My beloved husband is dead. There are no other words to
describe it. Waves of grief
followed by moments of
laughter. Layers of memory stained with loss. Feeling him just beyond my reach.
Outpourings of love from all corners of this wild, expansive area he cherished—those
who wear his imprint from years of friendship, or those he touched with a
momentary exchange over a cup of tea. The spirit of him wafting through these
gentle hills.
Where do I go, now? And
what do I do with myself? I had these thoughts, even before I lost him. Somehow
I knew that our time together was short, that I would outlive the gift of
his presence, that one day, I would be alone, again. I never dreamt
it would be so soon.
Perhaps I’ll learn
Italian and find a cottage on a southern beach. Perhaps I’ll pull out my worn, neglected hiking boots, and train to tread the Appalachian Trail. Perhaps I’ll
put my words to use.
But today, I am here,
in this bed we shared, his car parked on the road outside my window. Today, I
sit, with the thwarted plans, the lost years of us, our teasing banter, our warmth, our mutual admiration, our easy ways.
I will miss him, how he danced around the room when he was happy, his mispronounced words, his
love for this world and the people he met, all the tiny pleasures he relished,
his recognition of the beauty contained in this painful and delicate life.
I do not have an answer
for this loss. I cannot ascribe to it any meaning—why some of us get to grow
old together with all of our children beside us, get to share our lives with
our siblings, to enjoy our parents into their old age. Why others of us suffer
one loss after another, watch our loved ones topple, one by one, year by year,
like bowling pins.
But I do know this: the
world goes on. In the midst of my deepest sorrow, I awakened this morning. I
watched the sun perch between the sloping hills my husband loved. I crept down
the stairs and made myself a warm drink. I took up this paper and pen.
Despite the suffering, mine and that of others, the world is still here.
What choice do I have,
but to shake hands with it?
My Sweet Eloquent Tricia,
ReplyDeleteOf course your words brought a welling of tears to my eyes. I too know of loss, not just in the physical sense, but also a loss of my ability to do even the simplest and most mundane of tasks. I have tried in vane to make sense of it all but my attempts were futile.
The world is still here and will be here after we have passed through it, all we can hope for is that we left our own indelible mark upon it. We made a difference, we left this planet and contributed to its well being. I know Stan did that, he made a woman who has struggled with loneliness on and off all of her life, happy, if for just a short while.
Our memories are a roadmap of the journey we have traveled, and like climbing a mountain, we struggle to reach the top, we reach the summit, we enjoy the view and then we climb or sometimes fall back down.
There are other mountains for you Tricia, they may not be visible yet but they are there. This is not the time to concern yourself with such things but go with the flow of your life, like a leaf floating down a stream.
Stan will be at your side whenever and wherever life takes you guiding you in his gentle way until you too reach the end of your arduous winding road.
Take care my dearest and oldest friend, know my love and adoration are always with you now and forever.
Glenn aka Redwood
Such beautiful and heartbreaking words, Tricia. I'm very sorry for your loss.
ReplyDeleteAmen Glide baby -- you gave all of yourself to your soul mate but like me, you kept your own spirit - gratitude, acceptance, any emotion that comes to us - when it is all finished, we are still free. I love you so much and think of you every day with so much gratitude that you were placed in my life so long ago. The journey goes on... Forever Baba Sands
ReplyDeleteWhat lovely words at such a sad time.
ReplyDelete