My husband. My husband. A cowboy hat, handlebar mustache, wrangler jeans, and cowboy boots. These were his standards of dress, always. Joe was a very good man, not great, but good. His heart was as big as everything. He was probably one of the last, raised cowboys around Idaho. His parents had a small ranch in Canyon County, Idaho, where his dad did the farm work with horse teams. He taught his sons and daughters, 3 boys and 2 girls, how to work and be with nature. They worked, worked migrant field work, broke horses, rode, hunted, drove fast, stacked hay, and learned how to fight. The stories he told me, it’s a wonder any of them made it to adulthood.

I can only write this story because Joe loved to tell his stories of his past. There were lots of them. Whenever we went anywhere the time was filled with his and his sibling’s exploits. Some even involved the whole family.  The entire family often went to Oreana or Homedale for a dance on Saturday. They would end up staying there until Sunday afternoon. The people that ran the dances would take everyone’s keys away until the next day.  There are always fights it seems at these dances, alcohol and tempers don’t mix. He shared that one time his sisters and parents even got into the fight. Now that’s a family that sticks together.

At the age of 14, Joe found out he could work as a wrangler for a guy who went out into the Owyhee Mountains and collected wild horses to break and sell. He would do this for the summer months and sometimes kind of miss school. It was cowboying like the old days, and he loved it. Chasing the horses across the high desert, roping, and the wrecks that followed. Saddling a horse for the first time and taking that first ride, which you hoped you stayed on for.

He loved life, and I can honestly say he tried to live every minute of it to the fullest. He always had a smile on his face. When he would smile, his whole face would light up no matter what or who it was about.

I’d known Joe for several years before we got together. He was with someone else. I was back and forth between going to school and fighting fires. There was a definite attraction.  After a while he became single and I was done with school and a neighbor of mine, who knew Joe decided it was time for us to get together. She made sure we did by having us both work for her feeding her cows. It worked and we made a date. In this area, dating isn’t like it is in the big city. There’s dinner and the bar afterward for some dancing. It was great though, I was nervous, but he was great, and we had fun. When we got to my house and he left me at the door, he told me he was going to marry me. I just laughed.

We dated for a while, which consisted of dinners, working and feeding the neighbor’s cows, going for drives, etc. until I moved in with him. That was tough. I had been living alone for sixteen years. This was his home, and he had been alone for a few years. I found out why people get married when they are young. You haven’t had time to become set in how you want to live.  It was difficult to get used to having his adult children just come in and make themselves at home. The usual kid thing, open the fridge, see what’s in there, take a soda. Stuff like that. It was ok it just took some getting used to.

The work he was doing at the time we got together was truck driving hauling hay and iron salvage. When we weren’t taking hay somewhere, we were loading the trailer with car parts, scrap pieces, old farm equipment, and anything else metal. It was hard work, with heavy lifting and dirty but at the same time, it was fun.  There were times we found lots of old things that we kept to use. His youngest son and a grandson helped us with the salvage work most of the time. Most people would say that it was a horrible way to make a living, but it was what it was at the time. It was 2008 and not much was going on.

We finally got married in April 2010. It started out we were going to have a quiet ceremony with just the family and a “few” friends at the local church. Well, you know how that always turns out. It didn’t get out of hand but there were more than I had planned. We had a reception of sorts at the house, and it was wonderful.

Welcome to married life my husband. On July 8, 2010, I woke up that morning in the middle of a stroke. One of our dogs jumped on the bed and I tried to yell at her but what came out was not what I wanted to say. It was mumble jumble. It was as if my mouth was numb with Novocain.  I could not talk. I thought it was just that I had clenched my teeth too hard, and the muscles were tight. I got up made some breakfast and saw Joe off to work. I was sitting and eating and kept trying to talk. It still wasn’t working. I finally, called the doctor’s office and told them what was going on. The nurse told me to go to the nearest hospital. Well, either one is an hour away. I called Joe and let him know what was going on and asked him to come back home so he could take me to the hospital. When we got to the hospital, I walked in and proceeded to fall apart and started crying. I told the nurse I was having a stroke. They concluded they didn’t have the equipment to do the MRI needed to see what was involved so we went another hour to another hospital where I spent three days. The stroke was an Ischemic one, which meant it was a blockage and not a bleed. There were no external symptoms except my face fell a little and my left arm was a little funky for a while. It took some time and lots of tongue twisters to get my speaking back. I still have some aphasia, where I have trouble finding words for what I want to say, but for the most part, you’d never know I had a stroke.

Later I found that the stroke did affect my decision-making and memory somewhat. What a wedding present, only three months married.

During Joe’s adult life, he had raised somewhere around 17 children. Between his biological four, he helped raise the kids from the wives he had at the time, which were four.  I was the fifth and final wife. That’s the kind of heart he had. He even took care of his third wife’s children after they were divorced. In May 2010 one of these kids flew us to Alaska where she lived so Joe could stand up for her at her wedding. She also had her biological father there and they both walked her down the aisle. What a great thing.  

Joe was I guess what they would say, a “man’s man”. He was a rough-and-tumble-guy but also had a gentle soul. The strongest man I have ever known, he could pick up a semi-truck wheel and put it on the trailer. He and his brothers grew up loading and stacking hay bales during the summer months while in high school. For him to throw a hay bale to the top of the stack was nothing. As he started aging, that was probably the most difficult change he faced. His strength was failing.

I don’t want anyone to think our life was a storybook life because it wasn’t. No one has one. It was a good one though, and we did have our ups and downs. The thing that kept us together was we had the same life ideas, faith, and morals. I think if you don’t have and share those ideals it makes it more difficult to go through the rough spots. Yes, we would yell, stomp, and slam doors, but we got through them and were better for them. The first years were the most difficult until we got used to living together and getting used to each other. That does take time.  You can’t expect to take two people from different environments, put them together in one space, and expect it to be wonderful. There will be ripples in the road.

