The Hummingbird Nest

[HAP]

Friends--

I have said before that it is the little things that get me.

Yesterday I got outside. I mowed the lawn--always a solitary task--and got some good thinking in. I needed to get the momentum going because i knew I had to take on one task that was always hers and that it would be hard to do--not just emotionally but physically as well: pruning the Rose of Sharon. We usually do this job in the fall just after the leaves fall, but Jane was deep into the teeth of her heart issue and it was all I could do to keep up with the things that had to be done. We had let it go the year before as well, so we both had no problem with putting the job off until spring.

But I so wish now I had found a way to do it in the fall.

I do not have great hand-eye co-ordination. Pruning was her thing-not mine. But the plant has to be done every year to keep it within the bounds we set for it. So Thursday afternoon I got out her favorite pruners, the step ladder and the barrel for the trimmings and set to work chopping off all of last year's growth.

Those of you who have been here for the last month or so already know the love affair my wife and I have with hummingbirds. Last year we had three or four mated pairs and their children flitting around the lawn, fighting over feeders and making the strange screechy noises that pass for their chirping--who knew hummers even had a voice? At night they would disappear into the gloaming after a final sip at the feeders. We assumed they had nests in neighbors' yards--or maybe in the arbor vita hedge a neighbor put in between our yards 15 years ago.

So there I was, hacking away at the top of the bush when I came across a tiny collection of thread and old mulch. At first I thought it was a sparrow's nest, but there was no mud used in its construction. And then I knew what it was; it was a hummingbird nest. Without thinking, I turned to run into the house to tell Jane what I had found. And then I stopped. Jane was not in the house--and there was no one else I could share this wonderful secret with. The neighbors were at work. And this was not something they would appreciate the way Jane would.

And then she was there--not physically. I did not see her or even feel her. I just knew she was seeing it, too. And then there was the shadow of a bird on the lawn. I looked up and saw the falcon drifting into the oak tree in the northwest corner of the yard. She landed there, looked out over her domain. I told her hummingbirds were not to be on the menu this summer. She lifted off and headed off into someone else's yard. She flew back over three times over the course of the afternoon as I finished the pruning and moved on to the next project.

But the tears come back each time I recall that stumbling discovery--as they did when I showed the remnants of the nest to a friend who came by to visit this afternoon. I think she may have thought I was a little crazy as I marched her up the hill to see the nest before she had even half gotten out of the car. But she is among my oldest friends and has long shared in the madness my wife and I made a habit of. And it took her mind off the troubles she is carrying--her husband has been told he needs to see a specialist in Boston because his local doctor is baffled by the illness that has landed the husband in the hospital twice since Christmas and left him too weak to do more than walk a few hundred feet at a time--this in a man who at Thanksgiving was climbing rock walls in a local gym.

And as I write this, I am again reminded: "Be kind to others--for you do not know what burdens they are carrying."

But it is hard to be kind sometimes in my thoughts. I wish Jane had found that nest last fall. Or that I would have found it then and been able to share it with her--even if had had to carry her out to the garden on my back to see it. It would have helped to raise her spirits--and her spirits needed raising in November as her legs--indeed, her whole body--increasingly failed her. I wish she had lived to find it this Spring. The nest would have brought her hope that a new Spring was coming--a Spring and Summer of healing and of hope.

Instead, I found it alone yesterday. It brightened my day--and softened this powerful anger I had discovered early that morning. I went by the cemetery to check to see if the plants I put there on Monday needed water. The rain that was supposed to be heavy at times the two days before had never been more than a light mist. And truth be told, I just wanted to be there to weep a little while. But when I got there I found anger instead. Some plants I put there two weeks ago were still there. But the lilies I had put there Monday--one for Jane and one for her mother--were gone--pots and all. This is not the first time this has happened. We had a few similar events before Jane got sick. Plants we left there for her mother sometimes vanished over night--and we had heard even before that the people often steal flowers from graves.

How do people do things like that? The loss is bad enough as it is without this added stupidity.

But then, from other posts, I know that people do not get this state until they are in it. How else explain people asking if you have found a new man/woman yet? How else explain people making passes at folks they know to be recently widowed--as though we were merely bachelors or bachelorettes coming out of a failed relationship. People just don't know--or understand--what love is. The divorce rate should tell us that.

