March 22, 2016 A Year Ago-

One year ago, we said good bye to Leland. He was the best man I have ever known; my high school sweetheart, husband,  father of my children, best friend and  love of my life. He left a void in our family life that yawns impossibly wide and deep.

 

It has been a year I could never have possibly imagined. His loss has shaken me to the core of my being. The sorrow has rolled over my broken heart in waves so deep I have felt I was drowning at times.  The loss of his companionship,  the tearing asunder a relationship that spanned more than two thirds of our lives, has been devastating.

 I miss so much about him.  When we walked through parking lots he would  drape his arm over my shoulder, grin as he steered me closer to the parked cars, and say "Stick with me and you'll be all right." I remember that each time I cross a parking lot now.  I miss going to church together, eating together, reading a book , camping, hiking to a waterfall or a view and many bike rides. I miss planning a trip together; his help packing for it or getting ready for company. I miss standing on the step waving good bye to our company, then walking back in the house together, his arm over my shoulders and mine around his waist. I miss him putting Sabbath music on for Friday night and building a fire. I miss the future we had planned and the trip to Hawaii we would have gone on this year for our 50th anniversary.  In short, I miss everything about him.

When Leland first died, I was immersed in the bewildering paperwork that had to be done and the planning for the memorial arrangements.  I was heartbroken and in a state of shock.

My world had shifted on its axis; the resulting earthquake had left permanent change in the landscape of my life.  Death brings a  shocking change of status from  being half of a married couple to suddenly widowed, and technically single.  CS Lewis said it best in a Grief Observed. Losing a partner is akin to the amputation of a limb. The stump heals and one is said to have "gotten over" it.  But while one has healed, life has changed forever. Everything must  be done differently to accommodate the loss.

I have learned that in the beginning there are no words to assuage the stunning shock of deep grief; of having half of one's soul suddenly amputated without anesthetic .  The sorrow is overwhelming.  I have come to understand that some people, even those who loved Leland and still love me, are unable to express themselves, but that does not mean they do not care.  There were others who wrote  sensitive  heartfelt notes and letters, most  of them men, which surprised and touched me deeply. There were two other young men who came to a party we had for Grant's going away to the army, who sat and talked with me about Leland with such understanding, it warmed my heart.

I have survived the dreaded year of firsts without him, the birthdays, our 49th anniversary and all the holidays.  March 22 is seared into our family's memory as the anniversary of his death, as well as Phoenix's birthday.  He is turning three this year, marking a year of delightful development missed by his Grandpa. 

The best birthday card this year came from Del and Chuck on Leland's birthday, remembering him, an  assurance they miss him too. Several women friends have come alongside, we have had lunches together, and heart to heart talks, which have warmed and comforted me.  My church families, both Goldendale and Riverside, have been wonderful and supportive.

I have learned, contrary to popular opinion, the stages of grief are not orderly.   Grief is messy, emotions are tangled and there is no neat finish. Time does not take care of anything. Rather, it takes time to do the work required; to heal and learn to move forward. There is a difference between moving on and moving forward.  Moving on implies leaving someone behind.  Moving forward means stepping into the new normal, keeping Leland in my heart, treasuring the memories and honoring him by living the rest of the life I have been granted in the best way I can. I do not yet know what that life will look like, for it is all new, and one I would never have chosen. Yet, we are told when we can see the end from the beginning, we would not choose to have been led any differently than we were.  I have yet to see that perspective, but believe I will someday.

The most important lesson this past year:  God is absolutely faithful and trust-worthy. Although He answered our prayers for healing with a decided no, He also gave many evidences of His care and planning for our lives.  In the midst of the deepest overwhelming storms of grief,  He has always cast some sort of a lifeline, in the form of a friend or family member sharing my sorrow or a calming sense of His presence bringing peace.

How am I?  I have been asked that question many times; in the beginning, especially, it was hard to answer.  The truthful answer was awkward so I mostly settled for "OK, thank you," knowing that most of the time that question is a ubiquitous greeting and no more. I grew to dread that question, always struggling with whether to be polite or honest; trying not to crumble into tears. These days, I am beginning to be able to answer truthfully that I am OK. Some days, I even smile and say "Fine, thank you," and I am, for God has gifted me with wonderful blessings of family, friends, and an absolute sense  of His trustworthiness.  I am often sad and sometimes still ambushed by grief, but the  storms are a little further apart, and the waves not quite so deep. When I cannot swim anymore, I know I can cry out to God and He will send a life line that will be just enough to get me through.

