Sometimes, like today, I have to remind myself about my purpose in writing this blog--it is to honor Gwen, the one love of my life, and to acquaint others with what a wonderful person she was. It's sometimes easy to wander from those intentions and become somewhat narcissistic. Also, I do miss her dearly, and want for us to some day be together again; yet, I know that I have the obligation to honor her by being true to her desire that I continue living the best kind of life I know how to live--and I will do that. An acquaintance who recently lost his wife wrote a note in a card he sent me; it simply said that there are others who need our love.
Today I had the opportunity to walk in Gallup Park and sit on a bench with a friend, also a widow, and talk that free and easy way that is only possible for people who share a common experience that allows them to create a language all their own. As much as one might wish it were so, it is not possible to remain in that delightful state where here is no posturing, game playing or any of the things that occur in everyday discourse; we both knew that we also have to function in a world where life has gone as usual for most people, and the loss of our beloved is nowhere near as keenly felt. After all, every day millions of people are going through what we are going through. At one point in our conversation my phone rang and it was a friend inquiring about playing a round of golf later in the afternoon. We both laughed at how easy it was for me to switch into a mode where golf was on an equal footing with our conversation about the pain of being someone who has lost the one true thing in our lives.
Today as I sat on the bench in the park, Dear, I remembered that only a year ago Anne and I walked in the same park with you in your wheelchair and it was such a delightful occasion. There is still that unwillingness to acknowledge that the person who sat in that wheelchair is no longer here on earth with us. And, so I find time to talk with others who understand.
Today as I sat on the bench in the park, Dear, I remembered that only a year ago Anne and I walked in the same park with you in your wheelchair and it was such a delightful occasion. There is still that unwillingness to acknowledge that the person who sat in that wheelchair is no longer here on earth with us. And, so I find time to talk with others who understand.
1 comment:
... allows them to create a language all their own ... Indeed, when we feel the most alone, we remember that we are not alone. What a beautiful and reflective post John.
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