Common Threads

Nine Widows' Journeys Through Love, Loss, and Healing

Diane S Kaimann

• Editore: Routledge
• Anno: 2018
• ISBN:
  9781351845465
• Edizione: 1
• Argomento: Psychology
• Categoria: Mental Health in Psychology

The middle-aged women described within the chapters of "Common Threads" are ordinary yet extraordinary. They have faced one of life's greatest challenges, working day-in and day-out to design new lives for themselves. As readers witness the resilience of the human spirit, they come to a new perspective on their own experiences, recognizing the good still in their lives. "Common Threads" is a tender and warm embrace, a story of faith and love, of insight, determination, independence and strength. These women's large and small victories are metaphors for hope and continuity.

CHAPTER 1

Hawaii, 1999

TEN DAYS IN PARADISE

How does one begin to tell the story of the death of a spouse, a dear husband? I know that as I write this, I will cry and maybe those tears will help me somehow.

In November 1998, Dick and I took a trip to Israel and Jordan. The trip was filled with wonder, learning, and delight. Because we had Frequent Flyer miles expiring, we also planned a trip to Hawaii, a first for us both, from January 14–25, 1999. We would spend three days in Oahu followed by four days on the tiny island of Molokai with Karen and Leonard, Dick’s sister and brother-in-law. Then Dick and I would go alone to Maui for four more days.

In Oahu we took a bus tour of Honolulu’s many sights and visited Pearl Harbor, where Dick, a history buff, supplemented the guide’s information for me. After three days in city traffic, we were happy to leave for the very peaceful island of Molokai. We spent our days and evenings with Karen and Leonard, relaxing, talking, touring, and eating. The most dramatic moment was when I sprained my ankle walking across a golf course.

One day we all visited Purdy’s Macadamia Nut Farm, which elicited from us more than one nutty joke. We had fun crushing the nuts in a primitive cracker, and we enjoyed the free samples. We took a very long, harrowing drive along the Halawa coast, with endless hairpin curves and unbelievable views of mountains, rocks, and water. Dick did all the driving, and I closed my eyes a lot.

During those few days, Dick seemed particularly pleased to be with his sister. They were both delighted that we had managed to plan some vacation time together. Because Karen’s condo was lacking a coffeepot, each morning Dick would rise early, perk fresh coffee and deliver a large mug to his sister. His eagerness to please her was endearing.

On January 21, we celebrated Dick’s 61st birthday and Karen and Leonard’s 37th anniversary at a lovely restaurant on the beach. Before we ate, we joined the crowd watching a spectacular sunset. As the sun appeared to slip into the ocean and the sky changed from bright orange to misty darkness, Dick clicked away with his camera. Then we adjourned to the dining room.

Karen said, “It just doesn’t get any better than this.” We all agreed.

As a young man, Dick was an excellent and enthusiastic athlete. In his forties, he discovered scuba diving. He took many courses and became certified as an advanced open-water diver by the Professional Association of Diving Instructors. He logged hundreds of hours of diving experience in Lake Michigan, the Cayman Islands, the Truk Islands in the South Pacific, and the Red Sea. He loved the challenge and adventure of entering the silent world beneath the sea, seeing the magnificent and amazing fish and plants. He found scuba diving relaxing and invigorating.

Dick was excited about diving in Hawaii. Before leaving home, he made arrangements to go diving in Molokai, but when we arrived, the dive guide announced that he was not available. Dick was disappointed. Two days later the guide called and was able to offer Dick a diving time for our last day on the island.

Afterwards Dick mentioned that it was not a great dive because the water was too cold and there wasn’t much to see, but I could tell that he was still pleased that he had gone. Later that evening, he said, “I have a twinge in my chest.”

“You often have twinges,” I offered.

“I know,” he said, “but this one is different.” I can’t recall his mentioning the twinge again. I was more concerned with my throbbing ankle.

In December of 1986, six months before we were married, Dick had undergone six arterial bypasses. His recovery was good. In 1993 he had a minor heart attack followed by angioplasty. Again he recovered well, attended his cardiac rehab program regularly, and usually watched his diet. Dick’s cardiologist considered the discomfort in one area of his chest a perfectly normal result of the surgery.

I often questioned whether a person with a heart condition should go scuba diving. What would he do if he had chest pain under water? He could not lie down, take a nitroglycerin pill, or call for help. I would ask, “Dick, what do your doctors say?” Dick would tell the doctor how relaxing the diving was for him, how good he felt in the water. Their response? According to Dick, while the doctors tried to discourage him, they did not go so far as to forbid it. Since his surgery, Dick had taken several major dive trips. The diving had presented no problems.

