Recently I've participated in a book club where we discussed Thomas Merton's book, The Seven Storey Mountain. The person who led the discussion of the book, a professor in the School of Business at UM, sent me a quote from Merton: "My true meaning and worth are shown to me not in my estimation of myself, but in the eyes of the one who loves me; and that one must love me as I am, with my faults and limitations, revealing to me the truth that these faults and limitations cannot destroy my worth in their eyes; and that I am therefore valuable as a person, in spite of my shortcomings.. ." Perhaps it is because November 12 is approaching, the day that marks one year since Gwen died. Whatever the reason, I've been thinking about what Gwen meant to me and how I felt when I was with her. A short answer is that she meant everything to me, and that I felt complete when she was with me. A longer answer involves remembering profound, defining moments in our relationship. These are moments when the chatter and clatter of life fades into the background and we become simply who we are. Four of those moments were when our three children were born and when adoption procedures were finalized and Anne Marie came to be part of our family. Only those who mourn the loss of someone they truly love can know what it is like to be without that person. Likewise, only those who have welcomed new members into their families can know what it is like to feel the joyful awe, (Or, is it awful joy?) that accompanies the moment when a new life becomes their responsibility.
Gwen and I shared several moments when the only thing that mattered was what was happening then and there. The first of those moments was when we looked into each other's eyes and saw something there that we had never seen with anyone else. The words "I love you" that tumbled from my mouth at that instant were the most sincere and spontaneous words that I have ever spoken. Fourteen months after that, on our wedding night, before falling asleep, my whole world consisted of Gwen's body next to mine and I knew that this was how it would be for the rest of our lives. Another time, definitely joyful, was when we were reunited in Portland, Oregon, after Gwen had spent two weeks at home with our two children and her parents.
Other moments weren't always joyful. There was the moment when I held Gwen in my arms in the hospital after the devastating diagnosis of diabetes and the delivery of stillborn child she had been carrying. There was the moment we sat in Gwen's doctor's office and heard the word cancer. Lastly, there was the moment when I saw Gwen lying in bed, eyes closed, mouth open, no longer breathing. Each one of these moments deserves to be considered in its own right with much reflection and contemplation. It will give me something to do in the days ahead.
What I remember most about these moment, Dear, is the constancy of a love that ran through each one.
Gwen and I shared several moments when the only thing that mattered was what was happening then and there. The first of those moments was when we looked into each other's eyes and saw something there that we had never seen with anyone else. The words "I love you" that tumbled from my mouth at that instant were the most sincere and spontaneous words that I have ever spoken. Fourteen months after that, on our wedding night, before falling asleep, my whole world consisted of Gwen's body next to mine and I knew that this was how it would be for the rest of our lives. Another time, definitely joyful, was when we were reunited in Portland, Oregon, after Gwen had spent two weeks at home with our two children and her parents.
Other moments weren't always joyful. There was the moment when I held Gwen in my arms in the hospital after the devastating diagnosis of diabetes and the delivery of stillborn child she had been carrying. There was the moment we sat in Gwen's doctor's office and heard the word cancer. Lastly, there was the moment when I saw Gwen lying in bed, eyes closed, mouth open, no longer breathing. Each one of these moments deserves to be considered in its own right with much reflection and contemplation. It will give me something to do in the days ahead.
What I remember most about these moment, Dear, is the constancy of a love that ran through each one.
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