My Tribute to my husband Paul on July 6, 2023 After seven long years, my family and I have finally found solace in giving Paul the closure he deserved. It was a bittersweet moment as we gathered at the Silver Lake Cemetery in Bucksport, Maine, to inter his ashes. I can't help but reflect on the journey that led us here, a journey that started with a hidden piece of paper on his desk.
That paper, written by Paul himself in 2006, remained a mystery to me until the day after his passing. It was a detailed list outlining his desires for the scattering of his ashes. With every read, I wondered how we could fulfill all of his wishes. But my son, Jonathan, assured me that it was possible, and so we embarked on this heartfelt endeavor in July of 2018. Paul's first wish was to have his ashes scattered at Long Peak, his favorite skiing spot at Big Sky in Montana. Together, our family embarked on a journey to Montana, making sure to visit Lone Peak on July 9, the second anniversary of his tragic accident. Although it was summer and skiing was not possible, we hired a guide who led us to the peak. The breathtaking view reminded me instantly why this place held such a special place in Paul's heart. We bonded as a family, raising Paul's beer flag and cherishing the majestic scenery. It was with a heavy heart that we left, but the memories we created will forever stay with us. The following year, we ventured to Cape Hatteras in the Outer Banks of North Carolina, the place Paul loved for surfing. With our feet on the sandy beach, only 26 feet above sea level, we once again came together as a family, flying Paul's beer flag in his honor. And now, we find ourselves here in Bucksport, Maine, fulfilling Paul's final wish. He wanted to be laid to rest among his ancestors at the Silver Lake Cemetery, where our families gathered to bid our final goodbyes on July 6, 2023, just shy of seven years since his passing. Recently, I stumbled upon the significance of the number seven, and it seems to hold a profound meaning in our lives. I shared this revelation with a spiritual friend, who explained that in Hebrew, seven signifies fullness and completeness. Since then, the number seven has appeared everywhere, even in biblical references. It made me realize that perhaps Paul was trying to convey that waiting these seven years was okay. In Greek mythology, individuals associated with the number seven are considered insightful, intuitive, truthful, introspective, intellectual, wise, and, if I may add, handsome. Moreover, July, the month we gathered for Paul's service, is known as the seventh month of the year. It holds significance as the Buck Moon, represented by the full moon, although we couldn't witness it this year due to cloudy skies. These synchronicities only reinforce the notion that Paul's timing and presence were guiding us. Throughout these past seven years, there have been moments of joy and celebration, from two weddings to the birth of my granddaughter and countless adventures. Yet, alongside these moments of happiness, there have also been losses that have weighed heavily on our hearts, including Ruth, mother, mother-in-law, grandma, great-grandma, and matriarch, and, a few years later, my brother-in-law, Paul Leary. Amidst it all, my daughter-in-law Lizzie has been a remarkable pillar of support. She accompanied us on all our journeys to scatter the ashes, even though she never had the chance to meet Paul. Her unwavering dedication, despite the loss of her own father years before Paul's passing, is a testament to her love for Jonathan and our entire family. And now, after seven years, I stand at the precipice of closure. Thoughts of Paul still fill my days, but the tears and the ache in my heart have become less frequent. I know in my heart that Paul would want us to find joy and carry on with our lives. As I feel this sense of closure, I am also overwhelmed with gratitude for everything Paul brought into my life. I am forever grateful for my beautiful family, for the unwavering support Paul provided as I pursued my passion for photography and travel. His love for his family, the city of Duluth, his friends, and his community continues to inspire me daily. Today, I hold a dozen red roses in my hands—red, Paul's favorite color. He adorned himself with red bike shoes and had a striking red stripe on his bicycle. He would gift me red roses on special occasions, like Valentine's Day. As I approach his marker, I lay down the first rose, whispering my deep gratitude for all he did for me throughout our time together. Paul, I love you with all my heart, and your memory will forever be etched in my soul. I will never forget you.
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You have been a wonderful home for the last twenty-nine years and twenty-four days. I have lived on Hansom Cab Way longer than any other place in my entire life. Today I said good-bye. It was a privilege to live on Hansom Cab Way, and I was blessed to have the most wonderful neighbors in the world. Now it is time to say good-bye to Hansom Cab Way.
