So Many Adjustments

a project aunt mary did for writing class and shared with me.

The house had never seemed so quiet, nor had such an atmosphere of emptiness. Every sound became more pronounced with nightfall which came early in mid-November. I was acutely aware of my house's every creak and groan and of the furnace igniting. Often these sounds were muffled by my uncontrollable sobbing. Insomnia became a frequent problem. All of the relatives had gone home. I was not used to being alone 24/7. The events of the past six days-the long wait for the ambulance, the ride to the hospital, making funeral arrangements-had all seemed surreal. I had lost my husband Al, my lover, my best friend. Being a widow was the hardest adjustment of my life.
My elderly friend Liz told me to turn on my radio. I followed her advice. It helped somewhat. Other friends offered to give me a dog. I had never been interested in owning a dog, particularly in the house. Mom felt that I would be safer with a dog and that echoed my thoughts. I agreed to accept the dog. They would deliver Candy, a housebroken, medium size, brown and white spotted beagle mix to me.
The minute Candy's previous owners departed she laid down by my front door and whimpered. I empathized, "I know exactly how you feel!" I knew she didn't understand or care!
No sooner than I had crawled into bed and turned off the lamp when Candy plopped on the foot of my bed. I did not intend to continue this arrangement? Matter of fact I didn't want her lounging on any of my furniture.
Sunday evenings were the most difficult dasys to get through. Al and I had both worked through the week, and often Saturdays, but Sunday had been our special day together.
Liz was grieving, too. Her youngest son's family was being torn apart by a divorce. She and I could feel comfortable expressing ourselves when we needed support. We began going out for coffee and a bite to eat.
Missouri had a Sunday blue law which prohibited stores not selling life sustaining merchandise from opening. Kansas didn't have this law. Liz and I both lived in south Kansas City near the Missouri/Kansas state line, so we would go to Kansas, most often to Waid's Restaurant in Prairie Village. Liz liked their custard pie and they did have excellent pies. Other times we went to Putsch's Cafeteria at Metcalf South where we enjoyed sitting by a fireplace tht opened on two sides. SHe was truly a godsend.
There were more difficult situations/challanges to cope with:
1) Having persons mention remarriage within hours and weeks of Al's death was insensitive.
2) Having a life insurance company use my life insurance policy's signature as permission to go through Al's medical records before requesting me to sign a release. Al's brother's profession was insurance claims. He advised me to relay this fraud to the Missouri insurance commissioner. Having nothing to hide, I signed the release. The policy was not contested.
3) Receiving mail addressing me as MS. was hurtful.
4) Going to a church and having the pastor change the subject when I attempted to answer his question, "How did your husband die?" I never attended that church again.
5) Having a customer ask me, "How's Al doing?"
6) Feeling heartbroken when watching love scenes.

Liz never knew tears streamed down my face when in early 1974 we attended,"The Way We Were." Barbara Streisand who starred in the movie sang "Memories." Both she and songs lyrics are my all-time favorites.
Near winter's end I found a poem "Spring Thaw" in Capper's Weekly be Lee Avery Reed that described my situation exactly.

SPRING THAW
Not that the weather seemed so
long,__
We were content together, ____
Our house was warm with love,
it could
withstand the fiercest weather.
Yet sometimes we would speak
of spring,
Anticipate the greening,
On all the views we loved so
well
Now touched with greater
meaning.
Today I walk in early spring
As memories come welling___
And oh, to see a crocus bloom
And you not here for telling.

In March, I called a professional driving school. I had driven with a permit but I had never parallel parked. I wanted to feel confident when I took my drivers test. At near age 34, I became a liscenced driver.
The first day I drove to work was during a snowfall. Unfortunately, I left my headlights on and discovered a dead battery after 9 p.m. A coworker with jumpers cables saved the night.
Soon after, I loaded Candy in the car, braved the interstate and drove the first of many two hour trips to my brother's farm. My sister, who'd gotten her driver's license at age 16 was surprised by my venture.
At Easter time, I had my first jet plane trip to visit my parents, my sister and a brother in San Jose, California. Upon returning home, I longed to pack up and move there. Realistically, I couldn't afford to do so. Also, I vowed to give myself a full year without any hasty changes, as I recalled another widow's regrets. To best sum up that year: It was pure Hell!
Candy was a faithful companion and we enjoyed taking long walks together. All went well for one and one half years until she discovered she could jump the back yard fence. "Catch me if you can!" became her favorite game.
One night, in the wee hours, she had every dog in the neighborhood barking while she ran free. In desperation, I took her to Wayside Waifs, as I couldn't find a home for her.
Fast forward eleven years. I had remarried, moved to Independence, divorced, and I was once again living alone.
One night I awakened certain tht I had heard the sound of jingling brass bells hanging on a cord on my kitchen doorknob. I laid rigid as a corpse, listening intently for several minutes, fully expecting to hear more sounds. When I heard no suspicious sounds, I mustered up enough courage to ease myself out of bed. With flashlight in hand, I tiptoed to the kitchen to investigate.
The inside door was locked. The storm door was hooked. I gave a big sigh of relief and went back to bed never knowing if I had only dreamed I'd heard the bells, but feeling confident I had.
Nowadays, I'm glad that I reside in this quiet Independence neighborhood, relatively crime free. There is an abundance of wild life and Fred (my gentleman friend of seventeen years) and I frequently enjoy watching deer. Speaking of deer, the only bump in the night for many years was a deer right outside my bedroom window.
Alas, it's been over 38 years since that day when within a matter of minutes my life, as I had known it, was changed forever. I've become accustomed to a lot of solitude, but I still dislike Sunday evenings and eating at home alone.
Mary Beck Johnson
I chose this story because it had a major impact on my life.