We got a few more letters this week from Meridian readers who have been separated by death from their spouses and other family members, telling us how they coped and in some cases what they learned. These letters are helpful for all of us who are married, and who never know what tomorrow will bring.

My husband died of lung cancer in 2003 just a few months shy of our 50th anniversary.  He had other health problems that were serious, but the cancer diagnosis was a surprise.  He elected to try for a remission even though the diagnosis was terminal.  In the end he had only four months before he died.

We had time to talk over what I should do and even though our "duties" in our marriage were separate, we were very much aware of what the other was doing.  Even so I found it overwhelming to take care of the finances, car, and general home upkeep. The first year alone was full of difficulties as I endeavored to do everything myself. 

My best advice is to seek help when you are struggling. There were things that needed to be simplified, and that is a continuing process for me.  My sons have stepped up many times and I live among angels in a neighborhood where obvious help is never asked for; it is automatically done.  My home teacher is like a son and besides doing many temporal things around my home, he and his wife bring me a dozen red roses every Valentine's Day like my husband used to do.  I realize this kind of situation is special but I think part of it is because I, too, try to serve and "give back" in the ways that I can. 

Keeping busy and involved in the things you have always done is very important.  I have avoided moving to a smaller place because I value the fact that I have history here with my husband.  I appreciate having family home evening with several single sisters in my ward and I participate in all the activities that are around me for single senior sisters even though at first I did not want to attend.  These compassionate women are a blessing. 

Right after my husband's death, a dear friend in my ward suggested to me that we automatically plan to attend wedding receptions together.  That may seem like a small thing, but it actually removes the thought of not going at all when she and I go together. 

I agree with all the others who wrote that a temple marriage is such a comfort along with the truths of the gospel that give us a glimpse of "the big picture."  Temple attendance is one of my greatest comforts.  As I work on family history I feel a strong connection to the spirit world and I am certain that my husband is helping me in this work.

This part of the journey would be so difficult without good and special friends.  Being able to confide in and vent to them is such a blessing to me and also to my family.  Family is of paramount concern but it is important to also have a life of your own.  All of these things are assurance to me that the Savior hears and answers my prayers.

Mary Ann Kershisnik
Centerville, Utah

Thanks for writing, Mary Ann. The thing that touched me most was the subject line on the email you sent — “Missing David.” Six years later, you're still missing him. That's a great reminder. You must get on with your life, but there is always a little bit of sadness when you lose someone you love simply because he is missed.

Our next letter comes from someone who was bereaved by the loss of her father. His unique budget funeral is sure to bring a smile to your face:

A few years ago I wrote about the cost of my brother-in-law's funeral. I wasn't exaggerating; his funeral cost more than $10,000.

I went home and talked to my parents. Dad wanted a very unique burial. November 2008, Dad died. My oldest sister flew in the next day from New Jersey and we immediately prepared for my dear dad's funeral.

My brother picked up the plywood and pine from the hardware store. I went to the fabric store and got a tartan as close to the MacGreagor tartan as I could get (the Scottish store was charging $80 per yard and it would take a couple of weeks to order it in). Down to the fabric store we went. It was on sale for $4.00 per yard. I bought five yards. I know Dad was with me every step of the way.

That night Dad's remains were sent to an alternative funeral home. They kindly picked him up from the VA hospital for $150 dollars and held him a couple of days, with no embalming. My two sisters went and dressed Dad in his temple clothing. They both said it was a sacred and humbling experience (one is not a church member).

I was busy with my brothers, building a coffin (yes, there is a difference between coffin and casket, as I learned from the mortician). My brothers, sisters and I spent the night building a coffin box out of plywood, the outside made of 1x6 pine. The material was around $250 dollars including the lining and padding (egg crate). We didn't have time to finish the outside before we had to pick Dad up. We (brothers and sisters, while grandchildren and Mom watched on) loaded the coffin into the back of my brother's flame-red pickup truck and drove the half hour freeway ride to the nondescript warehouse where the alternative society of Utah funeral home resides. We all went in as a group to pick Dad up.

The nice mortician, Larry, helped us place Dad, unembalmed and looking better than any deceased person I've ever seen, in his final bed. A soft pillow from his grandson, Nathan, supports his head. We all tenderly placed him inside. We then loaded the coffin in the back of my brother's truck and brought Dad home for the evening.

We carried Dad, in the coffin, into the living room of my home.  We pulled out the wood-burning tools, and each person wrote a tender message to Dad, Grandpa, and dearest husband. All were very heartfelt and personal. Each person also pencil-traced their hand on the coffin and made it permanent with a wood-burning tool. Although it sounds very tacky, it actually turned out very beautiful and special. Dad loved it. I know because I felt him very strongly, joyfully exclaim, “Thank you!”

