Dispatches: August 2018

Wednesday, August 29, 2018

8/29/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — 14 minutes ago

Writing this daily blog has become a part of my routine. There are times when I wonder why I do it, and, if it is helpful. It's not my intention to wallow in sadness. But, it's been my sense that, at some deep level, it is helpful to me. Much of the time these posts 'write themselves,' yet that's not always the case. Today I had an 'aha' moment and it came via email.
A friend, L L, sent me this quote.
"All sorrows can be bourne if you tell a story about them." Karen Blixen
This really resonated with me. Posting on this blog regularly has indeed helped me bear my sorrow. The only thing I'd change in Blixen's quote is changing "story" to "stories." There have been stories and their will be more.

Blessings,

Al

8/28/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — 10 hours ago

Hearing new stories about Joanne's maternal grandfather, Knut Lokken, is very rare. He died in 1948. Not surprisingly most of the stories I've heard about him came from Joanne. An example is the story of how he named Joanne. Her parents planned to name her 'Martha'. When Knut visited Joanne, the newborn, he said "How is my little Joanne Elizabeth?" and that became her name.
After the banking crash in the 1920s, Knut, lost his job in banking and he became a lay, traveling evangelist, preaching in Lutheran Churches. While I was spending the evening tonight with A & P B, P told me about Knut staying in her childhood home. P's father was a pastor and Knut was preaching at his congregation. P remembers Knut as being very kind and going downtown to purchase a gift for P's mother for housing and feeding Knut.
P also told of the first time she met Joanne. It was 1948, and P, Joanne and Joanne's sister, were outside of a church while some event was occurring inside. Joanne asked P, who was a year older, how old she was? P was 13, and Joanne was 12, but taller than P. Not surprising she was taller because she grew to 5'10". Joanne often mentioned how she hated being taller than all the boys in junior high.
While these stories were brief glimpses, I relish any fresh bit of data I glean about Joanne and her family. Learning more about her helps me.

Blessings,

Al

8/27/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 27, 2018

Stopping to look at pictures slows the process of cleaning closets. Now, isn't that profound? 😀 Perhaps some readers imagine my condo as a tiny box high in the sky. Actually. it's quite spacious, especially for one person, as it having three bedrooms and many closets. There is an immutable law of physics that posits 'the larger the closet the more that stuff will find its way there.'
Joanne was a very neat person. However, she did have a tendency to store things in closets and then succumb to another rule of physics 'out of sight out of mind.' L spent the day with me addressing untended closets. One of those closets has many of our pictures and....
We did go through a box Joanne labeled 'Al, pre-1964, i.e., the year we married. There were a variety of pictures from my life as a teenager and quite a few when I was a Marine. As we were concluding our work a phone call invited me to dinner at a relatives house. It was ironic that I had just seen a picture of that relative, taken in 1961, in Japan. E.V., and I had traveled to his house to spend the weekend. B. was then a child and in the picture he is sitting on my lap. Now in his 60s, he was very interested in the picture.
Everything we touched was memento of Joanne...the presence of absence.

Blessings,

Al

8/26/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 26, 2018

South Zumbro Lutheran Church, between Kasson and Rochester, MN, is alive and well after 150 years. Situated on a hill, this rural church has 100 children in Sunday School. Between 2003-2009, the building was enhanced in three phases. These phases were; remodeling the narthex and adding an elevator, enlarging the narthex and adding a new social hall, kitchen and offices. The total cost of these projects was $1 million, and in 2014, the debt was retired leaving no building debt.
The first pastor was a Norwegian immigrant, Rev. Ole Anderson Bergh, who served the congregation from 1868-1886. He, and his wife, are buried in the cemetery next to the church. At the anniversary celebration 26, of Pastor Bergh's descendants (or spouse thereof) were present. These are great and great great grandchildren of Pastor Bergh. I am one of the great grandchildren who was there.
This was my first visit to the church, though it's only 90 miles from my home in Minneapolis. Wondering what I'd find, I was pleasantly surprised to find a thriving rural church. It's pietistic roots in the Hauge Synod...the synod founded by followers of the Norwegian lay evangelist Hans Nielsen Hauge...is still very much in evidence in the its present piety.
Being there made me think more about Joanne's father, Rev. Oscar C. Hanson, than Joanne. The warm, evangelical atmosphere, coupled with mission and service, are a perfect fit with the values Oscar lived. Many years Oscar served as President, Lutheran Bible Institute (LBI), and later as an Evangelist for the Lutheran Church. As I sat through the service and anniversary program I wondered how many from that congregation had attended LBI and perhaps had known him. Were Oscar alive and active today, I think I'd take him there for a visit.
Yes, it's a small world. One of the former pastor's (Rev. Herbert Peterson 1936-1942) daugher shared remembrances from being a small girl while her father served there. In conversation with her, I learned that she was a high school student with Joanne at Minnehaha Academy, Minneapolis. Her husband received the distinguished alumni award from Concordia College the same year Joanne was honored. So I had met her at that event.
It was a rich experience and I came away again deeply grateful for my family. Joanne, too, came to deeply love my family.