But who knows what burdens they are actually carrying. Part of it, I think, is their desire to believe that if a loved one dies, the pain will be finite, both in terms of intensity and duration. Who does not fear the end of love? And what tiny fraction of us does not fear death? I cannot blame them for whistling past the graveyard. I remember the conversations my wife and i had before her cancer got really awful. We talked about her potential death. She fully expected that I would quickly go through her drawers and closets--cleaning them out and disposing of what was in them--that I would quickly return to a normal life, secure in the knowledge that these earthly shells are just vessels for the souls to journey in.

My God--how wrong could we have been? These are but vessels we journey in. But the ache of loss takes no notice of that knowledge. It is not until we experience real loss--loss without the hope of recovery--after all, a break-up does admit the possibility--however small--that the loved one will come back to us within this lifetime--unlike death, which really closes the door on that fantasy--that we really understand what it feels like to truly lose someone. Loss is an emotion of the heart--not a piece of evidence we can roll over at our leisure in our minds. And it is something we cannot understand until we have experienced it.

A year ago, I lost my mother. It in no way prepared me for losing my wife. It hurt, but my mother had Alzheimer's. It hurt, but my mother was nearly 80 and had lived a full life that was filled with every good kind of adventure. It hurt, but my mother was not the other half of my soul. When she died I did not feel like half my body--half of who I am/was--was suddenly ripped out without benefit of anesthesia. When my wife died, half of me died with her.

In stories, Satan always says the soul is a little thing--that you will hardly miss it when it is gone. They don't call him the prince of lies with out cause. If we miss half our soul with this much pain, how much worse would losing the whole thing be? The mind shudders at the thought--and then shuts down.

But these folks who ask if we have started to date yet, who steal flowers from graves without a passing thought, who say that at the end of a year we will be back to normal--say and do these things not out of spite or malice or because they are unfeeling. They do these things out of ignorance and fear. They are largely ignorant of the knowledge of death and grief--and what little they do perceive scares them the way the monster under the bed scares a small child. They can only gain that knowledge by being forced to eat of the fruit that has been stuffed down our gullets.

We know the burdens we are carrying. But would we have recognized those burdens in others before our close encounter with death ground its lessons into our souls? I like to think that I have always been a compassionate person--that I would not have said or done the things that now upset me. But I also believed there was a term to grief. I believed that cleaning out my wife's drawers and closets would have been done within a couple weeks of her death--a belief she shared. I had trouble packing up boxes of stockings she had never worn a month ago--and the clothes she took to the hospital--the clothes she wore to the hospital--I wonder now if I will ever be able to unpack them. The nightdress she wore to bed the last night she slept here still hangs where she left it--as though she will come through that door tonight and put it on.

I worry about my friend. I worry about her husband. I see this awful fruit on the table in front of them. I want to whisk that apple away from them. I don't want her to experience this. I don't want her husband to go through what my wife did.

I worry about my niece. My brother--her father--has just been diagnosed with the same cancer--albeit much less advanced--that killed my wife. I want to whisk that apple away from them. I don't want her to experience this. I don't want her father to go through what my wife did.

I worry about the people i do not even know. I want to make death go away for all of them. I want to protect them from this awful knowledge of what it is like to be the one left behind.

There is very little I can do to protect any of them. Half the world will experience what we are going through right now--and I can't stop it from happening. None of us can. We can only use the knowledge we have gained at this hideous price to try to help those who survive cope. People will be people. They will say things without thinking. They will try, like my father-in-law did for years--to rationalize their beliefs that what happened to someone else will not happen to them--that guy was on a lot of medications--that's what killed him--I don't take as many medications, so I won't die.

But like the parent whose teenager says, "I hate you" or does one of the 10,000 other things adolescents do that drive adults crazy, we have knowledge about the world they have no perception of. They do not know--or care--about the burdens we are carrying. They know too well, sometimes, the burdens they think they are carrying. And those burdens blot out our own in their minds. Their experience is all they know--and nothing penetrates that goes beyond the boundaries of that experience for the majority of them--just as no one could have told us what we now know to be true before we experienced it.

The patience the world demands of us is enormous. It is one more unfairness stacked on top of all the unfairnesses we are expected to carry.

But we can either light one little candle each--or we can curse the darkness. I know it's a tall order. I know most people won't want to hear it. But we all know we will be here when they stumble into this dark cave.

After all, many of you were here when I first stumbled into this dark place. I wailed and moaned and ached like a newborn orphan. You picked me up and held me in your arms until I became rational again. I've watched us all do it for nearly six weeks now. Most of you are coping with this awfulness far better than you know. And those of you coping less well just haven't been around long enough for the effect to move into your blood.