The next morning with permit in hand, we caravanned three hours to Dad's Idaho burial plot, next to his beloved sister. All of Dad's seven children were pallbearers. (The handles were made of leather belts.) Dad's oldest son conducted a short meeting, while his only surviving sibling, brother Andy, dedicated the grave. Two of the granddaughters sang (per Dad's wishes) "Danny Boy” à capella . It was beautiful.

I stayed until everyone left to be there when Dad was lowered into the ground. At least I thought everyone left, but my sister and sister-in-law walked back to the grave site to be there as well. It made it final and I could leave knowing I did all I could to see the body of a man that held me as a child, taught a mouthy teenage girl how to drive, made all sorts of wooden toys for hundreds of children, earned a living to support seven children, changed countless tires of strangers on the road, and did endless other acts of service, respectfully placed in the ground, in the soil he loved so much, in a way he would be very pleased. Everyone who came that day said, “This is just how he would have wanted it.”

It may sound creepy, kooky, weird or any other negative adjective, but the words I would use would be beautiful, sweet, meaningful and full of love.

Lorraine, daughter of Sirren Bybee
Herriman, Utah

What a great experience, Lorraine !  You turned a death into a treasured memory for your whole family. People will talk about this funeral for generations.

I have a great bronze sign I got at a flea market. It says, “No Parking. Funeral.” A friend of mine put it in a stand, and when I go I want the sign perched among the flowers right on top of the casket. I want my little gesture to remind people that my funeral will be a celebration of life, because death is such a small thing in the eternal scheme of things.

I did move closer to some of my children (we had seven, and four of them lived in the Utah Valley area). I served in the temple for a while and then got word that my mother's husband passed away. My life changed again as I was the only one available to take care of her. She eventually went to an assisted living center, which allowed me to go on a mission.

Serving as a single, senior sister was not easy as we found that we were treated a little differently because we didn't have a husband. I have talked to others since who have felt the same way.  Being single in the Church has been a challenge. I sometimes feel people think my talents died with my husband. Going to activities for couples is out.  Finding a friend in the same boat is the way I have handled my social life — a movie, going to the temple, shopping, and other things.

The hardest day for me is Sunday. It is hard to come to an empty home and want to cook for yourself. I didn't feel like doing much cooking when it was just for one. Evenings could be hard as well and I'd find I was flipping through channels just to watch something, not wanting to go to bed. In time it has gotten better. I know I felt like I wanted to get rid of everything after the funeral because nothing mattered. That changes after a few months.
  

Yes, the gospel helps very much and I couldn't do it without the hope it gives us.
 
LaLauna Bandmann
Pasco, Washington

Thanks for an excellent note, LaLauna. For one thing, it reminds us of the importance of writing hand-written notes on our sympathy cards. Those personal sentiments make all the difference.

Thanks, too, for letting us know how you have dealt with being a single sister in the Church. Maybe you and some other widowed friends can have a Sunday potluck to keep away the loneliness of Sundays. There really is comfort in the company of friends.

I have not experienced the death of a spouse, but have gone through the deaths of both parents.  With my father, my mother was able to take care of things with the help of her attorney, who was also LDS and nearby, and she also had the help of her sister and others in the family.  But one thing she was completely unprepared for was when a well-respected man in the community with whom she and my father had worked with in an organization came to her and offered to "comfort" her. 

So I would suggest that anyone be prepared in advance with strength and testimony, and a good answer to rebuff the unwanted overtures, if it should happen to you. It can be very disturbing at a time when one is emotionally and mentally vulnerable anyway.

As for me, when my mother passed away, I was the only surviving child, so had to take care of everything alone.  It was overwhelming, as I had no idea what needed to be done, and learned step by step. It was a very difficult time; I remember being in a fog of stress and thinking.  Like the one sister said, your mind sort of shuts down after a while.

Also, unknown to me, a year before, my sister had set herself up with durable power of attorney; and sold mother's house out from under her to her own daughter, and transferred all of mother's money to her own bank account, leaving my mother penniless, and me without an inheritance to her estate.  With the help of my cousins, I learned about it and what to do legally, so was involved in a lawsuit against them at the same time.  They also went through her safety deposit boxes and her house and took all the valuable possessions of my parents.  There is much more to the story than I can tell here, but suffice it to say that the ensuing stress of this and the following years caused my immune system to be compromised and I developed chronic fatigue syndrome, which I am still dealing with.

