Three years. One thousand ninety five days. Without Kevin.
Today was a little tougher than I had anticipated. I found myself having to push through.
Random thoughts without adequate transitions...
Another widow whose husband died of glioblastoma asked our Facebook group, “Have any of you reinvented yourself since being a widow?” I was surprised by how many changes other survivors have made--a different house, a new car, a job change, a different style of dress, and even a new person in their life for some.
I thought I would make changes. I thought I would use my grief to reconstruct an improved me. It was even in my blog on the one year anniversary of Kevin’s death. But honestly, Kevin could walk back in my life today without noticing a whole lot of change. He’d be disappointed in how dirty the car is, but pleased that the gas tank is full. He wouldn’t be crazy about how my gardening junk is taking up so much space in the garage, but he’d admire the snowblower his Mom and Dad loaned me. I’d have to confess that I put a scratch on his truck.
But I haven’t grown or changed...yet…
Several weeks ago, I was meeting with a church group and we were discussing the Bible passage for the coming Sunday. Matthew 24:40-44: “Two men will be in the field; one will be taken and the other left. Two women will be grinding with a hand mill; one will be taken and the other left. Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come. But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into. So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.”
Our leader asked if anyone wanted to pick a person in the passage and describe how they might feel. Not confident in my Bible interpretations, I usually hold back, but this time I volunteered quickly.
I imagine myself to be the man in the field or woman at the mill who got left behind. Kevin got to go...and I didn’t. In my mind, I was always going to go first, but it didn’t work out that way. God didn’t think I was good enough. God takes the good ones.
A wise woman of our church (she’d get a kick out of that description and most likely correct it with wise-a**). To start again, a wise woman of our church said, “I’d like to think he left a few good ones behind.”
My self-centered being often has tunnel vision. She opened my eyes to the bigger picture. Of course, God leaves good ones behind. I witness that Every. Single. Day. Like my neighbor who helps with my shoveling. Or the friends and family who remember that today might be rough and send a text to show they care. Or parents who include me in their socializing so I’m not home alone. Good people. Every. Single. Day.
Isn’t it interesting how just the right sliver of information crosses your path when you need it? Over break, the weather was nice enough to venture out for a walk. When not with my walking partner, I like to listen to podcasts. I had not listened in quite a while so my choices were plentiful. Scroll. Scroll. Scroll. “Two Powerful Words That Can Change Your Life.” Yep, that’s what I need.
Stepping my way through the streets of Bangor, I learn of the power of I am. “Whatever follows I am comes looking for you.” The negative self-talk that fills my head, and is even voiced out loud, is inviting self-condemnation rather than the change and growth I am seeking. Crossing the tracks and processing the words with each step I hear, “If you are breathing, God has a purpose for you. As long as you have breath, someone needs what you have.”
I don’t know why God left me behind. Yet I am reminded that he has plans.
As today winds to a close, I am thankful for:
for those who remember and reach out
(and as silly as it sounds, for the technology that allows those messages to be received instantly and unobtrusively)
Saturday morning, grief showed up out of nowhere, and I just don't get it... So I am writing to help process.
Let me back up a bit. A few weeks ago I signed up for the Citizen's Academy class put on by the Sparta Police Department. This was a stretch for me because I was signing up for an extended commitment by myself...strange people, strange place. I often wonder if Kevin would have joined the class with me if he were still alive. Although it hasn't really presented an opportunity to meet new people, the sessions so far have been interesting. If given the chance to sign up for a similar class in your area, I would recommend it.
On Saturday, the focus of our session was the shooting range. We would have an opportunity to shoot a pistol (an officer's service weapon), a rifle, and a type of assault rifle. You can tell my knowledge of guns is shining through. I don't believe I have really even held a gun before much less shot one. I never even shot our BB gun. Kevin hunted. The kids both took hunter's safety courses and have hunted. I just never had an interest.
To say I was nervous was a bit of an understatement. As usual, I was beginning to make a mountain out of a mole hill. I didn't know what to expect, and I didn't want to screw up (or heaven forbid someone get hurt).
