She held me in her arms; now I hold her in my heart. Someone sent me that quote, and I repeated it over and over on my drive up to Marquette. Now that I've been here a couple of days I find it more and more important to hang onto that idea of holding her in my heart.
I don't have to do some of these things, but I do because in the end it will be healing. . .tonight after John and I complete our teaching and met friends for dinner I drove alone to Presque Isle Park where Gwen and I dearly loved to walk or just drive slowly through, admiring the scenery and wildlife. There is a place where there is about an eighty foot cliff that drops down to Lake Superior. I could remember Gwen and me standing on the enclosed viewing deck and simply appreciating looking down at the tops of pine trees and out over the vastness of Lake Superior. Those were times when words were neither necessary nor sufficient so we would simply enjoy a shared sense of awe and wonder. Standing there tonight I felt that same painful sense of longing and loneliness that has now become expected but still comes as a surprise--the acute feeling like the bottom has fallen out of my stomach. When I drove out to take a look at the home where we lived for six years that same thing happened; that sad/sweet feeling.
This is all again part of that dual existence I often find myself living. I enjoyed teaching for two days, it was comforting and rewarding to have son John as my "wing man." After class several students commented to me that they enjoyed how well the two of us worked together. Surely, Gwen had a hand in that. My fears about not being able to concentrate, losing my train of thought, forgetting things and all the other things that could befall me were just that, fears that were unjustified. It is great to feel once again that sense of competence and accomplishment. So, there's that, John the college professor is alive and well. Then there's John the man and husband who misses his wife. . .somehow that all gets covered up and the show goes on. I can only hope that writing about it will eventually help to make the John people see and hear congruent with the John I live with.
One of the students today invited me to a concert at a local church. Two groups performed, one was a youth swing band from Sweden that is part of an exchange with the Blue Lake Performing Arts Center. The other group was a local swing band that plays all the old songs like In the Mood, Blue Moon, etc. I took her up on her offer and attended. Their soloist on the trumpet, who was petty good, was 90 years old. Inspirational. . .It was calming and relaxing and a pleasant way to unwind after a couple of days of being pretty fired up. Of course, that other John was thinking how much Gwen would have enjoyed the performances, and more than once I reached out to hold her hand.
There are still all those moments, Dear, when I want to share with you so many of the things that have happened this week. I don't know if I ever fully appreciated just how much I found comfort in driving home, knowing you'd be waiting there and anxious to hear about how thing went. . that, and did I bring you a jelly doughnut? That is what I hold in my heart; it's way more than a nice memory--it's who we were.
I don't have to do some of these things, but I do because in the end it will be healing. . .tonight after John and I complete our teaching and met friends for dinner I drove alone to Presque Isle Park where Gwen and I dearly loved to walk or just drive slowly through, admiring the scenery and wildlife. There is a place where there is about an eighty foot cliff that drops down to Lake Superior. I could remember Gwen and me standing on the enclosed viewing deck and simply appreciating looking down at the tops of pine trees and out over the vastness of Lake Superior. Those were times when words were neither necessary nor sufficient so we would simply enjoy a shared sense of awe and wonder. Standing there tonight I felt that same painful sense of longing and loneliness that has now become expected but still comes as a surprise--the acute feeling like the bottom has fallen out of my stomach. When I drove out to take a look at the home where we lived for six years that same thing happened; that sad/sweet feeling.
This is all again part of that dual existence I often find myself living. I enjoyed teaching for two days, it was comforting and rewarding to have son John as my "wing man." After class several students commented to me that they enjoyed how well the two of us worked together. Surely, Gwen had a hand in that. My fears about not being able to concentrate, losing my train of thought, forgetting things and all the other things that could befall me were just that, fears that were unjustified. It is great to feel once again that sense of competence and accomplishment. So, there's that, John the college professor is alive and well. Then there's John the man and husband who misses his wife. . .somehow that all gets covered up and the show goes on. I can only hope that writing about it will eventually help to make the John people see and hear congruent with the John I live with.
One of the students today invited me to a concert at a local church. Two groups performed, one was a youth swing band from Sweden that is part of an exchange with the Blue Lake Performing Arts Center. The other group was a local swing band that plays all the old songs like In the Mood, Blue Moon, etc. I took her up on her offer and attended. Their soloist on the trumpet, who was petty good, was 90 years old. Inspirational. . .It was calming and relaxing and a pleasant way to unwind after a couple of days of being pretty fired up. Of course, that other John was thinking how much Gwen would have enjoyed the performances, and more than once I reached out to hold her hand.
There are still all those moments, Dear, when I want to share with you so many of the things that have happened this week. I don't know if I ever fully appreciated just how much I found comfort in driving home, knowing you'd be waiting there and anxious to hear about how thing went. . that, and did I bring you a jelly doughnut? That is what I hold in my heart; it's way more than a nice memory--it's who we were.
2 comments:
Beautiful post John. You captured that one moment that was yours and yours alone that said, you will be okay! Such courage dear lion.
The hardest part I think. Trying to share it with the person you love.
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