Today I am pleased to have my friend, Peter Lichtenberg, share with you his unique story of love, healing and numbers. We often think of widowed people as women. But numerous widowed fathers are raising children alone while carrying their own burdens of spousal loss and grief. Healing uplifts their spirits. Future marriage presents new possibilities. Welcome to a revealing and unpredictable journey inside one man’s mind and heart.
Love and Healing - By the Numbers
By Peter Lichtenberg
Twenty, two thousand, thirty-five, and one. Numbers.
Numbers have always been important to me as a way to mark significant parts of life and living. When I was growing up, Hank Aaron was my favorite player while everyone else loved Willie Mays. I kept close track of his batting average and home runs. When my hometown Philadelphia Phillies were awful, I tracked Tony Taylor’s best season—could he end up hitting .300? He did and batted .301. When I had an All-Star baseball set and played constantly, I had season averages, lifetime averages and an assortment of other statistics always in my mind. During my first year of graduate school while walking to class, I would count the number of days I would live in West Lafayette, Indiana. When I became a researcher, I began to count my numbers of publications. First, because it was a marker for promotion and then because numbers just stay with me.
Twenty! In ten days, September 18, 2019 will mark the 20th anniversary of my marriage to Susan. I have journaled and written about Susan so often, (including my own short book, “Grief and Healing: Against the Odds,” of being widowed twice at 25 and 55). How miraculously she came into my life and allowed me to begin living fully—for the first time since the death of my first wife Becky who died suddenly at age 25 from an arrhythmia while jogging. Susan was not only my wife; she was my colleague, my best friend, my tennis partner, my hiking partner, movie critic partner, parenting partner, and my partner in noticing and reveling in the small things in life. Susan once wrote to me that “being married to you is the easiest thing I have ever done in my life”—wow!! How would I not celebrate and mark the 20th year?
Two-thousand! Two thousand days ago, Susan died. Her heart gave out after battling Stage IV breast cancer for 44 months—enduring all sorts of treatments. It was sudden, her death, and it was a blessing that she did not know she was going to die that day. She grieved so the idea of leaving me, of leaving her children and step-child ages 21, 12 and 9 behind.
One Thousand. I took a long walk on the 1,000 day after she died and reflected on how much grief I had experienced and how much hurt remained. I also reflected on how much I kept Susan close to me and how her spirit enabled me to heal and to continue living with a zest for experiences and joyful moments. At two thousand, I am back to the regular rhythms of day to day life. Happily remarried for eight plus months and so relieved to see my children doing so well and finding their day to day rhythms, too. Susan is everywhere in our home, and her smile and laughing, joyful and beautiful pictures give me energy and pride—I’m so proud that Susan chose me to be her one and only.
Thirty five! In two months and six days, it will be 35 years since Becky died. I just had brunch in Chicago with her college roommate (and my friend, too) Mary. We each reflected on how grateful we are that Becky graced us with her love and friendship. Mary had shared with me letters Becky had written her when we first moved in together, and on this trip, she told me of her last call with Becky and the loving things she said about me and about our marriage. I was always in awe that Becky chose me. She was the funniest, the most spirited, the smartest, and the most capable person in any room.
In Chicago, I stayed two blocks from where we spent the first days of our marriage. As much as my mom loved Susan, and boy did she—Becky was the daughter she never had (had 4 sons). I cried more during the five years after Becky died than I ever thought possible. Grief was overwhelming and lonely. Nevertheless, I survived and grew, and Becky’s influence on my life and her presence at key times of my life have been amazing. She handed me to Susan.
One! Despite being married to Debbie for slightly over 8 months, we finally moved in together only one month ago. We each had sons who were seniors in high school, and we knew it was so important to keep them in their respective routines and graduate from their respective high schools. Then, like a whirling dervish, Debbie pulled off the impossible. She got her house packed up and ready for sale and sold it within a few weeks. Watching her was exhausting and intimidating. How could someone be so organized and so effective with things!!
She (and her three young adult children) moved into my house, since Sophie was just about to enter high school and wanted to stay put. Debbie has been an incredible blessing not only to my life, but to all three of my children’s as well—and I think among them especially Sophie! It is my life that Debbie has impacted most. She is my best friend, my hiking partner, my dining out partner, and my business partner. I wake up next to her, make us coffee and breakfast, and cannot believe that once again I am blessed with such a happy home and such a healthy relationship. She has done the impossible in other ways, too. Whereas Susan accepted and embraced Becky, Debbie has embraced Becky and Susan and Susan’s children.
I will never be able to make sense of what has happened to me. I miss Becky, and I miss Susan—Susan especially, as we went through so much and went so deeply together. I cry at the drop of a hat—commercials, comics, and any sentimental scene I see. I hurt. I long for. I am grateful, too for all the joys of my life and Debbie’s gift of love, and a life to lead together strikes me as the most unlikely joy of all. Twenty, two thousand, thirty-five and one—there are stories behind the numbers.
