A Journey in Grief

Introduction

Too young to go to Sunday School my little brother, Danny, was not too young to get himself into trouble. My pet rabbit lived in a cage in our backyard. I could open the cage door, put my hand inside and the little rabbit would come and sit in my hand. I’m sure my brother had watched me do this many times. While my big brother, David, and I were at church, Danny opened the cage and the bunny jumped out and ran. He grabbed a toy hoe to catch him but instead ended up breaking the bunny’s back. The bunny had to be put out of his misery. This was my first introduction to death, dying and grief.

When I was sixteen my Grandma Hattie lost her battle with colon cancer. I was devastated. She and I were very close and I loved her very much. Her wake, funeral and burial were some of the toughest days I had to face in my young life. Real sorrow and grief entered my heart. I missed her terribly and cried myself to sleep many nights.

I lost my Father to cancer when I was twenty-three. My Mother passed twenty-three years later. My older brother and his wife, who was my best friend since childhood, both passed within a few years of each other. By the time a person reaches seventy-five, like me, we have experienced grief of a loved one many times over. No one is exempt. I once read that “the end result of love is always tears”! So should that stop us from forming loving bonds with others? I believe that these passages through loss that we experience emphasize for us how important these connections, relationships, and bonds are to the living of our lives.

Does grief have a definition? The dictionary tells us that grief is deep sorrow caused by someone’s death. The Mayo Clinic definition says that grief is a strong, sometimes overwhelming emotion for people stemming from

the loss of a loved one or the receiving of a terminal diagnosis.

I’m keeping this journal for me to help me define my grief and find my way through the loss of Butch, my husband of fifty-three years. I’m keeping this journal as a part of my healing process for a number of reasons:

To deal with the sadness in my heart, the fog in my brain, and the heaviness I’m experiencing in my whole self.

To find out who I am without my life-long partner, my other half, my best friend.

To explore this grief that has taken over my everything.

To learn how to move on and live my life while honoring all that we had together.

To find hope and courage for the years to come.

I’m also keeping this journal for YOU in the hope that my challenges and struggles can help you find your way when experiencing a significant loss. No two grief journeys are the same nor should they be. My hope is that you may find comfort, peace, and understanding within your own journey as you read and learn from mine.

Blessings,

Diane Davies

Diane’s Journal

March 2

I woke up this morning thinking about my full day ahead with anticipation of a good day. Little did I know how this day would end turning my whole world upside down and inside out.

Peter Slapnicher, his wife Ashley and their two little boys, Ike and Hank, were coming for lunch and some fun. At this writing I don’t remember what was on the menu for the day. I do remember on an earlier visit Butch had introduced Hank to the dill pickles we put up yearly. With a mischievous grin on his face, Butch filled a small bowl with the tiny little dills and placed it on the table in front of Hank. Hank and the pickles disappeared and didn’t return until the bowl was empty. He ask Butch for a refill and of course his wish was granted.

Peter helped Butch with his computer making it possible for him to life stream the Hastings High School Wrestling Team’s bid for the Minnesota state championship title later that evening. In his earlier years, Butch would have been at the Excel Center in St. Paul all weekend shadow wrestling along with the boys on the mat. However recently his legs wouldn’t allow for walking that far or climbing the countless the steps to his seat.

The afternoon was spent in congenial conversation with the Slapnichers regarding life in general as well as Butch’s lifelong involvement in the Hastings wrestling program and his being the District 14 Champion at 127 pounds in his senior year. The exchange moved on to his even longer friendship with Tom Keene, a wrestling legend from Hastings and his tragic diving accident that left him as a quadriplegic for the remainder of his life. After Tom’s death, Butch and I and a number of other friends created the Tom Keene Memorial Wrestling Fund that provides scholarships for seniors in the Hastings wrestling program.

Eli experienced his crossing over ceremony this evening as he moved from Cub Scouts into Boy Scouts. Papa and I of course attended as proud grandparents. We were both moved by the ceremony. In fact a tear or two rolled down Papa’s cheek as Eli crossed over the bridge.

On the drive home, Butch told me he was experiencing shortness of breath. I asked him to turn around and head for Lakeview Hospital in Stillwater to urgent care. He said he just wanted to go home. Butch could be very stubborn in his ways. I asked him again to turn around and head to urgent care. Once again he said no. He promised me that he would go for coffee in the morning with the “boys” and then come home to get me and we’d go to urgent care.

