Episode Seven: FOREVER LOVE
[Music insert here]
Carolynn: On July 30, 2018, my daughter Christine, was taking a photo, as I posed beside Dave’s bed holding his hand for the shot. Suddenly, she lowered the camera and whispered: “Mom, his face is losing color.” I seemed frozen in place for a minute. I looked and saw his color fading. Panicky, I tore out the door calling for someone to help. His heart monitor had been turned off so the staff didn’t know his heart had stopped beating. I didn’t know what else to do? Why didn’t the staff prepare me for this? For how he would look? How I would know? What I was supposed to do?
Later, I would wonder, why the nurses didn’t tell me it was ok to cuddle up next to him in the hospital bed that day. They knew he was dying. I didn’t. I will always regret not sliding in next to him and holding him during his ten day hospital stay and especially as he was dying. I didn’t think it was allowed. I let the guard rails and monitors scare me away. Where was the widow’s handbook informing me what to expect and what to do.
The charge nurse rushed into the room and checked his pulse confirming that he had died. I think Dave had waited for me to be beside him before he died, because by chance, I had just returned to the room moments before he took his last breath. I was about to go home to shower when a family member met me in the parking lot, so I escorted her back to Dave’s room. If not for that encounter, I wouldn’t have been there, holding his hand as he silently took his last breath.
We were allowed to remain in the room for an hour until the funeral staff arrived to transport him to the funeral home. We knew we had to call them immediately or the staff would send his body to the morgue. A tray of cookies and coffee service was brought in while we waited. Crying softly, I went to the back of the room and stared at the family. I didn’t want to look at Dave. I was lost. My brother announced the time, 5:17 pm; he figured later we would want to know. Like a room full of marbles the family members bounced off each other going from person to person to hug and say something—whatever they could come up with. What does one say as you stand in the room with a recently deceased family member; with the body of a loved one lying nearby? Needless to say, no one ate the cookies. After a few minutes we had to vacate the room so the staff could do whatever they had to do to ready the body for transportation.
We, my daughter, her husband, my brother and his wife, my youngest daughter and my grandchildren stood silently in the hallway, watching the closed door. Numbness spread. No one spoke. Tears flowed. And then, the funeral workers arrived with the stretcher and I nearly collapsed watching them wheel my husband’s body out of the room, and down the hall to a rear elevator. For the rest of my life I will never forget that scene; a black body bag being pushed by men in black, and knowing it was my husband in that bag, on that stretcher.
[Tag; When I leave the world behind]
Carolynn: We were told to return to the room and secure all our personal items. They needed the room. We vacated the room with our arms loaded with plants, personal grooming items, my overnight bag, the CD player on which I had played my husband’s requested music, the bible the hospital had given me, and my poster where all the visits from friends and family and their flight schedules were posted. Someone drove my car with me in it, to my condo. Not our condo anymore, my condo. I don’t remember what happened next, did we eat? Did they stay with me? Did they all leave for hotels and homes? I only remember that when I climbed into bed that night, it was the first time that I felt totally alone in the condo, and realized I would be living alone, for the rest of my life. Dave wasn’t on a trip, or at the store. He was never going to be there again. I had never lived alone my entire life. I had always had family, roommates, a husband, or children sharing my home. I was now in a club I never wanted to be in—Widowhood. One of the hardest things a widow has to do is change pronouns. It is no longer “we” or “our” but now “I” and “my.” For years, it tore open a wound that hadn’t healed each time I uttered the new pronouns.
[Barbershop tag: My Love Is Your Love]
Carolynn: I normally write in my diary every night but after Dave’s death, it was August 8 before I posted anything. I made a short notation about my email being hacked. I operated like a robot, as I tried to get up to speed with the bills, arguing with the insurance company, proving to the union that Dave’s pension was guaranteed to stay the same (good thing I kept the paperwork.) I was in the widow’s chair doing widows work. Later my money market account was depleted by hackers, my webpage was hacked, Dave’s computer screen failed, my garage door froze shut, and my car broke down in a snowstorm. It seemed like the universe was challenging me, trying to see how strong I was. I was drowning not only in my sorrow but in the ordinary events life throws at us. It was pledge week in widowhood.
I spent most nights awake, the house was so quiet. I was so alone. Sleep abandoned me. To keep busy I worked on the computer; mainly working on Dave’s manuscript during the long quiet nights. When he was in the hospital, Dave asked me to bring his unfinished manuscript to him. It sat on his nightstand and he made me promise to publish it after he died. No, he didn’t say that. He never said the word die or talked to me about dying. He always changed the subject or made a joke when I tried to talk about his prognosis and his feelings about death. The manuscript work kept me busy. It was like hearing Dave talk to me, reading the many stories he wrote.
