There has not been a day that my heart has not felt the pain of her absence. Some of those days, the pain was totally unbearable and I didn't know how I could ever function again. Others, the pain was fleeting, a quick stab that came and went in a few labored breaths and not to return until the next day.
Mary with her two Patrick's: Father Patrick McDarby of St John's Abbey and husband, Patrick, 2007.
Half a year and I still don't know what normal will be for my life. Sometimes I feel as though I am adrift seeking some unnamed, unseen and unknown reality. Other times I am totally accepting of my situation and fully acknowledge the here and now IS the here and now.
Much of her surrounds me. The closets still have many of her clothes. What will I ever do with that absolutely gorgeous, size 4P, white St John's knit dress she wore for our wedding?
Son Tim, Mary, son Daniel and Daughter Lara, 1996 Monterey California at our wedding.
Her jewelry stays in the safety deposit box. A few very precious items, family heirlooms mostly, are willed to her family. Most of the rest are gifts i gave her, or items we picked out together to commemorate something special, or simply acquired as a testament to our love. What will I do with her diamond studded wedding band?
The kitchen she designed to fit her 4 ft 11 inch frame and then spent a decade equipping with small appliances and all manner of odds and ends from Williams Sonoma or Sur La Table is a daily reminder of her absence. I have no idea how to cook with most of what she collected. What will I do with it?
The house is Mary. The colors, the fabrics, the furniture are all here because of her taste and style. Heck, even the floor plan reflects her intention and direction. We live on a small unnamed creek in a very natural setting. When we did the major remodel in 2000, I thought Mary would want the kitchen positioned to the back of the house facing the beautiful and natural creek. I was wrong. Very wrong. She wanted to face the street and watch simple daily living parade by her window every day.
Mary welcoming you to her Christmas hearth, 2006.
Half a year is less than 1% of my 63 years. How can 1% loom so large? At times it seems as though these six months have taken years to complete. I wish I could say they went by quickly. They did not.
The most pain comes when I want to tell her or show her or ask her something. I want to hear her laugh about something funny. Or have her explain to me something I've read about food, or World War II, or the law which she could do even though she had not seen the same article.
Having a pigeon sit on your head in St. Marks' square, Venice Italy is definite laughter country!
We'd TiVo Jay Leno at 11:35 pm each night and then watch his monologue the next night at an earlier time as part of our bedtime routine. I miss the sound of Mary's laugh each night as much as I miss her warmth and touch and caress.
For my readers who haven't seen me lately, I am moving forward in my life. I am not frozen trying to bring Mary back or live my life as if she is still here. She is dead (her vocabulary, remember). Yet there is no question that her memory lives on in my heart and soul.
182 days, or 26 weeks, or 6 months or half a year.
No comments:
Post a Comment