Tag: Journaling through grief

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Jamey and the Coat of Many Colors

So, backstory: I often told Jamey he was like a modern-day Joseph, as in Joseph and the coat of many colors. (If you are unfamiliar with the story of Joseph or want a refresher on the story, you can check out a synopsis here.)  Basically, Jamey was the last of four (not 12) boys, but unlike his three brothers before him, he was given the opportunity to attend not only a private high school, but a private undergraduate college too, his own little coat of many colors.  And while I don’t think he was braggadocios like Joseph, that just wasn’t who Jamey was at his core, he was always humble and modest, I was his wife, and not his brother, so I don’t know how it felt to be his brother during that time. But I do know for certain that they would have NEVER thrown him into a pit or sold him into slavery, though I do recall some good healthy, brotherly teasing during a particular toast 🥂 at our rehearsal dinner many moons ago.  

But the comparison didn’t stop there for me, for in my eyes, everything Jamey touched turned out well for him and with the most ah-mazing timing. For example, as soon as we moved into a new home that was a bit of stretch for us, he would get promoted right before our first mortgage payment was due and his raise would exactly equal the difference in our mortgage, and it didn’t just happen once, it happened all the time. He was brilliant and blessed, and it was evident, to me at least, that like Joseph, God was with Jamey.  (Genesis 39:2 “The Lord was with Joseph, and he became a successful man, and he was in the house of his Egyptian master.” 

Fast forward to today, and I still see this comparison, even in his death.  Because Joseph had so impressed the Pharaoh, he was promoted to a position of power and able to store up grain, saving the people in Egypt, and even his own family in Canaan from famine.  Now, obviously, Jamey was not much of a grain storer, (though I have come to realize he was a bit of a paper storer. I might even go so far as to call him a paper pack rat, as I have found project files dating from the early 2000s and then sentimental paper files filled with email correspondence and receipts from when he planned our 👰🤵 honeymoon. Confession, I too am keeping those particular paper files.) But by establishing the Hollingsworth Colorectal Cancer (CRC) Awareness Fund, he is saving people, not from famine, but from a totally preventable cancer, that if caught during early detection, can truly save lives. And so though knowing that doesn’t make the loss of my husband or our girl’s father, hurt any less, it does give me pause and remind me that despite my only child nature, Jamey’s sole purpose on this earth wasn’t about me.  😯 LOL!  Which also means that his loss isn’t really about me either, though losing him has irrevocably changed the trajectory of my life forever.  But I mean, if we think about it, none of us are meant to live on this earth for our own purpose, but for His purpose. 

We are all just characters in God’s story, and we are not even the main characters, we are minor characters moving the plot forward.  So, while I personally feel like a pretty sad and tragic character, and I cry at the slightest bit of reflection, I am honored that God chose my husband to save others.  And throughout Jamey’s fight against cancer and even after, I have had a countless number of friends and acquaintances, near and far, tell me that they scheduled their colonoscopy and had precancerous polyps removed all because they had read one of my Caring Bridge posts or even this blog, and were motivated to get screened.  How ah-mazing is that?!  So maybe, just maybe, God is choosing to use me and my verbosity for His purpose too.  Maybe, by me sharing our story, others will continue to be motivated to be screened, so other characters in His story don’t have to lose their life partner or father or friend or brother or uncle or son or colleague. 

And while I might consider myself a tragic character in this chapter of God’s story, I have to also consider it a privilege that He just might be using me for His purpose, and His purpose, while most definitly not the way I would have written this story, will be for good. I put my faith and trust in His word. “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11 

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Fall Planting 🍁 

Fall Planting 🍁 

     Yesterday I decided to spend part of a glorious Fall Day, my last Monday before returning to work, digging out my summer plants from my four deck hanging baskets that Jamey had gifted me several Mother’s Days ago and plant some Fall friendly beauties.  I don’t know why I have never actually done this before, but this weekend when a mom friend was telling me on the sidelines that is how she had spent her pre-soccer ⚽️ game time, I was at first like, “Why in the world would you do that now, when we are starting to have cool crisp mornings, weather clearly unfit for summer flowers?”  (Obviously, I missed this adult homemaking skill, likely because I did not grow up with my biological Gardner father and his green thumb 👍🏻 gene did not get passed down to me. In fact, I used to tell Jamey I could only keep so many things alive at once, and at the time, our young girls trumped our houseplants.  Well, they are teenagers now, and they are both a wee bit more self-sufficient, so I am “branching” out so to speak.)

