Aug 08, 2021

  Living in Unconditional Love (22) 

“Love flows from God to humans without effort: 

As a bird glides through the air without moving its wings- 

Thus, they go wherever they wish united in body and soul, 

Yet separate in form.” 

–Mechtild of Magdeburg 

My wife Eileen died from esophageal cancer in February 2020 one year after being diagnosed, 60 years to the day that we met on Long Island. Then my brother Tom became ill, and I spent a total of six weeks being with him in Ohio, but he died in October 2020. My sister-in-law Sue Mahoney died from Covid-19 in January 2021. On top of it all stood the pandemic, locking everyone down for over a year. 

08/08/2021 I have been enjoying the hummingbird battles at the feeder on my front deck, which I can watch from my dining room seat. I keep it fresh, and there are now three hummingbirds fighting over it, even though there are four feeding locations on the feeder. But somehow they manage to empty it in 4-5 days, so all are eating. 

I plan to travel to Ohio next Sunday. The plan is to visit my step-niece and nephew, pick up various things that my family would like that were among my brother’s effects, including a rocking chair that may have come from Germany in 1845, some old pictures, etc. Then I will travel to Columbus for a couple of days to visit two daughters and three granddaughters, then on to Pittsburgh to visit another daughter and grandson, before returning home on the following Sunday. I am looking forward to seeing all, but I will be wearing a mask anytime I am out and about, though I am fully vaccinated. I hope to see some of my high school classmates, maybe for the last time for in-person visits. It is a 6-hour drive, and at 87 that is about my limit and still be feeling well. I will also be taking some of Eileen’s clothes to my daughter Maureen, as she is the only one that can wear them. (Eileen was tall, and so is Maureen, same as Eileen.) She looked at them when she was here a few weeks ago, and all fit perfectly. 

Grief is strange thing. I can go along perfectly fine for a while, then wham, depression sets in no matter what I do. It has been over 17 months since Eileen’s death, but during those moments it seems like yesterday. I have my morning meditation (I have added some grief books to the list), I keep bright music on most of the day, spend time with bonsai and the breathtaking garden, good books, but —-. I find that painting is the most help. I try to keep one of Eileen going at all times, along with a family shot or two, a Disney one, and at least one other. I am starting one of my favorite pictures of Eileen and I, on the Gazebo walk over the pond. My grandson helped by sketching some areas of the faces that were not in good focus and did not translate well by the paint-by-number software, so it will be much better when I get that far. The paint-by-number company can only do so much, and that one could not be sharpened without revealing artifacts that were very annoying. 

I am more fragile than I thought I would be at this time. 

The continuing pandemic and the insane refusal of so many to be vaccinated is really limiting everyone who has any sense. As I have said before, my area of NY state only has about 50% vaccinated (maybe more now that the more serious version is upon us) but almost no one wears a mask. I usually wear one when entering a store, especially one where I expect many to be present. I am thinking that God must be rolling their eyes at humanity – we have been given the knowledge to beat this, and so many just ignore it – “it won’t happen to me” or even worse “you can’t tell me what to do”. The County government has reinstituted a mask requirement in government buildings starting Monday, as the infection rate has increased to about 10% of those tested. There is now word of a much more dangerous version that has appeared, and if it spreads rapidly, it is too late to be vaccinated, as full effect takes 5-6 weeks. Maybe more workplaces should make it mandatory. 

Despite all the setbacks, life is still good. I find that can read more serious books, and I have been reading, slowly, some books of grieving that are helping. I think I will try some science books and see how it goes. 

Meditation  

Gentle One, I find that I need to lean on You more at this time. Sometimes the loneliness becomes overwhelming, and I become frozen in place. Your gentle touch on my spirit: a beautiful bird, deer grazing; all are a saving grace, and I need that more and more. I let my mind follow those who have asked for my prayers, including a high school classmate whose wife (also a classmate) died over a year ago, but whose funeral was postponed until this past Saturday due to travel restrictions from Covid-19.