This year is, of course, our first Christmas without Hugh. The world is going on as if everything is the same. The same parties, the same church traditions, the same hurried shopping and decorating. But everything is not the same. Things are radically different. The Broadmeadow Choir gave its annual Christmas performance and Hugh was not there sitting with Camille and Susannah and grinning broadly in enjoyment. Camille, who has not been back to church very much since Hugh died, cried because he was not there.
Tonight, Camille and Susannah and I continued the tradition of decorating the Christmas tree and the mantle and celebrating with a meal of Chinese takeout. But it felt hollow. And, the Christmas tree I bought, a little "elf tree" about four feet tall, would not stay secure in its stand. When we got it loaded with lights and ornaments, it toppled over breaking a delicate ballerina and a Snowbaby, ornaments I have given to Camille and Susannah through the years. I made the rounds from Target to Home Depot to Wal-Mart to find a suitable tree stand. I found one at Wal-Mart that is designed for a larger tree, but that I hope will suffice to keep our "elf tree" secure. The problem at this point is that the giant screws are so hard to turn that I cannot get it tight enough to even attempt to put the tree in it. I can't help thinking, "If Hugh were here this wouldn't be happening. We would have a full sized tree. It would be glowing with lights and covered with ornaments representing each year of our lives." But he is not here, and I am experiencing anger for the first time in this season of loss.
Elizabeth Kubler-Ross writes that our grief comes in stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Those stages don't seem to occur in any particular order and sometimes they seem to fade in and out. But, for me, anger is new. Until now, I have resolutely set about meeting the challenges of doing the things that Hugh has done even when I felt poorly equipped to do it. I've taken a perverse pleasure in being strong enough and stubborn enough to do whatever has to be done. But I don't want to celebrate Christmas without Hugh. I don't want to do this by myself and I am angry that I have to do it.
Despite my resistance, we will celebrate Christmas. There will be new experiences that take us beyond our usual traditions. The week before Christmas, we are going on a Caribbean cruise with my parents, who will be celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. On Christmas Day, we will celebrate by having an open house and entertaining friends. But we will continue some of our old traditions such as Chinese takeout and tree-trimming, hanging the stockings and the Christmas Eve service at Broadmeadow. We have hung Hugh's stocking this year, as part of our old tradition, but I hope that our new tradition will be to fill that stocking with good memories of the Christmases we shared with Hugh, of Christmas mornings surveying the riches that Santa Claus brought and the wonderful Christmas dinners he cooked. Those memories will sustain us for a long time to come.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Friday, November 25, 2011
Thanksgiving
Camille, Susannah and I had Thanksgiving Dinner with Hugh's mother, brother and sister-in-law. One of the stories we told was about Hugh taking Susannah to school every morning. Hugh always took Susannah to school and he loved to walk her into her classroom each day. Other parents simply let their children out in the carpool line, but Hugh always parked his car and walked Susannah all the way to the classroom. The teachers began to encourage Hugh to let Susannah out in the carpool lane and let her walk to her classroom by herself, but Hugh kept on doing what he liked to do. So the teachers came to me and gently suggested that Susannah was old enough to walk in by herself and perhaps Hugh should just drop her off in the carpool lane. But Hugh continued to walk Susannah to her classroom. The principal firmly suggested that Hugh should just drop Susannah off in the mornings, but Hugh kept doing what he wanted to do. Hugh loved that time with Susannah and he loved seeing the other kids. He didn't stop walking her to class until she started the 4th grade. Looking back, I am glad that he didn't listen to teachers or principals or parenting books or me, and that he took that time to be with Susannah for a few extra minutes each day.
Unexpected Gifts
“I tell you this
to break your heart,
by which I mean only
that it break open and never close again
to the rest of the world.”
― Mary Oliver
There are unexpected gifts that come from the willing and obedient experience of grief. Fully experiencing grief, taking down the soul's interior walls and letting grief and all its attendant emotions flood your whole being, stretches you from the inside out. As the grief subsides, and other emotions arise again, the capacity to experience those emotions is greater. You laugh a little louder and more spontaneously. You love easier and deeper. There comes a profound gratitude for all life has to offer. You are broken open to the world.
Give thanks always to God the Father for all things, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Ephesians 5:20
to break your heart,
by which I mean only
that it break open and never close again
to the rest of the world.”
