Five Years--seems like yesterday.......

It is said, when we quit looking for love, it will find us.  We both were to the point in our life when we were content to live alone.  Both had given up the superficial dating scene.  I guess, at that point, God decided we were finally ready to find each other.  There is no way we should have/could have met, if it hadn’t been for divine intervention.  

February 27, 2005.  Our first date at a lovely restaurant, after an hour, the waitress came and asked if there was something wrong with our food as neither one of us had eaten—so busy talking back and forth across the table in our booth.  Talking about our “broken roads”, so many of the same experiences.

He was the kindest, coolest, most loyal, trustworthy, honest, handsomest and faithful man I had ever known.  So much in common, it was like we had known each other for years and years. Never one disagreement in our 7 years together.  How could you disagree with someone who was just like you?  Same background, same ideals, same beliefs, same values.  It would be like disagreeing with yourself.

I have never believed in the whole “soul mate” stuff.  If it does exist, we had it. 

We had a wonderful, comfortable, content time together.  The only thing we didn’t have in common—he loved to watch NASCAR, I didn’t.  So, he’d watch and I’d sit in the chair next to him and crochet or cross stitch and make “YAY,” comments at appropriate times and be content.  I did love to watch softball, and a good thing as he played 3 nights a week.  We even got engaged before a softball game.  I will never remove the ring he slid on my finger.

Then, 2 days after Christmas 2011, he had to go to hospital for breathing problems. We had been through this before.  Three days later they decided--a “simple procedure” they said, to “Help him breathe and get the infection out of his lungs”.  I went down to the hospital, early New Year’s morning.  We talked and hugged, and then I had to leave his room, while they did the simple procedure

 “Love you, Honey,” he said. Gasping for air.  “See you soon.”  “I love you too, Sweetheart,” I said as I hugged and kissed him and walked out of his room.  We had been through these hospital scares so many times in our years together, but this time, something didn’t feel right to me. 

Five minutes later, the Respiratory Tech stepped out of his room, “We’ve got him on the breathing tube, he’s doing just fi….,” even before she got the whole sentence out of her mouth, the Code Blue announcement and blue light came on over his door—and I knew.  Sure, they tried to revive him—for 20 minutes they tried.  But I knew.

His nurse came out of his room, sobbing, and walked quickly around the corner.  His pulmonary specialist came out of his room, tears in his eyes as he held my hands and told me how sorry he was.   All of his care-givers, each time he was in hospital, had grown to admire and love him.  

Many of the same ones’ who had cared for him before, even Sarah, the nurse, who had taken care of him after his heart surgery- from the ICU floor below, was there that morning.  The many times he had been in that same hospital, on that same floor--even the aides had heard our love story.

They had heard he was to have the simple procedure, and wanted to be with him.  The familiar faces all came up to me.  They came with words of consolation, tears in their eyes.  I comforted them.

A Priest came and asked if I wanted to go back into the room so he could bless him.  I wondered to myself, “A priest?  We are both Protestants.”  But we were in a Catholic hospital, so I agreed.  It was a beautiful blessing.  The Priest made the sign of the Cross on his forehead.  At a time like that, it matters not, if it was a Vicar, a Minister, a Rabbi or a Priest.  We all love and serve the same Lord.

I bent over and smoothed back his hair, kissed his temple, laid my face against his cheek and whispered in his ear, “Be with God, Sweetheart, I’ll see you soon.”

As I drove home, with his belongings piled in the back seat of my car, I couldn’t even cry.  I just kept saying, “Thank you, God.  Thank you, God”, over and over, all the way home.  I was so grateful that I had finally known such a wonderful man who actually, truly loved me.

That morning, before I left for the hospital, I had put the invitations to his 70^th birthday party into the mail box.  I had rented a room at a beautiful restaurant. The party would be in just 15 days.  Everyone in our families had been invited. His two daughter's from Florida were flying in for the "party".  Little did they know, Fred had contacted his minister friend and we were to be married that afternoon.  I had my dress picked out.  I was going to order it on Monday, January 2nd.

When I got home, I got the invitations out of the mail box and threw them, forcefully, into the trash can. 

It would never be.

==============

It has been 5 years.  5 years is the cut-off date for “active grieving”, or so “they” say, but I don’t think we ever “get over” our loved ones death, especially a husband.  Yes, we learn to live with it and not grieve every single day, but that sadness stays in that spot in our heart and soul, and comes to the forefront of our mind on every yearly “sadiversary”.

It was the most beautiful 7 years of my life.  The memories help me—I still don’t cry, have never cried, because when I think of my Fred, it brings a smile to my face and all I feel is gratitude.

When we met, at our age, we talked about how every day was a blessing, and that if we only had a few years together, it would be okay.  Better a few years than not ever having any days together.  How lucky we were to even find each other.

How joyful and grateful I am for the time we had together.  Thank you, God.

I love you Sweetheart.  I’ll see you soon. 

Fredrick LeRoy Zuehlke

January 15, 1942

January 1, 2012