Category: widowed

02Jan

For Trish; In Memory of Wayne

Wayne & Trish Wolfenbarger

Wayne & Trish Wolfenbarger

Wayne and Trish Wolfenbarger (along with their three doppelgänger children, Ashley, Brooke, and Gunnar),  came into our   lives in the late 1990’s. There was only one condo that separated our large families (apologies to Mr. & Mrs Casey.) Michael and I were still practically newlyweds and adjusting to our blended family when our families were introduced.

I remember when they moved in. Truck after truck, load after load kept being delivered and unloaded.  I watched with curiosity. Just how many people  and just how much stuff can fit and live in this small three bedroom condominium?

Michael, being the social butterfly that he was,  just had to make a beeline over to meet the new neighbors while all of the unloading and unpacking was taking place.  I, on the other hand, wanted to leave them in peace and allow them to move in, get settled, and perhaps one day, get acquainted. But that was always a difference between Michael and I. He was more “in your face” – I was more.. well, not. And in true Michael fashion, everyone seemed to appreciate his approach.

I am proud to say that Wayne & Trish and three of the most adorable children you ever laid your eyes on became our dear friends.  Our children became fast friends. Our homes became hubs to children going in and out,  laughing, screaming, seemingly always hungry for snacks. There was always a child spending the night with another child. It was busy, it was chaotic, but looking back, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Shane, Brandon, Gunner, Heather & Brooken1998.

Shane, Brandon, Gunnar, Heather & Brooke – 1998 (Where was Ashley?)

 

Ashley, Brooke, and Hannah (Grigsby) performing the Macarena. The parents were constantly being treated to performances)

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If you don’t mind, stop and listen to this song. I believe with all of my heart if Wayne ever had a song for his loving wife Trish, it would be this song.

Let me tell you about this amazing couple.  When I met them, honestly I can’t tell you how long they had been married. At that point in time when we first met, they had already fused together as one. I don’t mean that didn’t have separate personalities, they did – clearly, they did. Wayne was soft spoken. His style was slow, it was easy, it was well thought out. And Trish, well, Trish was more like me. She felt things stronger, more powerful, and in truth (for both of us), more exaggerated. But they conducted themselves as one unit. They ebbed, they flowed. One didn’t make a move without the other. And oh, how they loved one another! I can close my eyes and remember the many, many times I caught them gazing into each other’s eyes – the love, the devotion, the respect, and the commitment was clearly evident.  Theirs was a love to pattern a relationship over.

And one more thing, all of “that stuff” that went into that small condominium – well, Trish turned it into a home for their family. Everywhere you looked, it was home. It was comfortable, it was lived in. She loved Americana, and those touches she added to their home made it more special than any professional decorator could’ve done.

We spent several years in that community. We watched our children mature. We experienced great times, and we endured troubling times. But through it all, we managed to raise up some really great kids and still have strong marriages to show for it.

I can’t recall now if Michael and I moved away first or if Wayne and Trish moved away first, but in the end, each family went their own way. We got busy, we lost touch.

You all know that Michael unexpectedly took his life in 2009. Not long after that (through Facebook) I was reacquainted with Trish and her children. We swapped stories, we caught up, promising to visit soon. Time has a way of getting away from us. We have good intentions, really we do. It seems the next thing I know I hear that Wayne is sick – with cancer.

Personally, of all the words in the dictionary, I hate the “C” word almost as much as any other word I know. And when I heard how serious this monster had attacked Wayne’s body, it made me sick. Although no one “deserves” to have cancer, no one “deserved” it less than Wayne. By the time I got over to the Wolfenbarger’s house to bring a meal, I had waited too late to see Wayne. He was too sick for visitors. However, I did get to visit Trish and her amazing children. They were just as I had remembered (although the children were grown adults now). They were the family Musketeers – all for one, and one for all. This family has never wavered in their devotion to one another.

One year ago tomorrow will be the first anniversary of Wayne Wolfenbarger’s passage into heaven. I have in some ways dreaded this for Trish and her family as it will conjure up the memories of the loss of this wonderful man. Quite frankly, these kind of anniversaries  suck – I can’t think of a more poignant way of expressing it.

But what I hope, and what I pray, is that this anniversary will highlight for this family all the love, and all the warmth, and all  the special times that Wayne brought to this world and our lives. He loved his wife beyond measure, he treasured his children beyond compare. What greater legacy could a man leave behind? Nothing…  nothing.

Wayne Wolfenbarger you are a man to be remembered. A man to be respected, and a man that we will never forget.

Send Michael my love.

