Morning T,
First cup of coffee this morning is ready for me and it’s only 4:39 AM. Welcome to Jet Lag, Day 3. Together, we often opted for an early break from our night of sleep, sitting across the table from each other munching/slurping down bowls of corn flakes, cold milk and topped with spoonfuls of Smuckers strawberry preserves. But now cold cereal is out so I’m sipping coffee to fuel this letter and digest yesterday spent chilling on my couch and a visit to Sandie to reflect on Year 1 Without YOU.
Year 1… I got through it in one piece, spending no time pulling the covers over my head. Most early mornings I bounded out of bed, reconstructing disorder- smoothing the bedding, returning each pillow to its proper place, creating familiar order. Then lights on, a stroll through the apartment, porch cushions moved from the mountain in the dining room, back outside when weatherman Chris Cimino promised sunshine and then breakfast…step by step. I practiced this early morning ritual day after day, over and over and then with my virtual calendar on iPhone, computer and iPad I clicked into the schedule for the rest day, hoping for structure to fill the hours before I could shut everything down again. Day in, day out.
Year 1: for mourning the loss of our rich life together. Just to feel anchored, calm, above deep depression and lethargy.
Once a week, usually on Mondays, after my guitar lesson workout with Jonathan, I sat outside Sandie’s office, wondering how I would possibly feel better after our hour together. Magic happened and yes, I always left walking taller, breathing deeper, smiling through tears from Tuiva. Always.
So much happened in those sessions. Never just conversations, the breathing exercise brought back my energy. Even though I felt like an idiot bouncing up and down on Sandie’s exercise ball as she sat near me on her couch, pushing me to bounce higher, I did get it, feeling bursts of energy explode through the movement. I left the hour physically and mentally charged.
And yesterday…as we sat across from each other and I shared my visit to the house, finally discovering the missing half of gifts you preserved from me… finally on that last day in the house… Did you direct my hand on that same shelf deeper, into the corner where you left them for me? ???hmmm…????
Year 2: I continue… with/without you… and what’s new?
Guitar recital planning, back to my ongoing challenge to learn enough Hebrew to understand a conversation with the family, build up Tell It Digital, work with teachers in new and old schools, exercise, travel…
GET MY JOY BACK!
Remember that joy I brought to you? That’s what I need to get back…
In Year 1- I was content to keep my head above water….. but
Year 2… I need my joy back.. I know, you’re smiling…
And as my #1 cheerleader you are pushing me to find a new love…
I hear you… but I need to take my time, I need to figure out how I take you with me…how I hold on to what I have as I find ways to smile even when the camera isn’t on me.
Thank you Sandie for helping me get to Year 2 …Tuvia thanks you, too.
Miss you T, in this complicated world.
Bonnie S.
Digital Bonnie 
Hoping the small moments of joy that I heard in your writing this past year will continue to increase in the upcoming year.
I hope you find many opportunities for joy in year 2. It sounds like your visit brought you comfort.
So hard to find joy when you still feel so much loss. But I am confident you will work to find it again, Bonnie.
You are a lady to tackles a mission with vigor. I know you will find joy, but it may be a redefined joy. The joy you had with Tuvia will never leave you. So you begin this year with a goal. Here’s to developing that new definition of joy.
I know you will find that joy that you need and deserve. You are a strong person and have the love and support of many. Here’s to moving ahead in year two.
It’s like you’ve taken a deep breath, like “wow” I did that hard thing, all that year, and now, a more defined you is at it again, Bonnie. Finding joy is something I think of as abstract, can appear in the unexpected moments. I hear your want, and know your persistence will help ease into a new kind of relationship, keeping Tuvia close too. Always sending good wishes your way!
You did it, Bonnie, and you’ll keep on doing it. From afar I’d say you’ve handled yourself with grace and love and vulnerability, and it’s been beautiful to watch. I hope you do find your joy. We’re all here, cheering you on. Tuvia, too, of course.
Your letter made me think of little children when they are learning how to swim. The struggle and then finally the moment when they know they can do it themselves. And then, the joy that comes from trying new things in the water and making everyone watch the subsequent successes. I see this in you, Bonnie, these new steps in your journey of embracing joy in a fresh way. Wishing you daily new discoveries of joy!
Who knew cereal, cold milk, and a dollop of preserves sucked down in the wee hours could be so sustaining? Now, I do 🙂 Thanks, Bonnie, for one more glimpse via memory of how much joy collects in unexpected places.
That you can see the possibility of joy suggests it is a goal well within reach. I am learning from you. Thanks.