A Flat of Petunias: Finding the Pathway Through the Pain

By Lanni Rogers Fish

The book chronicles the authors journey through the mire of shock and grief, as she tries to find her place in the world again. She addresses the many pitfalls that beset the newly-widowed, whether man or woman, and offers practical advice for coping with those situations. Also, it validates the tangled emotions that a person may encounter, and suggests ways to confront and temper those emotions effectively.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Aug 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781489713537

Lanni Rogers Fish

The author is a registered nurse, and has dealt with death and grieving families for many years, but never saw it as something that would happen to her. She often journals important events in her life, and this book was born out of a journal she began after her husband’s unexpected death. This is her first book, though she does write short stories, drawn from memories of her childhood, and published in a healthcare industry-specific magazine.

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A Flat of

PETUNIAS

Finding the Pathway Through the Pain

Lanni Rogers Fish

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Copyright © 2017 Lanni Rogers Fish.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

Scripture quotations are from the ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

LifeRich Publishing is a registered trademark of The Reader’s Digest Association, Inc.

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ISBN: 978-1-4897-1354-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-1355-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-1353-7 (e)

LifeRich Publishing rev. date: 8/7/2017

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THANK YOU

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER ONE

The Unthinkable Happened

CHAPTER TWO

Confronting the Grief

CHAPTER THREE

Memories: A Blind Date

CHAPTER FOUR

Four Weeks – Scammers, Decisions And Pitfalls

CHAPTER FIVE

Six Weeks

CHAPTER SIX

The Early Years

CHAPTER SEVEN

Three Months

CHAPTER EIGHT

Six Months

CHAPTER NINE

Time Passes, and Life Goes On

CHAPTER TEN

Four Years – (and Life With my Father!)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

On Becoming A Nurse

CHAPTER TWELVE

Four and One Half Years – Progress is Made!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

What Time Has Brought

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Twelve Years – Has it really been that Long?

A CLOSING NOTE

THANK YOU

I wish to thank all who have encouraged and inspired me to finish this book. You know who you are, and you may recognize yourself as you read.

This has been a labor of love, and it is my deepest wish that it will be helpful to those who find themselves in that dark place, and wonder how, or even if, they will ever get out. With God’s help, you will.

Most of all, I thank the Lord, who many times supplied words for me, when I couldn’t find them, and who encouraged me when I wondered whatever made me think I could write a book.

INTRODUCTION

This work was begun as a private journal, shortly after my husband’s unexpected and untimely death, and was intended simply as a means of draining some of the searing grief from my soul. I have always written away my hurts and concerns, and it was natural to fall back on the habit at this very bitter time in my life. Most of what I wrote in that journal was just bare-bones, diary type notes – brief, intended for no eyes but my own, written in a kind of shorthand. I knew what it meant. It followed the natural time line, as the weeks became months, and the months ran into years. Each entry was usually just a few lines, expressing my feelings at the moment.

For a long time, there was little change in the mood and feeling of what I wrote, but gradually, some changes, some improvement, did appear. Finally, at about three years, I began making entries in the journal only now and then, as I really no longer needed the outlet, at least not as much. Time passed, during which I healed further and began to change into the person I am today. I still miss him, still have my moments of grief, but am functional and essentially quite happy. I have learned to find joy in the here and now, and am secure once again in the knowledge that a far greater joy awaits me on the other side of this life. As my beloved former pastor, Dr. BO Baker, said on several occasions, quoting James Montgomery, "’Tis not the whole of life to live, nor all of death to die." The first time I heard him quote that was in the first sermon he preached after his wife’s death, just about two weeks earlier. He was a strong and courageous man, dedicated to preaching the Word, and that quotation summed up his belief and faith. The truth of it may take a little while to truly sink in, but there is infinite, wonderful promise in that statement. It is, of course, a simple summation of the message that is woven throughout the Bible, like a golden thread in a tapestry.

A few years ago, a couple of my friends experienced a similar loss, with the passing of their husbands, and I realized there might be something in my experience that could help them. I re-entered the journal, expanded and filled in parts of it, and shared it with them. I was so pleased and gratified when they told me it really did provide a bit of support, if not comfort. It seems they found encouragement, knowing that someone else had endured much of what they were feeling, and had survived. I have also included little mundane bits of information and insight here and there, born of experience, simple things that I encountered and learned, that might just make the task of getting through your day, or your week, a little easier. Friends have thanked me for some of those things, as I have thanked those who forewarned me.

With that validation motivating me, I began to revisit the journal with the thought of developing it into something I could share easily when an occasion merited it. As I read, the years would fall away, and memories of our life together would crowd in, demanding to be included. Some stories from my early life, and the early years of our marriage, may seem like they have little to do with rebuilding my life after losing my husband. Actually, they are there to provide background, to explain why certain simple things were so difficult without him.

Thus, what began simply as a catharsis for my soul has become a celebration of our life together, and perhaps something more. As the years have gone by since his passing, it has become evident that my husband’s death was only one of many difficult milestones in life, the worst one for me by far, yes, but still one of many. Simple observation tells me that such is the case for us all. As we enter the latter years of life, it is inevitable that those years will be fraught with loss and pain, just as there are many occasions of joy and gladness. Unless one happens to be the first to depart, leaving others to do the grieving, there is no way to avoid those painful events. Finding the pathway through the pain is the challenge that faces us all. I’m happy to report that the pathway does exist, and there is a Guide who will help us, but we must engage Him.

