Dinner for One, Part Thirty-Seven
“But at night time, when the house was all empty and there was nothing to do, I’d think of Jenny.” - Forrest Gump
“Trying to forget someone you love is like trying to remember someone you never knew.”- Unknown Author
Well, I keep thinking I’ve said all I want to, and just when I figure there’s nothing left to comment on, along comes a thought that bounces through my skull and refuses to leave me alone. I suppose that could a sign that I need therapy. Then again, I’ve always had moments like that and I doubt that will ever go away.
And again, ah, the holidays. I suspect no matter how much I might wish otherwise, they will never quite be the same for me.
Currently I am in my office listening to Ray LaMontagne’s “Winter Birds,” a beautiful song that is not exactly designed to put me in a Holiday frame of mind. Common sense goes out the window. What I should be listening to is another collection of Christmas songs to put me in a better place. I’ll go on record and say I’ve enjoyed CeeLo Green’s new Christmas CD, Magic Moments, if you’re looking for recommendations, by the way. Nicely done.
But I digress. Just a few days ago a madman went on a killing spree and murdered children who could not help but be innocent. Several adults died as well, and a few of them heroically. And part of me is numbed by this news, part outraged. As I have said on numerous occasions, that hardly makes me unique. I am appalled at the situation, saddened for each and every family member torn apart by this event and horrified that it happened in the first place. Beyond that, I’ll not discuss my feelings on the matter here, save to say that the events are sobering and heartbreaking. Not exactly a news flash there, though, is it?
Add that into my general melancholia this time of year and things could get ugly, but I don’t think I’m going to let that be the case. The 23rd is fast approaching. One week away as I write this. This time around, however, my plans are a little different than they were last year. This year I will go to work. Maybe that’s not the wisest plan, but there comes a point where, I feel, to do anything else is to glorify a miserable memory. I will not let myself continue the process of setting aside the anniversary of my wife’s death as a special day for wallowing in self-pity. Instead I will go to work, and I will deal with my regular life, such as it is.
I will get up in the morning and do my exercises. I will sit at my computer and get some writing done (I have epic deadlines looming just now, and that’s a good thing to my way of thinking) and I will go to work and deal with my life as I have for the last few years now, one day at a time. But I will not allow myself the luxury of a pity party. I don’t think Bonnie would want that. I’ll go one further. I know she wouldn’t want that. She rather loathed the news stories that came around every year to remind us of the horrid tragedies that had befallen the nation the previous year (or any number of special anniversaries for the same events, be it five years, ten or twenty-five.), as if there is the remotest chance in hell that people can easily forget these events. But the news media does love its opportunities to remind us. Of course, these days you can almost guarantee there will be a few editorial sermons to go along with the situations, more’s the pity.
My plans are the same as last year otherwise. I’ll see my family on Christmas Eve, as that is when we traditionally get together. And then I’ll see my in-laws on Christmas morning. And Christmas night I plan to spend with my memories of an amazing woman. Maybe not the most exciting plans, but they’ll do for me. A little time with family and loved ones. A little time with my memories. And then back to the real world, where I’ll be working on paying bills and making plans for the future. New Year’s is just around the corner, after all, and there are resolutions to make and try not to break. Hey, I got that bloody passport taken care of this time, and I made it to a convention up in Canada. Next year I’m aiming for Great Britain. I’ve always wanted to go and so did Bonnie. I suppose I’ll have to go for both of us.
She won’t be with me physically, but now and then, when the house is quiet and the darkness of night has settled on the world around me, I’d still swear I can feel her presence with me. If I’m wrong I’ll keep my delusions just the same. I find them comforting.
This time of year I am always astounded by the outcries I hear from both sides of the faith argument, by the way. On Facebook I see more than a few posts about atheism and equal numbers about religion and both sides seem determined to believe that they are the only ones who could possibly be right. And yes, I know that a lot of that goes on all the time. I suspect I see it more this time of year merely because I am more aware of it than I might be at other times. I am reminded of Bonnie, of course.
I still find I don’t much care to judge people for their beliefs. I prefer to take the measure of the individual not by what they say, but by how they act. I have met a goodly number of non-believers who were far more “Christian” in their actions than a lot of Christians. I have also seen equal numbers who were, frankly, not kind and not decent. At the end of the day they get to live with themselves. I don’t think denomination has much to do with decency when all is said and done. I believe that faith might have a great deal to do with it, but religion and faith are not the same thing in my eyes. Should we meet in person and you find you must ask me about that, the odds are good I’ll answer. I’ll even listen to counterarguments. And for the record, lest anyone take what I’ve written above out of context, I have nothing against Christians. I merely use the term as stated above to clarify that sometimes actions speak a great deal louder than words in my estimation. Put another way, I can say I’m a millionaire until I’m blue in the face, but that doesn’t suddenly make me financially well off.
