I talked with all of our children today; that always cheers me. However, even that wasn't enough to counteract the effects of one of those "blue" days that suddenly and unexpectedly bedevil those of us who grieve. Today was a cascade of reminders that the one who made my life complete is no longer in my life.
Having gotten home quite late last night, one of the first things I did today was to sort through the mail that accumulated in my absence. Here is a notification from the UM Comprehensive Cancer Center that their annual celebration for cancer survivors is coming up in a couple of weeks. Gwen and I loved attending that. Included with the announcement was an RSVP card that included the option to have our name removed from their mailing list. At least they didn't ask for a reason. Next there was a notification from BCBSM about some remaining insurance issues that needed to be resolved by having me mail them a copy of Gwen's death certificate. I hadn't look at it since right after the funeral. I hate it--there it is in cold legalese. The telephone rang; it was someone from the cemetery telling me that our gravestone monument was being placed today. Oh me, oh my. There was a stack of bills that had to be paid. I keep the check book in Gwen's purse, where she always kept it. It is necessary to look up some addresses; there they are, written in Gwen's impeccable handwriting. I watched a taped Jon Stewart show, and he interviewed Gigi Ibraham, a young Egyptian woman who was a hero of the recent uprising there. Out of habit, at one point I turned to talk with Gwen about what an an amazingly courageous young woman she was. Oops! Fortunately I had decided early to attend an evening Mass tonight, which I did, and had myself a nice cry. Is it any wonder that one of the lines from and old Dionne Warwick song has been going through my mind all day? ". . .you don't know what you got 'til it's gone."
Oh, but we knew what we had, didn't we, Dear? I wonder if the time will ever come when I can see reminders or a picture of you and not feel a giant hole in my heart. And all will be well.
Having gotten home quite late last night, one of the first things I did today was to sort through the mail that accumulated in my absence. Here is a notification from the UM Comprehensive Cancer Center that their annual celebration for cancer survivors is coming up in a couple of weeks. Gwen and I loved attending that. Included with the announcement was an RSVP card that included the option to have our name removed from their mailing list. At least they didn't ask for a reason. Next there was a notification from BCBSM about some remaining insurance issues that needed to be resolved by having me mail them a copy of Gwen's death certificate. I hadn't look at it since right after the funeral. I hate it--there it is in cold legalese. The telephone rang; it was someone from the cemetery telling me that our gravestone monument was being placed today. Oh me, oh my. There was a stack of bills that had to be paid. I keep the check book in Gwen's purse, where she always kept it. It is necessary to look up some addresses; there they are, written in Gwen's impeccable handwriting. I watched a taped Jon Stewart show, and he interviewed Gigi Ibraham, a young Egyptian woman who was a hero of the recent uprising there. Out of habit, at one point I turned to talk with Gwen about what an an amazingly courageous young woman she was. Oops! Fortunately I had decided early to attend an evening Mass tonight, which I did, and had myself a nice cry. Is it any wonder that one of the lines from and old Dionne Warwick song has been going through my mind all day? ". . .you don't know what you got 'til it's gone."
Oh, but we knew what we had, didn't we, Dear? I wonder if the time will ever come when I can see reminders or a picture of you and not feel a giant hole in my heart. And all will be well.
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