A Tearful Day

Yesterday was a bummer of a day all around.  To begin with it was the 12^th— fourteen months since Gwen died.  It was a cold rainy day. 

Last Sunday I let a friend talk me into auditioning for a men’s singing group that he belongs to, and today they informed me that they weren't going to invite me to join them.   (I find any sort of rejection, real or perceived, quite difficult to deal with since Gwen died.)  I so wanted to talk about my disappointment with Gwen, she would always understand and have the right things to say.  I don’t know how many times today I’ve wanted to go down to her bedroom and talk with her.

Later in the morning I attended a lecture by a professor from UM.  He spoke on humor in Shakespeare’s works.  Not only was the talk informative, it was also entertaining—he spoke in character as a Shakespearean actor.  As much as I enjoyed the lecture, as I looked around the crowded room, I couldn’t help but notice that almost all the people there, most of them my age and older, were sitting with their mates.  As I walked through the parking lot afterwards I cried.

Yesterday afternoon I went to the gym for an hour; that always helps—yesterday, not so much. 

Then, I decided to see a movie, and, of course, it was in the theater where Gwen and I enjoyed being with each other, and I sat in the seats we always sat in, and it just didn’t seem possible that not that long ago she would have been sitting next to me, holding my hand or sharing a bag of popcorn with me.  On my way home from the theater I had to pull into a parking lot for a while because I was crying. 

I talked with son Mike out in Pennsylvania, and he reminded me, as son John has also done in the past,  that it’s been a long time since I’ve had to be alone, and it will take a lot of getting used to.  Sooner or later, one-half of the partners in a loving, committed relationship will have to get used to being alone.  (I know, there will be a few lucky ones who die together in a plane crash or as their house burns around them, but, mostly. . .)  So, I get that, you're on your own again. . .it was so much easier when I was twenty years old.

Anne will be home from Dallas for a visit today—exquisite timing.

I know you want me to be strong and get on with life, Dear, and when Izzy called and thanked me for her belated birthday gift, I understood that being available and being grandpa/grandma who doesn't forget birthdays and anniversaries is so important. Also, I saw you  in Izzy; through her mother, our daughter.