Intermission: A Postcard Back

5:35 PM, Saturday

December 31, 2016

Dear Mom:

Somewhere in this house, in one of the boxes of treasures I saved from your house, is a picture you took of me with Bob just before we left Waverly for Dearborn. It was 2001, I think. Maybe 2002. I'm at that age now where the years get blurred. 

We were leaving Tennessee after spending Easter Vacation with you. The week had gone well, surprisingly. It hadn't had a promising start. I had called you from Michigan on March 31, Dad's birthday, and told you that I had adopted a Shih Tzu puppy. Your reply lacked enthusiasm; you weren't much for household pets, but then again, Dad's birthday was a tough day for you. 

"Where are you going to keep him when you come down here for Easter?" you asked. I should have anticipated that, but I hadn't. Your question surprised me.

"He's coming with me!" I blurted.

"Well... I suppose he can sleep in the gazebo." 

"He's not sleeping in the gazebo! If you don't want Bob to come, I can't come. I just got him. It wouldn't be fair to leave him with someone."

"Fine," you groused. "But if he has an accident in the house, you'll both be sleeping in the gazebo." 

You meant it.

During the week we stayed with you, Bob peed in the kitchen, he peed in the dining room, he pooped in the guest bedroom, the family room, the living room, and dad's office. To your horror, and mine, you shrieked as you came upon Bob lifting his leg one afternoon, ready to strike the vaguely grinning Beany Baby on your bed that was wearing a navy uniform like dad's. Puzzled, Bob paused long enough for me to race into the bedroom and swoop him out the back door. 

"You're going to put us both in the gazebo. And the dog house." Bob wagged his tail as he sniffed out new territory beneath a magnola tree.

Oddly, you said nothing after Bob and I returned to the house. I had noticed a softening on your part in the few days since Bob and I arrived. When we watched television, you sat on the couch with Bob at your side, legs up, as you lazily scratched his belly. Your nails were so much better than mine, he never let me scratch his belly the way he begged you to do. When you ate your morning bowl of cereal, you casually tossed a few Honey Nut Cheerios across the family room and giggled as Bob streaked across the carpet to gobble up his find. 

On the morning we were scheduled to leave, I noticed Bob growing anxious as I carried items out to the car. I strapped him into his doggie seat, patted his head and told him we were just going home. I dragged my suitcase from the house to the trunk of my car and rearranged the items already packed. 

"Oh! I just need one more hug!" came your voice from driveway. I turned, arms outstretched, ready for another mother hug. Instead, I found you half inside the front seat, arms craddling a very contented puppy. "I am going to miss you!"  you enthused to Bob. Not to me. Bob.

"I need a picture of the two of you, too!" 

Connie and Bob

I settled into the driver's seat next to Bob and we beamed into the camera. We never did put that dog's bed in the gazebo.

The other day Leah asked me whether I believed there were pets in heaven because, she reasoned, if all animals went to heaven, it could get pretty crowded. I said I don't know, but I sure hope so. 

From my perspective the worst part of religion is that it can seem less a belief than a wish, a hope for what we want to be true instead of an act of faith that springs from a connection with the divine. I have had devine connections, I don't doubt them. But this question, do pets go to heaven? It's too close to my heart. I can't find a path for an answer.

What I hope... My deepest wish is that you are waiting. That you know Bob is growing feeble, that his little legs are growing weaker, and his breathing is more labored. I pray you know this and you are waiting to scratch his belly again after you walk him Home.

I will love you always, too, 

Connie

Getting Older And Grieving

7:30 am, Thursday

May 31, 2001

Dearest Darling,

First Methodist Church of Waverly, after the building
renovations were completed (elevator included)

I just woke up. I  am missing you and thinking about you. You are the first thing that I think of in the morning and the last thing at night.

It has been cooler all the past week. In fact, I don't even have the air conditioning unit on, just running the ceiling fans and it's very comfortable.

Last night, Chairman Jim Williams presented the plans for an elevator and "Life Center" building to the church after a potluck dinner. I wondered how you would have felt about it and what questions you would have asked. It will be expensive, about $500,000, and I don't know if our congregation will pay for it. We do need the elevator for three people now, and probably more as time goes by. A better kitchen is needed, too.