No one in the family could believe that he had chosen Some Final Thoughts as the title when he started working on his book several years ago. As it turned out, they were his final thoughts. He explains his book this way . . .
[Dave’s comments from the front of his book]
Male Voice:
“I have written a few pieces over the years--short stories, essays, and other drivel, some true and some fiction, all unpublished or never broadcast. I have decided to put that stuff together in one place so it’s easy to find or, if you prefer, easy to throw away.
The title, Some Final Thoughts was not my first choice. That was, Tastes Like Chicken, Feels Like the Flue, and Sounds Like a Freight Train. Second choice? Based on a True Story.
After writing my first book, Dinky Dau some people complained that it wasn’t much of a book. In fact, a former friend said he didn’t think it was a book at all. So I got out my trusty, dusty, old dictionary and found: BOOK: A written or printed work consisting of pages glued or sewn together along the inside and bound in covers. So, Dinky Dau IS a book, and so is this.”
Carolynn: Dave’s funeral was held just a block away from our condo on August 3rd at the O’Brien/Sullivan Funeral Home in Novi, MI. Earlier, I sleep walked through choosing a coffin, signing the funeral documents, gathering photos, sending out obituaries; three of them because I had to include the LA Times and the Phoenix Gazette. I greeted out of town guests at the viewing and at the condo. I hurriedly made a video for the funeral as laughter floated up to my room from the family lingering downstairs to visit.
The funeral home contacted the Marine Corps and they arranged the full military honor guard ceremony. Since the funeral was held indoor there was no gun salute. I wasn’t ready to visit the cemetery and bury Dave’s ashes in the ground. I wanted to keep him with me.
My daughter Christine videoed the service with her phone or I wouldn’t remember any of it. Grandson, Michael played TAPS on the trumpet. I’ll never forget his brave, anxious, tearful determination to learn to play the trumpet for Papa. Years ago, Dave had told his grandsons that he wanted one of them to play it for his funeral and Michael, although his instrument was a tuba, made it happen. Dave also wanted all the words of the song to be in the funeral handout. I did my best to honor his wishes. Here is a part of Michael’s rendition:
[TAPS played by Michael]
Carolynn: Night after night I was at the computer. Friends and family knew I hardly ever slept. It wasn’t unusual to hear the phone ring at 3 am. His Marine Corps buddies called me almost every night to make sure I was alright. I had never met any of them, but the “band of brothers” circled their wagons around me. I was in a dark place for a long time. I asked God to let me die every night for 8 months as I closed my eyes. I didn’t eat. I lost 50 lbs and today, 5 years later, my fingernails, which had once been long and thick, barely grow past the end of my fingers. I was living on Ensure, coffee, and wine.
During these endless days and nights I became the weeping widow or the chronic crier and even family grew tired of listening to my depressive thoughts and seeing my sorrow. My daughter said, “Mom if you want to die, there is nothing I can do.”
After so many heartfelt wishes from Dave’s radio and barbershop colleagues in California and Arizona, I decided I needed to have a Memorial Service closer to them so they could say goodbye. On September 29th the Michigan family flew out to Phoenix and my brother, David, helped me with the arrangements. It was uplifting to see friends and family and Dave’s former colleagues. Some of his barbershop friends came and sang a couple songs. It was emotionally moving. And when the new video I made of Dave’s life was played, there were many tears and even some laughter. His KNX radio friends never knew much of his back story. They all had so many wonderful stories to tell afterward. Many comments from his co-workers are posted on his website, www.davezorn.com. As I was handing Dave’s son some of his Dad’s things to take home after the service, my charm bracelet caught on his sweater. I was stunned for a moment. This is exactly what had happened when I met Dave so long ago at his Mom’s funeral. It was the same charm bracelet, only now weighted down with more charms he had given me over our 23 years together. I felt Dave was there, and as I had many times-- I whispered “HI” to him. He wanted me to know he was there. His sense of humor was showing itself and I could almost hear him saying, “remember this from Mom’s funeral?”