Arriving home, Butch headed for our office and his computer. I’d all but forgotten about the wrestling tournament until then. I realized that was his reason for not going to urgent care as he would not get to watch the wrestling. I was comforted by the fact that we would go to the hospital in the morning.

I heard him talking to someone on the phone exclaiming that Hastings had won the championship. He was overjoyed! His celebration was short lived as he headed for the bedroom stopping long enough on the way to say he was going to bed, assure me that we would head to Stillwater in the morning, and wishing me goodnight.

After about 5 to 10 minutes I heard him calling my name from the bedroom. I dropped my reading and ran to see what he needed. He was lying on the bed calmly telling me to call 911. “I can’t breathe, Diane! You’d better call 911. I grabbed my phone and made the call. Then called my daughter next door and told her to immediately. I then crawled back into bed with Butch. I took his hand in mine and said, “I love you, Butch.” He relaxed into my side and replied, “I know.”

Shortly thereafter Krisi came in followed by the Washington County Sheriff’s Department and the ambulance. The Emt’s ask Butch his name, address, birthdate. His answers were immediate and coherent. By then they had him hooked up to the trauma center and were sending a feed. They told me his heart looked good. I explained that we wanted to go to Lakeview Hospital in Stillwater and they agreed.

Something then happened within Butch. He started pulling off all of the feeds and shouting, “Get this shit off of me! I don’t want any of this!” Calmly the emt explained why they needed the feeds. By then Butch was beyond listening. They explained that they were going to slide him across the bed and move him onto the gurney for transport. As they said this, Butch slid himself across the bed and stood up like a big black bear and crumpled forward to the gurney and from there down to the floor. CPR was started. I slid to floor as well and grabbed for his hand and told him not to leave me. An Emt gently guided me and my daughter from the bedroom into the living room telling me they needed the room to work on my husband. He explained he was needed but that we should stay in the living room and he would come out and keep us informed.

The first time he came out he told me that they would be transporting Butch directly to
Regions explaining that he needed more help than Stillwater could provide. I agreed.

The next time he came out he told me that he was going to be completely honest and not give us any false hope. “I don’t think this is going to end well,” he told me gently. “We need to get him to the nearest hospital as quickly as possible and that would be Hastings.” I agreed immediately.

Soon they came with Butch on the gurney intubated and on a CPR machine as they headed out the front door and into the waiting ambulance. We were told to meet them at the Emergency Room in the Hastings Hospital. We were also advised to drive safely and cautiously.

Krisi called her husband, Jeff who was at home with the kids, to tell him where we were going and that we would call when we got there.

We pulled out of the garage as soon as the ambulance headed up the hill of our driveway. That was the longest ride I’ve ever taken into town. The miles seemed to inch on by. Dreading what we would find when we arrived at the hospital.

We were escorted into a family room followed closely by the doctor. He explained that Butch had been on life support for nearly 55 minutes and that he would do another ultrasound of his heart and then we would need to make a decision. He also told me that after that long of time there may not be anything left to resuscitate. They all looked to me for my reaction and I told them that Butch and I discussed this scenario many times and that neither of us wanted to have any heroic actions at the end of our lives if all hope was gone. “So no more,” I said, “just stop and let him go.” That was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say. I also know in my heart it was the right thing to do. If he were to be incapacitated in any way he would not want to live. We had both agreed on that earlier as we discussed our wishes when it came time to die. We both agreed this is how we wanted it to be. I’m so thankful that we had had that discussion.

The doctor agreed with me and told me he thought that was very wise. We followed him into the emergency room where Butch lay. He did the ultra sound and showed me that there was no movement in the heart. All life support was removed and Butch was gone. I remember kissing his forehead and telling him thanks for a wonderful 53 years together. Krisi’s reaction was just screaming out “F U C K!” As she sobbed she talked about not knowing how to measure out for the grave. The patient advocate in the room quickly said, “Oh honey don’t worry about that. You don’t have to do that. The cemetery will have people do to that.” Greenwood Cemetery in Denmark Township is a private family cemetery where most Davies relatives have been buried. Krisi’s dad was that cemetery caretaker and she knew that that was now her job. “I am that people now in place of my Dad,” she cried.

