Things Don’t Mean Anything Until They Mean Something: One Man’s Journey Through Grief and Recovery

By John A. Bayerl

This is not a “how to” book; rather, it is a “how it was” description of a man experiencing profound grief and gradually healing and moving toward learning to love again. Through vignettes and relevant poetry, the reader will become enmeshed in this account of lost love and the indomitable desire to love again. Death is seen not only as an ending, but also as an opportunity for a new beginning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984571434

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 by John A. Bayerl.

Library of Congress Control Number:          2018914561

ISBN:               Hardcover           978-1-9845-7141-0

                         Softcover             978-1-9845-7142-7

                         eBook                 978-1-9845-7143-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 12/10/2018

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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CONTENTS

An Ending And A Beginning

Sunday, January 9, 2011 Beginning

Monday, January 20, 2011 Hummingbirds

Tuesday, January 11, 2011 On Poetry And Grief

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Thursday, January 13, 2011 Help Me Make It Through The Night

Friday, January 14, 2011 Firsts Aren’t Always The Best

Saturday, January 15, 2011 Letters From The Past

Sunday, January 16, 2011 Small Things Left Behind

Monday, January 17, 2011 Doing The Loving Thing

Tuesday, January 18, 2011 Little Things Mean Everything

Wednesday, January 19, 2011 The Holy Ordinary

Friday, January 21, 2011 Courting Gwen

Saturday, January 22, 2011 Final Acts

Sunday, January 23, 2011 Family Matters

Monday, January 24, 2011 V8 Low-Sodium Vegetable Juice

Tuesday, January 25, 2011 Then We Hug

Thursday, January 27, 2011 Morning Mountain Air

Friday, January 28, 2011 It’s Just Not Right

Saturday, January 29, 2011 I Am Not Resigned

Sunday, January 30, 2011 On Eagle’s Wings

Sunday, January 30, 2011 My Bed Is Way Too Big

Tuesday, February 1, 2011 Living In The Neighborhood

Wednesday, February 2, 2011 What I’ve Lost

Thursday, February 3, 2011 Fleece Sheets

Friday, February 4, 2011 Roger And Barb Remembered

Saturday, February 5, 2011 Drawing Out Into The Light

Sunday, February 6, 2011 Faceless Figurine

Monday, February 7, 2011 If You’re Ever Going To Love Me

Tuesday, February 8, 2011 New Normal, I Guess

Wednesday, February 9, 2011 Preparing For Angels

Thursday, February 10, 2011 It’s Hard To Explain

Friday, February 11, 2011 Black Leather Coat

Saturday, February 12, 2011 Where White Lies Matter

Sunday, February 13, 2011 Apache Wedding Blessing

Monday, February 14, 2011 A Mushy Little Poem

Tuesday, February 15, 2011 Tonight, Tears

Wednesday, February 16, 2011 Bravely Beautiful

Thursday, February 17, 2011 There Must Be A Way

Friday, February 18, 2011 Before The Deadly Diagnosis

Saturday, February 19, 2011 Postpone The Day

Sunday, February 20, 2011 All Will Be Well

Monday, February 21, 2011 From In Like To In Love

Tuesday, February 22, 2011 My Wife (What She Means To Me)

Wednesday, February 23, 2011 Winter Seeds

Thursday, February 24, 2011 She Always Loved Me Back

Friday, February 25, 2011 Always And Forever

Saturday, February 26, 2011 Hospital Bed

Sunday, February 27, 2011 Your Beautiful Handwriting

Monday, February 28, 2011 My Eyes So Soft

Tuesday, March 1, 2011 Midnight Plant

Wednesday, March 2, 2011 Where You Should Be

Thursday, March 3, 2011 Cottage In Canada

Friday, March 4, 2011 Nothing Not To Like

Saturday, March 5, 2011 First Date

Sunday, March 6, 2011 Broken Heart Doctor?

