Category Archives: Uncategorized

Love Him or Leave Him

Cuba was vividly alive … the people, the flowers, the ocean, and also the experiences that came my way.  Sometimes the contrasts were huge, and took my breath away.

One day I went on a catamaran trip.  On the outward leg, there I was in my Speedo, watching the waves and talking to a delightful woman.  All was good.  I had developed a pinched nerve in my neck a week before flying, but big drugs seemed to be doing the job.  I had a delicious lobster lunch with another woman and her daughter, and then settled in for the return trip.

Then the pain.  Starting in my left shoulder and then blasting down my arm.  On the scale of pain, where 0 is nothing and 10 is excruciating, mine started at 5.  No sweat.  Half an hour later, it was steady at 7 with bursts to 8.  Up and down my arm.  My face was a grimace.  I just about crushed my upper left arm with my right hand.  I moaned inside.  And I rocked forward and back.

The depth of these moments was the fact that no one except the captain came over to see how I was.  None of the folks I had talked to.  No couples.  No pretty girls.  No friendly senior citizen.  No one.  Within the physical pain was a horrible loneliness, an abandonment.  I knew that there really was nothing medicinal that anyone could do.  I just had to wait the rest of the four hours between allowed medication consumption.  But I needed a friend, someone to touch me, hold me, talk to me.

Could it be that everyone was so tied up in their own world, so engaged with their loved ones, that no one noticed my agony?  I don’t know. I guess that’s possible but I don’t believe it.  That sunny Cuban afternoon I lost some faith in my fellow man.  And I was so sad because of that.  To feel such sorrow that could outstrip my 8 out of 10 was remarkable.  Stunning.  Moments somehow to cherish.

Day two.  The meds had done their job.  It was evening.  And there was a street carnival in the village beside my hotel.  Maybe 200 of us dancing and getting soaked by the foam machine.  My newfound Sudbury friends were there, and we boogied.  One precious woman, Liz, was trying to rein in my dancing.  Such fun.  I tend to close my eyes and throw my body parts every which way.  Liz would take the first two fingers of her right hand and point them at her eyes … a gesture to get me to open the lids.  Again and again, she pointed.  I kept my eyes open for awhile.  I’d close my eyes.  Liz would say “Bruce” and start pointing again.  Then she’d gesture to have me contain my wild flailings, to dance like a normal human being.  Such a great person, that Liz.

After the festivities wound down, it was time to walk home and I set off.  I had had just one drink but I was tired.  In the village square, I had a few steps to climb.  It was dark and I missed a step – my toe hit the riser and I flew forward, schmucking my head, elbow and hip.  For a few seconds, I lay on the cement, stunned.  I saw blood.  As I tried to come out of the swirl in my head, I heard for the first time in my life my name yelled:  “Bruce!”  It was Amy, another lovely Sudbury friend.  The next thing I knew, hands were under my arms, dragging me to my feet.  I slumped to a bench.  And then Amy, Angel and Tristan were right beside me.  They were going to walk me home to my hotel bungalow.

Amy held my left hand in her right one and I stumbled along the path to my bungalow.  The pain and the wooziness opened me to my sorrow, and I cried for Jody.  Sob after sob.  My loved one was no longer touching me.  I was alone.  And yet these new friends buoyed me up.  They loved me.  They would not let me fall.  They saw who I was.

Eventually we reached my bungalow and climbed the steps to my room.  Amy, Angel and Tristan sat me on my bed and said they wouldn’t leave until they were sure I was all right.  Amy got some toilet paper for the cut on my hand.  I hugged each of them.  “Thank you for helping me.”  I think they all smiled.  And then they were gone … but their kindness lingered for hours.

So there you have it.  Two days in the life of this tiny human being.  Loved and lost.  Life displayed in rich colours.  Both days to be cherished.

Thank you, Cuba.

 

Crying for Jody

Dearest friends,

When do I stop crying for my lovely wife Jodiette?  I don’t know.  I cried nearly every day in Cuba and now at home.  I’m crying right now.  I miss Jody so much.  She lets me know all the time that she’s beside me, and I feel her there.  But if only I could touch her, hold her hand, rub her feet.  I love you, Jodiette.

