I am incredibly excited to announce that I have been recognized as a Book Excellence Award Finalist for my book, Suddenly: A Widow’s Story of Unexpected Loss and Healing in the Grief Category.
Out of thousands of books that were entered into the Book Excellence Awards competition, my book was selected for its high quality writing, design and overall market appeal.
Picture of Patrick at the beach. Courtesy of the author
I am working on finalizing my manuscript. I thought it would be good to post the early chapters as I go along. This will be edited later but I don’t have a copy editor so I welcome any and all feedback! With the exception of quotes and excerpts from text messages, all writing is my own.
There’s always awkwardness when people find out I was widowed. I never like making people uncomfortable, so I usually rush through the explanation and wrap it up neatly. I’m doing good now. I’m remarried. I’m happy. Seven years later, a degree and license in counseling, and I am still following societal norms. Let’s pretend that grief doesn’t exist.
This was not the first death in my life. I’ve lost all of my grandparents, my Aunt Terry, my Uncle Joe, and my nephew Max who only lived for a few minutes. On Patrick’s side, we lost Zia Sue, Nona, Opa and Elsie, Danielle, Ryan, Zia Jan, Zia Glenda, Tony, Barbara, and Zio Angelo. Some of these were sudden and tragic, and they all affected me profoundly. So I thought I understood grief pretty well… until I lost Patrick.
I feel it’s important to acknowledge the depths of grief and the path through them. This is something that I have consistently downplayed because heaven forbid anyone should think I’m not okay. I’m tough. Don’t worry about me.
The truth is, I am human, and I have no clue how I survived the loss of my husband, Patrick. But I did. If you are experiencing the death of a loved one, I hope my story shows you that there can be a light at the end of the tunnel and a new path for you.
I want to share my experience so far in the hopes that it might help people when they interact with someone who has experienced loss.
What I have learned is that there is no right or wrong way to deal with this. I have also learned that the majority of people do not have any idea what to do or say when something like this happens. So here are my thoughts:
Patrick is gone. I know this. Sometimes my brain tries to play tricks on me, but I know he is not coming back. We were together for 30 years, so he is on my mind every day. I will not be upset if you mention him. In fact, it’s really awkward and almost painful when you don’t mention him. So please keep him alive in our conversations.
I realize that I am not the only person grieving. I want everyone to know that it is okay to share your grief with me. You are not going to upset me. This may not be true for every person who experiences this kind of loss, but it is true for me.
If I shared all of my grief with you, it might scare you. I think grief is intensely personal, but it is also necessary. Some of my “best” days have been the days when I sobbed uncontrollably or even screamed. I have found that it is nice to drive alone and just sob or scream! You have to make sure there are no other cars nearby so they won’t think you are in danger, but I highly recommend it! I feel this is healthy, so please don’t freak out when I’m upset. The only way forward is through the grief, so every time I am really sad, I am taking a small step forward.
This is not an easy process. Since I feel my grief is personal, I tend to share my happier thoughts. That does not mean this is not a struggle. I have met many new people as a result of Patrick’s death. Some of them are also sadly members of this widows club that no one wants to join, so this is kind of a message to them. This is how I am getting through this, but there’s no “right” way. If someone needs to share their pain, that is fine too. On the inside, we are all aching.
Grief is like a chameleon. Sometimes it blends into the background, and you never quite expect to see it. Other times it pops into view when you least expect it. Don’t be surprised if I burst into tears for no apparent reason. And if I’m happy, it doesn’t mean I have forgotten. I’m just trying to get through. And I feel this is exactly what he would want me to do.
Prelude
Imagine that you are taking a walk. The weather is mostly perfect, and the scenery is beautiful. As you walk, you are holding the hand of the person you most want to walk this path with. Occasionally there is a hill, and sometimes you stumble, but your partner is always right there to help you. You carry many memories with you, and in the distance, you can see many places that you want to go, and you anticipate these experiences with excitement. You have the path memorized, and you know exactly how to get where you want to go.