Today, I am having lunch with Bob and Sue. It's the last chance to be with them between their trip to Georgia to be with their son, Brad, and mine to Dearborn with the Frensleys. We are going to meet at Carol's Restaurant for her Sunshine Salad (chicken and fruit). 

Barbara DeBoe called yesterday as I was leaving for church and I called her back when I got home. Bill had another ministroke and Barbara is scared. I know the feeling. Bill had a stroke two years ago. The handwriting is on the wall: AGE. And will Bill will be retiring this year, in October or December. Yes, I plan to see them in June. 

Ben Vaughn is better from his stroke. He still has to go for physical therapy, but he can get in the car, can play cards. Barb said Ben has difficulty talking, still.  But Ben has come a long way.

I hadn't cried until now and I am again. I was beginning to think that I was "handling it better," but I'll never stop mourning my loss of your company and your love.

I know you are here in spirit (at least I believe that), but I want more. I loved and lived with you too long to suddenly let go. I read articles about grief and listen to speakers and it all sounds good. But I think the utter loss of your presence is something more than my heart and mind can bear. 

I love you so much. The past 50 years has been all about you. I can't change now. 

All my love always, 

Norma

Memorial Day

Celebrated Memorial Day

10:00 PM May 28, 2001

Real Memorial Day is May 30

Dearest Darling,

Today Barbra, Polly and I took flags, flowers and twirly gizmos over to your grave. I guess the cemetary caretakers had placed flags on each veteran's grave by the service marker. It was an impressive sight. There were so many flags. I felt a rush of pride at that moment and one of extreme loss. I always feel that way -- I miss you so much. My tears are streaming down so I can hardly see well enough to write.

It was raining. The cross that Mr. and Mrs. Harrell sent you finally collapsed and I had to take it away.

Oh, what I would give to have you here with me, laughing, talking and loving me. I miss you so. This, "your home," is so empty without you. You were the reason that I lived for, I am lost without you. The days pass by, but they are meaningless without you here to comfort, cheer and guide me.

My desire to do anything is gone. My confidence and self-esteem is so low. Oh, honey, I need you so. I miss you every hour of the day.

All my love forever, 

Norma

Money Matters. And Grief.

7:36 am

Friday, May 25

Dear Jim,

It's payday for me -- if you were here, you would have been looking for the checkbook to add in the automated deposit last night, wouldn't you?

You may be proud of me, I've managed to save money too, even with a lesser amount [in my pension.] I remember you putting extra in our account for vacation, travel, and car expenses. I've got it back up to an even higher amount than when I took out the expenses for your funeral. But "my mother's account" is going down. I used it to help Connie buy the house and Jeep. But then, you probably know this. I hope you approve of what I did. I remembered how Harvey and Mary helped Peter and Sue "when they needed it," not waiting for them to inherit it.

But that's not what I planned to write about.

I dream about you so many nights and when I awake, I miss you even more. The past two nights I have dreamed about you. I am glad to see you in my dreams because they are so real. You talk to me, we are doing "something," and it is like you are still with me. 

Last night, we were in a car driving somewhere. My (our) car hood latch kept coming loose and finally broke. (It really is a pain and comes up.) I was telling you all the repairs that are needed. I guess I had this dream is because yesterday the "eye" on the stove worked loose again and you always tightened it up.  I said, "Jim, I need you here to fix this." Then I got a screwdriver and finally did it myself. I'm glad I remembered how to do it, but I sure wish you were here.

I put thistle in the bird feeder for the beautiful yellow finches. I thought of how we enjoyed watching them together.

On Wednesday night, I slept so well and didn't wake up until 9:45 am. Last night I was back to tossing and turning.

I re-read your letter of 3/31/61 to your mother telling her not to be nervous and grieve so for your dad. It is a beautiful letter and I know that it helped her. But I remember you found grieve to be different when we lost Janice.

I really am trying, but I am up a little one day and right back almost as low the next. I miss you every moment of every day.

All my love always,

Norma

Only You

8:24

Tuesday AM

May 17, 2001

Dear Jim,

I just woke up from a vivid dream and I want to tell you about it.

