There is a photo hanging on the wall in my hallway. It’s perfect; the family inside it is as beautiful as the frame that adorns it. You would not know looking at it that the wife and mother, me, ever knew overwhelming grief and fear. Nor would you realize that the father in this photo is a stepfather, or that the little girl in it could possess such maturity. To look at this picture, one would never guess the perfect family within this frame was born out of tragedy. The photo shows no signs of the past that was or the obstacles overcome to bring these people together. It only captures the hope, love and joy that I have now in my life. But before all this bliss could be cherished in a frame, challenges had to be met, and pain had to be embraced and relinquished. My family is not typical; it’s inspiring. It has motivated me to become a better person and demonstrated how sorrow can lead to merriment. It has demanded much of me but bestowed everything to me. Family, and the challenges I have encountered, changed my perspective on life and my priorities forever. But, when you face the death of a loved one your priorities change forever. You begin to see the world and what’s important differently.
The current photo on the wall has not always been there. Years ago there was a family photo, but the three in it were not the same and the life they lived was very different. That photo had a different husband/father. At first, there was my daughter, my husband and me. We were the Three Musketeers. “One for all and all for one” was our motto. My husband, Dale, was 30 years older than me. This made us outsiders to most of society. People don’t easily accept such an age gap in couples. However, not being accepted only brought us closer together and made our bonds that much stronger. Looking back, I’m grateful that we had to learn to rely on each other so much because when things got tough we just got stronger. Society not approving of us was my last concern, and it became even less important when Dale became terminally ill. I realized in a few short years that felt like an eternity, nothing mattered to me as much as family did.
I learned just how strong my family had made me when Dale got sick. All at once I was wife, mother, and nurse. I struggled daily to meet the demands of my job, maintain a home, and comfort my daughter as well as take charge of Dale’s medical needs. I remember being in Tulsa for a procedure and getting phone calls from work while sitting in the waiting room. That same day on the drive home, I received a phone call saying my daughter was sick and needed to go to the doctor. She had Scarlet Fever. We had to separate her from Dale until she was well, and somehow I managed to take care of both of them and still log onto my computer at home and get some work done. I worked 40 plus hours a week as an Administrative Assistant to a very demanding National Sales Supervisor, and we averaged 2 doctors’ visits a week. I never missed an appointment even though they were hours away in Tulsa. While I was a rock on the outside, I was falling apart on the inside. I was scared; being told your husband is going to die with certainty is very hard to wrap your head around.
Through this I learned to be courageous. On Aug 28th 2006, my birthday, Dale was in the ICU and transferred to Tulsa, again. This time, though, the prognosis was definite. The cancer had spread throughout his body, and because of his complications from a heart transplant the year before, there was nothing more that could be done. I remember the doctor taking me out into the hallway and asking me what I wanted to do. He told me that Dale was beyond making decisions for himself and that I had to make the call. He offered palliative care at the hospital. I refused, explaining it had always been Dale’s desire to die at home. He felt I did not truly comprehend the task I was about to take on, but I insisted that he release Dale to go home and notify hospice. I told him, “I have to do this one last thing for him. No matter how hard it is. I’m prepared to take it on.” With my medical background as a CNA I was quite capable of handling his various medications, NG tube and catheter. Taking care of him was not the hard part; reconciling that I was going to lose him was. I had to take a leave of absence from work and stay at home to take care of Dale fulltime. I had friends take my daughter, Kassie, to and from school for me so that I did not miss a minute. He didn’t last long after coming home. He passed away in four days on Sept 6th, 2006. Time becomes very important when you become aware of just how little is left.
Cherishing time with loved ones and embracing memories both good and bad is another thing that my family has shown me. I remember the exact time of Dale’s passing: it was 2:48pm. I remember feeling like he waited to pass just before Kassie got home from school so he could spend as much time with me but not frighten her with having to endure witnessing his death. In those last seconds, I held his hand and cried. I fought back the part of me that wanted to beg him to not go yet, and whispered the hardest words I ever had to say: “It’s ok, we’ll be fine. You can let go.” Shortly after he passed, Kassie arrived home. I met her out front and explained what had happened. She said she wanted to go in and see him. I agreed but was fearful of damaging her in some way by letting her see him like that. I honestly didn’t know what I was doing at that moment because everything was too raw to see clearly. She went inside, crawled up in his hospital bed with him, kissed his ashen forehead and whispered goodbye and that she loved him. I’ve never been so proud of her.
