This is the next in our series The First Moments. Going back to the house.
Going back to the house where you lived as a couple is hard. One of the most difficult first moments we have as widows. Those first moments speak to us and remind us we are now without our loved one. If you have someone to go with you to your home and not spend the first night alone that is ideal. This isn’t an easy topic to write about and remember. In fact both of us have vague memories of the first moments in our homes.
Teresa’s story – I remember as one of my assistant principles drove us home in Kris’s truck seeing the cars parked out front. We lived on a 12.5 acre ranch and had a nice hilltop flat spot for parking. We hosted lots of gatherings as we had the space and a pool. Now it was filled with friends. How did they find out so soon? How did they get here?
Upon entering our home, I was surprised and irritated to find that they were IN our house. What the hell? Who let them in? It was an absolute hot mess. We hadn’t cleaned or done laundry that weekend. I was embarrassed for anyone to see my home in the shambles of normal life.
I was in no way prepared to be accosted with hugs and crying friends and church members in my home. I wasn’t a big hugger and felt overwhelmed with all of the people in my home. How did they get there? Who let them in? Why were they there now? I watched my boys hug and disappear upstairs into their man cave where a bunch of their friends were hanging out to be with them. I wished I had a cave to go and die in. I didn’t want to entertain, talk or have another hysterical breakdown in front of everyone. I wanted to crawl into a ball and die.
Soul Love:How a Dog Taught me to Breathe Again: Chp. 1 Excerpt: says it all and it’s an edited version of reality without the harsher gut reactions I had above.
Wow, someone really rallied the troops, I think. But how did they get into my home?
I don’t stop crying for hours, amazed and humbled that so many people would show up to help out. “What do you need?” they ask over and over, provoking the sarcastic New Yorker in me. “How the h*ck should I know? It’s not every day your husband dies.” Oh dear, there will be lots of people coming, so laundry and house cleaning need done. Not sure I can do that. After a moment, I say by way of apology, “Hmm, the house is a wreck and needs cleaned. Lordy, it looks like a bomb went off. Um, sorry, it’s been er, um, a few weeks since we cleaned.” Right away, someone offers to organize the house cleaning and laundry.
For the second time that day, someone reminds me to sit and write down on a yellow legal pad what needs done around the house and who still needs to be called. I write what I can between crying spells. Thus begins the worst journey of my life. I think, I am living in hell; this is the worst thing ever. I am so unprepared, so sad, so mad, so scared, so worried, so loved by others, so blessed … Emotions swirling, I cannot get a grip on reality.
More friends continue to show. Family is en route from across the country. The house becomes a mix of loving people trying to help and drama fanatics who appear to love a tragedy. I find it weird and offensive that people I haven’t seen in years have suddenly decided to reappear. I’ve always heard that death brings out the best and worst in folks. Now I can see it really does. Ick, I have no time or energy to deal with drama. All that the boys and I want is to be left alone, but friends fear what we might do alone. So do I.
Liz, my best friend from church, has named herself warden over “T. Q. Watch.” T. Q. is a nickname from my childhood. Liz twice brings me plates of food, but the idea of eating is gross and nauseating. She outstays everyone else; we end up in the living room alone late at night. She camps out in one of the blue recliners, I in my spot on the big brown leather couch. Kris’s side is noticeably vacant, though his shoes and some old socks sit there with a pile of his papers.
Kristie, our black and white pound dog, walks in looking all over for Kris. She starts sniffing and whining as she reaches his side of the couch. She then utters her first howl ever, keening the loss of her master. Liz and I look at each other in surprise, dissipating into another round of weeping.
“Come here, girl. I know this is awful,” I say to Kristie. She hops up and starts licking my face, whining.
“Poor girl, you miss your dude too. You know, don’t you?”
Kristie and I cuddle together as Liz quietly sniffles.
We stayed up talking, crying, and just sitting in surreal gloom for most of the night.
“My tear ducts hurt from crying so much,” I confess to Liz. “Who knew that was possible?” We laugh a little and cry some more.
Somehow I survive the night. My first night as a widow. I don’t remember sleeping too much, mostly tossing and turning on the couch. Climbing upstairs to the bedroom—our bedroom—seems impossible. Just the thought of it makes me heave with sobs. I know that eventually I’ll have to go up there to shower and change clothes, but for one night, Liz, Kristie, and the couch serve just fine.
***
Jeni’s Story – Once we had the news and had made all the decisions that had to be made (or that were made for me) at the hospital, it was time to go back home. Pastor had given me a handkerchief with some oils poured into it. Later, I would hold onto this handkerchief with all my strength. I would also give out handkerchiefs to other widows as that was one of my first real items of comfort. I remember walking out of the hospital on my Pastor’s arm. As we walked past my in-laws, my father-in-law looked at me and said, “Be Good.” Automatically, I responded the way we always had, “If I can’t be good, can I be good at it?” I remember my Pastor slightly admonishing me for my response. My thought was “What?, my husband’s dead. How else would I respond?”
Most of the rest of that night is in bits and pieces. I remember my aunt showing up with a box of kleenex and a bottle of whiskey. I’m really not sure who was there that night and who was there the next day. I remember people in and out of the house. I remember thinking life would never be the same.
If you remember, our children had just been adopted. Their adoption hadn’t even been finalized a full year. One of the first reactions that my children had was to ask if I was going to return them to foster care. In the midst of the greatest grief of my life, I had to reassure my children that they were, indeed, MY children and that I would not allow them to go anywhere. WE were a family and it was my full intent that we would stay that way.
So, on our first night home, the girls crawled into bed with me and my son brought a camping cot into the room for him. This is how we slept for a long time after our loss. One by one, as they were comfortable, each child would eventually return to their room.
Over the coming days and weeks, we would deal with our new life without Bob. For that first night, the kids and I just held onto each other and began our grief journey. No longer would we hear his booming voice at the bottom of the stairs stating, I NEED A VACATION nor would we hear his regular reminders that EVERYDAY IS AN ADVENTURE.
Now, we would have to navigate our way into a life without him. He had been a part of my life since kindergarten; however, he had only been in the kids’ life a short time. I knew that I needed to keep his memory alive for them.
Our intent is that our stories help and support you in some way. We each experience those first moments in our home differently. If you have a first you experienced that we missed in our list of topics, please let us know. We would be happy to write about a topic you need to hear about. We invite you to give us a story to include if you like to share.
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Peace & Blessings,
Teresa & Jeni