The pain is not going to go away. It won't be over in a year, likely. Maybe not even for a decade--or maybe ever. But we get better at coping with it every day--even on the days we seem like we are going backwards.

The hummers will be back in my neighborhood within the week. Maybe they will leave me another surprise next fall. And that falcon seems to have taken up permanent residence not far away. I can't stop life from happening any more than I can stop death from happening. I'll learn to cope. And I'll learn to help others cope. It's what we humans do.

As always, thanks for listening.

Harry

[melina]

Thanks for the amazing post, Hap. And you're lucky to be living in a place with hummingbirds. This must be a warmer climate than Norway, where I live. Though pratically every place is warmer than Norway.

My husband and I loved nature and spent as much time outdoors as possible. The other day while walking the dog, two foxes came running across the forest path, stopped and looked at us, then ran off. It's quite rare for foxes to come that close, and I wanted so badly to tell my husband about it - he would have loved it. I told my teenage son, who tried to look interested, but was probably less than enthralled.

I wish I could feel my husband's presence. I still hope for an afterlife where he's happy, healthy and waiting for me...

Melina

[MartyT]

Harry, dear, your post is wonderful ~ and I love the story of how you discovered the hummer's nest. For those who've never had the pleasure of actually seeing a hummingbird's nest, I'm attaching a photo I took a few years ago, shortly after I discovered an occupied hummer's nest in one of the trees in our yard. After the babies were born and everyone eventually left the nest, I retrieved it and placed it in my curio cabinet. To this day I cannot believe how tiny it is ~ about the size of a golf ball. There is one hummer feather inside, less than a quarter inch long. It is one of my most treasured possessions. Keep writing, my friend ~ you have a gift.

[LostmyHoney]

Absolutely wonderfull post Harry Thank You!

Loved the pic Marty thanks to you too!

Rachel

[Lainey]

Harry,

Your post is wonderful, very thought provoking. It is so sad that people do what they do and say what they say, but I agree, if you haven't lost a loved one, you have no way of knowing what people feel.

I've lost both parents, a brother, brother-in-law and best friend. The pain of losing them (at the time) was horrible. Then I lost my soul mate and I learned what real pain was and is still. It has got to the point where I can laugh and enjoy myself, then something, anything, will trigger the gut wrenching tears to start over again. I believe that we will always have sadness and lonliness for our spouses forever.

I'm sorry that people are stealing your plants and flowers, other than chaining things down what can you do?

I love humming birds also, have only seen a flock once and it was so special. I hope your warning to the hawk scared him off.

Lainey

[kayc]

Harry,

You really should consider writing a book. Your writing is so easy to read, we feel your thoughts and feel we are there with you. Hummingbirds were very special to George and I...so much so that he commissioned someone to do a painting of them as a surprise for me for our bedroom. We always had hummingbird feeders up and planted flowers all around to draw them in. My husband was romantic and loved all the nuances of this and more. We also would have delighted in finding a hummingbird nest, what a precious find! I think your Jane maybe discovered it and called it to your attention! I think she DID enjoy it with you.

I will say a prayer for your friend's husband.

[HAP]

Friends,

A quick update first on the hummingbird situation. I put the feeders out last night. When i was going around the yard after work--Jane and I used to walk the yard every day to see what was new at this time of year--I saw a shadow whiz by me. A hummingbird landed on the feeder at the corner of the house, had a few sips and then flew into one of the oak trees--landing on a branch for a few minutes to check out the terrain. I was so excited that i was literally jumping up and down and screaming, "They're back! Honey they're back.

Kayc: One of the things on the agenda for after June is to write several different books over the next few years. Teaching left way too little time for those kinds of things. And that assumes I don't get involved in some things I see as much more important in some respects--not least of which is finding ways to eradicate the cancer that took my wife and now threatens my brother.

Lainey: I try to be forgiving about the plant thing--but it really does aggravate me. My anger at that is all out of proportion to the size of the crime, so i suspect that it is masking anger about Jane's illness and death. As I said to her when she was sick, I get angry at little things because i need to stay in control when I am dealing with the big things. I can't afford to become angry when there are major decisions to make. And anger does little beyond raise my blood pressure--a thing I really cannot afford to do,

Marty: Thanks for the picture of the nest in use. The one I found was really too beaten up by the winter weather to make anything like a decent picture of. If I blew on it it would disintegrate.

