Nov 26 2022

A Penny

Shortly after Martin died I walked down my long driveway to fetch the mail.  Usually, I have little or none.  But, in the days following his death my mailbox held more than junk mail.  There were sympathy cards and official letters from various institutions.  As I pulled out the cache of the day I saw something I’d never seen in my mail.  A penny.  It lay underneath the cards and letters and the ubiquitous junk mail.  A penny so tarnished it almost faded into the background of the black metal floor of the box.

My mind flooded with the rhetorical questions.  Who would leave a penny in my mailbox and why and how?  I lived on a busy road, so someone walking by was unlikely.  The leaving must have been thoughtful, intentional.  “A penny for your thoughts” (Sir Thomas More) came to mind.  Was it my faithful mail lady who left it?  I lifted the penny out, slid it into my jean pocket and walked back to the house.  Inside, before turning my attention to the mail, I fished it out and set it on a mosaic trivet Martin had made in an art class. 

Over the next couple of days I eyed the penny still wondering how it got in my mailbox.  Did a penny have any significance?  “See a penny and pick it up and all day you’ll have good luck”  (Mother Goose Nursery Rhymes).  Since we can pretty much Google anything these days, my curiosity finally gave way to asking Google.  To my surprise a penny has significance for the deceased or their loved ones.  In the case of a veteran a penny left at the grave means someone visited.  For a widow like myself a penny in the mailbox represents a new beginning, a rebirth, renewal of your life.  A penny being first and one represents singularity.  If you are part of a couple, one of you will die first leaving the other alone, single.

I’ve been alone for nearly eighteen months.  While Martin still lived, it was not with me.  If there is a silver lining here, it’s that I had ample time to adapt to my aloneness and grieve this impending, profound, enormous loss in my life.  The outcome?  I was not filled with the expected feelings of grief.  Rather, as I held Martin during his final moments I cried tears of gratitude for the end of his suffering.  He was free of this disease.  I was free of this disease.  Our family was free of this disease.  Relief instead of deep sorrow.  Comfort in knowing he was at peace.  As I stroked his face I noted how serene his countenance.  Peace at last.

Though I’ve had fits of grief, I’ve also felt immense joy when contemplating my future.  During the last year I deliberately divested myself of anything, which smacked of negativity in my life.  I decluttered the house paring my personal belongings. I feel washed clean, ready for a new start.  Martin would want that for me.  A friend asked if I thought Martin’s spirit left the penny. I would like to think so. I may never know who left the penny in my mailbox, but it is now my talisman for fresh beginnings, rebirth, a reawakening of my life’s potential.  And a second chance at the retirement we dreamed of.

29 comments on “A Penny”

  2. Thank you, Kathy. I am sorry for your loss and all that led up to it. I wanted to share my penny story with you as yours meant so much to me. My dearest friend passed away about 6 years ago. I had the honor of being with her when she passed and it was both heartbreaking and peaceful to know she was no longer in pain and free of cancer. We lived about 4 hours from each other and would make plans to meet at an outlet mall about halfway between us and then have a 5 hour lunch. We always left a good tip! On my way home the next day, I stopped at the outlet mall to use the restroom, which was our designated meeting spot. As I walked towards the restroom, there, on the ground was a bright, new penny from the D mint, her initial. I still have that penny and knew without a doubt it was from her. Blessings as you continue to navigate your new life.

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  3. Sorry for your loss.
    Pain that cannot be changed in old age must be let go.
    I just had a hip replacement and wondering why I did this.
    Survival, love of walking and moving,
    who knows.

    We get to know ourselves by all these experiences.

    Tradition and the penny story reminds me about all the people who came before us.
    Thanks to them on thanksgiving day.

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  4. Thank you for being brave enough to share such deeply emotional thoughts. You have introduced Martin to each of us, and we know him, too, in some small way through your sharing. I had never heard of the penny in the mailbox, but may you be blessed and comforted in this bend in your journey.

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  5. Kathy, thank you so much for sharing your journey with us, including the wonderful, the heart wrenching, relief and new beginnings. Your journey reflects so much the experiences of other family members, friends and acquaintances.

