Christmas Letter 2010

Shain – Nelson Christmas

2010

Every year we were married, without fail, Janell pressed me to write the Christmas letter, and every year, without fail, I procrastinated. When I did finish it, Janell, of course, would edit it to suit her style. And without fail, her version would be far superior. As you know, Janell passed away on March 26^th after a heroic and courageous battle with Carcinoid Cancer. She lived a life full of grace and giving, and left a heartfelt legacy that will echo through the lives of all that knew her and loved her. This brief letter is written without the support of my “editor,” – my best friend and the love of my life (and as you can tell, it lacks the wit, wisdom and panache of my Wife, our Mother, our Grandmother, and our friend).

As difficult as it is, we go on.

·      Jill is presently a senior at the University of Nebraska – Lincoln, with a double major in Spanish and International Studies, and LOVES snowboarding

·      Brandon is living in Omaha and works at Ameristar Hotel/Casino in Council Bluffs, and is “itching” to get back to Las Vegas

·      Keeli and Erik live in Baltimore.  Keeli works at the Johns Hopkins University and Erik will graduate in May from UC-Berkeley with his doctorate. Their first child is due in Mid-January – and we are SO excited!

·      Michele and Tony live in Council Bluffs; Michele works at Risen Son Residential Homes and Tony works for First Data Resources. Sydney is a 3^rd grader and Casey began Kindergarten this fall and manages to enliven any household!

·      Melissa and Craig live in Tampa. Melissa is a graduate student in criminal justice and Craig works with Harsco Corp as the Regional Manager. Evan is a 4^th grader and Drew will turn four in January.  Both boys run at 100 miles per hour!

·      I will begin my 10^th year at the AIM Institute, working as a program evaluator on a variety of programs/projects with school district and non-profits.

We miss Janell so much – we will always love her. She will continue to be our inspiration.

We all send our love and our best wishes for a blessed New Year.

Fate

Here is something I've thought about for a long time and told many people, but never wrote down: how Janell and I were brought together:

Fate played a major role in finding the love of my life. In the late Fall of 1992, I remember walking down the hallway of our education agency with a spare ticket to Beehive, the musical revue at the Howard Street Tap. By chance, I noticed one of my co-workers – Janell – who had recently returned to the agency from another position. We had talked during staff meetings, but typically only about educationally related topics. By whim, I stuck my head in her office and asked if she wanted a ticket. She hesitated and tentatively said okay. She agreed to meet me at the Denny’s instead of my picking her up at home.

We met that Friday evening and went to the revue with two mutual friends before returning to Denny’s. Again, on a whim, I asked if she would like a cup of coffee. She hesitated, but said okay. We talked for over an hour about our kids, our backgrounds and finally our difficult divorces. We then went our separate ways.

We talked briefly at work over the next two weeks. Then one night I was scheduled to go to a movie with a friend. My friend called to say she wasn’t feeling well and decided not to go to the movie. Not twenty minutes later Janell called and asked if I was busy. By then I wasn’t. She asked me if I wanted to go to a movie. I agreed and said I would pick her up at house if that was okay. We saw Scent of a Woman and stopped at a restaurant for a cup of coffee and dessert. As we walked in the restaurant, I casually put my arm around her and felt a closeness and connection. It felt so right.  

Several weeks later as Christmas was approaching, we were sitting in her car in the Old Market. I had purchased a small book The Kiss a compilation of verses related to the kiss and pictures from famous movie kisses. As I presented her with the gift, her eyes widened in surprise. In response, she reached in her purse and pulled out the same book a gift for me. We knew.

Seven months later we were married and shared seventeen wondrous years together. Sadly, Fate dealt us a savage hand. In January 1998 Janell was diagnosed with Carcinoid Cancer, a rare form of the disease afflicting five out of 100,000 people. She lived graciously and courageously with the disease for over twelve years; I lost the love of my life and my best friend in March 2010.  I would not trade one day for the incredible love that Fate presented to us all those years ago.

When You Are in Hell. . . .

I watched an interview today about a new book about learning from pain, mistakes, and all the misfortunes that life throws at you. The phrase - "when you are in hell, in order to get out, you have to keep walking" (paraphrase).  And it's particularly difficult to keep walking because I feel like I'm walking into, not out of, hell. And it's almost sacrilegious to think that as Christmas approaches, so does the intensity of hell. Christmas, as I've written before, was Janell's favorite holiday. She loved the decorating, the cooking/baking, the shopping, and the coming together of family for Christmas Eve (and the couple's date on Christmas day, when we went to our Christmas movie, which was to be Harry Potter this year). And now I'm making a rather pathetic attempt to emulate those traditions. I put up the tree, with scant ornaments and light; I put up the outside lights; I have a list of presents for the kids and grandkids, but not shopping yet; I've sent no cards and may not (maybe an email card this year?). I certainly don't feel the joy of Christmas, but I don't feel like a Scrooge either - I feel like Morales in A Chorus Line - "I feel nothing."

And when I have allowed myself to feel, to fully feel, to gut-level feel - I cry, I sob, I ache in the pit of my soul.

Drifting

The word "drifting" seems to be the dominant metaphor for me lately.

The number of posts have decreased each month - I'm drifting away from my writing.

The number of friends and family whom I have called or who have called me has lessened - I'm drifting away from my family and friends. My family and friends might be drifting back into the mainstreams of their lives.

I feel listless at work - unfocused. I'm drifting away from the depth and passion for my work.

My workouts have become less intense and less frequent. I'm drifting away from the almost obsessive need to workout (and "exhaust out") daily.

I haven't the energy or the decision-making to choose options and to go shopping for Christmas presents. I'm drifting into the holiday season unprepared.

