Around the Bluhmin’ Town

By

Judy Bluhm

The stars have lost their sparkle.

The sun has dimmed its light.

The moon has stopped its glimmer.

The world does not seem right.

Some moments take our breath away. Grief is the result of love. And it is not gentle when it comes quickly and shatters our sense of well-being. Hearts can break into a million tiny pieces. Our mind cannot grasp what the heart already knows.

After we lose a loved one, there is a conspiracy among inanimate objects that remind us that “our person” is gone. The favorite coffee mug that sits empty. A robe hanging on a hook. A car in the garage that you must walk past. The loved one’s cell phone that keeps going off, to let you know that a prescription is ready to pick up that will never be needed.

As a former registered nurse, I know about “the telling moment.” That’s when you are “told” the very last thing that you ever wanted to hear. Professionals try to “tell it gently,” however, it often feels like the words are coming out like bullets flying. Do not say something that will break my heart!

I noticed that when the “incident” happened with Doug, that I suddenly had a house full of sheriffs, paramedics and firemen. I sat quietly in my kitchen, already knowing what I knew and realized that the microwave clock was ten minutes slow, so I reset it. Also, a lamp shade on a table in the living room looked crooked. Better fix that. Oh, and let’s not forget that there were a few glasses in the sink that needed to be put away.

Hey, maybe I should just mop the floor while I am at it. The kind sheriff told me to “call someone.” Okay, but it is four-thirty in the morning! Daughters and grandsons are sleeping. I will just wait a little while. And clean the top of the stove because I thought I detected a spot. Eventually, I saw what I will never forget. Doug was carried away, American flag draped over him. House empty.

I was sitting in my kitchen with a cup of coffee, wondering what I should do next. Lost, crushed and numb, I just sat watching the dawn breaking and felt annoyed that a new day had the nerve of starting when he was no longer here. A bird was singing. I asked God to give me some sort of message. Tell me what to do next. And then I heard the distinctive air brakes and squeal of the garbage truck rumbling up my street. I dashed into the kitchen, grabbed the garbage bag, ran and got the can and pulled it out to the curb. Just in time.

And that is the message. The sun will come up. Life’s little mundane tasks are sometimes the only resemblance of reality. Chores won’t mend a broken heart. Yet, they are little steps that keeps us moving forward.

So, after the garbage run, I got my phone to call my family and sat at the kitchen table. Because now I had the “telling” to do.

Doug Scott, Judy’s husband of 43 years, passed away suddenly on October 1.

Judy Bluhm is a writer and a local realtor. Contact Judy at [email protected] or visit www.aroundthebluhmin’town.com