a strong woman.  I am strong and capable.  I CAN do it all, but when Ron and I were together, I didn't HAVE to.  We were such a team sharing responsibilities and dancing our duet in the kitchen like old pros.  We knew how to move to allow the other to respond in kind.  Sometimes bumping into each other, then stepping back with a smile.  It was as if we choreographed our dance eons ago.

This year, it was all on me.  I did an extraordinary thing - I planned ahead!  I started my food preparations on Tuesday  and by Thanksgiving Day all I needed to do was complete the appetizers and enjoy!  The food preparation was also made easier with the help of my two daughters.  It was hysterical watching them fight over who got to do what in the kitchen.  One is 6 and the other is 22 - you would think there would be no conflicts, but the two prattled on like they were 4 and 7!  It was oddly enjoyable watching them learn to make pie crust, helping with pie fillings and all of the other dishes while arguing over whose turn it was to push the button on the food processor.  This was a first for me, having my two daughters helping with the Thanksgiving meal preparations.  I had longed for a day like this for many years.  Bittersweet.

Thanksgiving morning, I awoke early, around 7:30, but decided to stay in bed for a bit.  I had been up until 12:30 am the night before putting the final touches on the pumpkin cheesecake I made.  The first thought as I opened my eyes, as it was on most mornings, was that Ron was not lying next to me in bed.  He wasn't in another room or downstairs making coffee.  He was gone, dead, never to be again.  The tears erupted without sound and soon soaked my pillowcase.  I looked over at my sleeping angel daughter and hoped she would stay asleep a little longer so I could just sit in my sadness, thinking about my empty, aching heart.  I needed this time, when all was quiet, to feel - really FEEL my loss.  "It's going to be a long day" I thought to myself.

Soon, I rolled out of bed, dressed and headed downstairs to make coffee.  Coffee was my morning jewel and ritual.  It summoned the day to do it's best and take a stab at me - cuz once that first cup went down the hatch, I was fired up and ready to tackle anything that came my way.  I went about the morning finishing up the last minute details and giving instructions for clean up and set up in the patio.  The ovens were on, turkey was cooking and the beautifully decorated appetizer and dessert table was set.  I poured myself a glass of wine, looked around and smiled.   

As the time to put dinner on the table came closer, I felt a twinge of sadness and excitement at the same time.  I missed him so much and I knew I would have to be the one to raise my glass and make the toast in his absence.  I didn't want to break down and sob while all eyes were on me, but I knew there was no stopping the inevitable tears.  At the same time, I was a little excited and had such a sense of accomplishment.  I had done it.  I had put together Thanksgiving Dinner for 23 people and everything was cooked to perfection and all came to the table at the same time.  I always felt the only way I was able to do this all these years was because Ron and I did it together.  I did have plenty of help, but the core of the meal and coordination was on me and I did it!

As I think about all that I love and have lost when Ron died that day, I  know I am so lucky that I was and still am a strong woman who can accomplish anything if I set my mind to it.   As I take a long look into the "Looking Glass" of life, I know the reflection that stares back at me is that of a beautiful, strong, intelligent, wise, caring, compassionate and loving woman who will take on the second half of my life with the same grit that got me through the first 46 years.  I thank Ron for being a part of my life and for blessing me with his charm, smile, wit, intelligence and most of all unconditional love.  I thank him for standing strong beside me and allowing me to either flex my muscles or lean on him.  I am grateful for our life together and the gifts he left behind.

The Mourning After

June 20, 2012

It had to come, the endless days after the funeral.  In the Jewish tradition, the first 7 days are called "Shiva". This is an official time for friends and family to come and pay respects or pay a "shiva call" to the family of the deceased.  There are rules that go with sitting shiva and I was trying to comply as best I could even though Ron wasn't a completely observant Jew.  I covered the mirrors and lit the yahrtzeit candle. I stayed home, not driving or going shopping.  I mostly just rested and cried.  The table in the kitchen had an array of pictures of Ron throughout his life, but mostly our life together.  It was my shrine to our oh so short time together.  I would walk past the table and caress the photo of his face, and sometimes an overwhelming urge to place my lips to his would come over me.  I knew it was only going to be the cold glass kissing me back.  I so longed for his warm, sweet kiss.  As the day dragged on, occasionally, someone would knock on the door and walk in exploding with tears as they hugged me.  I often was able to keep it together until such a visit and then I would break down and cry yet again.  Other times, I had been crying so much that I had nothing left and couldn't join in their emotional greeting.  When I was shut down like that, it almost made me want to laugh that they were so sad and I felt nothing, numb clear to my soul.  This constant swing of emotions was exhausting and sometimes I wanted to go into my room and sleep, but I didn't.  I refused to allow myself to completely shut down. I was going to be tough and get through it like I did every other obstacle in my life by taking one step in front of the other.

