i’ve been out of town and I wasn’t going to write today…but it’s 8:36 pm and I can’t let this day go by without celebrating Niels.

I just reread a couple posts from last year…and really I nailed it so I’ll let this one be short.

My Letter to Niels –

Dear Niels,

I miss you. I miss you every day. Every night. Every every every…

And even more on “special days”

It seems that as this day has approached…I’ve noticed your presence around me. I love it when I notice you hanging around…

Today is a “special day” as it’s your birthday. I just glanced at the clock and noticed that it was the moment you entered the world – 36 years ago. The moment you changed my world. Thanks for getting me to check my watch at that moment.

You’ve been nudging me all week…

I was in Tahoe for Board meetings and yesterday when I was talking with some Chico people on the patio, two light yellow butterflies kept fluttering around me. I was completely distracted as I watched them weave in and around me. I knew you and Dad were there “with” me…enjoying the moment with me.

Several of our Board conversations were about career counseling, planning and support for students. It made me think of how you took advantage of the services and counseled others to seek an internship, attend the “Meet the Firms” events and network. You were wise beyond your years and you were such a good friend to your peers. It made me proud as I thought about you at that time of your life. And it made my conversation richer for having learned from your experience. Thank you.

Last night, we were on a sunset cruise on Lake Tahoe. One of the guests reminded me of you so much. I kept following him around with my eyes…trying really hard not to be creepy, but wishing it were really you. I wanted to approach him and tell him how much he reminded me of you, but I just don’t know how that conversation with a stranger would be received. Would I get an “okay, crazy lady”? Or maybe just an awkward silence? It just seems too weird. And in the end, I might just end up disappointed or sad. Or maybe it would be an opportunity to connect with someone new? I wasn’t brave enough last night, but I sure did enjoy “seeing” you there laughing with friends.

And, by the way, you would have loved the boat cruise because it was full of Chico people and there was lots of food and cocktails…and per normal with a Chico crowd – there was so much laughter and camaraderie among the guests. The sunset wasn’t bad, either.

On my way home today my “check tire pressure” light came on. It was a “WWND” moment. What would Niels do? (I also tried to channel Dad.) I listened to you and pulled off on the first exit that looked like I’d find a place to get some help with air. It was a Honda dealership and they were actually closed, but the kind woman told me where I’d find a Big O Tire store. I pulled in there and the young man who helped me could not have been nicer or more concerned for my safety. He politely checked my tires, added air where needed and told me to take my car to the shop when I got home. He wouldn’t accept any payment. Thank you for watching over me and giving me good advice today.

So to my first-born, my favorite son…Happy birthday. You’ve been on my mind and you’re always in my heart. Especially today…

I love you, Niels Thomas. I always have. I always will.

Forever and ever…

I told you to “stay tuned”…BIG decisions were in the making.

This is the letter that I wrote to the owner of the Chico house that I made an offer to buy…

Seems to have done the trick…as of June 13th – I’m home…again.

Chico has always had an emotional pull on me.

In 1980, I was denied admission to Cal Poly and I was accepted to Chico State. Chico what? Never heard of it. My dad dragged me kicking and screaming to visit this far flung place and…as I walked onto campus that cool spring morning…I knew I was home. I was however, too much of a bratty teenager at the time to let my dad know, but I knew.

Fast forward to graduation and my teacher’s credential – I sadly had to leave as there were NO jobs in the north valley. So I took a job four long hours away and with a big hole in my heart, I packed up and moved away (to Salinas of all places)…determined that some day…I’d be back.

Voila! Two years later, Chico Unified was hiring and I GOT THE JOB!!! I was back home and I was NEVER going to leave. My dream had come true.

Except…I moved back on the 4th of July, 1985. A friend from college was in town so we met up at The Bear. (Of course it was The Bear!) His roommate, Glen. was also there…Glen and I started dating. (There’s a funny story there, but I’ll save that for another day.) Glen lived in the Bay Area so it was a long distance relationship; a year later, he took a job in Orange County. I knew that either I left Chico to be with him…or we were through. And I didn’t want to be through. Two years later, we were married.