As I drove myself from the Police Department to the shooting range, I could start to feel my emotions over take me. Why was I getting teary eyed? I contemplated just turning around and going home. But I wanted to say, "I did that" instead of being a quitter.
As the officers finished the final setup and gave an overview of their weapons and gear, I tried hard to take it all in. Of course, this was all second nature to them so they went really fast and no one had any questions. The rest of the group seemed pretty excited for the adventure. As the "eyes and ears" (protective eye wear and ear wear) were being distributed, I said quietly to the officer in charge, "I've never even held a gun before and I'm really nervous." He was super supportive and said the officers would help and "don't do anything you are not comfortable with."
As we moved toward the shooting area, one of the ladies said, "Are you nervous?" I must have had a blinking sign on my forehead. "Yeah," I replied with a shaky voice. And the tears started for no reason and I had to walk away. What was the big deal? Why was I over reacting?
As we broke into groups, I was hoping to go with the other females but that would have made the groups too uneven. Three of us wandered over to the pistol area. As the other two in my group received instructions and shot, I tried hard to pick up on everything being taught (not an easy task when wearing noise cancelling headphones and other guns were going off).
When it was my turn, I repeated to this officer that I had never held a gun before. He too was super helpful and patient, but I was a complete basket case. Yes, I was nervous, but my reactions (tears and shaking) were over the top and ridiculous. The officer loaded the magazine for me (like he did the others), but he also pulled the slide back too (something the rest did on their own). I asked how bad the kick would be. He said there would be some, but not bad. He was right. I honestly tried to aim at the target, but I was shaking so much. A co-worker gave me advice on Friday to take a deep breath before shooting to calm the nerves. I tried...no luck. Every time I took a deep breath, the officer would say, "You're doing fine." Really?? Maybe he was trying to convince himself. Because we were sharing a target, I don't have a clue if I even hit the target. I didn't empty the magazine; the officer finished it off for me.
I walked away trying to gain some composure. The officer in charge walked me back over by the picnic tables and asked some questions. Again, no clue why I couldn't control the tears. I apologized; I was embarrassed. Was it because I had never asked Kevin to show me the basics? Was it because I didn't have someone to remind me "it wasn't a big deal", or better yet, "it isn't that bad"? Kevin was never really a cheerleader (his legs were too hairy for the skirt), so I wasn't likely to hear "You can do it." But he was my steady rock who reminded me when I was making a big deal out of nothing.
After getting myself together, I walked over by the rifle area. A little piece of me wanted to try it to say I had done it. A bigger piece of me was too chicken. I had watched one young man take a shot and it knocked him back, so clearly it had much more of a kick. With no encouragement to try the rifle, I thought I should try the pistol again now that I had calmed down a bit. However, when everyone was done, no one else wanted to shoot again, and I most certainly didn't want the whole group watching me.
We finished early. Tears again as I drove out...ashamed and embarrassed. What was wrong with me?
It still doesn't make sense. I'm not depressed. I get up every day and go to work and lead a "normal" life. I'm not reduced to tears at the slightest emotion. But I guess grief doesn't necessarily make sense.
So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy. John 16:22
Saturday July 29, 2019: Wedding of
Kailey and Peter Warrichaiet (Reflections from Keaton Hilby)
For the last 12+ months we had been
anticipating this day.As the days grew
closer, I had a knot in my throat. I was excited for Kailey, but worried about the
void that would be as clear as ever. I
told myself it wouldn’t be that hard, but tears welled up in my eyes every time
I thought about the day. I often envision what his smile would have been like
seeing her for the first time, watching them embrace, and his firm grip as he
shook Peter’s hand. While I was happy to take his place, I kept thinking, “if
only he could be here for one more day, even if it was just for Kailey.”
About a half hour after we experienced
the cardinal, Grandma Schmig returned to the venue to bring us a few more items
for setup.As she walked in, she stopped
and smiled and said: “Keaton, when I got home I had a visitor.”She proceeded to tell me that she was about
to pull into her driveway when a cardinal swooped in front of her car. Not
wanting to hit it, she stopped and thought ‘get out of the way dummy.’The cardinal then landed on her mailbox and
looked at her.At that point she said,
“That cardinal was Kevin telling me to slow down and stop rushing. Today was
going to be ok.”
