Three Years and Three Months. To the Day.

From the day he was diagnosed to the day we had to say good-bye to Richard was three years and three months.

I realized too late I had gotten his birthday wrong--It’s January 22, 1948.  Too late realized in my pathetic efforts to get the obituary from my Mac BookPro to a usable format for the funeral home that I had lost one entire line--“brother” Wade (Carolyn) Bloodsworth.  There were a couple of almost glitches with the music but here is where I have to tell you that Campfield-Hickman-Collier ranks right up there with Hospice.  As much as Hospice cared for Richard, that’s how much the funeral home cared for me.

Once arrangements were made, I had very little to do other than prepare myself.  That involved wearing Rich’s favorite green outfit.  Oddly it wasn’t until the night before that I remembered he had said he wanted me to “Please wear that to the funeral home”.  It felt wrong to put on make-up for the occasion, but I didn’t want to scare people.  Not to mention I’ve never done that with my hands shaking.  My only other pre-flight prep was listening to the five selected songs over and over and over again, until I felt fairly confident that I would not lose my cookies during the service.  

I positioned myself back against the wall.  Rich was laying to my left, just far enough that I would not be able to hear people at the casket.  Then it began and in no time I was in awe by the tsunami of people that came.  Their love for Richard was palpable.  There was not a free moment to go sit and have a quiet word with anyone. Many I recognized and was so happy to hug; most were people I had never met  On more than one occasion their first words to me were “..and you are?”

“The wife.”  I smiled.  Immediately they would offer both hands and I would take their hands or accept their hugs (depending on the span between their hands).   Every person needed to tell me that they knew how wonderful he was and with a few expected exceptions they wanted me to know how much he glowingly talked about me and deeply adored me.

It was not nearly as difficult as I had long feared. I felt like the King’s Queen   Still Rich’s Princess.

He wore his favorite flannel shirt, and at the last minute I found the “Bad Gas Co.” ball cap he wanted to be wearing.  I placed a pack of Beeman’s on his chest (See “The Right Stuff).  He held the pink topped sippy cup he wanted to take to Isabella.

Since diagnosis he head been telling me he wanted his remote controlled fart machine in his casket where it could not be seen, the remote in my hand, with detailed instructions on who to “blast.”  We had many laughs about it, but when the time came, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.   The night before his service I had a dream, and he was adamantly ordering me to “do the fart machine.”    No, Rich did not appear to me in a dream, it was just a memory of one of our more recent conversations when I had admitted to him that I didn’t think I could actually do it.

Yesterday morning, my son Nick called  to arrange my transport and asked “what size batteries do I need for the fart machine?”  I had just finished loading the batteries into it when he called.  I could never deny anything to someone who had asked so little of me.  And Nick was the perfect person to run the remote.

Early in the viewing, Barb (my funeral home angel) asked my permission to video tape the service.  The owner of this funeral home, one of Rich’s many friends, was out of town and could not be there to oversee things or attend and wanted it on video.  I had no idea that such a thing was a common request of families so I had not requested it, but Todd did.  I was thrilled at the idea.  By the time I left the funeral home Barb told me how many people placed an order for a copy of the video and my jaw dropped.  

Viewing ended, Service begins.  Once seated (it felt like there were throngs behind me), there was a Royal Moose Service.  Another totally new experience for me, and it was lovely.  Then the speakers, starting with an unexpected request from one of his trucking buddies to speak on behalf of all the men Rich  had worked with.  “Juan” did a perfect job.

Then Rich’s brother Ed spoke.  Lovely.  My son, Joe.  Lovely.  And Rob Pyett who was prepared to speak, but then stepping up to my last minute request to be the “Master of Ceremony”.    I was overwhelmed and grateful to tears.     The service could not have been more perfect,   It was purely “Richie”, gently spiced with pointed, subtle gifts for me that gave me total validation.

“Final good-byes” were bathed in “Songbird” by Eva Cassidy, and “Wherever You Will Go” by the Calling  (from “Love Actually”)  Close, close, but thanks to Lynn beside me and my sons and daughters-in-Law behind me, I held it together.  

Very soon afterwards I find myself sitting in Joe and Carrie’s house with just my immediate family.  I am split apart--trying to be present, trying to still be at his side.  I want desperately to lie down and sleep.  More desperately I want to infuse my gratitude into everyone present.  I am vaguely aware that I have just stepped through a doorway of no return, and I try not to be scared about that.  

Please, please, please, let the auto-pilot continue to function just a bit longer.

I am keenly feeling the weight this is for everyone around me.  Time and again I  start making “Good-bye” noises but it seems lost in translation.  It has been a long day for these people, a long three weeks.  A long three years.  They have endured and provided far too much and I want to bring it too an end for them, and am failing at every effort.

One of the Voices then reminds me that they need to do this.  Immediate shift of brain cells to their concern and compassion for me.  Now I feel like a bomb that no one knows how to de-activate.  I don’t know how to tell them that all the wiring has been cut and there’s nothing to fear.  Just as quickly the words and activities around me begin to wind down and as arranged by my three sons, Nick is driving me home and he gets me and all my funeral paraphernalia into the house, sits with me for a bit and we have a wonderful talk and then he leaves, almost convinced and fully respecting that I now need and want to be alone.

And then I breathe.