I'm fighting a sinus infection and continuing my age-old tradition of thinking I can fight it off with over-the-counter medicines. I'm drifting through this illness without the compunction to make a doctor's appointment.

I'm reading five books at a time, in snippets. I'm drifting through my literature, sampling but not focusing, not remembering too much and not really caring.

I'm watching way too much television, because it's so easy and so distracting. I'm drifting through my evenings and weekends, with little to show for it.

And - maybe I need to drift awhile. I have been paddling hard against a current of grief and I'm tired. I'm really tired of the pain, the sorrow, the loneliness, the emptiness. . . .

Defying Gravity

I listen to the music from Wicked often, particularly "Changed for Good." It was the music at Janell's service and one of our favorite songs. As I listened to the numbers, "Defying Gravity" came up. And I feel like I listened to it for the first time, in the context of my life now. I need to defy gravity and lift myself up from my pain of missing Janell so much, my fear of moving on, and my need to restructure a life with meaning. And I need to defy the almost ingrained compulsion to do it alone, by myself, without asking for help.

Janell is imprinted on my heart, my soul and my mind. She is part of me and always will be. Instead of a weight that pulls me down, she is the spirit that lifts me up. I need to acknowledge that and honor it. AND I need to act on it. She was my love, my soulmate and in a way - my mentor. I can honor her life and our love by acting with conviction, with strength and with assertiveness. She wasn't fearless, but she moved beyond her fear with grace and courage. I need to emulate those traits. It's time. . . . (to be continued)

Navigating the Holiday Season

I'm trying not to think about the upcoming Christmas holidays. This was Janell's favorite holiday - she loved shopping for presents, especially for the grand kids. Her tradition was to buy a children's book for each and every one of us and put that special note in it. In fact her message to us was so much more important than even the book.

She was in charge of decorating the house. I was just her "worker bee" during these times, hauling crate after crate up from the basement and finally setting up the tree in the family room. Decorating the tree was such a special time for her. Every light, every bulb, every piece of tinsel had to be just right.

It seemed that every year we would wait for the coldest day of the fall to put up the outside lights, but we always had fun doing it. I tried to be the Grinch or Scrooge and tried to maybe just back off a bit on the presents, or the decorations, or the huge array of food, particularly cookies. But she wouldn't hear of it.

And then the traditional clam chowder and chicken noodle soup, with all the trimmings for the Christmas Eve dinner. She cooked all day and took such joy in serving us. Afterward we all plopped ourselves down in the family room and the grand kids handed our the presents, one by one, with Janell snapping picture after picture (which she always did - that is why we have so many pictures of us and so few of her!). And the tradition for all the years we were together was to get up bright and early on Christmas morning and put out the stockings, stuffed with presents, both practical and fun. Afterwards the kids went to Grandma and Grandpa Nelsons and Janell and I went to our traditional Christmas afternoon movie.

And now - I'll hang the outside lights. I'll haul the crates of decorations up from the basement and scatter the decoration around the house. I'll ask Jill and Brandon to help decorate the tree. I'll be in charge of buying the presents - knowing I can't come close to Janell's skill in selection.

And I'll put one foot in front of the other and just do it - for the sake of the kids, the grand kids, and for the love of Janell. It's what she would want.

Tasks

 A dear friend sent me this poem, one that she has passed on to a number of family and friends who have experienced loss.

After awhile you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul.
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning,
Kisses aren't contracts and presents aren't promises.
And you begin to accept your defeats,
With your head up and your eyes open,
With grace and wisdom - not the grief of a child.
And you learn to pave your own path, to define your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone else to bring you happiness.
And you learn that you really can endure.
You really are strong and with every lesson you learn and you learn and you learn.

I struggle with its meaning - how it relates to my continuing heartfelt connection to Janell. How do I maintain the eternal connection with my love and my best friend while working on the tasks of re-building a life?   

There are so many physical tasks: re-modeling the house, passing on professional clothing to women in need, disseminating the personal items that have meaning to family and friends who will heal with their possession, completing the legal/financial transitions to my name only, re-crafting our wedding rings into one, and other tangible tasks I have yet to consider. 

There are so many relational tasks: strengthening the connections with my step-children, defining/re-defining the bonds with the in-laws, knowing which relationships to nurture and which to let go, building a new social network to transition out of my self-imposed isolation, and pushing off into the current of the world - alone.


There are so many emotional tasks: rejuvenating a sense of hope and purpose in my life, feeling a sense of Janell in my heart and soul without the gripping sense of grief, letting go of those last images of the hospital room and remembering the days of love and joy, and lifting the lens of grief and loss through which I filter everything.


I have suffered what many have said is the greatest pain one can have thrust upon a person - I am still learning that I can endure. And I learn and I learn and I learn.

Images

Here is the most beautiful picture of my love and my best friend. This image is fixed forever, with grace, charm, fun and adventure. I will always remember our family time, our travels, our quiet times, and our everlasting bond.

Haikus for Janell

Summer, fall, winter

I grieve, struggle, search alone

Where is my new spring?

Janell has left me

Heart pulled from my sobbing soul

When will I see her?

A ghost wanders here

She moves through my mind and heart

Her touch lights the night

My kindred spirit

My soul mate snatched from my grasp

My hand now empty

Our bed with no warmth

Our table with only one

My life now empty

Slowing Down

I read in the news that Jill Clayburn passed away last week. The title of her biography was I'm Running As Fast As I Can. I know how she must have felt. I feel like I've been in fast forward for the last eight months - with taking care of Janell's "affairs" (for lack of a better word for funeral arrangements, closing out accounts, switching titles, paying insurance bills, etc.), taking care of the kids' needs, catching up on the mounting workload, trying to stay connected with family and friends (and feeling like a total failure), working out to cope with the stress, deciding on the remodeling of the house and moving ahead with purchases, planning and taking trips (Colorado, Wyoming, Grand Canyon, Boston - upcoming, California - upcoming, and India - upcoming), and taking care of the house (groceries, cleaning, lawn care, car repairs, etc.). It didn't seem like a lot, until I wrote it down.

