Only Nola

Come Home

Come home.
Please.
I know what they say
I hear the words
but they have to be lying to me
because if you were really dead
gone
my heart wouldn't still be beating.
I wouldn't wake up each morning
clutching your pillow
reaching for you
weeping on the cat that doesn't understand
why you're not home.
I don't understand, either.
I wouldn't be choking down
each bite of food
thinking that it tastes like nothing
but a mouth full of shit.
I wouldn't be walking
talking
paying bills and writing checks
forgetting basic math because my mind
hitches
stutters
stops.
It can't be true.
Can't.
I want you to come home now, okay?
I won't be mad
even though the joke's not funny.
I won't say a word about
the last two weeks
of hell.
Whatever I did
I'm sorry.
Just come home.
Please.

I wrote this on Monday. I know I'll have to stop posting things that people find depressing soon, or I'll run off every reader in the place. I know it. But just bear with me, 'cause I'm not quite there yet. I'll reward those with the strong constitution to stick it out with a cookie.

Trust me.

They Lie

I've discovered something about grief. Unfortunately, it's one of those things in life that you can only learn the hard way, which sucks all the way around, but there it is. People will tell you, with all the good intentions and caring in the world, that the overwhelming sense of loss will get easier as days pass. Time heals all wounds, blah blah blah.

Bullshit.

Each day gets harder. I know, in my head, with all logical thought in place, that my husband is gone. I know this. But each day? One more thing rises up and slaps me down, one more thing crosses my mind that I will never know/see/feel again since Jonathan died. I may just be standing at the sink doing dishes. A totally ordinary thing. All at once the awareness that I'll never again feel him come up behind me and kiss me on the back of the neck while I'm fighting with the pizza pan slams into me... just literally feels like I've been physically struck, and it's like he dies all over again. It's the most horrible feeling, and me, who is almost never at a loss for words, can't explain it well. Hearing the news from the sheriff the night of August 13th was a moment I'll never stop reliving behind my eyes, but these little moments every day? Are almost worse. I live every day taking care of the endless amount of bureaucratic crap that comes with the death of a spouse, so I obviously know he's gone, but still... it's like my mind only took the news as he was dead that day, and didn't apply it to every day for the rest of my life. Every day I lose him all over again, and I just don't know how I can stand it.

I'll never again hear him say 'Hey, Darlin',' in that wonderfully warm and sexy voice of his.

I'll never again sit on the couch, Jonathan sprawled beside me with his head in my lap, running my fingers through his hair because he thought that was the best thing ever and usually put him to sleep in about 10 seconds, and see him pop one beautiful blue eye open to look up at me and whisper 'I love you.'

I'll never again go to sleep, my back to his back, and stick out my right foot behind me to cross over his while we fall asleep. We called it holding feet, and did it every night from the beginning.

I'll never again turn around in the shower to see him climbing in with me...

I'll never again be woken up at 5 in the morning, as he's about to leave for work, to feel his lips on my forehead as he kisses me goodbye at the start of the day.

I'll never again smell him on my sheets...

(...)

My God, how am I supposed to endure this?

Does It Ever End?

I'm not even attempting to sound crass here, but we've discovered a potential problem with the bank and the fund account. Anyone that has donated, please email me immediately ( nola (at) onlynola dot com) so that I have the information to take to the bank after I get finished having heart failure. While normally I would rather do anything BUT ask about something like this, the situation can't be fixed if I don't have details to present to whomever I corner at Bank of America. I apologize. And thank you to everyone that has contributed in order to help Connor and I through all this.

Just when I thought that each day couldn't get any harder... I just so needed something else to go wrong.

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In Memory Of Jonathan Lundy

I'm going to be working on this page over the next week or two, but I wanted to get it set up now. Check back when you want to and there'll be content as I'm able to handle it.

Days Go By

Just a few minutes ago I was sitting out on the front porch, smoking a cigarette and talking on the phone to my mother. We were, of course, talking about Jonathan. The tears were starting to come, which now I find happens to me both often and at the most unexpected times, because I was telling my mother about my fear that, as time goes by, I would forget so many little things about Jonathan and our time together... little stories or moments that really had no specific import, blips on the emotional radar... things that now I want to hold onto with all that's in me, forgetting neither a single minute nor the smallest smile nor the quietest breath that we shared. As I started to become overwhelmed, I looked up from where I sat, and there it was...

A hummingbird.

Now bear in mind, in the entire year that Jonathan and I have owned this house, we have never seen a single hummingbird. Not one. And we'd have noticed, because we loved them. We used to have a hummingbird feeder at our home in Arizona, and we'd sit together behind the window and watch them feed, just loving how delicate and beautiful they were. Jonathan was always the one that would fight with the lid on that stupid feeder so that it could be refilled, and he was always the one that would go and pick which food to buy them or where to place the feeder or whatever. He just loved that they came to visit.

