Kept Promises of Love, Laughter and Life

Wednesday, Nov 19, 2013

Saturday, the 16th, was Allison's party, and we were supposed to go. A big birthday bash! The day after he passed. Allison and Paul's house has become like a second home. Every memory of just about any get together includes them. Buddy was busy all week and reminded me several times, "you gotta cut my hair before we go!" To be such a country boy (I'm trying hard to not call him a redneck) who thought camo was a color and wearing over sized hunting boots was totally a fashion statement, (ok ok, he's a redneck!) it was always so funny to me that he was so particular about his hair. That wasn't limited to the hair on his head either. His mustache, goatee and for a few months his beard, were trimmed and maintained to the degree of a high school girl preparing for prom. To say he was particular about his hair was an understatement. Don't get me wrong, he was no pretty boy. I need to clarify that because he'd probably come back just to get me, for making anyone think that. His go to attire was his baseball cap, All-Pro Construction (his company) t-shirt, oversized shorts and the gaudiest boots you've ever laid eyes on. But if Buddy were going to dress up, he was going to do it right, and that, to him, meant his favorite pair of jeans, a polo brand shirt (it always had to be Ralph Lauren), his white shoes or loafers and every hair in place. Comparing his two sides were so opposite, and so him! He's a walking contradiction, much like myself, and I've always loved it. Well, maybe not always. Like when he showed up somewhere in his redneck attire, covered in paint, and the situation called for his preppy boy attire. But that's what I loved...he wasn't concerned about others opinions. Myself, being someone who's always cared too much about opinions, I admired that trait, and thankfully through the years it rubbed off on me.

Knowing how particular he was though, the night after he passed it panicked me to think I couldn't keep my promise to him. I decided then, somehow, I had to. It meant too much to me to feel like I was letting him down. So Monday morning when I went to make his funeral arrangements I told them I would be coming to prepare him. It wasn't a question...I WAS doing this! Thankfully, they had no problem with that because I was more than prepared to take him to a different funeral home if I needed. Even if it meant taking him there myself! My sister rode with me and I told her of my intentions. We had some big laughs imagining me kidnapping my husband. We even cracked "Weekend at Bernie's" jokes! <GASP> (There is humor in everything. It's how we lived. It's the best gift my husband gave me in life...to find the humor. And yes, there's even humor in death) "Can you imagine if we get pulled over by the cops?" <big laughs> "It's ok officer! We have him buckled up and everything! He's not going anywhere!" <more laughs> Then the tears came...could I get through this? In my mind I was picturing cutting his hair like I had a hundred times. The kids running around. Music playing. Us joking and talking. Him teasing at me and warning me not to mess up as he twitched and moved. Me smacking him with the comb and telling him to stop moving before I shaved him bald. This would be so much different. So final.  The rest of the ride to the funeral home was silent, but I was thankful for those moments of laughter. I drew strength from those moments to get me through the rest of the day. When the pain got so strong, I would remind myself to just breathe, and think back on funny moments.

Making arrangements was so surreal. It's like I was in a dream. This isn't happening. Autopilot. Pick out the service. Discuss the obituary. Pick out the vault. Autopilot. The Director only had one request...that I allow them to prepare him before I saw him, and get him dressed. I had decided I wanted to do it all. They kept warning me and asked to please let them at least dress him or cover him. He's mine! I asked them to get him ready to the extent that I wanted and I would do the rest. Period. Not up for debate. And that's how it went.

I dropped off his things to the funeral home later that afternoon. That too will be another topic. The next 2 days I spent in a fog...picking out music, trying to take care of the kids, normal life events that seemed so mundane and unimportant considering. Had it not been for my mom, I'm sure nothing would have been done. I remember very little of the first few weeks actually.

Wednesday arrived, the day of my last time with my husband. I realized that part of doing this being so important was also because subconsciously I knew he would never be just mine again. The wake, the funeral, burial...would all be shared and full of well wishers and hovering, concerned people. I needed another moment, just the two of us.  I drove myself there, alone, at my insistence. I had the CD with the songs to be played during his service, with me. I listened to it on repeat, over and over, and just drove. I took the longest way there just trying to prepare myself and thinking how I wanted this first and last moment with him to go.