I have no idea what’s started me on that particular subject this time around. I recently had a discussion with one of my siblings who had a rather unpleasant revelation about a church attended briefly. Maybe that’s it. Or it could be any of a hundred different conversations in private settings or from a dozen or so discussions at conventions. In any event, it’s on my mind this holiday season.
So, too, is the thought that three years have passed.
A little story then, a small one. No names, of course. I don’t do that.
The day that Bonnie passed is lodged in my mind. It won’t leave me. Neither will it ever be a moment of clarity for me. My mind and my heart were well and truly broken on that day. Both have mended, though exactly how well is for others to determine, not for me.
With my wife in my bedroom above me, the police on the premises and a backlog for the coroners, I was not even allowed to be with Bonnie for a while. Because I had tried to revive her, and thus moved her body, there had to be a determination that no foul play had occurred (For those who might be outraged by that notion, you shouldn’t be. I suspect it’s common practice and that few people who tried to commit foul play have in fact been caught by that sort of thing.). I think the delay was a couple of hours. It felt like roughly a lifetime. I was a bit numb, to be kind. I was, in point of fact, spiraling into darkness. That might sound overly dramatic but it shouldn’t. That’s exactly what was happening.
Because my mind would not shut down and because I couldn’t quite bring myself to scream myself into oblivion, I called a few people to let them know. I called my family. I called my friends. I even called work, because there was a good chance I would be late over the next few days. They were good enough to clear my schedule for the next week or so. One of the people I called, a very good friend of mine, said three words that shocked me back to myself in one sentence. After she had expressed her shock and after she fumbled for what to say-I could hear her trying to find the words to express her sorrow though the phone lines-she said, “I love you.”
She didn’t say it as a declaration of romantic desires. She simply stated three words that were enough to pull me back from falling away into grief. Three words that reminded me that I was not alone more than any other gesture or action could have.
I’ve told her a couple of times that she saved my life that day. I’ve never said just how.
And now I’ve told all of you.
Just a memory that has been running through my mind today, that I thought I would share.
Call it a reminder if you choose to do so, to remember to tell your loved ones that they are loved. I suspect those words have saved more lives than they’ve ever cost. Mind you, under the wrong circumstances I suspect they can be killers. There's another song spinning away on iTunes now, "Down Don't Bother Me," by the Derek Trucks Band. Just of late that's rather become one of my theme songs.
Three years ago three words saved my life.
Happy holidays.
It is what it is.
“Trying to forget someone you love is like trying to remember someone you never knew.”- Unknown Author
Well, I keep thinking I’ve said all I want to, and just when I figure there’s nothing left to comment on, along comes a thought that bounces through my skull and refuses to leave me alone. I suppose that could a sign that I need therapy. Then again, I’ve always had moments like that and I doubt that will ever go away.
And again, ah, the holidays. I suspect no matter how much I might wish otherwise, they will never quite be the same for me.
Currently I am in my office listening to Ray LaMontagne’s “Winter Birds,” a beautiful song that is not exactly designed to put me in a Holiday frame of mind. Common sense goes out the window. What I should be listening to is another collection of Christmas songs to put me in a better place. I’ll go on record and say I’ve enjoyed CeeLo Green’s new Christmas CD, Magic Moments, if you’re looking for recommendations, by the way. Nicely done.
But I digress. Just a few days ago a madman went on a killing spree and murdered children who could not help but be innocent. Several adults died as well, and a few of them heroically. And part of me is numbed by this news, part outraged. As I have said on numerous occasions, that hardly makes me unique. I am appalled at the situation, saddened for each and every family member torn apart by this event and horrified that it happened in the first place. Beyond that, I’ll not discuss my feelings on the matter here, save to say that the events are sobering and heartbreaking. Not exactly a news flash there, though, is it?
Add that into my general melancholia this time of year and things could get ugly, but I don’t think I’m going to let that be the case. The 23rd is fast approaching. One week away as I write this. This time around, however, my plans are a little different than they were last year. This year I will go to work. Maybe that’s not the wisest plan, but there comes a point where, I feel, to do anything else is to glorify a miserable memory. I will not let myself continue the process of setting aside the anniversary of my wife’s death as a special day for wallowing in self-pity. Instead I will go to work, and I will deal with my regular life, such as it is.
I will get up in the morning and do my exercises. I will sit at my computer and get some writing done (I have epic deadlines looming just now, and that’s a good thing to my way of thinking) and I will go to work and deal with my life as I have for the last few years now, one day at a time. But I will not allow myself the luxury of a pity party. I don’t think Bonnie would want that. I’ll go one further. I know she wouldn’t want that. She rather loathed the news stories that came around every year to remind us of the horrid tragedies that had befallen the nation the previous year (or any number of special anniversaries for the same events, be it five years, ten or twenty-five.), as if there is the remotest chance in hell that people can easily forget these events. But the news media does love its opportunities to remind us. Of course, these days you can almost guarantee there will be a few editorial sermons to go along with the situations, more’s the pity.