Part of me thinks that I should have dried up by now, but a wiser part respects a far deeper timing of love.  Oh my goodness, how can I write this e-mail?  But then, how can I not?  Oh life wife!  How I miss you.  It’s not that I need you beside you to make me whole and complete.  I’m just so sad that you’re not sharing the physical joys of this planet with me anymore.

(Long pause for tears)

Oh my dear.

I got home on Friday evening with really swollen legs.  When I left for Cuba, I weighed 165.  Once home, it was 185.  I sure didn’t eat that much food!  I went to Emergency in St. Thomas yesterday morning to get some relief and to rule out the nastiness of a new blood clot.  And I’m fine.

As I waited behind my curtained cubicle, attired in a resplendent back-to-front hospital gown, I broke down in sobs.  When the doctor came in to see me, she placed her hand on my back as I cried.  And cried.  She didn’t have to say a thing right then.  It was a precious moment.

(I’ve stopped crying now)

(Starting again)

How can I love another human being so very much?  It’s easy.  It’s natural.  It feels good.  And Jody deserves it.

One evening in Cuba, there was a street carnival.  Maybe 200 folks showed up to dance.  I enjoyed meeting up with some newfound friends from Sudbury, who were on Cayo Santa Maria for a wedding.  I also enjoyed getting deluged with foam.   It helped the legs slip slide away on the cement street.  After the festivities, I started walking home to the hotel.  In the dark, I missed a step and went flying forward, hitting my head, elbow and hip.  I lay there stunned for a few seconds.  The next thing I knew, Amy, Angel and Tristan were helping me get home.  As Amy supported me, holding my left hand in her right, I tottered down the road.  And then I exploded in sorrow for my wife.  Sobs upon sobs.  Being loved by Sudburians and loving my Jodiette … how marvelous.  Despite my pain and wooziness, the trip home to my room was an experience that I will remember for the rest of my life.  The Beatles were right … love is all there is.

***

Jody had a lot to say to me on the beach.  I expect that some of you believe that I’m just talking to myself, and it’s fine if you think that.  But that is not my experience.  Here are some words from my darling:

But I am with you, dear husband.  I’m holding you as you speak.  You so much deserve all the beauty of your resort.  I’m marvelously happy for you.  My blessings, dear one.

(More crying)

***

Don’t worry.  I’m not farther away from you compared to the first few days after my death.  It’s just different.  You’ve largely stopped crying.  And that’s okay.  You don’t love me a smidgeon less than before.

I’m interested in your meditation retreats coming up, especially the three month one.  What will that do for you?  It’s miraculous to even think about it.

[Yes, I’m going on an 84-day silent meditation retreat from September 12 till December 5, 2015.  I also wonder what I will be like at the end of it.]

***

How I miss you, my darling!  Your touch, your smile, your company.  I know you’re in some fine place, watching over me.

I am indeed, dear husband.  I am with you always.  I caress you while you sleep.  I kiss your mouth.  How I love you, Brucio!

***

We will never be apart, Bruce.  And someday our physical bodies will touch again.  Go love the world, Bruce … Go dance on the beach.

***

And so I did dance on the beach.  And had many conversations with people from all over.

This e-mail, along with a few others over the last month, has gone to two audiences:  you wonderful folks who have prayed for Jody and me since November, 2013; and the people who read my blog at brucearcherkerr.com.  There’s much more that I want to say about my time in Cuba, but that’s appropriately said on the blog.  Listen in if you like.

For you local friends, I hope that you’ll come to Jody’s Celebration of Life on January 31, 2015.  I’ll e-mail you before then with directions and no doubt a few more thoughts about my beloved wife.

I was disappointed that the announcement of Jody’s celebration didn’t appear in the newspaper as scheduled on Saturday, December 6.  It did show up on December 9 and 10.  Oh well.

I’m not crying now, but I know that the tears will return.  I love Jodiette too much for them not to.