I feel like I'm keeping my life full so I don't fall into the emptiness created by Janell's death. I still have that huge void in the pit of my soul - I'm filling it with "stuff" because I'm afraid if I don't I will look into my foggy future and see nothing. With Janell, we had meaning, we had connection, we had a vision of us together - traveling, playing with grand kids, laughing, cuddling, growing old together. Without Janell, I have busy-ness; I do things, mostly alone, I fill up time.

And so - to slow down: to think, to feel, to plan, to let life happen and stop trying to make it happen. To just sit, without TV, music, work, reading. And to allow myself to connect with my inner self and to connect more fully with those who care about me. To slow down and (IT IS SO SO DIFFICULT TO SAY IT!!) to begin moving on. I keep Janell in my heart forever, but . . . .

Letter to Janell

October 27th, 2010

My Dearest Janell,

It's been seven long months since we parted. I miss you every day, every hour, every minute. I miss you walking in the door after a long day at work; I miss our conversations over the dinner table; I miss our travels to fun places; I miss the clam chowder on Christmas Eve and the stockings on Christmas morning; I miss our date nights; I miss your warmth in the middle of the night. I miss everything about you and about us.

I still feel numb to much of life. I get my feet on the floor in the morning. I go through the motions of the work day. I stress my body with hours of exercise and eat, not because I'm hungry, but because it is breakfast/lunch/dinner time. I write my weekend list and checkmark my way through the weekend. And yet there are times when I feel a spark of life returning: the grandkids eating ice cream after a romp through the orchard; the awe inspiring view of the Grand Canyon; the anticipation of a new grand daughter; the future plans emerging for all my children. And I feel a tinge of joy and the pain of not having you here to share those moments.

And so I plan future travels - Illinois, Boston, California, India, and possibly Italy. And I miss my travel partner. I plan the remodeling of our home based on our ideas from last year, and I miss my planner with her myriad of ideas. I read and read and read, and I miss you snuggled on the couch, rolling your eyes when I just have to read you the most interesting passage. I get up Sunday morning and scan the newspaper. And I look across the table at the empty chair where you sat with a cup of tea.

I know you would want me to go on, but I don't know what that means. I know you would want me to re-connect with the world, but I don't want to, just yet. I know you would want me to be happy, but there is still too much grief in my heart.

And so - I write this letter to you and pour out my pain and emptiness. Somewhere deep in my soul I know there is a spark of hope - hope for renewal, hope for meaning, hope for a modicum of joy, hope, hope, hope, hope. . . .

Your loving Husband - Mike

Family - Part II

What are the "privileges" in being a part of a family? Robert Frost wrote: "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, They have to take you in." The family is where, when life collapses around you, you can go there to recover. The family is where, when wonderful things happen, you go to share the joy. The privilege is that people care, people listen, people open up to each other, people reach out to each other, people honor and respect each other. And when a loved one dies, the family pulls together like never before and comforts, nurtures, and protects each other. In essence it is a privilege to go above-and-beyond to "be there."

Integral to the privilege of family is the responsibility, both to one's self, to each other and to the family as an entity. One never does anything to bring dishonor to one's self and to the family. One never assumes "entitlement," that I deserve things because I deserve them, but the responsibility is that one WORKS for the good things in life. And when a loved one dies, the family grieves and takes care of each other, but each individual also maintains self-responsibility. This may include reaching out for help, accepting help, doing nothing "self-destructive" and always staying connected to family.

Obviously I struggle with my thoughts of family, as the above confusing thoughts attest. Our family is going through a transition - one doesn't lose someone like Janell and not feel like we have the center of our family - our reason for being -  pulled from us. Now we need to re-structure, to re-connect, to re-build our nuclear family and stretch that network into and through the extended family. And we do this while we grieve, while we walk in our individual fogs, while we try to mini-structure our short-term goals, and sometimes while we just get our feet on the floor in the morning. One day at a time.

Family Part I

I have thought alot about what it means to be a family. How are families configured? What are the responsibilities of individual family members? What are the rights/privileges of being in a family? How does a family, either extended or nuclear, sustain itself? Lots of questions.

I sometimes see a family in a "wheel-and-hub" configuration. There can be one central, unifying family member around whom the other members connect. That person can typically be a Mother or Grandmother, and in many cases, her home becomes the geographic hub. And when that person passes away, what happens to this structure? She was the "magnet" that attracted and held the other members in an ongoing configuration, even though each may have some connection - sibling, nephew/niece, aunt/uncle, etc. But the "center," the heart, the soul, the core, is gone.

To continue as a family, maybe the configuration shifts, from a wheel-and-hub to a web, an interrelated network. The connection of the remaining family members shifts from a "center-focus" and tries to find a way to weave a new framework, sending communication strands out to each other. But who starts the process? What are those strands like? What is the mode, the content, the energy to get this going?

I've found from evaluating scores of programs that every process needs a "champion," a "shepherd," a "gatekeeper," or maybe a "webmaster" if it wants to be successful. When that center person dies and there is a danger of the family structure fragmenting, the potential of a web configuration emerges. Who is that unifying person, not to be a magnetic center of the family, but the taskmaster who starts the networking process and tends to it? Lots of questions, indeed!