Monday, March 7, 2011 Gone

Tuesday, March 8, 2011 On A Bright, Sunny Morning

Wednesday, March 9, 2011 The Raw Mix

Thursday, March 10, 2011 Ash Wednesday Reflections

Friday, March 11, 2011 Easy Chair

Saturday, March 12, 2011 Things Hoped For

Sunday, March 13, 2011 A Different Kind Of Day

Monday, March 14, 2011 Memory Flood

Tuesday, March 15, 2011 Just Not Today

Wednesday, March 16, 2011 Wish I’d Been A Better Dancer

Thursday, March 17, 2011 Long Ride Home

Friday, March 18, 2011 Another Busy Day

Saturday, March 19, 2011 Driving Down A Familiar Road

Sunday, March 20, 2011 I’ll Wait For You

Monday, March 21, 2011 I Sure Wish I Knew

Tuesday, March 22, 2011 Driving Down A Familiar Road 2

Wednesday, March 23, 2011 Every Now And Then

Thursday, March 24, 2011 Quick Note

Friday, March 25, 2011 A Beautiful Moment

Saturday, March 26, 2011 Physics Lecture

Sunday, March 27, 2011 Memories Of My Mother

Monday, March 28, 2011 I Look Away

Tuesday, March 29, 2011 Scattered Words

Wednesday, March 30, 2011 Days Like This

Thursday, March 31, 2011 Easy Isn’t Easy

Friday, April 1, 2011 We Hoped It Would Last

Saturday, April 2, 2011 Healing Tears

Sunday, April 3, 2011 Reminders

Monday, April 4, 2011 Some Long Overdue Recognition

Tuesday, April 5, 2011 That Awful Day

Wednesday, April 6, 2011 More About Gwen’s Accomplishments

Friday, April 8, 2011 The Task At Hand

Saturday, April 9, 2011 Loving The Present

Sunday, April 10, 2011 Quiet Sunday

Monday, April 11, 2011 A Better Day

Tuesday, April 12, 2011 April 12, An Important Date

Wednesday, April 13, 2011 So It Goes

Thursday, April 14, 2011 An Ordinary Couple

Friday, April 15, 2011 Weekends

Saturday, April 16, 2011 It’s Late

Sunday, April 17, 2011 Your Missing Presence

Monday, April 18, 2011 Monday Morning

Tuesday, April 19, 2011 A Busy Day

Wednesday, April 20, 2011 Turtlenecks For Cancun

Thursday, April 21, 2011 Sadness Overtakes Me

Saturday, April 23, 2011 A Good Good Friday

Saturday, April 23, 2011 Words That Must Be Said

Tuesday, April 26, 2011 Attractive Opposites

Wednesday, April 27, 2011 One Of Those Days

Thursday, April 28, 2011 The Water Is Always Cold

Friday, April 29, 2011 Tears At Weddings

Saturday, April 30, 2011 Roger And Barb Remembered

May 1, 2011 Words She Left

Monday, May 2, 2011 The Sacredness Of Tears

Tuesday, May 3, 2011 The Nature And Shape Of Grief

Wednesday, May 4, 2011 The Sun Is Out

Thursday, May 5, 2011 I Love You More

Friday, May 6, 2011 A Good Night

Saturday, May 7, 2011 Play Some More

Sunday, May 8, 2011 Mother’s Day

Monday, May 9, 2011 Monday Morning Golf Course

Tuesday, May 10, 2011 Someone To Spoil

Wednesday, May 11, 2011 A Bright And Happy Day

Thursday, May 12, 2011 Floating Down The River

Saturday, May 14, 2011 A Good Saturday

Monday, May 16, 2011 Toyota Waiting Room

Tuesday, May 17, 2011 Me Times Two

Wednesday, May 18, 2011 Loss Of Innocence

Thursday, May 19, 2011 Dreamless Awakenings

Friday, May 20, 2011 Hope Fulfilled

Saturday, May 21, 2011 Saturday Steak

Monday, May 23, 2011 A Visit

Wednesday, May 25, 2011 Let It Shine In The World

Thursday, May 26, 2011 On The Wings To Eternity

Friday, May 27, 2011 Flannery’s Angel

Saturday, May 28, 2011 Waiting For Waiting

Monday, May 30, 2011 Things To Be Thankful For And Masks

Tuesday, May 31, 2011 She Waits

Wednesday, June 1, 2011 Joy On The Seventeenth Green

Thursday, June 2, 2011 A Meaningful Day

Friday, June 3, 2011 Cinderella Story

Saturday, June 4, 2011 The Sleep Goddess

Monday, June 6, 2011 Mixed Feelings

Tuesday, June 7, 2011 Anniversary Eve

Wednesday, June 8, 2011 Tears And All That Followed

Thursday, June 9, 2011 One Fond Memory

Friday, June 10, 2011 Another Friday

Saturday, June 11, 2011 Different Kind Of Saturday

Tuesday, June 14, 2011 Here Come The Grief Gods

Wednesday, June 15, 2011 Reminders

Thursday, June 16, 2011 A Pretty Blue Box

Friday, June 17, 2011 Friday Reflections

Saturday, June 18, 2011 My Heart And Soul Aren’t Functioning Real Well Tonight

Monday, June 20, 2011 Packing To Go

Wednesday, June 22, 2011 A Homecoming Of Sorts

Friday, June 24, 2011 Rest Area Us 2

Monday, June 27, 2011 Eagles Again

Tuesday, June 28, 2011 Questions

Wednesday, June 29, 2011 She Knew Me

Thursday, June 30, 2011 Breakfast At Angelo’s

Friday, July 1, 2011 Feeling Bleak

Saturday, July 2, 2011 Graces

Monday, July 4, 2011 Sweet Memories

Tuesday, July 5, 2011 Twilight Golf Course

Wednesday, July 6, 2011 Safely Tethered

Thursday, July 7, 2011 Simple Pleasures

Friday, July 8, 2011 A John Day

Saturday, July 9, 2011 Life At The Bird Feeder

Monday, July 11, 2011 Being Alone

Tuesday, July 12, 2011 Eight Months

Thursday, July 14, 2011 Gaastra Update

Friday, July 15, 2011 Change In Plans

Saturday, July 16, 2011 All Is Well

Monday, July 18, 2011 It’s How I Feel

Tuesday, July 19, 2011 A Warm Summer Day

Wednesday, July 20, 2011 Rock And Rivers And Lakes

Thursday, July 21, 2011 A Grandpa And Brooke Day

Friday, July 22, 2011 Oh, Gwen …

Saturday, July 23, 2011 Hugs Are Forever