On Thursday morning we said good-bye to Karen and Leonard, who would be returning to Milwaukee the next day. We left for Maui, Dick hauling all his heavy dive gear and complaining about my luggage. We rented a car and drove to Wailea, a beautiful area, very quiet and elegant, and checked into our hotel.

The room assigned to us was practically below ground level, and Dick groused. He seemed unduly upset about this, so I called the front desk and requested a room change, which was promised for the next day. Then I turned on the TV, watched a video of all the restaurants on Maui, and jotted down a list of suggestions for dinners and activities I thought we would enjoy.

The first night we attended a luau at the hotel. The next morning we signed up for a plane trip on Sunday evening, our last night in Hawaii. We would fly over the Big Island and see active volcanoes. We agreed that this would be far more exciting than a long drive through mountains to see defunct craters with no fire.

Happier now, in a sunny room with a lovely view of the ocean, we went down to sit in the whirlpool before dinner. That evening we enjoyed one of our finest meals ever. When we walked into the restaurant, Dick looked around, grinned and said, “Now this is our kind of place.”

And it was—low-key, casual, with a large open grill. Our waiter made excellent suggestions. The salad and tapenade were so delicious that I requested recipes. Because I am a vegetarian, Dick and I rarely chose the same foods. I cannot remember any other time when we ordered dishes to split. But that evening we shared hors d’ouevres, salad, and entrée. Then we decided to splurge on a rich dessert, vanilla ice cream drizzled with melted chocolate and crumbled macadamia nuts—delicious! We were full and happy.

On Saturday morning we attended a time-share presentation and saw a lovely condo. I became enthusiastic. We learned that if you own a time-share on Maui, you have “Maui Power”—negotiable for any vacation, any time, any place. I was hooked and would have left a deposit on the spot. But Dick, more cautious and more resistant to sales pressure, was nowhere near ready. He told me he would research this further when we got home.

After viewing the condo, we toured a tropical plantation, where we saw how the flowers and fruit are raised on the islands. Then we drove to Lahaina, an old whaling village set along what seemed like one endless, sparkling green golf course. We decided to sign up for an afternoon whale-watching trip and, since we had a little time, we went to visit the Whalers Museum, which reminded Dick of diving and me of Moby Dick. During lunch Dick seemed a little tired, so I didn’t press him to go into the tempting boutiques.

With still an hour to wait for the whaling trip, we sat under the famous and amazing banyan tree. The branches have sprouted numerous trunks that have grown down into the soil so that this single tree covers a large park in the center of town. We watched tourists taking pictures of each other in front of the tree. Finally, we boarded the whale-watching boat. As we left the dock, we saw a large cruise ship, the Queen Elizabeth II. This turned out to be our best sighting of the day because apparently the whales were on a trip of their own. The boat ride was pleasant and made us ravenous.

Our dinner at Roy’s more than made up for the whale disappointment. Again we had a wonderful meal, and again we shared, course by course. “This is a good idea,” Dick said. “What made you think about sharing?”

“I thought we could each taste more different foods,” I told him.

Every course was special, but the dessert, a chocolate puff pastry filled with hot fudge and doused with whipped cream, was spectacular. Once more we were sated and pleased with our choice of restaurant and menu.

Back in the room, I went to bed while Dick sat on the balcony, reading and smoking a cigar. When he came to bed, the aroma came with him.

LAST DAY IN PARADISE

After his chilly dive in Molokai, Dick said that he probably would not dive in Maui. On Sunday morning, he told me he was taking his book down to the pool to read and suggested I join him when I was ready. A few minutes later he returned to the room, all smiles, obviously excited.

“Guess what—I’m going diving. They tell me the water is warm.” He changed into his wet suit and left for the dive shop.

With time to myself, I decided to take a walk along Hotel Row. I went downstairs and out the main door. Standing near the driveway was a young bellman, whose nametag identified him as Curtis. I asked him about the best route for someone with a sprained ankle. He suggested that I walk to the main road and then take the bus, which would stop at each hotel.

As I was about to leave, he said, “You know, you might just want to take the path along the beach. Lots of people walk there, and it’s a much prettier view.” That sounded better, so I went back through the hotel and started down toward the path, which led past the dive shop.

There was Dick, standing by the shop’s entrance, in his bright yellow and black dive suit. “Are you coming or going?” I asked.

“We’re just about ready to start.”

Dick, a dive guide, another man, and a young woman comprised the group.

“If I had thought about it, I could have brought the camera and taken your picture,” I said. The divers were ready to go, so I called out to Dick, “Have a fun time.”

Dick pointed to a nearby beach chair, “My stuff is over there. See you in a bit.”