A cardinal is a
representative of a loved one who has passed. When you see one, it means they
are visiting you. They usually show up when you most need them or miss them.
They also make an appearance during times of celebration as well as despair to
let you know they will always be with you.
Photo by Jacob Hilby
The day ended up being near
perfect.It was hot, but the sun was
shining, and there was a slight breeze, not a typical St. Joseph’s Ridge
day.There were some surprises (both
good and bad).The getaway car sputtered
to a stop less than a mile from the church, but in a spot that made it easy to
get to our cousin’s, the Burns’, house so that Kailey still got her wish of
getting pictures with it. That also meant that Peter got to take his bride away
in his dream car, a GMC Caballero.Another surprise (for Kailey) came when Mom changed up the ‘father
daughter’ dance song.The song was
changed to Fathers and Daughters by
Michael Bolton, with Dad’s voice taken from home videos overlaid into the
musical interludes. I was able to share the dance with both Grandpa’s who have
undoubtedly played a big role in Kailey’s life as well. She was then able to
dance with most of her uncles to You
Should Be Here by Cole Swindell.There
were tears. Lots of them.
The day left us with so much to be
thankful for:
·For Peter and his family
·A day filled with love surrounded by family and
friends
·Signs from God, that we’re all going to be ok
because of those he has sent to watch over us
·The memories of loved ones
“God also bearing witness with
them, both by signs and wonders, and by manifold powers, and by gifts of the
Holy Spirit, according to his own will."
Last weekend, my favorite daughter... Oh, wait, some of you are having an issue right now. Parents can't have favorites. Yes, they can. I have a favorite son too! Anyway...
Last weekend, my favorite daughter had the urge to haul her box of school memorabilia out of the attic and sort through it. Now this child isn't quite normal. If she has something that needs to be organized, even if it is already in a box in the attic where no one can see it, she cannot let it be. Her mother, on the other hand, is more of an "out of sight, out of mind" kind of organizer. Thinking about sorting a box like that would make me groan (and procrastinate). Not this child.
So Kailey was on her bedroom floor working her way through her box. Every now and then she would holler out a comment to share with me. "This says one of my best friends in kindergarten was Sam. I don't even remember a Sam."
Later, she came downstairs with a red spiral notebook in her hands. "Guess what I found?" It was her 2nd grade Take Home Journal. This discovery didn't mean to much to me. I didn't even remember it. Then Kailey explained, "Every week I had to write a letter to you and Dad. Then you had to respond." She had found writings from her Dad!
This journal was a way for a little 2nd grader to share what she learned and practice her writing skills. Now it contains a collection of memories which we will treasure.
Although Kevin was not known for a love of reading or writing, his messages to Kailey let his personality shine through. In her September 28 entry, Kailey wrote about her class's walk down "Camershl Street" as part of their study of where they live. She ended with, "Today we made apple pie." Not surprising, Kevin responded with "How come you did not bring a piece of apple pie home for me? I bet it tasted really good." I can imagine him saying those words in his teasing manner.
In a later entry he was hoping to get some more snow "so we can go snowmobiling." That was a typic wish during the winter months. I commented to Kailey that in a few earlier entries I barely recognized Kevin's handwriting. She reminded me that we were instructed to print so she could read our writing.
I'm not certain what provoked Kailey to feel the desire to go through her box again. It was not a disarray of papers without rhyme or reason like one might expect. Instead, it was already an extremely organized collection of envelopes and folders and notebooks. What a treat for her (us) to stumble across this particular notebook.
So today I am thankful for
An organized daughter who has carefully kept mementos from her childhood.
A teacher's assigned task which helped students to learn and grow but also engage parents in the process.
A year ago…it feels like forever.Forever since I’ve heard Kevin’s laugh. Forever since we have snuggled in bed.Forever since we’ve shared a conversation.Forever since I’ve held his hand.
I haven’t written in a long time either.I’ve wanted to because it helps me process. I’ve started the writings in my head many times but I always give up.There are no newsy details to keep people updated.It just always seemed like a woe-is-me tale and no one needs to read that.
