A new , old resolution

I will survive this. That is my new year's resolution. It's not really a new one for me, but it's needed again. Because of the circumstances facing me many years ago, I made the resolution that I will survive this. "This" meant loneliness, depression, uncertainty, doubt, anger, grief, fear, exhaustion, lack of money, whatever the situation was at the time.

The key to survival was gritting my teeth, speaking my mind to God, and determining to get through it. Then whether or not I felt like it, whether or not it was done in sincerity or hypocrisy, I chose to praise God. Thank God. Worship God. My heart wasn't full of gratitude, it was full of hurt and bitterness, but I walked around in my bedroom and praised God anyway, even as I told him that I didn't really mean it.

Gradually the depression and self-pity lifted. Gradually the praise became sincere and I could feel something other than sorry for myself. Like repentance. I could ask God to forgive me for holding a grudge, forgive me for not trusting him more, and ask for his help in starting my life over. And of course my life did start over. I did survive.

As 2009 is about to begin, I need to make that resolution again. I still miss Tim so much and it's been two years now. I think about him all during the day, imagining who he's talking to, what he's working on, the kind of day he's having. Some days I feel completely in limbo, just treading water really. I know he wouldn't be pleased with that and I know the Lord isn't pleased with that.

It's time for survival mode again, and that's my new year's resolution.

Anniversaries

Tomorrow is the second anniversary of Tim's death. Christmas Day would have been our 24th wedding anniversary. And Christmas Eve-Eve (23rd) would have been the 20th anniversary of Tim's double transplant surgery in Minnesota.

Today was harder than most people will ever know for me. It took an extra effort for me to go to Sunday School and church, come home and prepare lunch for myself, chat with a friend who needed something notarized, and talk on the phone with my son for a while.

I wanted to just curl up in bed and maybe watch an old movie, but instead I checked my email and Facebook account and wrote early happy birthday notes to several Facebook pals - tomorrow is their actual birthday.

Never once did I or anyone else mention the date, although I have certainly thought about it a lot in the last few days.

I got a phone call yesterday morning from a woman asking to speak to Timothy. I asked, "May I ask why you're calling?" She said she was calling from the University of Minnesota Transplant registry office. So I told her that Tim died December 15, 2006 and that the Transplant team had been notified about it at that time.

She apologized several times, saying that the "call list" had never been updated. She seemed truly sorry, but we didn't speak any further than that. I have no idea the purpose of the call, but it could have been a fund-raising call since they occasionally do that.

Also yesterday I did donate the clothing to the Hispanic ministry, as well as the Suzuki keyboard that I never use. Annette said that they'd had a break-in at their church building and everything they owned had been stolen, including musical instruments, so they were very glad to get the keyboard. And I was very glad they could use it.

Sally had taken me out to lunch for Christmas, then came back to the condo with me and we chatted for a while. She was still here when Annette came, and she helped carry the items out for Annette. We didn't talk about the date then, either, although we did talk casually about Tim in passing.

Later on Sally emailed me the little story below. It's made the rounds before but it was timely and it certainly reflects the way I feel about dying. Whenever my thoughts go back two years, I can feel Tim and the Lord re-directing my thoughts to the present, to the way things are for him now in heaven, and I make the conscious effort not to look back.

Here's the story...
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There was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things "in order," she contacted her pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in.

Everything was in order and the pastor was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her. "There's one more thing," she said excitedly.

"What's that?" came the pastor's reply. "This is very important," the young woman continued. "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand." The pastor stood looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say.

"That surprises you, doesn't it?" the young woman asked. "Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the pastor. The young woman explained. "My grandmother once told me this story, and from there on out, I have always done so. I have also always tried to pass along its message to those I love and those who are in need of encouragement.

"In all my years of attending church socials and potluck dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork.' It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming ... like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie, something wonderful, with substance!

"So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder, 'What's with the fork?' Then I want you to tell them: "Keep your fork ... the best is yet to come."

The pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the young woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience and knowledge. She KNEW that something better was coming.

At the funeral people were walking by the young woman's casket and they saw the pretty dress she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the pastor heard the question "What's with the fork?" And over and over he smiled.

During his message, the pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her.

The pastor told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either. He was right. So the next time you reach down for your fork, let it remind you ever so gently, that the best is yet to come.

Friends are a very rare jewel, indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They lend an ear, they share a word of praise, and they always want to open their hearts to us. Show your friends how much you care. Remember to always be there for them, even when you need them more. For you never know when it may be their time to "Keep your fork."

Cherish the time you have, and the memories you share. Being friends with someone is not an opportunity, but a sweet responsibility. Send this to everyone you consider a FRIEND even if it means sending back to the person who sent it to you. And keep your fork!

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Those are my sentiments, too, so I'm sharing this little story with whoever reads this.

Another step forward

Christmas time, still reflecting...