    It is good to know that we may have a plan of what we expect our lives to be, but there are forces at work that change our expectations, but we can adapt and in light of all that happens we can move forward and potentially flourish where we did not anticipate even being (both mentally and physically).

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  6. Hi Kathy,

    I’m so sorry for your loss. Your thoughts regarding Martin’s passing really touched me. I hope you continue to find joy.

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  11. I lived alone for 42 months while my husband was fading away in a long-term health care facility. When he died and I didn’t have the grieving reaction I expected I thought there must be something wrong with me. Why wasn’t I overcome with crying? Why was I looking forward to my new future instead of being paralyzed with sorrow? Your blog helped me understand my healing and accept my reaction to the death of the love of my life. Thank you.

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    • I’m so sorry for your loss and for no one telling you that you feel more relief than anything else. I was advised by a number of professionals, including my doctor, that after watching someone die from a long illness, it’s normal not to feel the grief as we would with a sudden unexpected death. My therapist had talked me many years ago about anticipatory grief. So, when Martin passed and I actually felt grateful, I knew this was normal. Move forward knowing you loved your husband and you honor him by continuing to feel love and joy as well for your future.

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  13. This is BEAUTIFUL and very meaningful for many of us. I, too, never knew what the penny symbolizes. I was going to ask you if you will let me reprint this on my http://www.paulfox.blog site. I have followed your writings throughout my own transitions to “living the dream” in retirement since 2013 and I think your reflections would be potent and inspirational for all of us! Thank you for your honesty and willingness to share! PKF

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    • Hi Paul, I looked for a way to contact you via your site, but couldn’t find what I was looking for. I’m a little rusty, well, a lot rusty at navigating WP these days. So, this is going public. You have my permission to reprint this for your site as long as I receive the credit for writing it. Thank you for your comments! Kathy

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  14. The penny! How comforting. I am so sorry for your loss Kathy – it’s obvious in your writing how much you loved him. Thanks for sharing with us.

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  15. I’m sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing the journey. I wish you peace and happiness as you go into the next chapter of your retirement. I look forward to hearing more.

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  16. All your readers are here for you. I think the price and privilege of loving someone is the reality of one day having to say goodbye to them or them saying goodbye to us. We still love and are loved.

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  17. Hi Kathy,
    I’ve been following your blog since I retired in 2014. Like you, I have a husband who became more frail over time. Since we are 11 years apart, me being the younger one, I did more of the daily chores when he had sciatica and now all of the chores when he took a stroke two years ago. All our plans went out the window. Unlike you we have no children to help with the 24/7/365 caregiving. I have learned to retrofit our NYC apartment to accommodate a wheelchair. Had many grab bars put into the narrow bathroom to make the shower experience easier. Now, this city is more dangerous due to lax laws and I must also be vigilant about thefts as older people are easy targets. Have taken too few breaks and do get frustrated at times. This slow death over time is indeed a penance. I get jealous of anyone with the ability to enjoy their backyard, do a roadtrip or travel anywhere. I cannot just plop him in a nursing home, don’t have the heart to do this. Family members simply don’t understand the loyalty, effort and life lost. I do look forward to some freedom and can only get it for mini bits of time. You are indeed blessed to have children who can help, a home with a garden and now being released from your filial duties. RIP to Martin and God bless.

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    • Mary my heart goes out to you. And I understand your hesitance to place your husband in long-term care. I felt the same and told myself I could continue caring for him. I couldn’t. I had assembled a team that included people other than my children. Martin’s doctors, my doctor, my therapist, in home care companies, a financial planner and elder law attorney were all part of my support system along with long time friends and other family members. It was Martin’s neurologist who told me if I didn’t place Martin in long term care, there was a good chance I would die first. He pointed to the cross on the wall and said, “God forgives you and I forgive you.” With that he had his social worker call a company that helped people find a long-term care facility and he brought in his social worker to talk with me. The worst day of my life was not the day Martin died; it was the day I placed him in long-term care. I can look back now and realize I was filled with feelings of guilt and anticipatory grief. This was the day I sobbed and sobbed. I also know I resisted his doctor’s advice until Martin drank hand soap and tried to get out of my moving car. That’s when I knew I couldn’t continue to give him the care he needed. It was the crisis I needed to wake up to the reality of our situation. I’m not a doctor and I am not walking in your shoes. However, think about talking to your husband’s doctor and your doctor and whoever is in your support circle to do what is best both for you and your husband. I’m sending light and love to you. Kathy