     In the past, during this time of year I have simply doubled down, and being a nurturer by nature, I would just keep watering 👩‍🌾 and fertilizing and watering and fertilizing and trying to squeeze the last bit of life out my tired, sad little summer flowers 💐 all the way into 🎃October. A process that sucked the joy out of their remaining bit of photosynthesis and any pleasure I used to get from tending to them. Probably out of desperation to try and please me, they too kept literally hanging on in their hanging baskets, but they generally started to look like Halloween 👻 flowers, all withered and skeletal. 

     But yesterday, with my hands wrist deep in soil, the parallels to human life, and especially to the end of human life, were suddenly very apparent to me.  During Jamey’s last few weeks of life, the hospice team kept telling me “It was time,” and that I needed to let Jamey know it was O.K. to let go. At first, I didn’t listen to them.  He may have been in a hospital bed in the middle of our den, taking pain pills the very second the bottle said he could again, but he was still in there.  He was still enjoying Phish🐟🎶 concerts on tv, we were still talking and holding hands, and so I kept watering and fertilizing. But as the pain got worse (for both of us), and his lucidity started to fade, he was kind of like my withering summer flowers that I kept pushing to hang on.  To be honest, he was fighting the inevitable too, and so when I did muster up the strength to push words out of my mouth between my sobs telling him that though I loved him with my whole ❤️ heart, and that though things would never be as good without him, and that though I would miss him forever and ever, the girls and I would be o.k. and we would find our way, because he had loved us so well, so he could now let go and be at peace.  Out of the blue (also the name of his favorite restaurant in Ireland) he would come back to me and pat my head and tell me he wasn’t going anywhere. I think, like my tired summer flowers, he and I were trying so hard to hang on and please one another that it wasn’t until my aching and aging lower back sent me to my bed versus another night on our soft couch for the first time in 3 weeks, that he did let go and walk into the light. 

    The hospice team and friends have told me repeatedly that is how it often goes.  The dying often don’t want to pass with their primary caregiver at their side.  Why?  I don’t know.  But yesterday, as I stood on our deck with my new Fall cabbages and pansies at my feet, I was at first stupefied.  I didn’t know what to do with the struggling summer flowers taking up residence in my hanging baskets.  Should I replant them somewhere else in my yard???  How could I in good conscience tell these sweet flowers who had delighted me for four months that it was time to let go? As ridiculous as it sounds, I actually shed tears 😢 as I dug up my summer beauties, but as I did so, I saw how brittle their little plant bodies had become, and I was sure that letting them go was the humane thing to do.  They were never meant for Fall.  They had lived and flourished to their fullest, and they had brought me joy during a very dark and sad summer, but their time was over.  Like Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 states, “For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.  A time to be born and a time to die.  A time to plant and a time to harvest…A time to mourn and a time to dance…”  The summer flowers had to go.  Replanting them elsewhere would have been cruel.  I needed to let them go as much as they needed me to dig them up.  And as for me and our girls, we are all three clearly in a time of mourning, but I do hope that one day we will all dance 🪩 again.  But for now, I am cognizant that God is in the process of not only pruning our family 2.0, but also our individual ❤️‍🩹 hearts, and I look forward to the day that we three are more fruitful and full with the growth that HE is planting in our hearts, but that day is not today. 

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Traveling 🧳 Light 

I’ve been counseled by another widow through a mutual friend that I need to make this “The Year of Yes.” (Not to be confused with the Shonda Rhimes book, though I read it, & it is fabulous!) I was told this advice was essential because I wouldn’t feel like doing anything for quite a while, but if I gave into those feelings of no, I would find myself even sadder and even more alone. 😢

Her advice has been a real compass to me as I navigate the dark & uncertain terrain of widowhood. 

  • Want to go for a walk?  Yes! 
  • Want to meet for lunch? Yes! 
  • Want to see some music? Yes! 

And so, when 4 of my best girlfriends strongly suggested that I could now join them on ‘the girls trip to Napa,’ because, sadly, I was no longer a “care-partner,” I said “Yes!” I cashed in on frequent flyer miles, & packed 2 heavy carry-ons. Heavy with the layers you need in Northern California & heavy with my own grief & tears. Was I looking forward to a big raging girl’s weekend? No. Did I worry I might be the wet blanket to everyone’s good time? Yes. Did I go anyway? Yes!

Honestly, I was waffling on this particular yes, but I realized that if you don’t invest in your friendships, you’ll lose your friendships, and I have learned that I need these women in my life.

