It's been good to be back home; golf this morning, then mowed the lawn this afternoon, did some shopping, read a week's worth of mail. Then there are all the pictures and reminders of Gwen. . .
The trip to the U. P. was a constant reminder of how much Gwen and I shared and enjoyed being with each other. When I was busy doing things or being whomever I was expected to be it was as though she was at home waiting for me to come tell her about my day. There's a bakery called the Donut Hole in Marquette where I would always stop to pick up a raspberry filled Danish for Gwen on my way home from anywhere. When I would pass it last week there was that instant where I'd reach for the turn signal and get ready to stop for a treat to bring to my honey. Especially when I was in the car, I would feel her presence. My friend who married my roommate at NMU and who is now also a widow tells me that she too feels those waves of grief when she is alone in the car. A particularly poignant thing happened on Saturday during my drive to Iron Mountain.
I had spent the night with my sister, Cookie, and her husband, Bob, at their home in Menominee. In the morning I went for a walk down one of the roads where they live in the country and as I passed a grove of evergreens a doe and her fawn stepped out into the road and looked me over carefully before bounding away. I was already thinking of how I'd begin by saying "Gwen, you would have loved it. . ." I suppose that part of life without the one who made my life complete will become less pervasive, but in a way I don't want that to happen. We'll just have to let mature take its course. Bob made me a nice breakfast of pancakes and then I drove to my cousin, Jim Jasenovsky's, place in Birch Creek for a visit before heading north to meet my friend in Iron Mountain.
I'll write more about the trip up U. S. 41 through Birch Creek where I grew up, then Wallace where I pitched many a baseball game, Stephenson where I enjoyed my first year of teaching while waiting impatiently for June 8 to arrive, the day Gwen and I married. In Powers I turned onto U. S. 2 and headed toward Iron Mountain. I have been recording my singing lessons, and, to help pass the time, I listened to the recording of my last lesson and sang along with it. The last thing I worked on is a song called All Will be Well. It has six verses, and I sang them all. Just exactly as I completed singing the last word in the last refrain my attention was taken by a beautiful sight--an eagle drifted by overhead; it was so close that I could see its claws and beak, its white head and tail feathers. "It's Gwen," I immediately thought. Eagles were an important part of Gwen's mom's funeral as well as hers. And, of course, the beautiful song, On Eagles' Wings, was sung at both. There are those who will say it was just a coincidence, and perhaps it was, but I know what I felt when I saw that eagle. I immediately had tears in my eyes; "it's her," I whispered. And it was.
Thank you, Dear, for letting me know not only that all will be well, but also that all is well. Still, I miss you.
The trip to the U. P. was a constant reminder of how much Gwen and I shared and enjoyed being with each other. When I was busy doing things or being whomever I was expected to be it was as though she was at home waiting for me to come tell her about my day. There's a bakery called the Donut Hole in Marquette where I would always stop to pick up a raspberry filled Danish for Gwen on my way home from anywhere. When I would pass it last week there was that instant where I'd reach for the turn signal and get ready to stop for a treat to bring to my honey. Especially when I was in the car, I would feel her presence. My friend who married my roommate at NMU and who is now also a widow tells me that she too feels those waves of grief when she is alone in the car. A particularly poignant thing happened on Saturday during my drive to Iron Mountain.
I had spent the night with my sister, Cookie, and her husband, Bob, at their home in Menominee. In the morning I went for a walk down one of the roads where they live in the country and as I passed a grove of evergreens a doe and her fawn stepped out into the road and looked me over carefully before bounding away. I was already thinking of how I'd begin by saying "Gwen, you would have loved it. . ." I suppose that part of life without the one who made my life complete will become less pervasive, but in a way I don't want that to happen. We'll just have to let mature take its course. Bob made me a nice breakfast of pancakes and then I drove to my cousin, Jim Jasenovsky's, place in Birch Creek for a visit before heading north to meet my friend in Iron Mountain.
I'll write more about the trip up U. S. 41 through Birch Creek where I grew up, then Wallace where I pitched many a baseball game, Stephenson where I enjoyed my first year of teaching while waiting impatiently for June 8 to arrive, the day Gwen and I married. In Powers I turned onto U. S. 2 and headed toward Iron Mountain. I have been recording my singing lessons, and, to help pass the time, I listened to the recording of my last lesson and sang along with it. The last thing I worked on is a song called All Will be Well. It has six verses, and I sang them all. Just exactly as I completed singing the last word in the last refrain my attention was taken by a beautiful sight--an eagle drifted by overhead; it was so close that I could see its claws and beak, its white head and tail feathers. "It's Gwen," I immediately thought. Eagles were an important part of Gwen's mom's funeral as well as hers. And, of course, the beautiful song, On Eagles' Wings, was sung at both. There are those who will say it was just a coincidence, and perhaps it was, but I know what I felt when I saw that eagle. I immediately had tears in my eyes; "it's her," I whispered. And it was.
Thank you, Dear, for letting me know not only that all will be well, but also that all is well. Still, I miss you.
1 comment:
A trip for two as you held her in your heart.
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