― Mary Oliver
There are unexpected gifts that come from the willing and obedient experience of grief. Fully experiencing grief, taking down the soul's interior walls and letting grief and all its attendant emotions flood your whole being, stretches you from the inside out. As the grief subsides, and other emotions arise again, the capacity to experience those emotions is greater. You laugh a little louder and more spontaneously. You love easier and deeper. There comes a profound gratitude for all life has to offer. You are broken open to the world.
Give thanks always to God the Father for all things, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Ephesians 5:20
Untethered
Some days I feel unmoored, untethered from the earth as though I might simply float into the atmosphere as helpless as a spacewalker cut off from his ship, unable to propel myself back to the safe embrace of gravity, the anchor of his solid presence instead a forceless void that can no longer hold me securely in place. This feeling is true. I am untethered. The gravitational pull of Hugh's presence no longer acts on me. We were like twin stars holding each other in place, providing a center for each other, for our family. I alone am the center now. Can the center hold?
Friday, August 12, 2011
February Things I Remember
A sense of unreality.
Shock, numbness.
Anger that this could happen to such a wonderful person.
Watching the falling snow from the window in the fourth floor hallway. The bittersweet feeling of lovely snow falling on our difficult circumstances.
Not leaving the hospital for the first six days, not wanting to leave, and resenting anyone who suggested that I ought to go home and rest. Being forced to leave only because I became sick.
The times when Susannah and Camille came to the hospital to keep me company.
The strong desire to be with Hugh and to care for him and protect him. Learning how to read all the medical “machines” in his room. Knowing all his medications lined up on the row of IV lines.
Fear that I would make a mistake in making the choices for his care.
Confidence that I was strong enough to do everything that had to be done.
Pride and joy that I was the one privileged to stand by him through the very worst.
Fear of the unknown outcome.
Hope that my children would be okay while I was in the hospital with Hugh.
Numb disbelief every time the situation turned in the wrong direction.
Two brothers taking turns staying at the hospital with their father. A young woman whose 27 year old husband was in the critical care unit. Two other families waiting on their mothers. Sharing the family waiting room with them. Hearing each other’s stories. Caring for each other.
Many, many friends who came to bring comfort.
Caring Bridge posts from friends.
Sitting in the waiting room for hours on end, for three and a half weeks.
Having spa night and rubbing Hugh’s hands and feet with lotion.
Love for the nurses who cared for Hugh.
Despair at Hugh's suffering.
Deep, deep love. Loving Hugh even more. Kissing his face until my lips were salty.
Shock, numbness.
Anger that this could happen to such a wonderful person.
Watching the falling snow from the window in the fourth floor hallway. The bittersweet feeling of lovely snow falling on our difficult circumstances.
Not leaving the hospital for the first six days, not wanting to leave, and resenting anyone who suggested that I ought to go home and rest. Being forced to leave only because I became sick.
The times when Susannah and Camille came to the hospital to keep me company.
The strong desire to be with Hugh and to care for him and protect him. Learning how to read all the medical “machines” in his room. Knowing all his medications lined up on the row of IV lines.
Fear that I would make a mistake in making the choices for his care.
Confidence that I was strong enough to do everything that had to be done.
Pride and joy that I was the one privileged to stand by him through the very worst.
Fear of the unknown outcome.
Hope that my children would be okay while I was in the hospital with Hugh.
Numb disbelief every time the situation turned in the wrong direction.
Two brothers taking turns staying at the hospital with their father. A young woman whose 27 year old husband was in the critical care unit. Two other families waiting on their mothers. Sharing the family waiting room with them. Hearing each other’s stories. Caring for each other.
Many, many friends who came to bring comfort.
Caring Bridge posts from friends.
Sitting in the waiting room for hours on end, for three and a half weeks.
Having spa night and rubbing Hugh’s hands and feet with lotion.
Love for the nurses who cared for Hugh.
Despair at Hugh's suffering.
Deep, deep love. Loving Hugh even more. Kissing his face until my lips were salty.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
The Third Story: Eagles Fly
The Third Story: Eagles Fly
Those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint. Isaiah 40:31
One of my great regrets is that I did not remember to include in Hugh's obituary that he was an Eagle Scout, a member of the Brotherhood of the Order of the Arrow, and a member of the Kappa Alpha Order. These details of Hugh's life say a lot about his character and his life and omitting them leaves his story incomplete. Perhaps it seems odd that such a little thing would trouble me, but the last month of Hugh's life and at his death, there were very few things I could do for him. After Hugh's death, telling his story was one of the things I could do and I wanted to do it well.