So there I sat, for a second just unable to breathe, as this little hummingbird flew up and hovered right in front of me, at eye level. Not two feet from my face. Seriously. I could have reached out and touched it, or almost. And it just stayed there, for probably ten seconds, flitting an inch or two in each direction but more or less holding still. And it was facing me. And as it faced me, Jonathan's name was reverberating through my head, softly... I had no other conscious thought. It wasn't even like I was thinking his name, it was like it was just... there. Peace just washed over me, and for just a second, I'd swear I could feel Jonathan right there with me. I was whispering 'Hummingbird... hummingbird' over and over to my mother. It finally flew away, gone just as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving me with feelings and thoughts that I couldn't express here even if I wanted to. But it was an amazing moment.

I've never seen a hummingbird voluntarily come that close to a human being before, by the way. And if anyone here has, or thinks it's common, I don't want to know. I've never seen it, and to me? That makes this even more... mine. Mine and Jonathan's.

I want to take a second to thank each and every one of you who have contacted me, either directly or through comments, for your thoughts and caring wishes of peace. There are some of you who have been in my life for years now (you all know who you are, and if I listed you out by name and then accidentally forgot a name in my scattered frame of mind, I'd feel horrible, so we'll just leave it at 'you know who you are'), and some are new friends. Some are friends of Jonathan's from the past, people that were once a big part of his life and that I know he felt fondness for. I'm not in a place right now to respond to all the emails and comments in the way I'd like, but I couldn't let it go any longer without telling all of you that I appreciate you all so much. I've had such an outpouring of support and sympathy, often from unexpected places, that it's just blown my mind. I know Jonathan would be deeply touched and gratified to know that people are looking out for Connor and I. Making sure that Connor and I were safe and provided for was always the biggest concern that Jonathan had, so I know he has some peace seeing how many people are stepping up to make sure that we're okay. I can't begin to put into words what it's meant to me, personally. And while I may not be responding to the emails and comments, please know that I do read them all, and they have helped me immensely in making it through each hour since I received the news of his passing. Nothing can make it easy, because it's the most horrible thing I've ever had to live through, and there are times I think that it's more hurt than I can hold, but it makes such a difference to receive all your messages and prayers. So... thank you. From the bottom of my heart.

I'm going to go spend a little time talking to my husband now.

Contact Me

Okay, on the off chance that someone out there, for some reason that I can't begin to fathom, want to get in touch with me but has no interest in posting Ye Olde Comment in the public domain...

Voila! Try email, people.

Nola -at- onlynola.com . Hopefully my sneaky little substitution of -at- for @ will totally throw the bots into a cataclysmic decline. And save me from getting pelted with email about penis enlargement, too. 'Cause mine? It's big enough, thanks.

Obituary

Jonathan C. Lundy, devoted husband and father, age 35, of Springfield, was taken in a fatal work-related incident on highway 27 in Arkansas on Monday, August 13, 2007. He is survived by his wife, Deanna Loren Lundy, his son Connor and his step-son Nathan Morgan. Other family members include his brothers Phillip Barbo, Keith Barbo, and his sister Susan Lundy, as well as a large extended family.

Jonathon was born in Denver, Colorado. He lived in many place such as Texas, where he worked for the State Parks and Recreation Department, and West Virginia where he was a site director for a marketing company. At the time of his death, he was employed by Clever Stone in Clever, Missouri.

Jonathon was loved dearly by his family and admired by all that knew him. He was respected by his co-workers and employers. He was unfailingly honest, responsible, and considerate of others. Jonathon was generous with his time and his heart. He was a very special man and will be missed by all who were lucky enough to have him in their lives.

A memorial service will be held at the Greenlawn Funeral Home, 3506 N. National, Springfield, at 10am on Friday, August 17, 2007.

Financial considerations in lieu of flowers will be accepted by the Deanna Lundy Contribution Fund at any Bank of America. Donors should specify that this account was opened in Missouri, account number ending in 2171, and also note that the trustee is Shauna L. Sanders)

I Don’t Have The Words

There's no good way to say this. My husband was killed this evening in a tragic accident on a dangerous strip of highway in the mountains a couple of hours from home. I am... I can't say what I am. There aren't words enough. I keep thinking that it's wrong that the world outside still looks the same as it did at 8:30, right before I got the news. It feels like a crime that the lights keep coming on and going off in the houses around me, just like normal... the cars keep coming and going, just like normal... the crickets are making noise and the neighbors down the street are having a party of some sort, just like normal... and it's a crime that everything is normal all around me, when inside my home and my heart everything is burning and broken.

I don't know when I'll be back to write again. I know I will, but I don't know when. Please, think a good thought for Jonathan. He was a wonderful man. I loved him with all my heart. Love him. Will always love him.

It’s That Time of Year

School starts next week. For Connor, obviously, not for me. The mere thought of having to live through my school years over again is enough to make me break out in hives. I'm lucky I survived it the first time. Well, lucky might be a bit of a stretch. Considerable work and effort (not to mention therapy and the ability to run faster than all but the most determined redneck, Neanderthal bitches I encountered) went into getting me where I am today. (...)

Okay, now I'm depressed.