I also found, when I went to the mortuary to plan her funeral,  that the burial plan she had supposedly purchased was invalid, because the agent stole the money and fled the state, leaving people without any knowledge that the plans they thought they had arranged for were forged.  Thank heaven, our family and extended family had always used the mortuary that the plan was purchased under (they were victims too) so they knew our family well, and thought very highly of my father, so were able to work with me to provide a wonderful funeral for my mother in spite of everything.  They were very understanding and kind.  We still had to purchase a less-expensive casket, as there was not enough money left after paying her bills to get a luxury one, but they let me add small silk flowers to make it more feminine and pretty.  Somehow I survived, and even was able to plan a beautiful funeral and write life memories and a tribute to be read at her funeral.

The hardest thing now still remains that she left no journal or account of the special events and experiences in her life, so I am, after 18 years, still needing to write her and my father's stories and do their scrapbooks after sorting through her boxes and boxes of memorabilia, newspaper articles, and many other items.  Also one very heartbreaking thing is to see the boxes and storage items of precious heirlooms that I have little idea who they belonged to originally and the stories behind them, and especially the unmarked and unnamed photographs going back to the pioneer era. 

As I sorted through everything and put each of my relatives' family memorabilia into piles by family, I realized that there were stories that needed to be written for each family, from what I had and my own memories.  Getting all these down in writing and doing the scrapbooks for them and my own family has become my major life calling in my remaining years.  How I wish I had my parents' firsthand stories! 

So, my advice is to be sure all the bases have been covered legally, and to go over the boxes of items, collect the names of people in photos, the originally owners of heirlooms and the stories behind them, and the dear one's own stories of their life.  Go over the property to be sure all is in order and the personal items are designated in a will as to who is to receive them, to prevent arguments and legal battles.  My sister's family and mine are still estranged, and forgiving them for what they did to my mother and me is the hardest thing I have ever had to do.  I am still working on it, but it is necessary for me to achieve, with the Lord's help, to become one with Him and gain my own eternal salvation.  It has been a great test of my willingness to follow in His footsteps. He was rejected and betrayed too.

I have thought many times of all the things I wish my mother and I had talked about, the things I wish I had said to her and done with her, and the information about the family that I wish she had shared with me, and much more.  Now I am getting older, I plan to leave a living will, write my own funeral to bear testimony to those who do not know the plan of salvation, write my life history in a journal, and do mine and my family's photo albums, so my family is left with nothing undone as far as I am able.  Sorry this is so long.

Anonymous

Your letter was a real help, Anonymous. For one thing, I hope you have convinced many people that if they don't label their photographs they might as well not keep the photographs because nobody from the next generation is going to know who those people were. Your letter was also a convincing testament to the value of keeping a journal. If you have children or grandchildren who may want to know about your life, you owe it to them to make it easy for them to learn your history.

My dear husband of 31 years died very suddenly four years ago from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.  I volunteered at the local grade school and was getting ready to go that morning, so we discussed different things we were needing to do that day.  He wanted to go to the next town north with me when I got out of school to get some things to go hunting with.  He was going with a friend in the afternoon.  Later that day he planned on going to help his brother butcher a couple of deer he had gotten.  The last thing he said to me as I was walking out the door was "I love you."  I returned the sentiment and off I went, oblivious to what I would find when I got home.

Two hours later I returned from my library duties and found the house locked.  My keys were in the house on the table.  I thought to myself, "You nerd, you locked me out!"  I went to a neighbor, used her phone to call our grandson who lived with us to leave his key in the school office as I was locked out.  My neighbor took me to get it then she let me out at the house while she went to get gas in her car.  I walked in and found the bedroom door shut. "Strange," I thought. 

One of our cats was just sitting in front of that door sort of looking at me in a funny way.  I opened the door, with much trepidation.  There he was, lying on the foot of the bed, eyes open, looking at me, but not alive.

My entire life just went into overdrive at that point.  Closed the door, called the police, called the doctor and things just sort of happened in a blur.  Since I worked at the school, my next thought was to call them to let them know what happened.  Within ten minutes the superintendent of the school systems and the principal of the high school were with me at the neighbor's.  They called and shut down all the schools since we had grandchildren in each of the three schools.  They wouldn't let anyone talk to their children for any reason in case they were told before we had a chance to get all the immediate family together.

The next few weeks were very serene. The Relief Society was in evidence; the priesthood helped so much.  Our friends were here, but then it has to stop and life has to go on.