"Only You" by The Platters, Jim and Norma's song

We were married and Connie was about seven years old. She was wearing a pair of shorts like your milkman overalls. You and I were driving to a house that we were thinking about buying. It was in Detroit and one block off Vernor Highway. I have never seen a street like it. In my dream, I didn't like the house being too close to Vernor, but I liked the house itself. It was a two-story white house. Vernor was beyond the houses. We had gone through the house and had to go to some office building to sign the papers. When we got there, Connie and a friend left, walking down the street.

You and I looked at the room. It was filled with about 75 people who were sitting, waiting to buy their houses. We each had to get a chest xray before we could purchase the house. I told you that we would be waiting for forever, so let's go home and make love. In my dream, the desire was so strong. I said we could come back tomorrow, but you wanted to drive around the house once more. We did, and saw a huge tree growing sideways, the trunk roots were enormous, but since the house was high up off the street, like on a little hill, it was OK. 

You said, "We will have that tree removed as soon as the deal goes through." There was a younger tree growing straight up from the lower, flat part of the yard. We drove back to wait in line to get an xray and buy the property. 

I wonder about this dream. I have never seen a street like that, with the lawn in between the pavement. I remember we looked at houses down near Vernor, but Connie was a baby.

What I awakened, the desire for sex was as strong as if you were still in bed with me. Oh, my darling, I need you so much. I love you so much. Life is so meaningless without you. 

I need to tell you that Walter isn't well and has made two trips to the emergency room this week. His hands, legs and feet are swollen and blotchy. David thinks is might be rheumatic fever, but Walter won't go to Springfield for tests or for a referral. If you were here, maybe hewould let you drive him to David's. (Norma's note: It was gout.)

Also, Margaret's father, John B___, is having more health problems. Couldn't breathe, that's better, but Mr. B___ can't stand up, he has no strength in his legs.

Also, I'm scared about my eyes failing. [Norma was diagnosed with glaucoma.] I need you here to give me confidence and comfort and help if it does happen. 

I miss you so much every hour of every day in every single way. My darling, I treasure my memories of life with you. 

All my love always, 

Norma

12:30 PM

P.S.

Jim, I can't bear my life. I am nothing without you. I am crying now. All I do is cry. The tears fall but I don't feel better. I feel like an empty pitcher. I am not content anywhere or with anyone. The grief support isn't helping. I know everyone carries sorrow and pain and I'm not the only one, but I'm lost without you. You were my life, my reason for living and I have none -- nothing to live for now. I just want you back here with me -- loving and caring for me. Only you can make my life complete -- remember it was our song by The Platters. It was popular while you were in Korea and when you came home. I will always remember those days. I wish it was 1953 again.

This home is just a shell now without you. You know that anywhere you wanted to go was OK with me -- just as long as I could live with you. It was my only desire. I love you so deeply. The pain of not having you here 24 hours a day is more than I can bear. 

Oh, for one more kiss and hug from you, it would be heaven for me.

How can I ever survive this loss? It is more than I can bear. My heart aches for you. My arms are empty. I just go through the days. 

Probably people  would be suprised to read this. I try to act like "I'm adjusting," but I'm not really. It is only a facade. 

Oh, Darling, I want you here with me to love and you knew that I adored you. I am lost without you. I miss being married, but only to you. 

I haven't done
anything but cry and miss you today. 

I'll love you forever.

Norma

Gossip From The Dentist

Tuesday

May 8, 2001

Dear Darling Sweetheart,

Again, today I am missing you. I reread your 1954 letters and love you more as I reread them.

I went to the dentist today to get my teeth cleaned. You would be proud of me -- I told them that I didn't want xrays today. I'm going to Dr. Bond on Thursday and I just didn't want to do it.

Norma took her dental visits very seriously.
Unlike Jim.

