Of course, I knew today was coming, but I reasoned that if I didn't think about it, then it wouldn't bother me. Nonetheless, my heart made other plans without telling me. I could feel the tension rising the past few days and know enough about grief to understand I was anticipating today, but again, I thought my brain had it covered and the weekend would go fine. Remember what I said about my heart?
I tried to get up on time this morning, but failed and was moving at a snail's pace. I was dressed for church when I conceded I was going to be 15 minutes late. And, with that acknowledgement, all I could do was to sit down and cry. Not a small cry, but a really big cry. OK, I relented, so the day is harder than I was going to allow it to be. I'll finish crying and then see Mom for our weekly call with my brother, I planned. But, it was another tough visit in that she can't see, she can't hear, she doesn't remember anything, and I was in tears, again, before I was out the door.
What was going on with me? I kept repeating my morning prayer, "Lord, circle me with love. Keep light near and darkness afar" over and over and over. I knew I couldn't spend the beautiful Sunday afternoon in the house with so much angst so I loaded Tahoe into the car and off we went. The water was calling me, just as it had a year ago today in Sausalito. The hour was approaching when I'd let go of Rod for the very last time on the choppy Bay. Like I said, my heart had other plans for today.
As we walked the path at Clearwater Park the singing birds, the light through the trees, and the very full river were all so soothing. I told Tahoe we'd walk to the bench where we like to sit and look at the river. But, when we got there it was already in use. An elderly man was sitting there with a beer and some nuts with his bike next to him. Surprising myself, I asked if Tahoe and I could stand there and look at the river. Instead, he offered the other end of the bench. So we sat, and we talked, and we stayed, and we shared, and we learned. After an hour with Tom I knew more than when I first sat down. He's a very in-shape 82 year old retired military man who just spent a whole lot of money on a German e-bike, i.e., one with a battery to help you go farther and better. Today's ride was only 10 miles. I found myself talking about where I'd lived through the years and somehow used the phrase, "When I was married..." which horrified me. It sounded like I'd been divorced so I had to correct it. I explained that my husband had died almost 2 years ago and I'm young to be a widow. I didn't mention that today is the first anniversary of placing Rod's ashes in the Bay.
Tom's story included several marriages along the way, with one referenced as "my last divorce," but I think he must have had a wife die, too, because at one point in the conversation he simply said, "It's hard to be a widow, isn't it?" "Yes, it is. It really is. But, I guess we just keep going," I replied. He agreed that's what we have to do.
He talked about swimming in the warm Mediterranean waters when he was in the service and being fined $25.00 by the military each time he walked out of a building next to his African American friend. He is the same age as my Mom, but worlds apart in his health and capacities.
When I rose to leave he stood and shook my hand. Gentlemen of his era are, well, gentlemen. I thanked him for his time and we started back down the path to the car. The hour of placing Rod's ashes into the Bay had passed. My nerves had calmed down. A perfect stranger had said the words I most needed to hear today, "It's hard to be a widow, isn't it?" Yes, it really, really is.
Once again (and why do I ever doubt this will happen?) the Lord circled me with love and kept the light near with the darkness very far away.