So here it is – my little story. It is in many ways a love story. It speaks of the love that existed between my husband and myself, the love that held our family together after his passing, and the bonds that were strengthened in the loss. Most of all, it tells of the love that God bestowed on me, His patience and forbearance, His forgiveness and grace, and the depth of the love the Father holds for all His wounded children.

Because of the way this book evolved, I must ask you to bear with me, as the narrative switches from journal to memory to commentary and back to journal again, many times. Chronological order was impossible, but voice and person are my own. Please just ride with the flow as you read, and I think you will have no difficulty.

It is the desire of my heart that this little book will serve as an encouragement, a reassuring guide and a validation of their emotions, for others who are enduring similar losses. If you are a believer, I pray that my experiences with God through this journey will help to bolster and reaffirm your own faith. If you are not a believer, well, perhaps you will be by the time your own journey is complete. I pray that you will be. Many a soul, in the darkest depths of their life, has found that God was there, waiting to lift them up. There was a time when I truly did not think I would make it through, but with God’s help, and the help of my family and friends, I did. There is a pathway through the pain, and God will set your feet on it if you will let Him.

CHAPTER ONE

The Unthinkable Happened

It has been three weeks since he died and my heart still does not believe what my mind knows is true. I have not moved anything that was his, except to give a few personal items to our children. After all, their grief, while on a different plane than mine, is no less bitter. They need some tangible token of his existence as much as I do.

I have begun sleeping on his side of our bed, because that way, it’s my side that’s empty, not his. Trust me, that makes sense to me right now. I think it always will. I sleep (when I actually manage to sleep) while hugging a soiled, sweated-up shirt, an old favorite he wore frequently. I have no intention of laundering that shirt, and I do not find the residual scent in the least offensive. On the contrary, it is a sweet fragrance to me. It smells faintly of his aftershave/cologne, and not so faintly of the perspiration he generated and the smoke the shirt absorbed while he stood over a huge, wood-fired barbecue pit for several hours. It evokes a memory of the labor of love that he performed on the last day he wore it, preparing for my parents’ 60th anniversary celebration, three days before he left us all forever. I suppose I’m a little like our tiny dog, who loved him very much, and whom I have found curled up on some article of his clothing on several occasions. Anything that feels or smells like him draws me, and offers at least a momentary comfort. Apparently at a time like this our learned, acquired inhibitions and conventions disappear and we respond on some basic, instinctual level. I have even clomped around in our bedroom wearing his big shoes on my bare feet. The touch of the smoothly worn leather inside the shoes feels good to me.

I found a smudged handprint on the wall of our shower. He had showered just before we left on our trip to the hill country for the anniversary, and apparently his hands were dirty from loading the pickup. He must have put his hand on the wall for balance when he stepped into the shower. I cannot imagine cleaning that handprint off. I hope it remains there forever.

People have been kind, trying to comfort, console and help me, though there is no comfort, no consolation, and no help. My family has had their own shock and grief to deal with, yet they still find strength to try to strengthen me. It does not work, but their efforts are dear to me and do serve to strengthen the bonds between us. They have stayed with me, living here in the house that fairly rings with their father’s presence and memories of him. It’s hard for them, as it is hard for me, but none of us wants to be anywhere else. His keys and briefcase on his desk, his jacket lying across a chair, the slightly sagging cushion on his chosen end of the sofa - these things are painful, but infinitely precious.

It’s just impossible for me to accept that he’s gone. We had just spent such a delightful weekend, in Fredericksburg, the little Texas Hill Country town where our older daughter was living. The town is near San Antonio, the city where my parents had lived most of their lives, and where the remaining members of their families still live. We had a wonderful barbecue in honor of my parents’ 60th anniversary, attended by over a hundred people. The big party was on Sunday afternoon at the nearby state park, and it was a huge success. My husband knew his way around a barbecue pit, and we enjoyed a lot of great food, and the company of extended family and some old friends, many of whom we had not seen in a long time. My parents had a delightful visit with everyone, and at the close of the day, they went to the secluded, rural Bed and Breakfast cabin that we had rented for them. There they would just rest and relax and enjoy each other’s company until Wednesday morning, when they would return home to Irving, a suburb of Dallas. My husband and I stayed at our daughter’s rural home, and just spent the next two days enjoying the quaint little town, and our grandchildren.

Early on Wednesday morning, everyone packed up and left early, except my husband and me. We stayed, packing the coolers and other gear into his truck, and planning to take our daughter and ten-month-old grandson out for lunch before leaving town. We were just waiting for the baby to wake from his nap.

We were sitting in the living room, just chatting, when suddenly and with no warning whatsoever, my husband threw his head back, his body stiffened and his fists clenched across his chest. He was gritting his teeth. Clearly he was having a seizure. I rushed to him, and knelt on the sofa beside him. Looking into his eyes, I saw fear and confusion, possibly pain. He was unable to speak, struggling to breathe. I was talking to him, trying to calm and reassure him, frightened almost beyond words myself. As a nurse, I had a pretty good idea what was happening. My daughter called 911, and I know he heard me when I told her to tell the operator that he was having a massive stroke. The expression in his eyes changed then. He had large, beautiful, expressive eyes, and after 38 years, I could read them like print, and what I saw there was understanding of what was happening, and deep concern for me.