Juggling Decisions

Remember the juggler who would balance plates on long poles and then attempt to keep them all going at the same time? Sometimes he/she would have ten to twelve going at once, and constantly run from pole to pole to keep the plates spinning so they wouldn't fall and break. Now imagine that someone has thrown sand into the "decision-making gears" of that person.

That's how I feel now - I have a myriad of "plates" spinning in my life and the grief from losing Janell is the proverbial sand. I'm trying to maintain connection with my kids - all five of them and trying to support them however I can. I want to stay close to my sisters and Mother. I'm trying to figure out ways to still be a "Berkland." I want to follow through on the remodeling ideas Janell wanted for the house. I'm striving to keep the ties with friends. And then there's the multiple plates at work: a dozen ongoing evaluations, evaluation projects in the works, updating evaluation marketing and several projects with no revenue but from which I can't say "no." And throw in the "mini-plates" - housework, yard work, groceries and meals, closing out insurance policies, completing a revision of my will, paying bills, doctor's appointments, and on and on.





And yet - I get up every day, I do what I can, I go to bed, and I get up again, I do what I can. . . . . . .

Metaphors

Such a range of images drifting in and out of my mind.

I passed by that beautiful Maple that Janell loved so much with its vibrant red plumage. Last week it was predominantly green, with just a touch of crimson. Two days later the entire tree had changed, and today - most of the leaves have blown away. Tomorrow - it will be bare. It all happened so quickly. But the essence of the tree is still thee, in the limbs, the trunk and especially in the roots. Thus it is with Janell, in my heart. The external is gone, whisked away so quickly. But the "roots" are still here, in my soul. She lives within me, as I'm sure she does with so many she has touched.

Another image emerged with this time of year - hibernation. I feel like I've been self-secluding ever since Janell's death. Maybe it's a way of surviving until the Spring, whether literal or figurative. People have tried to disturb me in my cave, all well intentioned. They want to help, to be there for me and my kids; they want to help, and I love them for it. But I'm hibernating and healing, and waiting for the Spring.

A third image - a cocoon, with a damaged caterpillar inside. Alone, self-sheltered, living, changing, looking forward to re-emerging. No doubt the entity that comes out of the shell (who knows how long it will take - months, years?) will be different. Where will it go, what will it do, who will it be, how will it live, what will be its essence, will it ever feel joy again?

Parallel Lives

I feel my life falling into a routine - Monday through Friday: work, workout, eat, watch TV,  read, blog and try to sleep.  Weekends: clean, groceries, errands, read, watch football, workout, blog and spend quality time with Michele/Tony/Sydney/Casey and Jill. I also am feeling more and more comfortable with my "one-person" life style.

I read somewhere that for those who suffer the loss of a life companion, one must learn to be at peace with being alone, not lonely, but being able to move through days as a solitary individual. Others have moved back into their "parallel lives," with nuclear and extended family activities, work schedules and social events. They still mourn the loss of Janell, but life pulls them back, as it should.

Whereas others go back to the safety, security and comfort of their lives, I am seeking to re-structure my life as a single person who still sees himself as married to Janell. I'm unable (and unwilling) to let go of that identity because I also had safety, security and comfort in that identity and lifestyle. Cognitively I know that I will dismantle that internal mind-set, but in my heart and soul I'm still Janell's husband. I still wear my wedding ring, I still think about her constantly and I still feel the emptiness that her death has wrought.

I struggle to re-integrate myself into the lives of family and friends. How does one find a tangent to intersect with the parallel lives of others? I remember a reference to a sign in the wilds of Alaska: "choose your ruts carefully - you'll be in them for the next 25 miles." Without Janell to help me turn out of those ruts (or routines?), without Janell as someone to have fun with, without Janell to share the joys and challenges of life, I move on my solitary parallel path.

I wish I had a road map or a GPS for life.

42

It's been interesting how one innocuous thought or phrase or even a number can trigger an interior dialogue. Today my computer told me my password would need to be updated in six days and would I like to select another. So I did - I use an unusual numbering sequence to keep my passwords - this time the number "42" came up with a random series of letters. That led me to think of Douglas Adams' book - The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and the entire trilogy. The main character searches throughout the universe for the meaning of life and when he gets through the 1,000 or more pages of the books, he finds the answer:  42.  Don't ask me - I have no idea what 42 means, unless it means nothing and life means nothing. Or the search for meaning lies in not in the end, but the search - the journey.

Janell and I had a wonderful journey through almost twenty years of life. I could not have asked for a more gracious, loving, funny, bright, sensitive . . . . I could go on endlessly with the delightful description of my soul mate. We also had our bumps in the road, and for twelve years we carried the burden of her carcinoid cancer diagnosis. It was something neither of us wanted, but Janell carried that weight with grace and courage. I supported her with every ounce of my being (even though I sometimes punish myself for not having done more).

But we lived, maybe not each day to the fullest, but each day as a blessing that we shared together. And I go on with her love and her spirit etched in my heart and soul. And what does it all mean - 42.

Lost Partnership

I have spent the last few days scurrying around trying to get so much done - paying bills, completing medical forms, taking the snowblower in for a tune-up, cleaning the house, getting groceries, mowing the lawn, revising my will, updating insurance information, working with the contractor on updating the house, taking the car in for windshield repairs, and a plethora of other seeming trivial but functional tasks. At the same time, I'm trying to do the BIG things - staying connected with my kids/family/friends, getting my work done, and taking care of myself with enough rest, exercise and nutrition. And I feel like I'm failing at these most important things.