Too often I find myself being swallowed up by my own self pity…and then I have to have that conversation in my head that reminds me of all of the things I do have…great kids and family and friends and a job and a house and and and.
Obviously, the first few months were very difficult.I was alone.I’m an extrovert so I need to say all of those thoughts and feelings out loud.It isn’t good enough to just think about them.I’m not deep and self-reflective with my own inner joy.Happiness for me comes when something is shared. That was gone.
However, through my readings and grief class and things I ran across, I thought my grief could help change me.I think I’ve shared this quote before that I carry around in my phone, “The reality is that you will grieve forever.You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it.You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered.You will be whole again but you will never be the same.Nor would you want to.” I thought this could be a push to be better. I posted two quotes on my mirror:“Life is happening for us…not to us” and “Problems make us grow, sculpt our soul, make us more.”
I took the quotes down a little while ago.I found I wasn’t seeing them any more even though I looked at that mirror at least once very single day.Instead of using my grief to become more, this past year I’ve become less. (Well, physically I’m not less.I’m more.My pairs of pants that no longer fit and the recent doctor visit prove that my “Queen of the Couch Potato” status have added to the more category when it comes to pounds.) But as a person I am less. I’m not sure how hours or even weekends can go by and I have done absolutely nothing.I remember when my life used to be busy…projects to work on, places to go, people to see. Now a week can go by and I haven’t done anything except go to work. But it is my own fault. The couch seems to always be calling me.
Isn’t it odd?I should know first hand how short life can be. Yet, I continue to waste precious hours and days and weeks.
I haven’t given up on the idea of building a better me, but I’m starting with a baby step.When the new year rolled around, you may have seen people post about their #oneword2018. What one word was going to be the focus for 2018? I was intrigued by the idea, but scrolled by it many times without applying it to myself…because I’m good at that. Finally something clicked.But my one word is two.And it’s not profound or self-reflective or even going to lead me to a healthier life (because I should have chosen #exercise!).Instead, it is simply Do More.We’ll see where that leads me.
Although I don’t tell her enough, my lifesaver this year has been Kailey living at home.There is someone to ask, “How was your day?” Someone to make sure you don’t go out the door looking like a total geek. Someone to cook for. Someone to come home to.I know that will change, but the “roomie” status is working for now. Besides, she reminds me to put my “adventure straps” on and give something a try.
So one year later… I wanted to commemorate the day.Not with sadness and tears, but with remembrance.I haven’t quite figured out how to do that yet.We are going to church with the Hilby family and Polly is hosting brunch after.Keaton was invited to go snowmobiling with friends.He faced that guilt trip dilemma…what do I do?In my opinion, the answer was easy.“What would your dad do?”Go snowmobiling.Keaton textedhe wasn’t “prepared for the range of emotions this weekend.”I understand but I think he made a perfect choice for celebrating his dad.
I’ll most likely crack open a Bud Light (Kevin’s beer choice, not mine) and give him a silent toast.I would not wish him back…only wish I could go with.
He will wipe away every tear from their eyes,
and death shall be no more,
neither shall there be mourning, nor crying,
nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.
Revelation 21:4
So today I am thankful
for a roomie who keeps me in line
for a snowmobile weekend for Keaton
for family to share stories
for the thoughtful cards and kind words sent our way
On our way to church this morning Keaton said, "I'm not sure if 'Happy Anniversary' is the right thing to say today." I wasn't sure either. I think I replied, "It's fine."
So do you say "Happy Anniversary" when someone isn't on Earth to celebrate? I thought about that a lot today.
No matter what, it's still an anniversary..."the date on which an event took place in a previous year." It could be a business opening or starting a job or getting married or an accident. Even if Kevin isn't here, the event still happened. The anniversary doesn't disappear.
If Kevin had been here today, and been healthy, we most likely would have had a pretty uneventful and normal day...church, breakfast, chores, a motorcycle ride, and probably a meal at Culver's. We were never big on flowers or gifts or surprises. We didn't need it. Quite often it felt like every other day. However, today, I found myself repeating in my head over and over, "Today is our anniversary." I'm not sure why I needed to say it again and again.