Melina: I find the more time i spend in the natural world the better i seem to feel. Maybe it is just the endorphins from the walking, but seeing that hummer this afternoon really lifted me up like nothing else has. I wish i could find some way to help you feel your husband's presence. I feel Jane's spirit--see so many signs of her presence--that I am constantly reassured that she is ok. Sometimes that presence vanishes for a day or two--and those are the days I find most difficult.

To all of you, many thanks for your kind thoughts and words.

Peace,

Harry

[kayc]

Harry,

How I can relate, I love nature! Spending time with my dog, trees, water, whether it be rivers, creeks, streams, lakes, oceans, I love them all! I love watching the stars and seeing snow fall (as long as I don't have to get up and shovel and drive in it). I love thunderstorms and lightening. I love watching all living creatures (excepting Possum). Where I live, I am in this very setting, in the forested mountains, with a creek in my back yard. Elk and deer are regular visitors, but I also see foxes, coyotes, an occasional bear or cougar, skunk, raccoon, wild turkey, rabbits, NW Tanninger, Hummingbirds, Owls, Woodpeckers, all kinds of birds, really.

You are a gifted writer and I'm sure it'd be treat for the world to have a book you've written.

[HAP]

I had to mow the lawn when I got home tonight. If you live in the East you know how much rain we have gotten the last few days. Amazing how fast grass grows in the Spring.

I have to admit I was pretty depressed when I started. Arthritis and damp weather are an awful mix under the best of circumstances--and these have not been, for me, the best of circumstances. My miniature greenhouse blew over Thursday afternoon and I had to fix it in a downpour. I'm miles behind on everything. I am having trouble sleeping again--and wonder what awful dreams I am having that I am almost afraid to go to bed no matter how tired I am. Even this note is getting written after I promised myself I would be in bed by nine tonight. And I just can't shake this depression that has been building all week for no better reason than that the hummers are beginning to come back.

And I had a swarm of hummers around the feeders as I mowed tonight. Crying and mowing is not probably recommended in the safety manuals--but there I was crying at every sighting. I even stopped the mower once because i was too close to the feeder and did not want to frighten anyone away. It was all so truly bittersweet: our little friends back for the summer bobbing and weaving around the feeders--and me wanting desperately to hug Jane in the sheer joy of it--and not being able to. It is the absolute definition of melancholy. Each visit brought joy--and the deepest sense of physical absence. I want to laugh the greatest joy and cry the greatest sorrow all at the same time.

I am going up to Boston Sunday for the annual Walk for Hunger. Jane and i always wanted to do it, but this time of the school year is tough. We donated every year instead. But this year I decided, screw it--who knows what shape I will be in a year from now. We put off so many things until after we retired. Now those things eat at me the way they ate at us both the end of last summer. Too many "Next year in Jerusalem"s. So I am going to walk this walk--all 20 miles of it. And in June I am going to do the Relay for Life twice--and do all 24 hours of it on the first one--and as many as i can on the second one--and i am going to drag as many people as I can get from the retirement dinner as I can get the night of the second one.

And then I don't know what happens. Friends tell me retiring brings its own set of stresses. And how will those stresses be multiplied by the fact I will do it alone instead of with the woman i expected to share the next 20-40+ years of my life with--each of us going into a slow decline physically that would end in us leaving together for the garden that awaits us? There are times I feel i am staring into an abyss.

But going to work every day in that school is insanely hard. I get out of the car. I walk up the walkway we walked every morning for 23 years. Open the same door, walk the same corridor, go to the same mailroom. I've been to the science wing just three times since she died--and her room just twice. But i don't want to go teach somewhere else and start all over again either. I have books to write and projects to do, but doing them alone...I just don't know.

But the hummers are back. The grass is green. The broccoli and lettuce are in the garden and getting bigger every day. And Sunday I will walk 20 miles for a cause I believe in. I had dinner tonight with friends and did not feel like a total oddball and wet blanket.

I should feel better than I do--but I don't. I hope a good night's sleep will get me back in a positive state of mind.

Jane would say, "Just keep moving forward." But somehow these last few days that has been really hard to do.

I have to stop feeling sorry for myself and whining.

I am going to try to go get some sleep now and see if that helps my state of mind.

Harry

[Susie Q]

Harry

I've said it before here, that sometimes 'coping' is just so over-rated. My body seems to needs the meltdowns and the crying times to muster the strength to have another go after a good exhausted sleep. Let it come and try to embrace it - you'll feel better for not fighting those terribly painful and sad times, I guarantee it.

