I order a wreath from her every year, but I had decided against it this year. An unnecessary extravagance. And then, this. On my front porch today. I recognized immediately the handiwork of the Wreath Fairy before even reading her note. Julie. Owner of Desert Dream Gardens.
A couple years ago, Hubby and I decluttered our garage, which nearly landed us in marriage counseling. I questioned his wanting to keep a tin of rusted and bent nails, screws and washers; he threatened to toss the boxes of Christmas decorations if I so much as touched his tin.
If you’ll remember back a few weeks, Daughter Summer and three of her angel friends cleaned our place, set up the Christmas tree and rearranged the living room furniture. All rather secretively, and while Hubby and I were resting at Hospice House.
And then Summer showed me a photo posted to Facebook. I sent the photo to a friend, who is handy with tools and lives on property with plenty of fallen tree branches following a recent snow storm. This friend recruited another wood-working friend, and together, with the artistic lead of wife Carolyn, they built this beautiful piece of wall art out of white branches. Which I plan to decorate at each holiday and with each change in season.
The washing machine is humming and Hubby’s side of the closet is looking bare. Declutter is my middle name. And while I’m not necessarily eager to be rid of Hubby’s things, there are men at Shepherd’s House who could use warm jackets and thick gloves and oversized flannel pajama bottoms this time of year. Oversized because Hubby’s legs and hips and abdomen had swollen with edema during his last weeks.
When Daughter Summer—you remember our Personal Pajama Shopper, right?—came home with size XXL, Hubby looked at me and deadpanned, “Your next husband will have to be extra-extra-large.”
Update bank accounts. Complete Employee Enrollment Form to change benefits. Remove Hubby’s phone from the cell phone account. Fill out the Death Benefits Claim Form to satisfy the insurance company.
Oh, and vehicle title changes. I spent more than an hour at DMV today waiting for Number 217 to be called. And since you can’t break into the numbered order to ask the expert behind the counter which form you need for updating ownership, you’re left to your own common sense.
On my own for the first time in days, weeks. The last of family left this morning. But not until puzzles were assembled and snowballs were thrown.
Yesterday’s celebration of Hubby’s life was everything I had hoped it would be. A joyous occasion. Some tears, of course. But also much laughter and a catching up of memories.
I was proud of Hubby’s sibs who stood up together and shared stories of their brother. Of course, for those of you at the service, you know you can only believe about 80 per cent of what they said, right?
It’s been ten days of keeping appointments, running errands, checking things off to-do lists. Of welcoming SIL Josh and the grandkidlets into the mix after three-and-a-half weeks apart from their wife and mom. Of continued love pouring in via meals, cards and gifts, and people stopping by.
In the process of planning Hubby’s Celebration of Life, a song by Laura Story gave pause for reflection:
But what if your blessings come through rain drops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
are what it takes to know You’re near
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise.
desk7.net photo
Grandson Titus, before arriving in Oregon, wanted to know if the Starbux Fairy would still be making deliveries. Actually, her name is Porch Fairy because she’s been quietly leaving gifts on our front porch for quite some time now. Flowers, bouquets of autumn leaves, fun toys for Hubby, thoughtful gifts, breakfast items. And daily, an Americano for Summer and a Chai for me. Daily deliveries in the snow and ice – against our counsel.
I e-mailed the Porch Fairy to let her know that SIL Josh and the grandkidlets were arriving and that it was time she took a much-deserved retirement. She e-mailed back to ask if she could make one more delivery. The grandkidlets were up early waiting for this event. Titus checked the porch at 7:29. Nothing. He put on his shoes, unplugged his iPod, and opened the front door a crack at 7:31. Six red cups.
Daughter Summer and I actually accomplished a good deal from the couch on Tuesday in between the remembering and laughing and crying. We drew up to-do lists. A draft of Hubby’s Celebration of Life service. Lists of family coming with possible housing solutions. I’m actually a list addict. I’ve been known to complete something, and then add it to my list so I can check it off. Pathetic, right?
And then I came across this forgotten list tucked away in a hidden flap of my wallet. Written by Hubby a while back. Apparently I’m not the only list-maker in the family.
Copyright © 2025 Marlys Johnson
