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.