I realized one day, looking at the box of Tim's clothes in the bedroom and at his clothes still hanging in the closet, that if I wait much longer to donate them to someone, they won't be usable. Wrinkles will get to be too permanent, material dried out and a bit brittle, that sort of thing. Plus, if I keep looking at them every time I get something of my own out of the closet, I'll just keep hurting myself, afresh and anew. It's time to have them picked up by one of the local ministries.

One time years ago we called the boys' home over in Darlington, after Tim's transplant surgery when he had put on a lot of weight and we had essentially bought him a whole new wardrobe. They were very grateful to get all the shirts and pants, plus sports coats that he couldn't fit into any more. I may call them again.

I haven't seen any of Tim's family now in quite a while. I called and left a message on Angie's voice mail but didn't get a return call. I mailed Liam a birthday present, a book from Toys R Us, no card in it or anything, thinking Angie would probably call before the 11th - Liam will turn 4 years old that day.

While I was at Toys R Us I went ahead and bought both kids Christmas gifts, but I'll wait another week to mail those, this time with a card. I won't be giving any adult Christmas presents this year due to the state of everybody's finances. Hopefully 2009 will be a better year, eventually, and next Christmas we can go back to our normal gift-exchanging routine.

I remember the first Christmas Tim and I were dating, when between the both of us we went to about 20 different parties, some of which were gift-exchanging events. Tim was a member of the American Diabetic Association, the Heart Association, Federation for the Blind, Full Gospel Businessmen, Civitans, plus some other groups in Williamsburg and Florence Counties. Then there were employers (mine), churches, Sunday School classes, political get-togethers, you name it, if it had a party, we went to it.

A lot of the gifts we exchanged were "white elephant" types - give something you already have or something cheap. Some were serious, some were gags, and none cost much if anything. I still have at least one of those - a small casserole dish, hand-painted. I like it and use it once in a while.

At almost all of those parties, we sang traditional Christmas carols and funny children's songs (Up on the Housetop and All I Want for Christmas, for instance, and Jingle Bells). We ate the traditional holiday goodies (sugar-free ones for Tim since he was still diabetic in those days) and enjoyed catching up on news with everybody.

Over the years the numbers of parties dwindled and the groups changed somewhat, but after Tim's transplant he could eat sweets so we still consumed quite a few Christmas calories every year! It will be a much quieter holiday this year, all in all. But with or without presents, with or without high-calorie snacks, the reason for the season is still there.

Thinking, just thinking...

Today is December 1st, 2008. Nearly two years since Tim died. The past couple of weeks I've had a hard time getting into the "holiday spirit," having to try hard to be cheerful for other people's sake. This Thanksgiving was the first one in my entire life that I did not spend with family, either my own or in-laws, and it wasn't much fun. I went over to Trinity church to eat dinner. The church prepares a full meal for the House of Hope residents (men and women's homes) and the Hispanic ministry, plus singles and elderly couples who don't want to cook for themselves.

I sat with the "other" Betty Cox and her husband S.L., both in their 80's now, and Edna Fludd, age 96, plus Perry Mobley, now 80 years old. He is our interim pastor again - he was our founding pastor, actually, many years ago. His wife Jean was helping out in the kitchen so she came and sat with us only for a few minutes. There was one other "youngster" at our table, a woman who is probably half my age.

It was a strange meal. The food was good, lots of traditional dishes and desserts. There was actually way more food than we needed, since the crowd seemed considerably smaller than had been expected.

Sitting next to Edna, I said little, just listened to comparisons of aches and pains, surgeries past and upcoming. I was remembering years past when Tim and I were surrounded by either his family or mine, enjoying laughter, catching up with news, watching the little kids having a ball. I was wishing I had stayed home and eaten a TV dinner and then feeling a little guilty about that, and tried to be interested in the comments of my table companions.

I gladly gave Edna a ride home, chatting about her health, her neighbors, discovering that she had known Frances Baily for many years - they were neighbors. I explained that Tim and I had known Frances from the Full Gospel Businessmen's Fellowship way back in the 1980's. She told me that Frances had died a couple of years ago, which I hadn't known. That made me even sadder.

I have so much to be thankful for, it's really selfish of me to feel sorry for myself right now. I could have driven down to the farm last Saturday to be with Betty Gosnell, Tim's aunt, her family and whoever else from Tim's family gathered for their usual after-Thanksgiving meal. Bryan, Sam and Olivia were there I know, I haven't heard whether Angie went or not, or Dale and Jon.

But I had promised to practice with Bernie Shick - another 80 or so year old - for him to sing at church Sunday, and I hadn't thought that Betty would have the dinner this year since Ora Lee died. Then it turned out that Ed Clement needed me to play for him to sing at a funeral Saturday afternoon, the grandmother of one of Ed's co-workers. We listened to the Carolina / Clemson football disaster (Clemson won) on the way to the church and back. It was cold and rainy, which didn't help.

But the sun came out today and although it was chilly and windy, the sunshine always makes things seem better, and for that I'm grateful. It was a much better way to start December, and my day needed some brightening.