I watched the divers head down an inclined path, maybe a hundred feet, toward the beach. It seemed a long way to carry all that heavy gear. I walked toward my path, looked over and saw the divers standing in the water. I blinked once and in that split second, they had all disappeared under the waves.

My walk lasted probably an hour and a half. I wandered into a few spectacular hotels and was amazed. Many people refer to Hawaii as Paradise—and for good reason. Every view delights the eye. From the canopies of the trees comes a constant cacophony of bird songs. The flowers are enormous, the air is perfumed, and the temperature is moderate. The sea is the bluest blue; the lava along the shore is the blackest black. The mountains seem happy just to be there, as do the people, who are friendly and helpful. I felt relaxed as I continued my solitary walk, anticipating a restful day, the adventurous plane ride, and maybe another grand dinner.

On my return walk, I met a couple we had seen on Molokai. The woman had just learned that her mother, aged 90, had died in Holland, and she felt so far away. I was struck at the thought of death in such a beautiful setting. It seemed incongruous. Did I shudder or recoil? Maybe. We chatted for at least fifteen minutes. By then I was anxious to be on my way; Dick would be wondering where I was.

As I neared the hotel, I saw several police cars huddled in a small parking area near the beach. Suddenly a woman in a dive suit pulled away from a crowd of bystanders. She was the woman from the dive group. She walked rapidly toward me.

“Aren’t you Dick’s wife?” When I said yes, she reached out and took my hand. She said quietly, “Something has happened.” A shiver of apprehension whipped through me.

Then she drew me toward a policeman, while explaining to me that Dick had had a problem coming up after the dive, that an ambulance had arrived to take him to the hospital. I shivered again, harder.

A policeman with a note pad started asking me questions, mostly about Dick’s medical history. The woman diver, who was growing impatient, finally said forcefully to him, “This woman needs to go to the hospital right now to be with her husband.”

Someone from the hotel said that a car was coming to drive me. While we waited, I knew that this was serious. The woman handed me a tiny piece of paper with her name and phone number. Julie. She asked that I call and let her know how things went. Finally a car arrived, driven by Curtis, whom I recognized. Paul, a pleasant, dark-haired young man who also worked at the hotel, accompanied us.

The ride seemed endless, probably thirty minutes, and the two men conversed quietly. Curtis talked about his trip to the ER earlier in the week when a falling ceiling fan hit his little boy on the head. At some point on the drive, after what felt like hours to me, I looked at the digital clock. 12:46. Curtis told me we were about halfway there. I tried to will the car to move faster. I was frightened. I tried to pray. I couldn’t.

When we arrived at the hospital, Paul volunteered to go in with me. He was tall and strong and kind, and I was grateful for his offer. The reception area was empty. After that long, terrible drive, no one was there to direct us. Finally, after several minutes, a woman appeared and ushered us into a small conference room where I sat down at a table. Paul stood behind me. The woman said, “I need to ask you some questions.”

“And I need to ask you a question—how is my husband?” By now I was scared and impatient.

“The doctor will be in shortly to talk to you. What is your husband’s social security number?”

“I haven’t the vaguest idea,” I mumbled, annoyed.

“What religion are you?”

“Jewish.”

A doctor appeared in the room. Paul put his hand on my shoulder. When I tried to stand, the doctor moved his hands, indicating that I should sit down.

“Please sit,” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t have good news.” I thought to myself, Dick must be very sick and they are treating him.

The doctor continued gently. “We did all we could, but we couldn’t save him. Your husband died.”

I froze. Then, I heard a long, high wail—coming from me.

Behind me, Paul, still holding my shoulder, began to cry.

After I had quieted somewhat, the doctor explained that Dick had received CPR in the ambulance and that the doctors had worked on him for forty minutes in the ER, but they were never able to get an electrical impulse. His heart would not beat on its own. For some reason I asked about the time of death: 12:43.

The doctor said what he could to comfort me, and then began talking about the medical examiner. What did he mean?

Minutes passed. I asked someone if I could see Dick. Yes, he was in a room down the hall. I stepped into the hallway and turned. Suddenly the doctor reappeared and asked where I was going.

When I told him, he put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Diane, Dick is not here. You are here, but he is not. I don’t think you want to see him. Remember him the way he was.” He guided me back into a reception room. I was never asked to identify my husband.

Someone asked if there was anything he could do for me. I asked for Dick’s watch, which he always wore. Someone brought it to me. I asked if there was a rabbi on the island. Someone left the room to find out. Then I asked for a phone. I was directed to a pay phone outside the building. My shaking fingers struggled to find coins and to press the buttons.

First I tried to call Dick’s sister Karen, ...