Paul and I started house hunting in April of 1990 in Atlanta when a job transfer brought us to the South. We looked at thirty houses in one weekend, and we felt like kids in a candy store because homes were a fraction of what they cost in the New York area. Out of the all the houses we looked at, we knew Hansom Cab Way was the one we wanted to live in and raise a family. It was much larger than our duplex in Connecticut, and the garage itself was more massive than our one-bedroom condo in Valley Cottage, which was our first home together. The house was our dream house; a contemporary 3 bedroom home with a finished basement. It sat at the end of a cul-de-sac and seemed to be a perfect spot to raise children. Although it was more expensive than other homes we looked at ($128,000), it was one of the best decisions I have ever made. Our home on Hansom Cab Way was the perfect home to raise a family. It was located in Duluth in the northern suburbs of Atlanta. The feeling of community began instantly when someone from the Baptist Church welcomed us with an apple pie. I remember the summers were always fun-filled either at the pool or enjoying the outdoors. Summer officially started when Paul would cart the kids to the community pool in a little red wagon. Our son, Jonathan, became best friends with the neighbor boy, Greg. They were only a year apart and spent a lot of time together, playing video games and playing outdoors. I still remember them lying on the hammock together with their Welsh Corgis, Buddy, and Toby. Brittany became best friends with Katie, who also lived in our subdivision, and they also found action next door as they would 'jump tramp' at the neighbor's house. The kids on the street would play Steal the Flag on hot summer evenings, and it was so much fun to see them playing outdoors. Those were the days, and I will never forget them. Paul and I had a ritual almost every night. We would have a cocktail, along with a plate of cheese and crackers around 6:30 PM. We would sit on the front porch, weather permitting, and hash out the day. I always looked forward to the thirty minutes I would have him to myself. Those were the days. You always knew when summer was ending, because we would host our annual Biergarten party in our driveway the Saturday night before school started. It was Paul's favorite event because he could show off his brew-making skills. He would begin to make batches of beer several months before the event. Only the diehards would stay late and drink his mead. It was a good time had by all. In 2016, I became a widow, and life became very lonely. At one time, there were four of us occupying the house. Besides Paul, Brittany, Jonathan and myself, we also had a dog, two cats, two rabbits, and four hermit crabs. Did I say fish? We also had fish. There were always sounds of the pitter-patter of feet in the hallways and noises of a busy family life. By 2016, Jonathan had already moved out of the house. My daughter and her husband, Steven, came to live with me for a year. That was great, but when they left, the loneliness crept in. It was time to think about moving. Now, after twenty-nine years, I have decided to move to the city a mere 2 ½ miles away, where the houses are closer together, and the noises of the city abound. There will be the sweet sound of the not so distant train, and of music from the Towne Greene on concert nights. It is bittersweet to leave my home, which is filled with so many memories. Oh, if the walls could talk! But, I am ready for the move. The third anniversary of Paul’s death was just last week on July 9. When he died, I had no idea what I would do. Little by little, I knew I wanted to move. When the new subdivision, South of Main, started selling last fall, I knew this was my new dream home, just like I knew Hansom Cab Way was. It is now time for me to go and start a new chapter, but I will always have the memories of the best time of my life on Hansom Cab Way. It has been 2 ½ years since I lost my dear, sweet, husband. Paul died suddenly and tragically in a bicycle accident on July 9, 2016. Although it has been over two years, people still ask me, “Mary, how are you doing?” If you are interested in how I am coping, please read on.