Like every good Eagle Scout, Hugh was always prepared. As I have rummaged through drawers and cleaned out closets, I have come across numerous labelled "kits." Hugh kept and made kits for all sorts of different things. He had the usual sewing kits, nail care kits, eye glass repair kits, assorted tool kits and a dop kit. But Hugh also made specialized kits. He had a "trial kit" which contained everything one might need at trial - paperclips, post its, page markers, labels, highlighters, pens, a stain remover pen, Tylenol, Tums and and the tiniest copy of the Federal Rules of Evidence you have ever seen. He had a "travel kit" for the car that had maps, over the counter medicines, tissues, wipes, flashlight, note pad, pen, extra reading glasses and anything else one might need on the road. Hugh had also made a "postage kit" that contained different denominations of stamps.
I spent our anniversary weekend at home and went through memorabilia and precious possessions. Among Hugh's things I found another kit. It was in one of the pockets of an old fishing vest there in a throat lozenge tin. I opened the tin expecting to find lozenges and found instead a tiny survival kit. In it there was a small bundle of waterproof matches, a ziplock back folded as small as possible and rubber banded. There were two neat little packages wrapped in tin foil. I hesitated to unwrap what Hugh had so carefully put together, but my curiosity go the best of me. In one tin foil bundle was a fishing line with a cork, sinker and hook. In the other, six aspirin in two neat rows. I wrapped everything back as neatly as possible and put it back in the tin. It is not a valuable thing. Not gold or jewelry. But it is priceless to me. It is the work of his hands, carefully put together for some expedition into the woods. A little piece of him left behind.
Hugh's scouting experience was something that he shared with us as a family and it enriched our lives. We often went camping as a family and Hugh always had the campsite organized and running smoothly. He was an expert on cooking and eating on the trail or at the campsite. Sometimes we took the girls and their friends camping on birthdays. Hugh would direct them to get the right kinds of wood to start the camp fire and show them how to start it and keep it going. We always had great meals and s'mores at night by the camp fire. Those are wonderful family memories that sustain me now. When I think of what we have lost, it is good to also think of what a wonderful husband and father we had and how fortunate we were to have him.
Recently, I met an old friend of Hugh's, Rufus Alldredge, who now practices law in Gulfport. Rufus told me that he and Hugh met through the Sierra Club in New Orleans while Hugh was in law school at Tulane. Rufus and Hugh hiked and camped part of the Appalachian Trail over one Christmas break with a small group from the Sierra Club. They had since reconnected and shared an interest in law office technology. Rufus has promised to email me with remembrances of their trip along the Appalachian trail. Hugh's camping and hiking experiences were a very happy part of his life and I am always glad to hear from people who shared those times with him. Hearing these stories is like gathering in the wheat. It is the harvest of a fruitful life.
Hugh's life brimmed with evidence of his boy scout experience. The young man in all those pictures and who earned all the badges and medals grew to be an honorable man and a good husband and father. The girls and I went to Natchez this past Saturday to visit with Hugh's family. We spent time going through Hugh's things and found more of his scouting memorabilia. Hugh's scouting experience came before I ever knew him, but I treasure these things because they represent parts of Hugh's life that were joyful and fulfilling to him and because they shaped and molded the man he became. They allow me to be close to Hugh even though he is not here physically. Even though the loss is sharp and painful, it is so much better to remember and to feel his presence in the memories.
Those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint. Isaiah 40:31
One of my great regrets is that I did not remember to include in Hugh's obituary that he was an Eagle Scout, a member of the Brotherhood of the Order of the Arrow, and a member of the Kappa Alpha Order. These details of Hugh's life say a lot about his character and his life and omitting them leaves his story incomplete. Perhaps it seems odd that such a little thing would trouble me, but the last month of Hugh's life and at his death, there were very few things I could do for him. After Hugh's death, telling his story was one of the things I could do and I wanted to do it well.
Like every good Eagle Scout, Hugh was always prepared. As I have rummaged through drawers and cleaned out closets, I have come across numerous labelled "kits." Hugh kept and made kits for all sorts of different things. He had the usual sewing kits, nail care kits, eye glass repair kits, assorted tool kits and a dop kit. But Hugh also made specialized kits. He had a "trial kit" which contained everything one might need at trial - paperclips, post its, page markers, labels, highlighters, pens, a stain remover pen, Tylenol, Tums and and the tiniest copy of the Federal Rules of Evidence you have ever seen. He had a "travel kit" for the car that had maps, over the counter medicines, tissues, wipes, flashlight, note pad, pen, extra reading glasses and anything else one might need on the road. Hugh had also made a "postage kit" that contained different denominations of stamps.
