Sep 06, 2020

Birth, Death, Joy, Grief (28) 

“Never be afraid to trust an unknown future 

To a known God” 

•                                                     Corrie ten Bloom 

My wife of almost 59 years (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, 60 years to the day after we met; 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. 

Time (and life) seem to be just flying by. I realize that I spent a good portion of the summer taking care of my brother in Ohio, but it seems somewhat of a shock that this is Labor Day weekend. The loss of personal contact due to Covid and the loneliness of losing Eileen has made each day seem to take forever, but the sense of time is distorted in that each day is over in the proverbial ‘blink of an eye’. 

Barbara is taking next week off, and we thought we would get to our favorite place, Mohonk Mountain House, for a day visit with lunch. But when I called to make reservation for lunch, they informed me that they are taking no day visitors during this month. So the isolation continues. It is true that our land is beautiful in itself, and I will spend time sitting in the gazebo on our pond instead. Even the sweet corn season is short this year, as most stands are out of corn. I found one lonely stand (actually the back of a pickup truck) still having some, a late variety, Silver King, a sweet white corn. 

Just watched the delayed Kentucky Derby. Eileen loved horses, and she had her horse Star, a cross between a Morgan and a quarter horse, for 20 years from 1974 to 1994. She loved that horse, as we all did. (Star was like an 800 lb. dog, wandering around the grounds eating all the grass, but nary a weed. She would wander over to see what I was doing, putting her head on my shoulder to see what I was about.)  We always watched the triple crown races, with a glass of wine in our hands, Eileen usually for several hours leading up to the race, me joining in the last hour or so. The race was exciting, and the favorite did not win, (came in second) which always makes it more interesting, decided by the stretch run. Yes, I had my glass of wine, and I am sure Eileen was there with Barbara and I, watching (with her wine? There must be wine in heaven). 

I find that it seems natural to assume Eileen is with me in the things we normally did together, and it feels comfortable that way. It will be more difficult when Barbara leaves for her home in Rockland County, but that is a bridge I will cross when that moment arrives. When I walk around the garden, I talk with Eileen about the things I see. She is always with me, and everything here is a reminder of her personality and love. I know she is content with things, and she had nothing in her ‘bucket list’ that she was sorry for not doing. Our bonsai are clean for the winter, and we are prepared for whatever comes along. Eileen is always present in my thoughts, as everything, from the various gardens to all the pictures and paint coatings, reflect her. 

I have started to look into building an internet course for my book. I had taken about 18 months off from any involvement in selling the book, but (with Eileen’s prodding) this seems like a natural time to produce a course based on the book. I am re-reading the book, and I am surprised how much I had forgotten was in the book. I find myself mentally moving parts of the course to reflect the content. I am working with a professional group that designs courses for others, and they will do the hard work, including the filming. 

Meditation  

 Gentle One, You lift me up when I fall, and guide me in the process of life. I find myself lost at times, but Your gentle prodding helps me. Life is meant to be lived, and loss is part of life. We had a wonderful 60 years together, full of fire and passion, laughter and tears. What more could I ask of life.