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah.  May you and your loved ones be bathed in peace and love.

I love you all,

Bruce

 

Words from Jody’s Mouth

Dear kindhearted ones,

In four hours, I’m driving to London, then getting on a bus to Toronto, and then a plane to Cuba.  I’m so excited!  And Jody’s going with me.

I remember my dear wife in many ways.  One of my favorites is reading what she has written.  The human being, in all her glory and pain, shines from the page.  Here are some snippets that I hope you’ll enjoy:

***

On June 25, 2014, we celebrated our 26th anniversary:

Dear Bruce:

I love you completely, without reservation, and my heart sings with happiness when you are with me.

***

And to a dear friend in April, 2014:

I hope you enjoy this pouch that was made to help you carry both jewelry, money and important papers when you are travelling … I hope you find it extremely useful.

We love you dearly,

Jody and Bruce

 ***

In the midst of great sickness:

I don’t want to be alone.

(To Bruce)   Fuzz top

Oh, Bruce. I’m so glad you’re here.

 ***

Bruce: May I go outside and get the paper first?

Jody:  No.  You have to sit here and smile … Of course you can get the paper.

 ***

A letter to herself at the end of a meditation course:

I need to pay attention to ME!  Everything else will naturally get better … I am naturally a happy person … I don’t have to get sucked into the situation or stay that way for long.  I do have the ability to create distance from the issues.

***

Bruce: Hello, loved wife.

Jody: Hello, loved husband.  I love you so dearly.

 ***

Bruce: I wish we’d had kids.

Jody: I’m sorry that we didn’t.

Bruce: You would have been a good mother.

Jody: You would have been a fantastic father.

 ***

And as Jody got weaker:

Jody: I need to have somebody help blow my nose.

Bruce: Pick me.

 ***

A letter to her grandmother on October 31, 2014 shows the soul beyond the limitations of time:

It’s been a long time.  I realize that it’s been a long time since we’ve said hello so saying goodbye seems like a funny thing to do.

***

 A couple of weeks before Jody died:

I’m more than happy to comply with your wishes, kind sir.

***

 Two days after Jody died:

I am with you, husband, in a way you can’t comprehend from your side.

 ***

Lovely phrases all.  I’m so glad that I get to hold onto many of Jody’s words.  And I’m sure we’ll talk lots in Cuba.

On Saturday, December 6, 2014, there’ll be an announcement about Jody’s Celebration of Life in the London Free Press and in the St. Thomas Times-Journal.  It will be held at 11:00 am on Saturday, January 31, 2015 at Bellamere Winery in London.  I thought long and hard about whether to include in the ad something funny Jody said to me.  Well, heck, it’s a celebration isn’t it?  So the funny stuff now sits there, waiting for your laughter on Saturday morning.  I’ll be on the beach at the time, reading The Book Thief.  I dearly hope that I’ll see you in January.  Jody deserves a big crowd.

I love you all,

Bruce

Lunch with Jody

Dear inspiring ones,

It’s been 13 days since I’ve probed my laptop keyboard with these digits … Wow.  First sentence and it feels like I just don’t have it.  But one of my joys in life is to communicate, so I will keep going.

Since Jody’s death, my life has been covered with crying, flatness, a pinched nerve in my neck, pain often about 6 or 7 out of 10, and the dullness that the pain meds have given me.  More importantly, this little life of mine has received a huge flow of love … face to face, on the phone, and in my Inbox.  Thank you for loving me.

Twenty-six of us shared a meal last Saturday.  Twenty-five told Jody stories, animated with great love.  The 26th human being cried a lot and couldn’t bring words forward into the group.  So … all of us let our inner heart shine.

At one point, I stood up and started singing “Annie’s Song”, a piece that I sung to Jody for 20 years or more.  A few words into the singing, my grief blanketed the phrases.  But people heard, and many of them continued the song.  “Like a night in the forest.  Like the mountains in springtime.”  I’ve always added a special verse, but after “May the road rise to meet you”, everything tightened again.  And once more, kind souls held me with their singing.  How blessed I am to receive such love.

