A Friend Stopped By | 03/10/2009 11:25 am
The Memory Keepers, by Michele Neff Hernandez
Editor’s Note: Michele Neff Hernandez is the executive director and founding president of the Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation. SSLF is a nonprofit organization dedicated to supporting and inspiring people who are grieving the loss of someone they love. Soaring Spirits is hosting the first ever National Conference on Widowhood at the Marriott Hotel and Marina in San Diego, CA, from July 17-19, 2009. For information about the programs SSLF offers, please visit SSLF’s website. You can reach Michele at micheleh@sslf.org.
My husband had a shoe fetish. Phillip owned shoes for all occasions and athletic events — some were kept only for their sentimental value. To him, each pair either served a purpose or told a story, so there was no getting rid of them. This caused a serious storage issue. In addition to his side of the closet, he claimed the entire space under our bed. According to my husband, shoes could not be stacked, which meant the entire perimeter of the bed was lined with shoes. My shoes were piled in the closet in order to make more room for his.
When Phillip died, each pair of shoes became a reminder of something about him or about us that I missed. His favorite pair of trail shoes, still covered with dust from his last run, recalled the happy hours we shared running together on mountain trails. I missed the time we spent exercising together, and enjoying the beauty of the outdoors. Racing flats brought memories of him crossing one of many finish lines, sometimes with a smile of triumph, other times with a look of disbelief, always with the determination of a person who loved to run. I missed his competitive spirit, and the surprising heights of physical endurance to which he regularly pushed me. A pair of vintage Nikes were a particular favorite of his — causing more than one heated discussion when he pulled them out with his party attire. The despised dress shoes always made me smile, because they required dusting before being worn. Still, they were a necessity, and they had their place in the lineup under our bed.
How could I part with all those shoes? I knew it had to be done, but just moving them to a new location required baby steps. Each time I picked up a pair, I relived the story they told and put them right back where they were with tears in my eyes. This dilemma felt like an unsolvable puzzle: to not only let go of the shoes, but to do it in a way that would exemplify my husband’s love for them. How could I look into what was once our shared closet and not see his beloved collection stored neatly in their assigned location? The shoes became memory keepers and I feared that letting go of the shoes would also mean letting go of the memories.
As
the holidays approached, the answer to my problem finally became
clear. Phillip’s parents were born in Mexico City. A few
months before he died, he took a long-awaited trip to visit relatives
who still live there. He returned with a renewed sense of how
fortunate we are here in the United States, speaking for weeks of the
poverty and despair he witnessed in his parents’ homeland.
Yet, he also noticed that blended with the despair was a generosity
of spirit and an unwavering faith that he truly admired. As a result
of his trip, we planned to join our church group in December, when
they traveled to a small Mexican town to bring the people there much-needed food and clothing. After my husband’s death, my
daughter and I decided to make the trip to Mexico in his memory. As
we planned for the trip, it occurred to me that the people in the
village could really use his shoes. They wouldn’t be
someone’s extra pair — they might be their only pair. His
large assortment of footwear could provide the opportunity for a
group of people he deeply cared about to work and travel in
well-covered feet, rather than completing the necessary tasks of
daily life barefoot. This act of kindness would transform those
shoes from memory-keepers back into shoes once again.
Read more about: A Friend Stopped By, Change the World, Death, Dying, Memories, Michele Neff Hernandez, Relationships, Think Up, Widow
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69 Reader Comments (so far…) Sign In or Register to comment
Well, Joan, we have always come through for each other. And, there are always going to be flies on the backside of progress. Everyone needs to understand that we have been practicing economic models that are antiquated, and it’s time for an update. Hey, it’s the 21st century, we gotta stop 20th century thinking. And, also regain our optimism.
Joan…I sometimes think, "What in the world would I do without him?" As I read this article, my heart was breaking. To think that you will not hear his voice again, feel his touch, smell his smell, hear his jokes. At this time my husband is out of town and, each time he leaves to go to a meeting, I miss him so much. My life is full running the business when he’s away, however, when I come home to this empty house I feel his presence in every room. I miss the talks we have in the evenings. The porch sittings as we watch the birds and squirrels. The preparation of the evening repast, the music, and oh, lord, the wonderful dancing in the kitchen. And, when I go to bed in the evening, I can smell his smell on his pillow.
What would I do? I know that he would want me to "carry on", however, I want my time to just sit in his closet, take out his favorite shirt and cry. I want to hold that shirt close to my heart where I know I will carry him for the rest of my life. I want my time to sit in his office - I want my time to sit on the porch and pour out my heart to him - to ask his advice.
I don’t want a lot of people hanging around me —hovering - just be there in case I need them. There are a couple of friends and my daughter - they would be the people I would want near. They would really understand.
I promised my husband that when he passes I will take his ashes out to his favorite fishing hole, scatter them, and throw a wreath in his favorite spot. I want him to be where he wants to be. When I pass I want my ashes scattered from a mountain —then our souls will meet and we will be together again, to love and laugh, and perhaps, if there is a kitchen on a cloud, we will dance together again!
My life with this man has been so special - there just MUST be an after life — a time to be together again!
