You Ask, I Tell

Some of you ask me how I am doing.  For the most part, I can suck it up, control my tears and say something like “OK”, “good”, ‘keeping busy’ and so on.  The outside of me looks good – at least I think so.  The inside of me is still very much still processing the loss of my love, my husband, our dream, our plan.  I am grieving for all that I have lost.  The inside of me is healing and I cannot tell how long that will take.  I will be honest in saying that I have not yet submitted a blog posting to this site without countless tears.   

Each and every day that I walk the West Song Walkway, I cry.  Sometimes I cry when I leave home – Ron should be with me and I simply miss him walking or running with me.   Sometimes I cry when I walk past flowers or blossoms - Ron loved to photograph flowers and this past Spring memories of us walking and taking pictures  would take over present thoughts.  Sometimes I cry when I watch the boat traffic – Ron and I should be out there.  And sometimes I cry when I look across the harbor and see when we celebrated Ron and his life – it was the perfect celebration but it should not have taken place for another 40 years. 

There are days when I am busy down below on the boat.  I stop and think that any minute I will hear Ron’s footsteps on the deck.  Ron’s footsteps were the sweet sound of my true love coming home to me.  Then I catch myself and realize I will never hear his sound again. I find myself sitting in silence pouring all my energy into making it happen.  Hear the footsteps, listen for the footsteps.  Silence prevails.  It is a tough reality to swallow.  I then have to gather myself, pull it together and carry on. 

Ah… this is a tough one.  Other couples, other happy and in love couples.  I see the signs and for me it is very painful.  Often I turn away because I feel the tears welling up in my eyes.  I know that I should be ecstatically happy for them.   I had that kind of love.  I know how it feels.  Sometimes Ron and I were so happy and giddy with love that we felt guilty.   I miss my happiness.  I miss my love. 

Frequently my mind is overcome by thoughts or images that invade my mind.  I cannot control it.  Today, I had thoughts of my Christmas card, from Ron, that I have not yet opened.  I have two Valentines cards he gave to me before he passed away.  I have not opened them.  If I know Ron, he wrote the most eloquent note in my Christmas card.  I also know that being overcome by his cancer, Ron could barely sign his name in the Valentines cards.  One day I will muster the courage to open a card. 

I have not truly picked up the camera to take photographs.  I have taken pictures but to me that is much different than photographs.  I believe the passion will return.  I want it back.  I have found it is something that I cannot force onto myself.  Time heals.  Let’s see if it is true for me.

Frequently while lying in bed at night I wonder if I could have held Ron tighter, held him longer, held him closer, kissed him with more passion or loved him deeper.  Could I have done more?  With these thoughts, I become despondent and feel immense despair.  

Regularly I think that I should go on a trip – without Ta Daa – fly somewhere.  I have caught myself perusing the internet, ads in window displays and ads in magazines.  Then I am struck with loneliness.  I cannot go without Ron.  Looking and planning just does not feel right.  I dismiss the idea of a trip. 

Ron was the keeper of my heart and soul.  Ron nourished me.  And, Ron completed me.  If I were a sailboat, Ron would be my wind.  Without wind a sailboat has no direction.  That is exactly where I am… I have no direction.  I do believe that wind will hit my sails again.  I do not know what my wind will look like or the direction it will come nor do I know where it will take me. 

I miss our evenings together.  We would talk about our day and what tomorrow would look like.  We would share good wine, fine scotch or soothing tea.  I miss turning to Ron and saying, “It’s bedtime, Harris.  Let go to bed.”  Each and every night we were home together we would kiss each other goodnight, tell each other we loved the other, and wished each other sweet dreams.  I have a picture beside my bed of Ron.  Each night I blow him a kiss and wish him sweet dreams. 

So, when you ask how I am doing, I will say “OK”, “Good” or “I am doing fine.”  Ask me in a year.  I am sure I will be doing much better. 

“When our treasures become memories our loving memories become treasures.” Author Unknown