I found myself moving through daily events like a robot.  Obeying the social commands to stand when someone entered or left the room, join in on conversations sometimes about Ron, sometimes not.  I was starting to dread the inevitable, the shift to being alone and figuring out my life without him.  I was so surprised by my deep deep sadness and how much I missed him.  We had been together 12 1/2 years after all and, well to be honest there were things he did that made me a little crazy.  It's horrible to say that at times I would think "just go away already!".  Oh if I could have only known and not wasted a second on such negativity.  I know it happens, my goodness, I realized we had spent nearly every moment together since we made our relationship official.  We worked together, played together and lived together every day.  Now, the silence was deafening.  At night, the horrific ear shattering sounds of his snoring were nothing in comparison to the intensity of this silence.  I missed the sound of his feet pounding up the stairs at night, or pounding down the stairs when I walked in the door during the day.  I missed his constant phone calls, so often within minutes of us parting ways.  I found myself reaching for the phone to text him or call him to share an interesting piece of news or a funny antic I witnessed with our daughter.  I wonder when that goes away?  When do you stop thinking your loved one is still alive?

Far too soon, the well wishers and friends start to go back to their homes and their lives. We had buried him on a Tuesday and Friday was my first day alone.  It wasn't the full 7 days, but everyone else had to get back to their lives.  Summer was starting and it was time to celebrate the new season.  I was bitter and angry about this.  I didn't dare say anything out loud and appear ungrateful for all that had been done for me, but deep inside I really wished someone would have stayed with me a little longer and allowed me a few more days to put reality aside.  It wasn't to be, and here I was alone and needing to find something to do with my life.  That Friday morning, I cleaned up the house, showered and dressed myself and Alexandra and prepared to enter back into the world, the world of the living.  I walked past my shrine of photos with the burning yahrtzeit candle and said an apologetic "see you soon" to my Ron, locked the door behind me and drove off to meet Kerrie and her daughter to see a movie.

What a normal thing to do, go see a movie on a Friday morning, the first Friday of the summer.  I agreed to this only because I didn't want to sit alone in the house all day and it was the most reasonable thing to do with a 6 yr old.  We went to see Brave and while I tried to keep my eyes open, I just kept falling asleep.  Believe me, that is NOT an easy movie to fall asleep in.  It is LOUD, violent and annoying when you are not in the mood for a meaningful story line.  I kept trying to follow what was happening, but all I could think of was how horrible this movie was!  Wow, Disney really missed it on this one.  BAD, stupid movie!  Finally the torture was over.  I was completely exhausted despite sleeping through most of the show and all I wanted was to get in the car, drive away and be in my refuge, my safety zone, my home.

As each day moved into the next, it was apparent I was going to survive and I was going to make it to the other side of my grief and horrible loss.  I rarely had a day without tears, but there were more moments I was smiling.  I was even laughing on occasion, although the sound of laughter felt like a betrayal of my love for Ron.  I had so many people telling me it was OK to live my life and even experience joy on occasion.   I was doing my best which was better than anyone had expected.

At the one month anniversary, I posted this on Facebook:

I never thought I would make it through the first week let alone the first month without my beloved Ron. I have reflected over and over from the instant I heard his gasp on the telephone, to being his heartbeat and breath and finally to my ability to say "Stop" - how can this have happened? How can it be real? I am amazed by the Divine Providence that aligned with the Universe to put everyone in exactly the right places at exactly the right times to do exactly the right things - yet still have this horrible outcome. The gift of strength is my curse knowing I shouldn't be given more than I am strong enough to handle yet wishing I was too weak to take on such a heartbreaking task. I now must navigate through this new journey alone, but not alone, with a village of people, love, support, being open to the generosities of friends and strangers. I'm ready to declare a mission to uphold his name and memory and BE his ever glowing candle. It's through the manifestation of a new passion and purpose that I will get through the next weeks, months and years. I pray my village continues and sees me through.

 I need my Village now more than ever.  

Going to the Chapel....