Suddenly there is an earthquake worse than you ever imagined. A huge chasm opens up in the path in front of you. You feel your partner slipping, and suddenly they have disappeared. The destruction is so great that you can no longer see your future path. The experiences you had dreamed of are no longer possible.
At first, you feel like jumping into the chasm and looking for your lost dreams. You don’t really see any other option. Moving forward alone is unthinkable. Suddenly you see that there is another path leading away from the chasm.
This path has not been used as often, and it is not as easy to navigate. Sometimes you need help clearing the way. Parts of the path seem dangerous and frightening, and the chasm always seems to be nearby.
As you make your way, you start to notice that there are some interesting things ahead. There are other people traveling the path, and you begin to enjoy their company. They help to clear the path and point out destinations that you didn’t realize were there. This is a much different path than you had planned. You haven’t forgotten about your missing partner or the plans you had with them, but you realize that they would be happy that you found this new path and would want you to continue on.
I wrote this on the one-year anniversary of my husband Patrick’s death. I am now on a completely different path that I did not choose, but it is not as awful and scary as I thought it would be. There have been new dreams and hopes for the future. I feel that Patrick walks this path with me and helps steer me in the right direction. He can no longer hold my hand, but he still keeps me from falling.
Part One – The Worst Day of My Life
Chapter 1 – A Quiet House
April 20, 2016, started differently. I woke up around 6:45 AM to a silent house. My husband, Patrick, ran or rode his bicycle every morning before work. Patrick was very dedicated to staying physically fit. He would be the first to tell you that he didn’t particularly love working out but did it anyway. When he graduated from PT School, he gave a graduation speech, and it was about the importance of staying physically fit. I am hoping that someday I will find a copy of that speech!
He did some type of workout almost every day of the week and frequently did more than one. Each weekday morning, he would either run, lift weights in the garage, or ride his bike out Shaw Avenue to Quail Lakes, do a lap or two, and then return home. I am not much of a morning person, so it was not uncommon for me to sleep through his entire workout. He would usually wake up at 5:30 AM and finish by 6:45 AM. He left while I was still sleeping. I would occasionally wake up briefly, but sometimes I slept through it entirely. I thought it was odd that he wasn’t home, but I had a conference call at 7:00 and needed to prepare for it.
I was a Plan Sponsor Liaison at Aetna. I worked with our sales and marketing team and multiple National Account customers. I had worked at Aetna for over 21 years, the last year or so from home, and I loved being able to work at home. I quickly changed into my day pajamas; Capri-length black sweatpants with a stripe down the side, a sports bra, and a t-shirt. I ran into the loft, turned my computer on, and then asked my 17-year-old Daughter, Camille, to check the garage to see if her dad’s bike was there. And then I dialed into my call.
Camille went downstairs and returned a few minutes later to tell me the bike was gone. Ugh. He was very proud of his old, beat-up bike. I don’t remember when he bought it, but it could have been in the mid to late ’90s. I was sure I would have to get off my call and rescue him from a flat tire. My customer would probably be okay with my absence, but I worried the sales team would be annoyed. I could ask Camille, but she needed to get to school.
I waited until 7:10 and then sent an IM to my account manager to tell her I had a family emergency and needed to step away. I got in my car, which luckily already had the bike rack, and headed out to his usual route. I imagined him walking along the side of the road. He probably didn’t have his phone. He was invincible. Why would he need a phone or any identification?
Chapter 2 – Patrick
Patrick was 49 and one week. We celebrated his birthday exactly one week before at the Paul McCartney concert. I had surprised him with tickets and then decided the girls should go too and bought two additional seats in another part of the arena. We had a fabulous time, and I was thrilled I had splurged on the tickets!