Dr. Powers came in and said, "I sure miss the big guy." I didn't cry. (I am now.) He said that he will always remember talking to you at Rotary on Wednesday, the day before you died. You asked how James, his son, was and said to tell him "hello" for you. Dr. Powers said he called James that night and told him, never dreaming that it would be your last conversation. Dr. Powers says that you are remembered and mentioned at Rotary often. I asked if James still owns part of Barnhill's. Yes and they have 32 restaurants now. James sold the water company (Crystal Springs) for $17 million. Of course, he had partners. 

James is still in Phoenix but will be moving the business back to Nashville one day. 

Give Janice* a hug and kiss for me. I miss you, Darling. I love you so.

Norma

Notes:

Janice was Jim and Norma's daughter who died in 1968. 

On Terrapins And Other Things

Friday

May 4, 2001

Dear Jim, 

Eastern Box Turtle

I was just looking at your letters and reliving Spring, 1954*. Oh, what I wouldn't give to turn back the clock. Thank you for such precious and, sometimes, bittersweet memories. I know there were times I was scared and doubted if we would ever marry. You had such a hard time adjusting to civilian life. My self-esteem was never really good -- after you came home, it would rise and fall easily.

But that's not the reason for this letter.

I was putting TOWA stuff "somewhere" and came across some facts that I heard at the Saturday morning meeting with a ranger from Warioto State Park.** It was such a habit to jot it down notes and tell you about them for one of your articles:

• "Ridges are like wrinkles in a carpet." 
• "Rocks make up the variety in the land." 
• "Kentucky coffee trees are in the park; one of the oldest trees is here." 
• "Terrapine is the Algonquin word for box turtle." 

Then I realized the futility of what I was doing and I was filled with crushing sadness. I am overcome with tears and grief as I write this. Jim, I can't bear this separation from you. My heart aches with sorrow and loneliness. My tears flow like rain and the sobbing starts. 

I watched Dr. Phil on Oprah and it broke my heart. He talked about a joyful marriage and I remember ours. Sometimes now I wish (or think maybe is a better word) that if we hadn't loved each other so much, maybe I wouldn't feel so empty, lost, and without hope. You said I was "strong," but the truth is that I could be strong for you and because of you.

I look at our wedding pictures and remember the joy and happiness I felt that day and up to the horrible day that you left me. I know that you didn't leave me by choice. Your big, wonderful heart just gave out. 

We had so many plans - going to Tucson in February. And just living in our home that we loved. I'm still here, but it is empty and lonely without you. Oh, my darling husband, I miss you so much. Life just doesn't have any meaning without you. I love Connie, but it's a different kind of love. A wife without her darling husband is lost. 

Until we meet again, I will always be your wife. I love you so much.

Norma

Notes:
* Norma saved Jim's letters from his tour in the Navy during the Korean War. They are available to read at Letters From The USS Valley Forge (http://ussvalleyforge.blogspot.com/2015/04/hello-from-boot-camp.html).
** Norma was a stickler for details, ask anyone who watched her carefully measuring ingredients while cooking, but I believe she's confused about "Warioto State Park" because there isn't a listing with that name in Tennessee; perhaps it's been renamed. My guess is that the ranger she references mentioned the Warioto Audobon Society, which is active in the Dunbar Cave State Park and she confused the two when journaling.

Vacations Without You

At Home

Sunday Night

April 29, 2001

Dear Darling Husband,

I am home, sitting on the bed, watching a program on the Shakers*. Remember our trips to Pleasant Hill, Kentucky? I think of them now and my memories of the village, of the sweet waitress we had three times in a row who told us "no tipping" or she would be fired. You asked if she had a pocket in her skirt under her apron and then gave her $3.00 with instructions for her boss to call us.

I missed you on all of the TOWA day trips, during meals and especially at night. My thoughts are always about you. I keep reliving our life together. I miss you so much.

I want you to know how much I appreciate our life together. You never picked on me, you treated me as your wife, not as a slow-witted person**. I guess I just took that for granted. Now I see how fortunate I was. Traveling with you was fun and we saw so many places. I miss that now. It just wasn't as much fun going somewhere without you and I know that can't change. No one can take your place. I am lost without you. You made my life worthwhile and meaningful. I love you so and I always will.