I have also made the decision to retire and have one month to go. It's not the way we imagined it either. It would have been the biggest celebration but now I'm ambivalent but still sticking to the plan we hatched many years ago. No other plan to replace it at this stage o it seems the right thing to do!

We did everything we wanted to do throughout our many years together and yet I still feel cheated out of the wonderful future we should have together - it doesn't matter when the loss happens you never have had enough time together when you cherished the person you were with.

I think those of us left here are entitled to feel sorry for ourselves from time to time - great love, great loss. Show yourself the same kindness and understanding that I think you would have for others. I hope tomorrow is a better day for you...Susie Q

[hello123]

HAP I really enjoyed reading your post and this line is the motto of my life at the moment I think:

"The patience the world demands of us is enormous. It is one more unfairness stacked on top of all the unfairnesses we are expected to carry."

[HAP]

Friends,

My sister-in-law and I did the full 20 miles of the Walk for Hunger Sunday. My body may eventually recover. We called our team Walking with Jane. I will use the same name for the Relay for Life walks in June--and the rest of the summer.

But honestly, the walk did us both a lot of good. And I did not feel that badly afterwards. But sleep is still slow to come.

Still the hummers are here in force and back to their territorial wars. I had hoped to stop those by adding two more feeders to opposite corners of the yard. Two of them nearly killed me when I was making up flower baskets under the porch. They were so caught up in the chase that I heard the buzz of their wings--and felt the wind of their passage--as they screeched by my head. So much for peace through plenty. Their antics make me laugh and shake my head.

I went in for my six month check-up today. The nurse did the usual EKG. When she was putting on the wires she told me my wife's rings on the chain around my neck were cute--and quite moving. I realized then that because I wear them under my shirt generally people don't know they are there. Not that I make a secret of it or am embarrassed that they are there--I just don't want to lose them or damage them--and they feel safer under my clothes than outside them. Jane told me she would haunt me forever if I buried her with her wedding ring and engagement ring.

Which raises a question: I still wear my wedding band on my left hand. I told my wife I would move it to my right hand if she ever died--a statement I repeated the day before she died. But I have never been able to bring myself to do so. And her rings have been around my neck for months. Does anyone else do this?

Harry

[LostmyHoney]

Hi Harry,

On Thursday Aug. 26th, I was bringing my Honey home from the hospital. He proclamed that it was time for us to get married. We had thought he would continue to get better at home, but by Sunday night he had the EMTs take him back to the hospital. On Thursday Sept. 2nd he was gone. I dont think I will ever take off my engagement ring! For Christmass I bought 2 rings, in mine it says "Till we meet again" in his it says "In the hereafter", my plan was to get a chain and wear them around my neck but when I set them on his urn (mine on the left his on the right) it just felt right. He watches over them.

I told one of my sons that when I die I want them cremated with me so I will have them when we do meet again.

Rachel

[mfh]

Our wedding rings are identical and I wear both of them on my LEFT hand and they will stay there forever...I do not plan to remove them. I fell and broke two fingers on my left hand about 5 months after he died and had to remove the rings to my right hand while the cast was on. but they are back now and there they will stay. ...and yes, i plan to be buried with them on my hand...we have no children....so they best stay right where they are now. Together Forever is engraved on our gravestone....I waited a long time for this incredible man to come into my life...and now I pray there is a heaven where he waits for me. mfh

[MartyT]

Harry, dear ~ Did you read this post? A Big Step ~ and notice the background on the writer's blog . . . ♥

[HAP]

Dear Marty, mfh, and Rachel,

Marty you are right about her background being interesting. Educators are a strange lot.

She does raise some interesting thoughts. I don't think I am quite there yet. I may never be there. But I think she is right about the need to keep moving forward. I can't see myself being paralyzed here forever. Jane would not want me to do that. I think sometimes she is finding even this amount of time disturbing. I just keep explaining to her that I can only move so fast through this--and that some of it is just never going to go away. This is far more difficult than either of us conceived it would be. But if I could move the furniture around in the living room and dining room--and move the small appliances around on the kitchen counters, then eventually i am going to be able to confront these drawers and closets. And eventually I am going to figure out what to do with these rings. I read another piece somewhere else about a widower who did a gradual step-down kind of program: He took the wedding ring off for a few hours at first, then a whole weekend...

To the extent the rings are symbols of what we were to each other, I think they stay where they are--at least for now. After all, the writer of The Big Step left hers in place for 10 months before she got there. And she is a lot younger than I am and was married for a far shorter time. I do think I am going to have to let go of the engagement ring around my neck sooner rather than later. It keeps getting under my back at night and I worry about damaging the fitting--which would be worse than not having it on my neck. But I can't get myself to go there yet despite that nagging concern. I am just not ready to let go of even that just yet.