Patrick was a physical therapist and was very dedicated to staying physically fit. He was also frugal and stubborn. His bike was ancient, and he considered himself an anti-cyclist, refusing to wear the usual cycling gear. I had a road bike and frequently extolled the virtues of cycling and the benefits of getting a fancier bike, but he wouldn’t have it. He made fun of the cycling kits the serious cyclists wore and prided himself on wearing the most beat-up clothes he owned when riding. He had a cyclist’s body, and I liked to imagine how great he would look in cycling shorts with a tight jersey, but he refused.
On one of the few occasions when he did a ride with me and some of my cyclist friends, I could only imagine what they thought when he pulled up on that beater bike. But he could keep up with them and climb a hill as if on a lightweight road cycle. He did carry a saddle bag with tools and was usually able to repair a flat, but who knew what kind of mechanical trouble the bike might have?
Chapter 3 – The search
I knew the main route Patrick would have taken. He might have taken a couple of ways to get to the main road, Shaw Avenue, so I guessed and chose Locan Avenue. I didn’t see him there, or when I got to Shaw, so I headed east and scanned the side of the road for a man walking a bike. A fire truck passed me, going in the opposite direction with its lights off. I wasn’t anxious at this point, and I felt the truck would not be driving away if there was an emergency.
We live in Clovis, CA, a constantly growing suburb of Fresno, CA. New housing developments are always popping up, and one or two roads are closed on any given day. I saw the usual flashing signs ahead and assumed the road had been closed due to the new development on the street’s south side. But a small truck was parked there, and someone was beside it. I should investigate.
I pulled over, got out, and walked over to the person, who was a Community Service Officer. I asked her what had happened, and she said there was an accident. I told her my husband was riding his bicycle and asked if I could see if he was there. She told me the crash involved a motorcycle. She even added the sound effect “vroom, vroom” to reassure me. She wouldn’t let me pass.
I returned to my car and then drove past Shaw, trying to think of a way to get closer. Patrick had CPR and first aid certification and would have stopped to render aid. Suddenly I realized this was too big of a coincidence. Patrick wasn’t home, hadn’t contacted me, AND there was an accident. An inner voice told me I needed to go home.
Chapter 4 – Meeting Patrick
I remember the first time I saw Patrick. I was working as a typist for his cousin, John Prandini, in his physical therapy office, which was inside a local fitness club, Fresno Racquet Time. John is the brother of one of my high school track and cross-country coaches, Carlo Prandini. I knew that one of their cousins was coming to work as a physical therapy aide for the summer, but I guess I thought he would be older. I was in the front lobby, and I saw a guy walking in. He was tall and was dressed in a very 80’s style with light yellow pants, a t-shirt, and suspenders with palm trees on them. He was hot!
I later figured out this was not actually the first time I saw Patrick. Although I went to Clovis High School and he went to Hoover, we both ran track and cross country and would have been at the same meets many times during our high school years. And I once went on a date with one of Patrick’s best friends, John Wright, and Patrick was with him when we met. I often wonder why we couldn’t have met sooner, but I think we met when we were supposed to. We weren’t instantly an item, but by the end of that summer, we had begun our 30-year love story.
Chapter 5 – Driving Home 7:29 AM
As I drove, I called my nephew, Nicholas Campbell, who was a police officer at the time. He said he wasn’t working but agreed to try and get information. A few minutes later, he called back to ask me to describe Patrick’s bike. He mentioned there was an accident, and the rider did not have ID. I told him my husband refused to wear the Road ID I had made for him.
I don’t remember panicking or wondering why they would need ID. Maybe shock had set in? All I knew was Camille would be leaving for school, and I needed to get home before she did. As I walked into the house, I got a breaking news text reading, “Fatal bicycle vs. vehicle accident closes Shaw.” And I knew. I can remember thinking this is what happens when you follow the news too closely. I received notification of death by a news alert. My brain refused to process the news.
I met with a small publisher today. I’ve been wanting to compile my blogs into a book. I definitely have enough material. I just need to decide if I want to spend the time and money to get it done.
