My Mizpah

The Lord watch between me and thee while we are apart and absent from one another. Genesis 31:49

The Mizpah. An emotional bond between people who are separated. Separated either physically or by death.

My husband and I shared a Mizpah medal since we began our life together in the middle 1980s. Always on our key ring, after a while you didn’t even notice it was there. Years passed. Good times. Bad times. Then shattering challenges. Out of our control, we struggled, trying to regain our world. Then life threw us in opposite directions. He moved out of state. Emotions flew out of control. We lived as if the other one no longer existed. All conversations ceased. During one period of deep sadness, I took the Mizpah off my key ring and mailed it to him.

Then late one night I finally realized, it was time. It had been 3 years of silence. Was he the man I fell in love with? Or was he the man who left? It was time. I had to know who he was. So it came as a shock for both of us. I called him. Then we spent months of long nights, hours of mosaic phone conversations. Ultimately in total unison, we began rebuilding our new life together.

And then one day he gives me something, it’s wrapped in this kleenex. I was without words. It was my Mizpah. He had kept it. He had also kept his part on his key ring. We had been physically separated yet truly, God watched over us… our love was protected.

It’s been 14 months that again, again we are separated. Only now we are separated by death. A life of sleepless nights, I feel so alone without feeling his body next to mine.

Now all I have is memories.

I look at our photos and find myself trying to mentally go back in time, to be back in that moment. A life where my husband held me and we danced.

This Journey

Make yourself familiar with the angels, and behold them frequently in spirit; for without being seen, they are present with you.
[Saint Francis de Sales]

This journey through life is a winding path. We can’t see how many turns it will make before it ends. Until two years ago I felt thoroughly grounded on my path. I was living a life that was beyond my dreams. In 2003 I began a career in higher education. My husband retired after years of constant travel. While I was at work, he played golf. We helped each other balance. We were all things to each other. Our life together was more than I had ever imagined was possible.

Then the “T” word entered our vocabulary. Transplant. Someone needed to die for him to live. My husband needed a new heart.

The United Network for Organ Sharing, UNOS, offers transplant statistics in real time. There are currently 105,743 people waiting, 3,071 of them are waiting for a new heart. In 2008, 177 people became too sick to survive the surgery, 378 people died before a donor was found. One of those was my husband.

There are numerous resources of support honoring organ and tissue donors and their recipients. What about the loved ones of those who died, waiting for the gift of life?

I’ve often thought back to when my husband and I began our journey, living in a new condo that had a small fenced in area. I watched him transform that space into a peaceful retreat. Planting a miniature Japanese maple in the corner, he designed a brick patio with flowerbeds of small hybrid rose bushes outlining the fence.

Yesterday a friend said, ”I put something in your office, but just know, it’s really not from me.” She told me about about seeing this plant and feeling like she was supposed to get it for me. But what if getting flowers this close to Valentine’s Day upset me? Not being able to put the thought out of her mind, she went back for the plant the next morning. I was touched. How sweet of her to think of me.
The plant from my friend yet as she prefaced, not really from her – a small hybrid rose bush.

Heaven on Earth

Forms that include marital status still make me cry. How do you re-program your perception of your identity? When do you accept that life has a new normal? I continue to base decisions around what my husband would have done if he was here. But he’s not here. Or is he?

Hospice offered quality of life for my husband to be at home without pain. Holding his hands, I watched him leave. I felt the energy in the room change. His presence in the room was gone.

A close friend sent me a card that read ”Richard is now sitting with the Saints and Angels and if he had a choice he would not return. Richard is holding you now and loving you the same as when he was here.” Obviously meant to offer me comfort, yet that first sentence broke my heart.

What on earth was she thinking? Why would she say that to me?? As a little girl I always thought of heaven as this magical place behind the clouds. Angels were playing harps and there were flowers everywhere. Heaven was up there in the sky, surrounded by the twinkling stars, in this galaxy far far away. So if he had the choice, he would not return? He would rather be in this magical place behind the clouds than be here with me?? That hit me hard.

My thoughts took me into a fog of confusion. Feeling powerless in dealing with my husband’s death, I shut down. There was a disconnect going on in my heart. My thoughts finally took me back to my core. What did I really believe about death, a chapter of life we will all face?

I finally realized that my little girl perception of heaven didn’t fit me anymore. I understood why the words written in that card upset me so much. That little girl believed that when my husband left with the Angels and Saints, he couldn’t be with me. He was gone. He would be in heaven, a place that was far far away.

So my perception of heaven had totally changed from that little girl. I believe in heaven on earth, Eternal Life. My husband lives in my heart now as he did when he walked beside me. He will always love me and hold me tight. He will always be with me. Four years ago, we walked a labyrinth out in the hill country of Texas. This past July, my daughter and I walked the labyrinth at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco. Feeling his presence walking with me, emotions swirled… creating a peaceful comfort deep within my soul.

The thoughts we have as children are still there. They can make us question who we are now. They continually challenge us. We learn to stand strong, to ignore and eventually face our past insecurities and fears. Why does this seem to be a lesson we have to learn, over and over again?

Perplexity is the beginning of knowledge.
~ Kahil Gibran