I have faced deaths in my family --my grandparents, Denny's parents, my parents, my brother, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I was with Denny's mom and both my parents when they died. Although it hurt deeply, I didn't fall apart at their funerals. I cried before and cried many times after. When you lose your parents, a huge door closes. They were there all your life, and suddenly, that tie to the past is gone. You can't call them, can't ask anymore questions about when they were young; you can't go see them or seek their advice. Sometimes I'd find myself picking up the phone to call Mom and Dad, then realizing they are gone. You just never get over it because they were always there for you. Somehow, though, we find the strength to carry on.
But when Denny, my husband, my love, my partner for over 36 years, died, I wondered how I could get through life much less get through the funeral without breaking down. But I made it. With God's help and the help of family and friends, I made it through the days before and through the funeral without falling apart. I had to tell myself each minute that I just had to get through this for the sake of my loved ones. Then afterwards, when everyone had gone home, after his sisters had gone back to New Jersey and I was all alone, the crying and missing him and falling apart happened. Some nights when my granddaughter Courtney spent the night with me, she'd hear me crying after I went to bed. She'd come to comfort me and we'd cry together. When my daughter Denissa would come see me, we'd sometimes cry together, or we'd call each other on the phone and cry together. Tears help release the pain. No matter what, I tried to be strong. The first everything without him was very difficult: the first spring, the first summer, the first family get-together at Easter, the first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas, the first time to go into a store without him.
This will be the third year without him. It's still difficult, and I know it always will be. Denissa misses her Dad and Courtney misses her Poppy. He was so much a part of our lives. But we learn to cope as we go through the stages of losing our loved ones -- the disbelief, the anger, the pain, the tears, and then the acceptance that things will never again be the same on this earth.
Tom Fitzgerald, a dear friend and motorcycle buddy of Denny's, said one of the hardest things he had to do was ride Denny's motorcycle leading the funeral motorcade. Denny had many friends and family that loved him and miss him. One day when I was working at the cemetery, a man pulled up in a pickup, introduced himself, and said, "I miss that man. He was a wonderful person, the kind of person you don't forget." That touched my heart, and it was so kind of him to stop and talk to me.
The mowing, edging, trimming, watering at the cemetery has been one of the ways I have coped. Even after multiple discussions with my two girls, it took me several months to decide what I wanted on the headstone, what kind to get, who to have make it. We had pictures of his Harley, along with the hammer and saw he used in his carpenter work, put on there. Those were times that kept me busy and busy is good. To make the gravesite look nice, we had a neighbor run concrete curbs. I had dirt hauled in and we filled up to the concrete. I sowed bermudagrass, planted four trees, hauled water to get them growing. A short time later, the cemetery put in more water lines, so I paid to have it run to my plots. That was such a blessing. No more hauling water and I could water as needed, as could others who wanted to use the lines. The Holliday Cemetery is very well kept, but I mow and trim anyway because it's something I want to do. In the beginning, I went several times a week, but now I go at least once a week. It's peaceful to go there and work, a labor of love.
The first summer after Denny died, a tire went flat on the riding mower and slipped the rim. I got a stool and sat down to try to figure out how to get the wheel off. I cried because I was so frustrated. Denny was not there to do it for me or to show me how to do it. As I was pulling on the tire, I fell off the stool. It wasn't far to the ground, though, and later I could laugh about that. It seems he was there to help me anyway, because I finally figured out how to do it. Another summer, the wheel fell off. I got the tractor, pulled the mower around, and figured out what parts I needed and put it back on -- routine maintenance.
Denny was always there to do these things, but thank goodness, I had watched him and had helped him do so many things that I learned from him -- how to use a table saw, mitre saw, chalk a line, and so many other things that I now have to do by myself. Being afraid for my safety, Denny never would let me use the tractor and mower in the pasture, but I do it now, and I learned how to hook up the mower from helping him. I have put a new drainage system on the guttering on the house. I put up a new chainlink fence by myself, with a little help from the granddaughter. I thank Denny, and my Mom & Dad, for showing me how to do so much that I wouldn't have been able to do otherwise. Very seldom did we have to call for a professional to fix a leaky faucet, to rewire a light switch, for Denny was a carpenter and he knew how to do those things. My background helped also. I was raised on a farm, and I learned long ago how to drive a tractor, to hoe weeds, change a flat tire on the car, and to do hard work.
Sometimes when I'm mowing, I can almost see Denny near the house, waving to me, and calling for me to come in, that I've done enough for the day. I'll go in the workshop--his workshop--and think of the many hours he spent there. He, with the help of Denissa and myself, built our house. He built everything, the workshop, the barns, the goldfish pond. I'll hear a motorcycle and think of him on his Harley.That cycle had a sound of its own, and I could always tell it was his Harley when I heard that roar coming down the road. I've never heard another that sounded like his. Sometimes we'd eat at Texas Roadhouse, divide a steak (it was our favorite). That's one of the places I haven't been back to and don't know that I ever can.
I was with Denny during his heart surgery, hospitalizations, and the trips to Houston and Dallas. He was with me during my cancer surgeries and chemo trips to Oklahoma City. We spent nights in the hospital together when one of us had to be there. We were always there for each other. One evening, the next year after Denny died, when I was doing the dishes, my mother's face flashed briefly before me, and I heard her voice. She said "Denny is here with us and we're waiting for you". If asked to explain how I felt at that moment I can only say -- love, I just felt such peace and love. It's comforting to know we will meet again in that Great Beyond.
He'll always be with me, in my heart, for God gives us strength to carry on. I'm thankful for the time we had together, and yet. -- another door closes.