Norma

Notes:

* I used to joke that my parents were "into" Protestants cults of the 19th century, but it wasn't much of a joke and it was mostly true. Jim and Norma spent family vacations exploring The Shakers, Quakers, Mennonites, Amish, you name it. If there was a historical location with a Protestant group attached to it, they were there. And if there was a cookbook in the gift shop, Norma bought it.

** Norma was hardly slow-witted but she questioned herself and her abilities. Once, she confessed to me that during an argument, Jim told her she didn't have a sense of humor, which cut her to the quick and his words continued to her hurt her after his death. I guffawed and blurted, "Of course you have a sense of humor! If you hadn't, living with him would have been insufferable!" She tightened her grip on the steering wheel but turned her attention briefly from the road. "I wish I had told you that before. It was the worst thing your father ever said to me and I never knew what to say to him." 

Skip-Bo

Thursday

April 26, 2001

My Darling Husband,

Again, I miss you today and especially tonight.

By source, fair use
Wikipedia

This morning I saw Vern and Cathy Summerlin and Larry and Miriam Rea.  They gave me a welcome hug and talked about missing you. I sat by Rob Simbeck and Debbie and Rita Venable who remembered you. Doug Markham says how he misses you and gave me a hug.

My darling, you are missed so much.

Tonight at dinner, Larry reminisced about when you two saw the Olympic swimmer who undressed in front of you two without any embarressment. Larry said he will always remember that and being with you.

Our speaker was Kingsport, Tennessee Vice Mayor Nathan Vaughn. He was interesting, welcoming, and proud of his city. He was born in New Jersey but went to school here. Our meal was delicious. This is a nice motel and the help is friendly. You would like being here.

During the Board Meeting, Miriam taught me a card game called SKIP BO. It was fun. I think I might get it for Michael for his birthday. 

Now it's bedtime and I am alone, missing and wanting you as I always do. To be in a motel without you is heartbreaking. I love you so.

Norma

Only You

4 P.M.

April 25, 2001

Ramada Inn, Kingsport, TN

Jim and Norma, circa 1995

Dear Darling Jim,

I have just checked into Room 125 -- ground floor -- for the TOWA meeting and the tears are streaming down my cheeks as I look at this silent room. I am missing you so much.

Will this ache in my heart ever stop? I don't think so.

You should be here with me. I don't like being without you. I utterly despise the word "widow." I hate everything that it stands for, yet no on can fully understand these feelings until they are in this desolate, horrible place.

To have the empty place at my side morning, noon, and night is worse than I would ever imagine. I am not a whole person anymore. When you died, half of me died, too. Some days I just don't want to go through the mundane hours.

To see happy, or even angry, couples sometimes feels like my heart is being stabbed and I'm dying a slow death. No, I don't want anyone else. I just want you, my sweetheart of 50 years. Only you.

I am yours forever and ever.

Norma

Going to TOWA Without You

April 23, 2001

Dear Jim,

I am getting ready to go to the TOWA Conference in Kingsport, Tennessee and I remember the fun times we have had at them. It won't be the same without you to share the happy times.

Jim April 6, 1961, Valley Forge, PA,
on a business trip early in his career as
an insurance salesman

Today, I've been busy washing clothes and I called Merrily Moss to send a "hello" to everyone because I decided that I was afraid to drive alone. Merrily said, "Come over and go with us." She made my day. I had been feeling sorry for myself. I wanted to go, but I was afraid.

Norma, April 1961,
outside Independence Hall, Phil. PA,
on a business trip with Jim

Oh, how my heart aches for you to be here and for us to be sharing fun times, the drive and the experiences at the Conference!

We always enjoyed the camaraderie, you seeing your fellow writers, me, enjoying the Spouse Trips. We always enjoyed the area, wherever we were. And the motel. Of course, I always said it was another "honeymoon trip." I miss you so much -- it's just so lonely going to "fun places" without you. No one can take your place in my heart. You've had it for 50 years and I want you here with me still. I'll never stop loving and missing you. 

All my love, always and forever.

Norma Jean

Jim and Norma, circa 1995 on a TOWA trip

Sundays Are Not The Same

April 8, 2001 Sunday 7 PM

Dearest Darling:

I have been thinking of you and missing you all day.