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  18. Kathy, I am so sorry for Martin’s death, but as I am learning more everyday, there are some thing worse than death. I so appreciate you sharing your journey. I have a question that I hope is not too invasive. Could you please share how you reach this stage of acceptance and being able to move on?

    I find myself either in a stage of panic or just being overwhelmed. This is not beneficial to me or my husband. Thank you.

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    • Sandi, Your question is not too invasive if I can help someone during a difficult journey. I don’t know what is going on with your situation but it sounds like you are struggling. Since this was a ten year journey for me, I had what is called anticipatory grief. I encourage you to Google that term and talk with your doctor about it. There are 7 stages of grief starting with shock at the diagnosis followed by other feelings of anger and even depression. I went through all of those, the hardest being the anger and depression. I went to a therapist for 6 years and I am now seeing a counselor to help me process my loss and grief. I found that, instead of quashing my emotions, letting them out helped me to move on to the next stage. The last stages are acceptance and processing your loss. I was often overwhelmed so I assembled a team of both experts like an elder law attorney, financial planner and my and Martin’s doctors as well as family and friends. This doesn’t eliminate panic, but gives you people to help you sort things out, which alleviates the panic. Be deliberate in choosing your team members. I also did a lot of self care. If you don’t put your own oxygen mask on first, you can’t help your fellow passenger. A day out or a long weekend respite with someone staying with Martin allowed me to have a break. I also listened to music, meditated, indulged in hand milled soaps, aromatherapy, a massage now and then, reading a spiritual guide every morning and writing in a gratitude journal. Recently, I took up yoga and that is the subject of my next blog. I am not in your shoes and I’m not a doctor or therapist, but these are the things that got me to the place I’m in today. I hope this helps. Sending your love and light. Kathy

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      • Kathy, Thank you for this very thoughtful response that will help more than you can know. My healthy husband, who was always active and never stopped moving, developed anemia about a year and a half ago. After a multitude of tests, he was diagnosed with two rare bone marrow cancers – that are totally unrelated. One can be treated, with no cure, but the second has advanced quickly. We are now told he has a life expectancy of around three years, if we are lucky. The bone marrow cells that produce white cells, red cells and platelets are immature and don’t produce the cells needed for life. Blood and platelets transfusions are the norm now, and his fatigue is extreme, even after transfusions. The disease can convert at any time to a deadly leukemia that would eliminate our hoped for three years.

        Because of his high risk for infection, my daughter and I seldom go anywhere or see anyone. My active life and frequent travels have disappeared, and the number of friends I thought I had have diminished. Cancer is very frightening word, I have discovered.

        So, thank you for taking the time to share this information in the midst of your own sorrow. It is very much appreciated. Sandi.

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  19. Sending you warm wishes for strength as you move forward in your life knowing Martin in at peace.
    I have followed you & Martin’s journey.
    Wishing you bright days ahead.
    Imogene

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  21. I’m so sorry for your loss Kathy. You gave Martin your greatest love to the end, even when the struggles were so hard. What an amazing gift you gave him. Thank you for sharing with us. I hope you can have some self-care now. I wish you peace and the love of those around you. Go gently! xo

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  22. Kathy, This was a beautiful post. In the past twenty years, I have experienced three deaths of people close to me, all after a long, difficult illness. In all three cases, my grieving occurred primarily before the death, which brought those feelings of relief that my loved one’s suffering was over. I also found in each case that the end of the person’s life freed me to remember them as they were when they were more fully alive.

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