Today I had a "blinding flash of the obvious" - I don't have my life partner. Janell and I shared so many of these mundane duties; we were able to tap in to our assets to get done what needed to be done in order to focus on the important parts of our lives - our marriage, our family and lastly our work (Janell's being so much more meaningful than mine - she directly influenced the lives of so many kids, families and educators). Now - it's just me. I'm running on empty, but I feel the compulsion to keep on running. Even when I sit and read, or watch TV, or try to relax, my mind keeps running through all of the things I still need to do, both with family, at home and regarding work. I still wake up in the night, still get up well before the alarm, and still exhaust myself so I can fall asleep.

Sometimes I think I keep running so I don't have to feel the intense loneliness of my life without Janell. All of these tasks in a sense were just "content" - things to talk about and to do. What is missing is the communication, the spiritual connection and the meaning that our lives together gave us. People tell me and much of the research on grief tells me that I will re-build a life. I hope they're right.

Graphing Grief

Okay - I really am an evaluator. I have been thinking about Bridges' book - Transitions - and the three stages of change: endings, neutral zone and new beginnings. I could see the movement through grief that same way, with different terminology. Ending becomes Grief; Neutral Zone becomes Coping; and New Beginnings become, in essence, New Beginnings. And one could graph them with the "x" axis Time and the "y" axis having three strands, equal to 100%.

In the beginning, there is 100% grief, with limited coping and NO new beginnings. As time unrolls, the grief strand lessens, coping grows, but almost no new beginning. Theoretically, grief slowly dissipates, coping stabilizes, and new beginnings emerge. Over time (and how does one calculate the amount of time it takes to transition from grief to new beginnings?) one hopes coping skills are of a healthy nature and new beginnings become a bright and purposeful future.

But to move into that realm of new beginnings, one needs to let go of the pain, anguish and that sense of emptiness with the loss of a love one, and fill that void with love, respect, wonderful memories and shared past experiences. One truly honors that lost relationship by re-building a life filled with meaning, healthy relationships with family and friends, and hope.

The Seasons

Here is the poem that was in the hand-out at Janell's visitation:

Remember Me

Remember me when flowers bloom

Early in the spring.

Remember me on sunny days

In the fun that summer brings.

Remember me in the fall 

As you walk through leaves of gold

And remember me in wintertime

In the stories that are told.

But most of all remember

Each day - right from the start

I will be forever near

For I live within your heart.

I think of this poem when I turn on to our street. There is this beautiful Maple tree that turns a vibrant reddish-orange early in the Fall. The change happens quickly, spreading from south to north, and within a week or two, all of the leaves fall off. Janell loved that tree and commented on it this time of year, every time we turned that corner. 

That is how I feel about my life with Janell. It was so vibrant and so rich, and so short. Twenty years was not enough.

Ennui

I was talking with some co-workers today about favorite words - salient, plethora were two that immediately came to mind. But in the back of my mind (or in the pit of my stomach) was the word "ennui." It means in essence "world weariness." There are times I feel the weight of the world - my kids and grand kids, work, finances, health, care and updating of the house, travel plan details, and all the bits of things still to be done - will, insurance, taxes, lawn/shrubs, and other things I can't/won't even allow myself to think about. It's like they each become a weight, something I carry alone now.

Before, when this build up would occur, Janell and I would sit down and literally go through all the "stuff," sort it out, line it up and get it done. Now I often feel overwhelmed and stuck. I push and get some things done, only to feel other things accumulating and backing up. I want to take time off from work to skim through the trivial stuff, but the work would pile up.

Will it always be like this - running from one thing to another, getting stuff done only to have other stuff intrude? When will life be relaxing, fun, meaningful, relevant? Or am I piling it on just to stay busy and exhausted so I don't have to feel the pain, the emptiness and the sinking ache in my heart?

I miss those seemingly inconsequential chats at the kitchen table where decisions were made; I miss the popcorn and beer while watching TV; I miss us playing with the grand kids; I miss the dinners at Paneras;

I miss Janell's touch - I ache to feel her holding my hand or caressing my cheek. I so miss her touch. I miss my soul mate. Ennui.

Time

Time - 6 months, 183 days, 4,392 hours, 263,520 minutes - since Janell died. The time seems like an eternity and a moment. Pictures help but they don't capture her essence. Conversations with family and friends offer a bit of solace, but the hollow feeling remains where my heart used to be. Writing relieves a bit of the angst, but the lack of direction in my life, once guided by my kindred spirit, is like being lost in an endless fog.

I go through the motions - work, relating to others, following routines, and putting one foot in front of the other. I have plans for the near future - traveling to the Grand Canyon with my daughters and to India to spend time with my "adopted kids" - Brian and Beba, and I so look forward to those adventures. The birth of a new granddaughter will surely be a source of so much joy.

But the BLISS that Joseph Campbell writes about - that underlying, sustaining, meaningful quality of life that is the foundation of life - is not there. William Bridges (again from the book - Transitions) talks about changes in three phases: endings, neutral zone and new beginnings. Within the middle phase, he talks about being on a stage - acting if you will - and going through the motions. But in the wings is a "shadow something." If you look either way, you see nothing, but you sense something - a next-step, a direction, a goal. But organically you have to let it happen; you can't make it happen. And that letting go takes patience.

To quote F. Scott Fitzgerald - "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

Blessings

I have written a great deal about the pain, the suffering, the profound sense of loss in my life, knowing that others - children, siblings, nephews and nieces, aunts and uncles, friends, co-workers and a multitude of others - also are grieving Janell's death.

But there is another facet of life that needs to be validated and explored: the all-encompassing sense of being blessed, in so many ways.

