Grief continues to be its sneaky self. This week I've played golf twice at the Barton Hills Country Club. People who know Ann Arbor will know what it means to play golf at Barton Hills. Through a series of events involving one of the ushers with whom I work at UM football games I was invited to play at this exclusive country club. That's neither here nor there; when I entered the clubhouse I was reminded of a time when Gwen and I had attended a holiday party there. This was when she was an OR nurse at Kellogg Eye Center. One of the surgeons with whom she worked was a member at Barton Hills.
Memories flooded over me when I walked into the reception and dining area. Gwen was dressed in her finest, and I was so proud of her when people with whom she worked talked with me about what a fine person and professional she was. Gwen never blew her own horn; she went to work and did what she was supposed to do without a lot of fanfare. Occasions like that were the only time when I got a glimpse of her that I rarely saw.
When I was driving home later, I once again re-lived those wonderful times. Luckily, I was on a road through a sparsely-populate area, and was able to pull off onto a side road and have myself a nice cry. Will the time ever come when I am no longer surprised by my grief? Do I want that time to come?
It's still so strange, Dear, driving home and thinking about how excited you will be to hear about my day. Then, that devastating moment when I remember that there's no one waiting at home for me. It's a strange feeling; the one of complete freedom. I've thought this many times: "Now that I can do anything I want, there's nothing I want to do."
Memories flooded over me when I walked into the reception and dining area. Gwen was dressed in her finest, and I was so proud of her when people with whom she worked talked with me about what a fine person and professional she was. Gwen never blew her own horn; she went to work and did what she was supposed to do without a lot of fanfare. Occasions like that were the only time when I got a glimpse of her that I rarely saw.
When I was driving home later, I once again re-lived those wonderful times. Luckily, I was on a road through a sparsely-populate area, and was able to pull off onto a side road and have myself a nice cry. Will the time ever come when I am no longer surprised by my grief? Do I want that time to come?
It's still so strange, Dear, driving home and thinking about how excited you will be to hear about my day. Then, that devastating moment when I remember that there's no one waiting at home for me. It's a strange feeling; the one of complete freedom. I've thought this many times: "Now that I can do anything I want, there's nothing I want to do."
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