[Barbershop tag: Memories of You]
Carolynn: During these days of mourning many other unexplained things occurred. One night, shortly after the funeral as I tossed in my bed, I remembered the tapes Dave and I had made during our courtship. I jumped out of bed and went searching for them. I found the blue plastic box under my bed. It contained all our cards, letters, and tapes as well as my diary for 1994 through 1995.We had moved it from California to Arizona and then to Michigan and never opened it or revisited our love letters. I cried and pulled the tapes out. Every night after that I sat in my warm bath and listened to one. On one, I heard Dave ask me to save the tapes and to tell our love story one day. He even named it “Wait For Me.” And so I began typing what I thought would be a book, but instead turned into this podcast.
I felt Dave was in the house, like Elvis, and when an odd thing occurred I would call my daughter crying. For instance, when I turned on Dave’s computer one night I saw that he had saved on his desktop a song with Andy Williams. What guy played a song like this “Make each day a good day” over and over? In fact, I couldn’t turn it off. It kept repeating itself whenever I booted up the computer. I finally had to delete it. I think Dave left it for me when he knew he was sick so I’d be encouraged after he was gone. He never told me he was sick, but I think he knew and suffered in silence for months---Marine Corps brave. Just as he never talked to me about his PTSD. He didn’t want to be a burden then either.
I slept with two of my husband’s favorite T-Shirts on the pillow next to me for months; his Charlie Brown one and a Marine Corps one. I smelled them and it was as if he was near. Many widows do that. Familiar scents will evoke memories. Every morning I made the bed and carefully placed them back in the same order, as they often shifted during my restless sleep. Then one morning after working at my desk in my bedroom for hours, I felt urged to turn around. My eyes drifted right to the Tee-shirt pile. They were rearranged from when I made the bed that morning. A different one was on top. “Hello Dave,” burst from my lips. And then I cried. Crying was my profession now. I had it fine-tuned. It seemed my eyes didn’t redden anymore after a bout of sobbing and my nose stayed dry like my life.
[Barbershop tag: Lonely For You Am I]
I attended the first Thanksgiving and first Christmas after Dave died with overwhelming pain in my heart. His birthday was on Thanksgiving that year. Just pull your face into a smile and keep it there I told myself. Now, I was the only grandparent for my six oldest grandchildren as his their other grandparents were no longer alive. I was the family matriarch. Another role I didn’t want.
Things you never thought about before, and had taken for granted now loomed large. Forget about opening jars, I soon learned that I couldn’t unhook the back fastener to get my dresses off without help. I couldn’t fasten my bracelet. And I now asked, “how does this look on me?” to a ghost. In my mind, I imagined Dave was squirming over a safe response.
-----
Carolynn: Diary Jan 14, 2019. It has been almost six months since Dave died and I was still struggling. After getting through the holidays, the wheels came off the bus and I finally reached out for help. I found a therapist, but it took the patience of Job to wade through the insurance investigation and visiting several psychiatrists near my home before I found the appropriate one.”
My friend John, the funeral home director became a dear friend and often called to check on me. I visited the funeral home several t times and told the staff, I felt closer to Dave there. They said widows often do. I guess the staff talked about me, the widow Zorn who seemed unable to grieve in a way that was familiar. I took charge and took care of business with few tears. (They should have seen me at home!) Bless their hearts for worrying. John kept bugging me to attend a grief workshop that he suggested to other widows and widowers but I kept telling him no. I wouldn’t sign up.
Finally I agreed and registered so he’d stop asking. But I wasn’t planning to actually go. Having none of that, not buying my excuse about it being dark with winter roads, one evening he said, “get ready, I’ll be there in 15 minutes.” Thus he began driving me to and from the meetings for six weeks. And I cried all the way home each week. On the last night, I was still throwing my head on the table in our group and saying I wanted to die. It appeared I was flunking grief class.
[Barbershop Tag: I Know We’ll Meet Again Someday]
I also noted in my diary during this time more about the “visits” when I felt Dave was in the house. I wrote:
“In the past months, some interesting events have taken place that cannot be explained except as heavenly intervention. Dave seems to point me in the right direction or direct me to find something I need or provide comfort when all seems lost.”
One day as I looked for something in his closet I found a small, black, pocket sized notebook, and in it a statement of faith that he wrote. We never talked about God much; well, I did but he didn’t respond. So finding this written testament in time to incorporate it at his memorial service was precious. I was comforted to know he felt close to God. Grief is a time when some kind of belief in eternal life is demanded. He spoke with the priest at the hospital one day. I left the room so I didn’t know what they talked about. After I found this note, I called the priest and asked him what Dave had to say if he wouldn’t mind sharing. He said Dave wanted to talk about the afterlife.
