Baby Boomer Widow

Freezing Up

Today, a friend and I donated a freezer to Thomas Jefferson Medical College. It has one of the nation's leading pancreatic cancer research laboratories. My friend, whose husband also died of the dread disease, discovered through contacts that scientists there needed the new kitchen-style appliance. So she and I bought one. The purchase seems especially fitting during the holiday season, when I normally would have bought dozens of gifts for my spouse. Merry Christmas, Joe.

Freezing Up

I took the train today to center city Philadelphia. It's the home of the pancreatic research laboratory of Jefferson Medical College. A friend, who wants to remain nameless, and I donated a freezer to the scientists looking for a cure to the disease that killed both of our husbands. Somehow, the kitchen-style appliance seems like a fitting holiday gift to Joe from me. Within hours of his death, Joe became cold. More than a year after his death, I remain frozen.

Showing Commitment

About six weeks before Joe died, he went to a jeweler. Pancreatic cancer had eaten away almost half of his body, including his fingers. His wedding ring kept falling off because it was so loose. So, without my knowledge, he had it resized so it fit tightly. When I found out what he had done, I thought about all the married men I've heard of who slip off their rings when trolling for other women in bars. I sobbed.

Seeing the Negatives

Seeing the silver lining behind the cloud. Turning a sow's ear into a purse. Squeezing lemons into lemonade. Yeah, yeah, yeah. When other people talk about seeing the positives in Joe's death, I have one thought. Easy for them to say.

Disappointing Myself

Joe has been dead for almost a year. By now, I thought, I would be over him. Well, not exactly over him, but functioning on at least four cylinders. I'm not. I'm used being in classes for accelerated learners. How in the hell did I end up in the group for remedials?

Wallowing in Regrets

Regrets, I have a few.  Actually, I have a lot. One of them involves chores. Throughout our 20-year marriage, Joe repeatedly asked me to join him when he raked leaves from the backyard, shoveled snow from the driveway, repainted the living room walls. But I refused. I thought I could be more productive by cleaning the bathroom, changing the bed linens, emptying the dishwasher. I curse the day I took a class in time management.

Raising Money

Three months before he died, Joe's tennis buddies had what they called the first annual Joe Strub Tennis Open. I thought it would be the last. I figured Joe's friends were trying to show their caring before he died. But, lo and behold, the group decided to put together the second annual competition for June 25 of this year. The purpose is to raise funds for pancreatic cancer research. The only thing I know about tennis is that when no one has scored, the term used is love.

Confusing Seasons

Joe's birthday is coming up. I see gifts everywhere: glass sculptures, computer gizmos, boat shoes. Joe was born June 21, the first day of summer, a time of promise, blooming, and renewal. My heart is filled with winter.

Dissing Death

I hate Death. In fact, I think it's a truly abominable travel destination. If Death had anything pleasant to offer to weary human beings, it would have an ongoing advertising program. I, for one, have never seen a single promotion featuring Death's lush foliage, sandy beaches, or awesome mountain views. Case closed.

Laughing at Superstitions

Over the years, I've heard many people talk about postmortem signs. I've often been surprised by how many otherwise stable individuals think deceased loved ones send messages after death. Total hogwash, I always thought. I even remember disparaging one of my superstitious friends to Joe a few years ago as he headed out to his weekly tennis game. She had told me she thought her late mother created rainbows specifically to help her recover from grief. Joe and I laughed at her obvious nuttiness. He and I were much too sophisticated to fall for such silly beliefs. Then, three days after Joe died, I found an totally out-of-place object on the front lawn. During 20 years at the same address, I had never seen one sitting right smack in the middle of the grass. Could Joe possibly be sending his love via a tennis ball?