Julie, our family doctor, spoke of how well prepared Jody was for her appointments, armed with pertinent questions about her medical well-being. Many folks reflected on Jody’s smile, and on how she brightened their day.  It was family around the dinner table.

I played a YouTube video of Cyndi Lauper singing “True Colors”, one of Jody’s favourites.  She loved singing it with the SingStar microphone poised by her lips.  I see the song as a request from Jody to all who loved, and love, her.  “Of course you have tears for me.  May your smile return soon.  I love you because you show me what’s true for you.  You speak and act as an expression of the great soul you are.  I’m so glad you do that.”

Wow. I’m all drugged up.  I sure wouldn’t want this to be my daily life.  I think I’ve had enough writing for today.  But it is a blessing for me to speak with you again.

Oh, one more thing.  I said in my last e-mail that I’d respond to all of the messages I received after Jody went back into the hospital.  There’s about 300 of them, and I’ve said hi to 25.  I expect that I’ll get a few e-mails saying “Don’t bother.  Take care of yourself.”  The thing is, though, talking to you is taking care of myself.  So I will write to all of you who wrote me.  Just not right now.  Is answering an e-mail a month after I got it too weird?  Oh well.

Second more thing. I’m going to Cuba for two weeks, from December 5 till December 19.  I’m going alone.  Haven’t gone on a vacation by myself since my 20s.  The hotel didn’t even charge me a single supplement.  Yay!  I’ll be staying at the Memories Paraiso Azul Beach Resort, on Cayo Santa Maria, an island just off the northern coast of Cuba.  For part of my time there, I will be silent.  A lovely meditation retreat on the beach, on the jungle paths, in the dining room.  For another part of the time, I will be anything but silent.  I love talking, and I’m going to gab with all sorts of folks from all sorts of Canada, Cuba and the world.  Jody thinks it’s a great idea.  Me too.

And the third more thing.  Jody’s Celebration of Life will be held at 11:00 am on Saturday, January 31, 2015, at the Bellamere Winery in the northwest corner of London.  For all of you within easy travel, I hope you’ll come, and perhaps speak of my lovely wife.  Our room has beams and panels of vibrantly brown wood, with a vaulted ceiling animated by tiny chandeliers.  A good space for honouring Jodiette.

I will talk to you soon.  Travel well.

I love you all,

Bruce

Humbling

Oh, to let myself be exactly as I am in the moment!

Today my friend Leslie invited me to join her and a few of her friends for breakfast.  It had been over a year since I’d gone out for breakie.

For most of the meal I did fine, chipping in during the conversation, and telling the folks some of the plans I have in my head.  And then suddenly my four companions were off like a speeding bullet into topics that clearly were old favourites.  I couldn’t handle it.  I was overwhelmed with all the words and just wanted to be with Jody.  How I faded away.  From inside came the parental voice “Be better company!”  But I couldn’t and wouldn’t.  I let go of social appropriateness and lost track of Bruce in society.  I allowed myself to go away.

Later in the day, my friend Neal and I planned to deliver Jody’s hospital bed to Lynne, one of her former colleagues whose husband was having breathing problems.  Gosh, that was a heavy so-and-so, and I wrenched my back as we hauled it out to Neal’s truck.  Big muscle spasms.

I was a hurting unit when we pulled into Lynne’s driveway.  “Pull your weight, Bruce!” screamed the inner critic, but I couldn’t and wouldn’t.  Sure I helped some but really it was the Neal and Lynne show.  I was feeling sad and feeble as we got the bed set up.  And again I chose to let go … of performance, of participation, of ego.

Two emptinesses in one day.  But it’s okay, Bruce.  You’re merely a fragile human on a little green and blue planet.

Crazy in Love

I’m talking to Jody all the time.  Here are some things she’s said to me over the past few days:

I’m right in front of you, Bruce.

I love you too, Bruce.  I wish I could shower you with kisses.

I’m okay, husband.  I’m worried about you.

