Cardinal Meaning

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.”

While decorating the reception hall on Saturday morning, my fiancé, Erin, and I were adding final touches to a table, when all of a sudden something was tapping on the window.  A cardinal had appeared and was trying to get into the room where we were setting up! Erin and I quickly called for Kailey to come quick.  Kailey came running, but we were afraid we had scared the cardinal away.  After a few seconds of looking, it reappeared from under the bush.  It bounced around for a few seconds, then fluttered up to the top of the bush.  It stopped, cocked its head and looked at us standing there. It seemed as though time had stopped. Just Kailey, the cardinal, and me. As quickly as it came, it left us. We hugged. We cried. We smiled. I have seen dozens of cardinals, but never for more than a few seconds; this was different. The feeling couldn’t have been clearer.

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." 

Hebrews 2:4

Little Treasures

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.
• Memories of the time we had together.

Just as a father has compassion on his children, 

So the LORD has compassion on those who fear Him.

Psalm 103:13

A year ago

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 texted he 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
• for the time we had with Kevin.

The right thing to say

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?"

Ecclesiastes 4:9-11

Burial

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.

2 Corinthians 5:8-9

A Work in Progress

Tonight is the first Monday night I have been home in several weeks.  I had heard through more than one source that Grief Share was worth looking into.  Since mid-March I have been attending Grief Share sessions at First Free Church in Onalaska every Monday night.  Even though I started the class halfway through, it was well worth my time. Each week, either personally or through the class, I made some discoveries.

My first session was on guilt and anger. Thankfully, I've never been angry at God for Kevin's tumor and death.  And I can't ever recall Kevin saying, "Why me?" We knew it was something we couldn't change so it wasn't worth being mad about. Unfortunately, I do have some guilt to work through.  My lack of patience with Kevin in his final days still haunts me.  He didn't sleep so I didn't sleep (and ask anyone, I can get pretty cranky when I don't sleep). His tumor got in the way of normal brain function so moving him, bathing him, and changing him became so difficult.  It wasn't his fault that his brain got things all jumbled up so following basic directions became nearly impossible. Sadly, my impatience rang through.  I so regret not making his final days more peaceful and enjoyable.  Our Grief Share lesson suggested replacing "I should have" with "I did the best I could under the circumstances." I may get there, but right now that doesn't seem good enough. I could have done better.

Again, thankfully, I'm not feeling the "if onlys" when it comes to Kevin's treatment. Yes, I sometimes wonder if a different choice would have given us a little more time. But as Zig Ziglar said, "Psalm 139:16 clearly states that our life every day is measured, meaning simply--God knows the exact time that we will die.  He knows when He's going to call us home.  There's nothing you can do to extend your life span (or someone else's) one-tenth of a second." The smart alec me took that a step further. Since God already knows how long we will live, why do we need to worry about diet and exercise? Spoken like a person who is trying to justify eating a bag of chips on the couch and her only exercise is walking into the other room to fetch those chips!

I still struggle with my lack of endurance and difficulty with focus.  Doing my job seems mentally hard. Even finding the right word or finishing a sentence can be a struggle some days. By the end of a week, I am really dragging physically and mentally. It's hard to rationalize, but going to this class helped me realize that this is a normal part of grief.  That doesn't mean I like it and I'm waaaaay  ready for this stage to be over.

One week was about being stuck in grief.  In general, the concept didn't apply to most of us because our grief was still so new.  But the lesson still taught me some key concepts.  First, I need to do my grief work.  I need to go places inside my heart, soul, and mind that I don't want to go.  I can't skip it.  I can't stuff it.  I have to go through it.  This is something I need to work on and I'm not quite sure how to go about it.  Second, I need to be grateful. Gratitude is a healer. When I'm feeling sorry for myself I need to turn that around and be thankful for all that I have. Third, I have a purpose.  There is a reason God didn't take me.  I don't know what that purpose is yet but I need to ask God to help me figure it out.

The next class helped me realize that I am not just grieving the loss of a husband; I've lost everything Kevin was to me.  Kevin played so many different roles in my life.  Each time I encounter a situation where that role player is missing, grief is likely to hit again.  It seems obvious, but I had never thought of that before.  Honestly, I don't think we truly realize how many roles a person plays in our life...until they are gone.

Clearly I missed Kevin the mechanic when my lawnmower got the best of me. Here's the update on that saga.  That lawnmower never showed any form of life again.  Keaton thought I should buy a Honda.  So I did my research and read the reviews.  On an early Saturday morning I made my way to Home Depot to check it out.  I monkeyed around with the demo model acting like I knew what I was doing (who was I trying to fool???).  A couple ventured into the lawnmower aisle looking at a different Honda model.  I got brave and questioned them about the purchase.  They were totally in favor and pulled one off the shelf in no time. My scared self said "Go for it." As a store attendant went to get a cart, I looked a little more closely at the other couple's box.  Light bulb moment.  There was NO WAY this box was going to fit in my car.  Stupid me.  I held on to my little bit of bravery and purchased it anyway since I could pick it up later when Keaton got home with the truck.  Without a doubt, I was missing Kevin the decision maker too.  This wouldn't have been so hard for him.  By the way, I went all out and bought the model with an electric start.  Go me!

