Saying Goodbye. A Year Later.

This is going to be my last post here at “A House in the ‘Hood” and it’s going to be lengthy and unedited (you have been forewarned). This blog allowed me to document life over the last 15+ years and much of its focus was on living through a divorce, and life’s regular ups and downs. I’ve recently remarried and moved to a new house in the ‘hood with our blended family. I started a new job in May and in August started an internship at a private therapy practice, the last part of my graduate degree in clinical mental health counseling. In the midst of these changes, we suffered a great loss. As many of you know, my boys’ father, my former husband, passed away a year ago.

Today seemed like an appropriate day to share about that last day, one year ago. First, I want to address those of you who may read this who have gone through complicated grief. It’s strange being the ex-wife but still mourning the loss - for your kids, and for yourself, too. It’s a strange road to walk when you have a new spouse or significant other whom you love with all your heart and still room in your heart that holds a different type of love for your ex-spouse.

Bret’s last weeks were tricky. It was difficult to navigate his wishes when I knew it may have been hurtful to those he was shutting out. I have no doubt that he loved you dearly, but for whatever reason he withdrew from many of you. At the end, he only communicated with his mom, aunt and uncle, his siblings, the boys and me. And at the moment of his death, it was me and the boys. Noah and I called his brothers home the night before he passed, at the advice of his hospice nurse. He had been in and out of the hospital since August which was new but even with the new symptoms that arose, he always seemed to stabilize.

When the boys arrived, Bret rallied as many people close to death will do. Noah and I wondered if we called his brothers home prematurely. He had conversations with the boys, he bossed his mom around, and he was very particular about what he wanted on TV. He also ordered what seemed like every item off the McAllister’s menu. I was encouraged that he seemed to have such an appetite so I ate with them and then headed home. The next morning, I walked in to Bret’s room and asked him if he knew who I was because two days before, he had mistaken me for his mom. Very weakly he answered, “You’re Lynn,” and then looked in my eyes and smiled, as if he was adding “Don’t be silly, I know you.” Eli and Asher had taken Noah’s dog for a walk, and Noah was in and out of the room, while we let Jaden sleep. Jaden had stayed up all night as Bret was awake asking for sips of water and for Jaden to call “Nana” and hold the phone so he could have her pray for him.

That morning, as I sat bedside, I noticed that his breathing had become even more labored and he would stare off for long periods of time. I stood up a few times and asked him if he wanted water. He was becoming less responsive and within an hour of arriving, his chest stopped rising and falling. I told Noah and then Eli and Asher came in soon after. I woke Jaden and together we openly wept over Bret, and took turns holding one another. When it was time for the mortuary undertakers to wheel him out of the room, I told the boys they could come say goodbye but it was okay if they didn’t want either. When my dad died, I didn’t feel the need to go into the room again to say goodbye because it was so evident that my dad was not there anymore. But when Bret passed, I wanted - and even needed - to touch his face and hair again. “Oh Bret,” I said as I ran my fingers through his hair. If you are a girl who knew him in college, you were probably asked to play with his hair at one time or another. He loved that. So before they took him, it was important to me that I could love him one last time in a way that had brought him comfort over the years even if he had already he left us. He struggled for sooooo long and I know he didn’t want to leave his boys but he was so tired, so very tired, of living in his body.

As I think about his memorial, my heart nearly bursts at the thought of my four boys standing on the stage, arm-in-arm, with tears streaming down their faces as they shared their memories of their dad, and the things he had taught them. After each of them spoke, I had a change to speak. Here is what I said:

It may seem strange that an ex-wife would speak at her ex-husband’s memorial service, but while Bret and I were no longer married we were co-parents of these beautiful boys -- and we were friends. Over the past several years, we had grace-filled, healing conversations that ultimately allowed me to be with Bret as he passed from this world into the arms of Jesus. Bret said to me a couple years ago, “Thank you for being both mom and dad to our boys.” And I said, “No… No, Bret, you are their dad. I will never fill that role.” And as you have heard from them, he was every bit a dad to them. And a good one.