I am actually doing so much better than last year and a million times better than two years ago, but the truth is that the cycle of grief is ongoing. I still feel some denial and anger that Paul was taken from us at such a young age. Although the pain has lessened, it has not gone away. I don't expect that it ever will because the cycle of grief is continuous. I am leaning more toward the final phase in the sequence; acceptance and hope. Many people tell me that they admire me for my resiliency. I never really thought of myself as a strong woman, but I knew I had to take steps to move on with my life. I cannot ever control what happened, but I can control how I move forward. My mode of grieving was to surround myself with people and places. That made me appear resilient to everyone. My new found love of travel also helped reel me out of darkness to feeling a new sense of normal. I still experience moments of sadness, reflection, and loneliness but they are fewer and further between. The New Year brings hope to me as I begin a fresh start. For starters, I am moving out of the house Paul, and I shared for twenty-nine years where we raised our family. I am in the process of going through three decades of memories and only keeping a handful of items. (of course, I will keep all the photos). My fresh-start strategy is not to live in the past, but for the present and the future. Second of all, I have started dating again. It feels good to move on in the area and to know that I can enjoy the company of another man. I also feel a renewed energy to go on with my work, something I lost in the past couple of years. I finally feel happy still as I move forward with my life. I am looking forward to a beautiful 2019. I am blessed with two amazing children and a new son-in-law. I hope to become more involved with the community as I move to downtown Duluth. Life can sometimes seem unfair, but somewhere there is a bright light if you just look for it. It hasn't been easy the past 2 ½ years, but I am grateful for the memories... I still think about Paul every day. I remember his pretty blue eyes, his muscular legs shaped from years of bicycle riding, and his low, sexy voice. I also think about what a good father he was to Brittany and Jonathan. He was one of a kind and the love of my life. I wake up some mornings and wonder where he is, but I no longer ponder over the ‘what ifs,' because I realize I cannot ever change what happened on that fateful Saturday morning in July. Thinking of Paul will bring a smile to my face every day for the rest of my life. Happy New Year! Sunday, July 9, 2017 marked the first anniversary of Paul's passing. I anticipated the day with much apprehension as I knew it would be tough. The entire week leading up to the actual day was met with up and down feelings of emotion and grief. On July 8 I realized that a year ago was the last full day of Paul's life. I kept thinking if only I had known I would have planned an extraordinary day; but it was just another day. We had an uneventful dinner, watched TV for awhile and then went to bed. I do not even remember telling Paul I loved him when I went to bed that night. If only I had one last hug. What I would do now for one last hug. I woke up on Sunday morning and knew the day would be hard.
We left around 7:45 AM for the ride up to Dahlonega. I had a couple friends come with me. We met Steven and Brittany up at Woody's Gap where we were able to breath the fresh air and take photos on the Appalachian Trail. Then we rode down to mile marker 16 where Paul's accident occurred. Mark, the bike shop owner, texted me the night before to tell me that the cross I placed last year was no longer there. I asked Steven to make another one, which he did the night before. We planted the cross and had a moment of silence at 10:35 the exact moment the accident happened. Then we each placed a LiveStrong bracelet and a red flower by his cross. Robert, the bike rider who rode with Paul that morning was there and he spoke very eloquently about Paul's last moments. He said Paul was ecstatic that morning riding in the beautiful N. Georgia Mountains. He loved to ride there and often said he felt like he was in heaven, with the clouds below. Robert also said that the accident happened in the blink of an eye. Paul probably didn't have time to think, react or surely not time to have his life flash before him. His death was immediate and there was no pain. That was comforting for me to hear that. It was also uplifting for me to hear that Paul was in his element, that we died doing something that he loved to do. The rest of the day was spent being with friends and family. After the dedication to Paul we all went to the little town of Dahlonega for breakfast. There was a band with a banjo playing on the street. A plump and jovial man was dancing to the music. He told us his name was "Buck". How strange was that. In the evening we went to one of Paul's favorite restaurants - Stoney River. Brittany, Steven, Katie, and Lucile joined me for a lovely steak dinner. I told several stories about my courtship with Paul. We toasted his life, laughed and shared a wonderful evening together. At our table, I had one chair reserved for Paul. I think I will make that a tradition every year. One year marks a milestone. I feel renewed and ready to go on with my life. Everyone says, the first year is the hardest. No kidding, it is. I will never forget Paul and I will love him forever. One thing I have learned in the past year is that there are so many people who mourned Paul's passing. There are many who miss him; family, friends and bikers. He was such a nice guy who had a positive outlook on life. He touched many people because of his gentle and warm personality. He is missed sorely by all of us. Rest in Peace Paul. Love you forever. Today marks the eleventh month since Paul died. Itd oesn't seem that long ago that he has been gone. My grief is still raw and I have to pinch myself everyday to realize this is not a dream.