But does the symbol hold me back? I don't know the answer to that. It needs thinking on.

You see mfh is right too. Jane and I both waited a long time for each other. I will not meet her like again. I do not think I will ever remarry, regardless of what I do with the rings. We loved too deeply and too well.

And Rachel, i cannot bear the irony. Your honey died on our anniversary--on what turned out to be our last anniversary. We melted into tears that day. I am melting into tears now.

Thanks for your thoughts,

Peace,

Harry

[MartyT]

Marty you are right about her background being interesting. Educators are a strange lot.

Harry, dear ~ I was referring to the backdrop of hummingbirds on her bog

[Lainey]

Harry,

I agree with the others.. you are a gifted story teller and I would enjoy reading a book you wrote.

As for the rings, mine came off a year after Lars died and I replaced it with a "memory" ring that has two rings intertwined with each other. To me it symbolizes the 41 year relationship we had together,our lives will always be meshed together in life and death.

I had his wedding ring reshaped into a heart and the ankh I gave him in the 70's is attatched to the ring, it is on the chain he wore and now I wear it.

Everyone knows when and if the time is right to remove the rings.. I truly thought that I'd never take mine off, then I knew the time was right.

Congrats on your walking, it's such a good cause. Hope you're sleeping better now, maybe part of your sleepless nights are caused from "retirement" stress. You sound like you're going to keep busy,but as you mentioned, there were supposed to be you and your wife.Life sure can throw a curve ball at times.

Lainey

[HAP]

Friends,

I don't know exactly where this post is going to go. I have had a tough few days. I am functioning on about three hours of sleep again. I tried to make it an early night last night. I could barely keep my eyes open as I read through the latest postings here. I wanted to answer several, but my brain was not working. I was exhausted. "At last," I thought to myself, "I will get a good night's sleep tonight." So I went to bed. And stared at the clock until 1:40 a.m. when I finally managed to doze off--until 5:30 a.m. I stared at the clock again until about 8:30, when I finally pulled myself out of my depression long enough to get up.

I had plans to work outside today. But I looked at the bedroom after I ate and could not stand the clutter. I have been very bad at my resolution to maintain some neatness and order in my life the last couple of weeks. Part of that has been the increasing demands of the yard work--but this week I have been fighting this building and awful depression caused in part by sleeplessness, in part by the fact Tuesday is the five month anniversary of Jane's death, and in part by a conference I took my students to in Boston Friday. Each year, the New England Scholastic Press Association holds its conference in late April or early May at Boston University. Part of the conference is an awards ceremony at which my students generally do very well. This year was no exception. But when i got off the bus I had a hell of a time getting myself to get in the car and go home even though I was meeting friends for dinner later that evening. Instead i watched two innings of a baseball game our team was losing 15-0 when I arrived. I know why. Every year I would go home and share the joy of the win with Jane. But she was not there. She is the only one who knows what my students mean to me--what their victories cost me mentally and emotionally.

And I did not entirely want to go out with my friends. Neither has ever married and both have mothers in nursing homes who are fighting different forms of dementia. We pick one up at the nursing home where his mother has been for the last three months. The place has much the same feel as the ICU where Jane died. There are alarms going off every few minutes. I hate being there. But John was Jane's best friend for years and was one of the people who stayed with me the day of Jane's death. I can't walk away from him and feel like a good person. Gail was another person who was with me at the end. We go to dinner once a month to catch up with each other. The dinners are good therapy for the all three of us. We can all moan about what is going on in our lives--very little of it pretty--and know that the others get it to a large extent. I wonder sometimes how much Jane understood some days in the hospital. She would seem fine mentally for days at a time--but then could not always remember any of what had happened yesterday. It sounds so much like what the two of them describe going through with their mothers. But i didn't want to go this time. They both taught with us, but sharing the news of my students win does not affect them the way it did the two of us.