Actually, it just occurred to me that if I was led to this publisher. I first met Everett O’Keefe when he sent me a friend request after Patrick died. He went to high school with Pat and has fond memories of him. I’ve never met him in person and I hadn’t spoken to him before today.
A few months after Patrick died I joined a group for widows and I met Leicia Riding. Later I would find out that her husband, John, was also a friend of Everett’s and they wrote their first book together. They were in business together up until the time of John’s death in 2014.
And finally, in 2020 my mom remarried. My new stepfather is Donald Tacchino and he was an English teacher. While visiting him recently, he showed me a book he had received from a former student. The book was The Power of the Published and it was written by, you guessed it, Everett O’Keefe! He let me borrow the book and I scheduled a book consultation as soon as I finished it.
My inspiration
Before Patrick died I read a book called Radical Survivor by Nancy Saltzman. Nancy tragically lost her husband and two sons in a plane crash. I can’t say I enjoyed her story, how can you enjoy someone experiencing that kind of loss? But, it happened. She woke up one morning with a husband and two sons and by the end of the day it was just her. And the next morning? She woke up and moved forward. And she has kept going each day since then. I’m incredibly sad that she had to experience that. At the same time I’m grateful that she found a way to share her story because it gave me a lot of hope. I read several different books by widows but Nancy’s will always be special. She’s my hero.
I eventually reached out to Nancy and she told me about Soaring Spirits International, a great resource and source of support for widows and widowers.
There are many other people who helped me along the way, including friends, family, and strangers whose words I found in books and blogs. I would really like to pay it forward. And, as a Licensed Professional Clinical Counselor, I can now provide additional insight on grief and recovery.
While I am working to organize my story, I thought I would reach out and see if any of you would be willing to share any tips on things that have helped you through your own grief? I would love to include real-life examples of ways that people have handled grief. And if you have any other tips I would also appreciate those! You can either comment on WordPress, Facebook, or Medium. You can also email me directly at danell.tenyenhuis@danellt9.com.
Thanks everyone and stay tuned for more!
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That’s how long Patrick has been gone. Okay, technically it’s 3,155,040 minutes but It was easier to round it down. Either way 3 MILLION conveys the enormity of the loss. On the other hand, if we were together nearly 30 years, he was a part of my life for over 15 MILLION minutes and that’s the important number.
This year has been a little harder for me and I didn’t completely realize it until my friend pointed out the “intense trio of 3 days, his birthday, Easter, and his passing.”
I knew Easter was late this year but I didn’t make the connection that this is the latest it’s been since he died which put it right in the middle of “THE WEEK.” Now that I realize the connection, it makes it a little easier.
For the last two years I have frequently reminded my clients that the pandemic is an added stress. This usually comes up when they are telling me they are having a hard time getting out of a “funk” or they don’t understand why they are so anxious. I feel it is important to recognize when we are under stress. I often hear people say “ I should be able to handle this.” What they mean is “I don’t really have a good reason to be sad or depressed.” I’m here to tell you that A) You don’t need a reason. And B) There may be a reason you haven’t considered.
When I point out a reason someone might be having a difficult time I ask them to give themselves grace. It’s okay to have difficult days. I know April 20th is always going to be hard. I can’t take off work this year because I haven’t accrued time but I made sure my boss knew the significance of the days. And, being a counselor, she made sure to ask me what I need from her. Luckily I have group supervision on Wednesday so I will meet with my boss and 7 other counselors for 2 hours and if I need a little extra love, they’ll be there for me!
I think I’m actually going to be okay. I’ve mentioned previously that I have a friend who is a spiritual medium. I know everyone may not understand or agree with this but it is something that has brought me comfort. And believing that my friend is able to send me messages from Patrick does not diminish my belief in God. I still believe in God and heaven and I believe that it is possible for our loved ones to send us signs after they are gone. And this friend is the one who mentioned the intense trio of 3 days. More on that in a minute.
