Birth, Death, Joy, Grief (27)
Aug 30, 2020
Birth, Death, Joy, Grief (27)
“Never be afraid to trust an unknown future
To a known God”
-
Corrie ten Bloom
My wife of almost 59 years ( it would have been 59 years on June 10, 2020) 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; the funeral was March 4, 2020, and the burial was July 3, 2020. This blog gives my thoughts, fears, prayers, and hopes during this challenging and difficult time looking at the space in my life.
I write this one week later from the last post, on Saturday, the 9-month birthday of Clara, the daughter of our son Drew and his wife Emily. We (Barbara and I) were invited over for a few hours, and we drove up there (about an hour away) to see our 3-year-old grandson Huntley and Clara, and of course Drew, as Emily was not home. Clara surprised us with a first – she sat up from lying on her back on her own. She seemed very pleased (and surprised) about that but did not repeat it that we saw. I knew in my heart that Eileen was enjoying that moment with us. We spent a good part of the time swinging the two of them on their new swing set, enjoying the warm weather outside. Huntley took to Barbara very well, and spent most of the time before his nap playing with her, making a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich with her, then insisting she eat a portion of it.
Life can be good. I went one afternoon when I was in town to the cemetery and talked a bit with Eileen. I find myself looking at pictures, reliving moments of our life together. Lots of good pictures; lots of moments, both good and sorrowful. I probably spend too much time looking at pictures, but it soothes my soul when I do that, and I miss her presence all the time.
I find that it is a challenge to live alone. Barbara will soon transition back to her home, and I will spend most of my time alone, with the pandemic isolating me more than life would have before. I no longer visit with friends, and I miss our Sunday brunch with the group at church very much. I try to talk with a few each week, but time has a way of sliding by and leaving me wondering where it went.
I know I should spend more time in the garden, but without Eileen to share it with it does not hold the same excitement it always had. I have the pruners sitting on the stand by the door, and I should dead-head flowers, cut spent stems, and so much more, but—- As I had said, I missed most of the blooms over the summer, but I will see them again next year, and the plants look healthy.
At this moment, life seems somewhat sad, not only from my personal loss, but at the poor condition of our world. The willful ignorance of what would bring the pandemic under control makes our country the leading party of death by population percentage in the world; not something we should be proud about. It is sad to see our great nation become so non-caring about the health of one another. Not all, but all too many from the numbers. And this is still only the first wave; wait until the second wave hits; and it will.
Meditation
I lay myself under Your care, oh Gentle One. I know not what I should be doing, and time is flying by so fast. I give to You my life that I might be of service and offer You what I can do at this time. Bring me the peace of mind that I can live life more fully and lead me gently in Your Love.
I miss you and our Sunday Brunch group too! I was watching Mass from St. Margaret’s and saw you and Barbara go up for communion. It made me very happy to see you, I only wish it could be in person!
Please take good care of yourself and know that I think about you often, even though I haven’t called.
Love, Lynn