• Having loved and been loved by Janell for almost twenty years - those years and all the memories will stay with me and be cherished by me for the rest of my life. She has forever placed a hand print on my heart.
• Five wonderful children who are all my own. We've had incredible times together, and some rough times, but they are good, strong young adults that I am so proud of.
• In-laws that anyone would be proud to be related to. I've often told people - if I had to choose in-laws before I chose the spouse, the Berklands would be that family!
• A caring Mother and Sister, who support me and each other and have loved me from day one.
• Nephews and nieces who are the most loving, caring and strong young people I have ever had the privilege of knowing. 
• Friends and co-workers who have cried with me, laughed with me and supported me in so many ways. They continue to allow me to grieve and nurture me in my healing.
• My project directors who guide such important work in Nebraska and Iowa. They are so dedicated to the schools and communities they serve; they have stood by me, cried with me, hugged me and generally taken care of me in our work together. I am blessed to be able to serve them.
• And the "other" things that seem innocuous or maybe irrelevant during this time of sorrow, but I'm still grateful for: my health, my beautiful home (thanks to Janell's sense of decor, not mine!), my sufficient finances, and a job (when so many people are struggling).

I constantly need to remind myself of the blessings that life has given me and honor those that I love and love me, and tell them how much I care about them and how important they are in my life. Thank you all so much for allowing me to be a part of your lives.

I Remember. . . .

It's sad and heartwarming to remember the little events in our life together

• The first kiss on a cold December night in the parking lot at Grandmothers
• The "staff meeting" with our co-workers (who didn't have a clue we were even dating) when we told them we were getting married in three months
• The "vote" among Janell's siblings about allowing us to get married (Janell said the vote was 5 to 4 in favor; she never told me how she voted!)
• The wedding - simple, elegant, relaxing and fun (except I only had one piece of cake - there were five varieties and our boss had four pieces!)
• The long stroll through the gardens in Victoria, British Columbia
• The van trips to school each morning - listening to NPR (the kids were always annoyed, but now most of them listen to it every day)
• The news in 1998 - cancer and Janell's resolve and positive spirit to fight it
• The trips - Orlando, Kansas City, Chicago, Marina del Rey, Seattle, Phoenix, San Antonio, Colorado, Door County, Nashville, New Orleans, Tampa, Miami, Baltimore - 
• The holidays - the 4th of July and the Ralston Parades (and Brandon blowing up stuff), Halloween and the hundreds of kids stopping by, Thanksgiving (the first year Janell and the kids were appalled that I actually liked stuffing), Christmas with the whole family (opening presents on Christmas Eve and sneaking down early the next morning to hang stockings), New Year's Eve (Trivial Pursuit, except for the December 31, 2009 - we went to a wedding reception and had so much fun - it was our last date), Valentine's Day (where each year we said we were not going overboard with gifts and then did anyway), Easter (Easter Egg hunts with the kids and then grandkids), birthdays (where each year we said we were not going overboard with gifts and then did anyway), and anniversaries (where each year we said we were not going overboard with gifts and then did anyway). 
• The trips to Switzerland - time to re-connect, plan, and hope for a "cure" - it bought us time, but not enough
• The Sunday mornings, reading the paper over coffee and rolls 
• Curling up on the couch, watching a movie (me watching and Janell dozing)
• Planning for the next trip, the next graduation, the next wedding, the next grandchild, the rest of our lives . . . .

Routines - safety net or rut

Routines have become my way of coping lately - alarm (rarely), feet on floor, shower, shave, brush teeth, get dressed, breakfast, open blinds, turn on TV, fix breakfast (lots of coffee), pack up stuff, go to work, come home, work out, eat (kind of), watch TV/read, write and go to bed.

On the weekends I begin Friday night by making a list (to keep busy) - do most of the above (except work - I have noticed I don't do work outside of work time any more), spend time with Michele/Tony/grandkids (which is a blessing), groceries, mow lawn, clean house, watch football, read, write, and all the time I feel like I'm going through the motions. I get the occasional phone call, but I rarely make phone calls. It's hard to know what to say - rather it's difficult to actually call. Once I do, the conversation usually takes care of itself.

Everything feels so artificial and blah. I have a few moments where I laugh (Big Bang Theory, The Big C, and maybe The Daily Show or Frazier) - brief interactions when I forget the pain and emptiness and have a meaningful chat with someone. But for the most part I have this void beneath my solar plexis - almost like an emotional "black hole" that sucks energy, initiative and focus out of me. It's no wonder think I'm distant - disengaged. I am.

I had mentioned the word "fallow" before - is healing going on below the surface? Are there seeds under the surface that will sprout into new activities with some semblance of meaning and direction?  When will the sun come out, warm the soil and bring the spring?

Connections

I have an evening with two wonderful friends a while ago. They so graciously called and invited me to a wine tasting/jazz music event. During the course of our conversation, my friend mentioned a conversation she had with another friend who had lost a spouse. She, too, was happy to have an evening out with such caring people, but said to my friends: "you know - I won't be calling you to invite you out." I really had mixed feelings about that statement. How do relationships change after the death of a spouse, when one shifts from a couple to just one? Whose "responsibility" is it to initiate connection? What are the new "guidelines"?

Many questions come to mind, some logical and some very illogical:

• Will friends, relatives and co-workers feel uncomfortable calling or inviting the grieving person to dinner, a movie, or just a conversation? What do we say, what do we talk about, do we bring up the name of the person who has died, do we laugh, do we cry, etc.?
• Does the concept of reciprocity come in to play? (We invited you out/called you, now it's your turn)? 
• Does the widow/widower pose a threat (see - I told you some of these are illogical!) - a single person?
• Where does the now-single person fit in to a "couple's world"? 
• How do relationships transition because of the death? For example, if one rarely talked/visited with friends or family before the passing, now what?
• How does the grieving spouse balance time alone to internally come to grips with aloneness (not "loneliness" but transitioning to being a single person as opposed to being a "couple" person) AND being sensitive to others?
• What is the balance between being the receiver of care and being the care giver?