Weeping in my chair in the living room was my time out from working on his book. One cloudy, cold, bitter winter morning I gathered up my crumpled self and walled to the mailbox. Back at home, I opened a letter from his former commanding officer from his Vietnam days, telling me what a great guy, and faithful Marine Dave was. More tears, but comforting ones this time. It was amazing to me that fifty years later, the men he served with provided such heartfelt support to me. Some days they seemed to be the only ones who truly understood my grief. They probably experienced days of desperation themselves, watching friends die in front of them, every day, in Vietnam.
When our new license plates arrived, without my having ordered a vanity plate, randomly, the new plate issued to us was “DZY” and some numbers. Out of all the new plates issued to all the people in Michigan at that time, I got one with my husband’s initials. And as for the letter “Y?” That is what I had been asking everyone for months--“why?” Now, after a lifetime of never remembering the license plate number, I will never forget it or the day it arrived. I called my daughter in tears, again, as I always did when one of these “Dave events” occurred.
(Tinkle sound)
Carolynn: As I mentioned in an earlier episode, Dave received a flower arrangement with a Mylar balloon attached to a straw after his heart attack in 2005. That balloon had been with us during three moves, kept him company in the shower for ten years and he once said, “If that balloon loses its air, then I’m a goner!” Well, after his death, I checked the balloon and it was still inflated. But several months later, when I still anguished trying to accept that he was not coming home, I went into his closet and found the balloon deflated. Was he telling me, “sweetheart, it’s time to accept that I am not coming back?” I called my daughter in tears, again. The mystical event was given substance even if erroneously.
As I was making the family video for the year, one of Dave’s pictures just added itself in the middle. I would have had to use the mouse and drag the photo into the film maker program, but I didn’t. When it happened, I looked down and my hand was not even on the mouse. And it added itself further down the slide show than where I was currently working. I never planned on using this photo of him but of course, I left it where he put it, in the middle of a song where the lyric said, “and you were gone.” Call me crazy, but I have made many of these family videos and I don’t know how this could have happened. I called my daughter in tears once again.
Dave was always the one to set the alarm clock when we had to get up to catch a flight for vacation. I didn’t even know how. But when I was scheduled to travel to Phoenix for a visit with my brother so I wouldn’t be alone on our New Year’s Eve anniversary, I brought Dave’s alarm clock into my room, set it, checked it, and fell asleep hoping it worked. When I woke up, right before it went off, for a split second, I saw Dave in profile as if he were coming over to wake me—like he always used to do—so I wouldn’t miss the trip to the airport. In a second, a blink of my eyes, he was gone. I believe if I had not woken up at that moment, I would have felt his gentle touch trying to awaken me. Once before during the night as I slept I felt his body next to me--- it felt so real, I reached out for him. I called my daughter in tears again to tell her of the latest “Dave” moment.
[Barbershop tag: Who’ll dry your tears when you cry?]
I spent a lot of time gathering up Dave’s radio broadcast recordings and cataloging his scripts and photos. His life and devotion to Barbershop singing, the Marines, and Radio left a legacy and body of work almost impossible to catalogue and archive. I tried to find the appropriate home for much of his collection so his memory is never forgotten and his contribution to all of us who knew and loved him is remembered. There were dozens of autographed books, boxes of taped broadcasts and many actual scripts. Also, black three ring notebooks of letters sent to him over his five decades in the business. He saved everything.
For seven months, I couldn’t part with his ashes. They were on the fireplace mantle and kept me company. Like many widows, I wanted to bring him back to being. “Come back to me” reverberated inside the walls of my dwelling daily. Finally, my friend John, helped me decide to have Dave buried at the Great Lakes Memorial Cemetery in Holland, MI. He had read Dave’s book and reminded me of the story in it called, “The Breakfast Club.” Didn’t I think Dave would want to be buried with fellow service members? It touched me and I stepped up to the painful parting. On a bitter cold and overcast Valentine’s Day John and I watched the ashes being buried in a plot that had been warmed up from the frozen ground around it. I didn’t ask anyone else to be there. The inscription I placed on his tombstone read: Radio Icon, Proud Marine, Barbershop Singer, and Loved by All. I will eventually be buried with him and on the back of his tombstone I have selected the inscription: Eyes of Blue, Smiling through, for You. This line was in one of Dave’s favorite Barbershop songs which he listened to over and over again while he was in the hospital. It’s called: Smiling’ Through by Author Penn, lyrics copyrighted by Warner/Chappell Music, Inc. The last stanza goes:
And if ever I’m left in this world all alone
I shall wait for my call patiently
For if Heaven be kind
I shall wake there to find
Those two eyes o’blue
Still smilin’ through at me.