Glen and I always dreamed of returning to Chico. Over the years, we’ve stayed connected to the university in multiple ways. We met up with college friends for celebratory reunions.

We brought our kids to Chico for vacations. I have photos of them sitting on the Chico State brick wall in front of Kendall. They both had their bicycles with them and helmets on their heads – big smiles!

As a high school student, our son came to baseball camp a couple times and that just gave us an excuse to come back, too.

I’ve visited with friends for a girls weekend away and recently, my daughter and I came for a “mom-daughter” trip.

Any excuse was the only excuse we needed to visit!

While we’d hoped to coerce our kids to attend Chico State by indoctrinating them with visits, it wasn’t until our son bombed out of Oregon that he knew his true path was through Chico! After a brief break from college, he came to Chico and really hit his stride.  It was such a proud time for us all. 

I still get to Chico regularly, as I’m on the University Foundation Board which brings me to town for meetings multiple times a year and Glen sat on the College of Business Advisory Board for years. If one of us had to be here, we both came! Any excuse!

For the last five years, we’ve toyed with the idea of buying a second home in Chico. Glen said that after I’d moved for his career several times, it was my turn to pick where we would land. Since we both found ourselves needing to be in town for meetings, it started to feel like it was just our destiny to be back – it had been my home, my happy place, and my dream for decades. 

Glen always said…”Everything good in life started at Chico” and it had been our dream to be back there together.. A year ago, I did some serious house hunting, but something kept us from pulling the trigger. 

Here’s where the saying…things happen for a reason comes into play. 

Glen had been dealing with side effects of cancer treatment for years. About the time that I started looking for a second home in Chico, his health took a turn and last September, he passed away. What I didn’t say earlier, is that a year earlier in 2024, our son, our Chico grad, suddenly passed away. So coming back to Chico where the two of them spent such special times, means even more to me now. 

Since 1980, whenever I drive into town, whether from LA in the 80s or from the Bay…driving through the rice paddies and the almond orchards or past the golden rolling foothills dotted with rock walls – I feel a calm come over me. The air feels different. My breathing slows. My heart slows and I get emotional upon my arrival…every time. 

And now, I’m truly meant to be back. This is my time. My place to heal. My place to grieve and my place to find my joy again.

I’m home. 556 East 4th Street feels like home.

I listen to lots of podcasts about a lot of different topics…and not surprisingly – recently, many have been about loss, grief, end of life and afterlife stories. And not to be Debbie Downer (with apologies to all the Debbies out there), I’m also drawn to stories about people finding joy in different, sometimes odd (to me) ways.

Something I listened to recently made me think about how I’ve changed with all of the losses I’ve experienced in the last 15 months. (I was going to use the word endured instead of experienced, but I don’t like to put a negative spin on my life.) I mean…it hasn’t been a great year+, but with every loss, there is some small dust mote of joy or hope or learning to be found. Sometimes it takes a bit of peering around corners or at least an opening of the eyes and heart…but it’s there.

So not that you’re asking…what have I found? How have I changed? What am I learning about myself?

If you knew Glen and me…you knew us to be two VERY different people. He was outwardly very confident and sure of himself (but like most of us, don’t scratch beneath the surface too much) and he spoke with an air of expertise on every topic, as if everything he said was obviously true and factual information. There was no need to debate with him because obvi…he was right! When Glen spoke…he expected you to believe that he knew what he was talking about…and he usually did. He had an inquisitive mind and read voraciously, especially in his last years. He read a wide variety of topics and his memory amazed me as the facts and figures and stories he read stuck with him in detail. Me? I can’t remember the name of the book I’m currently reading, let alone the plot of the book I finished yesterday.