Missing you,

Cat Corrier 

01Jan

Life’s a classroom; my continuing education

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Several weeks ago I put my friends to the task of finding me a good guy to go out with. In the past five years since Michael’s passing, my dating life has been essentially nonexistent. After a few false starts, I finally felt like I was ready to put myself out there, to what extent I was capable of I wasn’t sure – but I was ready to put my feet back in the water.

I have a wonderful friend with an equally wonderful husband. They took my plea seriously and began to look in earnest for a great guy to match me with. The next thing I know, my phone number has been passed on to a potential suitor that seems interested in meeting a “great gal.” Within just a few days, I’m meeting this man for the first time for a meet and greet and a really good pizza.

21 DAYS WITH BOB

(I spelled his name backwards to protect his identity)

He walked into the restaurant while I stood in a standing room only bar area. “How will I know you?” he asked earlier on the phone. “I will be the shortest woman there, how will I know you?” “I’ll have a black t-shirt on.” And there he was. I thought, “If this is him, I’m the luckiest woman here.” And it was him. Tall. Handsome. Well dressed. Great smile.

We took our seats, clinked our bottles of beer together, and had a wonderful evening. I had forgotten how “newness” felt. How scary and exciting the unknown can be. I listened with intrigue to his life story. Intermittently, he interjected, “Now this might be a deal breaker but…”, and yet nothing in his past overshadowed anything in my own past. At some point in the conversation I felt it necessary to tell him about the nature of my husband’s passing. I didn’t want it to be the focus of our evening, but the “S” word came up (suicide) and I felt it best to reveal that part of my life. Before the night ended, Bob asked me out on a “real” date. I tried to squlech my enthusiasm, but quickly accepted his offer. We ended the evening with a respectable kiss and I drove away with a happy and grateful heart.

The next few weeks we tallied up hours of telephone conversations and enjoyed two more dates. This man is kind, funny, polite, and extremely interesting. We held hands in Market Square. We shared some tender kisses. He opened the car door for me. We spent hours listening to music together.  I listened more than I talked (and you all know how much I love to talk.) Although I generally don’t hold my feelings too close to the vest, I found myself more guarded than I had expected. In passing I mentioned my blog to him but never revealed the website – I say this because this blog is an open window of my life. So I worried, was my life, my past, going to be more than someone could handle? Did I come with too much baggage? My idle thoughts brought questions of my level of ability to give myself to someone. Could I possibly fall in love again? Did I have the capability to become intimate with someone again? Could I ever trust another man with not only my heart but the bare bones of not killing himself? I only asked these questions because I really liked this man. I found him of quality and “brought up right.”  I have to tell you, when a spouse ends their life without any warning or explanation, it makes a person question themselves to the tenth degree.

Even with all of these questions and self-doubt, I couldn’t help but face my days with an extra spring in my step, perhaps a larger smile on my face, and a higher degree of optimism. When his name popped up on my phone whether a text or a call, I would smile. I found myself letting my guard down a bit, allowing myself to have feelings for the first man since my husband’s death.

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It turns out that all of my concerns, all of my doubts, were in vain.  I found myself on Christmas Day with the realization that I had not heard from Bob in a couple of days. So I did what anybody else would’ve done – I text “Merry Christmas.” No response. Wow – I was a bit hurt. It’s Christmas for God’s sake – and nothing? The next day – “Hey Bob, was it something I said, something I did?” How funny, how odd, and yet predictable that we always assume that it was something that we are responsible for, that we somehow are to blame when something goes wrong. I won’t bore you with the rest ,  because you too see where this is going. Suffice it to say that apparently ol’ Bob didn’t feel as strongly for me as I did for him. It’s left me puzzled, it’s left me a bit sad – sad in the fact that I didn’t allow him to see me for who I was – who I am – where I’ve come from and where I want to go in life.

So I’m left with the fear that I will rebuild my wall of protection that keeps me from being hurt, that I won’t allow anyone else in my life that could possibly cause me grief.  This small hurt was quite enough for now and quite frankly, I don’t like doubting myself.

To Bob I say, “I’m glad I got to meet you…  but I’m sad for what we might’ve had… I’m sad for what we could’ve done… especially that ride on your tractor.”

Stay in school,

Cat

10Nov

Match Me.. Match Me Not..Match Me…Match me not..

Back in June of this year I wrote a blog called “Dear Mr. Free-man”.  It was actually my first blog entry. It was an open letter to the over 50, single male population. If you haven’t already read it, I encourage you to do so now so that this next blog makes sense. Go ahead, this blog will be here when you get back.