Before Leland was diagnosed and we began struggling with the ramifications of his illness, life seemed predictable; we looked forward to many  good years of retirement and  growing old together. Those expectations were rudely shattered and life so altered. I felt adrift,  and  hardly knew what or how to plan for anything. Everything I have understood as truth has been called into question these last 4 years,  especially this last one. I have decided to trust God; as mentioned above, He has shown Himself faithful, even when I do not feel it.  I understand He is still there patiently waiting for me to heal, to come out on the other side of this terrible storm. I know He has plans for my life and will make them clear at the right time.  Observation of the times in which we live gives me hope that prophecy is being fulfilled. Jesus will come soon and end this nightmare reign of sin and sorrow.   What a Day That Will Be!

2015 September 22 His Best Gift

When Leland breathed his last, 6 months ago today,  he left many gifts behind; the list is  long. I will share a few to illustrate his caring character.

His gifts to me began very soon in our relationship, while we were still in school; a poem from his heart, a gift of thought and time, one I treasured then, and now. It is hand written on a piece of lined paper, dated December 14, 1963, tattered on the  fold lines, fragile, and yellowed with time.

Dearest One,

Eileen, our friendship is short yet.

The time that I've known you not long.

The days since I met you are few ones,

Those days when fall came along.

That day at the picnic was one

of those days I will never forget.

Days that were filled up with happiness,

Happy like the girl that I met.

Blue eyes and a smile that can change you,

Make you happy though you want to be sad.

And when I think of you now, Eileen,

I think of the good times that we've had.

Well, I've talked long enough of these things.

But one more thing fore I go,

Eileen, I love and adore you!

And just can't help telling you so.

All my love for a wonderful girl,

Leland

1963/64  Junior year

1963/64 Sophmore year

This was the just first of many, some composed by him, others chosen because they reflected his feelings so well. In retrospect, the overly strict social policies of our school, while very frustrating, were an incentive to write, in order to communicate.  Memories were made and preserved which would  otherwise have been forgotten in the busyness of life and the mists of time.

We spent every moment together our small very strict boarding school would allow, supper seated at the same table with four others in the cafeteria once a week, mixed "play period" in the gym, prayer bands after vespers Friday nights.

Leland wanted us to have look-a-like shirts; even with his limited funds, he managed to buy them for us. They were white with black pinstripes; we wore them every "couples night." This would be considered corny today, and probably was then,  but we did not care. There would be others through the years, matching windbreakers and sweatshirts and red polo shirts for us and our three small kids. In later years, we would match his tie with a dress color  I was wearing; the last  time,  for Cherilyn's wedding.

After graduation sometime in the late summer, he began working with his dad and brother as part of a logging team, setting chokers and driving water truck. The pay was good- two dollars per hour, but there were many days they could not work, due to weather, or logistics. Consequently, by late fall when  he knew was to be drafted, he had very little money saved.  Nevertheless, he managed to surprise me with a  beautiful, petite, contemporary watch, engraved with my name on the back;  an engagement gift, the SDA equivalent of a ring in those days. I was proud to wear that little watch on my right wrist to let our small world know we were engaged. I still have that watch, though the  hands no longer run.

We were on a tight budget in the early years. We worked hard, delayed having children, and finally were able to have enough left over in the budget for personal allowances that we could spend as we wished. Happily, I spent mine; I don't remember on what. 

I do remember very well, however,  upon what Leland spent his. He came home with a lovely silver bud vase I had admired in a store where we had been shopping, causing me to feel cherished and loved, more than I ever dreamed possible.  I still have it, displayed on one of the shelves of his desk I am now using, a sweet reminder of those earlier days; of a powerful love that endured the storms of life, and withstood the test of time.

There was the the Christmas he gifted me with another vase, this one large, of cut glass crystal, and I wondered what I would do with it. Not aloud of course. But he knew me better than I knew myself. That beautiful vase held many large arrangements over the years,  sometimes filled with a surprise bouquet from him, other times with flowers from our garden. It has graced our dining room table, church services, weddings. and parties.  Most recently, it held a beautiful bouquet  in his favorite colors, lovingly arranged by Tina, for his memorial service. It is a very special vase indeed, infused with loving memories.

Leland possessed a generous heart.  Although the demands on his time were many with his job, a country home, and church responsibilities, he was never too busy to help the kids with a homework project, teach them to ride a bicycle, to drive, how to use the computer, camera, or recording equipment.  He always made time to help me with projects which I could not figure out on my own, and did not have the strength to accomplish without him.