June 19, 2012

The morning of Ron's funeral I was awake by 7, well to be honest, I was awake most of the night but I chose to get out of bed at 7.  My sweet little Alexandra was snuggled in by my side, safe and protected by her mama.  We got up, she had breakfast and I had my coffee.  I still wasn't eating, not like that would harm me in any way, I have padding to spare.  Food was still bitter and chalky in my mouth and I would only eat in the afternoon when I was too exhausted to resist those pushing food in my face.  The house was again full of people, I wasn't even sure what everyone was doing.  I just knew that in the past 5 days I had no clue if Alexandra had been fed, bathed or changed clothes.  I certainly hadn't been doing any of it.  She was alive and clean - that's all I knew for sure and for now, it was good enough.  As for her emotional status, I was keeping a closer eye on that.

At bedtime each night since Ron died, I would take Alexandra upstairs myself because she refused to sleep unless I was right there with her, holding her, and we would talk.  This was our "daily debriefing" our time to go over the day, talk about who had been visiting us and what we were feeling throughout the day.  To get the conversation going, I started the ritual of sharing our "Three feelings of the day" with each other.  First, she would come up with her 3 feelings and we would talk about them and how she was able to process through those emotions, then I would offer my 3.  I would always throw in one unusual feeling like "Scared", "Angry", "Frustrated", "Confused".  She would look at me with surprise to see that I was verbalizing these different emotions and not just sticking to the obvious mad, sad, glad.  "What are you angry about?" she would ask me.  "I am very angry that Dada didn't take better care of himself by eating better and exercising.  I'm angry that he died." I told her.  And I WAS angry, scared, frustrated and confused. I still didn't know how I was going to go on without him.  There was so much I needed to sort through with my life now.  Work, the house, the kids, money, the business, Alexandra's school.  Certainly not things I was going to go into detail with a 6 yr old!  We would talk about our feeling words and how sharing these feelings helps to work through difficult situations like losing someone you love.  Just like crying helps to get the sad out.  Alexandra would fall asleep in my arms, snuggled into me without the fear and anxiety I had expected so soon after losing her daddy.  Night time was our time, away from the hustle of the day with so many visitors.  For her, the daytime was like this amazing non-stop playdate!  All kids were welcome to come visit when their parents stopped by.  She was grieving too, in her own way, and needed her peers by her side, just like I needed my friends.

By 9:30 am, I mechanically went through my shower, hair and makeup routine not really thinking about how I was doing it, just taking the same steps I had for the past 30 something years.  Soap this, rinse that, dab here, mascara, curl, hairspray... whatever.  Not like I was needing to impress anyone, just that I wanted to look my best for my Ron.  Finally, I reached for my black dress.  Black, the traditional color of the grieving and I was being so cliche.  Black dress, black jacket to cover my shoulders in the chapel and black shoes.  So much black, but it was the color of my mood so I suppose I was color coordinated for the day.  I glanced at myself in the mirror and thought "Wow, you are WAY too young to be attending your husband's funeral.. this is so wrong".  I helped Alexandra with her hair and her dress telling her she was so pretty and Dada would be proud of her.  Funny, I can't even picture which dress she wore.  My eyes were seeing, but they just didn't process the images into my long term memory.  I was finding this to be true of many things, my memory was completely shot.  After a last glance in the mirror, I carefully descended the stairs on wobbly legs and joined the group of our children waiting below.

The driver arrived with our limousine and half of us crawled into the back.  Jon drove my car with the rest of the group and off we went to the cemetery.  Again, this was another trip I don't much remember.  I think it's a great idea to have a limo or other car take you to the cemetery because you really can't see much out the windows.  I remember staring at the row of champagne glasses with little white napkins folded in the cups thinking how badly I wanted a shot of something much stronger than champagne.

The limo finally arrived at Mt Sinai and we pulled up in front of the chapel at the top of the hill.  I just wanted my kids to be with me and wanted Alexandra close by my side the entire time.  I didn't want her subjected to anyone's thoughtless comments or feeble attempts at cheering her up.  I had no idea what people would say, just that it was nearly 100% likely someone would say something stupid.   It's amazing what people will say when someone dies.  Why are we so compelled to want to "fix" the situation?  I have heard so many comments after a death that seek to undo the hurt.  After a miscarriage; "You can always have another". After a long illness "At least they are at peace".  After a sudden or tragic death; "At least they went quickly".  As if the "at least" preface makes the permanence of the death more bearable.  No, We the Grieving do not feel better when you say those things.  We the Grieving feel like crap, do not comprehend the loss and do not want to feel better about how it went down.  My advice? Just say you are sorry, sad, frustrated, angry, confused and grieving with us.  And - be there.  Don't disappear soon after the body is in the ground, that is the loneliest time.