After I wrote that piece, I questioned myself. Was I being too judgmental? Did I have a chip on my shoulder because I’m not the perfect physical specimen that men are looking for? Was I being too sensitive?

After much soul searching and feeling at times, a little lonely, I decided to go back on Match.com and once more, put myself out there. I mean, if you don’t try to help yourself, then who do you have to blame for being in your circumstance?

So, being the writer that I am, I crafted what I thought to be a pretty damn good profile. Here, I’ll share it with you.

Who I am: A woman who is very excited to be in this time of my life. I am single, although not happy with the way it happened. My children are grown and out of the nest, and I am a proud Nana to Lexi, Luna, and Lucas.

I have learned a lot about myself since my husband’s death five years ago. I have discovered that I am more of a loner than previously believed. Don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with family and friends, but I have learned that I don’t always have to have someone around to entertain me. I have learned that I am far more independent than previously imagined. Through necessity, I have been forced to become my own problem solver. And lastly, I have learned not to sweat the small stuff – and it’s mostly all small stuff.

A few years ago I started writing a book, well, a memoir of sorts, journaling my life, wanting to document my time here on earth. What it developed into was a collection of stories. I learned that I’m a pretty good storyteller. After several people read my stories, they encouraged me to start my own blog featuring those stories. And that’s exactly what I did! It has challenged me yet in another area of my life.

I love the outdoors, whether it’s laying by the swimming pool, kicking back at the beach, or sitting by a bonfire. I am an avid charcoal griller. Although the Tennessee Volunteers still don’t have a winning season, I continue to be a Vol Fan For Life as we rebuild “brick by brick”.

My ideal partner would be a man that has a zest for the future, a passion for life, a healthy outlook and a thirst for knowledge. A keen sense of humor and honesty is critical for me.

One of my favorite poems was written in 1927 by Max Ehrmann called Desiderata, meaning “desired things”. The final verse is this:

And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore, be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.
With all its sham,
drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

If my profile has sparked some interest, or if you read something that you said, “Oh, me too”, then give me a shout. If not, I hope you have much success in your search for the lady you are looking for.

Not bad, huh? I put myself in the category of “A few extra pounds, widowed”. I was honest about my age – 58. I threw in recent photographs that were pretty damn good – nothing racy. My username is respectable, nothing crazy like “foragoodtime” or “hottotrot”, or “cougarlady”. After all, I don’t want to send out the wrong message.

So, I’m six weeks in to my 3 month subscription and I would like to share a few of my experiences.

My first *wink* was received just a few moments after I paid my $67.00  and got logged in. Hey, this is promising. Is my dating life getting ready to hit a home run – or am I ever going to leave the dug out?  So I *click* on his profile. As we all do, we check out our potential “soulmate’s” pictures. You may think this is contradictory behavior from someone that has expressed concern over the “outside” being overly important, but really it isn’t. I think photos can tell a lot about someone. Not necessarily are they cute, or slim, or attractive – but more, do they look genuine? Do they have a nice smile? Are they neat in appearance? Is there a sign behind them that says, “Bros before hoes?” Are they sitting in a 50 year old recliner with wood paneling behind them and a Schlitz Malt Liquor in their hand? Things like that.

Back to my *wink*.  His pictures – not bad – sure he looked a little..well redneck – but you can’t blame a boy for that. But the bio – oh the bio. Here’s what caught my eye – and I can’t make this up. ” Love spontinaity, I love a woman who can smack my ass in the middle of a crowd and you would never know she done it by the look on her face.”  So, what’s worse?  The fact that he likes his ass smacked or his poor grammar? I reeled from both infractions. Move on Cat.

My next potential suitor sent a *wink* my way, along with his one and only picture. Too bad it was a selfie taken in the bathroom with the toilet seat all the way up – like he just took a piss. Nothin’ says lovin’ like a bathroom selfie. Not surprising, I passed on this prize too. Better luck next time Cat.

Screen Shot 2014-10-28 at 5.50.47 PM

Match.com offers this fun little tool called “chat”. So while you’re online checking out who “viewed” you (and moved on), you can chat with other Match members online. So here I am, one Saturday “dude surfing” when Chat pops up.

RU4me from Buffalo, New York says,

Hi. Love your smile.

“Oh” I think. “Communication from the outside world.”

Me: Thank you. How is Buffalo treating you today?

RU4me: You real pretty. You been on long match? (Yes, he really said “long match.”

Me: Uh – no.

RU4me: I not either. Not much luck. One lady want free dinner – other lady only want night stand.

Hmmmm…. a night stand, huh? Not a dresser, or a chest of drawers, but a night stand (Yeah, I get it, he meant one night stand).