I spent our anniversary weekend at home and went through memorabilia and precious possessions. Among Hugh's things I found another kit. It was in one of the pockets of an old fishing vest there in a throat lozenge tin. I opened the tin expecting to find lozenges and found instead a tiny survival kit. In it there was a small bundle of waterproof matches, a ziplock back folded as small as possible and rubber banded. There were two neat little packages wrapped in tin foil. I hesitated to unwrap what Hugh had so carefully put together, but my curiosity go the best of me. In one tin foil bundle was a fishing line with a cork, sinker and hook. In the other, six aspirin in two neat rows. I wrapped everything back as neatly as possible and put it back in the tin. It is not a valuable thing. Not gold or jewelry. But it is priceless to me. It is the work of his hands, carefully put together for some expedition into the woods. A little piece of him left behind.
Hugh's scouting experience was something that he shared with us as a family and it enriched our lives. We often went camping as a family and Hugh always had the campsite organized and running smoothly. He was an expert on cooking and eating on the trail or at the campsite. Sometimes we took the girls and their friends camping on birthdays. Hugh would direct them to get the right kinds of wood to start the camp fire and show them how to start it and keep it going. We always had great meals and s'mores at night by the camp fire. Those are wonderful family memories that sustain me now. When I think of what we have lost, it is good to also think of what a wonderful husband and father we had and how fortunate we were to have him.
Recently, I met an old friend of Hugh's, Rufus Alldredge, who now practices law in Gulfport. Rufus told me that he and Hugh met through the Sierra Club in New Orleans while Hugh was in law school at Tulane. Rufus and Hugh hiked and camped part of the Appalachian Trail over one Christmas break with a small group from the Sierra Club. They had since reconnected and shared an interest in law office technology. Rufus has promised to email me with remembrances of their trip along the Appalachian trail. Hugh's camping and hiking experiences were a very happy part of his life and I am always glad to hear from people who shared those times with him. Hearing these stories is like gathering in the wheat. It is the harvest of a fruitful life.
Hugh's life brimmed with evidence of his boy scout experience. The young man in all those pictures and who earned all the badges and medals grew to be an honorable man and a good husband and father. The girls and I went to Natchez this past Saturday to visit with Hugh's family. We spent time going through Hugh's things and found more of his scouting memorabilia. Hugh's scouting experience came before I ever knew him, but I treasure these things because they represent parts of Hugh's life that were joyful and fulfilling to him and because they shaped and molded the man he became. They allow me to be close to Hugh even though he is not here physically. Even though the loss is sharp and painful, it is so much better to remember and to feel his presence in the memories.
Monday, June 20, 2011
The Second Story: The Book of Life
The Second Story: The Book of Life
Hugh had a special gift for relating to children. He loved them and they loved him. Fletcher Goodwin would meet Hugh in the sanctuary every Sunday morning with a big "high five." Fletcher sent Hugh a beautiful get well card while he was in the hospital. Ann Carlton Aldridge loved for Hugh to play with her and toss her in the air. Babies went to Hugh when no one else would do. I think they knew that he was "one of them," just a kid at heart.
Lila and Mary Parker Geddie spent lots of time with us, and Lila, in particular, had a very special relationship with Hugh. Rather than sit with her parents in church, Lila would sit with Hugh. She would get the comb he always carried in his pocket and stand in the pew beside him, combing his hair through the whole service. Hugh would sit there with broad smile, enjoying the attention and the service. The two of them provided plenty of amusement for those of us in the choir.
Recently, I spent some time with Lila's mother, Ann, and she told me about a book that Lila's father,Tim, had made for Lila about her life. The book contained photographs of important events and important people in Lila's short life. Ann told me that one of the pictures in the book was of Hugh with Lila and Mary Parker. Every year at Easter the Geddies take a picture of Parker and Lila in front of the cross outside the church. Hugh was watching this ritual a couple of years ago and Tim invited him to be in the picture with the girls since they loved him so much. Hugh was delighted, of course. This special picture made it into "The Story of Lila Geddie's Life."