When this played in the hospital one night, I asked him what the tune was about. He said it was about a lost love and he thought he finally found her by the end of the song. I said, “We lived that,” and he said, “I think we did.” So, for my tombstone I selected words from this song, even though no one but Dave will understand it completely.
Carolynn: On average, widows, who make up about 20% of the population in the United States, live only about 12 months after their spouse dies. Besides ill health due to neglect during mourning, (dying of a broken heart is real), suicide ranks high among widows. I certainly didn’t want to live but I guess God had other plans for me. One night, I gave up praying, “just let me die” and changed my nighttime prayer to, “God, if you won’t let me die, then just take away the pain.” I woke up the next morning with a smile on my face. I knew instantly, I was a changed person and I couldn’t stop smiling that day. My daughter and my doctors could not believe the change in me. “What happened?” my heart doctor asked my daughter at the next visit. “I don’t know,” she said.” I found her this way when I picked her up.” The whole office staff who had worried about me came out to see my daughter take a picture of Dr. Foster and I.
[Barbershop tag: “I know We’ll Meet Again some Day”]
Carolynn: The numerous unexplained events that happened after his death eventually stopped. But not before this; I found his final words to me, his wishes for me to go forward, in a letter in March of 2020. While rooting around in his desk drawer looking for something I picked up a funny, unlabeled, brown folder. A folder I had seen many times but never opened. But when I did and I don’t know why I did that day, I found this letter:
[Blessing read by friend]
Male Voice:
“Sweetheart, I met your next soul mate. He is a great guy. That’s not just my opinion. Everybody says so. And he’s perfect for you. I should know because I was in the perfect position to see what you needed and the perfect person to know that I could not fulfill your needs now.
He is just the right height and weight for you, with the right hair color and eye color and with a warm smile and great stature. He’s good-looking without being outrageously handsome. He’s healthy---outside of an occasional cold and the aches and pains of someone our age—but he never complains when he’s not feeling 100%. In fact, he never complains about much of anything.
He’s confident, smart but not a know-it-all and funny without having to be the life of the party. People love him because he listens. He lets you talk and says just the right thing to make you feel that he’s really interested in hearing what you have to say. You open up to him telling him your life story. You tell your friends that you’ve met the most interesting man, that you are drawn to him for some unknown reason.
What you love about him is that you can trust him to love you and take away your worries and say just the right thing at the right time to make you smile when that’s exactly what you need. Also, you can believe him when he says he will do something or that something does NOT need to be done.
He’s the kind of man that other men want to be like. You feel lucky to have him in your life and when he says that he loves you, you believe he means it.
He’s not too good to be true because he’s not TOO good. But, he’s good enough to be just right for you. He is quite simply, “Heaven sent.”
So, I give the two of you my blessing, even though you don’t need it.
You will never receive this message from me, but you will get your own messages when the time comes and you meet your next soul mate. You will know I have sent him.
Allow yourself to be happy. Life on earth is too short, but there is still time for you to be happy again.
Carolynn: I started sobbing, again. I immediately called my daughter and read it to her. She cried too. Why had I never seen this before? It was there all this time in his desk drawer. I often rummaged through it when paying the bills. But now was the time when I needed it, because I knew it was time to find someone to share my life with, to begin a new life, and embrace the future. I contemplated what life would unfold for me in the years ahead. Who would I be, this new Carolynn—the thin, un-sobbing, competent woman I had morphed into. Memories may be all I have left, but they can’t perish if I keep them alive as I move forward.
On my refrigerator I posted this poem I wrote. It is called:
“Remembering” One Year Later.”
In death I love you still, a part of me always will.
But now I must move on, I know the past is gone.
While you will always hold a place in my heart,
I felt you encourage me to make a new start.
So I’m going forward as of today;
I know you’re with me to help pave the way.
[Final Intro Music]
Not knowing what my life was supposed to be, what God had in mind for me, I did something that was a surprise to everyone. I went back to college and started a new life as a student at age 75. Tune into the eighth and last podcast to discover how my life did an about face. As they say, a door can open after one closes. For me, it was just learning a new dance.
[Carnival or Bill’s song]
Thanks to the Barbershop Harmony Society for the use of their tags. They add such a flavor to this story because Dave was such a lover of barbershop harmony. Thanks also to my friend for doing the voice work for Dave. Thank you to Pete and Bill Zorn, Dave’s brothers, for the use of their folk music throughout these podcasts. Thank you to my friend John Copley for never giving up on me. And thank you to the 2/7 Marines who continue to lift me up.