Good Grief

By Lolae Joline Lambert

Good Grief is a story expressed in letters about committed love, disappointments, triumphs, romance, loss, and renewal.


For more information on "Good Grief" visit www.lolaejolinelambert.com

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 21, 2008
• ISBN: 9781462832705

Lolae Joline Lambert

Lolae Joline Lambert resides in a quaint village in Southern New Jersey. Always looking for new adventures, she is entrepreneurial by nature. Her careers have included real estate sales, real estate investing, and property management. She was Director of a Christian Preschool, and is currently a Substitute Teacher. Writing has been her life long love. After the loss of her husband, she was inspired to journal in letterform the events and emotions of her journey from grief to a new and different life. The realization that the letters permitted a glimpse into the intricacies of the grieving process and an enjoyable story about love and commitment motivated her to publish the letters.

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Good

Grief

Lolae Joline Lambert

Copyright © 2008 by Lolae Joline Lambert.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

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recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission

in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

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Contents

Part I

July 6, 2004

July 7, 2004

July 8, 2004

July 9,2004

July 11, 2004

July 13, 2004

July 15, 2004

July 22, 2004

July 24, 2004

July 25, 2004

July 27, 2004

July 28, 2004

July 29, 2004

July 30, 2004

August 1, 2004

August 8, 2004

August 9, 2004

August 10, 2004

August 11, 2004

August 12, 2004

August 14, 2004

August 15, 2004

August 28, 2004

August 30,2004

August 31, 2004

September 2, 2004

September 3, 2004

September 9, 2004

September 10, 2004

September 12, 2004

September 14, 2002

September 19, 2004

September 21, 2004

September 22, 2004

September 26, 2004

October 14, 2004

October 16, 2004

October 18, 2004

October 20, 2004

October 29, 2004

November 5, 2004

November 7, 2004

November 9, 2004

November 23, 2004

November 24, 2004

November 26, 2004

November 30, 2004

December 5, 2004

Part II

December 10, 2004

December 15, 2004

December 22, 2004

December 25, 2004

December 29, 2005

December 31, 2004

January 2, 2005

January 5, 2005

January 14, 2004

January 15, 2005

January 22, 2005

January 25, 2005

February 2, 2005

February 4, 2005

February 6, 2005

February 8, 2005

February 9, 2005

February 12,2005

February 16, 2005

February 25, 2005

March 2, 2005

March 6, 2005

March 9, 2005

March 16, 2005

March 19, 2005

March 20,2005

Part III

March 30, 2005

March 31, 2005

April 5, 2005

April 7, 2005

April 8, 2005

April 9, 2005

April 11, 2005

April 12, 2005

May 3, 2005

May 7, 2005

May 8, 2005

May 15, 2005

June 5, 2005

June 22, 2005

July 4, 2005

July 6, 2005

August 15, 2005

September 6, 2005

December 24, 2005

June 22, 2006

June 22, 2007

To Gus

I loved you from the first moment we met.

I will love you always.

Thanks for the dance.

To Mom

It is not the same without you.

I thank you for teaching me how to survive life’s tragedies.

I was blessed to have you as my Mom.

To Henry

I miss you very much.

I will never forget the day Mom put you in my arms.

You danced to your own tune.

You added color to my life.

To all who have experienced deep love and great loss.

May you find comfort and hope in your journey to new beginnings.

After my husband passed away, I began to write him letters as a form of therapy. The desire to find a vent for my emotions during difficult days blossomed into a love story about our life together while evidencing the sometimes painfully slow grieving process.

When we experience loss, the process that follows is universal. While everyone does not grieve in the same way or in the same timeframe, everyone does relate on the subjects of love, loss, and grieving. Just as you remember what you were doing the exact moment of a traumatic event, you remember the moment you lost your loved one. The recorder in the mind replays the images over and over. You are suspended in time, while simultaneously moving forward.

The letters are open and from the heart. They are an outpouring of a story about a life full of commitment, love, disappointments, triumphs, romance, loss, and renewal. The reader will identify with the pain of grief and ultimately see how even great loss may be processed into something new and wonderful.

Living is complicated and full of unique experiences. Each new experience cuts yet another facet into the diamond of my life. With so many old and new facets, my life is beginning to sparkle!

Part I

July 6, 2004

Dear Gus,

It is 14 days to the minute from the time you passed away.

The past two weeks I have been in a fog. I am aware of my surroundings and I am able to function, but nothing is clear. I have not slept well and I have no appetite. I sit for hours and stare into space. I am numb. I feel cut off from the world. I move like a sleepwalker. I am barely breathing. Nothing seems important. I have difficulty finding a reason to accomplish anything. Friends are expressing concern. They seem to believe this is lasting too long. I don’t know if they are correct. I just know how it is at the moment. The flowers sent from our friends have died around me and I don’t have the energy or the desire to dispose of them. I pray for your death to be a dream and I will wake up to find you here with me. I feel this strong desire to join you. Your death has taken half of me with you and I do not know how to make a whole person again. Humpty has fallen off the wall and I am wondering if the pieces can be reassembled.