Yesterday I was briefly put in “Facebook Jail.” I think there may be different levels of jail for Facebook. I was put in jail because my post “went against our community standards on human exploitation.” This decision was reversed a few minutes after I told them they misinterpreted my post and I can no longer see what all of the punishments were but I remember two of them. 1) I could not advertise for 30 days. Um, okay, I wasn’t planning on doing that anyway. And 2) I could not livestream for 30 days (I definitely wouldn’t have been doing that either). I think the last one might have been that I couldn’t request to be added to any groups.
If you didn’t see my post, I will put it at the end of this post. I made the post on Patrick’s birthday and I told a story about the outrageous lighters he ordered days before his death. The lighters shoot flames from an exaggerated male appendage. I was careful not to use the P word but I still got in trouble! I put a picture of the lighters in the comments and mentioned my 18-year-old niece since she was the latest person to find a hidden lighter. Maybe she was the human I was exploiting? Lol
Patrick would have LOVED this story. In fact, I’m fairly certain that the idea that Facebook jail exists might have been enough to get him to create a new account and make it his sole mission to get put in Facebook jail. It saddens me to think of all the entertainment we missed out on!
So, back to the message from my friend. She mentioned that she had a message for me and it’s my understanding that the messages are not always as clear as I would imagine so it sometimes takes a while for her to convey them to me. She’s still working on the whole message but she did tell me that Patrick loved the story and was very happy that his lighters caused problems. This surprises no one!
I guess I should sleep soon. Bruce is out of town tonight so I’m not worried about keeping him awake. Plus, he can sleep through just about anything! Speaking of Bruce, I’m happy to say that I’ve now spent well over a million minutes with him and I’m very grateful for this. He continues to be there for the girls and I. Last week he came with us to spruce up Patrick’s headstone and he ended up in his hands and knees washing it off. I was filled with love as I watched my current husband lovingly clean my late husband’s headstone. I don’t know how I got this lucky twice but I am very grateful. Today will be a little bit easier because he will be by my side. ❤️
Here’s the birthday post:
Happy Birthday in heaven Patrick! ❤️❤️❤️
In honor of his birthday, I have a funny story. Shortly before Patrick died he had bought pipes for Phillip Weathers and Denny Boyles. They were ridiculous looking and one was an actual corn cob pipe! I knew they had arrived but I could never find them. I know they were sitting in boxes on a coffee table and I think the boxes were thrown into recycling during the chaos of that day. I was sad that we never found them but I discovered another surprise while I was looking.
When I pulled up our Amazon order history to confirm we had received the pipes, I saw he had ordered a unique lighter, a little golden man with a very large appendage from which the flame was intended to shoot out! Only Patrick would order something like this! And the shipment hadn’t arrived yet!
The day the box arrived was a difficult day. We had an appointment at the funeral home for a private viewing. Denny drove the girls and I there and I decided I would let him open the box when we got home. He had no idea what to expect but we were all surprised to find not one, but two lighters in the box. We had a good laugh!
We thought about what we would do with the lighters and we decided to share them with each other in the Cranberry Lambic tradition.
Many years ago someone (possibly Dina or Jeff) bought a beer that was called Cranberry Lambic. I’m not a beer drinker and I never tasted it but it is apparently the most foul-tasting beer that exists! Once the first one was drank the purchaser decided they couldn’t finish the rest and decided to “gift” them to others. Over the years the siblings came up with elaborate schemes to sneak the beer to their unsuspecting victims. You might find one in your fridge after guests left. Or maybe it was in the ice chest you carried home after a party. One particularly cruel sibling carefully removed the label and replaced it with a Sierra Nevada label. I believe the rule is that if you start drinking it, you have to finish!