The Church has been my solid grounding.  Helping in any way I can, printing the weekly bulletin, being in charge of music selection, serving as a ward Missionary.  Without the grounding of the Church, the knowledge that I will be reunited with my loved one in the not too distant future, the love and help of my grandchildren, I'm not sure I could have made it this far.

Now I can travel, enjoy sites that we wanted to see together, do things we always talked about doing — but with the one I loved and not alone.  I know he's still with me; I can hear his voice sometimes, see his smile and at times think I can feel his steadying hand on my shoulder when I'm about to do something I probably shouldn't.

It's an adjustment, but God has a plan and none of us can ever second-guess that plan.  I just wait for the day for us to be reunited and that will be the happiest day in my life (afterlife).

Lindsay Bachelor-Woodside
Blue Rapids, Kansas

Thanks, Lindsay, for telling us about the reassurances you've been given — not only through church service, but through the presence of your husband even after his death. Not everyone is given that gift, and you have been richly blessed.

Our next letter reminds us that we don't have to have a death to lose a loved one:

Maybe I don't have a wife that passed away, but I do have a wonderful wife who had a stroke in September. I took my wife to the hospital and watched her disappear and then come back as another woman. I was married to that wonderful lady for 39 wonderful years, and now I am married to another woman who needs my constant attention and love. 

I am still wondering how to gain some understanding about what has happened. We are married and sealed in the temple for time and eternity, but I look back at, "To death do us part, for richer or poorer, and sickness and health," and try with all my might to think of the future, where she will be back to the woman I married a long time ago. I have seen life change for us, but I am still looking for my blessings, that seem so small, but worth while seeing she needs the care and love a vital woman of today needs and desires in her later life.

I hope with all this that we have been dealt, I would be able to help a loved one go through this same path our Father in Heaven has given us. I have learned how to serve in some small way, to lighten a burden I have been given, only to have my long lasting reward come when we pass into our loving Savior's arms.

Jim Hall

What a story, Jim! Your wife is so fortunate to have a husband who is willing to serve the stranger beside him out of kindness and love, even as he hopes to be reunited with the woman she used to be. In these disposable times, so many people would divorce a spouse who was in that situation, moving on to greener pastures. Thank goodness for the gospel, that gives us an eternal perspective allowing us to endure the unendurable, knowing that someday everything will be right again.

My husband died suddenly nine years ago this March.  It left a huge hole in my heart. I was completely heartbroken, and it defined the reality for me of a “better half,”  for my better half was gone in an unexpected flash. 

We had actually prepared for this spiritually without realizing it, by praying together/studying the scriptures every day, having family home evening every week, and by learning how to respect each other over the years. We adored one another; that grew to be even more precious after his death.   

We had nothing prepared as far as financial and temporal needs, except for these two miraculous gifts from our desire to be obedient to God:

Taken Care Of

Thanks for telling us, Taken, how blessed we can be for living close to the gospel and following the counsel of the prophets. Even though your emotional wounds are still fresh after nine years, you were given a comfort that many bereaved husbands and wives don't have. This was a great gift.

My husband and I are dealing with this now. We have been married for 31 years, and have four children, 14 grandchildren, and many memories. Last fall, he was diagnosed with bladder cancer, and after speaking with specialists and other men who were dealing with this challenge, decided to go for quality of life rather than length of life.

We agreed that surgery and other invasive procedures would be very hard on him physically (it took weeks for him to recover from the simple biopsy that confirmed the diagnosis), and that controlling pain and retaining as much independence as possible were much more important to him, and to me, than trying to extend his stay on earth for as long as possible.

He has several other contributing factors — a large aortic aneurysm, severe COPD, mild dementia, and a bone disorder — that combined made him a bad candidate for vigorous intervention. Because he is a disabled veteran, the VA is providing hospice care, even though he hasn't been given the "six-month notice,” and we are just taking it day by day. His eyesight is failing, so I read to him, and we watch old movies together.

We aren't afraid of the end; it's the process that's hard to deal with. His pain medications make the days bearable, and he still sleeps peacefully most nights. But there are changes day by day, imperceptible except in the aggregate, that signal a winding down of the clock — a slowing of the step, a tremor in the hand that wasn't there last week, a blank look before recognition when I mention that our eldest daughter is coming home for a visit next week, an increase in the strength of the pain medications.