People say Kassie is an old soul. The way she handled her father’s death was amazingly mature for a 6 year old. She dealt with it with such grace and compassion. Though she cried, she was not afraid. She did not cringe at the thought of life and death and fall apart as I did; she only embraced her father one last time. This mental image will forever be engrained in my heart; my daughter kissing her father goodbye, unafraid and unapologetic. Kassie became my number one priority after that. On the many occasions I contemplated suicide, it was her that kept me hanging in there. How could I leave her with the pain of losing both parents? As much as I wanted to crawl into a hole and die, I thought about how she would feel if I did. I wondered if she knew I was so heartbroken and how that made her feel. Her father couldn’t help but leave her. I had a choice, and I felt I would be a horrible mother to choose to leave her because I couldn’t bear my own suffering or face the fear of being a single mom.
Being a single mom frightened me. I was scared I was not going to be able to handle having to do everything alone. I understood that for the last few years I had managed pretty much everything, but I had always him there in my life, so I didn’t feel alone. At that moment, though, I felt alone for the first time in many years. Sometimes the fear was paralyzing. There were occasions I would lock myself in the bathroom and break down and cry, not just for my past, but also for my uncertain future. I was afraid I would always be alone, and I was nervous I would be a failure to both Kassie and myself.
After the first year, I looked back with amazement that I had succeeded. I remember picking Kassie up from her last day of school that following year and going through her list of accomplishments. I realized I had made it a whole school year and took stock in our own personal accomplishments. I was alive, Kassie was alive, and we were basically ok. The house was still standing, bills were being managed, and I was beginning to enjoy life again. These accomplishments may seem small to some, but they meant I had found a way to cope and move on with life. I had not crawled into a hole and died. I had not let the grief I felt swallow me whole, but was becoming whole myself.
Our family was not whole, though; something was missing. I remembered a conversation I had with Dale before he passed. He asked me if I was afraid, and I told him I was afraid of losing that connection I had with him. I told him in ways I felt like I was about to become like an old book in a library collecting dust never to be read again. I explained that I felt like no one ever knew me the way he did and was worried that once he was gone no one ever would again. Being a single mom and making Kassie my sole priority, I didn’t socialize much at all. Occasionally, in the late hours of the night when I found it hard to sleep in my empty bed, I’d get online. I spent a lot of nights on a forum posting messages about several topics. It was there I met my new husband, Martin, a kind and handsome man from Ireland. He was so charming and witty. I enjoyed reading his posts, as they were usually dripping with sarcasm and wit. We began talking outside the forum in private messages, as friends at first, chatting online then on the phone, then a few visits in person.
I remember the first time I met him in person. I arrived at the Dallas airport to pick him up for a 3-month stay. I was so nervous; it was awkward waiting to meet someone I had never seen but already had feelings for. When he walked down the corridor at the airport to meet me, all my apprehension was washed away when he hugged me and smiled. What I loved most about being with Martin was he made me laugh, I mean really laugh, gut busting going to wee your pants laugh, and I had not done that in years. For a while, I struggled with feelings of guilt about being so happy and moving on at first. I wondered if Dale would be happy for me or upset that I was beginning to share my heart with someone else. During Martin’s second visit to America in November of 2008, he asked me to marry him. He even proposed to my daughter on Christmas morning that year. He bought her a “princess” diamond ring got on one knee and asked her to be his daughter, to which she exclaimed “yes” and jumped up and down in excitement. We were married in July of 2009 in Eureka Springs; it was a beautiful small ceremony at a chapel. Kassie and I both walked down the aisle together. She stood at the altar with us, right beside me. It was our way of including her so that she would realize that she was a part of this new family and as a way to show our family and friends that Martin recognized he was committing to us both. It was such a joyous day with laughing, sharing drinks and taking pictures. But, it was bittersweet to see this new family framed on a wall. I am so happy to have Martin and Kassie as my family, but I could not have the life I have now if I had not lost Dale. That’s another thing my family taught me: life is not always simple.
Life is complicated: we think the best is over, only to find the best is yet to come. When we feel we can’t bear any more weight on our shoulders, we learn how to balance the load better. We find the worst thing that ever happened to us can lead to the best thing that ever happened. My family is picture perfect now. Part of me would like to capture this time and never let go, to linger in it for a millennium or more, to bask in the happiness for as long as I can. My family has revealed to me that’s not the way. Like that beautiful innocent child embracing her father without fear and without apology, my family has taught me to cry when necessary, to laugh as often as you can, but above all to, have no regrets and to embrace life – which includes death – with dignity, grace and without apology.
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