Bruce, don’t censor what you’re saying to me.  I’m right here with you.  I love you.  Let it all come out.  I’ll listen.  We’ll talk.

I am here, dear one.  I’ll always be here.

Thank you for selecting such fine songs for my service.  They’re among my favourites.  You’ve always showed me your true colours, Bruce.

Gray eyes.  I haven’t called you that in a long time.

I wish I could touch you, Bruce.

Read to me, Bruce … from the story.  May I read to you for the rest of my life?  Please do.  I love the stories.

For months now, I’ve read aloud to Jody, mostly Stephen King.  She’s loved it and so have I.  It’s so much fun to create different voices for each character.  It was last night that Jody asked me to read to her again.  So I cradled The Waste Lands, the third book of King’s opus The Dark Tower, and picked up where my lovely wife and I had left off more than a week ago.

Only for a second did I think I was strange, reading out loud while sitting “alone” in our family room.  Only for a second do I question my sanity as the words between us flow out of me and onto the pad of paper.  Only for a second will I settle for a life without mystery and grace.

And tonight’s chapter was pretty cool too.

 

 

Lost A Bit

I write because I want to touch people, to give them a little of me, so maybe they’ll pass on a little of themselves to others.  But right now, I don’t know what I have to give.  I miss Jody so much.  I cry a lot when I’m alone.  So why am I writing to you now?  Shouldn’t I just take a few days off for myself?

“But, Bruce – this typing is for you, even if it feels like you have nothing to say.”

I guess I’ll sit here and see if anything comes.  If it doesn’t, I’ll just say goodnight.

***

So much of my experience is silent.  Big moments seep through.  Like now.  I’m just so quiet.  Jody is here.  I long to touch her, to stroke her cheek, to brush her hair, to rub her feet.  My brain wants to go to the empirical evidence for life after death but the soul within me just wants to hold and be held.  My hand moves naturally to cover my heart.  My cheeks sag.  Where did my bones go?

Wow.  I have nothing to say.  There are no words that can add to the moment I’m in.  And so …

Goodnight

I Welcome You Everywhere

Dear WordPress readers,

I’m sending this post both to you and to the many folks that I’ve e-mailed for a long time about Jody.

***

Dear ones,

Yesterday I had a bunch of errands to run – meet with the funeral director, get Jody’s rings cleaned, arrange for a plaked 24×36 version of the beautiful obituary photo, and go to the restaurant to discuss menu and room arrangements.  It seems that I needed a little spurt of busyness.

I started driving towards London and began crying.  I’m doing that a lot when I’m alone.  Somewhere on the highway, Jody talked to me, words that were astonishing:

It’s not just the big beautiful tree on Bostwick
I am all trees, Bruce
I welcome you everywhere

And I cried some more.  Trees passed me on the left and on the right.  Big ones.  Small ones.  A few with leaves, others with needles, and many with bare branches.  My darling wife was there with me all the way, everywhere I turned.

Words now fail me.  It is Jody … bowing to me, kissing me, clapping for me, and smiling.  I am so blessed.  I love you, my dear.  And as our nephew Jagger would say, “until the end of space”.

Last night, when I went to bed, I continued a tradition that is many years old:

Goodnight, Jodiette
Sweet dreams
I love you

And quietly I knew that these words would flow from me to Jody, in the dark of evening, for the rest of my life.  Just so.

I hope that you will allow me to express love for my dearest for a little while yet.  Gosh, this is two days in a row.  And I’ve let that be okay.  I’ll write some more after Jody’s funeral, and then after her Celebration of Life in January.  I’ll know when it’s time to bring our e-mail saga to a close.  I just checked back.  My first e-mail to you was on November 23, 2013.  A year of love.  And actually, infinitely more than that.

Since Sunday, you’ve written about 275 e-mails to Jody and me.  Thank you.  I would like to answer them all.  It would be good for me, and I hope good for you.  It may take me awhile, though!