By trade, Glen was an accountant which is another way of saying…he was very logical, sequential and strategic. There was no problem that he didn’t want to puzzle over, noodle on and solve. It’s what made him so successful in his career. But for us, that translated into him taking on the role of chief decision-maker – a role he enjoyed. His thinking process was invisible to me because as he’d think through the problem, weighing all the options and then when he’d come to his conclusion, he’d present me with the solution. Sometimes he did all of his problem-solving before I even knew there was a problem! My role at that point was to say…”Great! Thanks for doing all the heavy lifting and presenting me with the only possible, logical answer to the problem!” Except…sometimes that wasn’t my answer and you can imagine that after all of his time in thinking it through, he wasn’t thrilled that I questioned his decision. Some of our biggest battles came when I asked questions, shared a different opinion or asked for more information. He couldn’t understand why I would ever doubt that he’d come up with the absolute BEST solution.

I think we behaved in these ways because of how we each experienced the world. While Glen was very logical, I was/am all emotions. I have to work really hard to consider data before making decisions. I am also a slow processor. For me, it takes time for things to percolate (usually subconsciously) and then I start thinking things through and developing my questions or ideas. And then…sometimes days later, my thinking begins to dribble out verbally…I might drop a question or a thought over dinner, or in the car or standing at the bathroom sink in the morning…I’d bring up a topic of something that Glen thought was a previously “solved” problem yet and I’d add another…thought, question or idea. Not an ideal process for Glen. 

And left on my own to problem-solve? First, I’m conflict averse so all problems are to be avoided at all times. But when I have a problem I can’t avoid, my methodology is to talk about it out loud, to chatter on about it, brainstorm, hem and haw and noodle on it in a group think environment and then I still probably just react on a gut feeling. Yah…that also didn’t work so well for Glen.

So how did our differences play out over the years? There were battles. Plenty of them. And over time, Glen learned that I would need time to process so he tried not to drop things in my lap for my immediate agreement. He tried to let me in on the “sausage-making” of his problem-solving process. And if I’m honest (which I try always to be)…I really did learn to appreciate that he usually did come to the best solution…especially if it had anything to do with finances. So over time, I learned to defer, to accept, to not even participate in some of the biggest decisions “we” made. To his credit, he always brought me the information and I sort of listened because in the end, I figured he had it right. 

Unfortunately, I did not pay enough attention to his process; our problem-solving relationship did not teach me how to research an issue, consider options, data, and viewpoints and then make a logical decision. Not an ideal training experience for a person who now finds herself on her own in her “golden years”. 

So back to the original question of this post…How have I changed? What have I learned?

I’ve just started to realize that “I can do hard things” – things that make me uncomfortable. Things that I’ve avoided for decades. Things that don’t interest me. Things that scare me. I can ponder the hard questions and come to conclusions.

Even when a wrong decision might  have serious consequences…

Currently, I am in the middle of a major decision (stay tuned) with many steps and tasks to be completed – these decisions are things Glen would have just handled on his own in the background and magically…everything would have been accomplished (the right way). And…I would have been glad for it to be done without my participation.

Now I am learning that I too, can make these decisions. I can trust myself. I can trust my intuition (aka emotion). I have plenty of smart people around who support me, provide opinions, information, expertise and answers to the questions I don’t even know to ask. I am not alone.

I’m learning to trust myself. I’m learning that I can make difficult, BIG decisions.

I’m learning that I can lean on others for their analytical thinking skills…I can listen to their logical thinking, add it to my emotional thinking and then make a decision using both sides of my brain.

I’m learning that an emotional decision isn’t necessarily a bad decision. In fact, emotion is an important factor in making a good decision.

Because…Logic + Emotion > than logic OR emotion See!!! I can do math!

“Solo”

It’s a word with a new meaning for me. It used to indicate that there was a “kegger” going on. It brings memories of all those red solo cups in the hands of college students standing around in the cold, dark, damp night. Or if it was summer time, kegs floating down the Sacramento River alongside our inner tubes with our hands holding our brimming red solo cups out of the water. Those “solo” cup memories all seem like such a distant memory of innocent, simple times.

