The Empty Chair, Part 4: A Year Gone By

This week marks a full year since my dear man has been gone. So many things have changed. I still miss him every day, but I'm gradually adjusting. I think the hardest part has been the silence. I've been running the television or playing the radio all day long, just for background noise.

Life has changed in so many ways, but this next year will be one of happier adjustments. Something is in the works.  I always knew I'd married a stubborn man, and there are moments that leave me wondering. 

I mentioned in an earlier blog that Fred was adamant that I not live alone. My grandchildren moved next door in March. Everything fell together so suddenly after his passing, that I questioned if Fred had a hand in it all. I've so enjoyed having those sweet, young people so close by. It's been wonderful, but not exactly what Fred wanted. In those last weeks, he insisted that I should live in the same house with one of our children.  He worried that I'd fall, or get sick, and no one would be here to help me. He had the same concerns for our daughter, who has been living on her own for several years. Fred thought we should be together under one roof. There was just one problem. Mandy has been living over an hour's drive from me and working in Omaha.

Then, just before Christmas, a position in Lincoln suddenly opened up. Mandy applied, and job was hers. Her transfer took effect last week, and she'll be moving back to Lincoln as soon as her house sells. It will go on the market in March when winter begins to bow out. In the meanwhile, Mandy is staying with me during the week, and going home on weekends. While she's working, I have the company of her two little dogs, Watson and Willow. They are delightful, and my house isn't quiet unless they're sleeping. Puppies during the day, a daughter in the evenings. What could be better?

After the sale of her house, Mandy will find a house in Lincoln. She says that her dad won't let her rest until she finds something with enough space for both of us and the pups. She also won't settle for anything that doesn't have well lighted studio space where she can paint and I can sew.

This is all quite exciting. I'm truly looking forward to the coming year.

Nap time for Watson and Willow

Change is inevitable, so I wish all of us a year filled with love, happiness, and only those changes that bring joy.

The Empty Chair, Part 3, Falling in Love

I've worn myself out this weekend, and it will be an early night.

It's been five months since my hubby passed away. It seems like forever and it seems like yesterday. I needed time, but I was finally ready to clean out his office this weekend. Our former guest room is now my sewing room, so I'm going to turn the office into a guest room. It will be nice to have a place where visitors can stay.

It took all weekend, but the desk, the bookcase and all the drawers of files have been sorted through and emptied. I moved important things to empty drawers in the bedroom, and listed the office furniture for sale on Craigslist.

Moving furniture around, emptying and filling drawers, and carrying boxes up and down the stairs, was tiring enough, but sorting through his things was the hardest part of it all.  Fred had tucked away little things that meant something to him, and I found several boxes of small treasures. This mug rug was in one of them.

So many of my designs stem from something in my own life experiences. I named this mug rug "Winter Romance", and  I gave it to Fred for Christmas shortly after I made it. The design was all about the winter we met.

It was in January of my junior year University of Colorado in Boulder. On the first day back from Christmas vacation, I was sitting in the student union with a friend after our last classes for the day. The room was filled with people escaping the cold and snow outside. Marty and I found it almost impossible to carry on a conversation with all the shouting and laughing from students just back from a two week break. The fragrances of wet wool and hot coffee permeated the air.

A couple of tables away from us a group of several boys was crowded around a very small table. They were all talking at the same time and laughing over something. I may not have noticed them were it not for my friend, Marty. "Don't look like your looking, but look at those boys," she said, nodding at their table. "One of them keeps looking at  you."  I glanced that direction, and I'm sure I blushed. She was right. "He can't take his eyes off you," she said. "He's really, really cute! I'm so jealous!"

"He's okay," I said nonchalantly. "Nothing special." I tugged my skirt down to in an effort to hide my legs better. Skirts were short in 1963. I had lied when I said he was "okay".  He had curly black hair, twinkling brown eyes, and a beautiful smile. He was wearing a hand knit, golden yellow wool sweater over a black turtleneck. Yes, I noticed what he was wearing, and I can still picture it as if it were yesterday. I was dressed in blue, in case you were wondering. Some things stick. But, back to Fred. He was so much more than just okay. He was the most gorgeous young man I'd ever seen! I proceeded to pointedly ignore him, but I couldn't get him out of my head for the rest of the evening.

The next day I went back to the student union during a mid-morning break between classes. The union was almost empty, so I sat at a table for eight by the window where I could watch the snow coming down and people rushing by.

"Excuse me," a voice interrupted. I looked up to see the same beautiful boy from yesterday. He looked around the almost empty room as if searching for a place to sit. "Is this seat taken?" He pointed to a chair directly across from me. His eyes sparkled with humor. I laughed out loud.

We talked with the ease of people who had known each other forever. There was so much to discuss, but we both needed to get back to class. We made a date to meet at the union for lunch the next day.

I was several minutes late arriving at the union for our lunch date on Wednesday. It was bitterly cold, and the wind was blowing fiercely. I couldn't believe that Fred was waiting outside in the cold for me. The first thing I noticed were his ears. He wasn't wearing a hat, and his ears were bright red. His hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, and he looked half frozen. You may have noticed that the snowman in the mug rug wears no hat. Now you know why.

We were inseparable from the on. The rest of the winter was magical. The Boulder campus was even more beautiful than usual. Some of the wonder was from the deep white snow that we trudged through and turned into snowballs, but most of the beauty came from the two of us. Was it love at first sight? Fred always said he was in love from that first glimpse of me across the crowded room, but it took longer for me to know that he was the one - at least until the end of the first week.

I'm putting the mug rug  carefully away as a reminder of the winter we fell in love.