Monday, July 25, 2011 Feel Her Presence

Tuesday, July 26, 2011 A Hard Day’s Night

Wednesday, July 27, 2011 Who Knew

Thursday, July 28, 2011 Secret Memories

Friday, July 29, 2011 Doing Fun Things

Saturday, July 30, 2011 Folding Fitted Sheets

Monday, August 1, 2011 On Being A Widow

Tuesday, August 2, 2011 The Warm, Soft Nearness Of You

Wednesday, August 3, 2011 Take Me Out To The Ball Game

Thursday, August 4, 2011 Being In Between

Friday, August 5, 2011 Being With Those We Love

Saturday, August 6, 2011 Rained Out

Monday, August 8, 2011 Roadside Park

Tuesday, August 9, 2011 All Endings Are Beginnings

Wednesday, August 10, 2011 Ready For The Big Adventure

Thursday, August 11, 2011 Regrets, Remorse, And Realizations

Friday, August 12, 2011 Do It All Over Again

Saturday, August 13, 2011 Making A List

Sunday, August 14, 2011 Silent Sunday

Tuesday, August 16, 2011 Cowboy Church

Wednesday, August 17, 2011 Fond Memories Remain

Thursday, August 18, 2011 Love And Magic Glue

Friday, August 19, 2011 Road To Engadine

Saturday, August 20, 2011 Two If By Sea

Monday, August 22, 2011 I Will Find Other Seas

Tuesday, August 23, 2011 The Best Laid Plans

Wednesday, August 24, 2011 No Matter What, I Miss Her

Thursday, August 25, 2011 The Spiritual Side Of Things

Thursday, August 25, 2011 With Family Again

Saturday, August 27, 2011 Why The Smile

Monday, August 29, 2011 Everything Changes

Tuesday, August 30, 2011 Again And Again

Wednesday, August 31, 2011 Remember The Purpose

Thursday, September 1, 2011 My Best Friend

Friday, September 2, 2011 May I Have This Dance

Saturday, September 3, 2011 A Most Interesting Day

Monday, September 5, 2011 I Don’t Have The Words

Tuesday, September 6, 2011 Gather Ye Rosebuds

Wednesday, September 7, 2011 Feeling All Alone

Thursday, September 8, 2011 The Assurance Of Things Hoped For

Friday, September 9, 2011 A Short Funny Poem

Saturday, September 10, 2011 A Totally Unoriginal Poem

Monday, September 12, 2011 Ten Months Have Passed

Tuesday, September 13, 2011 Ordinary Things

Thursday, September 15, 2011 Sheer Intimacy

Monday, September 19, 2011 Blue Monday × 2

Wednesday, September 21, 2011 Friends And Hummingbirds

Friday, September 23, 2011 Back In Business

Saturday, September 24, 2011 Love Is Letting Go Of Fear

Monday, September 26, 2011 We Walk By Faith

Tuesday, September 27, 2011 An Uplifting Experience

Wednesday, September 28, 2011 Something

Thursday, September 29, 2011 Aqua Velva Man

Friday, September 30, 2011 Free Association Friday

Saturday, October 1, 2011 On Being Lonely

Monday, October 3, 2011 Something I Can Do

Tuesday, October 4, 2011 Things That Matter

Wednesday, October 5, 2011 Our Lives Do Pass Away

Thursday, October 6, 2011 Today

Friday, October 7, 2011 A Life Beautifully Lived

Saturday, October 8, 2011 On The Eve Of A Birthday

Monday, October 10, 2011 Balloons And Avocados

Tuesday, October 11, 2011 Birch Creek Crossroad

Wednesday, October 12, 2011 Self-Improvement Wednesday

Thursday, October 13, 2011 Signs Of Things To Come

Friday, October 14, 2011 Free Association Friday

Saturday, October 15, 2011 What Lies Ahead

Monday, October 17, 2011 Lipstick

Tuesday, October 18, 2011 Nothing To Explain

Wednesday, October 19, 2011 To Become A Deeper Person

Thursday, October 20, 2011 Little Things, Big Reminders

Friday, October 21, 2011 Tomorrow Is A Special Day

Saturday, October 22, 2011 Mending A Broken Heart

Monday, October 24, 2011 Appreciating What I Had And Have

Tuesday, October 25, 2011 The Beatles Revisited

Wednesday, October 26, 2011 Moments Of Love

Thursday, October 27, 2011 First Encounter

Friday, October 28, 2011 Her Perfect Poem

Saturday, October 29, 2011 Things Are Stirring

Monday, October 31, 2011 What I Know To Be True And What I Feel In My Heart

Tuesday, November 1, 2011 Two Are One

Wednesday, November 2, 2011 Things Remembered

Thursday, November 3, 2011 One Thing Didn’t Change

Friday, November 4, 2011 Another Trip

Sunday, November 6, 2011 No Silent Sunday

Monday, November 7, 2011 Back Home

Tuesday, November 8, 2011 After The Storm

Wednesday, November 9, 2011 The Joy Of Touch

Thursday, November 10, 2011 I’ve Never Been So Happy

Friday, November 11, 2011 A Final Moment

Saturday, November 12, 2011 In Loving Memory

Monday, November 14, 2011 Beginning Another Year

Tuesday, November 15, 2011 Trying To Live In The Present

Wednesday, November 16, 2011 You’re Not Alone

Thursday, November 17, 2011 Being Who I Was

Friday, November 18, 2011 Take My Arm

Saturday, November 19, 2011 A Long, Tiring Day

Monday, November 21, 2011 Happy Memories

Tuesday, November 22, 2011 Things Left Undone

Wednesday, November 23, 2011 A Day Of Mixed Emotions

Thursday, November 24, 2011 The Rose

Friday, November 25, 2011 Unexpected Joy

Saturday, November 26, 2011 That Was Then, This Is Now

Monday, November 28, 2011 Our Lives Are But A Single Breath

Tuesday, November 29, 2011 From In Like To In Love

Wednesday, November 30, 2011 First Snowfall

Thursday, December 1, 2011 Something Is Changing