Peter A. Lichtenberg
Farmington, Michigan
lichtenbergpete@gmail.com
September 8, 2019
Frances Shani Parker, Author
Becoming Dead Right: A Hospice Volunteer in Urban Nursing Homes is available in paperback and e-book editions in America and other countries at online and offline booksellers.
Hospice and Nursing Homes Blog
Twenty, two thousand, thirty-five, and one. Numbers.
Numbers have always been important to me as a way to mark significant parts of life and living. When I was growing up, Hank Aaron was my favorite player while everyone else loved Willie Mays. I kept close track of his batting average and home runs. When my hometown Philadelphia Phillies were awful, I tracked Tony Taylor’s best season—could he end up hitting .300? He did and batted .301. When I had an All-Star baseball set and played constantly, I had season averages, lifetime averages and an assortment of other statistics always in my mind. During my first year of graduate school while walking to class, I would count the number of days I would live in West Lafayette, Indiana. When I became a researcher, I began to count my numbers of publications. First, because it was a marker for promotion and then because numbers just stay with me.
Twenty! In ten days, September 18, 2019 will mark the 20th anniversary of my marriage to Susan. I have journaled and written about Susan so often, (including my own short book, “Grief and Healing: Against the Odds,” of being widowed twice at 25 and 55). How miraculously she came into my life and allowed me to begin living fully—for the first time since the death of my first wife Becky who died suddenly at age 25 from an arrhythmia while jogging. Susan was not only my wife; she was my colleague, my best friend, my tennis partner, my hiking partner, movie critic partner, parenting partner, and my partner in noticing and reveling in the small things in life. Susan once wrote to me that “being married to you is the easiest thing I have ever done in my life”—wow!! How would I not celebrate and mark the 20th year?
Two-thousand! Two thousand days ago, Susan died. Her heart gave out after battling Stage IV breast cancer for 44 months—enduring all sorts of treatments. It was sudden, her death, and it was a blessing that she did not know she was going to die that day. She grieved so the idea of leaving me, of leaving her children and step-child ages 21, 12 and 9 behind.
One Thousand. I took a long walk on the 1,000 day after she died and reflected on how much grief I had experienced and how much hurt remained. I also reflected on how much I kept Susan close to me and how her spirit enabled me to heal and to continue living with a zest for experiences and joyful moments. At two thousand, I am back to the regular rhythms of day to day life. Happily remarried for eight plus months and so relieved to see my children doing so well and finding their day to day rhythms, too. Susan is everywhere in our home, and her smile and laughing, joyful and beautiful pictures give me energy and pride—I’m so proud that Susan chose me to be her one and only.
Thirty five! In two months and six days, it will be 35 years since Becky died. I just had brunch in Chicago with her college roommate (and my friend, too) Mary. We each reflected on how grateful we are that Becky graced us with her love and friendship. Mary had shared with me letters Becky had written her when we first moved in together, and on this trip, she told me of her last call with Becky and the loving things she said about me and about our marriage. I was always in awe that Becky chose me. She was the funniest, the most spirited, the smartest, and the most capable person in any room.
In Chicago, I stayed two blocks from where we spent the first days of our marriage. As much as my mom loved Susan, and boy did she—Becky was the daughter she never had (had 4 sons). I cried more during the five years after Becky died than I ever thought possible. Grief was overwhelming and lonely. Nevertheless, I survived and grew, and Becky’s influence on my life and her presence at key times of my life have been amazing. She handed me to Susan.
One! Despite being married to Debbie for slightly over 8 months, we finally moved in together only one month ago. We each had sons who were seniors in high school, and we knew it was so important to keep them in their respective routines and graduate from their respective high schools. Then, like a whirling dervish, Debbie pulled off the impossible. She got her house packed up and ready for sale and sold it within a few weeks. Watching her was exhausting and intimidating. How could someone be so organized and so effective with things!!
She (and her three young adult children) moved into my house, since Sophie was just about to enter high school and wanted to stay put. Debbie has been an incredible blessing not only to my life, but to all three of my children’s as well—and I think among them especially Sophie! It is my life that Debbie has impacted most. She is my best friend, my hiking partner, my dining out partner, and my business partner. I wake up next to her, make us coffee and breakfast, and cannot believe that once again I am blessed with such a happy home and such a healthy relationship. She has done the impossible in other ways, too. Whereas Susan accepted and embraced Becky, Debbie has embraced Becky and Susan and Susan’s children.
I will never be able to make sense of what has happened to me. I miss Becky, and I miss Susan—Susan especially, as we went through so much and went so deeply together. I cry at the drop of a hat—commercials, comics, and any sentimental scene I see. I hurt. I long for. I am grateful, too for all the joys of my life and Debbie’s gift of love, and a life to lead together strikes me as the most unlikely joy of all. Twenty, two thousand, thirty-five and one—there are stories behind the numbers.
Peter A. Lichtenberg
Farmington, Michigan
lichtenbergpete@gmail.com
September 8, 2019
Frances Shani Parker, Author
Becoming Dead Right: A Hospice Volunteer in Urban Nursing Homes is available in paperback and e-book editions in America and other countries at online and offline booksellers.
Hospice and Nursing Homes Blog
