I sold Rick's truck on Saturday. I had only looked inside it once since he died. It just sat in the backyard. Sometimes Rick's cat, Bud, would sleep on top of it. I realize that I procrastinated about selling it because it is one more admission that he is gone forever.
How could it possibly be a year! Surely, it was only a couple of weeks ago. No, no, that's not right. It's been more like a century. I have always been fascinated by time and how it is compressed at times and draws out forever at other times. Ever since Rick died, I've had this notion that once I made it through the first year, things would get easier. However, it has been almost two months over a year now and acceptance of his death may be greater, but there are still some rough times. I know this is cliche, but it literally feels as if part of me is missing. It's like there's a big void. I doubt the void will ever go away completely, but maybe it will get smaller as time goes by and I grow and change.
My niece, Donna, and her husband, Jorge, invited me to spend the anniversary of his death with them at their their beautiful country place near La Grange. On the drive there, I did a lot of thinking about the past year. In so many ways it has been a year of growth for me. I have done things I've never done before and assumed responsibilities that were always Rick's. I've decided that husbands are definitely under rated. He did so many little things that I just took for granted. There are two examples from just yesterday. I renewed the registration on my car on Friday (one of his jobs) and learned that I needed new license plates. Yesterday I took the old ones off and put the new ones on. That also was one of his jobs. He always kept my kitchen knives perfectly sharp. He would usually sharpen them when I was away from the house because the sound of the blade on the whet stone was like the screech of chalk on a chalkboard to me. A few weeks before he died he bought an electric knife sharpener that he stored on a shelf and never used. Yesterday I sharpened my kitchen knives with it. I truly think he anticipated his death and did several things like that to ease my life when he was gone.
I subscribe to GriefShare Daily Emails. Messages are sent daily for a year. Sometimes I find the message very helpful and at other times I feel it doesn't relate to me at all. I still find the advice of friends the most helpful. My daughter, Amy, her husband, Ray, and six-year-old Katherine and four-year-old William are still living with me. For reasons totally unrelated to Rick's death, they moved into our house the morning before Rick died. This situation has been difficult for all of us and is even more difficult because of Rick's death. Amy and I have both been going through our individual throes of grief . But...they need their own place and I need my own space. Don't get me wrong. I'm happy that I have been able to help, and the children are so dear to me. But as one of my widowed friends said, "When you are reinventing yourself, you need time by yourself." I think that is so true, and I've had very little time by myself the past 14 months. I won't be able to make a decision about whether I want to continue to live in this house until I have lived in it alone for some weeks, if not months. On the other hand, I haven't been as lonely as I would have been if they weren't here. However, I've definitely learned that one can be lonely in a room full of people--sometimes that's the loneliest place of all.
Donna and Jorge were the perfect people for me to be with those few days in May. Donna and I shopped on Friday, and without the benefit of any booze got downright silly on Friday night. After soaking in the hot tub, we decided to change into our nighties and watch a chick flick. That afternoon Donna bought me a broad brimmed black and white striped hat. It was lying on the couch when I came out into the living room after changing. I decided the hat would look quite nice with my new black nightie so I put it on. When Donna came out and saw me with it on, she had to take a picture. Then she decided she would put on her black nightie get a hat. The silliness began. We put on bright lipstick and rouge, hung chandelier crystals from our ears and tried on several different "looks." I'm including some pictures that Jorge took of us. I think the only reason he put up with our silliness is that he got to watch his rugby game instead of the chick flick.
On Saturday night, (the actual anniversary of his death was at 11:30 p.m. on May 14) Jorge and I spent the whole evening in the hot tub. Their house is out in the country so it is really dark at night. The skies were clear, the stars were plentiful and the light was provided by a gibbous moon. Donna didn't get in the hot tub but sat beside it and served as the bar tender ferrying wine to Jorge and Tanquery and tonics to me. We talked a little, cried a little and mainly looked at the beautiful sky while listening to Jorge's "old standards" music. It was the perfect way to observe the anniversary. Rick would have approved!!!
Jane, you are so right. I am reinventing myself. I don't know who exactly is going to emerge, but so far I mostly like this new me. I wrote the following poem in 1984. It is far more pertinent to my life now than it was when I wrote it.
How could it possibly be a year! Surely, it was only a couple of weeks ago. No, no, that's not right. It's been more like a century. I have always been fascinated by time and how it is compressed at times and draws out forever at other times. Ever since Rick died, I've had this notion that once I made it through the first year, things would get easier. However, it has been almost two months over a year now and acceptance of his death may be greater, but there are still some rough times. I know this is cliche, but it literally feels as if part of me is missing. It's like there's a big void. I doubt the void will ever go away completely, but maybe it will get smaller as time goes by and I grow and change.