At this point, I don't have the answers. I barely have the questions.

Endings

William Bridges, in his book Transitions, talks about three phases: endings, neutral zone and new beginning. I thought I was in the neutral zone, but realize I'm still at the ending. "Endings," according to Bridges, have four "dis'" to them : disorientation, disidentification, disengagement and dismantling.

Disoriented - I have no direction now that Janell is gone. She was my compass and my touchstone. We made decisions together; we talked about everything; we practically did everything together - travel, movies, theater, just hanging out at home. She was my GPS.

Disidentification - who am I now? I'm still a grandfather, father, step-father, uncle, son, brother, program evaluator, neighbor, co-worker, friend, and "husband"? I still feel married to Janell. I am still her husband* and she is my wife (Even typing this makes me cry).  I'm still all of the above, but now with an asterisk.

Disengagement - Of course I intensely feel the separation from Janell. I have her pictures everywhere; her clothes are still in the closet; the dining room still houses her awards, knick-knacks from her office and all of the cards sent by friends and family. But I sleep alone, sometimes hugging her pillow. And I go through the day, doing "things" but not really engaging with purpose, passion and joy. My "glue" is gone - and I do sometimes feel like I am disengaging (ie. coming apart) and disengaging (ie. not truly relating to anyone).

Dismantling - As Bridges states: "there is a time when it isn't the old way anymore, but not yet the new way, either." The "old way" is gone - my wife/best friend/lover/companion is gone and I need to figure out a "new way" to live. The reason I know I'm still in the ending stage is that I don't want to let go of the old way - or maybe the old way doesn't want to let go of me.

Anger

A friend mentioned the other day that she felt a tinge of anger from me, not directed at her, but an "aura," if you will. I thought about that a long time. It's presumably one of the stages of grief. At whom might I feel anger? I was mad at myself for a while that I didn't recognize the pulmonary issues Janell was having and get her into the doctor's office sooner. I was upset with the oncologist and the specialists for not conferring and seeing how the "not-so-good-diagnoses" added up to a very bad diagnosis. I was/am angry at Janell's primary oncologist for giving me such bad news over the phone.

And I find myself being less tolerant - watching "idiot" politicians and pundits, seeing drivers doing dangerous stunts in traffic, watching childish displays of anger on the playing fields of baseball and football, and sometimes frustrated with my own actions (or inactions) when I waste time just sitting and watching inane TV shows. I'm annoyed at myself when I can't get to sleep or stay asleep, or when I wander through the kitchen thinking I should eat, but have no appetite.

Alright - I'm angry that Janell is not here with me, that that God-damn cancer took her away! I'm furious that my grandkids and our future granddaughter will never have the pleasure of knowing such a wonderful grandmother! I feel such unfairness that we will never have the opportunity to grow old together. When Janell would get down, I would paint the picture of the two of us sitting on a porch swing at "the old folk's home." And now that picture is dashed.

And what do I do with this anger?

The Little Things

It's amazing how "little things" trigger such emotion, things that in the past would have meant nothing.

Songs from Phantom, Les Miserables, Wicked, Miss Saigon, musicals Janell and I loved.

Clips from movies - Up, Sleepless in Seattle, Avatar (the last movie we saw together), A Prairie Home Companion (she thought she would hate the movie, but loved it - especially the song about Momma).

Certain days and times - Sunday mornings (we used to have a ritual of breakfast and reading the Sunday paper - I would HAVE to read something to her that was SO important - she would look up, roll her eyes and tolerate it!). Late afternoons when I would get home and call her at school - "I'm just packing up. I'll be home in a bit" - meaning an hour, after a phone call to a parent or a visit with a teacher.

Holiday traditions - Christmas morning when we would get up early and set out the stockings filled with "stocking stuffers" - videos, socks, shower gel, etc. Easter - Easter egg hunts with the grand kids. The 4th of July Ralston Parade with Frank and Delores. New Year's Eve - Trivial Pursuit with Sarah and Bill.

And then the really unexpected and sometimes silly things - finding her "Hello - I'm Radioactive" tee-shirt (thanks Tara). Receiving mail with her name on it. Getting a voice message from the University of Iowa Medical Center wanting to set up a time for her semi-annual visit. Sorting through stuff and finding little book on "Kisses." We both bought each other this tiny book on one of our first dates. I have gave her the book and she got this funny look on her face. She then pulled the exact book from her purse to give to me. We knew then that this relationship would be something special, and it was, and still is.

Janell permeates my thoughts, feelings, my life. 

Irrational Fear

As I've read material on loss and grief over the past five months, many times I have come across the issue of fear. One source talked about the sense of "fearlessness" from this perspective: since I have suffered the greatest loss possible - my wife, my best friend, the love of my life - nothing in everyday life should be a concern. One should be, in essence, fearless.

On  the other hand, C.S. Lewis talks about the collapse of the house-of-cards of one's life, and the fear of rebuilding that edifice. Fear could easily permeate every aspect of one's existence. And then there's an old book I still have somewhere entitled: Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway.

And to tell the truth - I do feel fear; an existential fear that life will continue to be "so-what." I also feel irrational fears - losing my job, not having enough money to keep the house, lack of income to pay the bills and eating cat food in my old age and being abandoned by friends and family! And I stress that they are IRRATIONAL, with a tinge of reality.

I feel such a dichotomy in life - empty and overwhelmed, and both extremes create fear. Inside I feel empty. Externally, I have so much to balance - the day-to-day necessities: cleaning, groceries, yard work, bills, etc. AND an increasing workload. The rate of work related to evaluation is growing, and to my own chagrin - I keep piling on more work. If I stay busy, then maybe I'll be tired enough at night (together with an hour a day workout) to actually sleep. So I make lists and check off the activities as I complete them. Another day - another list.