Blessings,

Al

9/25/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 25, 2018

Tonight I watched the Minnesota Volleyball team. rated number 4 in the nation, beat North Carolina in 4 sets. Just as Joanne entered hospice in late March we had the privilege of watching them with A.G., with us. Much fun, because A.G., a volleyball player herself, could tutor us on the finer points of the game. It was probably the last time Joanne and I watched a game together. She enjoyed volleyball almost as much as women's basketball. It's not as much fun to watch alone.
With the passage of time there are longer spells when the presence of absence is less acute. By this I mean, life alone begins to seem normal...just the way it is. Then, suddenly the reality of Joanne's death breaks in and I seem to be back where I started, with the profound grief of her permanent absence. "She's really gone and she isn't coming back!" It's almost as if I learn it for the first time.

Blessings,

Al

9/24/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 24, 2018

It was a another one of those delightful evenings with my granddaughters and family. Entertaining 6 & 9 years old children does not come naturally to me. But M-E and S, take me as I am, and it is special for me just to be with them. S always asked for a cough drop from Grandma and I've continued the tradition of having one for her. Tonight after dinner S quietly walked over, put her hand in my pocket and found her cough drop.
After dinner Joanne would perch on small, low, rolling stool where she could reach the floor and play games with the girls. The vision of her perched on that stool is an enduring image in my mind. It just seems so unfair! It is unfair to M-E, and S, that they are robbed of the grandma who loved them so, while they are so young. Not only that, it is also so unfair to Joanne that she had to leave then at their age. They've already grown and changed in the four months since Joanne died, with so much more to come. This is one of the points at which my grief is the most raw...grandma and granddaughters separated.

Blessings,

Al

8/23/2108 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 23, 2018

During the early years of MN Vikings Football I was a rabid fan. Those were the days of Fran Tarkenton and the Vikings losing at the Super Bowl. When we were living in Mohall our TV died early in a Saturday game. By the start of the 2nd half I'd had been downtown and purchased a new TV from Russ Stene, so I got to see the remainder of the game. Whenever the Vikings lost I went into a funk.
It took awhile but eventually it dawned on me that that kind of an emotional investment in a game with professional athletes made no sense. Joanne always enjoyed watching, her dad was a fan of sports, but didn't emotionally invest in the winning or losing. Gradually I quit watching.
With the revelation of the physical and mental toll of the game on the players, not to mention all the other issues with it, I concluded that it is an immoral enterprise. To seduce athletes to sacrifice their health for outrageous salaries seems morally bankrupt to me; a modern form of gladiators.
What about Joanne? With her usual steadiness she saw the logic in my argument, while concluding that it wouldn't matter if she enjoyed a game when it was convenient. Ah yes, the adult presence which I now miss.

Blessings,

Al

8/22/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 22, 2018

Up early, as usual, I had the laundry washed, dried and folded by 8:00 a.m. Then it was on to the next task; window washing. Over 50+ years of marriage Joanne and I had many window washing experiences. Perhaps we all have our pet areas of perfectionism; windows were in that category for Joanne but not for me? Can you see where this is going.
So, washing windows, she'd position herself on the opposite side of the window that I was washing. Staring intently at the window she'd point to a spot or a streak that I'd missed. This exercise would continue until the window, in her opinion, was perfectly clean. Of course this would try my patience because I tend to be a "good enough" guy.
My jest with her was always "I need to leave a spot or two so there is a visual 'before and after.'" Guess her response to that. When I once mentioned that idea to some female colleagues their reaction was as if I were a wife beater. Still it doesn't seem like such a bad idea to me.
The windows were dirty, especially the glass doors to the balcony and it was time to wash them. Could I just wash them and move on? As I applied the elbow grease with a liberal application of Windex the memories of all those window washings flooded over me. Are the windows clean enough? it was hard to see through the tears but spots or streaks can just wait until next time.

