Reflections

We had a wonderful morning of worship with the 1st Brigade Band. They left an open chair for Dennis.

I cried a little.

Today was another day of firsts and lasts. Today I officiated my first funeral since Dennis’s death. A large crowd gathered at the park to remember a man who was clearly loved and missed by many. I’m reminded of the honor it is to be called to such holy work.

Tonight was the last event I had planned for us as a couple, a dinner train ride that I booked back in April. We took the same dinner train ride back in 2022 and planned to go again for a date night. What can I say? We’re train nerds. I didn’t want to cancel, so I dragged my baby brother along. It was fun to catch up and we even had the same conductor from 3 years ago.

This is a super-sized week of pastoring, bookended by a wedding last Saturday and a funeral this Saturday. Today in particular was a super-sized day, with multiple meetings and memory care worship services. Typically on a day like today, I’d call Dennis to check in throughout the day whenever I caught a break. He’d encourage me to keep going, to stay upright, and to stand firm. He understood the balance of fortitude, empathy, grit, and grace that pastoring requires, without grief on top of it all. I missed those phone calls today more than words can say. The grief is still griefing. My person is still gone. Thank God for kitty cuddles.

Today marks Day 100. No more double digit days from here on out. Today was another first: officiating my first wedding since Dennis died. Today I showed up and made space in my spirit to hold joy for dear ones beginning their lives as husband and wife. Today we sang Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee and I didn’t cry. Today I was blessed to preach on our shared favorite passage of scripture from Philippians 4. I didn’t cry, but I almost did at the until death parts us part of the vows. Today I realized that I was wearing a stole made for me by a friend that I met on our wedding day. I didn’t cry. Another first behind me. Today I am wishing that death hadn’t parted us. And now I’m crying. Doing hard things is still hard.

I purchased and donated this banner to church in memory of Dennis. He always did love the goldfinches. As we’re rapidly approaching “trumpet season” with multiple days when he’d typically play during the service, his presence will be profoundly missed, but his memory will continue to be a blessing.

Another step forward and the end of another era. Thanks to the sales expertise of my son-in-law, Garrett, the camper we affectionately called “Langelittle” (#3) is now in the hands of new owners. I wish them every blessing and many happy memories. Secondary losses are a thing. I will always cherish our special campground memories.

Today marks three months and one day since Dennis died. I can now say I made it through the first quarter? Trimester? Season?

Going on our annual Minnesota trip with my sister was sweet and bittersweet. I was excited to show her all of our usual places. I almost called them haunts. Maybe they are now? We explored quite a bit and made lovely new memories as I recalled the good times we shared. The area remains my favorite place on earth, where I feel closest to Dennis and to God.

You can (over)pack your suitcase and leave town for a spell, even finding some glimmers of joy along the way, but grief is a sneaky bugger, a stowaway as it were. Of course, the pastor and social worker sisters called that stowaway out of hiding, named it, shed a few tears, and celebrated baby steps of healing. Let’s hear it for safe spaces and campfires.

While I cannot report that the time away “fixed” my broken heart, I can say with certainty that my spirit needed this time off more than I realized. I shared with some folks recently how my grief feels similar to a period of burnout I experienced (2020, I’m looking at you). The exhaustion of grief, like that of burnout, calls for intentional self-care: I will continue to write these posts. I will continue to lean on my support system. I will continue to tend to my weary spirit, whatever that takes. Remember, I can show up for you best only when I’ve shown up for myself. And so we journey on…

On this day four years ago, I drove from Green Bay to Watertown through a torrential rainstorm. My destination: yet another house showing. The wild real estate market of 2021 saw us outbid on two homes previously (one in Fort Atkinson and one in Watertown), but I remained hopeful as the online listing looked promising. When I pulled up to the house, before I even entered the door, my heart knew that I was home. Could this be the one?

The house IRL did not disappoint. So many of our boxes were checked: A “forever” ranch home for aging in place. A basement space that could be finished if the manchild needed to live with us. A quaint and quiet neighborhood. And a sunroom. I’d always wanted a sunroom.

Our dream home was becoming a reality: our offer was accepted. Was this actually happening? Yes. Of course, our move occurred in stages as I had an interim to finish, Ryan would withdraw from high school, and Dennis was still teaching. Minor details. What a ride.

Why Watertown? Good question. I was serving as an interim in Shawano at the time, and was considering future interim opportunities. Watertown sits nearly at the edge of two synods, so I figured location, location, location. Plus, we would be much closer to Dennis’s family, who we didn’t get to see as often as we wanted. Another bonus: Watertown is close to equidistant from Madison and Milwaukee for times we’d want to venture into a city.

You know where this is going. Without Dennis, our dream home obviously feels different. I can understand why the internet claims that 30% of widows move from their homes. Home ownership comes with many responsibilities and expenses. Our homes are filled with our loved one’s possessions. Hopes and dreams for the future were discussed over meals shared around this table. Memories were made here, good and not so good (like the last time he left the house). Home sweet home can easily become home bittersweet home for some.