He is an artist, and while his cancer is robbing him of his strength, his dementia is robbing him of his creativity, which bothers him more than anything. A woodcarver, painter and sculptor, he has filled my world with beauty. It frustrates him that when he picks up a paintbrush, he can't always remember what to do with it. The carving tools lie quietly on the workbench, too heavy for him to wield anymore. We talk about what he has done, what he regrets not doing, and of all the things he wants to do still. I think most lives are like that — there's always something else one wishes could be done, but the time runs out, and the work must wait.

I must work full-time, which limits the time I can spend with him. He tires easily, and there is not much time in the evenings for us anymore. I am trying to get him to talk more about his childhood, so I can write it down and pass it on to our children. He was always reluctant to speak about it before, but his thoughts turn more and more to the past as the present becomes harder to deal with. I give thanks morning and evening for each day I have with him. He can eat whatever he wants, so I have been making his favorite dishes many times a week. We spend as much time together as we can, so he has me firmly grounded in his mind for as long as possible. The planning and preparing for the end is necessarily in my hands, and I am grateful for the time I have to get his affairs in order.

For me, grief hasn't entered the equation yet, probably because I just don't allow myself to dwell on it. There will be plenty of time to do that later. There is lots to keep me busy, and many grandchildren to think about and enjoy. Sometimes, it seems too easy, like I should be more worried or in more emotional distress about what is happening. Then a gentle nudge from the Spirit lets me know that I am being shielded, cared for, and protected, so I can get done what needs to be done.

I have a deep and abiding faith that all this will work out for both of us, that the Lord is supporting me, and that we will be together again. We have been so richly blessed in the things that matter the most — family, friends, faith — it would be ungrateful of me to resent sending my beloved off on the next part of his journey. There is sadness in knowing that I will be alone for a time, but the happiness at knowing the separation is only for a time sort of drowns out the feelings of loss.

I find myself wondering if I am really prepared for this; am I ready for the inevitable parting? How ready can anyone be for something as monumental as losing a spouse? Both of my parents have passed, as have my grandparents, leaving me as matriarch of our little brood, and now the oldest male member of the family is going as well. I think, I'm only 56! What makes anyone think I can handle being the oldest, the go-to person for wisdom and insight? Who was foolish enough to put me in charge? But I digress.

This is how I prepare for loss — by writing, praying, and just dealing with things as they come. I watch Marx brothers movies and laugh, I tell jokes to my husband, I give myself hand massages to relieve stress, I spend time with my sisters in the Church, I take my darling 2-year-old granddaughter to church with me and play with her in the nursery. I pray for strength and receive it. Is it enough? Only time will tell.

I'm sorry this is so long. There is so much to say, and so little time to say it.

Rita Miller, Michigan

What a beautiful letter, Rita! How lovely to know you have been shielded from the grief, so you can savor the last days on earth with your husband. What a blessing to have the time to say goodbye!

I have thought of this subject many times. My husband is in fine health now, but his collective family members have or have had nearly every disease you could think of — whereas I expect to live to be pretty old, according to my patriarchal blessing.

I don't dwell on it too much, but I have asked several friends for their advice. Most of them said make sure you know where stuff is and how to do things. I also agree with many of your writers that you can't specifically prepare for the emotional tsunami.

Therefore, my general plan is to follow Tom Hanks' advice in Castaway  about breathing in and out, and putting one foot in front of another. I also plan to keep myself very busy with service and my family. I know I'll lean most heavily on my testimony of the gospel and the love of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.

Workerbee in Auburn

You've got a good plan, Workerbee. Service and your testimony will be great helps, and for those days when they aren't enough, you can rely on the counsel of putting one foot in front of the other. Some days, breathing in and out is the best you can do.

Our last letter today is from someone who just passed the one-year anniversary of life without her husband. Here is Rosalie's story:

On the 6th of February, 2008, my sweetheart went home. Oh, how I have missed him!

However, I have been so busy organizing, downsizing, sharing, talking with the many angels sent to my comfort, that I have not had time to mourn, like I have been told so many do.

I talk to my love every day. Father in Heaven has truly blessed me in so many ways of comfort, and I am truly grateful. I am so grateful to belong to such a wonderful family, with God as my Father, and Jesus Christ as my brother, Savior, and redeemer.

I thank you, for giving me an opportunity to, say I know God lives, Jesus  is the Christ, that Thomas S. Monson is our prophet today, and with him and all the other general authorities, we can get through this mad, mad world of sorrow.

Rosalie

What an upbeat way to end this week's letters! Thanks for writing in, and for your grateful heart.

Until next week — Kathy

“Life is a series of experiences, each of which makes us bigger, even though it is hard to realize this. For the world was built to develop character, and we must learn that the setbacks and grieves which we endure help us in our marching onward.”

Henry Ford