I am so sorry I did not make it to the hospital in time. I knew the exact minute you passed away. I felt a chill, while driving to the hospital, and glanced at the clock in the car. When I arrived at your bedside, I asked the time of death. It was the time on the clock in the car.

I tried to be there in time. I am not sure why I was not called much earlier. I only pray that you were not afraid and looking for me. I was with you every possible minute. I stayed many nights. The nurses discouraged me from staying this one night. I do regret listening to them. I know all too well that I could be with you every minute and then leave to simply get a drink of water and you might pass away. It happens a lot. Sometimes, I think the dying person cannot let go with a loved one at their side. However, I thought and was assured you were on the road to coming home. You had survived so much. You were starting to eat and drink again. The surgery was healing well. Even though you were a very uncooperative patient, it looked like you were on your way home to your beloved house in your beloved town. You loved it here. You were born here, raised here, and rooted here. It was your wish to die here. I am so sorry that did not happen. Please know I did everything in my power towards bringing you home. Please know I loved you with all my heart and my anguish is indescribable!

I have cried rivers these last two weeks. My friend Betty says, the more you cry the less you pee. This is her way of making me smile. It works, too. I smile.

I realize our schedules have not meshed for years because you retired and I have been so busy working and picking up so many of your responsibilities. In addition, my baby brother’s illness and death six months ago completely ended the already lacking quality time of the last few years. Therefore, you would think this adjustment would be easier. It is not! So, I decided to write to you as often as I can. I need to tell you what is happening in my life. I need to feel I can still communicate with you. I need your guidance, wisdom, and love.

I used to say that it took a minimum of 5 years for a decision to be made in this household because you and I would debate the pros and cons until we would reach an agreement or a compromise. Now, I can do whatever I desire and I do not know what to do. I am immobilized with emotion, fear, and loneliness. This new and sudden freedom to make my own decisions is a hollow feeling. The pressure of deciding alone is much worse than any compromise of the past.

I am very active during the daytime. Henry’s estate requires a lot of physical labor. It is also mentally and emotionally draining. In addition to the stress of his demise, I must now deal with arranging my personal world from a team of two to a single player.

Today I must go probate the will. I must go to the lawyer for an appointment for Henry’s and your estate. I must think about rewriting my will. I have bills to pay with no money to pay them. Monies from the widow’s pension and insurance have not yet been resolved. Social Security said that since you did not live until 12:01 of July first, I must send back the check for this month. You lived the first 21 days of the month. It should be prorated, but it is not. Each financial ripple creates more stress and quickly becomes an emotional wave that is overwhelming. It is unfortunate that when I need money the most, it is the hardest to find.

The roof is leaking badly. I do not know who to call, who I can trust, or even if I have the money to make the repair. I need to find employment, but I also need the time to restructure my life after this devastating couple of years.

Even now, I want to write on and on. But, I must get myself moving on the demanding responsibilities of the day. Tonight, I will cry again. I cry myself to sleep every night. Where do these tears come from? I thought about writing in the evening, but you know evening is not my best time of day. Once I am tired from a long day, my brain wants to rest and sometimes functions poorly.

I love you with every fiber of my being!

July 7, 2004

Dear Gus,

Yesterday was a busy day. I am exhausted. There is so much uncertainty and so many decisions that must be made whether I am ready or not.

RJ’s car broke down the other evening. This was a new experience for us both without you to call for assistance and guidance. The result is that his vehicle is in the shop and he has my car for a few days, since I still have your car to drive for the moment. I never thought I would need two vehicles after you passed away. I guess I was wrong.

From the lawyers, I went to where RJ was working to see if he knew when his car would be repaired. From talking with RJ, I continued to an appointment to meet with a potential buyer about a piece of Henry’s furniture.

I ate dinner and then went to visit our friends Ginny and Don. It is strange how situations work out. Don was given only a very short time to live before your problems began in April. Don is still with us and you are gone. This is mind-boggling. However, Don is not doing well, and it won’t be long before Ginny will be in my situation. She and Don are so close; it will be very difficult for her.

Afterwards, I came home and watched television and fell asleep on the sofa. Later, I awoke and went to bed, but couldn’t sleep. I stayed awake thinking about our life together. We had a good run. I should be happy. We had a life a lot of people would have envied. But, no matter how long we were together; at the moment it does not seem long enough. I want you here with me.

I keep my morning schedule, but I long to hear the toilet flush. The morning flush was the signal you were awake and on you’re way downstairs. It is strange the things we remember. The flush of a toilet or the clinking of ice cubes stirs memories of our life together.