Since I have last posted 6 weeks ago a lot has happened. On May 24, it would have been our 31st wedding anniversary. On that evening, I sat down with my daughter, Brittany, and we looked through our wedding album. We laughed at the hairstyles, the clothing and my "Dynasty" styled dress. We both got a lot of comfort from looking at the pictures. I decided to go to Key West by myself the weekend before the anniversary. Paul and I had talked about going for our 31st. I wanted to go anyway so I could spend some time alone having fun not be reel in pain. I did have a very enjoyable time, reminiscing with a few old friends, walking the streets and photographing the sunset celebration. The main drag, Duval St., has changed a lot but the city is still the funky, laid back place I remember from the late 70's. I rented a bike and rode around the whole island many times. Key West is only 14 blocks from the Atlantic Ocean to the Gulf of Mexico. In between there are lots of shops, restaurants, and conch houses. My biggest surprise was to find out how expensive it has gotten there; nearly 1.4 million for a small house. Paradise is now just for the rich. While I was there I met up with a couple people I have not seen for 30-35 years. The first was Ben Harrison. He was the musician at the bar I worked at called The Patio on Front St. He sang Jimmy Buffet style and wrote a lot of his own music. We became Facebook friends a couple years ago so I kind of knew where to find him. I brought the album that he autographed for me in 1981 to his house and showed his son, who answered the door. Ben and I had a great reunion. He is still singing away and gave me 3 of his recent CDs. Second I saw Will, one of the entertainers at the Sunset Celebration. In 1978 there were only a handful of people who went to see the sunset and only a few entertainers to entertain them. Will DeSoto was one of the jugglers. I always remembered his face and when I saw him again I yelled out his name. He did not remember me but we still hugged and kissed like we were long lost friends. Will still juggles, but he juggles knives, torches all while being on a trapeze. And he is 70 years old!!! I carried two cameras with me during the entire trip, just like in Cuba. I was able to capture a lot of street photography. I am not so apprehensive about taking people's pictures anymore. My one-liner is "What's your story?" Once people find out that you are genuinely interested in them, they warm up and relax and let you take their picture. At the Hemingway House I asked one the painters if I could photograph him. He was reluctant until I told him he has pretty blue eyes. I had my cameras with me on the rental bike also. One morning very early I rode through Bahama Village (called Black Town in the 70's). As I was riding I saw a woman sitting down in front of her Conch House. She said hello to me and after a few blocks down the road, I realized I had to go back and talk to her. She told me her story about her cancer which caused her disfigured face. The best part of her story was her joy in telling me that her cancer was gone. When I asked her how old she was she said 64. I replied "that is how old I am." She was shocked that we were the same age. Maybe that is why I stopped to photograph her. She said she was born and raised in Key West and the only time she got to leave was to have her cancer surgery in Miami. We chatted for a few more minutes and then I was on my way. There are many more "what's your story" photographs that I took that long weekend. I stayed at a lovely hotel called The Gardens owned by a woman who purchased it about 20 years ago. Before she owned it, Peggy Mills owned it and you could go there to tour the lush grounds. I remember going there in 1979 and meeting Peggy. Kate, the new owner, sat with her guests every night for Happy Hour and got to know everyone. Many of the guests were repeat customers and said they loved it there. I can see why. It was quiet, beautiful and Happy Hour started at 3PM every day. It was close to everything a very friendly and comfortable place to stay. Traveling has really helped me cope with my grief. It doesn't make me miss Paul any less but it helps me focus on something else besides sadness. Traveling will be part of "my new normal" as I continue with the cycle of grief. We moved to Duluth, Georgia from New York in June 1990 thanks to a wonderful job transfer. We were smitten by the lower taxes, nice weather and low house prices. Our son, Jonathan, was two years old at the time, and our daughter was born a few years later in March 1992. Life was good. We felt blessed living in a wonderful community. Imagine a place where there are world-class schools, four equal seasons, only one snowfall a year (if any) and where a local church delivers an apple pie to your new home shortly after your arrival – a little bit of Mayberry right here in Georgia. The community of Duluth grew in the 90’s. It