Janet and Dick Crawford worked together in their small veterinary practice in Wisconsin for thirty years. They raised five children, grew tons of vegetables, marched for Civil Rights, saw a thousand movies, and traveled to more than fifty countries. The year Dick died was the fifty-sixth year of their marriage- a partnership of opposites, and a honeymoon that lasted through both the rough and smooth years. In this memoir, author Janet Jackson Crawford narrates the devastating mental and physical experiences of becoming a widow. She describes her odyssey through the "valley of death" and her methods of recovery and rejuvenation. She tells how she learned to feel her emotions, acknowledge her pain, resolve her loss, and live again. A personal account of the grief and loneliness of surviving the death of a mate, A Widow's Odyssey offers an idea of what to expect when your lifelong partner dies. Crawford provides insight as well as suggestions to help overcome feelings of helplessness, sadness, and loneliness. This memoir helps those left behind cope as they struggle to overcome the heartbreak.
A WIDOW'S ODYSSEY
From Depression to RejuvenationBy JANET JACKSON CRAWFORDiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2010 Janet Jackson Crawford
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4502-3877-9Chapter One
THE PHONE CALL TO AIX EN PROVENCE
"Je suis desolee. Votre fille est dans le telephone."
"Hi Mom."
"Bonjour, Laurie, comment ca va?" I responded, totally delighted to speak French yet disoriented from being suddenly awakened. My heart began to race as I quickly realized that this was not a phone call for a pleasant chat-no silvery thread of laughter in response to my French. I knew my daughter intimately; unlike me, she would be very aware of the nine hour time difference. With her very first words and the tone of her voice, it was obvious that something was very wrong at home.
"Mom," she hesitated, "Dad told me not to call you. He didn't want to spoil your dream. He wanted you to stay in France ... but the doctor told me to call you because he said Dad may not live for more than a few days. You have to come home right away." Her voice trailed off, reluctant to give me the news and also break the promise she had made to her father.
"Of course, Laurie, I'll see what I can do. My ticket is for the first of November." I stammered a meaningless response, suddenly experiencing what shock must feel like. I was struck dumb, totally incapable of imagining how to make arrangements for quickly returning home. Not only that, my thoughts about everything evaporated into a feeling of floating in a vacuum.
"He has a dissected aorta twelve inches long. Do you know what that means?"
The vacuum burst into large fragments. I felt a surge of emotion that came from somewhere in my chest and moved up through the back of my neck. Feeling cold and hot at the same time, I heard Laurie say "dissected aorta" but didn't know for sure what it meant. Later, I would be able to recite an explanation as if I were a professional. I could not imagine Dick in any way but as he had always been-his deep voice that people over the phone could recognize before he said more than two words, his strong hug, his warm hands ... He always had been healthy. I could not believe he was near death. Yet doctors don't use such strong words unless there is a profound reason. It wasn't possible. I insisted in my own mind that they must be wrong.
* * *
Three weeks before, I had carefully pulled my favorite duffle bag down the attic's folding stairs. If you looked closely at that bag, you could see the scars of wear from being tossed onto conveyer belts or shoved into tight compartments. The handle had divorced itself and had to be repaired while Dick and I were in Southern India. One corner of the bag was glued near the area where the wheels were attached. Why I continued to use it was a mystery to some; but somehow, this bag represented the memories and excitement of distant places. I noticed some sand from previous travels in the bottom, but didn't bother to take the bag outside and give it a good shake.
"Let's see. These always travel well, don't wrinkle and dry quickly," I mused as I pulled two khaki pants from the drawer. One pair, with lots of pockets was ideal, with places for the passport and flight information, a small pocket for coins, and another for the digital camera. The best thing about this pair of pants was the elastic drawstring at the bottom of the legs. I could drop my pants over a foreign toilet hole and not have them go past my ankles into mud or heaven knows! I was not a classy dresser; my lifestyle of being with dogs, cats and horses made me a "tom boy." The sweat shirts carried gardening stains and oil paint from my artwork. My days were too full to consider haute couture, too busy living the life I loved.
I typically started packing long before departure. This trip promised to be different, and I was terribly excited about it. I tried to imagine what clothing I would need for a whole month in Provence and I was having a hard time deciding what clothes I should take. Every trip has its unknown elements-weather concerns, the amount of money to take along and gifts for my hosts. The day before I left, I still felt unprepared. Unlike most of our trips where Dick and I went together, this was going to be radically different. I would be traveling alone, not only to San Francisco, but to France. I would be staying with a French family that I had never met.
In the evening before my departure, I let out a big sigh, leaving my bulging bag lying on the floor by the patio door in the bedroom. I walked into the living room where Dick was engrossed in a football game and I sat down beside him. Football was great to watch, but I always seemed too busy doing other things. Watching TV was not high on my priority list. Moving closer to him, I automatically placed my head on his shoulder.
"I'm going to miss you," I murmured, kissing his ear and placing my hand near his back, a back that craved to be rubbed, all hours of the day and night. He moved forward on the sofa so I would have plenty of room, anticipating five minutes of back rubbing. I had other thoughts on my mind so the back rub was pretty haphazard.
"There won't be that much to do in October. You just have to let the dogs out in the morning and make sure the cat comes in at night." I surely had gone over these words before. It was like packing. I just needed to rehearse the procedure, as if Dick were a stranger taking care of everything. My horse, Hussy, was going to the stable while I was gone, so he didn't have to worry about her.
"Is there anything I'm forgetting?" I half-whispered as I nuzzled my nose next to the soft fuzz on the edge of his ear. "Will you be all right?"
"Hell, I take better care of myself when you're not here," he retorted. I wondered why, since I did my best to keep him happy and healthy. I hoped I had succeeded. We had been married for over a half century and he had never been sick. I made sure that Dick retired from the stress of our veterinary practice when he was fifty. We had moved to Oregon, mostly to please me, since I was determined not to spend another winter in Wisconsin. In Oregon, I cajoled Dick into hiking and cross country skiing, wanting him to stay young, after experiencing the death of my father when he was only forty-eight years old.
Still I wished Dick weighed less and exercised more. His brain usually got the workout as he struggled for hours with the hardest Sudoku he could find. I looked at one occasionally and shook my head. I loved the results of my hobbies, like a painting, quilt or the vegetable and flower gardens. I rode my horse several times a week and trained my dogs to perform in agility shows. Dick would simply finish a Sudoku and toss it in a wastebasket!
All conversation stopped as Richard screamed his approval, when a galloping player threw himself into the air for a touchdown. He laughed, "That was a good one! The Bears are ahead by a touchdown!" You can take the boy away from Chicago, but you can't take Chicago away from the boy. Dick was born and raised there-a die-hard Bears' fan.
"I guess I'm nervous because this is the first time I have driven to our friend's place on my own. I keep hoping that I won't make a mistake and end up in San Francisco or Oakland somewhere!" My thoughts were decidedly not on the ball game.
"Oh, you'll do fine. I'll get you a map and directions from the internet. Just read them over and take them along with you. If I can do it, so...
