Tag Archives: Love

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

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

Near the End

Dear loving ones,

Since Jody went into hospital on Saturday night, she has been declining. The infection in her lungs has spread.  She was having pain with a deep cough on Sunday but a medication has helped to dry up her secretions.  Jody is mostly non-responsive verbally but she is with me as I hold her hand.

Jody’s doctor says that she may only live a day or two more. I know your prayers and love are there for my dear wife.  Please keep them coming.

As I sat with Jody yesterday afternoon, we had a conversation, a silent one. I know deeply that this was not just me talking to myself.  This was Jody and me.  I let go of her hand and wrote it down.

Jody: I’m going to fly.

Bruce: Travel well, my love.  We will be together again.  I will always be with you.

Jody: I’m ready, my husband.  I will have a doggie.

Bruce: Thank you for loving me so much.

Jody: I’m tired of this shit.

Bruce: You don’t deserve this shit.

Jody: You are my husband.

Bruce: I love you, Jodiette.

Jody: Take my hand, husband.

Bruce: May the road rise to meet you, loved one.  Oh darling wife.

Jody: Enjoy your life, Bruce.  Find someone else.  Be happy.  I know you will.

Bruce: You’re safe, Jodiette.

***

 Except for a few quiet “yeses”, Jody’s last word to me, as of right now, was “Bruce”, said in a tone of voice that told me “I’m glad you’re here.”

Later yesterday, as I sat alone with Jody in the room, I looked around … and we were certainly not alone. There were at least one hundred of you crammed into the large private room.  I could feel you there.  Jody’s bed is near the window, with her left side parallel to it.  Some of you were standing on the window ledge.  On the wall above Jody’s head, two fluorescent lights stuck out.  Several of you were sitting up there.  During the last few weeks, Jody’s head has leaned to the right.  On the left side of the bed, a line of you came to Jody, each of you planting a kiss on her left cheek.  The rest of the room, including a hide-a-bed and two chairs, was full to overflowing with you souls.  All of you were smiling.  All of you had your arms stretched straight ahead at eye level, forming a huge parasol of care over my lovely wife … and over me, I later realized.  Thank you.

On we go.

I love you all,

Bruce

People Floating Into My Life

Whatever joy there is in this world
All comes from desiring others to be happy
And whatever suffering there is in this world
All comes from wanting pleasure for myself

I was pretty worn out this morning, watching Jody decline, and sensing that I’m losing the love of my life, at least on this physical plane.  I needed to get her some meds, plus we were low on groceries, so I headed off to Costco.

First, though, was Shoppers Home Health Care.  I was looking for absorbent underwear that held liquid better than the generic brand we’d tried.  As I trundled in, a woman greeted me with an all encompassing smile.  “I can tell a happy person the moment they open the door,” she said.  “Well,” I replied, smiling, “Maybe I’d better come in again.”  So I walked out and I walked in, putting on the grumpiest face I could find.  “I want service!”  “Doesn’t work, guy.  Your eyes give you away.”

Thank you, my new friend.  I’m so sorry that I can’t remember your name. I’ll find out next time.

So on to Costco.  As I sat by the snack bar, eating my decadent turkey and provolone sandwich, a familiar face was pushing her cart past me.  She looked.  I looked.  She smiled.  I smiled.  It was Julia, our hairstylist.  There hasn’t been any haircutting in the Kerr family for the past ten months, and I was so glad to see Julia.  We gave each other a gentle hug.  “I miss Jody so much, and I love both of you,” the words having trouble making their way past the tears.

Thank you, my old friend.  Someday you’ll be cutting my hair again.

Watching this was Joanne, a woman who sits at a kiosk, trying to sell furnaces.  I walked over and she came towards me with a hug posted special delivery.  “I read all of your e-mails and I think of you and Jody a lot.”  And we talked about how my lovely wife is doing.

Thank you, o standing-on-your-feet-at-all-times saleswoman who cares so much about a woman she’s never met.

The e-mails that Joanne mentioned are weekly updates about Jody.  I’ve been writing them since November, 2013 and there are about 300 addresses who receive them.  I figure that over seven hundred human beings are praying for a miracle.  So lovely.

I was just about to get up post-sandwich when Pen, one of the Costco employees, walks by me, touches my shoulder, and says “Hi, you.”  And hi back to you, Pen.

So many people to love

Altruism

“An attitude or way of behaving marked by unselfish concern for the welfare of others”

T.S. was at a London Monarch baseball game in Ontario with his 8-year-old son.  A foul ball was hit into the crowd.  It bounced and landed right in T.S.’s hands.  His son was thrilled when T.S. handed him the ball, but they heard a little girl crying, and realized that the ball had bounced off her foot.  The son asked his father to give the ball to the girl.  “I gave him a hug and told him that was a really nice thing to do.”

And more:

1.  A man walks around downtown London with a bunch of quarters in his pocket.  He plugs parking meters that are about to expire.

2.  A young girl tells her parents that she dropped a ceramic mug on the floor, to protect the person really responsible – her little brother.

3.  A 9-year-old boy looking for help after his mother crashed their van in the southern Arizona desert was rescued by a man entering the U.S. illegally, who stayed with him until help arrived the next day.

4.  We learned that 38 men – blacksmiths, professors, construction workers, students – can co-exist day after day in a 3-metre-by-10-metre cell with grace and humour and kindness.

5.  A man had made an impulsive purchase of a home entertainment system. He soon realized that it was a bad decision and tried to sell it on the Internet. He got a few offers, but they were all really low.  The man was getting depressed.  A friend of his offered to give him $2500 to top up the latest offer.  The system was sold.

6.  On an outdoor education trip in the Rockies, one member of the group developed hypothermia.  Her three friends took turns crawling into a sleeping bag with her.  Her temperature rose.  She survived.

7.  A 14-year-old boy had horrible acne.  Most of his friends retreated.  One girl moved towards him, always looking him in the eye, and including him in activities.

8.  A personal support worker who serves a cancer patient, upon hearing that she has been taken to a hospital, immediately phones the woman’s husband, wanting to visit.

9.  At parties, a woman always looks for anyone who seems left out, and goes over to spend time with them, in an expression of relationship, not pity.

10.  Despite the suffering and atrocities that his people have been and are subjected to, the Dalai Lama holds no anger toward the Chinese, believing they are “misguided people”.  Ingram describes the Dalai Lama’s attitude as “one of incredible kindness, even toward the Chinese Government, who would like him dead”.  He describes the Chinese as “my friends, the enemy”.