Jim Parker, August 13, 1963, en route to the Great Smoky Mountains

Honey, it's so difficult to go to church without you being with me, to sit in church by myself. I'm still sitting in our pew, but it's not the same. Every Sunday, little Cannon ("Boom Boom," you called him) comes and gives me a big hug. He is so sweet, tender-hearted, and sensitive.

I need your advice. You need to be here -- the car is acting up. I need to dispose of your carts and have to have them fixed first. The batteries are low -- I'm sorry.

I can't stop crying. I thought I was doing better, but I'm not now. I went to talk to a social worker at Baptist Hospital in Huntington and I felt better, but it only lasted four days. I can't stop loving and missing you. My heart aches. Nothing can compare to losing you, sweetheart. I just want you to be coming home, like you're still in the Navy.

I re-read your letters and I want you to be coming home to me, that it is 1953 when our love was new and strong. Life was good. I knew it then and in 1999, too.

I just love you and miss you so much.

All my love always and forever,

Norma

Notes:
Norma was 67 when Jim died in 2000 and, for the first time, she was living alone. The adjustment to being single was difficult for her and she hated the word "widow." She wasn't interested in moving north to live near friends and her daughter. She stayed in the house they shared in Waverly Tennessee, the one he loved, with a view of the creek running behind his back porch. She was lonely and alone but she wanted to stay close to Jim's grave and she spent time with his family who were always ready with a story about him. Talking about him helped a lot.

Like many people who grew up in the '30s and '40s, Norma and Jim had clearly defined ideas about household responsibilities. Taking care of the cars was Jim's job. I remember one conversation between Norma and me that may have taken place around the time she wrote this journal entry. Norma was furious with Jim.

Why? I asked with surprise. What could he have done from beyond the grave to make her so angry?

Connie (left) and Norma, June 1960, near the family car

Norma's car needed to be repaired or replaced, she didn't know which would be best, but making that decision was Jim's job, not hers. Damn him for dying. He needed to be there to fix the damn car.

This outburst was extraordinary for two reasons. First, Norma was not prone to hissy fits and second, she rarely swore. Saying "damn," and saying it multiple times to her daughter, was a real eye opener.

I channeled my inner dad and told her that, given the choice, Jim would probably opt to take care of the damn car over his current circumstances.

Norma gave a weak laugh and we discussed people she might speak to who could help her make a decision with more confidence, but the bottom line was that she wanted life back the way it used to be. I could not blame her.

April 7, 2001

Dear Jim,

Photo: USA Pictures

I just got home from Metropolis, Illinois. Polly, JoAn, Barbra and I went up for two nights and three days. We had fun, went to Players Casino that Merv Griffin owns but has just been sold. Remember we used to see TV ads about it.

As I played some machines or walked around, I remembered our trips to casinos out West and I missed you. Missed sitting at adjoining machines and see what game you were playing and you teaching me poker.

When I cashed my "winnings" in, I wanted to tell you! I got back almost $90 that I lost the first day. So, maybe I broke even (or less! HA!)

Then when I went to the hotel "AmeriHost," it was time for more memories of motels we  stayed in these past years when traveling. When I took a shower -- I remembered when we took them together! Sweet memories of a love that was a joy, fun, and always exciting.

I dreamed about you last night. You were walking down the street smoking. I was hitting you, screaming, crying, begging you to stop so you wouldn't die. I woke up exhausted. Oh, how I wish you had quit in 1954. You would still be here with me.

I'll love you forever,

Norma

Your Birthday March 31, 2001

Dear Jim,

Jim with a book, circa March 1998,
his idea of the best birthday present he could receive

Happy Birthday, Darling. I wish you were here with me to celebrate.

I had planned to have a surprise birthday party in 2000 for your 70th birthday, but it was not to be.*

The past 435 days and empty nights have been a nightmare. I miss you so much.

Today, Polly** and I took 2 bunches of silk flowers to your grave. We all miss you so. I leave a piece of my heart each time I go.

Like your Korean War Navy letters said to me,

All my love,

Norma

Notes:
  * Jim died in January 20, 2000.
** Polly Sparks, Jim's eldest sister