We were guided through the funeral by a tall thin man wearing a yarmulke - he was the funeral director I think.  The immediate family was given a black cloth button/pin with a black ribbon attached.  The ribbon was torn by the funeral director to show we were in mourning.  In ancient days, Jews would tear their actual clothing to show their grief, but in modern times things are done in a more civilized fashion.  The men were given yarmulkes to wear in the chapel and we were all given little packages of tissues.  I took several packets.  They also had bottle water with little Mt Sinai labels on them.  How strange, private labeled funeral water - but it came in handy.

In a Jewish funeral, there is no actual "viewing" of the deceased.  I learned that this was the tradition because it is considered rude or disrespectful to look upon the dead as they cannot look back at you.  Instead, they have an "identification" where the immediate family only look at the deceased and confirm that indeed this is the correct body in the casket.  Gruesome sounding for sure, but it is the last opportunity to say goodbye and I was not gong to pass it up.  Alexandra being only 6 was a little nervous about this part. We had a discussion the night before about the whole process of her dada's funeral and everything that would happen.  I repeated much of it that morning to make sure she felt completely comfortable with what was going to happen.  I promised her when the time came, I would look at her dada first and if he still looked like her Dada, then I would tell her it was alright for her to see him.  If he didn't look like "him" or was gross or scary looking, then I would tell her that and let her decide if she wanted to see him and say goodbye.

It was time for the identification and I asked to go see him alone first.  I think one of the boys or maybe a couple of them came with me to hold me up.  The funeral director lifted the pine cover to expose Ron's body.  There he was... clothed in the simple white linen shroud, his shoulders draped with the blue and silver threaded tallit.  His hands were not visible which was disturbing to me.  I wanted to see his hands...even though I knew he wasn't wearing his wedding ring, I wanted to see his hands.  The hands that held me, stroked my hair, scratched my back when I couldn't sleep or lovingly caressed my body when we made love.  It wasn't fair that his hands were now concealed.  At that moment, I was so relieved that Jon was able to get his ring off soon after he died.  I was so surprised he was able to since his hands had been so swollen.  I was wearing it that day, his ring, as I had since Jon handed it to me in the Emergency Room.  I looked upon the face of my love, my Ron.  He looked serene, although a little grumpy.  His lips were pressed together as though in deep thought, and a little pensive like he wasn't exactly thrilled with his situation.  I can imagine his thoughts "This really pisses me off and I do NOT like my shoulders touching the edge of this box!"  I know people would think me nuts, but I wish I had a picture of him like that.  For those moments when I absolutely don't believe he is actually gone - to look at and remind me that this was indeed REAL, he really did die.  Ron looked good, considering, well considering he was dead. I remember all the funerals I have been to in my life - mostly open casket, Christian based funerals, where everyone who walks past the casket whisper to each other "She looked good, didn't she?" or "Oh, he REALLY didn't look like himself...." Funny how people must qualify the quality of the dead.

I went out and spoke to Alexandra.  I told her that her Dada looked very good, not scary at all.  I said to her "I really think it is OK to come see him.  We will be with you the whole time.  You need to say good bye to your Dada".  Oh that sweet brave little girl!  She walked in and peeked into the casket.  She wanted to have me hold her, but I had no strength.  I had Chris pick her up and she leaned down and said quietly "Bye bye Dada!" OH MY HEART WAS TORN INTO PIECES!!!!!!!!  I completely lost it. She should not be doing this at 6 yrs old!  She should be laughing, skipping and holding our hands saying "Swing me! Swing Me!" as we walk together.  Will she remember how much he loved her and enjoyed every minute with her?