At this point of my life, solo is a word that strikes fear, or at least discomfort in my heart and soul. I recently figured out that the new word reflecting me as solo identified me with a new noun – widow…Who me? Couldn’t be. (Then who stole the cookie from the cookie jar…sorry…I digress…again 36 years as an elementary school teacher…) So – what does being a widow, being solo, mean as I move forward? And for that matter…where is forward?

For the last few years, it became clear that I was going to be solo in my “silver” years. Recently, as I was pondering this new status, I realized that I haven’t been alone, truly alone, standing on my own two feet for more than 40 years. That’s a long time of attachment to another person, of being a couple, of having a partner, of traveling through life as a pair.

So now what?

How can I look at being solo in a world where “pairs” are the norm. How can I make this new status a good thing?

I’ll start with thinking about traveling solo. Truth be known, while we traveled over the last few years, there were many days (okay, weeks and months) where I felt like I was a solo traveler. Glen was not able to get out and about the way he wanted to so I often found myself exploring on my own. In hindsight, it felt like he was preparing me, having me rehearse for what it was going to be like to be solo in the world. He was helping me to gain the skills that I would need to travel alone.

At first I found this new independence to be disconcerting, uncomfortable, even lonely. But over time, I came to enjoy the independence; it was actually freeing. When you’re exploring on your own, you don’t have to consider anyone else’s needs or desires. When something catches your eye around the corner, you can immediately change direction to go investigate and explore it. Why not? You can feel hunger or thirst or a need for a rest and stop at the first cafe or a park bench and just watch the world go by. What I noticed about this kind of solo travel was that I actually saw more of what was going on around me than when I was exploring with another person. I was more observant and willing to engage with people and places. Being responsible for the pace, direction and interactions of my wanderings was a new kind of freedom.

I also noticed that without someone else to talk with, I do something that I think many of us do when we find ourselves sitting alone in a crowded, busy environment. I watch. I observe people at cafes or an airport and notice their interactions with the people around them. To pass the time, I start imagining their lives. What does their clothing tell me about their personality? What are their joys? Their sadnesses? Are they missing someone? Where are their journeys taking them? I make up the story of their lives in my head. I often think that there could be a good novel in that practice!

And it turns out…traveling solo doesn’t necessarily mean that I am alone, lonely or without community. I was recently at the theater…alone. Yes, I pulled up my big girl panties and went to the theater by myself. In the time before the play started, I didn’t pick up my phone (a true miracle) or read the program. I just sat and observed the audience. What surprised me was that I noticed so many acts of kindness among the crowd. There was a woman struggling to get up the stairs and a gentleman below her stepped out of his seat to assist her. As she got to her seat, the gentleman above her helped her lower herself into her seat. After she was settled, they returned to their seats…maybe not even realizing what a kindness they had done because they weren’t watching the woman’s expression of relief and gratitude. Similarly, as the audience made me look like a spring chicken, I noticed that as we all s l o w l y exited the theater, many patrons patiently waited or assisted people who were struggling with bad knees, hips or vision. Even in those brief interactions, it really felt like a community of strangers supporting each other. Because I wasn’t mindlessly scrolling on my phone or chatting with a seat mate, I was observing the people around me (and making up a few stories)!

A week ago, I had the pleasure of being at the Lesher Center for the Mariachi de Herencia de Mexico. It was an absolutely incredible performance of 14 musicians with the voices of the gods. The theater was literally filled with music and joy for two hours. As I scanned the audience, I kept noticing the rapt expression on one patron’s face. She was sitting at the edge of her seat singing, clapping and dancing the entire night. As she came out of her row, we made eye contact and I told her how much I had enjoyed seeing her unbridled joy throughout the performance. Before I knew it, she threw her arms up in the air in a wide V, stepped forward and wrapped me in a huge hug!!! While I was initially surprised by her exuberance, I realized what an absolutely natural and human reaction it was for her to share her joy with me, a stranger, in such a personal, human way.