The World is Flat

I watched the Packer game yesterday and realized something - it didn't really interest me. They won - I  watched with almost disinterest. It seems nothing interests me. I do my work - I think I do it well, but there is no passion in it. I clean the house, get groceries, do the yard work, watch the news, read what is a well-written novel and work out a full hour each day. I fully intend to call family and friends, and then don't because I have no news and nothing interesting to relate. My world is like a black-and-white movie, maybe even a silent movie. I eat because it's time to eat; I sleep, not well, because it's time to go to bed. I mow the lawn because the grass continues to grow. I do my banking, paying the bills before they come due. I walk around the house thinking I should organize, re-organize, pack stuff up - do "something." When will the spirit come back into my life? Will there ever be joy again?

Traditions

Janell was a firm believer in "Traditions." One of the most important ones was the "changing of the decorations." She has a series of labeled bins in the basement, beginning with Valentine's Day and ending with Christmas, with all of the seasons/holidays in between. Even though it's a bit early, I pulled out the Halloween decorations and will be putting them up this week. I will continue through the seasons and the holidays, knowing that I will not be able to arrange the decorations in our home in that special way she could.

This ritual is one way of holding on to her memory. How else do I hold on? How would Janell want me to remember her? Through loving our kids and our grandkids (and the one on the way!); through staying connected to our extended families, our friends, and her teachers (whom she dearly loved); and "going on." I struggle with that last phrase - what does that mean - going on? When? Where? How? Why? Lots of questions and few answers.

Remembering

I find it getting less tearful to remember my life experiences with Janell (I tried to write "find it easier" but I couldn't even finish typing it). I remember a long walk several weeks ago when I thought back to all of the trips we made together - San Francisco, Phoenix, Nashville, Orlando, Tampa, Chicago, Colorado, Baltimore, Door County, Victoria BC, Marina del Rey, and especially Switzerland. We had so much fun - I felt sad but melting through that sorrow was a sense of joy that I had these times with her. She made my life worthwhile; she gave me a sense of purpose; she rejuvenated my soul. And now there is this emptiness, but bit by bit that gap in my heart is being filled with the memories of my life with her. There will always be that void that her passing created and some day (so I'm told) there will be a healing. I still cannot imagine my life without her. So I need your help: if you have the time, send me a "Janell Story" - funny, sad, silly, meaningful - whatever. Along with my memories, your connections with Janell can be building blocks (or "life legos" - Evan, my grandson, would appreciate that metaphor!) for us all. She can live and teach us through those life events.

Networking

I've been "accused" of being a networker, and I confess I am. Of course, it's not like it's a bad thing.
Janell always said: "you know everybody." But then, when we would go to Target or Hy-Vee, SHE would always know half the people. Many of them were her students and their parents. I loved to watch the faces of the kids when they say Mrs. Shain. Their faces would glow. Janell always, and I mean always knew their names, the siblings and the parents. In fact, I saw one of her students at the gym today. I thought: how sad that Michelle would never have the chance to spend her elementary years with such a wonderful educator and such a great role model. Her professional legacy will live on, through her work with the incredible teachers at Wildwood Elementary, her work with the Primary Program curriculum, and the nurturing of the students at her school. But I will miss the stories she would bring home - the funny stories, the sad stories, the touching stories. . . . I learned how to listen, not fix (like men always want to do), but listen to the content, the feelings, and the love she felt for the kids and her staff. I think of them often and grief for THEIR loss too.

Walking with my head down

During my walk this afternoon, I found myself walking up a hill with my head down. The brim of my hat kept me from seeing too far ahead. I looked at the sidewalk and the surrounding grass and debris. Then I thought: isn't that what's going on with me now. I get up in the morning, get ready for work and do my job. I come home, work out, eat, watch a bit of TV and read. Then I go to bed. I keep my head down and not think about the holidays ahead, the next year, the next five years, retirement, etc. It hurts too much to think about those events without Janell. She was the spirit of the holidays; she put up the decorations; she managed the Thanksgiving dinner; gathered Christmas wishes and made sure those wishes were fulfilled. And now she is the "spirit" of the upcoming holidays.

Another day

Metaphors seems to occupy my time lately - C.S. Lewis talks about one's life as a house of cards. When a loved one dies, the house collapses. Life is chaos and meaningless. To complicate matters in the long run, is one willing/able to rebuild the house of cards - it could collapse again? I know the feeling - in addition to the pain there is the vagueness of everything else. I get up every day, get ready to face the day and do what I need to do when related to work, and develop a "check list" on Friday nights to get through the weekend. Where is the meaning and where is the joy/fun/energy - meaning? Day after day.

Long Labor Day weekend

I spent the weekend going through the house, cleaning, rearranging, discarding and remembering. So much alone time - but worth it. One day at a time - that's what everyone tells me, but no one told me how lonely it is - like I think I said before: it's tough going from a couples' world to a single's world, particularly when the vast majority of friends are couples. It must also be tough for them - how do they feel about me being around (remembering Janell), how do they think I fit in, what do we talk about (or not talk about)? Lots of questions and the answers, if they come, only come with time. And I seem to have lots of that.

Just Starting Out

I've never done a blog before, so I'm just jumping in. I work in program evaluation for schools and non-profits, but I also have an extensive background in curriculum, facilitation, mediation and strategic planning. So - who knows?

I'm also going through the hardest time imaginable - my wife of 17 years passed away in March 2010 and I'm still "transitioning," if there is such a word and such a passage.

So this introduction is a bit fuzzy - as life is now. More later.