The Empty Chair, Part 2. Exciting News

 A few days after Fred was gone, when my house was still filled with family, my next door neighbor came over to tell me that they were moving in less than a month. I was shocked. They'd been next door for seven years and I would miss them. But, their moving placed an additional stress on me well beyond the loss of a neighbor.

We live in one unit of a triplex that we own. The other two units are rented, so on top of everything else I was dealing with at that moment, I would need to find new renters and get the unit completely ready for them. She apologized for the timing, but on the day after my husband passed away, they had  received notice that they were being transferred to Kansas City . Her husband would leave in a week, and she and the girls would stay until the end of February to pack and clean the apartment.

My daughter and granddaughter were sitting together on the couch, following this conversation and carrying on a side conversation of their own.  After a few minutes had gone by, my daughter interrupted us.  "Sara has something to say."

"We'd like to live there," Sara said. "If that's okay." Of course that was okay! I couldn't think of anything that would make me happier than to have my granddaughter and her sweet hubby next door.

I silently wondered, "Fred, did you have anything to do with this?" It was exactly the kind of thing I might expect from him, and the timing was surprisingly coincidental.

During those last few months when he knew he didn't have long, he became more and more concerned about my safety and well being. He hated for me to go anywhere without him, because, what if ... ? He reminded me, "Hold the railing", whenever I went up or down the stairs, and, "Is the door locked?" was a frequent question.

Most emphatically, though, he didn't want me to ever live alone. What if something happened and no one was there to help me? He insisted that I must either go to live with our daughter or ask our son to move in with me. I tried to assure him that lots of people live alone, and they're just fine, but he was adamant. I changed the subject, but he came back to it several times every day.

I've spent most of March getting that apartment ready for my granddaughter, and her hubby. It has a master bedroom and bathroom on the main level, and another two bedrooms and full bathroom on the walkout level. They don't need all that space, so they invited my grandson to move in, too! I'll have both of my grandbabies right next door!

The kiddos have been filling cupboards and closets, and the moving van comes tomorrow. I am so excited!

No, Fred, I won't be living alone. Not really.

The Empty Chair, Part 1. The Last Gift

I came home from grocery shopping today, and I almost called out, "I'm home!" Almost, but I stopped myself. There was no one to call back a greeting.

My husband passed away in January. His squeaky green recliner sits empty, and my house is silent. I miss him every day, all day. Tears come unexpectedly, like they did this morning while I put  groceries for one in the refrigerator.

I want to tell our story, but it will come in bits and pieces, and not in any sensible order. This is the story of his last gift for me.

Fred had been unwell for several years. Over time, in addition to diabetes, he had developed the neurological and mental symptoms of Parkinson's disease. Dementia was creeping up on him, and he shuffled with tiny, exhausting steps that made going anywhere very difficult.

In October, he had emergency surgery for a kidney stone. He was so frail, that he never really recovered. In spite of it all, he remained the same kind and loving man that he had always been.

Four days before Christmas, Fred decided that he wanted to go to Von Maur to buy me a Christmas gift.  He'd only left the house a few times since last October, but he said that he felt a bit stronger that morning. I tried to convince him that a gift wasn't at all necessary, but he insisted. He was dressed and ready to leave at 10:00 A.M. The  department store is only a mile and a half from our house, so we wouldn't need much time.

When Fred was all buckled up, I began backing out of our driveway. The back of my car had barely reached the street when there we felt a jolt and heard a sickening thump. The neighbor, whose driveway was directly across the street from ours, had come zooming out like she always did. This time, she'd rammed right into the back of our car.

We both got out of our cars to see the damage. My bumper had a big, cracked dent, and her car looked even worse. The woman seemed panicked. She said she hadn't even seen a car in my driveway, then she began frantically texting someone on her phone. My man was waiting, and he was my first priority. If he wanted to go to Von Maur, I would get him there as soon as I could. 

I told the neighbor, "Look, you didn't see me, and I didn't see you. It was just a freakish accident, so let's each take care of our own damage." She continued texting, and then ran into her house without responding. We left. Fred had shopping to do.

When we walked through the big doors, Fred looked around the store. "It's all clothes," he said. He seemed disappointed.  "Don't they have any jewelry?"

They do carry a small selection of jewelry. It was in the middle of the store, so we made our way down the long, center aisle.  We found the jewelry, but except for a few tiny chains, nothing was actual gold. Fred was disappointed. Costume jewelry wouldn't do.  He looked around the store again in search of something else.  "A sweater?" I suggested. "I can always use a new sweater."

"Not clothes," he said. After a moment of thought, he asked, "Do they have perfume?"

The perfume was a bit farther down the same aisle, so we shuffled on. Fred was only interested in one fragrance, Chanel #5. It had always been his favorite, and he purchased a small bottle of it. The sales clerk couldn't help but smile at this sweet, old man buying a special Christmas gift for his wife.

He carried the bag in one hand and held my hand with the other. As we made our way back through the store and to the car, he shook his head, "I'm just like a little boy with his mommy."

Once home, he handed the bag to me and asked me to put it under the tree. On Christmas morning, our whole family came to spend the day. We gathered around the tree to open gifts. When I was handed his little bag from Von Maur, I pretended to be completely surprised. Fred laughed and made a joke about his beautiful gift wrapping. Christmas was such a happy day. Fred told stories of his youth in the afternoon, and, in the evening, we shared our traditional spaghetti dinner.  It was my hubby's last good day. 

The perfume is still unopened. I can't bring myself to break the seal quite yet, but I don't know why. I'll get there eventually, but not today.