Krisi called her family and asked them to come to the hospital to say goodbye to Papa. Jeff, Elsie (15) and Eli (11) arrived. Elsie crumbled into her father’s arms. Eli said his farewell and left the room. We all followed closely behind him. Once back in the family room we made as wishes known that Starkson Family Service should be called. Jeff made a few phone calls to let close family know. The rest of the calls could wait for morning.

Krisi and her family live right next door. Arriving home Krisi said she would spend the night with me. I refused. I told her she needed to be with her family as they needed to be with her. I knew I wouldn’t be able to close my eyes and sleep anyway. Jesse Starkson, from the funeral home, telephoned around 11:30 to tell me he was on his way to pick up Butch. “He will be in my care very soon.”

How could it be all over so quickly? It was 9:00 or so when I called 911. Now here it was a mere 2½ hours later, and my world had crumbled. My husband gone. A widow. I did not sleep. I cried until I didn’t think I had any tears left and yet they continued to run down my face.

We use black as the color of mourning
Black as the color of grief
Black for our lives that will never be the same
Black for the walking shock that borders on disbelief

Because I cannot believe I will not see you again
I cannot believe you are gone
That I will never again hear your laugh,
Or watch your slow smile grow like the dawn

I will miss you this fall, when you are not by my side
To watch the trees, turn into gold
I will miss you next spring, when I am still all alone
As the flowers bloom soft, bright, and bold

I think every day for the rest of my life
I will be missing you so very much
Missing the way our eyes used to meet
The way our hands used to reach out and touch

Because black is the color of absence
A vanishing that has left just a hole

The color of all the things we will not get to do
Of the long gaping wound in my soul

March 3

Sleep did not come last night only tears. In my mind I kept hearing the door open and close. I was sure that Butch was just coming in to bed. I was expecting him to arrive anytime now.

Butch would have morning coffee with “the boys” (all ages above 60+) at Ptacek’s Grocery in Prescott, WI everyday like clockwork. I called the owner, Mike Ptacek, just before 6:30 as I knew they would be concerned when Butch didn’t show up. Talking was difficult for me as it was the first time I was saying that Butch had passed away unexpectedly out loud. Once it was said it became true to me all over again. Mike was pretty shaken as well and said he would pass the work on.

My next call was to Dick and Wanda, long time neighbors and friends. The shockwave continued as Krisi arrived and began manning three phones, hers, mine and Butch’s as the calls started going out and coming in. Word was spreading quickly as I figured it would.

I feel numb. I feel so empty. I have no energy for anything. Yet I dig out the large 32 cup coffee pot and get it started.

A Dream

From Loss by Donna Ashworth

When they told me you were gone

when they said you’d passed away

there was nothing in my lungs

but

empty

space

The ground beneath me swam

blood was rushing in my ears

and my newly broken heart

began

to

race

When they uttered those sharp words

when they tried to hold me close

I felt that no one else could

hear

me

scream

When they told me you were gone

that you never would return

how I wished that this was only

just

a

dream.

As the day continued I remember very little of what was said or done. I know that the visitors that came that first morning were: Wanda & Dick , Rita & Judy (Butch’s sisters), and Jeff Niederkorn (a nephew) Pastor Bryan Olson was also here in the morning and then met with Krisi and I and Jesse Starkson from Starkson’s Family Funeral Home in Hastings later that afternoon to begin the planning and sign some papers. Life seem to be happening around me while I was going along for the ride.

That evening good friends of Krisi and Jeff’s arrived bringing food for all. My body felt so heavy and yet so empty. I excused myself knowing the best thing I could do was go to bed. The noise from people in the house was like a lullaby that eased me to sleep at last.

March 4

The Lost Half

From Loss by Donna Ashworth

Ah but what is left

when half of you is gone?

How does that half

learn how to carry on?

How does that half

face the world alone?

How does that half

let go of all it’s known?

How does that half

rise up from bed each day?

Knowing that its partner

won’t be there

to show the way?

A half without its half

needs to learn to breathe again.

Forever thinking of its half

its soulmate

and best friend.

Tinucci’s Restaurant, owned by family friends, delivered a baked chicken dinner with all the sides this morning in time for lunch with enough food for about 30 people.

Our home is in a rural farming community just outside of Hastings in south eastern Minnesota. My husband’s family has lived in this area and on this property for generations. This sharing of food with the bereaved family has been a beautiful tradition since the early days of this country. It’s purpose is to help feed the many neighbors and friends that come to pay respects to the family allowing them to grieve without having to think about food. My daughter lovely calls it the Jell-O Brigade.