became a small fish in a big pond as more people moved there, and larger companies created a strong tax base. In 2003, the city erected a Town Green which became Duluth’s centerpiece. Paul and I enjoyed going to concerts there for over thirteen years. Many big-name bands performed there as well as local favorites including Rupert’s Orchestra and Yacht Rock Schooner. The “oldies but goodies “ bands also performed, and that is when Paul and I usually made it to the dance floor. We spent many Saturday nights sitting on the Green, enjoying our adult beverage paired with a picnic dinner while visiting with the local folks. Our circle was wide; we knew and kept in touch with our kids’ high school friends and their parents. We knew just about everyone in our close-knit neighborhood, a swim/tennis community of 200+ homes also located in the City of Duluth. When our kids got older, we made new friends. In 2006, Paul started bike riding with a group from the Duluth Cycling Shop and enjoyed meeting up with his new brotherhood. I, too, found my tribe when I became a founding member of the Duluth Fine Arts League in 2009. I became involved in the community as an art leader. Our circle further increased, and often we would go to Downtown Duluth because there was always something going on, and we wanted to see our friends. If you have visited this blog before, you will know what happened on July 9, 2016. Paul died suddenly and tragically in a bike accident in the North Georgia Mountains in an area known as the Gap. This post is not about his accident, but if you are curious to know more, you should read the first two posts which can be found here and here. Paul’s funeral was a testament to how much he loved and was loved in Duluth. Our house was filled with people for several days after his death. People called and sent food, cards and flowers. Over 200 people attended his visitation at the funeral home including the Mayor of Duluth and almost the entire City Council. Teachers from the high school came, parents we knew from our kids’ band and cheerleader days came, and even his college roommate came. The bike riding group came as well as my Chamber of Commerce associates and the Duluth Fine Arts League members. Our circle was well represented. The funeral Mass at St. Monica’s Catholic Church was filled with many of the same people. The community that gave us so much came to him to mourn his passing. A couple of months passed by, and I attended the monthly Duluth Fine Arts League meeting and learned the progress of a new public art project planned for Duluth called The Dream Keepers. The Dream Keepers was being designed by Kathy Fincher, a renowned artist from Duluth. She was designing the largest patriotic bronze sculpture collection of children in the country based on her painting from 9/11/2001. It was going to be erected at the Town Green - the same place Paul and I went for concerts and gatherings. The project has a lot of history so if you want to read more about it you can refer to this link. The project touched me, and I knew I wanted to be a part of it, so I contacted Kathy Fincher and asked her if she would consider adding a dog to the sculptures. I wanted to sponsor a dog in the name of my late husband. I did not get an answer from Kathy for several months, so I thought she did not like my idea. Finally, I did receive an email from her. It was a one line email that read, “Mary, the sculptor said he would sculpt a dog.” I was elated, and this one email made my day. Our next step was to decide on what breed dog should be sculpted. I immediately thought of a Welsh Corgi, since our last two dogs were Corgis, and Paul was their Master. Kathy did not think a Corgi was a wise choice as it was not a very well-known breed. I started to think about another breed, and then I remembered that Paul grew up with a Cocker Spaniel named Sparky. Kathy thought the breed was perfect for the collection of bronze children, so the sculpting of Sparky began. I found some photos of Sparky in an old photo album that I found at his Mom’s house. (see above) The photos were very small, so Kathy used a photo of a living cocker spaniel from her neighborhood to sculpt him. A few months later I saw the first photo of the finished Sparky, and the resemblance to the original Sparky was amazing. n April 29, 2017, the unveiling of The Dream Keepers took place in a festive and patriotic celebration at the Town Green. As the president of the Duluth Fine Arts League, I sat on stage with the Mayor and the Governor of Georgia. What an honor that was. I welcomed the guests, sponsors and visitors that evening to the historic event. And then I told my story of Sparky. I did not talk about Paul’s passing; instead, I spoke of how I wanted to be a part of this project so I could leave a memorial to my husband, Paul, in a city that he loved so much. The Dream Keepers will be a permanent art memorial at the Town Green, and Paul’s