It felt right today that we had the opportunity to visit with both sets of parents. It also somehow felt right that I found out this morning that Kevin's grave stone had been put in place and we had the time to visit his grave site. As I thought at the time of his burial, the setting is beautiful. You can't help but appreciate the surroundings.
So back to the original question, "Is Happy Anniversary the right thing to say?" Although there have been sad moments today (and will be tonight since the day isn't over yet), I think the answer is "Yes".
That incredibly hot and humid day back in 1988 was fun. It was the joining of two families. It was a celebration. I look back on it and we were happy. So yes, "Happy Anniversary!"
So tonight I am thankful for:
My many years married to Kevin.
The family and friends that I gained through our marriage.
The wonderful ceremony and celebration we had.
Pictures to help us remember.
The memories.
"Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor:
If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.
Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone?"
Long before Kevin was diagnosed, we had talked about cremation. It just felt like the right thing to do for us. Kevin wanted his ashes spread on the farm. He'd say, "Just throw me in the manure spreader." (Those one liners still make me smile.)
As the reality of death set in and we met with a funeral director and Deacon (Uncle) Bob, we learned that the Catholic faith does not allow for ashes to be distributed. Remains need to be buried. Kevin took the lead at this point and called about a burial plot on St. Joseph's Ridge. Thankfully there was a single plot available right next to Kevin's parents' plot. I filled out the paperwork and made the purchase.
After Kevin's death, when making the final funeral arrangements, I decided that we would have the actual burial at a later time. I knew the funeral would be large and I wanted the opportunity to visit with those who had taken the time to attend. The drive from West Salem to the Ridge and back, along with the brief burial service, could most likely take an hour and I know from experience that many people won't stick around that long. Plus, it was January and I am not a fan of the cold.
Initially, I had planned to have the burial service around the time of Kevin's birthday (April 28). As the date approached, it didn't make sense to me. The family would be gathering for Easter and it didn't make sense to have family make a special trip again so soon for what would most likely be a 10 minute ceremony.
Each year the Zietlow family (Kevin's mom's family) plans a reunion on the Ridge around Father's Day weekend. Since Kevin's family would be attending the reunion, it seemed more practical to schedule the burial on the same day. After several phone calls and texts, Kevin's mom set a date and place for the reunion. Although the time and place changed as the date drew closer, Polly did an excellent job of keeping everyone updated. Polly and Dave were gracious enough to host the meal at their house and even extend an invitation to my family. (My Dad was so impressed with the food that he has already invited himself to their reunion again next year!)
Deacon Bob had agreed to lead the burial service. Because family would be taking the time to attend, I wanted to make this special. Coming up with ideas was stressful for me. Kailey had said, "Doing a Google search for burial service ideas doesn't help much." Believe me, I knew. I had done multiple searches using various terminology myself with no luck. I had even sent out a plea via Facebook to other surviving wives of GBM with no luck. Other wives were looking for ideas too.
Somehow it all just seems to come together.
Let me digress a minute. Before having embarked on this journey, I wasn't quite sure what to think of people who kept an urn full of ashes on their mantel. In my mind, it wasn't wrong, but I just didn't understand it. Yet, Kevin's ashes had sat in his box on the piano bench for nearly 5 months. I wonder if people were "creeped out" by that. No one ever said anything. In my mind, those ashes weren't Kevin. He is in heaven, not in that box. Although I might have occasionally place my hand on the box as I walked by, I was no closer to him there than I was standing at his toolbox in the garage or looking at a picture of him. Once again, this was a startling reminder to me that I cannot fully understand someone's perspective until I have been in their place so I should not make judgements.
The box that Kevin's nephew Andrew had made for the ashes had a little extra room in it. The kids and I decided to add some trinkets that reminded us of Kevin.