My plans are the same as last year otherwise. I’ll see my family on Christmas Eve, as that is when we traditionally get together. And then I’ll see my in-laws on Christmas morning. And Christmas night I plan to spend with my memories of an amazing woman. Maybe not the most exciting plans, but they’ll do for me. A little time with family and loved ones. A little time with my memories. And then back to the real world, where I’ll be working on paying bills and making plans for the future. New Year’s is just around the corner, after all, and there are resolutions to make and try not to break. Hey, I got that bloody passport taken care of this time, and I made it to a convention up in Canada. Next year I’m aiming for Great Britain. I’ve always wanted to go and so did Bonnie. I suppose I’ll have to go for both of us.
She won’t be with me physically, but now and then, when the house is quiet and the darkness of night has settled on the world around me, I’d still swear I can feel her presence with me. If I’m wrong I’ll keep my delusions just the same. I find them comforting.
This time of year I am always astounded by the outcries I hear from both sides of the faith argument, by the way. On Facebook I see more than a few posts about atheism and equal numbers about religion and both sides seem determined to believe that they are the only ones who could possibly be right. And yes, I know that a lot of that goes on all the time. I suspect I see it more this time of year merely because I am more aware of it than I might be at other times. I am reminded of Bonnie, of course.
I still find I don’t much care to judge people for their beliefs. I prefer to take the measure of the individual not by what they say, but by how they act. I have met a goodly number of non-believers who were far more “Christian” in their actions than a lot of Christians. I have also seen equal numbers who were, frankly, not kind and not decent. At the end of the day they get to live with themselves. I don’t think denomination has much to do with decency when all is said and done. I believe that faith might have a great deal to do with it, but religion and faith are not the same thing in my eyes. Should we meet in person and you find you must ask me about that, the odds are good I’ll answer. I’ll even listen to counterarguments. And for the record, lest anyone take what I’ve written above out of context, I have nothing against Christians. I merely use the term as stated above to clarify that sometimes actions speak a great deal louder than words in my estimation. Put another way, I can say I’m a millionaire until I’m blue in the face, but that doesn’t suddenly make me financially well off.
I have no idea what’s started me on that particular subject this time around. I recently had a discussion with one of my siblings who had a rather unpleasant revelation about a church attended briefly. Maybe that’s it. Or it could be any of a hundred different conversations in private settings or from a dozen or so discussions at conventions. In any event, it’s on my mind this holiday season.
So, too, is the thought that three years have passed.
A little story then, a small one. No names, of course. I don’t do that.
The day that Bonnie passed is lodged in my mind. It won’t leave me. Neither will it ever be a moment of clarity for me. My mind and my heart were well and truly broken on that day. Both have mended, though exactly how well is for others to determine, not for me.
With my wife in my bedroom above me, the police on the premises and a backlog for the coroners, I was not even allowed to be with Bonnie for a while. Because I had tried to revive her, and thus moved her body, there had to be a determination that no foul play had occurred (For those who might be outraged by that notion, you shouldn’t be. I suspect it’s common practice and that few people who tried to commit foul play have in fact been caught by that sort of thing.). I think the delay was a couple of hours. It felt like roughly a lifetime. I was a bit numb, to be kind. I was, in point of fact, spiraling into darkness. That might sound overly dramatic but it shouldn’t. That’s exactly what was happening.
Because my mind would not shut down and because I couldn’t quite bring myself to scream myself into oblivion, I called a few people to let them know. I called my family. I called my friends. I even called work, because there was a good chance I would be late over the next few days. They were good enough to clear my schedule for the next week or so. One of the people I called, a very good friend of mine, said three words that shocked me back to myself in one sentence. After she had expressed her shock and after she fumbled for what to say-I could hear her trying to find the words to express her sorrow though the phone lines-she said, “I love you.”
She didn’t say it as a declaration of romantic desires. She simply stated three words that were enough to pull me back from falling away into grief. Three words that reminded me that I was not alone more than any other gesture or action could have.
I’ve told her a couple of times that she saved my life that day. I’ve never said just how.
And now I’ve told all of you.
Just a memory that has been running through my mind today, that I thought I would share.
Call it a reminder if you choose to do so, to remember to tell your loved ones that they are loved. I suspect those words have saved more lives than they’ve ever cost. Mind you, under the wrong circumstances I suspect they can be killers. There's another song spinning away on iTunes now, "Down Don't Bother Me," by the Derek Trucks Band. Just of late that's rather become one of my theme songs.
Three years ago three words saved my life.
Happy holidays.
It is what it is.