Nov 29, 2020

Birth, Death, Joy, Grief (40)

“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. Then my brother Tom began having serious health problems, and I spent two three-week sessions with him this summer. But Tom died in October; combined with the COVID pandemic this has created a very challenging year. This blog gives my thoughts, fears, prayers, and hopes during this challenging and difficult time looking at the spaces in my life.

11/29/2020                   Today (Sunday) is the first birthday of our son Drew and wife Emily’s daughter, Clara. She is a delight that watches everything very seriously, but loves to play with her three-year old brother, Huntley. I won’t be seeing them in person due to COVID, but hope to see them in videos and pictures.

This is shortly after Thanksgiving, and I am determined to enjoy the holiday season, as Eileen and I had greatly enjoyed this time of year. I have Christmas music in the background, and have taken down the autumn decorations, and started bringing up the Christmas things. I will wait to bring more out until after the house is cleaned this coming Wednesday (we use a cleaning service every two weeks upstairs, but this time the entire house will be cleaned, something done preparing for a large family gathering, even though it will be a small gathering this year). I had taken pictures of most arrangements last year; hopefully I will find all the things needed. Eileen is here in spirit, and is encouraging me to put the spirit of Joy in this house that has seen so much joy and laughter over the years. Sorrow will always be gently in the background, but both Barbara and Dan will be here in the middle of the month through the new year. At this time the three of us are planning to go to Mohonk Mountain House as we usually do, leaving here on the 27^thand returning on the 30^th. All others will not travel due to COVID, so we will have a much smaller Christmas than usual. Most people will have similar stories to tell.

Love does not vanish just because one is gone. Love fills this house to the brim, and I just have to look at the beauty around me to feel and understand that in my heart.

My Thanksgiving dinner was good, even though I was alone, the spirit of Eileen was present in a felt way. I read from a wonderful little book of poetry by Louise Gluck, who won the 2020 Noble Prize of Literature. The book is named Faithful and Virtuous Night. It captures the inner feelings and deep sense of life like I have rarely read before.

Mother died last night,

Mother who never dies.

Winter was in the air,

Many months away

But in the air nevertheless.

It was the tenth of May

Hyacinth and apple blossom.

We could hear

Maria singing songs from Czechoslovakia

‘How alone I am-’

Songs of that kind.

         This is from a lengthy poem called Summer Garden, and it expresses the facts of life: someone dies, but life goes on. The wash gets washed, dishes done, one step at a time, life and time marches on. I am not an easy reader of poetry, but I gamely try each day. This short book spoke to my heart, moving me every day. I read one poem a day during breakfast, and they formed a backdrop for my morning meditation period. This is why I read some poetry every day: this may be the day I find something to move me. I will probably get more of her books, as this is her style: writing of the pain of life, but always at the edge of joy, in short bursts that sing.

Meditation

Gentle Guide, You always lead me to places where I may drink of the healing waters of life. Healing words, healing music, healing scenes; these are the tools given me if I but take them. I filled with gratitude for the joy you have brought, always tinged with sorrow that I cannot physically share them with Eileen, but I know she is here with me enjoying them.