There is a Judeo Christian tradition that the names of the righteous are written in the Book of Life. I think of the Book of Life not as a separating of good from evil, but as an affirmation that God calls each of us by name and claims us as his own as He certainly claims Hugh. Hugh's name is also written in the books of the lives of all the children he loved and he continues to live through them.
Hugh had a special gift for relating to children. He loved them and they loved him. Fletcher Goodwin would meet Hugh in the sanctuary every Sunday morning with a big "high five." Fletcher sent Hugh a beautiful get well card while he was in the hospital. Ann Carlton Aldridge loved for Hugh to play with her and toss her in the air. Babies went to Hugh when no one else would do. I think they knew that he was "one of them," just a kid at heart.
Lila and Mary Parker Geddie spent lots of time with us, and Lila, in particular, had a very special relationship with Hugh. Rather than sit with her parents in church, Lila would sit with Hugh. She would get the comb he always carried in his pocket and stand in the pew beside him, combing his hair through the whole service. Hugh would sit there with broad smile, enjoying the attention and the service. The two of them provided plenty of amusement for those of us in the choir.
Recently, I spent some time with Lila's mother, Ann, and she told me about a book that Lila's father,Tim, had made for Lila about her life. The book contained photographs of important events and important people in Lila's short life. Ann told me that one of the pictures in the book was of Hugh with Lila and Mary Parker. Every year at Easter the Geddies take a picture of Parker and Lila in front of the cross outside the church. Hugh was watching this ritual a couple of years ago and Tim invited him to be in the picture with the girls since they loved him so much. Hugh was delighted, of course. This special picture made it into "The Story of Lila Geddie's Life."
There is a Judeo Christian tradition that the names of the righteous are written in the Book of Life. I think of the Book of Life not as a separating of good from evil, but as an affirmation that God calls each of us by name and claims us as his own as He certainly claims Hugh. Hugh's name is also written in the books of the lives of all the children he loved and he continues to live through them.
Friday, May 13, 2011
The First Story: Bumps on Our Heads
My husband, Hugh, died of Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome on February 27th of this year at age 54. It was a terrible loss for me and for our daughters, Camille (17) and Susannah (15). But, we are moving forward, one step at a time, sometimes slowly and cautiously, but still moving forward.
If you have ever lost someone close to you in death, you know that it is hard to move forward and to leave them behind. For a while, you stay locked up in your grief in order to remain close to the person you have lost. But the world goes on around you. Babies are born and people rejoice. Other people die and other families grieve. Tornadoes and floods do their damage and recede, leaving behind bright blue skies and a huge mess to be cleaned up. People go on with work, family and lives. But you remain for a while, in your grief, as close as possible to the person you have lost. Afraid to go on without him. Afraid of losing him for good.
But one day you emerge. The sight of other people going on with living life finally gets to you. A ministry you love is moving forward without you and it is too much to see someone else doing what you love to do. There are friends and plays and dinners and parties and you feel left out of life. For a while you long to be invited, but if you are, you politely decline. “It’s too much,” you say. “It’s too soon.” But what you really mean is, “If I go, I will forget to grieve for him, and then he will be gone forever and I can’t bear to lose him.” But then one day you surprise yourself and say, “yes.” “Yes” to life and “yes” to love and friends and “yes”, even, to parties.
As you step forward into the sunlight, back into life, there is still the worry that you are leaving behind him and a part of yourself along with him. But as you rejoin life, you are surprised to find that he is there with you, in the midst of life moving forward, in the midst of everything that happens. Still a source of guidance, strength and comfort. Still a part of you, and not left behind at all.
We are stepping back into the sunlight now and joining the stream of life. But it is still important to remember Hugh and to tell his story and ours as a family. As I have told my friends the stories of my experiences since Hugh's death, they have all said, "You need to write about this!" So here goes.
The First Story
We have always had difficulty packing up to go anywhere together as a family. There are always lost car keys and other items, forgotten chores and all sorts of crises due to our carelessness or forgetfulness and which were invariably solved by Hugh. As a result, Hugh always told us that if it weren't for him, we would all be stuck in the house with bumps on our heads from trying to get out the front door. We protested that we were competent people and we could manage just fine on our own, thank you kindly. But the proof is in the pudding.
On the day Hugh died, I called the family to come to the hospital. My parents, Gran and Grandad, were the first to arrive with our 14 year old daughter, Susannah. Susannah was anguished and cried for a long time when I told her that her father would not live. She seemed inconsolable, but finally, all cried out, she came and sat beside me on the couch in the waiting room. She was silent for a while, and then said, "Well, I guess we'll have bumps on our heads."