My niece, Donna, and her husband, Jorge, invited me to spend the anniversary of his death with them at their their beautiful country place near La Grange. On the drive there, I did a lot of thinking about the past year. In so many ways it has been a year of growth for me. I have done things I've never done before and assumed responsibilities that were always Rick's. I've decided that husbands are definitely under rated. He did so many little things that I just took for granted. There are two examples from just yesterday. I renewed the registration on my car on Friday (one of his jobs) and learned that I needed new license plates. Yesterday I took the old ones off and put the new ones on. That also was one of his jobs. He always kept my kitchen knives perfectly sharp. He would usually sharpen them when I was away from the house because the sound of the blade on the whet stone was like the screech of chalk on a chalkboard to me. A few weeks before he died he bought an electric knife sharpener that he stored on a shelf and never used. Yesterday I sharpened my kitchen knives with it. I truly think he anticipated his death and did several things like that to ease my life when he was gone.
I subscribe to GriefShare Daily Emails. Messages are sent daily for a year. Sometimes I find the message very helpful and at other times I feel it doesn't relate to me at all. I still find the advice of friends the most helpful. My daughter, Amy, her husband, Ray, and six-year-old Katherine and four-year-old William are still living with me. For reasons totally unrelated to Rick's death, they moved into our house the morning before Rick died. This situation has been difficult for all of us and is even more difficult because of Rick's death. Amy and I have both been going through our individual throes of grief . But...they need their own place and I need my own space. Don't get me wrong. I'm happy that I have been able to help, and the children are so dear to me. But as one of my widowed friends said, "When you are reinventing yourself, you need time by yourself." I think that is so true, and I've had very little time by myself the past 14 months. I won't be able to make a decision about whether I want to continue to live in this house until I have lived in it alone for some weeks, if not months. On the other hand, I haven't been as lonely as I would have been if they weren't here. However, I've definitely learned that one can be lonely in a room full of people--sometimes that's the loneliest place of all.
Donna and Jorge were the perfect people for me to be with those few days in May. Donna and I shopped on Friday, and without the benefit of any booze got downright silly on Friday night. After soaking in the hot tub, we decided to change into our nighties and watch a chick flick. That afternoon Donna bought me a broad brimmed black and white striped hat. It was lying on the couch when I came out into the living room after changing. I decided the hat would look quite nice with my new black nightie so I put it on. When Donna came out and saw me with it on, she had to take a picture. Then she decided she would put on her black nightie get a hat. The silliness began. We put on bright lipstick and rouge, hung chandelier crystals from our ears and tried on several different "looks." I'm including some pictures that Jorge took of us. I think the only reason he put up with our silliness is that he got to watch his rugby game instead of the chick flick.On Saturday night, (the actual anniversary of his death was at 11:30 p.m. on May 14) Jorge and I spent the whole evening in the hot tub. Their house is out in the country so it is really dark at night. The skies were clear, the stars were plentiful and the light was provided by a gibbous moon. Donna didn't get in the hot tub but sat beside it and served as the bar tender ferrying wine to Jorge and Tanquery and tonics to me. We talked a little, cried a little and mainly looked at the beautiful sky while listening to Jorge's "old standards" music. It was the perfect way to observe the anniversary. Rick would have approved!!!
Jane, you are so right. I am reinventing myself. I don't know who exactly is going to emerge, but so far I mostly like this new me. I wrote the following poem in 1984. It is far more pertinent to my life now than it was when I wrote it.
WAS/AM/WILL BE
Do I merge?
When? Where? How?
It's all here now.
Not only my present and my past,
But my future.
I am unfolding on the brink.
And always I am
The edge
Of the me that was
And the me that is to be.
Thanks to all of you who have hung in there with me these past months. That includes old friends and the new ones I am making. Your love has supported me far more than you will ever know. Please keep hanging in there while we all discover the me that is to be.
Tuesday, July 19, Addendum:
Beautiful Zoe, our 14-year-old granddaughter, commented on this post on Facebook. Her comments were so beautiful and I want everyone to be able to see them:
Tuesday, July 19, Addendum:
Beautiful Zoe, our 14-year-old granddaughter, commented on this post on Facebook. Her comments were so beautiful and I want everyone to be able to see them:
I
liked how you talked about the little things that Grandpa did that you
took for granted. Sometimes, I do that too. Or when I'm singing to
myself a song that I know he used to sing, I think about him singing The
Sound Of Music when I'd watch it at
your house. And every time we go to the store to get ice cream, I think
of all the times Grandpa would take Ian and I to Arlan's and let us pick
out a pint of ice cream. Looking back now, I never realized that those
little things would be the things I remembered when he passed away. I
guess you never really think of the little moments until that's all you
have left. So I know that no matter where I go, or what I'm doing,
something will remind me of Grandpa. As if he's still here. I'm truly
thankful for those memories too.
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