Things are stirring.

I don't know if any of this will make sense;  I just have to write about it.  Two thoughts I’ve had lately have to do with something I heard somewhere recently.  The first is this: “We cannot change our past, but we can change our relationship to it.”  The second is related to the first: “In order for the new self to emerge the old self has to die.”  Those two thoughts capture the essence of how I’ve been going about dealing with my grief over the fact that Gwen, my soul mate, has died. 

My relationship to the past is in large part about my relationship to Gwen.  There are so many wonderful memories wrapped up in that relationship.  Then there are at least two ways to look at that.  I can stay stuck in the past and be sad that those days are gone.  On the other hand, I can bring those memories into my present life and cherish them as fond reminders of the love that Gwen and I shared for so long, and appreciate and be grateful for them.  That is not as easy to do as it may sound.  It’s kind of like putting toothpaste back in the tube.  When those memories are a part of my life once again it’s as though they add sweetness to my life that makes the lonely emptiness bearable.  I can’t just put them back where they were before I found them, much like I can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube.  It’s always the smallest thing that triggers these kind of feeling—the Tennessee Waltz was playing on my i-Pod earlier today, and I was back dancing with Gwen at her folk's cottage, feeling her, smelling her, seeing her, hearing her say sweet things, tasting her lipstick, wanting her as much as ever.  As I write this I realize how sentimental, maybe even naive it sounds, but that’s what it’s like for me. 

Then the second idea comes into play.  Can I let the old self die in order that a new life may emerge?  Can I allow all those memories of things in the past become just that—memories?   There are times during the day when I am able to do that, yet, when I walk into the empty house, even this weekend when Anne is visiting; there is the realization, almost as though for the first time, that Gwen isn’t there to greet me.  And, that just plain hurts.   I know that Gwen wants me to let a new life emerge.  Yet, there’s always a part of me that wants to say, “easy for her to say.”  So, I go on, day by day, sometimes moment by moment, being the best father, grandfather, friend, person filled with faith and hope—me—that I know how to be.  What I’m left with is my favorite saying, from the Quakers, “A way will show.”   Soon it will be a year since Gwen died.  I wonder what it will be like a year from now, two years from now; then I remember that a year ago I would have been sitting with Gwen enjoying a TV show, or just talking.  Can life again be like that for me. . .filled with familiar routines and enjoying the company of those I love?  It has helped to write about this, things have gotten a bit clearer.

There were times when I was working at the stadium today, Dear, when I was by myself with time on my hands.  At times like that my thoughts always turn to you.  I don’t ever want that relationship to my past to change.  And, as the old me dies and the new me emerges, I want you always to be part of whomever I am.