I had a friend ask me the other day how I was doing since my
wife’s passing. I sometimes pause for a second when someone asks me that,
because I never really know how to answer them. Simply put-- I never know how
I’m feeling on any given day. Sometimes things are going fine and then the next
minute a subtle reminder comes your way and you hit the pause button to see how
you are going to react this time. They told me after her passing to stay busy
and not get bogged down with your grief and for the most part that is good
advice-- if you can do it. So stay busy I did-- and still do-- but there comes
a time each evening when you go to bed and there is not much you can do there
to stay busy. It’s a time when you are alone, just you and your thoughts.
I imagine all couples have there own peculiar sleeping
habits. I’ve not done much research on the topic because it seems to be a bit
personal and not something people want to talk about in any depth. Bedtime for
her and I was a time when we talked the most. Maybe it was because there were
no kids to interrupt us or phone calls to answer. It was just the two of us,
often tired and sometimes just wanting to go to sleep, but if there were things
that needed talking out-- that was the time and the place. Once the light went
out, however we always found each other in the darkness because she liked to
snuggle. She would push herself up against my back, reach for my hand and
that’s the way we would spend the night. I used to kid her that she wanted to
hold my hand only because, then she knew for sure where it was. She radiated
warmth like a little heater and in the winter it was welcome, and in the summer
not so much, but the quiet reassurance that she was there still made it all
worthwhile--- for you see—she had my back. Figuratively and physically.
“Have your back” was a phrase I first heard when I was
actively fighting fires on the fire department. We had a buddy system whenever
we were searching burning buildings. You went in together and you came out
together and there were no exceptions. Often you would be in complete darkness,
looking for a victim or an elusive fire that you had to find, before it found
you. As the nozzle man, you had in your hand the means to protect yourself but
the man behind you, who had your back, could only hope you didn’t take both of
you into the wrong place. Always though there was this quiet reassurance from
your buddy behind you, with his hand on your hip. He would try to stay as close
to you as he possibly could. You never knew for sure what the outcome would be,
but you always knew one thing-- he had your back.
Sometimes at night in my half empty bed, I feel like the
child who sleeps down the hall from their parents. They make excuses like “I’m
thirsty” or “read me a story”. I say “excuses” because what they really want is
just to be near you. You have their back and they know it. Years ago gentleman
Jim Reeves sang an old country song that I never forgot and it says it so well
for me. “I climb the stairs up to my
room but no one meets me in my gloom. The silence tells me you are gone. Just
call me lonesome from now on.”
No comments:
Post a Comment