Friday, December 2, 2011 Duality

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Monday, December 5, 2011 Blue, Beautiful Snow

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Wednesday, December 7, 2011 Our Faith And Faith In Each Other

Friday, December 9, 2011

Saturday, December 10, 2011 Gifts Of Relative Strangers

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Tuesday, December 13, 2011 A Busy Day

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Friday, December 16, 2011

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Monday, December 19, 2011

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Friday, December 23, 2011

Saturday, December 24, 2011

December 25, 2011 Silent Sunday

Monday, December 26, 2011

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Wednesday, December 28, 2011 One Of Those Days

Thursday, December 29, 2011 What Doesn’t Kill You

Saturday, December 31, 2011 Letters From The Past 2

Sunday, January 1, 2012 Another Of Her Miracles

Monday, January 2, 2012

Tuesday, January 3, 2012 On Poetry And Grief Revisited

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Thursday, January 5, 2012 How Are You Doing, John?

Friday, January 6, 2012

Saturday, January 7, 2012

Monday, January 9, 2012 The Adventures Of John And Barney Part 1—The Engagement

Tuesday, January 10, 2012 The Adventures Of John And Barney Part 2—The Trap

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Thursday, January 12, 2012 The Adventures Of John And Barney Part 3—The Word Processor Is Mightier Than The Sword

Friday, January 13, 2012 A Tearful Day

Saturday, January 14, 2012

Monday, January 16, 2012

Tuesday, January 17, 2012 Returning Home

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Friday, January 20, 2012 Family, Friends, And A Funeral

Monday, January 23, 2012

Tuesday, January 24, 2012 Black Silk Panties

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Friday, January 27, 2012 Bertha, The Better Half

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Monday, January 30, 2012

Tuesday, January 31, 2012 Kiss Of Peace

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Friday, February 3, 2012

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Monday, February 6, 2012

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Friday, February 10, 2012

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Monday, February 13, 2012

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Wednesday, February 15, 2012 Coincidence?

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Friday, February 17, 2012

Monday, February 27, 2012

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Monday, March 5, 2012

Friday, March 9, 2012 Update

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Friday, March 16, 2012

Tuesday, March 20, 2012 My Wife (What She Means To Me)

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Monday, April 2, 2012

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Friday, April 27, 2012

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Monday, May 7, 2012

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Wednesday, May 16, 2012 Let It Shine In The World

Friday, May 18, 2012 Five Dollars For A Goddamn Hot Dog And Cup Of Coffee!

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Thursday, May 31, 2012

Monday, June 4, 2012

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Thursday, July 12, 2012 The Perfect Circle Of Love

Friday, October 12, 2012

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Acknowledgments

AN ENDING AND A BEGINNING

When grief has you on your knees, you have two choices: you can lie down and grovel in the dirt, or you can find a way to stand tall and become someone who continues to live a full life. Dave, the psychologist and friend whom I had been counseling with from the time when Gwen was first diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer, said those words to me shortly after Gwen died. When she died on November 12, 2010, Gwen and I had known each other for fifty years and had been married for more than forty-seven years. We were proud parents of two daughters and two sons, as well as grandparents of a grandson and two granddaughters.

How was I to follow Dave’s advice and construct a new life? The life that Gwen and I shared together had been fulfilling and gratifying. It was not perfect. In 1970, we lost the child Gwen had been carrying for six months when she suddenly became a type 1 diabetic. Yet we persevered. We later welcomed a daughter into our family, Gwen completed her requirements for a bachelor’s degree in nursing, and I for a PhD degree in school counseling. She had a successful career as a nurse at the University of Michigan Hospital and Kellogg Eye Center, and I as a school counselor and counselor educator. Each of our children completed college and were off on careers of their own. In many respects, we had it all. Now it was all gone, and here was Dave asking me to get up and get going. Easy for him to say.

