Tonight, as I finally sat down to write, there was a brilliant full moon shining through the big old oak tree in the back yard. It brought back warm memories of when Gwen and I would sit on the deck at our cottage in Canada and watch the moon rise over Lake Huron; I can almost hear the loons calling. As much as I miss those special moments, I am also aware of how fortunate we were to have them. Those memories are tinged with sadness a little more than usual tonight--it is September 12, and Gwen died on November 12, ten months ago. Has it really been that long?
It was important to try to keep myself busy today. Golf league was this morning, and immediately after that Anne and I had lunch together before I drove her to the airport for her return to Dallas. At 2:00 I had my singing lesson, which I enjoyed immensely. After that I mowed the lawn, and then showered and got dressed and attended a meeting at the Cancer Support Community. Now I'm finally unwinding after that very busy day, and allowing the memories to flood in. I also haven't forgotten the family breakfast that John and Anne and Amy and Brooke helped prepare and serve yesterday morning. It was quite a gathering, and everyone enjoyed themselves immensely. I try not to take for granted how fortunate I am that the children Gwen and I raised know how to do things the right way, and my sisters and brothers, nieces and nephews, and special people like Sharon all go out of their way to help me ease the pain of having Gwen missing from our lives.
While at John's yesterday I took inventory of the items from Gwen's and my life in Gaastra that are now hanging on the wall in the family/sun room. It all tells a story--two sets of deer horns from Barney, a beaver pelt and a muskrat pelt stretched on round, home-made frames; two mink that Barney caught and had made into a neck scarf for Gwen, an otter pelt, and, my favorite, hanging on one of the sets of deer horns; one of Barney's old hats. All-in-all, it is quite a display of a life that is now part of an era that has passed. As I gazed around the room at the items on the wall, I remembered attachments to most of them: the beaver that I helped Barney drag up the embankment next to the spillway on the dam he built, the otter he and I found in one of the creeks running into Chicaguoan Lake, Barney wearing that hat, and Gwen looking more beautiful than ever when she wore the mink scarf to Midnight Mass our first Christmas together--and tonight I am forced to remember our last night together. Guys as sentimental as I am shouldn't have to do this. . .
Today, Dear, my sister, Terri, commented that she felt your presence at the breakfast yesterday morning. That you were there in so many ways takes some of the sting out of the significance of today's date.
It was important to try to keep myself busy today. Golf league was this morning, and immediately after that Anne and I had lunch together before I drove her to the airport for her return to Dallas. At 2:00 I had my singing lesson, which I enjoyed immensely. After that I mowed the lawn, and then showered and got dressed and attended a meeting at the Cancer Support Community. Now I'm finally unwinding after that very busy day, and allowing the memories to flood in. I also haven't forgotten the family breakfast that John and Anne and Amy and Brooke helped prepare and serve yesterday morning. It was quite a gathering, and everyone enjoyed themselves immensely. I try not to take for granted how fortunate I am that the children Gwen and I raised know how to do things the right way, and my sisters and brothers, nieces and nephews, and special people like Sharon all go out of their way to help me ease the pain of having Gwen missing from our lives.
While at John's yesterday I took inventory of the items from Gwen's and my life in Gaastra that are now hanging on the wall in the family/sun room. It all tells a story--two sets of deer horns from Barney, a beaver pelt and a muskrat pelt stretched on round, home-made frames; two mink that Barney caught and had made into a neck scarf for Gwen, an otter pelt, and, my favorite, hanging on one of the sets of deer horns; one of Barney's old hats. All-in-all, it is quite a display of a life that is now part of an era that has passed. As I gazed around the room at the items on the wall, I remembered attachments to most of them: the beaver that I helped Barney drag up the embankment next to the spillway on the dam he built, the otter he and I found in one of the creeks running into Chicaguoan Lake, Barney wearing that hat, and Gwen looking more beautiful than ever when she wore the mink scarf to Midnight Mass our first Christmas together--and tonight I am forced to remember our last night together. Guys as sentimental as I am shouldn't have to do this. . .
Today, Dear, my sister, Terri, commented that she felt your presence at the breakfast yesterday morning. That you were there in so many ways takes some of the sting out of the significance of today's date.
1 comment:
As always, we are saddened by our loss. Yet when we really take inventory, we celebrate everything that we have because they were there.
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