Case in point: When @ 6:50 AM on Tuesday, July 19, I texted these ladies in our everyday group chat, “He’s gone.” I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that two of these women were in my house BEFORE the hospice nurse arrived 45 minutes later, & another one was in route from Atlanta, before the nurse started dissolving all the remaining Oxy in the house. In fact, when the nurse did arrive, she came up to me, still standing @ the foot of Jamey’s hospital bed stupefied & in shock, and told me she needed to speak with my mother. Me, not really comprehending what was being said, was just like, “Um, why do you need to speak to my mother?” It was one of these fierce ladies who interrupted & said, “She IS the mother!”

So, like I said, I need these women, so off I went to Cali. And while I admit I wasn’t really all that jazzed about the trip, it was sooooo, soooo good for me, and I am so, so glad I went.

Did I cry? Absolutely.

Did my heart hurt 💔 when I realized that I had no one to call or text to tell that I landed safely? For sure. Was it bittersweet to dine in an Iron Chef restaurant, a show that Jamey and I watched together since I was pregnant with Halli, Morimoto’s, in Napa, without even being able to tell Jamey about it? Oh my goodness, yes.

And it was even more bittersweet when through a series of uncanny events an old college roommate, not mine, turned Stage Manager to Bonnie herself, and unexpectedly gifted us four tickets to her show that night where she covered two John Prine songs that Jamey loved. (We 4 were also fans of the INXS cover she did, but that’s not really a part of this story. 😂) So yes, there was a lot of bitter, but there was also a lot of sweet. 

Namely the laughter, the blessed, sweet laughter! The laughter slipped in between all the things, all the raindrops, all the chilly temps on Sunday, & most definitely through the sunshine on Monday. And though I know I’ll grieve the loss of Jamey every day for the rest of my life, I was reminded on this trip, that there is still joy to be had in this 🌎world. And so though I picked up a few souvenirs & squished them into my bags, not only did they divinely feel lighter, so too did my heart. 

“The Lord is close to the broken-hearted & saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18

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Diagnosis Anniversary

A year ago today, my world 🌎 cracked and the sharp edge of cancer pierced me  straight to the core of my soul. A year ago today, the doctor called us back in for a consultation after having had an MRI @ 8:00 AM, a consultation we weren’t supposed to have for another five days. 

I remember driving down hwy 280 white knuckling the steering wheel, knowing the worst was about to come. I remember praying feverishly in my head for God to give me strength & perseverance to face what we feared the most, already knowing Jamey had a cancerous tumor, but not yet knowing the severity. I remember hearing the words “Stage 4,” “time to get your affairs in order, “a year to live.” (Side note: we only got another 10 months, not 12.)

I remember hearing someone wailing “No! This can’t be! I can’t live without Jamey.” I remember realizing the wailing was coming from me. Meanwhile Jamey, ever stoic, ever calm, literally even in the face of death, merely sat stupefied, & asked for some time to sit outside. Together we walked outside; we passed the fountains, the people, & he led us to a shady spot facing away from the hospital, away from the news. I sat behind Jamey & wrapped my arms and legs around him, head on his back, & just held him & weeped. He held my hands to his chest & said something to the effect that he just didn’t think it was his time yet. He didn’t feel ready. He couldn’t believe it was his time. Oh, but it wasn’t, yet still it was.  (Psalm 139:16b All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”)

     I’d like to say that was the worst day of my life but it wasn’t, but it definitely ranks up there with many of the  horrible minutes, hours, days, and weeks to come. Days spent coaxing Jamey into taking the pain meds and then hours managing the Oxy hallucinations. Minutes spent watching Jamey literally crawl from the kitchen to our bed holding a barf bag after a procedure he insisted on coming home from as opposed to spending the night in the hospital. Time disconnecting him from the chemo pump or emptying & changing his colostomy bag. And while just typing out all that awfulness fills my eyes with tears, walking alongside Jamey during those dark & horrible hours was an honor & a privilege I would not trade. I’m thankful it was me. “…in sickness and in health, to death do us part.”

Now I tell our girls that one day, when they consider marrying ⛪️ someone, they need to make sure that their someone is not just handsome and fun, but someone whose character & soul speaks to theirs. They need to make sure that they love them truly and deeply, deeply enough to walk them to the light, if God calls them home.
(And of course there will be no marriage consideration unless all parties involved have had their colonoscopies. Kidding, not kidding. 😂)

But now, truly, I pity our girls, because I’m a much less stoic patient, & so when my time comes, since my person is gone, I will fall on their shoulders. And it will be up to them to walk me to the light. Fortunately they will at least have each other, & they will be able conquer & divide time with Mom. 😂😂

Lesson to all the parents: Be kind to your children, or it might be a lonely light walk.