Both of these recent solo experiences are warm reminders of how little it takes to stay connected in our world…By simply observing our world, we realize that we truly are NOT alone, we are NOT solo. We are bound together through our stories, through our humanity, through our sadness, our joy and through simple acts of kindness.

So while the thought of being solo has been scary, I’m beginning to see it as an opportunity. Being “alone” allows me to spend more time truly being in the world, among the people. It pushes me to be a participant in our world, opening my whole heart to those around me.

As I’m currently in Chico, remembering all those red solo cups in my past, I’m giving a big red solo cup “cheers” to all of the solo travelers in our world.

May we all open our eyes and our hearts and spread our wings together.

Ooof…It’s been a rough couple years. The holidays weren’t for me this year. I just couldn’t get myself interested in sleepwalking through our family traditions. Gift giving, decorating, “cheering” with cocktails…it just didn’t feel right. Friends and family were understanding and so this Christmas, we ran away and “hid”.

No eggnog, no tree, no presents. No Christmas carols, no Christmas card. No ho-ho-ho. At times, it felt a bit “Scrooge-ish”, but I think Tiny Tim would understand.

So here we are…almost through the “holidays” and at the beginning of a new year. Of course, that brings me to looking forward. I admit that last year…I assumed we were through the worst of it. I mean, suffering the tragic loss of our son. 2025 had to be better…right? I don’t remember doing a lot of pre-reflection about 2025. I didn’t set goals or “intentions”. I don’t think I spent a lot of time musing about how I could approach the new year with “self-improvement” in mind. I watched Anderson and Andy and at 9:05 I went to bed thinking…okay. Time to move on. On New Year’s Day, I watched the parade and ate the snacks while watching all the football games. January 2, 2025 – just another day with a new number in the ones place. (Fellow first grade teachers will understand.)

I’m not going to review 2025. Though this did resonate with me…(sorry – I don’t have the credit.)

Obviously, there were great moments and events. And also, there were some serious lows. I will say that in these last weeks, I have been reflecting about life as it is today. And I mean…today. Not last year, not last decade, not yesterday, not tomorrow. Today. Life events have definitely impacted my reflections…I’m learning a lot about the effect of grief on a person. On me. I admit, a lot of my resources are from social media. There are some great blogs, videos, posts, podcasts…that are helping me navigate through my losses. I’m learning that there is no past tense for grief. Only the progressive tense – I am grieving. It will always sit with me…in my heart. In my soul. There is no “grief” in the past. It will always be my “present”.

Yesterday I ran across a post that really resonated with me. In a nutshell, it explained that with each loss of your “person”, the griever becomes a new person because you literally aren’t the same person you were when you had your person in your life. The griever changes…becomes a different person with each loss. Wow. That perfectly describes where I am sitting today…trying to figure out who I am in this new configuration of life.

Which brings me to the annual “new year” resolutions, intentions, reformations…I’ve never been much of a goal-setter or a resolution-writer, but this year feels a bit different. Can I use this opportunity to re-think/re-imagine how I walk through this life as a new entity? I’m not a wife. My “partner for life” is not going to be on the couch watching The Rose Bowl with me – screaming “Roll Tide”! I can’t say I’m not Niels’s mom and yet, he’s not here for New Year’s Day snacks, helping me in the kitchen. I’m not the same person without Glen and without Niels. (Did you know that when your husband dies, you’re a widow, when your parents die, your an orphan, when you have a child, you’re a mom, but when your child dies…we don’t have a word in the English language for that new role…and yet it’s one of the most profound roles a parent can experience.)

So I started the new year with a Danish tradition that I ran across yesterday. (Glen’s mom was 100% Danish so this feels right.) The Danes ring in the New Year by smashing crockery (dishes) on the doorsteps of friends and neighbors. They collect old dishes throughout the year and then they go smashing their way around their community. It’s the Danish version of caroling through the neighborhood! In the morning, you wake up and open your front door to see the shards. The larger the pile on your doorstep, the more loved and appreciated you feel. You can consider yourself blessed, shielded from evil spirits and filled with good luck for the coming year! I love this!

