May 10, 2020

Birth, Death, Joy, Grief (11)

“Never be afraid to trust an unknown future

To a known God”

·      Corrie ten Bloom

My wife of 58 years (June 10, 2019) and best friend Eileen had been diagnosed with terminal cancer of the esophagus, in February 2019. Eileen died on February 22, 2020, the day following the birth of our latest granddaughter Maria, and the funeral was March 4, 2020. This blog gives my thoughts, fears, prayers, and hopes during this challenging and difficult time looking at the space in my life.

05/10/2020  This is Mother’s Day, and it is snowing as I write this the day before. Just a week ago my daughter Barbara and I celebrated Eileen’s birthday, reliving memories of joy and laughter, and visiting the cemetery. The pandemic lockdown has effected everything, and the entire world weeps at the strain on all. Our government waffles in its willingness to help those 30 million who have lost their jobs, talking about how helping them will cause them not to go back to work – whenever that may be, if their employer is even there. But forcing them out to then get the virus and perhaps die just to help the economy seems a poor idea, to put it mildly.

Yes I still have time to ponder these thoughts. I was able to get one of my groups going on Zoom, listening to Eckhart Tolle read his book, The Power of Now.Wonderful book to help one live close to the moment, even in the midst of sorrow and fear. I rejoice in that I have moved beyond paralysis of loss to where I can begin to function at some reasonable level. I have spent part of the week working on Eileen’s bonsai, which brought me closer to her in many ways. She had left them looking good, as she had a deft eye on getting local trees to grow in small pots, digging them from our plantings and woods to make beautiful designs. Some require constant trimming, as they tend to grow rapidly, but that is easy to do.

I have talked by phone to several that have lost a spouse fairly recently, that is, from only a week before Eileen died to within the past two years. I can understand, from just our talking, that grief takes its own path, and moves differently in each. There are times when grief strikes out of the blue, just seeing something that one would have pointed out, or turning to talk about something beautiful or striking — and there is no one there. Eileen and I were both quiet people, so we would sit in the same room for hours and just be happy that the other was there. Now when things are very quiet and all is empty, it becomes a challenge. It has helped to have Barbara with me due to the pandemic, but still at times—–.

This cold snap, setting records (24 degrees this morning, according to my memory thermometer) that may destroy so many blooms in the summer, as many had started to grow and are exposed. We are supposed to have similar weather next week, so much of summer and spring bloom will not happen. Apple crops? Peach and plum crops? They all depend on spring bloom, and this intense cold may prevent that. Many perennials are tender when they emerge, and all have come up. The lilies may not bloom, and Iris are questionable. We can only wait and see.

Even God seems to be weeping at this sorrow that is so intense. The wild variations in weather, heat and cold, sudden changes, and all are locked down, hoping to outlast the virus. Even if a vaccine comes in a year, the hold will be for about two years, until we can all receive the vaccine. Hopefully we will learn to recognize how we truly depend on one another, and our treatment of another will become sacred. My personal loss will always be there, as one can not live closely with another for 60 years without that becoming the norm — until it isn’t.

I spend time each day attempting to meditate and understand what is in my life, and accept all that is there, and the goodness and beauty of what is there. The goodness and wonder of our children, the many phone calls, the gift of love from many, so much to be grateful about in this life, quiet though it is. Yes, I can tune in on Sunday mornings to see my pastor offer Mass at the usual time of 10:30, so that keeps the community memory-center going, and lots of phone calls fill in the personal contact. Indeed, God has been good to me in this wonderful flow of life.

Meditation

Oh Gentle One, You weep along with us, holding us close when we have so much sorrow. I lean heavily on You at all times, especially now in this time of universal sorrow, and deep personal sorrow. The goodness of all shines forth in the willingness to help one another, even when it seems dark. We have learned to share what we have, especially our love by keeping separate from those most vulnerable, helping all to live an easier life, and reduce fear for self and others.