Me: Pardon me for bringing this up, but your English is quite broken. It makes me wonder if you are perhaps a scammer. If I’m wrong, forgive me. If I’m correct, shame on you.

RU4me: What you mean. Scammer?

Me: Thank you for confirming my suspicions.

RU4me: FUCK YOU

RU4me signs off and I sign off too in disgust.

I confess, there have been a few men on this site that have caught my eye. I have steered away from the obvious “lookers” and have focused on men with kind eyes, genuine and realistic profiles. I have even put myself out there and sent a few emails (yes of course witty emails) only to get no replies. Well, I did receive a no thanks, as he had just met a lady on Match.com and wanted to see where it was going first. Forget the fact that I still see him daily on the site and “available for chat”.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, this small amount of time on Match.com has shaken my confidence. I have relearned humility. Clearly, I am not the prototype of what men over 50 are looking for. I don’t hike 50 miles a day, I don’t have Christie Brinkley’s body, I NEVER want to jump out of an airplane. I couldn’t care less if I ever ski in Aspen, or run the bulls in Pamplona.

So, what does it take to attract a man that meets my minimal expectations?  Do I try to change who I am to conform to someone else’s standards? Do I diet so that I am physically attractive to these men? As I ask myself these questions I already know my answer. Hell no. Even if I tried to change my personality, I couldn’t -nor would I want to.  We are who we are. Do I diet? Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. But you can be damn sure it won’t be to attract a man.

So, what have I learned? I have learned to go back to loving myself – and never forget that I am the prize – maybe not to someone else – but to me. I have learned, once again, not to turn to others for approval, but look inside and see what is acceptable for (what my sister calls) “my own self”.  Sure, it’s nice to get compliments (I’m always open to positive affirmations), but I can’t rely on them to dictate how I feel about myself. That has to come from me.

PostScript

I welcome any comments or anecdote from your own .com dating experience.  Surely there are more out there that have questioned their own worthiness, have had their own self doubt after being exposed to this medium.  Or…just something so funny you can’t keep it to yourself – please leave a comment!

PostScriptScript

…and, if you happen to know of a single man that might be looking for a middle aged plump woman that loves life and has a warped sense of humor, send him my way….that’d be great.

20Sep

Beyond my Last Starry Night

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I wrote “My last Starry Night” in December of 2010.  Michael had been gone for 18 months.  Since that writing, I have probably read that story a few dozen times. Not because in any way is it literary genius, but because sometimes I need to take myself back, just to see how far I have come.

As I promised on the fifth anniversary of Michael’s death, I would write the story of hope, of happiness, and achievement that I have experienced since that horrible night in May of 2009.  Perhaps the best way to share my growth, is to share with you excerpts of some of my journal entries early on in my grief.

September 23, 2009

Grief follows me like a shadow, sorrow a constant companion. 

Dear Michael,

You took your life 4 months and 2 days ago. Today someone spoke to me of guns, in an almost romantic way – the kick of one, the feel of another. I could’ve left and not looked back. But I stayed and asked the polite questions as to not make them feel uncomfortable. What a joke. Is that how it should be? Is it so easy for people to forget that my husband shot himself in the heart just a few short months ago? 

December 24, 2010

As this day comes to a close, and as this year comes to an end, I am so sadly consumed by the loss of my love. I so wish that I could move on, that this still was not the focus of my soul. As in the dimming of the day, as in the waking of the night, as in the breaking of the dawn, I need him, I miss him, I yearn for him. Life will never be the same without him. I’m just not sure what to do, and yet, as I do nothing, life continues.

I am so scared that I have stopped growing, that my life has ceased to have meaning. He, Michael, was my center. My world spun on the axis of his love, his caring, his being. That inertia balanced everything else in my life. Without him my world has spun out of control. I am trying desperately to gain that control back, to center myself back into existence. Dear God, please help me with this.

**Side note** I don’t want to leave the impression that I didn’t have good days during this time in my life, I did.  I had good, hearty, fulfilling moments. As most of us, I chronicle my life on Facebook. I look back on those days and I am reminded that although it was a very tough time in my life, I also see the many smiles, laughs, and tender moments I experienced. **

January 10, 2011

As predicted, around 2am, snow starting falling in East Tennessee. I was awakened with a phone call at 5:30 am that work would be closed today. Rather than rolling over and going back to sleep, I got out of bed, bundled up, and went outside to see the snow. My God, it was so beautiful, so peaceful. There is a certain quiet that a blanket of snow brings. As my lungs were filled with the cold, crisp air, I felt a sense of joy. It was the joy of the moment, the joy of witnessing the sight of predawn beauty; the joy of being the sole witness to the splendor before me. Thank you God for this early morning blessing.