Our neighbors returned from their winter in Florida yesterday. They had read about Jane's death in the paper while they were down there--and sent a sympathy card. But they knew only what the obituary said, so I had to walk them through the whole thing yesterday. I cried my eyes out. They told me she had seen them just before they left and told them she likely would not see them again. This was in October when she kept telling me she was going to beat this thing.Then I went out to by some flowers for the grave. Jane is buried next to her mother in the same plot at the cemetery. Each year Jane and I put flowers on her mother's grave. I knew that if I did not put flowers there for her mother there would be none. Her sister can rarely bring herself to visit the grave. So i went to Home Depot and bought some purple petunias for her mother and some blue snowdrops for Jane and made up planters for them both. The pansies and daffodils I put together for Jane a month ago still look pretty good, so I left them there, but brought a dish garden I had put there of spring bulbs home to form the entrance--eventually--for the memorial garden I want to build here. I sat on the ground in front of the headstone for nearly an hour, alternating bouts of crying with bouts of sanity. I get the signs many of you beg for nearly every day, but as I keep telling her, I know she is ok. It is me that is having the problem with this. I miss her physical presence every second of every day--but worst when I first wake up and when I first go to bed.

So as depressed as I was last night, I was even worse this morning. I looked around the house and could not stand what I was looking at. The front end of the house--the area people can see--looks ok. The clutter makes the place just look lived in. But in the bedroom, the study, and Jane's craft room it has begun to look like one of those hoarding houses with trails running through it just wide enough for a person to pass through--if he be careful. How did I let this happen? I got hugely angry with myself and started screaming at myself. I went outside just long enough to water the plants I have in the ground--the flowers in the nursery bed are doing poorly. The birds pulled them all out one day this week--apparently looking for worms. Then discovered I had a huge amount of laundry to do on top of everything else. I thought my washer was dying last week so I only did what I absolutely needed to do. That was apparently a false alarm. Likely i just had a load that got badly out of balance.

Finally I got back to the bedroom and started picking things up. I decided that maybe if I moved some furniture around--as i had done in the living room, dining room, and kitchen, the bedroom would become a little less scary place--and maybe I would sleep better. So I pulled the drawers out of the chest and set them in the hall so the chest would be light enough to move. But to move the chest I had to move some other things, which meant i had to move some other things, which meant i ended up rearranging all the furniture but the dresser--which is too big for me to move by myself--and occupies the only space in the room where it will actually fit. Then another fit hit me and I decided i would empty one of Jane's drawer's in the chest. In that drawer I found a note. It said "Look in the bottom drawer."

I expected to find some note there. Instead, I found her college yearbook, which contains no pictures of her, her middle school yearbook, her college diploma, and a certificate honoring her for her inclusion in Who's Who Among American College Students. I went though every sock and shirt in the drawer looking for something else--then called her sister to see if she had any idea what was going on. She was as mystified as I was but suggested maybe the short notes I had found--thinking maybe i had put the drawers back in the wrong order I had emptied another drawer and found a similar note buried under some t-shirts in that drawer--might be notes she had written to herself to remind her where she had hidden her degree.

Under the chest, however, I did discover the letter I had written her when her mother died. She had hidden it there--or perhaps it fell behind there at some point. But it reminded me that we shared a knowledge-system. It was yet another sign that she is ok--and wants me to be ok. I bawled my eyes out. Suddenly I am crying constantly. The keynoter at the conference had me in tears in the first five minutes: she showed us a series of stories about a woman who was dying of cancer and was trying to get her parents a visa to come from China to the US to see her one last time. It was a beautiful story--but not one I suddenly discovered I was ready to deal with.

Of course by that time i had emptied all the drawers in the chest, so rather than put the clothes back in the drawers I boxed up most of them and moved them into her craft room to go to Salvation Army or St. Vincent dePaul when i can actually bring myself to part with them for real. So the notes served that much of a positive purpose.

The bedroom looks very different now than when I started. Maybe I will be able to sleep in here tonight and truly sleep. Maybe not. But i made some progress today. The bedroom no longer looks like a hoarder lives here. Of course the living room is a bit more cluttered. And we won't discuss the study and the craft room--or the fact my peppers, tomatoes, and marigolds did not find their way into the ground--nor did the cursed lawn get mowed--back up to the height of my ankles despite having been mowed Thursday.

I should probably post this as a new subject, but I am going to leave it here because of a couple of things I need to say about responses to previous posts on the hummingbird note.

Marty--Good Gravy, I did not even see the hummingbirds until you mentioned them. I am such an idiot. I just got so caught up in what she was saying--and the fact she was in the education business, that I never noticed the more obvious background. That just goes to show what kind of state of mind I seem to be in this week.

Susie Q--Good point. I really have to stop beating up on myself. I do need to keep my priorities straighter. Clutter is sometimes a small price to pay for he time I need to try to get my head screwed back on straight. The tears are every bit as much a part of that as everything else is.