When I got there, a man was waiting on me. I could tell he was concerned and kept offering to help me, did I need a chair, did I need someone to stay with me, why was I by myself. The look on my face must have been enough because he quickly back peddled and said "I'll sit right outside this door. If you need anything you just yell. We have him ready just as you asked." I'll never forget the moment those double doors opened. He was in the viewing room, on a stretcher. I had allowed them to bathe him, and put his pants, socks and undershirt on. He looked so peaceful, resting. I knew I made the right decision then because it helped ease some of the images of the last time I saw him. It didn't erase those painful images, but it did put me a little more at peace. It was extremely hard though, to see someone who is larger than life, without that spark. The spark that is life, spirit, soul and everything that made me love him so much. That spark that made him so lively, animated, that shone bright whether he was awake or sleeping, was gone. MY Buddy was gone and it felt more real at that moment than it had in the 6 days I'd been left without him. I still felt such a pull to him though.  There was no fear or anything. I remember when my Daddy died, I was scared of him. Ive watched people touch a loved one who has passed many times and just couldn't fathom why. It was strange to me, and quite frankly a little gross. All of that went away. This was my Love. This was different. I couldn't NOT touch him! I stood there for the longest time, studying him, crying, running my fingers over his chest, his hands, his face. What comes to mind is a momma meeting her newborn for the first time...that's how I felt. I was in awe of what was left of this man I had always affectionately called My Love, My Sun. I've always said my children are my world, and they are, and Buddy was like the sun. My world revolved around that Sun. He brought my days light, growth, love and meaning. How does the world still survive without it's sun, left in darkness? I kept asking him that question...how? At some point I heard his sarcastic voice, "you gonna stand here all day or what?" I hear his voice all the time. I know him so well that I know exactly what he would say in just about any situation. Over the months since he's been gone, I've heard him comment, joke, make a snide remark, laugh, etc. Is it in my head? Probably. Do I think I'm crazy? Always! Do I mind? Not at all! It kind of makes me feel like he lives, in me. In my head, he's very much alive!

I announced out loud "Well, let's get started babe!" I sat up my station, like always, laying out my comb, scissors, trimmer, a towel and of course we have to have music! Plus, let's face it, funeral home/elevator music is a drag! I have a playlist that is all of his favorite music. I've since added songs that remind me of him or make me think of certain times in our life. I listen to it when I just need to feel close to him. For the first time in probably our entire lives together, I chose to play his music, and I didn't even complain about his whinny country songs. I could hear him singing many of them, as I knew he would have been, if he could have. I began cutting his hair just like always. I'm still amazed, and thankful, for that couple hours, at how normal and natural it felt. Just like old times. His music played loudly. (I'm still impressed no one complained from the offices) his memories danced in my mind. I cut his hair with more tenderness than I ever have. Like a mother coddling her infant child. There is beauty in death. When I came to the part around his ears, normally he'd start pulling away with his teasing banter "don't mess up!" I laughed, remembering those times, and I couldn't help it....I said "Baby, you move this time and I promise I won't mess up! I'm gettin' the hell outta here if you do that!" and laughed. I heard the man outside the door chuckle. Oops...forgot people could here me! I wonder sometimes if they thought I was crazy. I hope so!! I also hope it brought a refreshing look on death. They deal with a lot of grief so I hope having some humor was nice. Finally I shaved his face. I remember being so thankful he had decided to shave that horrible beard he had grown. The Saturday before, we went on our last date to celebrate our anniversary and he shaved it off for me. I had quit teasing him about looking like a terrorist. He said he was Duck Dynasty. <eyes rolling here> I started calling him "Bear". It made it easier though cause I sure would have shaved that junk off regardless and dealt with that guilt later! When I was finished and started cleaning up, our song came on. Our song we have danced to a million times, that he always sung to me, that would also be the first song played at his service, at his request. I paused and held his hand, and sung it to him instead. I'm not a singer, and I've never willingly sung to anyone. It just seemed right I guess, because it just poured from me. Through tears that just flowed, I poured out my heart and I know he heard me. I felt him the whole time, but in that moment I could smell him, hear him, and truly feel him with me.

I went and got the Director and he came in to help me put Buddy's dress shirt on. I gave him the music and talked about the viewing set for the next evening. I kissed Buddy's hand and told him I'd see him tomorrow and took some of his hair and placed it in a bag.

Walking out of that building and leaving him there went against everything in my being. My kids waiting for me at the house are what lead me. I got in my car and drove and prayed the whole way. Prayer and my children are what got me back to my house and what keeps me waking up to face each day without my Sun...