name and his little Sparky will be immortalized forever for his children, his future grandchildren and the people of Duluth. BELOW IS A PICTURE OF THE ENTIRE ART PIECE. Holidays have been the hardest to cope with since Paul has been gone. Today is Easter, April 16 2017. Paul and I always started this holiday by going to church together at St. Monica's Catholic Church. Then we went on to his mom's country club at Indian Hills in Marietta for a wonderful buffet dinner. We did that for at least 20 years. This year, Easter Sunday is very quiet around the house and my heart feels empty. My first holiday without Paul was the first day of college football season last September. This is not a formal holiday but for us it was like a holiday because we made a ritual of watching college football together ever year on the opening day. We would cheer together and imbibe a selection of craft beer. If two of our favorite teams were playing at the same time, we would have one on the TV and another on a laptop. Throughout the fall season, we enjoyed going to local college football games together. We always tail-gated with friends, wore college T-shirts and college themed sunglasses. We had fun and acted like college kids, even playing beer pong once at the Georgia Southern tailgate party. Paul and I had football apps on our phones so we could check scores throughout the day of some of the other teams we followed, mainly Wisconsin and Georgia. I always looked forward to this spending this day with Paul. The next holiday without Paul was his birthday, October 24. He would have been 63 years old that day. Paul was a young 63 because he was very fit and young at heart. I wanted all of us to be together that day so my daughter and I flew to San Diego so we could be with my son Jonathan. A few weeks before I went, I found a video from 1991 where Jonathan sang Happy Birthday to his daddy while sitting on his lap. I brought it to California and we watched it together. We cried and we hugged as we watched the video. The next major holiday without Paul was Christmas. Jonathan, Brittany and her finance, Steven were with me for Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, so that helped ease the pain. On Christmas morning we went to Dahlonega to visit the cross which marks the site where Paul had his tragic accident last July. It was sad, yet enlightening to be there. We spread ashes on the cross and said a prayer. We felt close to Paul by being there. Our grief was so strong on Christmas Day 2016. Below is a photo from Christmas Morning at Paul's cross. Today is the 9 month anniversary of the sudden and tragic death of my husband Paul. Nothing prepares you for this type of grief. Since July 9, 2016 I have been going through cycles of grief beyond comprehension. My cycles are fewer and further between than months ago, but I still have them. I wake up every morning still in disbelief. This sort of thing only happens to other people, not us. I also feel a lot of guilt for not being able to say good-bye. The night before he died, I did not do anything special. I wish I would have hugged him and told him how much I loved him. The next day, it was just another Saturday morning when Paul left early to go on his Saturday morning bike ride. I heard his footsteps as he went down the steps into the garage. I heard the garage door open and close and could hear the faint sound of his car going down the street. I went back to sleep thinking I would see him in the afternoon. The phone rang around 10:30 am. It was Mark, the owner of the bike store who arranged the Saturday morning ride at the Gap in the North Georgia Mountains. He called to tell me that Paul was in an accident. I knew the place he went to could be dangerous as it is very hilly with sharp turns but I did not expect the outcome of what had happened. Mark offered to drive me to the hospital in Dahlonega. I should have known by this gesture that it was going to be bad news. We finally made it to the hospital after about a 90 minute drive. When I entered the emergency room I felt like I had to throw up. I knew something was not right. In a few minutes, the doctor came out and said "We did everything we could to save him, but when he came in, he had no heartbeat." At that point I asked, "Is he dead?" and the doctor said, "Yes." A few minutes later my daughter arrived and I told her the news. She was devastated and the first thing she said was "He can't be dead, he is suppose to walk me down the aisle next year." The rest of the day and the entire week was a fog. Processing the loss of Paul has been the most difficult thing I have ever had to do. I will continue to grieve for the rest of my life but I have decided to choose a life of joy instead of a life of sorrow. I feel so grateful for my family, my friends and my passion for photography. This blog will be about the new chapter in my life. |
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