Lainey--I think you may be right. The retirement thing is throwing me for a loop as well. I have a tough enough time getting through a weekend. What happens when there is no Monday morning. The summer may prove a problem even with solid plans for the fall. I will have to find some things to keep me moving forward.

Finally--to all--I caught a piece of When Harry met Sally on PBS Saturday night. The whole thing made me cry. I felt like I was back in 1984 right before Jane and I met. I was watching It's a Wonderful Life alone on New Year's Eve and wondering why I was alone. It's been a wonderful life since then. Maybe this is God's way of reminding me that this is a wonderful life and that the next chapter will be equally rewarding. It does not seem that way just now--but i always seem to get thrown what I need when I need it. This group is very much a part of that tradition. Thank you all for listening.

Peace,

Harry

[Lainey]

Harry,

Your depression at 5 months is normal, you are beginning to realize the trauma you and Jane have been through. Mine hit at 6 months, 9 months and now into the second year it feels even worse. I believe we are all in such shock, then denial in those first few months that our minds can't function properly.Once the shock wears off to an extent, the depression happens. Mine did go away for a period, but came back with a vengance the second and third times. Since about month 15, it's just there.

Having to explain to people the pain and suffering you both went through doesn't help either. I suggest you give yourself some slack.. allow the house to be messy, let the birds look for worms, leave Jane's things where they are until you ar ready to deal with them. If it takes you weeks or years to deal with them, that's your choice. Just don't push yourself at this early stage of your grief. Allow yourself the time to grieve, look after your health and don't worry too much about tomorrow.

I hope some of this makes sense, when Lars died I took on many projects to keep my mind busy.. maybe I'm paying for it now.

Lainey

[MartyT]

Harry, dear, I just watched a video that made me think of you. Enjoy! Boy Rescues Baby Hummingbird ♥

[Dwaynecg]

Harry,

This was the first time I had read this thread. Yes humming birds are a wonder of nature. In Colorado where I grew up,it was like the capital of humming birds. Every summer we put feeders up, and so many would be around the would actually land on your hand or arm waiting for the nectar again. I had never seen any back here until Pauline and I were up at her brothers in Freetown. He had out feeders. I put 2 feeders by the kitchen windows so Pauline could see them. But they never came, I was very disappointed Pauline never got to see them. I am happy for you to be able to attract the small wonders of wildlife. Good job, I am sure Jane is sharing your joy along with you.

God Bless and rest assure Jane's spirit is with you always.

Dwayne

"It has been said time heals all wounds, but I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time the brain protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens, but is never gone" by Rose Kennedy

[azbrian]

Thank you for sharing Harry.

[mfh]

What a great video....A hummingbird got caught in our garage a few years ago. It finally landed on the rafter exhausted. I was able to get a ladder and reach it and hold it in my hand for a bit...it was like holding air....so light and fragile and yet they fly thousands of miles to winter in the south. I let this one go when he stopped panting and off he went...

Mary

[Dimcl]

I still wear my wedding band on my left hand. I told my wife I would move it to my right hand if she ever died--a statement I repeated the day before she died. But I have never been able to bring myself to do so. And her rings have been around my neck for months. Does anyone else do this?

Harry

Harry, I do exactly the same thing. The really ironic thing is that before Glenn died, I didn't wear my wedding rings very often because I was always gardening or playing sports or something where wearing the rings was a hazard to either my finger or the rings. However, the day Glenn went in for surgery, I put them on and have worn them every day since. I also wear Glenn's wedding ring on a chain around my neck along with a tiny brass vial that contains some of his ashes. I, too, wear them under my clothes because it's nobody's business but my own.

I think, though, that the wedding ring thing is a double-edged sword. As far as I'm concerned, I'm still married to Glenn, so it makes eminent sense to me to wear them on my ring finger. I also feel that removing them could cause unwanted advances by fellows who don't know my situation. On the other hand, wearing them has also caused awkward moments because I have been asked about my husband by people who don't know the situation ie. "Is your husband retired?", etc.

If I'm ready to remove my rings some day, I will likely have them intertwined with his wedding ring and will always wear them on a chain. And my executor has specific instructions to see that when I am gone, our rings will go in the box with our ashes.

On a different note... with regard to your issue of flowers and plants being stolen from Jane and her mother's graves, it's not the cemetery doing it, is it? Some cemeteries prohibit certain types of flowers and plants due to their mowing requirements and I know that some will just remove the "offending" plant material without notice. Just a thought.