Last Ides of March I tried to tell what about the tale of March 15th, 1987 mattered so much. I ended with life is hope, hope is life.
Every word I wrote then stands now. The difference now, other than the obvious, is how swiftly events are moving to allow me to fulfill the role, “you will read and write”, with little competition. That is until oldest daughter and 3 grandbabies move in for the Summer – and probably much longer. Even then, there’ll be more time than ever before to read and write.
In 1987 I was given a huge change from everything I wanted to do. In 2013 I was given a huge change from living the life, everything, my wife and I wanted. Change, especially when it involves such a significant change in identity – as both of these – doesn’t come easily.
The non-stop labor since my wife’s stroke and death is almost over. Plenty to do, but the work won’t be rising to resting with demanding deadlines. The grieving is changing too – as it must. My grieving for my wife, my Nellie, will be a process as predictable as anyone else’s and a permanent loss and sadness held as personal and private as our bond.
When the day comes where I don’t shed a single tear – all day and night – I won’t bemoan anything. I hope I refuse guilt about going through grief instead of dwelling in it. Grieving husband must become, simply, widower.
A morning or so ago, I was surprised with the vigor I felt upon waking. Felt strong in body, mind, soul and up for the day. Filled the new home with music and sang along. Got about the day. Wept later.
And, getting about a new season. This is the first Spring in my adult life not sharing it with Nellie. (I spent 5 years longer with my wife than I had my parents.) I have 26 containers outside that are open and waiting to hold new plant life.
I’ll do my duties to the best of my ability as long as I’m healthy. “I ain’t dead yet.” I’ll trust and obey.
This is how I see morning from where I rise now.