Seeking the courage to continue

We’re not there yet.

I had a blog all ready to go in my head. You know, a Just Wright Citrus blog. Politics, that sort of thing.

But as Friday fell into Saturday and Saturday morphed into Sunday, I found myself once again unable to handle the simplest of tasks.

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Writing comes second nature. Penning a political blog is as normal to me as a mechanic changing spark plugs in an old Ford.

And there’s plenty of political stuff to discuss. The Citrus County world didn’t stop spinning the last two weeks.

I just can’t go there. And I can’t even explain why.

Close friends are keeping an eye on me, which is much appreciated. One of those friends is Ralph Massullo, the former state rep who is now running for State Senate.

Ralph’s wife of 38 years, Patty, died in February at the young age of 62 (only one year older than Deb). I wrote a story for Florida Politics and attended Patty’s memorial service. When Ralph announced his plans to run for Senate in a special election, he did that with Patty in his heart.

But it wasn’t until I lost my Deb that I understood the depth of that hurt. And the courage it takes for Ralph to overcome that pain to continue the dream both he and Patty shared.

Ralph invited me to a small campaign fundraiser last week in Crystal River. He didn’t do that for favorable press. He knew I needed to get out of the house.

I chatted there with Ralph and two others, then headed home proud that I’d managed five minutes in a public setting. (It really is impossible to explain how difficult life becomes IMMEDIATELY when a spouse dies. This is A LOT harder than it seems. Some moments are fine. Some are horrific. And I can’t predict the timing of either.)

Friday morning was the Citrus County community prayer breakfast at the YMCA in Lecanto. Always a highlight, especially this year, as Deb and I would be going together. Health had forced Deb away from many of the community events she enjoyed, and Deb was looking forward to this one.

Instead, I went alone on the 14th day of her passing. I figured I was among friends, it’s a prayer breakfast, I’m into prayer, what could possibly go wrong? I might tear up here and there, but that’s OK.

Let me tell you something. The intensity of this grief doesn’t care about social norms. The surroundings don’t matter when it arrives. You can’t sniff it away. That’s one reason why I’m avoiding public settings.

Before dawn, a friend sent me a text: “When you wake up, I wanted you to know you have a friend that is thinking about you and praying for you.”

I saw that friend at the prayer breakfast and thanked her for the beautiful note. Later in the breakfast, grief attacked as we all stood for a song. I realized I was going to have a breakdown among these 200 people, or have to flee out the door. 

I closed my eyes, trying to fight off the rush of emotional pain. Suddenly, I felt one hand on my arm and another around my waist. A whisper in my ear, “You’re OK. I’m right here. Let it out.”

It was the same friend. She held me as I quietly sobbed, while voices all around lifted a hymn of praise to Jesus.

I can’t explain how difficult this is. I just don’t find relevance in, well, anything right now. I’m confident that will fade, and Ralph Massullo is my guide. Ralph and Patty agreed that state politics was his calling. Instead of shriveling away after her passing, he doubled down on the promise they shared. Man, it’s inspiring and I’m hanging on to it.

Deb enthusiastically supported the blog's mission. She took my side when others rose up against me. She said readers relied on me to tell the truth, even if it cost other relationships. Deb would not let me cave to pressure.

I imagine Patty Massullo had similar conversations with her husband. And that’s why I see Ralph out in public, running for office while carrying a deep pain that only he feels or experiences. 

That’s the strength I seek. And I know we’re going to get there.

Just not today. Soon.

Have a great Monday, friends.

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