Before you get all excited, I’m staying put. While none of us knows what the future brings, I’m choosing to carry on in the place we called home together. Yes, I’m making it my own with touches like pink bedding, a kitty cat welcome mat, and the “smelly” candles that he never liked. Maybe I’ll even consider hosting some holidays (the ones when I’m not working haha). Please wait for your invite as my mindset remains the same on drop-ins: Nope.

May your hearts and homes be filled with every blessing, friends. Cherish every moment.

Always the mathematician, Dennis could solve just about any problem thrown his way, relentlessly working until he found the solution. Try as he might, this skillset did not spill over into other areas. He fully admitted to lacking handyman skills. All the tools and abilities were there, just not the inclination. He joked that was handy with dialing the phone to call someone to get the job done. So, you can imagine my surprise one day back in our Plover era when he announced that he was going to fix the constantly running downstairs toilet. He watched a few YouTube videos and decided it would be a piece of cake. I wasn’t going to talk him out of it.

From the main level of our split-level home, I overheard banging, a few swear words, and a lot of grumbling. What does the pastor wife do? I prayed.  A bit later, he emerged from the lower level, looking worse for wear. I told him that I had been praying. He said he appreciated the prayers. That’s when I announced that my prayers were for him to have the wisdom to call a plumber and not attempt the job himself. We both had a good laugh and the story remains in family lore until this day. And wouldn’t you know those YouTube videos worked after all. He fixed the toilet, at least for a while.

Grief seems to bring out the need to “fix” the situation. As the person directly impacted by the loss, I know in my bones that this can’t be fixed. Grief must be experienced. Well meaning dear ones and folks on the outside may suggest “just get out of the house more” or “busy yourself with work” among other things. While that may help them feel less uncomfortable talking to the grief stricken, it can’t fix the situation. I wish a YouTube video laid out the perfect grief plan like fixing a toilet, but there’s no such thing because grief is so individual. A wise friend and mentor once reminded me, “If you run away, you have to take yourself with you.” Nailed it. You can get out of the house all you want or busy yourself with work until midnight, but you ultimately have to return to yourself and living into your new reality. Again I say, grief must be experienced.

I’m grateful for the folks who fix the broken things. I am currently amassing a list of people to call when things around the house need attention that is beyond my scope or YouTube videos. Sons in law and church folks, I’m looking at you, but I suspect you already knew that.

Someone suggested that I put my griefy posts into a book, so I started one and got a copy printed to share with family who don’t do social media. Thanks for the encouragement. Writing has been healing for me on this journey.

Do you happen to know how many unread e-mails you have in your inbox? How about on your phone? Do you have unread text messages? Have you listened to all the messages in your voicemail? Guess what. Those messages, spams, and even the scams continue in perpetuity after you die. So much for unsubscribing. Oh, by the way, you’ll continue to get snail mail as well. I imagine that will take years to trickle off, i.e., his name will be on envelopes arriving in the mailbox for some time.

This begs the question: What do you do with your loved one’s digital presence when they die? Do you have a list of their passwords to all the things? Do you have access to their clouds? What about the multi-factor authentication-related information? Do you know all the pathways that connect their various subscriptions, streaming services, magazines, memberships, charitable giving, etc., and their payments? Do you even read their e-mails? Listen to their voicemails? Answer their phone? If I had a nickel for every question I’ve pondered in the last 11 weeks, I’d have a few bucks by now.

Well, I can tell you how this widow has been navigating the online and cellular spaces. I mostly let it be. I did silence his phone so I would stop being triggered by the notification sound. I know, I could easily change it, but silencing it feels more fun right now. Now about those e-mails… I choose what gets answered and what remains unanswered. I glance at the e-mails and see if anything looks important. He continues to receive actuarial ratemaking committee meeting invitations and information to review. I did respond to one of those, notifying them of his death. He had also loaned a book to a physical therapist at the hospital who was looking to return it. I responded to let him know to pass the book on to someone else. Some musical groups he formerly participated in were also unaware of his passing. I let them know, too. I didn’t realize how deeply connected he was across many realms.

I believe I have just about untangled all the subscription pathways and such. Fingers crossed. I got to make a spreadsheet in the process, so there’s that. I still love a good spreadsheet. I cancelled a few things, updated contact information to my name on the things I’m keeping, and now know when these things come up for renewal.

We humans continually look for answers when a great deal will be left unanswered: my questions, those e-mails, voicemails, phone calls. That’s okay. We don’t need to have all the answers (note to self: paste that on your forehead). God knows what’s up.

Tonight, I met a dear friend for dinner. Excellent food and great conversation fueled my stomach and spirit. I arrived home to a lovely floral arrangement sent by dear friends to remind me that I am not forgotten. I continue to receive cards as well. I appreciate all of your expressions of sympathy, support, and love. May God bless you as you have been a blessing to me.