As I read your post, Lady Gator, there was a flash and the words of the song "These are the days, my friend, I hope they never end. . ." rang out loud and clear. I think we not only count our blessings - which are many, many - but tonight you have so beautifully expressed what your husband has meant to you. . and, as you alone, would know, it is similar to my own thoughts. The word picture of dancing on a cloud made me smile you know … for we could have danced all night, right?
Our ashes? Antarctica, of course, but I love your idea of the wreath and will steal it if you will allow me. After all, we ARE twins! The afterlife? We’ll see … but we believe in making the most of every single day of THIS life, don’t we - this life we have that is so filled with love??? I continue to squeeze every together moment of every day, SAY the words I feel at the moment I feel them. We can never get enough of words of love, can we? No holding back. I want no regrets … Lady, you were alone tonight and your words of love poured out . . . and yes, I understood, I understood so very well. And shed a few tears as I am guessing you did also.
Joan,
I know how much the written word means to you so I would
like to share the following letter I wrote
after my 16 year old grandson died, 2 years after having a Heart Transplant.
It was 10 years ago Feb 18 1999……
Re-reading this brings back sweet memories of my precious special boy.
PICU Staff
Lucille Packard Children’s Hospital
725 Welch Road
Palo Alto, Ca.
March 5, 1999
Dear PICU Staff,
I am writing this letter to say Thank you for all the loving care you gave to my precious grandson Justin .
I would like to express my gratitude to each of you. Where do I begin?
To all the wonderful Doctors for their relentless efforts trying to save his life.
To all his nurses, who gave him so much tender loving care?
To all the different Therapist who did their very best to help him heal.
To His Social worker, thank you Mary. (You were a Godsend)
To his psychologist DR Palmer, thank you Laura.
To your wonderful schoolteacher, Peggy. (Even though she didn’t have a chance to teach Justin, she was a great emotional help to me.)
To Wilma. I’m lost for words to express my feelings of gratitude for your loving assistance on the day Justin died. Also for the lovely way you conducted his Funeral Service.
Everyone knew Justin was madly in love with Chris and Eva. Well so is his grandmother.
A special thanks to Eva and Mary Alice, for the tender loving way you prepared him for us after his death.
As you can guess I write this letter with tears streaming down my face.
I could go on and on mentioning the entire wonderful staff of caring nurse’s, but I would surely forget a name. You all know who you are.
Justin felt a special bond with all of you. We are so grateful as a family for all the assistance and care you gave us during this tragic time in our lives.
Justin was a special boy, growing into his early manhood. How I wish he could have made it all the way.
I hope each of you and everyone who had the opportunity to know Justin, was touched by his charisma, his humor and his ability to love with such depth.
I hope you will be changed for the better, as I know I will for having known him.
I guess there was no doubt by anyone how much his grandma loved him.
I love each of you and again say a special Thank You.
Thank you Dr. Frankel for being there to give him his last hug. I can’t even begin to express how grateful I am he had that kind of warmth as his last conscience act. You give great hugs and I know you made his fear a little less.
With Love to all,
Donna Howlett, better known as Justin’s Grandma.
Oh Dona, you had me crying. You may have written - I am sure you did about this — but I did not know about this tragedy until now. What you have gone through … Like you, I too believe that we cannot thank people who have done kindnesses enough. We often write better through tears - getting it out then is so real, so sincere. You touched on each of the wonderful things, the wonderful people who were there for Justin - making them know that each has made such a difference. I am sure you can visualize that hospital time just as well today. Such things are frozen in our minds forever I think. The disbelief that someone so young could pass squeezes the heart. For the parents — I cannot imagine what it is to have their almost grown boy gone.
Your writing, Dona, was just right - and whatever you write always seems to be "just right" and we live it along with you. If I could give you a big hug right now I would. I love and admire you so much … and so glad you took that step and wrote as you did. Justin would second that I am sure.
Is that Packard Children’s Hospital a gift of the Packard family - the Julie Packard of the Monterey Aquarium? Have the family done even more in your area???
Thank you so very much for sharing such a beautiful letter. Some day you must tell what happened.
Joan
Joan,
I got the hug………thanks.
Yes, maybe someday they will create a thread where we can share these things. Justin was really a very special boy. He sure took his grandmothers heart with him when he left.
Yes it is the Packard Family……….they also have an Apartment Building across from the childrens hospital where transplant patients live for about 2 weeks. Patients go back over to the hospital everyday for treatment and checkups.
My husband and I took turns sitting with Justin at the Apartment during the day and some nights while his mother worked.
We celebrated his 14th birthday there.
Maurine, a daughter is such a lovely gift in life, don’t you think? For both you and your mother.
Michele, thank you for sharing your husband’s story with us. I will think differently now when my husband tries to share ‘shoe territory’ with me under the edge of the bed.
Maurine, so true. When my mother-in-law died we went to the nursing home to remove her things, things that we didn’t need, so we went to her friends and gave them each a memento.. a silk scarf, a mahogany tray table, a soft blanket. The clothes and furniture we gave to the home and told them to distribute to patients who were in need, to in essence, pay it forward .
Things are just things, memories are life.