LIFE GOES ON

Yesterday I journeyed to the cities for a funeral—one of many I have gone to since my wife died. But this one had a déjà vu attached to it. For you see, my cousin lost his loving wife of sixty years. He, like me, had what so many people only dream about. A loving, faithful wife, yes, but beyond that, he too had married his best friend. It’s marriages like this that show the way for many others—namely, your children and grandchildren. The most beautiful dress in the world starts with a simple pattern or idea. Then it is cut out and sewn together to complete it. Until it is finished, it’s just a piece of cloth with no purpose. That’s how good families are built. I have been privileged in my life to be part of one such marriage, but more than that, I have witnessed many others and this was truly one of them.

I wanted to say to my cousin “Where does life go from here? With a broken heart and your spirit like this, how can you go on from here?”  Well, to start with, you simply look around you at the product of your love with him or her; and smile at your accomplishments. Namely, your decedents, for it is in them that life goes on. Yes, they are suffering now too, but it’s not the same. They will go home to their busy lives and their own families and no, they won’t forget about you or her, but time will weigh heavy on your thoughts, whereas they will be preoccupied somewhat with their families, they won’t have the opportunity to feel the pain of loss as much. Common sense tells us we can only think in so many directions at once. Your responsibility has doubled, however, because the matriarch is gone and now it’s up to you to remember each and every birthday, anniversary, to pay the bills, and do the shopping.

For a while, your house will seem like a shrine. Every knick-knack, every dish and couch pillow has a story behind it. You can’t open the picture albums because it hurts too much. The bed that seemed so small—when you were both fighting for blankets in it—now looms like a football field and you’re sleeping in the end zone. You avoid the table where you shared your meals and eat at the lunch counter, or in your chair in front of the television.  Your diet consists of anything you can fit between two slices of bread. When you’re in the car you miss the chatter, even if it was only complaints about your driving abilities or what you listened to on the radio.

But healing will take place, and it seems like the deeper the love you had, the longer the recovery takes, but here is where patience is indeed the virtue. You have to let it all play out. At some point, that big bed becomes normal again, and you find yourself sleeping in the middle. You dig out her recipe box because you’re tired of liver sausage sandwiches and potato chips. You keep the house clean because there is a reason she kept it clean and it’s finally sinking in. When springtime comes, you plant flowers because, although it reminds you of her, for once you want to be reminded. You don’t go to the cemetery as much and you cry less when you do go. For some, another lonely heart may come their way, and if it does, don’t harden your heart. Most of all make no comparisons. We’re all meant to be special in our own way—you just have to search for it. He or she would want you to be happy, would they not? Lastly—remember—pity doesn’t come in a bottomless cup.