It is now early afternoon and I have decided to restart the book The Year of Magical Thinking. It is a recount of Joan Didion’s experience after the sudden death of her husband. I had started reading this book previously and had to put it down; not for the lack of interest, but for the pain and grief it stirred up in me. Yet, I have decided to pick it up again, and dive back into her reality and mine. Her words resonate throughout me, “Life changes fast. Life changes in the instant. You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.”  Maybe I think that by reading it, somehow, it might speed up or even cure this grief that inhabits me. 

** Side Note **The reading of that book was the beginning of my understanding of grief, of coming to terms with the loss. It was my first encounter with the writings of a widow, of her pain, her loss, and knowing that what I was feeling was not only normal, but part of the cycle of healing.**

Monday, February 21, 2011

Somewhere, Somehow, Sometime in the last few weeks I feel that I have made the transformation from “victim” to “survivor”, Thank you God.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Louise and I registered for an art session at Spirited Art. I am so excited to be doing something so out of my box! I want my life enriched with new experiences, new challenges, and new sights. 

**Side note**  I remember exactly where I was when I wrote that last entry. I remember the feeling of optimism, the assurance that the worst was behind me. Of course, as in any journey from grief, I had setbacks, but I felt like I had reached a turning point here. **

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

For some time now I have battled with a late night conundrum. What is it that prevents me from going to sleep at a reasonable time in order to feel refreshed and rested the next day? There’s a battle within me that keeps me up night after night… with nothing but a vague anticipation of… I don’t know, a lack of completion… something not finished. And last night, as I finally turned off the television and looked at the clock, I realized it was 11:30. Our last night together, Michael came to bed at 11:30. That realization made me gasp for breath, as the tears welled up in my eyes. Oh my God, these last two years, I have been waiting for Michael to come join me in bed… as it should be…as it was for so many years. 

Present day:

I’m not sure why, but I didn’t journal much after that. Maybe it was because I started living more in the present and less in the past. Also, often journaling would conjure up the reality of my husband’s death and that would mentally put me in a bad state of mind.

It’s been five years since my husband took his life. Rarely do I torture myself looking for answers that can’t be found.  I no longer live in the past. This road, this journey  has been long, it’s been rocky, I have traveled into unchartered territory. There was a time in this process that grief would so consume me that I would crawl under my bed and sob into the carpet (hoping that the sounds would be muffled).

There are no magic words to make it better.  As stated in the book Second Firsts by Christina Rasmussen, “The identity that’s created while grieving is based upon pain, fear, guilt, anger, sadness, and a broken heart. There is a different identity waiting to be revealed. A real evolution takes place in the  brain during the days, months, or years following a loss – and it holds exciting possibilities.” She makes the point that “Time doesn’t heal, action does.”

So where am I today? I’m in a good place. I’m in a state of peace, of joy, of gratitude. I decided early on that I would choose happiness. I felt so strongly about it that the word is in a prominent place in my home.

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I stayed determined that the death of my husband would not define me forever. I held fast to the belief that I was stronger than my situation. And what have I achieved? Well, first, confidence. A higher belief in myself that I am far stronger than I ever imagined myself to be. And secondly, confidence in the relationships that have gotten me through these many hurdles. My children, Heather, Robin, Shane, and Brandon. My beloved sister Terri that stayed by my side for an entire year after Michael’s death. Sadly some of my friends that were thrown into this journey with me have gone to the wayside, but in the meantime I have been blessed with new friendships.

It took me four years to financially get back on my feet. The death of my husband forced me into bankruptcy and the loss of my home. It’s a humbling experience to see that the home you worked so hard for being sold to the highest bidder on the front steps of the courthouse. Although blessed to have roommates to share the everyday expenses, I praise God that I am finally able to live on my own again. I rally in my independence and rejoice in having my own place again.

The last paragraph in “My Last Starry Night”:

My prayer is that someday I will find my way through this labyrinth of grief, of loneliness, and heartbreak. At times I feel like great strides have been made, only to run into a wall in this maze I am trapped in, but I have faith that I will get through this. I may not come out the same person that went in, but maybe a better person. One that will never take for granted the warmth of family, the gift of life, the treasure of laughter, and the smile of a child. And maybe, someday, God willing, the love for another man.

Present day:

All of those prayers have been answered. Well, except for the part about the love for another man. I’m just not there yet, nor will I possibly ever be. But that’s fine, because it is well, it is well with my soul.

Blessings,

Cat