The funeral proceeded as most do, a couple songs, a prayer or two, his friend and sister came up and gave a eulogy, then all 7 of our kids went up on the stage.  Each child had a moment to say goodbye in their own way.  It was funny how it naturally came together, they went from oldest to the youngest, each showing up with their unique personalities and their personal relationship with Ron.  Some had written a speech while another may have jotted down a few notes and some just got up and spoke from the heart.  It was silent in the chapel except for the occasional sob that someone could no longer stifle or the blowing of a nose here and there.  Every once in a while you could hear someone getting up and walking out, no longer able to handle the overwhelming sadness hearing the kids speak about their dad and step dad.  I just sat in the front row, squeezing my tissue in my hand, laughing at some of the funny stories and crying when something stabbed at my heart.  Even Alexandra at 6 yrs old had written about her Dada, but when it came time for her to read it, she got shy and asked her sissy to help.  Honestly, there wasn't a dry eye in the place after that.

I knew I would never be able to stand up in front of everyone without breaking down so I wrote my letter to Ron ahead and had the Cantor read it for me.  My heart poured out in a letter to Ron, our lives together and my promise to him to go on, care for our daughter and family and to LIVE.

After all the speeches, songs and prayers the Cantor invited the group to walk past Ron's closed casket to pay their last respects.  I had not really looked to see who was there in the chapel so when I saw the endless stream of friends and family walk past me, I was completely overwhelmed.  So many people I hadn't seen in years!  Friends from far away, work associates, Girl Scout families and their kids.  It went on and on.  Over 300 people were there!  I couldn't hold back my tears and racking sobs.  "Oh my G-D!, Oh my.. OH MY!" Thank you all, thank you for being here.. Thank you for being a part of our lives and his death.

The graveside service was short and simple.  The Cantor offered information to those attending who were unfamiliar with Jewish tradition about the burial process.  Susan placed a bottle of wine into the ground on top of the casket then we began the internment.  The Jewish way is for each of the immediate family to start shoveling dirt into the hole.  Then, another person comes and takes the shovel and continues.  It is considered a Mitzvah (good deed) to assist with burying the dead.  One by one, people stepped forward to take their turn.  I watched as my beautiful husband became more and more a part of the Earth again.  Then, I was amazed to see my little Girl Scouts surrounding Alexandra helping her with the shovel as she tried to move the dirt into the hole.  She was struggling with the weight of the dirt so her friends all grabbed a part of the handle and helped her.  It was the most amazing sight to see those little girls working together helping their friend bury her daddy!  This was another point in which I wish we had a camera.  It was glorious and gut-wrenching at the same time.  Children can be so pure in their love.  They don't edit or qualify, they just BE.

Finally, it was over... Everyone began getting into their cars and driving off to the house.  I just stood there looking at the partially filled hole in the ground.  I didn't want to leave him here, all alone.  How could I leave him behind?  How could I take these steps into my life without him?  Each step was an admission that I was no longer a part of a couple, we were no longer a "WE", I was a widow.  With tear soaked eyes and a final "I love you", I turned and walked away from my husband's forever grave and took the first steps into what would become my "New Normal".

Grave Decisions

June 15th 2012

Early the next morning after Ron died, the kids - all 7 of them plus their significant others if they had one gathered at the house.  I am not sure what time I got out of bed that morning or if I showered, brushed my teeth or hair.  I think I had some coffee, but food was something I had no desire for.  I do remember looking around at the people collecting in my house and thinking I had no idea what was happening and who they were.  Someone was busy in the kitchen and things were being moved around and cleaned up.  Of course, couldn't I have just cleaned things out and had a neat spik and span house?  No, it is a disaster and not fit for company.  Food had already been delivered to the house from those who had already heard the news.  Such a socially acceptable thing to do, bring food to the grieving family.  I looked at the food with disgust.  I couldn't imagine eating any of it, it was like accepting that Ron was dead if a single bite crossed my lips.  Grief food is what other people have, not me, if can't be me this time!

My friend Val came to the house early with her notebook in hand, already filled with notes and to-do lists.  Little did I know that morning she was to become my winged angel through the transition to becoming a widow and burying my husband.  Certainly she was brought to me by the great Universe because I would have had no clue where to begin.  She gently offered suggestions about what to expect at each step and kept the kids involved with what needed to be done.  When the time came for us all to get in the car and go to the cemetery, Val went with us. 

My memory is still so vague about that day that I can't even tell you WHO was still in my house when we left, but I know Kerrie was.  She was my angel with chef's hat in place.  Kerrie handled the coordination of my home and all the food.  I had NEVER allowed someone to have as much control over my house as I allowed Kerrie during those days.  I just closed my eyes and trusted her.