So yesterday, I went out in the rain and ran to the nearest thrift store to purchase some crockery. Don’t worry…I didn’t drive around the neighborhood terrorizing my friends with the sound of crashing plates at their front door, but at 9:05, after watching Anderson and Andy, I DID smash some at my own front door. The mere act of throwing the “crockery” to the ground and hearing the sound of them shattering was weirdly cathartic and rewarding. As I tossed each dish to the ground, I thought about Glen and Niels…about my grief and about my love. I thought about moving through life in 2026 in a new way. The crashing dishes gave me a strange sense of closure for the things that happened that “shaped me”. I also had a feeling of relief and openness to 2026.

So 2024-25 – you can suck rocks. Good bye “evil spirits” and bad juju.

2026 – Look out for the evolving me! Not broken. Just “becoming”. (With a nod to Michelle Obama for the turn of a word.)

My “second mother” said three simple words to me. She said that they were the hardest words to understand – to absorb – to live…

LIFE GOES ON…

And as we close out 2025, a year I’d like to forget, I find myself reflecting on the truth of those words.

My sister, Chris and I were just talking about Y2K…26 years ago. How? My kids were in elementary school. We had everything to look forward to – hope was in the air. Our futures were bright. Life was good.

I always thought that i was the lucky one. That tragedy and sadness had skipped me. That I had led a “blessed” life – no thanks to anything I did…just lucky, I guessed. And then…when I started looking back on my life, I realized that there had been some serious rough patches…to say the least.

Eight years after Y2K, Glen was fighting for his life with a stage 4 cancer diagnosis and the 2008 financial crisis nearly did us in. After those devastating years, life slowly smoothed out with the usual bumps in the road as our kids made their way in the world…what I call the crooked path to adulthood. But life went on rather smoothly. We were grateful.

Until the mid twothousandteens…when my sister, Karen died in a tragic car accident.

And then one by one, our parents began to experience the effects of their age. First, Dad with the cruelty of Alzheimer’s and then each in their own way, each parent left this earth.

At this point, Glen and I began to look toward retirement and a life of travel. It’s also when Glen began to suffer from side effects caused by his cancer treatment that had saved his life. We had been warned that down the line there could be some negative effects, but wasn’t that for “other” people? Wasn’t he the “lucky” one who would be spared?

It was at this time that I retired and we started “living” in other cities – wanting to experience different places and cultures. We were racing to beat the age clock and experience life in ways that we had imagined and dreamed about through all of our hard-working years. We had already spent summers in Montana while we both worked, but when I retired and Glen could “work anywhere”, we went to Brooklyn for three months followed by three months in New Orleans…with more long term trips planned. In fact, we were in France when those treatment side effects began to take a serious toll on Glen’s health and our European adventure was cut short. .The clock was not being kind.

As Mrs. P said…life goes on…in ways that we don’t expect. As much as we think we control our lives…it’s not true. And as so many have said…it’s not what happens TO you…it’s how you react to IT.

I’ve had plenty of opportunity to react in the last year and a half. First the shock of Niels’s sudden, unexpected death, then the slow decline my mom took until her death in January and finally…Glen.

What a battle he waged. And yet…for at least three years (really more like five), he endured many new diagnoses and pains – so many disappointments as he figured out how he could best live his life. I’m in awe of how he found ways to find joy, to learn, to grow and to live his life in his ever-shrinking world. He read, he watched shows, he followed his footie passion – Liverpool. He didn’t complain or expect those around him to live their lives any differently. He knew…life goes on…So we found ways to carry on…to modify and adjust…to live differently…to have different expectations…

And through all of Glen’s suffering…life did go on. Until it didn’t. Until he looked at me with the clearest eyes and said…”I’m ready.” Until he knew that there was no “getting better”. There was no “soon we’ll go to…” There was no…just one more treatment, one more medication, one more appointment…one more doctor…There was only…his pain and his shrinking world.