Then the miracles began.

In my case, there was a lot of hard work behind the miracles. Dave and I continued our sessions together. I continued attending support and grief groups, both locally and online, and gradually, the fog began to lift. Yet grief held me tight in its grip. Was there something more I could be doing to allow myself to feel fully the pain of this terrible loss I had suffered, accept it, and move on?

On a January morning in 2011, I had a dream about hummingbirds. Gwen loved hummingbirds, and I saw this as a message from her. Then I remembered a blog I had begun writing during my time as a college professor. Why not write a blog that would offer an opportunity for me to write about my experience of losing my beloved spouse, as well as honor her memory? So I began.

Initially, I wrote about whatever came to mind.

SUNDAY, JANUARY 9, 2011

Beginning

It is time for me to begin a blog. I dreamed about hummingbirds this morning. I’ll explain what that means later.

For now, I want to comment on a quote a friend sent me: Death is a divorce nobody asked for: to live through it is to find a way to disengage from what you thought you couldn’t stand to lose.

I agree with the first part but do not like the word disengage. I don’t ever want to totally disengage from the love of my life for forty-seven years. No way.

MONDAY, JANUARY 20, 2011

Hummingbirds

On Wednesday of this week, it will be two months since my wife, Gwen, lost her almost-five-year battle with cancer. More precisely, today is the fifty-ninth day I have gotten up to the realization that the one person who was my friend, my lover, and my most honest critic is no longer with me. I recently found two packages of letters we had written to each other during the year before we were married and were living a hundred miles apart. In my last letter to her, the week before we were married, my final sentence was God could not have created a more perfect mate for me. Her final words in her last letter were I love you more. And so it went for forty-seven years, five months, and twelve days. She was my perfect mate, and not a day went by that she didn’t try to prove that she loved me more. She kept things that meant a lot to her. A poem she saved began with these lines:

I love you

not only for what you are

but for what I am

when I am with you.

Now, with her gone, I would amend those lines:

I still love you

not only for what you were

but for what I was

when you were with me.

In some ways, our life together was an adventure. No matter what harebrained scheme I came up with, she was with me all the way, urging me on, never complaining, always anxious to see what was around the next corner. When we were first married, we postponed our honeymoon so that we could live in Marquette, where I took a class in summer school. We never did remember or find time to have a honeymoon. Yet, in a larger sense, our life together was a complete honeymoon, right up to the end, where it was just the two of us together as she took her last breath. She now knows what lies around the next corner, and I am so sad that she’s not here to tell me about it but also happy that we were given time to, together, prepare for her next adventure.

Gwen loved hummingbirds. Some of my best memories of our time together are when we owned our cottage on St. Joseph Island in Canada and would sit on our deck and watch them flit around the hollyhocks and other flowers she had planted. A few years ago, we took a cruise and won a print of any of the pictures that were on display. She picked one of a hummingbird; it hangs in our family room downstairs. I tried all last summer to attract hummingbirds to our backyard, to no avail. I’ll try again this year when my family and I establish Gwen’s garden in the backyard. I have a hunch the hummingbirds will be there this year. Yesterday morning, just before I awoke, I had a dream where Gwen and I were watching hummingbirds flit about our yard. I had been waiting for a message from her, and I believe that was it.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 11, 2011

On Poetry and Grief

Shortly after Gwen’s death, a friend sent me an article entitled To Overcome Grief After a Loss, Try to Love written by Fr. Ron Rolheiser. In the article, a question is raised concerning what we can say in the face of a deep loss and the attendant inconsolable grief. (I think I’ve gotten past the inconsolable loss phase, but there are still moments when waves of grief overwhelm me.) The author of the article posed the question to renowned psychologist Antoine Vergote. His answer was cautious, words to this effect: When someone is grieving a deep loss, there is a period of time when psychology finds itself rather helpless. The pain of a death … can trigger a paralysis that is not easy to reach into and dissolve. Psychology admits to limits here. Sometimes I think the poets and novelists are of more use in this than is psychology. But, even there, they can offer some insight but I am not sure anyone can do much to take away the pain. There are some things in life before which we simply stand helpless. Dave put this more simply when he said, When the grief has you on your knees, there’s only one thing to do and that is to find a way to stand up.

Sometimes words come to me, and I write them down in the form of a poem. I have found that happening much more frequently since the death of my perfect partner.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 12, 2011

Today is January 12. Gwen died on November 12, two months since my life was changed forever. Those who know about these things tell me that anniversaries are tough; they are right. November 12, 2010, 11/12/10, is an easy date to remember but a day that is so difficult to remember. My daughters and daughters-in-law found a picture of Gwen that became sort of the centerpiece of remembrances of her at her wake and funeral. Perhaps it is because on the bookmarks that I use in the books I read that I have come to treasure that picture. I wrote a poem about it:

That Darn Picture

I have many pictures of her

This one is my favorite

I don’t know who snapped it

Or where she was

Or what she was doing

Or whom she was with.