When Patrick died the siblings agreed that it would be fitting to leave a bottle with him to ensure that he was “it”. So now the lighters are passed around and hidden in each other’s houses. Last Friday we had a gathering at Matthew TeNyenhuis’ and Denny mentioned that a lighter might make an appearance. As I left Matt’s house I realized I hadn’t heard if it was left there or not. Apparently Denny carefully opened and resealed a bag of tortilla chips and made sure they were left there. A few days later my 18-year-old niece, Ella TeNyenhuis, had friends over for tacos. So now Ella is it!
I’m so glad that Patrick’s humor has outlasted him! I’ll put a pic of the lighters in the comments!
I no longer post all of my writing on WordPress. This index will be kept up-to-date with all of my stories, separated by topic. If you don’t have a Medium account you can read more than 5 per month by clearing your cache. Or I can send a friend link for you to read the story for free. The link below is a friend link so it won’t count against your 5 stories.
Teenage Patrick – Photo courtesy of Danell teNyenhuis Black (author)
“To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.”
Thomas Campbell
There is no rule book for handling the belongings of your late husband. I did not think I would be going through his things four and a half years later, but I’ve done it at my own pace.
Bruce and I combined our households in mid-2019. Moving was stressful and luckily we have a large garage with room for a lot of boxes. We intended to do a little at a time and then time got away from us.
I’ve had multiple boxes of Patrick’s things that I was holding onto. I was planning to get them all together and then go through and discard anything meaningless. How do you decide what is meaningless? I decided to consolidate the mementos into one box and save it as a time capsule available for the girls or their children to look through in the future.
One box was clearly items that had been packed up in college, moved home, and possibly never touched again.
I picked up a very worn deck of cards with a University of the Pacific logo and a campus picture on them. I’m positive that we played spades in his dorm room or apartment using those cards. The cards might not be played again but they could still be picked up and the holder could imagine their father, or possibly their grandfather, handling the same cards.
A cup made of leather with the name Pat on it. Clearly a high school art class project. Filled with pennies. The pennies could be cashed in for a few bucks. Or they could age in the time capsule, along with the ziplock bag labeled rare coins.
A “guess list” notebook. Used as a sign-in for his bachelor party. Some of the entries intelligible, most nonsensical. Smiling at the thought of Patrick with his high school friends and cousins. Damian reminding him that he knew me first. John not mentioning that he dated me first.
High school ID cards for each of his years at Hoover High School. A school picture and a picture of Patrick running for Sierra Freshman High School.
A book of poems and short stories published in his senior year. Contributors include a classmate who is now the CEO of Valley Children’s Hospital and another who owns a small publishing company. Patrick had several contributions including this one about his great-grandmother. Of course they got his last name wrong!
Biz Nona by Patrick teNyenhuis
High school awards including certificates and plaques. Possibly I will add the yearbooks but for now they are on the bookshelf for easy access.
Cassette tapes that are mostly useless now. A picture from his high school prom with his date Heidi. A pair of dice.
My favorite item is a souvenir keychain from Magic Mountain. If you look into it and hold it up to the light you will see a picture of Patrick and I. I’ve always loved the picture.
Magic Mountain | Photo courtesy of Danell teNyenhuis Black (author)
There are physical therapy tools to measure range of motion and pain sensation. And there are needles and thread to do minor repairs while away from home.
A Jiminy Cricket figurine.
A butane lighter and a nesting tin cup.
A metal “Honor Carrier” cash box from his days delivering The Fresno Bee. Locked but easy to open with a screw driver. Inside are various items including his high school valedictorian medal.
There are various other items that I will leave as surprises for the girls. I realize that many things could be tossed in the trash. I save them because they meant enough to him that he saved them. And I feel close to him as I look through them.
I also know there are still more mementos in the garage. Some day I will find them all and finish the time capsule. And when I do, I will look through everything again.
I’m creating a new e-mail sign-up list. Since I write in various places now, this will give you an opportunity to get an email when I create new content.
