It’s been a productive morning. Even before Jon arrived for my weekly guitar lesson, I was up and working virtually with Christine on our dueling laptops, as she gets used to her shiny new MacBook Pro. We updated our website, adding a pricing page modeling our prices after other digital companies that offer similar products. Of course our site will be cooler, our prices more reasonable. One thing’s for sure, this new project is very exciting!
My lesson was unpredictable, given that I was already brain engaged with Christine, it was much harder to concentrate, but Jon and I stuck with it and moved forward. There’s nothing like playing music and the guitar has been a great source of peace and pleasure in my life with and maybe even more now, without you.
I am shifting through memories… identifying the ones I want to cherish and thinking differently about those that make me wince when they appear without notice: the look on your face when you passed out next to me as I was driving, the pain I saw in your eyes when you fell on the steps just weeks before you died and the worst- the look on your face as you suffered through cardiac arrest-that’s the look I’d like to have erased from my memory banks. That’s the look that kept Ami awake for weeks after you left us.
But those memories, the memories of your last few weeks are the memories that make your absence bearable. It was a gift T, the way you were taken… after just a month or so of real discomfort, and even in the midst of your gradual decline we traveled, we ate out, we went to movies, we spent time with family and friends, we lived our lives together… and as you left, you sat across from me reading the Times, sipping coffee on a beautiful, fresh morning in August that was so normal…
A gift to you, and… a gift to me as well. We didn’t have to suffer from a loss of your dignity that was your greatest fear. As I talk with other widows, read accounts from blog posts of torturous months of dying I am so grateful that we did not suffer.
I never thought I would ever see your leaving as a gift to me, but yes, it was a gift to both of us… because all the other memories of us overwhelm the few horrors of death calling you.
I’m so grateful…
PS. Thanks to Facebook, I just found this memory
Israel April 2010
We leave late tomorrow night.
Tuvia is watching a movie in Hebrew,
I am on my computer
Both of us in our worlds
Will give up distractions soon
And share our last evening together.
It’s been a trip for us
To walk at the edge of the sea
Eat pita and humus at Banana Beach,
Be with family and drink in friends.
I’m listening to conversations in Hebrew
Everywhere and even though I can’t make
real sense of it all
if I could get Tuvia to stay longer
I’d crack the code
But there’s a certain romance
In the unknown
Where I’ve come to create
My own conversations
Where I continue to dig my own path.