We pulled into the property of Mt Sinai mortuary and cemetery.  I was carrying my ever-trusty refillable Camelback water bottle.  My lifeline.  Little sips kept me from passing out and calmed my nerves.  We walked in, told the woman at the front desk we were here for our appointment and were directed into a room in the back.  We walked into a large room with a big round table.  Interesting, a round table to gather and make decisions.  Like the knights of Arther's reign... here we are.  All the kids, Val and I sat down.  Looking around I tried to focus my eyes and think about the things Ron and I had discussed over the years regarding funeral planning.  What he wanted, didn't want, what was the "Jewish Way" an what specifically WASN'T.  He was an interesting man when it came to being Jewish.  He didn't do Chabat or eat kosher.  He loved his bacon for sure!  But, when it came to the traditions of being a Jew, he was very specific.  Pine box, shroud, in the ground in 3 days or less, light the yartzeit candle on Yom Kippur.  The man who was asking all the questions about what I wanted was offering his thoughts, but he was a stranger to me and I had no reason to trust this yarmulke wearing salesman.  I felt like we were on the TV show Millionaire and kept "phoning a friend" or using our lifeline.  Ellen and Saul, Ron's sister and brother in law were my source for all things Jewish.  "Do you want your husband to be buried with a yarmulke and tallit?" Huh? I have no idea, we never discussed this!  Adam - Call Aunt Ellen...   "Do you want him buried with soil from Jeruselum?"  What? is this standard?  Adam - Text Aunt Ellen.  "What is his Hebrew name?"  Oh crud, I know this.... I think....Shit, Call Ellen and ask Nanny, she will know for sure.  Steven piped in "Channah Lippa ben Mortichai Shlomo".  Ok, let's double check this...

After all the endless paperwork was done, we then had to pick out his casket.  Why does dying have to be so fucking complicated?  I felt beat to the bone already and now I had to stand and walk to the casket room.  Thank goodness the boys were there.  I had no bones in my legs and I felt like I was walking the "green mile" myself.  They literally carried me.  When we turned the corner and I saw rows upon rows of caskets, I lost it completely.  I couldn't hold myself up knowing my love, my husband would be in one of those boxes.  NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!  I can't do this!  I can't do this! I don't want to do this!  Slowly, we walked towards the plain pine boxes.  I wouldn't even give the others a second glance.  This was one of those hard line Jew things... "Only a pine box - no fancy caskets" he said when we discussed his funeral so long ago.  I saw one with a Star of David on the cover and my heart softened and I felt a connection to this box... Oh, my sweet baby... this is where you will lay your head... this is the one you will be forever buried, in the ground, away from my arms.  I lifted a shaky finger and pointed.  "This one... this is the one.  He would have like this one."

Next, we had to decide if he would wear 100% linen or cotton shroud.  Seriously?  Is there a difference?  I don't know if it really matters.  The cotton shroud looked so clean and neat, while the linen was frayed at the edges and had a more natural look.  I like the linen. Adam and Steven were huddled together in front of two gowns and they both silently pointed to the same one... the 100% linen.  Done. No discussion needed... Next?

We then had to decide about the tallit.  I thought maybe he should be buried with the one from his Bar Mitzvah.  I loved it so much and how it looked on him.  Draped over his shoulders as we entered Temple on the High Holidays, he was such a proud Jewish Man.  The man could see my distress over this seeming simple decision and said - "you keep his tallis, we will throw one in - no charge".  I just looked at him thinking "what a salesman he is... selling death."  But wait!  There's more!  Do I get a set of Ginsu Knives with the deal?  "thank you" I said to him quietly.  I was so happy to see the one they were "throwing in" looked exactly like Ron's.  It was perfect.

So many details, sign this, write a check, sign that, here's your box of goodies... yes, you get little door prizes when you plan a Jewish funeral.  A whole set of minyan books, a huge pile of yertzeit candles for this year and the next 10 years. One you start to burn the day they are buried then let it burn for a week.  Boxes of strange little tokens, like a coin set from the year he died, boxes to collect money in his memory, information on the Jewish grieving process.  What? there's a manual for that too?    How to get through the first week.  "This is Shiva... the time of intense mourning." One week they say.  So many rules when you are Jewish.  You get one week to be sad?  Really?