There she is

In all her youthful glory

Head thrown back

Laughing, happy, sassy

Hair big and feathery

Wearing a goofy straw hat.

She was just out of high school then

It would be a year

Before I met her

When she sat on my lap

For the first time

And said she’d see a movie with me.

That picture haunts me now

It was on everything and everywhere

At her funeral

It is far from my idea of her

Yet it is exactly

Who she was.

I spent a lifetime

Getting to know and love

The girl in that picture

Or was it the one

Not in the picture

That I knew so well?

I miss them both.

John A. Bayerl, January 11, 2011

Especially today, two months later, I miss them both.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 13, 2011

Help Me Make It through the Night

Sleep is always an issue with those of us who are forced to confront cancer and its aftermath. Sometimes, when depression rears its ugly head, too much sleep is the issue. (A long time ago, a friend described depression to me as preferring to wallow in the dirty bathwater rather than step out clean.) More frequently, as was, and continues to be the case with me, not being able to sleep is a common occurrence. Way back in September of 2009, I had one of those nights where I couldn’t sleep, and rather than fight it, I wrote a poem about it:

Tossing and Turning

At 3:13 a.m.,

when sleep won’t come,

is the time

the many mantras

prolifically parroted

by positivity police

lose their meaning,

and we appreciate

moments in the company of friends

who share and understand

sleepless nights,

when we dare to peer deeply

into the quiet corners

of our hearts,

where the pain lies.

John A. Bayerl, September 2009

Most nights during her illness, Gwen and I had little trouble sleeping because of our presleep ritual. She loved it when I would read to her, and because of some aftereffects of whole-brain radiation, she really liked it if I would scratch her scalp while I was reading. (Sometimes I think it’s so silly, these little things we remember that have such great emotional impact now. It’s always the little things, isn’t it?) So for many a night, I scratched her head while reading all three of the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo series to her. Yes, I read all those Swedish words out loud as best as I could. Then we would read something spiritual or biblical to settle us down for the evening.

The friends I refer to in the poem are those support group members—Gwen’s survivor group and my caregiver group—who meant so much to us in our battle with cancer, as well as our many friends and relatives everywhere. The over-the-top alliteration having to do with the positivity police has an explanation. Both Gwen and I always took exception to what we considered to be a simplistic view that if we just stayed positive, everything would be fine. This isn’t to say that we were proponents of a negative point of view. We just felt that positive was such an arbitrary designation. I often liken it to the posts on the battery in your car—one has a + sign on it, and the other has a − sign on it. That’s all there is to it; it’s the interaction between those two posts that makes it possible for your car to go down the road, not the + sign on one of the posts. And isn’t that how it is with life? It is the positive energy that is generated in my interactions with the many friends and family who have shown me such love in the days since I lost my perfect partner that helps me through those sleepless nights. Bless each one of you.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 14, 2011

Firsts Aren’t Always the Best

Yesterday I had another of what I’d come to call my firsts—the first time I will attend an event or activity that I formerly attended with Gwen or as Gwen’s husband. This was a monthly gathering of UM retirees. There’s always an interesting speaker, and we often meet people we knew there.

Yesterday there were two of them. One was an ex-neighbor. The last time we saw him was at the UM Comprehensive Cancer Center a year or so ago. At that time, he had just been diagnosed with stage IIIA lung cancer (swam every day, never smoked a day in his life). Yesterday he was happy to tell me that surgeons had been able to remove the cancer and that he was now cured. I, of course, was so happy for him, as I am for the many friends and relatives I know who have beaten cancer. Yet that joy is always tinged with a little jealousy that Gwen wasn’t so fortunate. (There, I’ve said it.) Anyway, the inevitable next question from my friend was And how is your wife doing? Always a tough one to answer. Others who have walked the trail I am walking tell me that I can expect to encounter this for an indefinite length of time. So be it.

The other person I met at the meeting yesterday was a good friend of Gwen’s, also a nurse, who had worked at the Kellogg Eye Center with her. She had indirectly heard of Gwen’s death but was under the mistaken impression that we still lived in Marquette. She was glad to hear from me about Gwen’s final days and funeral, and there were lots of tears and hugs. All this reminded me of my very first first, about three weeks after Gwen had died. (It’s still so hard to type the words Gwen and died in the same sentence.) The poem is about a breakfast meeting with retirees from the last high school where I worked.

Breakfast with Retired Friends

One by one

They shake my hand, look aside,

Pat me on the back,

Tell me they’re sorry for my loss.

And they are.

Then they order their french toast

And bacon and eggs

And continue their conversations

About winter in Florida.

And they laugh at one another’s jokes,

As it should be.

And I wonder,

Don’t they know?

Should I tell them?

Twenty days ago,

My wife, my sweet Gwen,

Died.

And I miss her.

And I miss her.

John A. Bayerl, December 3, 2010

And as happy as I know she is now, I’ll bet she misses me.

SATURDAY, JANUARY 15, 2011

Letters from the Past

One of the things I’ve discovered since Gwen’s death is that although most of her belongings have been donated to charity, I continue to discover things she left behind. Sometimes these items, which would have seemed terribly insignificant a year ago, now take on great emotional meaning. Among the items that have affected me this way are a box of body powder, a black silk underwear, the pillow she slept on, and a photo of her kissing me on the steps of the church right after we were married.

