Personal Journal

A vision of a future normalcy

It really overwhelms me today how much I have to write, or so it seems.
To all of you who have sent me e-mails of condolences and prayers and support, my gratitude knows no bounds. I wish I could give and receive a hug with each of you. Your thoughtfulness and compassion has helped keep a broken heart warmed.

Yesterday was a good day.
I don't remember what I occupied my time with during daylight hours - nothing significant - more preparing for the drive east, a nap, some shopping, etc.
But as usual, when the sunset passed and darkness grew, the empty silence confronted me. I worked on my models, and I must say that I enjoy that considerably. Assembling small pieces of metal and plastic until I have in my hand a small toy that at some point, I will lovingly paint, and play games with among friends. I'm not ready to paint just yet - Jean was always there when I painted, and, with the trip coming I'd have to leave unfinished models alone at that time, which is bad.
But I've built all my models now, and last night when I reached that point, the lonliness loomed and I paced about wondering how to manage it. Before I waited too long, I called Joyce.
Joyce is about 60, and about 10 years ago she lost her husband in a car accident when he was 44. Joyce and I have some bond of friendship that goes a bit beyond what can be justified by our interaction. She's older than I, and very far left politically, and we've not done much but chat around work - yet we both understand that we are friends for some reason deeper than these things (we just don't talk politics, at my request).
So I called Joyce and I asked her - how do you handle the lonliness? We talked about various things - how she worked on certain things and kept herself busy at times - like my modeling and painting. She had a great idea about making a collage of things from magazines - things that express how I feel, and another showing Jean's life as I conceived of it, past and also what her future would have been like. I like that idea and will begin that in the future.
But I told her that for the night, I couldn't find anything else to occupy me or get me by, so I thought I was going to a movie.
"You want some company?" she asked?
Normally I'm the type to say I'd rather be alone, but something in her request really made me enthused about having her along with me. So I said yes.
We met at the movies in the freezing cold, and I bought us tickets to The Incredibles, and she bought the drinks and popcorn (with butter for a change for me, which was good, actually).

Before the movie we talked about loss and grief some more. She gave me a CD to listen to at my request - from Beth something-Chapman, who lost her husband after a year-long struggle with cancer.
We talked about bargaining - the 3rd stage of grief, because I didn't understand it. But now I think I do. We just talked, and it was comforting.

The movie itself was great, and Joyce and I both loved it utterly (I strongly recommend it to all of you, especially if you have families).
There was one part in the movie that was sad to me, when the hero said he was too weak to lose his wife again (he had thought her dead earlier in the movie, but she was not). But there was another point that was more significant - I guess it was partly the movie, and partly real life teaching me.

I remember sitting there with Joyce and being actually very entertained - I dare say that I was happy and contented, with Joyce as company and with an endeavor that was richly rewarding (the movie). And it occurred to me, as I thought of Jean missing from that moment: My life will always be different because of the passing of my love, but at some point in the future, I will have a normal life again. I'm not there yet, but I had a moment of it last night, and I will have more of those moments in the future.

And that comforted me.

I came home and I slept with the light off for the first time since Jean died. And it was okay.



It is never too late to be what you might have been. -- George Eliot
Courage to start and willingness to keep everlasting at it are the requisites for success. -- Alonzo Newton Benn