I am constantly reminded that these trials are making me stronger.  I caught a show on Netflix last night where the narrator stated: Problems make us grow.  They sculpt our soul. They make us more. He said we should be thankful for our problems because they make us who we are. Really? Who thanks God for their problems? But it makes sense...once we get through it we can appreciate what that situation has done for us. My triple starred quote for the week was "Grief is an opportunity for interior remodeling." That gives me hope.

Chapter 12 of our lessons on grief was about heaven. Once again, some simple thoughts hit home.  We often use the term lost when we talk about the death of a loved one.  "I lost my husband in January." But if you lose something, you don't know where it is. I didn't lose Kevin because I know he is in heaven.  Along those same lines, the video we watched asked if we would like our loved one back? My gut reaction was, "No. I want to go there." Do I wish he'd never left? Definitely. The speaker in the video went on to explain how selfish it would be if we asked for our loved one to return. Why would we want to take them out of paradise? I did leave this meeting with lots of questions on the resurrection.  Not the resurrection of Jesus but the resurrection on the last day. I need to do some studying on this.

Being a part of this group has also led me to question what I pray about.  To be honest, it has always bugged me when people asked for prayers about little things.  "I'm driving to the Cities. Pray for me." It's not that I don't want them to be safe and I have asked God, especially during major travel weekends, to "keep those who are traveling safe." In my mind, God is really busy.  He has the world to deal with.  So when I'm praying, I want to concentrate on the really big requests because they are so much more important.  I'm starting to shift on those thoughts.  One of the group members gave me this analogy...compare it to a mother listening to their child.  If your child needs something, you will listen.  It doesn't always mean the request will be answered, but God will listen.  That's another work in progress.

So tonight, as I reflect on my class I am thankful:

• for God and the hope he gives
• for Heaven, Kevin's new home
• for my wonderful support system of family and friends
• for the time I had with Kevin and the many roles he played
• for people who willingly lead grief classes in an effort to help us heal
• for problems (aka opportunities to be brave or learn or grow)

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, 

whenever you face trials of many kinds, 

because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. 

Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be 

mature and complete, not lacking anything."

James 1:2-4

Admit Defeat

It is difficult to admit defeat. I put up a good battle this weekend, but the lawnmower clearly won.

Let's back up to Friday. Students capped off their American Cancer Society fundraising efforts with a fun afternoon of dying hair, pie-in-the-face, dunk tank, hot wing eating, kissing a pig, etc. I really wanted to continue the festivities and support my two colleagues at the Relay for Life that evening. But as I walked out to my car at the end of the school day, I knew I wasn't coming back in a couple of hours. It would be too emotional, too much.

As I sat in the car on that beautiful sunny afternoon, I thought, "Now what?" I had no plans for the weekend.  Normally, that might be a good thing.  Nothing scheduled.  No "have to's". Kevin and I might have gone out to eat or taken the motorcycle for a ride or invited friends over. But I was alone with no plans. It wasn't the same.

So I decided the one thing I wanted to accomplish this weekend, since the weather would be perfect, is to dethatch the lawn.  Challenge accepted.  I knew the thatcher was in the attic of the garage but I had no clue how to attach it to the lawnmower.  Once upon a time we had a blade with tines on it so I was halfway thinking I would have to change blades on the lawnmower.  After hauling it down I quickly discovered this version just snapped on to the front axle.  Piece of cake! In talking with Keaton on the way home from work, he reminded me, "I don't think putting on the thatcher will be a problem for you. Starting the mower will." I filled the gas tank, made an attempt at checking the oil, pumped the primer, and started pulling.

During this process, my neighbor Jeff got home from work.  As he walked to get the mail, he could hear my efforts.  He volunteered to give it a try.  One pull.  Yes, one pull, and it started for Jeff.  I hung my head.  Happy that it started but defeated that it was so easy for someone else.

I dethatched and bagged until the mower ran out of gas. It was a dirty, dusty business so I was okay with stopping for the night. It was time to get something to eat.  I could do the second half tomorrow.

Saturday dawned bright and sunny as promised.   The verse at the bottom of this post stuck with me. I resisted the temptation to lounge in bed and read because I had made quite a list for the day.  Bank, library, laundry, lawn and gardens were the bulk of it. On a normal weekend (I've said it twice now so I guess "normal" means before Kevin's cancer), we would have split the tasks.  I can picture Kevin sitting at the counter paying bills and getting ready to go to the bank while I started the laundry.  I think I would have even convinced him to stop at the library to pick up my book since he was out and about.  After I did the running, I decided to work on cleaning out the flower beds while doing laundry. Since running the mower was so dusty, I would tackle that after lunch.