And here we are…life has gone on…Seasons have changed. Birthdays came and went. Holidays were celebrated. The year on the calendar will be changing soon.

I’m changing, too. I’m reacting to what has happened “to me” in the best way I can…I’m making mistakes. I’m learning to ask for help. I’m trying to create new habits….new ways of seeing things…new traditions…new ways of being…and…

And…?

I no longer am experiencing a sense of living a life of “luck”. I have an intense understanding that tragedy is just around every corner. It may be a slow-walking tragedy or a shocking, earth shattering step-off-a-cliff tragedy. But tragedy awaits. How will I react?

LIFE GOES ON…

Love leaves – yet never leaves…

I think of leaves, of the leaves of fall –

the golden, ruby leaves of fall –

That float away –

Only to be loved by another.

Another life.

Another form.

And then the stark, gloomy winter colors my sky…

all my days…

until…

until the greens arrive and struggle to show their color.

To show their strength –

their survival through the darkness of winter.

The greens, pinks, yellows and orange come for me shouting –

We’re here! We never left!

We were always here.

Deep in your soul.

All the colors.

All the leaves.

All the love.

We are here.

I read the devastating headlines of the day and I feel angry and numb. Then I listen to Bruce sing “The Land of Hope and Dreams” and I cry.

I cry for the dreams that were lost the day Niels died. I cry for the daughter-in-law I’d never have to cook with and laugh with, for the grandchildren I’d never hold, for the pride and joy I’d never feel when Niels became partner in his CPA firm of choice. I cry for the moments I’d look over at him and know that he understood my emotions, that he was supporting me and cheering for me. The moments when he’d say “Mom, I’ve got you.” I cry because I won’t hear his belly laugh, see his smile, feel his bear hug.

I cry. Still I cry.

And I cry for the dreams that were lost the day Glen died. Really, those dreams were slowly and painfully fading over the years as one-by-one we took those dreams off our list. I cry for the months that we will never live together in Rome or Portugal or Hanoi, for the perfect cup of espresso we’d never search for and enjoy together. I cry for the concerts we won’t hear and the plays we won’t see. I cry for that twinkle in his eye that he’d get when we were plotting our future travels. I cry because I already miss his wisdom and just-right question when I’m trying to figure out what to do. I cry for the conversations we won’t have about our future; our golden years. And I even cry for the arguments I’ll miss…yes even the arguments.

I cry. Still I cry.

Because really, all of it is a loss. A loss of “hope and dreams”. And per usual, Bruce nails it.

And yet, I know that hope and dreams cannot be lost. Sidelined for a bit? Revised? Transformed? Modified? Maybe. But always…there must be hope and dreams…it’s what keeps me looking forward, moving forward…

I’ll find my way on “this train”, the train of hopes and dreams…

Thanks, Bruce. You’re still The Boss.

Death is personal. No two experiences are the same. Duh.

It has occurred to me that in a very short period of time we have had two very different experiences with dying – the long journey and the shocking event. One is not better than the other. They both end with the same result and they are completely different experiences for the loved ones who are left to grieve and live with a shattered heart.

Niels’s death was announced when the police officers rang our doorbell at 9:06 pm on a Tuesday night. When the female officer asked if I was Niels Thomas’s mom. When I answered “yes” staring at her with the unspoken question in my eyes and she simply…nodded, “yes”. 9:06 pm.

That is the kind of arrival of “death news” that drops you to the floor. Literally. It leaves you gasping for air. Shaking your head. Screaming “no”. And then over time…time that seems to stop, the realization of the passing sets in…slowly, swiftly…all mixed up in a surreal non-reality that turns out to be your new permanent reality. And yet, this CANNOT be real.