It is unbelievable how empty it is around here. For years a simple morning kiss started my day. I realize I did not let you know how much the gesture meant to me, but it was special. I miss the kiss you gave me each evening when you arrived home from work. When you retired, the kiss was lost. I know I should have been the one coming home from work and kissing you. However, at the time, it just didn’t seem like the ritual we had established. I confess, much to my regret, that I was so accustomed to you reaching out to kiss me that I never picked up the ball. If I could redo one thing, it would be that I would kiss you at every opportunity and never leave the house without telling you I loved you. Please forgive me.

In earlier years when you arrived home from work, I would have a cold glass of iced tea ready for you. We would talk for a few minutes and then move on with our evening; cooking, yard work, coaching sports events for you, or evening school for me. These were such simple and uncomplicated times. I do not know how our lives became so complicated.

We were always testing the waters of new business opportunities in addition to our jobs to secure a better future. We finally settled mainly on rental properties. It was a good choice in the beginning. You were able to do the maintenance and were available to meet tenants for appointments. I was able to take care of the bookwork and other paperwork involved. However, the additional activities seemed to crowd the us out and, oh how I missed the us the last few years. As you became less able to meet your responsibilities, the additional load kept building for me and in some ways I resented the new responsibilities. The changes created even less time for us. We were on totally different schedules and no apparent way to change the new life styles. I missed the way it used to be. I miss you now. The memories of our life together are my only current comfort.

One memory was the day early in our relationship when we went to an auction and you purchased a large glass vase I admired. The special part, however, was the next day when you arrived home from work with a huge bouquet of fresh cut flowers for the vase. That was the first time in my life a man had brought me flowers. One young man in my teens had sent me roses. My first husband or, more correctly, his parents sent me roses the day of my son’s birth. But you were the first to take the time to pick flowers up at the florist and bring them home in your arms. Over the years you purchased and sent me many more flowers. You sent red roses, yellow roses, pink roses, white roses, peach roses, and one time you sent two dozen roses of all colors. I cannot find the words to describe the beauty of the bouquets or the feelings the memories evoke.

Years later, I admired a bouquet of silk gladiolas in a store. I love gladiolas! I mentioned to you that I would like to have a bouquet of the silk gladiolas someday. It wasn’t long after this conversation, you took the very vase you had purchased many years ago to the florist and asked the florist to arrange a beautiful bouquet of silk gladiolas in the vase. I was presented this lovely gift for my birthday that year. The arrangement is in the living room today and I love it and you as much as always.

Every year you would purchase daffodils at Easter to plant in the yard. Each year the line of flowers grew along the fence and signaled the beginning of spring. I will never be able to look at the yellow beauties and not think of you.

I have so much to say to you, but the clock is ticking and the reality is I must begin my day.

I love you. I always loved you.

July 8, 2004

Dear Gus,

All my plans for yesterday were rearranged. I had to stop worrying about bill payment to take RJ to retrieve his car. Of course, his vehicle broke down on the fourth of July making it all the more frustrating. Thank God a local repairman opened his shop to tow the car. The problem is the timing belt. RJ loves his vehicle. It has 100,000 miles on the odometer, but RJ says it will go for another 100,000 miles. Uncle Neil is inclined to agree with RJ, as long as RJ changes the oil regularly and keeps up with maintenance.

RJ is devastated by your death. You were his Dad. You were not his biological father, but you were his Dad. RJ is in pain. His loss is great. Here come the tears again. You were a loving Father to all the children. You worried about them constantly and would do anything you could for them. But it is extra special when someone loves someone else’s child. RJ understands this and so do I.

After retrieving the car, I drove home to do some more paperwork. Then a buyer called and wanted to pick up the furniture from Henry’s that she had purchased making it necessary for me to drive back into town to prepare for her to load the furniture onto her truck. I am scheduling the second household sale this Saturday. I finally removed all the boxes and furniture from the attic and will be selling these items at the sale. I will be so glad when all this is over with Henry’s estate. Losing my brother six months earlier was difficult. The hours I have spent on this estate seem endless. Days upon days of sorting, filing, and running legal errands are wearing me down. The loss of income from not working because of both of your illnesses, and the emotional stress of selling off items that belonged to love ones for pennies on the dollar is extremely stressful. Deciding what to keep, sell, or trash is exhausting, not to mention the physical work involved and the emotional backlash of memories encountered with each object. Everything has a story or a memory! Betty comes with me some days to keep me moving and helps me not to get bogged down with emotion. She is so kind. She never stops me from remembering, but gently moves me on if I seem to stay in that space for too long. God sent me an angel in this friend.

Speaking of the attic, you will never guess what I found. Remember I told you about the puzzle my mother made for her mother when she was a child. It was a picture of a cottage house and a beautiful garden. My mother found an old frame that had held a mirror