During our years (14) together, I think we kind of each became one half of the whole. We did a lot together, but we also had our own time and things each of us did without stress or jealousy. I can honestly say he was the first man I completely trusted with my life. He could also make me so angry I could just spit! There is nothing about life that is easy, even relationships. I think we had a good life, ups, and downs, happy, sad, and everything in between. That is until June 21, 2021. That morning was just a regular morning, breakfast, coffee, and discussing what we were going to do for the day.  Joe was tired and I suggested he stay in and relax. He disagreed as usual when it came to not doing what needed to be done. He needed to change the tires on the dump truck so it would be ready if he needed it. He walked over kissed me on the head and told me he loved me, and out the door he went.

I finished my coffee, got ready for the day, and went out to feed the goats and sheep. Before I went out, I heard a loud boom. I didn’t think anything of it because it was hot and old tires exploded sometimes on the old trucks we had. I fed the animals and decided I would go up to the shop and see what Joe was doing. It had been about half an hour since I left the house.

I walked up to where he was and saw that he was lying on the ground on his stomach. I could tell he was gone. I didn’t want to believe it. Not wanting to make a mistake, I started CPR. I called 911 and explained the situation. Dispatch talked me through what I needed to do as I was a mental mess. I had taken several CPR classes, but shock took over and there was no thinking. The one thing I will never forget was his eyes. I knew by the way they looked he was gone. A sheriff’s deputy arrived and assisted with the CPR. Then the paramedics came. I went down to tell his son there was a problem. When I came back to the shop the paramedics asked if they could stop compressions as there was no pulse. I said OK, and it was over. All of them were consoling and felt the pain I did. That’s what happens in a small town when everyone knows everyone. The coroner came, who I happened to know from the medical clinic to declare his death. I explained what I thought had happened. It seemed like Joe was airing up the dump truck’s inside tire of the rear tandem tires. Then it exploded and blew him up against the bottom of the bed of the truck. It killed him instantly.  Even as I write this, it doesn’t seem real. I know it happened; I was there.

From that point on, I’m not sure of anything except there were lots of tears. All I could think of was, my life was over. My love and life I had an hour ago were gone, forever. Not maybe, not a little bit, but all of it forever.

The only consolation, if there was one, was that it was sudden. He felt nothing. He wouldn’t have to grow old and deal with what comes with that. He couldn’t deal with that. He was already having to deal with replaced joints and pain throughout his body. He was after all going to be 82 the next week.

After the initial tears, informing everyone, and dealing with all the visitors that day, things changed. Life fell into a foggy, dull, automatic pattern for a couple of weeks. I let the kids make most of the decisions regarding the arrangements if they went along with what Joe wanted. We had a celebration of life for him, and it was awesome. There were so many people there that it was inside and outside the Indian Valley Community Hall. After that though, it seemed like something changed and the kids were very cold toward me. We had a graveside service a month later to place his ashes and no one spoke to me. Not one of the kids or grand-kids.

Grief does horrible things to some people, and I found out. For two years I dealt with those selfish, unfeeling children. They wanted everything and I shouldn’t get anything. I just wanted a place to live. I also wanted a way to make a living. This meant using the trucks for hauling. Joe had no life insurance or great inheritance for his children, what did they think they were going to get? They wanted to sell the place and split the money between them. I ended up being the bad guy.

When you end up where I was, all you can do is pray. Pray for them and pray for yourself to have the strength to get through the tough times. I did a lot of praying. I posted Bible passages around the house that applied and helped me stay positive. I was in a place where I didn’t know if I would have anywhere to live. This uncertainty loomed over me. We were in court with probate, and it was confusing. Since my stroke, extreme stress or illness made my stroke symptoms worse. I had trouble understanding, figuring things out, and at times, even speaking. I drank a lot of chamomile tea during this time. All I wanted to do was take some time and mourn my husband. Figure out what I was going to do. What direction was I going to go now? For two years, I stayed in a state of extreme stress. I fought with those kids continuously.

It did finally end, and I am still in the house we had together. With some wrangling and Joe’s rock pit partner, I’m still here. His partner, Jerry ended up buying the place, paid off the kids and I have a Life Estate Lease. This means I can live here for the rest of my life for free. No mortgage, rent, taxes, or insurance, except for rental insurance on my personal belongings. I am happy. Now I can start my life after Joe.

If nothing else I have learned in my life, is that prayer is a powerful element. With all the people and myself praying for my life to be straightened out, how could it not? All I wanted was my home to live in and peace to live my life. I have it, and more. I have my dogs, cats, sheep, and goats. This is my Shangri-La. Oh, and Joe, he is here, in Spirit, watching me.

During those first two years after Joe passed, I found out what grief was. I had lost my dad in 1989 to cancer but that was a different pain. They say there are five stages of grief. I think it depends on who you lose. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. At first, there might have been a couple of seconds of denial. But you can’t deny what is in front of you. The bargaining wasn’t anywhere in my experience. Anger appears every once in a while. I remind myself that he is in a better place with no pain. I felt thankful during the acceptance. I appreciated how it happened and that he wouldn’t have to go through getting old. The depression is the hardest and deepest feeling, and you must work extra hard to get through it.

To get through all these difficult feelings I started renovating the house. So far, I have only done the living room. I have also done the dining room. But it has made the light come back on in me. I miss Joe very much and think of him every day. That hasn’t changed. But it doesn’t feel like a knife stabbing me in the chest anymore.

I hope this helps you in some way. If you are or have been on this journey, it may assist you through yours.