January 20th

It is January 20th. This morning there was frost on the roof tops and on the edges of the streets where cars had not yet passed. The air was cold enough to chill me through my layers and bite my lungs with each inhale.

Husband and I move house a lot. We have lived in four countries and five states. So many of my frames of reference are based on which of the ten or so houses we lived in when this happened or when we knew those people. But today is January 20th, a day, an acute frame of reference.

At exactly this hour two years ago the kids had been taken to school. Husband’s schedule had been shifted slightly so he was just ready to leave for work. I was running the Hoover. We were laughing. Token, a dear friend and Husband’s workmate, called. He sounded intense, but really, that wasn’t unusual for him. He said he was stopping by with his wife. They were three minutes out. It was strange. Always a pleasure to see them, but just a weird time for an unplanned visit.

I was still vacuuming the floors when they showed up so husband let them in. The faces were wrong. These were my friends, but the faces…they stopped the morning’s laughter cold. Something was wrong. Really wrong. It was hard for Token to get the words out. But he did. “The boss was in an accident on the way to work today. He didn’t make it.” Shockwaves bounced off my dining room walls. There was a buzzing in my ears that hadn’t been there a moment before. “I need to use your shower” he said, “I have to go to the house”. I had just seen Boss in a dream the night before...

None among us knew if his wife and kids had been informed yet, but Token was the oldest son of sorts and he would be the one at the house. Motioning to his wife and I, “You two need to get it together and wait a driveway or two down from the house if the widow needs you. You can pick up Debutant on the way”.

I couldn’t make sense of what was happening. The Boss was the best of the best. He was the guy who could look at you and see you completely, yet only focus on the good. A truly great man. I found myself behaving irrationally. I kept repeating things like, “there has to be a mistake” and “no, he is one of the good ones” as I dressed myself in a pink wool sweater and black trousers. I shook my head and said profound things such as, “No. No no no no. NO!” as I filled a bag with frozen chicken tenderloin, veggies and noodles. If I couldn’t make it right, I would make soup.

Chaos. One event causes chaos. It started off as a Wednesday. I was going to the gym. Doing wash. Going to indulge in a little on-line poker. Before I knew it, I was in the car with two of my besties and a bag of groceries that I clung to like my sanity depended on making soup. We had been together, all of us, on the Friday prior. It was a celebration for one of our own which we paired with a pot luck. The boss was an awkward public speaker. Sweet as sugar, but even in front of just us, his awkwardness came through. The words were pure and heartfelt, but he had trouble controlling his focus and eventually his shoulder went to shrugging a bit. It was the first time I had seen this and I thought it was funny. I am always one to poke fun at myself, and I found myself laughing inside at this sweet sweet man. He was so classy. He tried everything at the lunch and made sure to find out which of us ladies had made which item then complemented each of us in turn with sincere words of thanks for each of our support.

My mind wondered in and out of this encounter just days prior as we rode in shock to the home. We were requested immediately. The priest was there already and people I didn’t know. It was literally freezing outside, but she was outside in a big cozy robe and slippers being embraced and sobbing shocked tears. I went inside. Her tea cup sat empty on the table next to the tiny plate containing crumbs from her morning’s toast. Her kids' breakfast dishes sat in the sink. The house had a sense of shattered normalcy. It was in my stomach and my throat, whatever “it” was. It was on the faces of everyone there. People came and went. We stayed. Debutant took the widow upstairs and helped her bathe and dress. I started making soup. If I couldn’t make it all go away, I could make soup. She hadn’t been expecting a house full of people. No one expects to get that knock on the door. But, not expecting it won’t keep it from coming. I cooked the chicken, used veggies from atop her butcher block and some from my bag. I sliced the tomatoes thinking, “He might have bought this for her on his way home from work the other day…” Grateful to have something to keep my mind busy, I chopped and sautéed.

I had just added the noodles when Doc arrived. He had medicine to help the widow. He was going to come to the house later anyway because her kids weren’t feeling 100%. They had been taken out, uninformed earlier. Debutant had successfully gotten the widow dressed, and the Doc’s contributions had been helpful. Still people in and out. I stirred the soup, passed out sincere hugs and wept.