Blessings,

Al

8/21/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 21, 2018

C.S. Lewis writes "I seem to remember--though I couldn't quote one at the moment--all sorts of ballads and folk-tales in which the dead tell us that our mourning does them some kind of wrong. They beg us to stop it. There may be far more depth in this than I thought. If so, our grandfather's generation went very far astray. All that (sometimes lifelong) ritual of sorrow--visiting graves, keeping anniversaries, leaving the empty bedroom exactly as 'the departed' used to keep it, mentioning the dead either not at all or always in a special voice, or even (like Queen Victoria) having the dead man's clothes put out for dinner every evening---this was like mummification. It made the dead far more dead." p. 65, A Grief Observed
So, I agree and disagree. When people talk to me about Joanne or listen to me talk about her I find it helpful. No shrinking from saying "she's dead." Does she beg me to stop grieving? Most likely she'd say "O, get over it."
There are dimensions of my grief that have to do with her loss, e.g., not being with her granddaughters as they grow. However, much (most?) of my grief has to do with what I have lost. That loss is most keenly felt as loss of companionship. As was said last night, it is like an amputation.
A recent widower, at the picnic Sunday, asked me "what is hardest for you?" I answered "the loss of a partner in conversation." When I asked him the same question he said "eating alone." Both of these response make clear why relationships, family and friends, have loomed large during my bereavement. Blessed with a wonderful family and a host of friends I do not give up hope.

Blessing,

al

8/20/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 20, 2018

In his book, A Grief Observed, C.S. Lewis has an interpreting paragraph about "getting over it." He writes "To say the patient is getting over it after an operation of appendicitis is one thing; after his leg is cut off is quite another. After the operation either the wounded stump heals or the man dies. If it heals, the fierce, continuous pain will stop. Presently he'll get back his strength and be able to stump about on his wooden leg. He has "got over it." But he will probably have recurrent pains in the stump all his life, and perhaps pretty bad ones; and he will always be a one legged man. There will hardly be any moment when he forgets it." pp. 61-62
This seems to me an apt metaphor for the experience of grief. Moments go by, some for rather a long time, when I'm not conscious of the presence of absence, however, I'm still bereft. Getting over it is likely neither possible not even to be desired. She's dead, she's gone, she's not coming back and that is my new reality.

Blessings,

Al

8/19/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 19, 2018

Sitting at a wonderful outdoor worship service led by a blues band this morning I had a panic attack. This attack was triggered by the changing season...losing daylight, fall coming, followed by winter...and Christmas! Yes, Christmas, what do I do about Christmas? Do I decorate? Why? Why not? Can I bear decorating alone? Yes, yes, I know...it's only August, but mind games............
So I came home feeling blue. Knowing what I know about emotions I decided a good walk was in order. Mid-eighties? For me, perfect weather, so off we went, Trygve and I, for about an hour's walk. That helped a bit, but it was still mid-afternoon with the rest of the day ahead of me and I was still in a bit of a funk. Walking down to Runyon's, a place near here with a great roast beef sandwich who always give Trygve a piece of bacon when we sit at a sidewalk table, was an option. This option would allow me to continue feeling sorry for myself.
Then, I remembered, the announcement at church about the church picnic this afternoon. Never have I had any interest in going to the church picnic but the choice was clear...stay on the pity pot alone or take action. Church picnic it was, and I reasoned, it's a picnic they can't refuse a dog, so off Trygve and I went, and the dog people were delighted to see Trygve. Anyone delighted to see me? I don't know, but it was exactly what I needed to get over feeling sorry for myself. Such good people.
Oh yes, I have a plan about Christmas, but more about that later.

Blessings,

al

8/18/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 18, 2018

The descendants of my parents, Albert & Edith Negstad, gathered for a family reunion today. Most of their descendants were present. The gathering consisted of eating, visiting, with a few lawn games thrown in. It was obvious that being together is important as people lingered through the afternoon and into the evening. There was no drama, just the joy of being together, with no agenda but to enjoy each other. Joanne would have loved it.
Aware as I was, of the presence of absence throughout the event, it was not overwhelming. But, coming home was hard. Normally returning home alone is not particularly difficult. Tonight was different. Why? I don't know. Perhaps all the conversations in which I participated and would loved to have shared with her. Maybe knowing how much she would have delighted in the event and how others would have delighted in her made coming home alone unusually hard.
So, without fully understanding, I report my experience.