As the boys and I have poured through photos and keepsakes and read dozens of messages from friends, family members, and former patients, I was reminded of the notes he received from patients when he was still practicing. They told about how he had properly diagnosed them  after they had been to other doctors who couldn't figure out what was going on, and sometimes it literally saved their lives. And how much a new mom appreciated his reassurance when she was worried about her newborn. I could tell just by the tone in his calming voice when he was talking to a nervous mother. But the story that sticks with me the most, the one that I think epitomizes Bret, is when on a Saturday morning we stopped at his office to get something for one of the kids before heading to our family lake house. Bret went inside and I stayed in the van with the kids. Soon, a little elderly woman pulled up, got out of her car, and walked to the office door to find it locked. I got out of the van to ask if she needed help, and she said she was hoping the office would be open because she had torn the thin skin on her arm. She showed me where it was bleeding. I told her that the office was closed but that Bret would be out soon. At that, she put her hand on my arm and looked at the boys and said,  “Oh, are you his family?” I nodded yes. She said, “Dr. House is my best friend!” There was nothing joking about how she said it. She truly felt like Bret was her dearest friend. 

He was also silly and playful. The boys loved when Bret did something called “The Stapler” and when he played “Monster” as you heard earlier. At the lakehouse, he would swim through the seaweed, gathering it in his arms and on his head, and emerge as the seaweed creature and the boys would scream and laugh. They loved it! As they got older and his balance wasn’t as steady, he continued to wrestle with them in our pool.

There are thousands of stories I could share, stories to illustrate his athletic and academic success, his drive, his determination, but today I want to tell you that Bret’s legacy will live on in these four young men that called him dad. On Wednesday, when Bret passed, these four boys held on to each other as they wept. They sat arm in arm. Then they shared memories - some with tears and some with laughter. They offered thanks to Noah for the years of caretaking he provided so Bret could stay in the comfort of his home. I was witnessing the beauty from ashes.

Boys, you each have your own unique personalities but within each of you I see some of the best parts of your dad. Even this week…

I have seen his athleticism in you, Jaden, as you juggle the soccer ball in the backyard as well as his quiet leadership as you offered encouragement to your former Herron teammates during their sectional soccer game.

His diligence and work ethic were evident in you, Asher, as you spent hours crafting a beautiful walnut and maple wooden box to hold your dad’s ashes. His commitment to excellence was also apparent as you added special details and sanded every edge until it was perfectly smooth.

Eli, your goofy sense of humor reminds me of your dad’s, and this week you’ve cracked jokes to lighten the mood at just the right moment. As you spent hours looking through photos, I noticed your dad’s curiosity when you asked about the context or who the people were in the pictures.

And Noah, I’ve spotted your dad’s  humility in you as you have downplayed your unwavering role in your dad’s 24/7 care. I’ve also seen this desire for connection much like what was deep in your dad’s heart as you and your brothers have stayed nearly attached to one another’s hips from morning walks to the coffee shop to sleepovers with all of you in the same room. 

The last image I’ll leave you with is this…

Years ago, after backpacking for a week, we got back to base camp at Wilderness Ranch and heard the song “The Mountain.” 

The first verse says..

I want to build a house up on this mountain

Way up high where the peaceful waters flow

To quench my thirsty soul

Up on the mountain

My faith is strengthened by all that I see

You make it easy for me to believe up on the mountain

I would love to live up on this mountain

And keep the pain of living life so far away

But I know I can't stay

Up on the mountain

You bring me up here on this mountain

For me to rest and learn and grow

I see the truth up on the mountain

And I carry it to the world far below

I cherish these times up on the mountain

But I can leave this place because I know

Someday You'll take me home to live forever

Up on the mountain

Boys, your dad no longer has to go down to the valley. He is finally home up on the mountain. He is free and whole.

This summer we spread Bret’s ashes in the mountains around Telluride, Colorado. It was painful but also beautiful. I imagine that is how it will be whenever we think of Bret. Thank you for reading this blog. I welcome your comments, as I will keep this blog online for a couple years. And please reach out to me if you ever need to share your story. I would be honored to listen.

With much love,

Lynn Rubino