The biggest discovery of all was letters we had written to each other from April 1962 through June 1963, when we were married. During that time, we had decided to get married. And after a great deal of discussion, Gwen decided to drop out of college at the end of her sophomore year and take a job as a bookkeeper at a lumberyard in Iron River. (The decision for her to leave college was not taken lightly. She was a scholarship student, and her parents would have preferred that she remain in school. In our wedding vows, I wrote a sentence where I promised that I would help her finish college and was so happy when her parents attended her graduation from nursing school at EMU in 1980.) She stayed at home with her parents that year, and I began my first year as a commercial teacher at Stephenson High School only a few miles from my home. I stayed at home with my parents and younger brother and sister.

So there we were, madly in love with each other, but living a hundred miles apart. Each weekend during that period, I drove to Gaastra and visited her. In the days between, we wrote letters to each other. These were the letters I recently found hidden away in a storage bin in the basement of our home. What fun it was to read them all. I’d told friends that it was kind of like seeing the movie Secretariat, which Gwen and I and all our children and grandchildren did just a month before she died. As was the case with reading the letters, I knew how the movie would turn out, but there was the lingering doubt that maybe there was something I had forgotten or some historical truth that I didn’t know existed. Maybe it wouldn’t turn out the way I knew it did! To my relief, Secretariat won the Triple Crown of horse racing, and I won the Triple Crown of love and marriage! It was all there, in the movie and in our letters.

During almost five years of Gwen’s illness, it was not always easy for me to be her caregiver, and it was harder yet for her—the strong, assertive, independent woman that she was—to consent to my caring for her. Yet as she made it easy for me to love her during forty-seven years of marriage, she also made it easy for me to care for her during the years she was ill. After rereading our letters, I can now see in them the core of the love and commitment to each other that would sustain and nourish us not only through the for better parts of our marriage but especially during the for worse times. I tried to express this in a poem I wrote.

Letters from the Past

She saved everything.

I found the letters we exchanged

the year before we wed,

when we lived apart.

They were neatly bundled,

wrapped in plastic,

each letter carefully

returned to its envelope.

All were placed in order,

day to day, month to month.

John wrote to Gwen 137 times;

Gwen wrote to John 134 times.

I read them all

on New Year’s Eve

and on to New Year’s Day,

every last one of them.

There were lots of ordinary stuff,

like headaches and cold sores

and wedding presents.

Always, love was there—in each letter.

It was a love that would grow

on to the years, until death do us part.

In those 271 declarations of that love,

there was never a waver or doubt.

Death did us part,

as we knew it someday would.

The words in the letters

now carry new meanings.

The one who completed me

had left me incomplete,

asking me to pursue our dreams

without her at my side.

I will love you forever

was made more real

each day since she was gone.

I wish she could write me one more letter.

John A. Bayerl, January 2, 2011

In upcoming blogs, I plan to write about events that have occurred since Gwen’s death that I chose to see as letters from her.

SUNDAY, JANUARY 16, 2011

Small Things Left Behind

Yesterday I wrote about the joy of finding a year’s worth of letters that Gwen and I had exchanged the year before we married.

Shortly after my daughters had done me the favor of removing all of Gwen’s belongings from our home, I found a drawer they had forgotten to empty. The drawer was filled with undergarments. Most of them were everyday undies. However, way down on the bottom of the drawer were two pairs of black silk panties.

Others who have suffered the loss of a loved one have told me about how it’s often the discovery of little things that make it so difficult to adjust to the new normal of living without the normalcy provided by the one who died. Gwen and I were both born and raised in the Upper Peninsula. It goes without saying that a proper Yooper woman wouldn’t wear those black silk panties on just any occasion. They were meant for special events, as I allude to in the poem. And I, a Yooper man to the core, understood that better than anyone. It is the reminder of those special events that comprised our life together that now conspire to prevent me from dashing headlong into whatever the new normal is to become for me. As far as I’m concerned, the old normal was just fine—at least for a while longer.

Black Silk Panties

Black silk panties

with frilly lace around the edges,

how they teased and pleased me

on those special times she wore them—

birthdays, anniversaries, nights out,

in a hotel room in Las Vegas.

Now they lie in a box

there on the closet floor,

so out of place on a bed

of white cotton underpants,

like the living among the dead.

And they tease me still.

John A. Bayerl, December 16, 2010

While there is the risk that special things with their special meanings will keep me tied to the past and prevent me from becoming the strong, centered person Gwen asked me to be after she was gone, I know that I will get to that point eventually. As I’ve told my children, it will take as long as it takes. Meanwhile, I find great delight and no harm in enjoying the teasing reminders of my perfect partner that I happen to encounter. I believe them to be messages from her.

MONDAY, JANUARY 17, 2011

Doing the Loving Thing

We do not find it easy, in our culture, to talk about death and the events surrounding it. There are certain things I remember about the night that Gwen died that are forever burned into my memory. There are also many things about that night that I don’t remember at all. Those who know about these things tell me this is not an uncommon occurrence.