Blessings,

Al

8/17/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 17, 2018

Since Joanne's death I've often joked about living with out adult supervision. There is a reality that lies within that bit of humor. Healthy, mentally healthy that is, adults experience life as lonely. To be a well functioning, self-differentiated adult, means that one must take responsibility for one's self. This means; no fusion with others, no passing off responsibility or shirking the reality of making decisions and living with the consequences. Often this sense of loneliness is exacerbated by responsibilities one assumes with employment.
Recently I've been aware that I'm tired of being an adult. Upon reflection on this tiredness it has occurred to me what causes that fatigue. With Joanne's death I've lost my built in, ready, wise consultant. Functioning as an adult it has always been my duty to own my decisions. That has not changed. What has changed is, that now, many of those decisions are made in isolation. Missing is the valuable consultation that Joanne offered. Being an adult is hard work and being one alone makes it even harder.
This may explain why relationships, and I'm blessed with so many, are so important to me on this journey.

Blessings,

Al

8/16/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 16, 2018

"The most precious gift that marriage gave me was the constant impact of something very close and intimate, yet all the time unmistakably other, resistant - in a word, real." C. S. Lewis A Grief Observed

This is a very interesting way to think about marriage. "Two shall become one", yet good marriages are not an unhealthy fusion in which the individuals are subsumed into each other. Rather husband and wife remain differentiated each a fully functioning adult. Yet, as Lewis says, "...very close and intimate."
What is "the constant impact of something very close and intimate?" How did Joanne change me? In so many ways she was my teacher. Completing her formal education before we met she brought that wisdom into our relationship. We spent many hours those first years talking about personality, communication, and human relationships, which provided a base for much of my later learning.
How can one begin to asses the impact of a spouse over 50+ years of relationship? This I can say with out a doubt; her impact was huge and it was all good, a blessing to me, she was real!

Blessings,

al

Wednesday, August 15, 2018

8/15/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — a minute ago

“For in grief nothing "stays put." One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral?

But if a spiral, am I going up or down it?

How often -- will it be for always? -- how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, "I never realized my loss till this moment"? The same leg is cut off time after time.”
― C. S Lewis, A Grief Observed
Lewis describes my experience in the four months since Joanne died. Daily tasks and experiences, most of them good and satisfying, fill my days. Good conversations, farm duties, good books, driving back and forth from SD, etc., when suddenly the presence of absence grabs me as if for the first time. It seems I'm right back where this all started, a circle? a spiral? up? down? How many times can the same leg be amputated?
Blessings,

Al

8/14/2108 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — 22 hours ago

It has been my pattern this summer to divide my time between Minneapolis and the Little House on the Prairie. Usually I drive to SD Sunday afternoon and return to MN on Wed. It has been a helpful pattern for me, giving me time with family in both states. Hanging out at the cemetery has been meaningful, and, now with the marker ordered I look forward to its installation in about six weeks.
Yet, the reality remains, that she is neither here nor there and I don't like that absence. There is a huge void. Today's Minneapolis Paper was filled with articles about Lindsey Whalen's pending retirement from the Minnesota LYNX of the WNBA. This news would have been the fodder for many conversations for us, because we have followed Whalen's career since she played for Minnesota. "Well, you can tell her" some say. But telling is not conversation. No one else in the whole wide world knows all the implications of that news to our relationship.
All my waking hours are not spent thinking about Joanne, though her absence always lurks. So, it is the things that happen, people I see, news event, etc., that I'd normally share with her, that jolts me back into the reality of her death. Because she is neither here nor there, there is no escape.
Yet, there is so much for which I'm grateful and above all for relationships with family and friends. So much kindness continues to bless me. As she prescibed for the grave stone "Takk for alt."

Blessings,

al

8/13/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 13, 2018

Warm Summer Sun BY MARK TWAIN

"Warm summer sun, Shine kindly here,
Warm southern wind, Blow softly here.
Green sod above, Lie light, lie light.
Good night, dear heart, Good night, good night."

Adapted from Robert Richardson's poem “Annette.”

Twain wrote this for his deceased daughter's grave. Though I spend significant time at the cemetery it still seems so wrong that Joanne lies there. Wandering among the graves, reading the inscriptions I ponder the lives marked in stone. As I contemplate the grief of others, my own grief rises within me. Should I complain about 54 years? Should that not be enough? Or, is that length part cause of the depth of my grief? The presence of absence persists and I live with a hole in my heart.