And then there’s the long journey to death…years of struggle, suffering, pain AND the ability to make choices about how you live. And how you die. Glen had cancer in 2008. I’ve always said that they had to “kill” him to save him because the treatment was brutal. Many times, I know he considered giving in to death. After his long and slow recovery, he often said that he hoped for 10 good years. Lucky him. But now, he has said…enough. Enough pain and suffering. Enough fighting. He gets to choose…

So I’m sitting here with Glen in the quiet of the morning light, I pretend that the “chirping” of the oxygen machine is the birds outside the window. I can see hummingbirds. (I know they don’t chirp, but let a girl have her story…) He’s calm, resting well thanks to the nurses who meet his every physical need.

I’m here contemplating life…and death. A long life well-lived and a life cut too short and yet also so well-lived. Both so well loved.

And then I got a text that said that “Niels is already with Glen. He is with you all.”

And my heart swelled and broke simultaneously. I have felt Niels’s presence here as Glen slowly leaves. I hadn’t been able to put my finger on my strange sense of peace, but that’s it. “We are four” again, if only for a few hours or days. WE ARE FOUR.

And..

We’ve established that life is full of twists and turns. – throughout our lives we experience so many unpredictable events – joys and sorrows, curiosities and questions, fun times, dreamy times, scary times.

And then…there are those events that you maybe were expecting, but the unpredictability is in the timing. Not the “if” it’s going to happen, but the “when”.

Like…you always knew you’d go to college, but would it take you 4 years, 9 years, or maybe you actually changed your mind and skipped it all together? And then you figured that someday you’d get married, but would you still be in your party years, your college years, your career years, your later years…or maybe never after all? And kids? Sure? Maybe? Yes, absolutely! Or no thank you, I have a dog.

And then a friend once asked me…why do I think about life in that order? Remember. It’s full of twists and turns. Be ready…Maybe it’s kids then marriage, then college? Maybe it’s career, another career, and another career, skipping all the other “steps”? Life is unpredictable.

And of course, we all know that we will have an end. An expiration date. A “use by…” date. As Mrs. Bruce, my Home Ec teacher at Clark Junior High used to say…Only two things in life are certain…You will pay taxes and die. (Of all the things I must have learned in junior high, why is that the only thing I remember?)

So in the meantime, from the time that we are old enough to understand the unpredictability of life and we learn the skills to just go with it, to manage it, and flourish through it all…I’m thinking about how we actually spend our lives – the days, years, decades…or maybe better said…how do we experience the unpredictability of our lives?

I was chatting with Dr. Trudy, a wise doctor, the other day and we talked about life and death and our paths through life to death. We agreed that there will always be hard times, unbearable times and the “easy” times will often feel like a fleeting moment in time; often viewed through rose-colored glasses in our memories. And she said, “We can hold hope and worry at the same time”. Huh? Hope and worry?

As we talked, it occurred to me…it is a truism that how we experience this unpredictable life really depends on how we approach it – what we do with it, how we think about life and how we share our life experiences with others – specifically how we build relationships and share our emotions with others in times of hope and worry.

And how we might carry them together. Hope and worry – they seem so separate?

That phrase that Dr. Trudy shared with me has really stuck with me and it reminds me of something Glen used to say all the time…”It’s a paradox” meaning that two disparate things can be true at the same time. It used to irk me so much every time he said it…I always heard, “blah-blah, blah-blah, blah-blah…”

So when Dr. Trudy said…We can hold “hope and worry” at the same time…I had a lightbulb moment…Glen was right…again, darn it.

In this moment – at every moment…life can be scary and also filled with gratitude and hope. Lately, I’ve found hope in every conversation I have with friends and family – with every offer of support and encouragement. And with the hugs felt from everyone near and far. Hope.

And I worry. Glen’s health is tenuous, at best. There is a certain predictability that we are facing…together. And as I sit with my worry, I hold it in one hand and I squeeze it, seeking answers …At the same time, I am also holding hope in the other hand. And I squeeze it, too. i squeeze HARD. Hope.

Life is a paradox.