To all outside appearances, Leland was an ordinary man, with an ordinary job, an ordinary family, ordinary activities. However he was extraordinary in his love for me and our family, spending his time, strength and money, to make our home a happy place.  In the end, his best gift was the gift of himself. He did not give of himself, thinking consciously it was a gift, however. It was who he was at the core of his being, a man of kindness, helpfulness, patience, integrity and honor; ready to ask forgiveness when needed, and quick to extend it. He was not wealthy in the usual sense of the word, but rich in the most essential qualities, and the ability to communicate his love to us in meaningful ways throughout all the years of his life.

  

2015 July 3 49th Anniversary 1st Without Him

Add caption

 Our 48th Anniversary, July 3, 2014, the last one we would share,  a ride through the beautiful Columbia Gorge and lunch at Multnomah Falls,  We did not know for sure this would be the last one, but were beginning to suspect it could be.

49th Anniversary

48 Anniversaries, we celebrated every one
beach trips, mountains, dinners
all of it so much fun,

But for the first time you are not here

How can I celebrate without

you dear?There is no answer

For you are not here

On this anniversary,
to the cemetery I will go,
to place a vase full of flowers
on your grave just so

among the myriads of flags
for those who served .

You are there among them, it's true

just one of thousands;
 but my eyes and my heart
 see only you.

Instead of a trip to the beach

 with just we two,

I will go with our dear children who

Have been so caring of me,

but we will be missing you the whole day through

How can I survive this day?  I don't know.

I've survived other bad days it's true.
 By the grace of God, I believe somehow,

He will get me through this one too.

My love is gone, my mind tells me this,

the multitude of changes,

 The silence, the emptiness,

after being one with you nearly 49

years, tells me so.

 My heart though, resists.

"This can't be all, its only a bad dream

You'll wake up soon

and he will be right here".

The books call it denial,

say it's a protective device

to keep grief from overwhelming

one. To be concise,

 I am in a sort of

denial, although I have done all

that is expected of a widow. 

How I hate that word!

This aloneness anticipated  for 3 years

is worse than I could ever imagine.

Is more life changing than any of my fears

this loss of my dearest companion.

I was the Ivy, you were the Tree

supporting sheltering

loving me

Strong, wonderful, perfect for me

And tomorrow when we are by the sea

without you, I will remember

I was the Ivy, but You were the tree.

My Tree, fallen, cut up, cremated,

 I, the Ivy, torn away, bruised,

 deprived, decimated

slowly learning this uprooting

I will survive,

I was the Ivy but you were the Tree

in the dear distant past you supported me.

Our love is not dead

it is only on hold.

Our Father promises all things new.

His plan He will in time unfold.

That includes me dear, and especially you.

Till death do us part?

 Only physically it seems, for you

live still  in the center of my heart.

                                 Flowers from my Sweetheart on our last Mother's Day together, 2014.

Basic At Seventeen

Basic At Seventeen

He's tall, He's buff,

He's strong, and he's tough

on the outside,

this grandson of mine,

teetering on the edge of manhood

at seventeen.

He's up early today,

3 AM to be exact.

Not his usual practice.

This day looked forward to

worked for and suddenly dreaded.

He's only seventeen.

Too soon its 4 AM.

He's ready.

Jacket, jeans, very small bag

minimum necessities

short cropped hair.

We go outside with him

waiting for his ride

in the summer predawn darkness.

 Solar lights cast their starburst

lights on the driveway and lawn.

The birds have just begun their

insistent chirping high in the trees.

Car lights at the end of the street.

His ride is here.

Short quick hug.

Bye  Gramma.

Longer hugs for Mom and Dad.

He's only seventeen.

Sergeant Robinson has his 

Orders,

will take him to the airport,

drop him off with money for meals.

He will catch his first flight alone

Without the security of parents

or grandparents,

At the age of seventeen.

The Sergeant exchanges pleasantries

with us,  gives Grant his orders.

 We, his parents and grandma,

watch as the lights  disappear

down the street,

taking our pride and joy

on the first leg of his quest

to serve our country,

at the age of seventeen.

The house lately filled with happy

 laughter, conversation

and a fruitless hunt for his glasses,

is suddenly too quiet again.

We are already anticipating

his return after Basic is completed.

One very large step into manhood.

He'll be stronger, confident, mature

He will have survived Shark Attack and

Basic Training , Drill Sergeants,

and his first birthday without his parents,

this newly minted Private VanTassel,

of the United States Army Reserve.

Prayers will follow him every day

for safety and success.

When he returns home, full of stories

at which we will laugh together,

he'll be another step closer to manhood

at the age of eighteen.

We're proud of you, Grant.

We love you.