It has been almost 4 months since Hugh died, and it turns out that we are not quite as competent as we assumed. We have lots of bumps on our heads. It turns out that Hugh did more for us than we ever realized. He kept the house stocked with all household necessaries (paper towels, toilet paper, garbage bags, cleaning supplies, etc.). We never had to think of these things. They were always there for us. He did the taxes, paid the bills, handled all the insurance and business matters, kept the cars maintained, changed the air conditioner filters, kept spare keys hidden for occasions when we lost ours, rescued us from each and every crisis of our own making, and the list goes on and on.
We have learned to keep spare keys stashed in secure places, to check the cabinets to see if we are low on household necessities when we go to the grocery store. I have learned to pay the bills using Hugh's online bill paying service and have hired an accountant to do the taxes. We are getting fewer bumps on our heads as time goes by. But we remember all those things Hugh did for us and I am quite certain that his faithful attention to these things was an expression of his deep love for us.
If you have ever lost someone close to you in death, you know that it is hard to move forward and to leave them behind. For a while, you stay locked up in your grief in order to remain close to the person you have lost. But the world goes on around you. Babies are born and people rejoice. Other people die and other families grieve. Tornadoes and floods do their damage and recede, leaving behind bright blue skies and a huge mess to be cleaned up. People go on with work, family and lives. But you remain for a while, in your grief, as close as possible to the person you have lost. Afraid to go on without him. Afraid of losing him for good.
But one day you emerge. The sight of other people going on with living life finally gets to you. A ministry you love is moving forward without you and it is too much to see someone else doing what you love to do. There are friends and plays and dinners and parties and you feel left out of life. For a while you long to be invited, but if you are, you politely decline. “It’s too much,” you say. “It’s too soon.” But what you really mean is, “If I go, I will forget to grieve for him, and then he will be gone forever and I can’t bear to lose him.” But then one day you surprise yourself and say, “yes.” “Yes” to life and “yes” to love and friends and “yes”, even, to parties.
As you step forward into the sunlight, back into life, there is still the worry that you are leaving behind him and a part of yourself along with him. But as you rejoin life, you are surprised to find that he is there with you, in the midst of life moving forward, in the midst of everything that happens. Still a source of guidance, strength and comfort. Still a part of you, and not left behind at all.
We are stepping back into the sunlight now and joining the stream of life. But it is still important to remember Hugh and to tell his story and ours as a family. As I have told my friends the stories of my experiences since Hugh's death, they have all said, "You need to write about this!" So here goes.
The First Story
We have always had difficulty packing up to go anywhere together as a family. There are always lost car keys and other items, forgotten chores and all sorts of crises due to our carelessness or forgetfulness and which were invariably solved by Hugh. As a result, Hugh always told us that if it weren't for him, we would all be stuck in the house with bumps on our heads from trying to get out the front door. We protested that we were competent people and we could manage just fine on our own, thank you kindly. But the proof is in the pudding.
On the day Hugh died, I called the family to come to the hospital. My parents, Gran and Grandad, were the first to arrive with our 14 year old daughter, Susannah. Susannah was anguished and cried for a long time when I told her that her father would not live. She seemed inconsolable, but finally, all cried out, she came and sat beside me on the couch in the waiting room. She was silent for a while, and then said, "Well, I guess we'll have bumps on our heads."
It has been almost 4 months since Hugh died, and it turns out that we are not quite as competent as we assumed. We have lots of bumps on our heads. It turns out that Hugh did more for us than we ever realized. He kept the house stocked with all household necessaries (paper towels, toilet paper, garbage bags, cleaning supplies, etc.). We never had to think of these things. They were always there for us. He did the taxes, paid the bills, handled all the insurance and business matters, kept the cars maintained, changed the air conditioner filters, kept spare keys hidden for occasions when we lost ours, rescued us from each and every crisis of our own making, and the list goes on and on.
We have learned to keep spare keys stashed in secure places, to check the cabinets to see if we are low on household necessities when we go to the grocery store. I have learned to pay the bills using Hugh's online bill paying service and have hired an accountant to do the taxes. We are getting fewer bumps on our heads as time goes by. But we remember all those things Hugh did for us and I am quite certain that his faithful attention to these things was an expression of his deep love for us.
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