It isn’t like I had never been around death before. Of course I had. When my Pap passed, I was pleased for him. He had lived to over 90 and suffered so little. He had not outlived any of his children and his wife was waiting for him on the other side. Husband’s Dad had passed, but his health and mental abilities had slipped to such a point that shedding his earthly body and entering the Kingdom of heaven seemed like a blessed event. This just all felt different. Boss had just turned 45 a month prior. His youngest child is the same age as my Rutabaga.

The days passed and we were always there. Someone. We went in shifts. The days blurred together. I can’t recount it all, nor would I want to. Watching someone you care about go through such a horrible ordeal is something that changes you. There were two of us there the morning she went to see her husband in the morgue. She had spent the morning getting herself looking perfect. She wanted to look nice for him, for her love. It was the hardest morning. She came down, more herself than she had been since Wednesday morning. She looked beautiful. Her friend had come to drive her. She spoke clearly and we supported her in any way we could. My heart broke for her. For days we had been doing anything we could to support and help her. We made sure there was food in the house. In America it seems that the thing to do is to send food to the house, it isn’t the same here in Italy. We had hugged, cried, answered the phone, mopped the floors, washed dishes. She called us her angels...so considerate of us, even in her hardest hour. She came home after the morgue and spoke with her Mom on the telephone. It was removed a bit and matter of a fact. They had tried to keep her from seeing him because of the violent nature of the passing, but she needed to. The recount to her mother was heart wrenching and unforgettable.

Usually I was happy to have something to do. Something to keep me busy and make me feel useful. The laundry was hard. Before everything changed, it had just been a Wednesday after all. The wash had been drying on three racks in the office, Boss’s office. Folding the wash about did me in. This was her sweat suit that she wore when she expected to go grey with her husband. These little clothes belonged to children that no longer had a father to read them bedtime stories and see them off to college someday. This shirt was worn by a father and a husband who wasn’t coming home. I didn’t feel worthy of touching these things. The walls were covered in snapshots of a man’s life that had ended prematurely. My heart continued to break for them, all of them. My guilt was ridiculous. I sat comforting this woman, this family and I felt so guilty. When I went home, my family was whole.

Here’s an e-mail I sent to my Mom, “We are just 12 Americans here. Yesterday morning, on the way to work, we lost the Boss. He had a wife and 2 kids...10 and 6. I never thought I would be in a woman's home after being informed about her husband's death. I am at a loss. 24 hours later I feel hollow and tired like I have been working for days even though I just woke up. Yesterday morning instead I made soup. In a lovely kitchen in Italy. While a woman's life crumbled around her. I believe in God and in heaven but none of that gives me the right words. None of this is public yet. None of it feels fully real. Even in her house I keep thinking I am going to wake up and it will all be right again. He was the biggest and strongest of all of us. A great boss. Present. Interested. Just good inside. We all had lunch together on Friday. We had reservations for lunch this Friday as well. He really cared for and about us. Husband sat in his office Tuesday and they went over Husband’s work review. We talked about the meeting and the Boss Tuesday night. Then Wednesday morning a truck and a frozen over pass widowed a woman and took a Dad of 2. It is so sad and my guilt gets me. I am so glad it wasn’t my house they were making soup at. It is relief that morphs into humbling guilt. Such a GOOD guy. So amazingly surreal. They tell the kids this morning that their Dad has passed. It is numbing. My heart and prayers go out to them. I'm making muffins now. If I can't make it all go away, I can make food.”

They had a memorial service here, one of three, and there were tons of arrangements and things that had to happen. There were financials to find and sort out. Arrangements to be made for this abbreviated family as well the family that had come to help. Everyone pulled together. The service was beautiful and the Boss’s wife spoke to the attendees in both English and Italian. She was amazing. So strong. Outside we stood with her. He had died on a bridge when a truck couldn’t make the slight turn due to freezing. Outside the church she embraced a man with more survivor guilt than anyone, the man in the car behind his. He wore a neck brace, but his true trauma lay inside of him. I heard him apologize to her. She embraced him with all of her arms and all of her heart. They sobbed shoulder jerking tears together as she accepted his bereavement and eased his sorrow. The human spirit is amazing. We heal together.

 I had been on this nonstop since the moment I heard, but I couldn’t go to the second memorial. Almost everyone else did, I just couldn’t. It was held in a town just a couple hours away, where the family used to live and still owned a home. I needed to recharge so I could be strong again. The sorrow, guilt, sadness and ceaseless help had depleted me. I don’t know how long I had been running on empty. Time no longer existed.