2015 May 9 -A Love Expressed Part II

Thank you Mark for helping me make this overdue change to the blog.  The new title was suggested  teasingly by him and I  instantly liked it because it is an ongoing joke in our family- and was when Leland was still with us. He would like it, as my glasses are the subject of at least one treasure hunt every single day!

To be notified by e-mail when a new blog is posted, let me know, by email, by FB private message or a phone call. 

A Love Expressed Part II

  Leland graduated from Columbia Adventist Academy in June of 1965. I elected not  to return, partly for financial reasons, but mostly because I wanted the freedom to see my Sweetheart whenever it was possible for us to be together, as we lived 150 miles apart with our parents. I enrolled in night school, while working full time at United Medical Laboratories.  Leland worked with his Dad and brother in the woods, hoping to go to Walla Walla College and take electronics.  However, he was drafted in December of that same year, 1965, and left on the 8th of December.  He was drafted as a non-combatant and  trained as a medic for a Battalion Aid Station. When his basic and AIT (Advanced Individual Training) were over, he was stationed at Ft Irwin California with an Artillery Unit, training for Viet Nam. 

The exchange of folded notes for nearly two years at school, became a flood of letters, first from Redmond to Portland, then from Ft. Sam Houston, a couple from Ft. Lewis, and the rest from Ft Irwin, in the southern California dessert.  How I haunted the mailbox for a letter from him!  My hope was almost always rewarded; he was very faithful with his writing.  Those letters, recently removed from the box where they have resided for nearly 49 years, are very precious to me.  They were at the time they were written, for they spoke of hope, of love, of plans for our future, and of anticipation.  I treasured those letters, with their sometimes misspelled words, written on whatever paper he could find.  They told me the news, what he had done that day, but more importantly of his love for me.  I read them over and over, and answered quickly.  By the next day or so, another one would arrive, and I would pore over it, again and again.

In this age of cell phones, unlimited long distance and texting, a courtship carried on by snail mail is almost incomprehensible. But those technical advances were still many years in the future for us. The US mail was all we had; that and a very occasional long distance phone call that was definitely outside our slim budget. Stamps were 5 cents for regular mail, and 8 for airmail.  We opted for the extra 3 cents in order to get our mail one day sooner.

On a cold November night, 1965, before he was drafted,  Leland had come to see me in Portland.  We went out together that night, I don't remember where, but I do remember that we ended up on Mt. Tabor overlooking the city lights.  He parked the car, I slid into his arms and we exchanged a few lingering kisses. He then told me how much he loved me, and asked me to be his wife.  I said yes, he reached under the seat, took out a  little box and opened it to reveal a very pretty,  modern little watch ( the SDA alternative to an engagement ring). He  placed it on my right wrist and we were officially, engaged.  It was a delightful surprise, not the proposal, I was expecting that at some time, but the manner, the timing and the watch were all unexpected. That was his style, he loved surprises, and was very good at keeping his secret until time to reveal his plans. 

We had no money, he was to be drafted in December, and most likely sent to Viet Nam.  I was still in my senior year, going to night school and working during the day.  My wages were 1.65 per hour and  I was  helping my parents out by giving them one hundred dollars per month room and board.   We had no idea when we would be able to be married and support ourselves.  The only certainty we had was our love for each other and a determination to be together, whatever that would take.

 All of our wedding plans were carried out  through the US Mail, one letter at time. It was difficult to plan our wedding without a date. We were uncertain when  he could get a leave to come  home; the consequences of a probable pending deployment to Viet Nam, and not enough  money  were a constant concern.  But with all of those issues there was also  the sweet anticipation of knowing that when  the details were finally worked out, we would be married and together for the rest of our lives.

 We were married  July, 3, 1966 on a cool rainy day in Portland at the Village Church.  It was the best and happiest of days!

Now, after nearly 49 years of happy marriage to my best friend, lover, and father of our children, those letters and notes are doubly precious to me. The envelopes are  ragged on the edges, torn open by eager fingers, and yellowed with age.  They speak of  promises kept, dreams fulfilled, a love that matured and became more precious as the years went by, living now only in my memories, and in my heart. They spark memories of a life well lived, and  remind me that I am a fortunate woman to have been loved by a man such as he, faithful, loyal, true to his family and to his God.  Never were promises  of love more faithfully kept than by my Sweetheart.

The world would not judge these letters as great prose, but to me, outside of the Bible, they are the most precious words ever penned; I will treasure them in my heart for as long as I draw breath.

A Love Expressed

A Love Expressed

Love letters are a wonderful means of communication; when a couple is apart,  or perhaps is unable to speak the words one wishes to say, or just as a lovely surprise for the loved one.