I’m going to turn all of my messages into a book.  It will be called Jodiette: My Lovely Wife.  I’ll get going on it in February, I expect, working with the self-publishing aids available through the Blurb website.  I don’t want to sell this book.  My inner something-or-other tells me that’s not right.  I’ll be giving it away to anyone who’d like a copy.  May the experiences that Jody and I have shared be a gift to many folks out there in the universe.

Thank you for listening

My Wife

I woke up this morning, sat on the edge of the bed, and looked at the floor.  Atop a jumble of CD cases sat a little wine-coloured pillow, with “Love” inscribed on it.  I looked at the wall, where twin paintings of a forest scene hung above me.  I cried a bit.  “Jody, are you here?”  “In the trees, always watching over you.”  I cried a bit more.

On Wednesday afternoon, I went for a walk around the block, something I haven’t done in  months.  I realize now that for the year that I’ve cared for my lovely wife Jodiette, I’ve never left our home without the thought “Get this done fast.  You have to get back to Jody.”  And now I can amble.

Before Jody died, I asked her to send me a sign that she was all right.  As I walked along Bostwick Road, I saw a huge deciduous tree approaching me.  I have long admired this gracious creation.  Its branches fall so beautifully in a gesture of grace.

As we neared each other, I looked up, way up.  It was Jody.  “I will shelter you, Bruce.  I will protect you.”  “Are you happy, Jodiette?”  “Yes.  Can’t you see me waving to you?”  The tops of the high bare branches were blowing in the wind.  Thank you, my love.

I decided to go for a bike ride yesterday despite the temperature hovering around zero.  A bit of a wind too.  I thought I was so smart, bundling up in multiple layers, ear warmers, gloves and wool socks.  But gosh I froze, as I did my time trial route for perhaps the last time in 2014.

And I started crying.  I’ve never done that on ta-pocketa.  (That’s the name of my bicycle.)  And I couldn’t stop.  “Jody, my wife!  I miss you so much!”  Over and over again.

At one point, I could feel my fingers heading toward numb, and I was dead tired.  I had about eight kilometres to go and the sun would set soon.  “Jodiette, please help me get home.”  “I’m right here, husband.  I have your back.”  And she pushed me oh so gently.  Earlier I had thought I’d have to get off my bike and walk the rest of the way, but that idea now drifted away.  And I floated down Fruit Ridge Line.  Very, very slowly.  At Fairview Road, I stopped for traffic, and I couldn’t feel my hands.  I was crying.  A woman in a car pulled up beside me and asked if I was all right.  Her name is Laurie.  She had seen me many times on Fruit Ridge and wanted to say hi.  She offered me water.  She reached out her hand and shook my frozen claw.  I told her that my sweet wife Jodiette died yesterday.  We mourned together.

Soon I was home.  I stood in the kitchen, glasses all fogged up, and I tried to undo the clasp on my cycling helmet.  Couldn’t do it.  And so I stood, waiting for warmth.  Maybe it’s the same now that Jody has died.  I need to wait for what emerges.  Lots more crying, I’m sure.  Whatever comes my way, and whatever bubbles up inside, to let it be there.

Did I mention how deeply I love my darling wife?

Sorrow

Dear grieving ones,

Jody died this morning at about 3:00.  I woke up at 2:30 and heard little moans as she breathed.  I got the nurse, who gave her a shot of fentanyl for pain.  Soon the moaning was gone and her breathing sounded good.  I fell back asleep.  When I awoke an hour later, I couldn’t hear her at all.  I know that she died in peace.

What a marvelous human being, my Jodiette.  I miss her so much.  She always looked out for my needs first.  She saw the person that I am.  Sometime in the next day or so, I’ll write some more words to you about my dear one.

Jody asked that her funeral be a small one, just family and her close friends.  There will be a luncheon for these folks on Saturday, November 22, 2014 in London.  Sometime in January, we’ll have a Celebration of Jody’s Life.  I hope you’ll come.  The date and location will be announced in the “In Memoriam” section of the London and St. Thomas papers on Saturday, December 6, 2014.

What a privilege to have Jody Anita Kerr in my life.  And she’ll be staying there.  Thank you for loving my Jodiette.

I love you all,

Bruce