Anyhoo. School for Connor means buying the prerequisite school supplies. Which means?

*insert drumroll here*

I had to go to Wal-Mart.

We all know how much I loathelove Wal-Mart. The people who can't read directions (in through the out door, out through the in door... for the love of all that's holy, people, OPEN YOUR GODDAMNED EYES!), the people who can't fathom the concept of only taking up one parking space (two is oh so much better... really. Ask around.), the children who shouldn't be allowed out of the house without a leash and a muzzle (or sedated. I'm all for sedated.)...

What's not to love?

Well, the ante's upped when it's time for school supplies. By a factor of about three hundred and TWELVE.

First off, who the hell did the merchandising layout for the back to school displays? Helen Keller? There's not only no rhyme or reason to any of it, there's also strange and random obstacles thrown in just for an extra degree of difficulty. Take single subject, wide ruled, spiral notebooks. I needed four of them. Every mother of a fourth grader in a 20 mile radius needed four of them. So there they were, right alongside the other spiral notebooks (college ruled, Family Guy themed, perforated... a veritable cornucopia of paper products), up at the very front aisle. Right?

RIGHT?

Phhhhttt. Amateur. They were where any logical person would assume they would be. Five aisles down by the party supplies. (...) Of course. I can't imagine what I was thinking, looking for them among the 8 BILLION other notebooks. Up front. In the 'Back to School Bonanza' section.

I played this game while looking for silly little things that surely no student really needs... like a RULER. Sure, it's on the list that they have so helpfully posted at the front of the store (which, I'm sure, is way better than sending it to the parents. Uh huh.), but that doesn't really mean that any of us need to actually buy one. 'Cause if we did? There wouldn't be a meager one box of rulers hidden away on a shelf between coin holders and glitter gel glue. One box. To cover every kid in about five local schools.

I'm merely surprised that I didn't have to plant my high heel in someone's eye to walk out with said ruler. I mean, it is Wal-Mart, after all.

And did I mention that, to add insult to injury, I had to tackle all this with Satan's shopping cart? The one that is bound and determined to go in one direction? And it's NEVER the direction you want to go. The one I had today? Had its heart set on going left. It didn't really need a reason, or even a specific goal (or target, depending on how you look at it... is a 6 year old considered a target or a goal? WHAT?!? I didn't hit him, for fuck's sake. Not for the cart's lack of trying, but there you go. And I don't think clipping that man in the electric shopping moped thingy counts. I TOTALLY had the right of way there. Well, left of way. The cart, you know. Goes left. Oh, shut up.), it just needed to thwart my efforts at every opportunity. But I showed IT, by God. I may have severed a tendon or slipped a disc in the process, but it knows who the boss is NOW.

Yeah, right.

*bangs head on desk*

Capitalism At Its Finest

I, due to my location, make quite a few trips to Branson throughout the year. It's a great place (if one ignores the traffic issues, which are legion. The city is built, effectively, all along one central street. Said street is jam packed with tourist attractions such as dinner theaters, concert halls, bumper boats, arcades, shopping malls, golf courses, go karts, etc. Now, imagine about thirty thousand tired, sweaty, cranky visitors crammed onto one street, trying to navigate to their destination while stuck behind a 96 year old woman who can barely see over the dash and apparently can't reach the gas pedal, seeing as how she's driving 5 miles an hour, without killing someone in a fit of road rage. It's a stretch) to go and spend some time (and a great deal of money. Jesus, the money...) chilling out with the family. Good clean fun.

With a monument to tragic death stuck right in the middle.

Right in the middle of thriving downtown Branson? The Titanic attraction. Titanic, people. As in the big boat that went head to head with an iceberg, and lost? Taking the lives of thousands? Ring a bell?

I am still just struck senseless by the fact that people pay money to go and visit a re-creation of one of the single most tragic, horrific events in modern history. It's not like a museum display, where there is at least a pretense of dignity and solemnity to justify the whole thing. No, this is people crowding in with funnel cakes and flip flops. Giggling and pointing and arguing the genius of Vince McMahon. It makes me rather nauseated.

I don't know who the fuckwit was that thought that the perfect memorial to such a heartbreaking event was sticking it on a corner between Ripley's Believe It or Not and the Five and Diner, but they should be smacked. Just driving by and seeing all the people lined up to get a good look at what the Titanic was like before it sank, taking nameless and faceless fathers, mothers and children with it, makes my blood boil a wee bit. It just seems to me to be utterly lacking in all taste, not to mention all human decency and respect. I understand that this country thrives on the idea of financial success and the ability to get ahead with whatever idea the public will pay you for, but seriously... shouldn't there be a line that people don't cross out of their own innate sense of absolute wrongness? Should anyone need it pointed out to them that getting wealthy off the demise of the helpless and impoverished is not exactly the quickest path to enlightenment? My God, what's next? Family Fun At Auschwitz? Tea Time at Tiananmen?

And the best part? The building itself? Shaped like the ship.

Ripped in HALF.

(...)

Yeah, the world's going straight to hell.