Blessings,

Al

8/12/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 12, 2018

Four months ago this day, April 12, Joanne died. It wasn't like the obituary I saw in the Strib today for a 15 year old boy who died of cancer. Neither was it like my brother, Richard's death, who died shoveling snow at age 62. Joanne was 82, and diagnosed with cancer in July 2017. True, we were told in November that she was cancer free, but still death at 82 shouldn't be that much of a surprise. Why did we, or I at least, assume more time than she had?
Back to the comics. Another strip I follow, besides Pickles mentioned last night, is Heart Of The City by Mark Tatulli. Heart, the main charcter is a precocious, elementary age, girl. She lives with her single mom in a city apartment. In a strip that ran last Thursday, she's sitting on the steps to her apartment building with her best friend. Her friend says "DO YOU EVER WONDER IF FUDGIE WUDGIES ON THE FRONT STOOP WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND ON A SUMMER NIGHT IS AS GOOD AS IT GETS?" She replies, "IT'S HARD TO IMAGINE THE STUFF YOU'RE DOING RIGHT NOW AS THE BEST EVER. CHECK BACK WHEN I'M 50."
My spiritual director once told me that the essence of prayer is paying attention. Paying attention could also describe the good life and good marriage. Yes, "It's hard to imagine the stuff you're doing" might be the best ever. Why did I blithely assume there would be more time? "Check back when I'm..." Then death intervenes, which means that there are not going to be any "do overs". I'm left with all that I took for granted and that's not comforting.

Blessings,

Al

8/11/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 11, 2018

With the leisure of retirement Joanne became, like me, an inveterate newspaper reader. Likewise we both enjoyed the comic section. In fact, that's how I became a newspaper reader. As a child I would read the "funnies", i.e., the comic section, and eventually began reading the rest of the paper.
Our favorite comic strip is Pickles, the comic about Earl and Opal Pickles, in their 'golden years' written by Brian Crane. The first of us to read the days offering of Earl's and Opal's adventures would often call our "We're in Pickles today" or "I" or "You are in Pickles." Today's edition brought to mind those times with Joanne and also illustrated a dilemma I face.
The strip goes like this. Earl is speaking to his friend.
Panel one: "It's nice to know there are people out there who care about you."
Panel two: "Take me for example. Folks always seem to want to know what's going on in my life."
Panel three: "They'll see me coming and they immediately want to know how I'm doing."
Panel four: "Well, it's mostly just the greeter at Walmart, but still..."

Immediately after Joanne's death, deeply consumed with my grief, I assumed everyone who asked how I was doing really wanted to know. Somewhere, as time as passed, I've began to wonder "do they really want to know?" or, are they just using the common American greeting that confuses people visiting from other cultures? Perhaps it's time for me to revert to the standard "OK" and leave it to the enquirer to pursue the subject should they really be interested.
I'm OK.

Blessings,

Al

8/10/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 10, 2018

When Joanne was Vice-President of LSS of MN she would often drive to Moorhead, MN, one of LSS' regional offices. Her pattern was to leave home at 5:00 a.m. so with the three hour drive she chould be there by 8:00. After working all day she'd leave for home at 5:00 p.m. and arrive home at 8:00 p.m. Working like that, left little time for reading.
In retirement she discovered a passion for reading and was reading two or three books a week. If the first chapter didn't engage her she'd move on to another book. "Life's too short to read something that's not engaging" she said. Little did she/we know.
History Book Club just read a book I think she would have finished. Never Caught: The Washingtons' Relentless Pursuit Of Their Runaway Slave. Ona Judge, Erica Armstrong Dunbar, provides a fascinating portrait of George and Martha Washingtons' relationship to their slaves. Joanne's keen sense of justice would recoil at the descriptions of the treatment of the enslaved. I recommend the book, which was a Christmas gift to me.