 Two weeks after the accident I was sitting in Widow's driveway waiting to take her pets while she accompanied her husband's body back to the States for yet another (the third) funeral and for burial. It was two weeks that felt like the longest three months of my life. She wasn’t ready even though I had helped her pack her bags the night before and bring them down. I don’t know if I would ever be ready for that journey…bags packed or not. I sat in the car and listened to music. Perhaps you are unaware, but I like metal. Heavy metal. I like loud heavy music. So, I was surprised when a ballad I had never heard came on and I momentarily felt a smile from the Boss, as silly as that sounds. The song took me to tears immediately. I sobbed uncontrollably while I just as uncontrollably pushed the repeat button. Then through my tears I tried to sing the words and I cried some more. Harder. The airport driver arrived at some point. Didn’t care. All I could do was listen to the song. Again. Again. Again. I listened to it until it was familiar, comfortable. I sang along until I couldn’t make words through the tears. About a half hour later she bravely emerged. We hugged and kissed and hugged some more. I hugged the kids. Then again for good measure. I gathered up the pets: 1 dog and 1 cat and got back in my car. Secretly I couldn’t wait to be back in my car. I was tired. I had been neglecting my family for two weeks, putting off dealing with the death under the guise of needing to be strong for Widow. I wanted to go home crawl under the covers and not come out until the world made sense. I wanted to play the song.

I listened to the song an obscene number of times. I knew every word by nightfall. It went through my head for comfort. When I needed to I would put it on again. And I would cry. One day I made it through the whole song without losing it. I was stunned and cold. What happened? Had I gone cold? Could I dare smile again without thinking Boss wasn’t getting this day, this smile? Then one day I didn’t play the song. Not once. I didn’t notice. It was a week, maybe two before I noticed I had stopped. Time passed and I looked for lessons I could learn to improve my life with my family that were all still alive. I vowed to finish unfinished projects that lurked in closets and under beds. I vowed to keep the paperwork well in order and to love everyone everyday even if they made it challenging. I was here. I could take that challenge. I decided to go ahead with a very selfish something I had wanted for years but didn’t do it because it was selfish. It’s okay! 

 He died in a car accident on a bridge that froze before the road. I decided I would never use that bridge even though it was between home and Husband’s work. I would take another way…the long way…the windy way…whatever, just not that way. As if I could keep death away by just not taking that road. That bridge. Then one day it happened. I went to get Husband at work and followed the GPS. The bridge was straight ahead. How could I have been so careless? My breathing went shallow and my palms went to sweat. There was no place to go. I had to go over the bridge. Then I did. My heart hurt. My eyes stung. I had driven over the bridge. I pulled over and turned on the song. It felt completely different. I felt completely different. The words said something I hadn’t heard before. Not in the hundreds of times I had listened to them.

I sit at my computer today – two years later and I am listening to the song. I want you to listen too.


 Shine On
By: Jet

Please don't cry
You know I'm leaving here tonight
Before I go I want you to know that there will always be a light

And if the moon had to runaway
And all the stars didn't wanna play
Don't waste the sun on a rainy day
The wind will soon blow it all away

So many times I'd planned
To be much more than who I am
And if I let you down I will follow you 'round until you understand

That if the moon had to runaway
And all the stars didn't wanna play
Don't waste the sun on a rainy day
The wind will soon blow it all away

When the days all seem the same
Don't feel the cold or wind or rain
Everything will be okay
We will meet again one day
I will shine on, for everyone

So please don't cry
Although I leave you here this night
Where ever I may go how far I don't know
But I will always be your light

That if the moon had to runaway
And all the stars didn't wanna play
Don't waste the sun on a rainy day
The wind will soon blow it all away

When the days all seem the same
Don't feel the cold or wind or rain
Everything will be okay
We will meet again one day
I will shine on, for everyone
When the days all seem the same
Don't feel the cold or wind or rain
Everything will be okay
We will meet again one day
I will shine on, for everyone

At some point I researched the song and found out the lead singer had written it after his Dad had died. His family was having a hard time coping. He wrote this song from his Dad’s perspective. It was recorded in ONE take. Unbelievable.

So many of us are bonded in parallel experiences. I can’t say everything that’s on my heart here today. It has gotten hard to type through the tears. This blog post is more for me than those who will read it. Love. Lots of love out into the world to all of you.