June 1, 2012

At Salem Lutheran Church
August 2010

Today is the first day of a new month.  A month ago I was a wife, today I am a widow.  This first day of the month signifies a new life for me.  I hadn't thought much about the term "widow".  Now that it refers to me, I don't like the word at all.  I'll have to check out the Norwegian word and see if I like that any better.  But I guess it's not really the word that I don't like, but the loss of all that it entails.  I have lost the love of my life, my companion for over forty-five years.  I have lost the father of our four precious children, the grandfather of our seven, soon to be eight, wonderful grandchildren.

Last night I drove the two miles to Salem cemetery by myself.  I brought a grave candle from Norway.  It's in a protective plastic case with air holes around the top.  It's a bit windy for those here but it did stay lit as long as I was there.  Then the rain drops started falling - tears I guess.  They were crying for me as I didn't shed any that time.  I was just thinking how peaceful it was for him now, beside his sister who died at the age of nine in 1940, and their parents to her left.  As much as he will be missed, I know he is so much better off now - no dealing with health problems, declining mobility and the loneliness of being away from his family in a care home.  We are so grateful that he had his Aunt Viola in the same home.  I am so thankful that I was able to spend the winter months in Estevan and visit him almost every day.  I would bring him a small can of Pepsi and he looked forward to that little treat.  One day I hadn't brought it out of my bag and soon he asked "No Pepsi?"

The hardest part for me was not being able to visit him until he was dying.  The home was in lockdown for nine days because of a contagious infection.  He didn't get it, so I was thankful to hear that.  Talking on the phone was becoming difficult for him so that was a frustrating experience too.  One day when I was going to Estevan I brought his can of Pepsi and a small bouquet of tulips and apple blossoms from our yard in a root beer mug.  I left it at the main desk and a staff member picked it up for him.  I included a note card with a picture of tulips.  I wrote a note to him in large printing, told him that I loved him, missed him and hoped that we could be together soon. X and O kisses and hugs were the best I could give.  Little did I know that we would be together for less than twenty-four hours once the lockdown was over.  He was not conscious during those last hours but it meant so much to spend that time with him as his earthly journey came to an end.  I am so thankful that I took time to write that note.  One never knows when the last chance to say"I love you" will come, the last chance to give a hug and a kiss.  The words of the song that Howard sang, "Open the Gates", are of such comfort.  "And because He lives, I too, I too, I  too shall live".  Yes, we will be together again, in a heavenly home, in God's time.