I was the happy recipient of many such delightful letters in the 2 and a half years we went together before our marriage.  We were in a SDA Boarding school when we met; it was definitely against policy for us to spend much time together.  The time we were able to spend was strictly controlled and limited.  Of course, teenagers in a boarding school must be closely chaperoned. But mere rules will not suffice to keep two hearts apart which are  meant to be together.

Our first meeting was in the summer, at school.  I was there working to earn my entrance fee. It was lunch time, when into the cafeteria came Leland, his brother Norm and their Dad.  I was not sure who they were, but thought maybe they were Lamar VanTassel's brothers.  He had been my Pathfinder leader, and had told me about them.  They went through the boy's line and I went through the girls line.  We ended up at tables beside one another, and Leland pulled out my chair for me.  I had never been the recipient of such a courtesy before, and was impressed.  I said thank you, we smiled at each other and sat down to eat at our respective tables.  I sneaked several glances at him as we ate, and noticed he did the same to me, but no more words were exchanged that I can remember. 

Several weeks later, when school began, there he was again.  Our class schedules did not mesh, he being a junior, and I a sophomore, but we did see each other in cafeteria each day;  always caught each other's eye and smiled. 

A few days after school began, the traditional ASB (Associated Student Body) all school picnic,  was held at Lewisville Park.  We all milled around the central structure, which is still there.  I was sitting on a log talking with my roommate. Leland and his brother and some friends were hanging around the area, standing in front of us.  I could not help but notice him-which I am sure was his intent!  An event was announced on the field below us, and before I could even rise from the log, Leland stood in front of me, stepped gently on my toe, and said "let's go."  That was all it took; we spent that entire happy day together, not yet knowing it was only the first of thousands.  We talked so easily, of many things as we participated in the planned activities.  By the end of the day, when we loaded up on the buses, and went back to the dorms, I was very sure he was the nicest boy I had ever met.
  

Once a week was couples night, when rather than the usual assigned seating, we choose with whom we wished to sit.  Leland asked me to sit with him at the very next Couple's night, which may have been the first one of that school year, 1963/64. I, of course, said yes. We were immediately once again in tune with one another. There was never a lack of subjects to discuss in getting to know each other under the very watchful eye of the faculty members.

Two hearts destined for a lifetime together will find a way to communicate-even when frowned upon.  So began the notes to each other.  Who wrote the first one? Undoubtedly it was Leland, for most girls waited for the guy to make the first official move in those days. I was no exception to that rule, but I do remember making very sure that he knew I liked him!  It was entirely mutual, though, as he also gave me no doubt that he found me very attractive as well

Very soon in our relationship, one of the girls who was in his class came to me and told me to leave him alone. "He will break your heart," she said, "he has another girlfriend in California that he really cares for."  I thought about that, but decided I was here, and she was there, and I would just see what happened.  We must have talked about it at some point, because in one of the  notes he slipped to me very soon thereafter, he told me he had said his good-byes to Lavonne, because he was really liking my company very much. Thus began the relationship with the love of my life.  I was only 15, he 17, but the love we first expressed through those notes has lasted a lifetime.
 

The notes we exchanged while at school, were all on some sort of lined paper, usually torn out of a composition book, or a steno pad.  They were always folded in quarters vertically, then folded into a small square, with the edges tucked into a diagonal fold. They were quite compact that way, easy to carry in a pocket and slip into an eager hand, or ask a roommate to give to his brother/roomate,  who would then give it to him.  Those notes could not be  passed  openly,  for fear a faculty member would demand to see it.
 

There are those who might laugh or snicker at those notes, and at us for being so young and so serious about our relationship.  I would not advise it today, but it worked very well for us.  We wrote many notes to each other,  went to every couples night, and every mixed play period we were allowed to attend  together.  When Christmas time came, the school went Ingathering on weekend  evenings. Different church members deemed responsible, volunteered to take out small groups in their cars, for caroling and collecting money for disaster relief.  Was that an opportunity!  We of course went, and managed to sit side by side in the back seat.  It was dark, and it was there we exchanged our first kiss.  I don't remember much more about that caroling season, nor who the driver was, nor with whom or what we sang, but I do remember those delicious kisses!

The notes continued through that year, and the next, our last year there. We were enabled to communicate thoughts and feelings, dreams and desires through those notes that we would have been unable to otherwise.  One day a few weeks before his graduation,  we risked a few moments to talk  after class right in front of the AD building.  I remember he told me he was nearly to the first of two major goals.  I asked what they were, and his reply was "to graduate from here, and marry you!"

To be continued....