Today I don't have the words to describe my mood. The closest I can come is "mellow/melancholy," aside from the alliteration, it describes feeling happy, safe and warm on a cool, cloudy day while simultaneously feeling terribly blue because Gwen isn't on the couch next to me, waiting to have her feet massaged. Gwen often used the word blue to describe how she felt when we were apart.
The thermostat on the wall has a feature that displays the outside temperature. This morning, as I prepared to mow the lawn, it read 56 degrees. "That can't be right," I thought, "it was 96 degrees yesterday." When I raised the garage door to take the lawn mower out, a blast of cold wind hit me, and I realized that the thermometer told the truth--its was downright chilly. I went back inside for a sweatshirt, and thought about Anne in Dallas where the temperature has been in the 100 degree range for the past six weeks; how welcome this weather would be for her. I found a sweatshirt to wear; it was white with roses and the famous maize and blue, winged helmet on the front along with the words, "Wolverines 1992 Rose Bowl." It was a shirt that Gwen loved to "borrow;" I could see her wearing it, sleeves all rolled up, as she helped me rake leaves in the fall; remember how good it made me feel to have her scent on it afterward--here come those blues again. On the other hand, whatever would I do without these loving memories of simpler, happier times? Memories that keep her present.
Today a dear friend, Jim, sent me a message about how he and his wife, Chris, have found themselves leading a life that is richer and fuller than before since talking with me about what it has felt like to lose Gwen. "I can NOT imagine life without Chris and how I might wish to go on," he said, while also acknowledging that he knows that sooner or later one will be without the other. My response is the same as it has always been, love her while you have her.
As I was getting dressed this morning, Dear, I glanced up at your picture, the one where you are so beautiful that it still makes me weak in the knees, and, just for an instant, you winked, and then a tear appeared in the corner of your eye. We continue to console each other.
1 comment:
Thanks John for sharing today. This holiday, end of summer milestone has special significance for me too. We continue to experience "firsts" we don't anticipate; in fact, we are reliving experiences as real as when we lived them.
Thanks for your honesty; you are making an impact on many more of us than you will realize. It is good for others grieving, the more we share, the more grieving is recoginized as natural and part of us.
Kaye
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