Today marks six months since Gwen died. There are those who choose to not remember these sorts of anniversaries. For me, I have no choice; Gwen died on November 12, 2010, and the 12th of each month will always bring back memories of that day. In spite of all the sad memories of that time back in November, this is also an occasion to remember better times.
A friend and fellow blogger wrote in her post yesterday that for the first time since her husband's death she was able to visit a river where he and she would often sit in silence and enjoy each other's company. Thanks, Ginette. That in turn reminded me of a canoe trip down the Brule River, on the Wisconsin/Michigan border near Gwen's hometown of Gaastra, that Gwen and I took early in our marriage. Gwen's brother Ted and his wife Jackie accompanied us on the trip. It's a long story, but the highlight of the trip occurred when we came to the first bend in the river and I managed to steer us near some brush. From her seat in front of the canoe, Gwen, being the strong, independent, assertive person that she was, instinctively reached out and grabbed a limb, and in the fast-moving current the canoe promptly overturned, dumping the two of us and all of our food and other supplies into the cold water. Ted and Jackie captured our canoe and we made our way to shore where we built a fire, dried ourselves and our clothing as best we could and continued down the river. Actually, we had no choice, there was no turning back, and eventually we were able to enjoy ourselves in the warm sunshine.
So, what does this have to do with the death of my perfect partner six months ago? To me, the parallel is obvious; on that day in November I was set adrift on a dark, cold, unfamiliar river without my friend for life in the front to help me steer and paddle. There are other lessons I take from that misadventure long ago. One of them is that, when the river runs swift it is a dangerous to hang onto the seeming security of familiar things, to do so can lead to disastrous results. When setting out on this river it is also important to have friends and family along; they will come to the rescue when the inevitable disasters do occur. Finally, as much as I would prefer to paddle serenely in a shallow lake, the river of life flows relentlessly, and, while prudent navigation is always important, for the most part it is best to go with the flow, or, as the Gestalt Psychologist are fond of saying: "Don't push the river."
That's how it is with me today, Dear; you may no longer be up front paddling, but in so many other ways you remain with me, showing the way.
A friend and fellow blogger wrote in her post yesterday that for the first time since her husband's death she was able to visit a river where he and she would often sit in silence and enjoy each other's company. Thanks, Ginette. That in turn reminded me of a canoe trip down the Brule River, on the Wisconsin/Michigan border near Gwen's hometown of Gaastra, that Gwen and I took early in our marriage. Gwen's brother Ted and his wife Jackie accompanied us on the trip. It's a long story, but the highlight of the trip occurred when we came to the first bend in the river and I managed to steer us near some brush. From her seat in front of the canoe, Gwen, being the strong, independent, assertive person that she was, instinctively reached out and grabbed a limb, and in the fast-moving current the canoe promptly overturned, dumping the two of us and all of our food and other supplies into the cold water. Ted and Jackie captured our canoe and we made our way to shore where we built a fire, dried ourselves and our clothing as best we could and continued down the river. Actually, we had no choice, there was no turning back, and eventually we were able to enjoy ourselves in the warm sunshine.
So, what does this have to do with the death of my perfect partner six months ago? To me, the parallel is obvious; on that day in November I was set adrift on a dark, cold, unfamiliar river without my friend for life in the front to help me steer and paddle. There are other lessons I take from that misadventure long ago. One of them is that, when the river runs swift it is a dangerous to hang onto the seeming security of familiar things, to do so can lead to disastrous results. When setting out on this river it is also important to have friends and family along; they will come to the rescue when the inevitable disasters do occur. Finally, as much as I would prefer to paddle serenely in a shallow lake, the river of life flows relentlessly, and, while prudent navigation is always important, for the most part it is best to go with the flow, or, as the Gestalt Psychologist are fond of saying: "Don't push the river."
That's how it is with me today, Dear; you may no longer be up front paddling, but in so many other ways you remain with me, showing the way.
1 comment:
What a fun memory and a beautiful way of expressing how it is for us.
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