With our bags of parting gifts for the dearly departed, we all file out of the mortuary.  The funeral was set for Tuesday.  This is Friday.  Ron had the bad manners to die the day before Shabat and the Thursday before Father's Day.  No funerals on Shabat and they held no services on Father's Day.  Monday was the carry over from all who died before Ron so we had to wait until Tuesday.  He is going to be so mad.  He was very specific... THREE DAYS.  It will be 5 days on the day we bury him.    How am I going to get through the next 3 days waiting.  Waiting to place my husband's body in the ground - his body.. the one I held and who held me back, the one I kissed, made love to, tickled and tantalized.  The body that was warm and comforting at night and made me feel safe and loved and needed and alive.  My darling's body was not mine any longer, it now belongs to the earth and his forever grave.

A Spoonful of Sugar....

June 15, 2012

The song tells us "A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down".  Well, it will take a hell of a lot of sugar to help me swallow the bitter pill that my husband's death has prescribed. 

I hardly remember leaving the hospital that night, leaving him behind.  His body growing cold and blue.  Stuffed into the black plastic bag from the morgue.  I know I must have made it home somehow, but I don't remember, even today, how it happened.  That's the mind's way of preserving sanity I think, blocking out spaces of time so you don't have to recall the emotion and pain.  I know at some point I took a half of a Xanax so I could quiet my brain and try to get some sleep. It didn't help much, I was up every 20-30 minutes, walking around the house, looking into rooms, listening for something that would say I had been dreaming this whole event.  I would go to his office, get on his computer and read emails but not comprehending the English language.  I remember feeling like half of my body was gone, like I was a vapor moving through the walls of my home seeing our life played out like a movie I was eerily a part of.

At 1:00 in the morning, my house phone rang.  It was One Legacy and they wanted to discuss organ donation.  They had 45 minutes worth of questions to ask me to evaluate if Ron was a candidate for organ donation.  I was exhausted and wanted to hang up, but I knew they had a ticking clock to harvest anything usable so I sat up in bed and began answering her questions one after the other after the other. I suppose the clinical side of me took over at this point because there was nothing left of me from the emotional side.  The interview was unbelievably intrusive.  They wanted to know details of our sex life together, in years before we were together, did he ever have gay sex, sex with animals, STDs, other communicable diseases, world travel, places of work.  It was endless.  I had to keep thinking to myself "this may help someone see again, walk again, have normal skin again...." Finally, after an hour and 20 minutes (WTF didn't they say only 45 minutes?) it was over.  I tried to lay back down and fall asleep, but all I could think about was my husband - the organ donor. 

I knew there were people I had to inform about his death before it became world wide news on Facebook.  Damn Facebook!  I was petrified - some people have no self control and will post all kinds of crap before they even know if his family has been told.  I was scared to death that someone would post something and his cousins in New York or San Francisco would read it. What a horrible way to find out someone you care about has died.  Thankfully, nobody did and at around 6 am I woke up and started to text and call my friends.  My friend Jaime would be up getting ready for work and she should hear this from me, not of facebook.  I texted her "Call me if you are up".  About 15 minutes later, she called.  I told her I wanted her to hear it from me and I heard in her voice she was in disbelief.    By 9:11 am, I had confirmation that all of Ron's family had been informed of his death.  I found a picture that I loved of him and posted to facebook that he had died.  This began a cascade of emails, posts, messaged and phone calls.  It was strangely mechanical to be telling the story over and over again.  It was like a script; trying not to cry, getting to the point, allowing the other person to express their shock, disbelief, condolences and trying to get off the phone before I completely lost it again.  It was it's own form of torture as the morning wore on.

During all of this time of informing the masses, I was also dealing with the logistics and decisions about where Ron was to be buried.  He had a family plot in New Jersey and his father was buried there.  We had talked about his burial many times during the past 6 years since his first heart attack and his other health issues.  We just assumed he would be buried with his family.  "Put me in a box and put me on a plane" he would say.  But, now that reality had hit, it wasn't so easy to do. How could we have really known all that needed to be done in such a short amount of time.  My heart was aching and I didn't want him so far away.  Plus, I rationalized with my sister in law - It's not like he proclaimed "When I Die - Bury me in Jersey"!  Finally, after spending some time with all the kids, they expressed it would be nice to have him here so they, Alexandra and I could visit if we wanted to.  My sister in law confirmed with her Rabbi that I wasn't breaking some obscure Jewish Law by essentially going away from his intention to be buried back east.  Done. Decided.  He was born a New Yorker and will rest in the Paradise of California.

Now, we had to make the trek to Mt Sinai Mortuary and Cemetery in Hollywood Hills to plan the funeral.