A pocket knife - because he always had one with him. Kevin was the go-to guy at Christmas time to open a box or release a toy from its packaging because he had a pocket knife
A John Deere sticker - for his love of farming and John Deere tractors
A Peterbilt emblem - for his strong work ethic and his dedication to a company and the trucking industry
A deer hunting license from the year he shot his big buck - because hunting was a family and friend tradition that he looked forward to each year
A Dutz's beer chip - because he loved a good time and a cold beer
A little wrench - because he could fix anything
A do-rag (Kevin called it a dude-rag) - for the enjoyment of riding motorcycle. Initially, this do-rag was purchased as a joke. Kevin always wore a helmet when riding and this wasn't quite his style. He occasionally wore the rag when his hair got grimy at work so he'd keep the inside of his helmet clean. Later, after his head was shaved for surgery, he said the hair stubble felt like velcro on his helmet so he wore the do-rag as a covering.
A Whelen racing/Nascar patch - for his love of racing, especially with Keaton. Like the day of the burial, the Saturday before Father's day was when Keaton won a feature in the Sportsmen division. Kevin was so proud. He said it was the best Father's Day present.
A finger rosary - to represent faith in Kevin's life
A picture of our family - to signify the importance of family in Kevin's life and how important he was in our life
The stone marks Kevin's parents' plot. The white planter is
not styrofoam as many thought...it's a Pinterest attempt at
a planter using a cinderblock.
The burial service was scheduled for 3:30. I had pushed the kids to get ready so we could arrive early. I had not seen the actual burial plot yet and I felt the need to get mentally "set up." Not surprisingly, Uncle Bob was there when we arrived, perhaps doing the same thing.
Although it wasn't expected because people had already said their goodbyes during the funeral in January, it was heartwarming to see so many people there and hug them as they arrived. Normally the Ridge is always windy, that day was still and cloudy. The setting was beautiful overlooking the sloping hills, trees and fields.
Bob let me start things off. I thanked everyone for coming, gave an overview of what to expect, and then asked for some time with just the kids and I at the end. I knelt down next to his box and talked about each of the items we had selected as a remembrance of Kevin and placed them one by one in the box before closing the latches. As Deacon Bob continued with the readings and prayers, I couldn't help but look out and appreciate the people there as well as the beautiful surroundings.
After Deacon Bob, the kids, and I had sprinkled Holy water onto the box, Keaton lowered it into the
ground. I had asked Dave and Polly to bring dirt from the farm since Kevin's ashes could not be spread on the farm. With an old metal bucket of farm dirt and a basketful of rose petals (dried from the funeral bouquets) next to the plot, we asked people to come forward to spread the dirt and flowers. The kids had chosen two songs to play in the background as people came forward (Carrie Underwood's See you again and Zach Brown Band's My Old Man). It was a thoughtful tribute to a wonderful man.
As the other's left, the kids and I sat around the burial plot. I pulled out a blue folder with two typewritten pages...letters to Keaton and Kailey from their Dad.
As Kevin worked through his journey to the end of life, I wanted him to do things his way rather than what I thought I would do if I was in his place. Initially, I don't believe Kevin thought he was going to die. Eventually, as his body began to deteriorate, reality set in. I finally asked him about writing letters to the kids. He was hesitant, undoubtedly unsure of what to say. I told him I'd open my computer and type. He could just talk. Unfortunately, I had waited too long for my request. He had trouble remembering. He repeated himself. I tried hard not to supply my own words and ideas but instead asked questions to provoke his own thoughts. They aren't great letters but he said over and over how proud he was of them. I'm hoping that is enough.
This afternoon, as I reflect on the burial eight days ago, I am thankful
for having had a conversation about cremation long before death was in the picture. Have you made your wishes known?
for Uncle Bob's guidance and patience as I try to add my personal touch.
for music that adds that special effect and often says things better than plain words.
for the love and support of families. I am so lucky.
for Kevin's advice on not making a big deal out of things because it will all work out in the end.
for memories.
We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body
and at home with the Lord.
So we make it our goal to please him,
whether we are at home in the body or away from it.
Isn’t it interesting how just the right sliver of information crosses your path when you need it? Over break, the weather was nice enough to venture out for a walk. When not with my walking partner, I like to listen to podcasts. I had not listened in quite a while so my choices were plentiful. Scroll. Scroll. Scroll. “Two Powerful Words That Can Change Your Life.” Yep, that’s what I need. 