This is something I remember vividly and lovingly. On more than one occasion, Gwen and I had discussed having me bathe her and dress her in clean clothes after her death. Those who knew Gwen knew how important it was to her that she always looked her best. As events transpired, even in death, I was able to honor her in that way. I was not at all sure that I would be able to do it, but as it turned out, it is now my most loving memory of that whole evening.

I recall filling a basin with warm water, being careful that it was neither too cold nor too hot. (I would treat her no differently in death than I had in life.) I removed her clothing, soaped a washcloth, and gave her a final bath. Then I sprayed on a little of her favorite perfume, patted on some of her favorite Youth-Dew dusting powder, dressed her in some favorite clothing, and combed her hair. As she had bathed and carefully groomed and dressed herself before all the important events in our life, beginning with our wedding, I was now able to prepare her for her last journey. It was the loving thing to do. My memories of this are so tender, personal, and poignant that to attempt to describe them in more detail would make them meaningless. The poem below tries to capture a little bit of what it felt like:

First and Last Moments

I hold her lifeless body.

In my warm embrace,

a soft sigh of false hope escapes her lips

as I gently raise and bathe her.

I hold in my arms

the same loving body

I beheld with wonder

on our first night together.

She was soft and giving then

when our lives as one began,

sharing our love,

completing each other.

Her beautiful blue eyes, now closed,

filled with tears of joy

on that first night

as she gave me all her warmth.

Now it is my eyes that fill with tears.

John A. Bayerl, January 4, 2011

Those, like myself, who hold the belief that life does not end with death, it changes, will readily understand how liberating it felt to prepare my wife in this way. Later that evening, her body would be taken off to the funeral parlor, the topic for tomorrow’s posting.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 18, 2011

Little Things Mean Everything

Things don’t mean anything until they mean something. This explains why it is always the little things that add meaning to what are often the most ordinary events in life. The nurse from the hospice who came to officially document the death of my dear wife placed a stethoscope on her chest and listened for what seemed like forever. I recall starting to say something to her and then stopping because I wanted her to be able to hear better. One of Gwen’s and my favorite songs was the Simon and Garfunkel classic The Sounds of Silence. I thought of that as the nurse listened in vain. She then said some words making the time of death official and told me that the funeral home had been notified, and their representatives would soon be here for the body. I know, even as I write these words more than two months later, that people are dying right now. But on November 12, 2010, at 9:40 p.m., it was my perfect partner, my soul mate, who had died. That means something! To me, that means everything! These words that I write won’t bring her back to life. I hope they will keep her memory and, more importantly, her meaning alive. Gwen lived a rich and full life, and it meant something. I’m selfish to the extent that I don’t want her to be soon forgotten.

In an hour or so, two men arrived to take Gwen’s body to the mortuary at the funeral parlor. They were polite, respectful, and unbelievably sympathetic. I remember that about them, but what I remember most of all is that one of them had beer on his breath. Again, it’s the little things that add meaning. I couldn’t bring myself to accompany them to the room where her body was. I soon heard them carrying the stretcher up the stairs. They let her lie in state in the hallway near the front door. I kissed her good night and prepared to spend my first night without her presence under my roof. My youngest sister and her husband lived nearby, and I had called to ask them to be with me. Her husband had to return home, but she stayed with me that night. I am now becoming comfortable with spending my nights alone; it would have been a hard thing to spend that night alone.

I knew that whatever it had been that animated my wife’s body—her spirit, her life force, or as I believe to be the case, her soul—had now left it, and what remained was just that, her remains. Yet all I could think of as I watched the two men carry her off to the waiting hearse was that she was going to be so alone. This is a poem about that:

Off to Somewhere

Early in October,

on her sixty-eighth birthday,

she was so happy

as her children carried her

in her wheelchair

out the door and down the porch steps.

She was off to the movies.

Now, a month later,

two strange men,

one with beer on his breath,

carry her lifeless body

on a hospital stretcher

out the same door and down the same steps.

I can’t say where she was off to.

I know where she has gone.

John A. Bayerl, January 2, 2011

As I was preparing to write this, a friend of mine called. She knew Gwen very well. I read the poem to her and asked for her response. She cried and said, It sucks. I agree. I don’t think she meant that the poem sucks.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 19, 2011

The Holy Ordinary

This morning, as I reached in the cabinet to get a cup for my coffee, I realized that it was time to run the dishwasher. There was a cup left, but I couldn’t use it—it was Gwen’s favorite cup. I chide myself about this; after all, I use her bowls for cereal that I eat with a spoon that she used. For goodness’ sake, most of the air you breathe is the air she breathed. The coffee cup has joined what I have come to call the holy ordinary list—those ordinary items in my life that are in some way made holy through their association with that which makes all things holy: love. That cup reminds me of so many late afternoons spent enjoying a cup of tea with Gwen, something we both loved doing.

Later this morning, as I pedaled the NuStep at the gym, the song Red Red Wine played on my iPod. Let the tears begin. The song instantly took me