Ha! Easier said than done.  The real battle had begun.  I filled the gas tank and pumped the primer.  I pulled several times.  Primed some more.  Pulled some more.  Pause.  Catch my breath.  Try again. Use two hands for more strength.  Nothing.  Wait 15 to 30 minutes.

Repeat the process.  At one point the mower jerked back over my foot, bending my toenail back. Do a little dance around the driveway to ease the pain. Try again. I was feeling frustrated and defeated and emotional. While taking a breather in between pulls, I glanced around the neighborhood houses, wondering who might be possibly watching out the window getting a little entertainment for their afternoon.  As if reading my mind, neighbor Marty walked over.  He hadn't been watching out the window, but had been working out back and heard my efforts.  Note: he was NOT hearing any expletives echoing through the neighborhood. I was sure Marty would make that mower come to life because I just wasn't strong enough.  Nope. He thought it was flooded and maybe needed to look at the spark plug.  I could tell this wasn't his comfort zone. He told me he had an electric start mower for a reason.  I told him not to worry about it.  I would let it sit and try again later.

Youtube here I come.  Where is the spark plug on a Snapper mower? Huh. Not so hard to find.  Now what size socket do I need? Back to Youtube.  Five-eighths deep socket. I knew having the right socket wasn't a problem, although I couldn't magically know which one was 5/8 like Kevin always did.  After removing the spark plug, I was back to Youtube. How do you know if a spark plug is fouled? I still don't know.  The one I removed was black and those shown on the videos were black too so I'm going with it. Can you clean a spark plug? One guy said to use a wire brush, but the many comments below his advice said no way. I decided to ditch that effort and prowl around Kevin's toolbox to see if he had a new one. Yep.  New, in the box, same number and even labeled "lawn mower".

I put the new spark plug in and was certain this was going to be the cure.  I made a pull but heard a ch ch sound. Was I hearing things?  Try again.  Same noise.  Back to Youtube.  Believe it or not, there's nothing on Youtube about your lawnmower making a ch ch sound. (I am envisioning those reading this with some mechanical sense are now busting a gut with my antics.) I took the spark plug out and tried again.  The Snapper guy on Youtube said not to get it too tight. I pulled again.  Same sound.

By this time, long over an hour had passed, and emotions were getting the best of me.  I was sitting in the driveway, next to the mower, socket wrench in hand, bawling.  I knew this emotion wasn't really about the lawnmower not starting.  If that was the case, I should be mad.  In reality, I knew it was because Kevin wasn't here...to fix and make things better.  I was on my own and I was failing at this task.

Could I call people for help? Yes, but people have plans on a beautiful Saturday.  My plans don't need to become their plans.  However, my Dad was en route to Alabama so I wouldn't really be bothering him if I called.  He wouldn't feel he needed to drop everything and come over because it wasn't possible.  Luckily, I caught them at a fuel stop.  Of course, explaining the sound meant nothing to him.  So I put the phone on speaker and pulled a few times.  "Did you hear that?" His quick response, "Yes.  Your spark plug isn't tight enough." That made sense.  "Thanks. I'll try again."

Try I did. I would do another job for a while and come back and try again. Both hands had small blisters. I imagined I might wake up Sunday morning with my right bicep bigger than my left. After multiple hours of attempts, I finally quit for the day.  I had plans (yay!) to attend First Free Church in Onalaska with friends so I needed to get cleaned up.

Today, Sunday, was a new day. Yes, my body was complaining and I was moving slowly at first. But I hadn't given up hope. In my research there was mention of cleaning the air filter. With the assistance of the experts on Youtube, I figured out how to remove the air filter.  It didn't look bad but I vacuumed it out just in case. It didn't matter.  Even neighbor Jeff, who started it with one pull on Friday, couldn't get it started. By early afternoon I admitted defeat and parked the mower back in the garage.

So tonight as I am vegging on the couch instead of conquering my to do list for school, I am thankful:

• for cell phones that can be taken nearly anywhere and allow you to ask for help from someone miles and miles away.
• for having people knowledgeable enough to answer my questions.
• for the wonder of Youtube and the people willing to share their expertise online.
• for neighbors who willingly reach out to help neighbors like me.
• for my husband's tools and his foresight to have an extra labeled spark plug on hand. By the way, I bought a replacement spark plug for the tool box today.
• for the beautiful weather that allowed us to enjoy the outdoors this weekend.
• that my lawnmower doesn't have a human element allowing it to gloat over its victory!

He is like the light of morning at sunrise on a cloudless morning,

like the brightness after rain that brings grass from the earth.

2 Samuel 23:4