Today,
as I write, December 29, 2016, at 2:20 pm PST, my husband Rick will be gone
exactly three years.
Each
anniversary is different. The first year I was steeped in my grief. The second
year surprised me by unexpectedly not being so sad. This year I am called to
solemn contemplation of Rick’s death and the life I am building without him.
He
is physically gone, but lives on in my heart and memory, and in the hearts and
memories of the many people who knew and loved him. He was a musician, a
cartoonist, a true friend. He was funny, and ribald, and angry, and wise, and
loving.
He
worked on island water systems for almost forty years. By the end of his life
he was digging up pipes he’d put in during the seventies when he worked for Mr.
Mukai. He was completely dedicated to bringing people safe drinking water.
When
you marry someone, you vow to stay with them until “death do you part.” How
lightly we say those vows on happy wedding days. We were married a little over
thirty-four years and I ended up thinking that happily ever after sure didn’t
last as long as I thought it would. So many of us spent our youthful energy and
purpose looking for true love, as if that was life’s main goal. Turns out it
isn’t.
True
love is a great thing, a wonderful thing, an extremely challenging thing. It is
a great blessing to live with your one true friend.
Living
with another human being will stretch you in ways you could never imagine in
your youthful flailing toward your destiny. No one else (except your children) could
make you feel so happy, or so angry. Sometimes you feel the intense gratitude
of having met your match. Sometimes (rarely, thank the Lord) you wish you’d
never met them, or their family, or their family’s dog. That’s all part of
marriage, or lifetime partnership or friendship, or whatever label you use.
Living with humans is hard.
So
I spent my twenties looking for my partner, and now he’s gone. So now what? For
the first year or more I was so lost in grief I couldn’t even ask that question.
But
now, three years down the road, the answer for me seems to be playing and
singing music, and writing. These are the things to which I have always
returned, the steady threads and colors of the fabric of my life.
I’m
not looking for a new partner. After spending so much of my adult life looking
for love and then living out the results of finding it, I am on my own. I have
no wish to be a caregiver again, or to saddle some nice person with being my
caregiver. My children are grown up and living their busy adult lives. My
grandson is on his way to adulthood. I have time to reflect on who I am alone.
I am not an extension of or corollary to someone else.
The
kids came home for Christmas, and that was lovely. We had a quiet weekend
hanging out together. Before they came I meant to clean the house a bit, but I
got that cold that was going around, and that flattened me.
An
old friend from college days once said to me, “House cleaning has never been
your long suit.” Hah. That’s an understatement.
So
I looked at the mess and thought, at my age, am I going to change and suddenly
become tidy? I don’t think so. I think this is it. I’ve felt such shame about
my messy house, but you know what? It’s my mess, and I’m at home in it. It will
be hard acquiring the habit of accepting who I am, who I have always been, and
how I have always behaved, but I don’t know how much time I have left, and I
don’t want to spend that time busting myself for something I am not even interested
in taking the time or energy to change.
And
if you want to live with me, and you don’t like the mess, you’d better bring
the money to pay for a cleaning service when you come. If you are a tidy soul,
God bless you. I envy you and wish I was more like you, but I’m not.
My
calling in life now is to love the people I love, and sing songs, and write
songs and essays. That seems to be who I am without Rick. I’m okay at those
things, and I’m okay with spending the rest of my life trying to get better at
those things.
So
happy new year, friends, and courage as we go into the uncertain future. We’re
going together, ready or not.
