Seven Years

Seven years ago today. It’s hard to believe that’s all it is. So much has happened in these past seven years. At the same time, I can feel that pain as though it were yesterday. 

July 8, 2014, didn’t start out all that different from any normal day. It was a quiet day at home. There would be the usual trip to the hospital, where my mother-in-law Barb was recovering from a major cardiac event. Our days had revolved around St. Mary’s Hospital for the two weeks prior to this day. That day was also my in-laws’ 53rd wedding anniversary, so I didn’t want to crowd them. I would stop by later, when my husband got off work, or maybe meet him there…. We had options, and we were getting used to flexing them. Barb was getting better each day, and after a terrible scare, we were hopeful that she would be heading back to Austin for some “step-down” care soon. We were blissfully unaware of all the pain just around the corner. We didn’t know that Les never showed up at the hospital that day. 

Suicide is never easy to accept. I have written about this day many times over these seven years. I am less haunted than I once was but still unsettled. Our lives changed when Les ended his life. We immediately became overseers of Barb’s recovery, her health, her life. It wasn’t easy, but I always tried to remember that if our lives had changed, then Barb’s life had entered a hurricane. Her husband of 53 years ended his life on their anniversary. Her anchor and support since she was 16 years old was gone in an instant, with no chance to say goodbye and leaving a million unanswered questions. Her own health was severely compromised, and she had a long recovery ahead. Everything about her day-to-day life had changed: new place of residence, new health care, new dependence on others – and no husband there with her to help her process it all.

But still, our lives did change that day, and for a while, all I could do was hold my stomach and feel sick. I had to try to keep it together, for the sake of the family. In the early days, there was no focus on next year or even next month, just on today and what needs to get done to make it to tomorrow. As we slogged through the mess, there were way more tears than smiles. I felt way more inadequate and overwhelmed than I have ever felt in my life. There was a funeral. There was an estate sale. There was one new home for Barb, and then another. 

Somewhere along the way, the fog lifted. I still grieved. Our family still grieved. Barb still grieved, deeply. But some things were changing. Being more involved in Barb’s day-to-day life meant we spent a lot of time together, laughed together, cried together, and really got to know each other. I liked spending time with her. We had fun. I loved it when we were able to move her to Rochester, so the drive back and forth to Austin didn’t get in our way anymore. I felt honored to take her to doctor’s appointments and anywhere else she wanted to go. It wasn’t always easy or fun, but it was precious time. I was completely thrilled when she was able to help Laura alter her wedding dress, and I was delighted to see the joy on her face at Laura and Andrew’s wedding. 

Our time in this role with Barb was too brief. In December of 2016, she passed away suddenly. She hadn’t been in good health for quite some time, but we didn’t expect her to go right then. We had plans. We had things we wanted to do together. She had been so excited to go see the show my husband was in, as he returned to the stage after 20 years off. It was opening night when Barb passed away, another heartbreak in a series of heartbreaks. 

I don’t pretend to know the pain that these events caused for anyone else. My husband had a different role, from the beginning, as he had to take care of so many details after his dad’s death. He had responsibility for Barb’s finances and had to oversee all the details of her care. It was hard. Les and Barb’s other sons had to find their way through the loss of their dad from 1100 miles away. They called Barb often, and I know those calls kept her going on hard days. Then when Barb passed, even that connection to their dad and to their roots was gone. Nothing is easy about the separation of death. As time goes by, I understand more and more that a lifetime is not a long time. It is as brief as the snap of your fingers. None of us can hang on to anything but this moment, so as we look back on days gone by it all just seems like one giant yesterday. The aches and the joys all blur together into a life. 

My heart hurts today as I remember all that was. I am thankful for the years I got with Les and Barb as a part of my life. I think about all the things that both of them have missed here on earth – Les for the past seven years and Barb for the past four and a half years. So much life has happened. The good and the bad – I wish they had been here to experience it all with us. I miss them, but I am grateful for the aches and joys that blurred together into the lives of Les and Barb Traff.