Sunday, November 13, 2011
So this is the first occasion of my newly assigned day.
A day of sun, as I see it, is a true blessing. For so many of us, worry, hardship, and the basic toll of life, can really bring us down. When the weekend is upon us, we tend to wonder how much we can get accomplished on Saturday, and how we want to spend a day of leisure on Sunday. For those shaking off the trauma of loss, a day of sun can feel quite foreign.
Today, as I write, it is Saturday. I spent the day with a full car load of those I love, running errands and having lunch. As we moved back and forth about town, the sun was not shining, as it was raining. A lot. At one point someone commented about the weather, as if none of us would find pleasure in it. Very quickly my daughter and I both shouted out, I love rainy days.
Rainy days always give me a sense of comfort. For so long my days were filled with tears. It didn't matter how sunny it was outside, in my heart and soul, it was always stormy and wet. For so long a day of sun was incongruent with my mood. For so long it felt like the sun's only purpose was to shine down the truth of my loss and despair.
A funny thing happened last night. My new love, Abel, was spending the night, as he is still recuperating from a knee injury, and being here with me is a nicer way to spend days of relaxation than in his lonely room at home, I suppose. Anyway, as we climbed into bed for the night, I turned to him and said, Did you take your medicine? Abel said thanks for reminding him, then jumped, well, slowly climbed, out of bed to take it. While he was in the bathroom fumbling with his medication I was lying there feeling the aftermath of my words.
For two years I climbed into bed with my husband, who was fighting off a brain tumor. For two years I would remind him, asking, Did you take your medicine? Talk about a sobering moment. When Abel returned he could see that my mind, and mood, had drifted off somewhere. He asked, and I said that I was fine. He reminded me that I could talk about anything.
Well, it's just that I spoke those same words to Michael every night, and, well, it scares me to say those words to you. What if something should happen? What if I one day have to always remind you about taking your medicine?
His reassuring smile reminded me that all is well right now. It may be raining outdoors, yet right now, at this moment in my life, it is mostly sunny within. I suppose I can't go around expecting dark rainy days all the time. Right? Funny, when did it happen? When did I go from expecting days of sun, to knowing only days of rain? Well, perhaps the day my husband died. Perhaps the day I learned of his cancer. Whenever it was, the sun was something I had to make a concerted effort to recognize.
Now that time has passed, I find that I'm beginning to expect the sun. When I have days without much sun it can be a welcome change. Not that it brings sorrow, but it does bring contemplation. It tells me to light a fire, wrap myself in a blanket while lying on the sofa, and to reflect. These days I can reflect on my loss with a mutual sense of grief and joy. Joy that I was gifted in my love for Michael. Joy that I have learned so much on this journey. Joy that I have made so many lovely and kindred spirited friends. And joy that I have opened myself up to let the sun in once again.