Blessings,

Al

8/9/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 9, 2018

For many years Joanne and I, often with another couple, would make one trip each summer for dinner at the Harbor View Cafe in Pepin, WI. Pepin is on the shore of Lake Pepin, roughly across from Wabasha, MN. or, about an hour and a half from Minneapolis. Today, for the first time, I went with out her.
Traveling with good friends, L. & C. S., we stopped for lunch at the St. James Hotel in Red Wing. Seated on the deck with a view of the Mississippi River we enjoyed the beautiful day. My chicken salad was one of the best salads in my memory.
Joanne stayed in the St. James, loved it and we had eaten there. The presence of absence was with us.
Next we visited the Minnesota Marine Art Museum (MMAM) in Winona, MN. I had been told it was good; I would say it is amazing! Nothing had prepared me for its reality. In the European room there were paintings by (everything hung is original) Monet, Manet, Van Gogh, Gaugin, Picasso and O'Keeffe and many other famous artists. There are two original versions of Washington Crossing The Delaware, by Emanuel Leutze; one hangs in the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the other in MMAM.
The presence of absence was profound...Joanne loved art museums and she would have loved it.
Crossing Lake Pepin to Wisconsin we drove north to Pepin and The Harbor View Cafe. The cafe does not take reservations, though in the last few years it began accepting credit cards. Housed in an old, lake front building it is famous for gourmet food. There are no printed menus, the fare available is printed on a blackboard, because it changes from day to day. I had beef tenderloin, smothered in mushrooms, on a bed of wild rice with asparagus and mashed rutabaga...yes, it was good, well maybe except the rutabaga, all this preceded by salad with blue cheese dressing.
Harbor View opens in the spring and closes for the season in the fall. Many of the customers come by boat. It is open for lunch and dinner. When the doors open for dinner at 5:00 people are lined up waiting to enter. I've never been there for lunch.
This is the first time I have been at the cafe without Joanne, who loved the it, the food, and the trip. Yes, the presence of absence was profound. Yet, I must say, I did enjoy the day.

Blessings,

Al

8/8/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 8, 2018

On an end table in the Little House on the Prairie, there is a framed picture showing us, Joanne and Al, in the lounge of a Hurtigruten Ship, the mail boat that plies the Norwegian Coast. Joanne's in the foreground in a grey sweatshirt, her hand to her chin, looking off into the distance. Slightly behind her I'm looking past her. It was June, 1993, a particularly turbulent time in my job and this trip was a wonderful respite.
From Oslo we took the train to Bodo, north of the Arctic Circle and the end of the train line. From Bodo we took a bus to Tromso. It was June so the time of the midnight sun. After spending a few days in Tromso we boarded ship for the trip down the coast. Many times we were able to disembark and visit the towns and cities. We were aboard on June 21, and saw the bonfires on the shore marking the summer solstice.
We left the ship at Christiansund, the next stop after Trondheim, across the fjord from the island of Averoy, where Grandfather Lars Negstad was born. There we stayed with my second cousin on the farm where Lars was born.
Hopes of repeating that Hurtigruten trip together are now lost. We often spoke of doing it again, but........

Blessings,

Al

8/7/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 7, 2018

In Richard Wagamese' novel, Indian Horse, the main charcter, Saul, finally returns, to what he knew as home. He had travelled far and experienced many difficulties. Returning home was part of his healing process. When he finds it satisfying to be home Wagamese writes, "I understood then that when you miss a thing it leaves a hole that only the thing you miss can fill." p. 219
This resonates with what someone said to me "death leaves a hole in your heart which never fully heals" and seems true. "...when you miss a thing (person) it leaves a hole that only the thing (person) you miss can fill." The intensity of the pain, the missing, the absence comes, in part, from the permanence of the loss, the finality of death. Wish as I may, she's not coming back.
So, I live with this dichotomy; on the one hand there is much I enjoy, family, friends, activities, while on the other hand lurks this unfillable hole in my heart. It's just a little over a year ago that Joanne was diagnosed with uterine cancer. After radiation treatment she was declared "cancer free." Now it is almost four months since she died. Fifty four years of marriage and then...........

Blessings,

al

8/6/2018 Caring Bridge

Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 6, 2018

There are many other things I'd rather do than this shopping. If we hadn't procrastinated it would have been done...however, that would have created other problems. It was our plan to have our gravestone in place before either of us died. It wasn't done, and if it had, we likely would have had to move it. We always thought we would be buried next to my uncle Henry, and his wife Inga. Not knowing that we could be buried with my grandparents, as Joanne is, we would have put our marker in the wrong place.
Joanne Elizabeth Negstad, April 1, 1936 - April 12, 2018 Seeing that on the stone, even though it's on a computer screen, makes the presence of absence very real. Something deep within me continues to rebel against the knowing that this separation is permanent. The blank where my date of death will be inscribed causes me to wonder "How long?"
The journey continues.

Blessings,

Al