ONE YEAR ALONG THE WAY,
WHATEVER WAY THAT IS
A Widow Bit – Sept. 17, 2008
By Mary Koch

            One year as of Sept. 25.

            Funny, I expected to be somewhere in a year’s time, or at least further along on my way to somewhere. I’m not talking about somewhere geographically. By now, I’d expected to arrive at some kind of understanding, reconciliation, equilibrium.

            My husband’s death one year ago provided me personal freedom but, as I’ve said before, at too great a price. It also left me, as a friend pointed out just yesterday, without focus after 14 years of an intensely focused life. So there I was, free to do, well, what exactly?

            That kind of freedom is like being in a tent whose side flaps have come undone. There you are, exposed to the elements, the walls of your tent blowing wildly in the wind. You desperately hammer those tent stakes firmly into the earth so you can crawl back inside, nice and snug. Confinement or security?

            I’ve secured my tent walls by staying very, very busy – almost obsessively so.  Say yes to everything. Fill every moment. Have daily to-do lists so long they can’t possibly get done in a day. That way you can beat up on yourself over the things you didn’t get done today instead of dwelling on memories and twinges of guilt from the past.

            Ask anyone who has lost a loved one after months or years of caregiving. We are left with a double-edged sword of losses and gains. We are freed from having to watch and share our loved one’s suffering; we are freed from the round-the-clock demands and stress of caregiving.

            The problem is, we are freed “from,” not free “to.” The locked door has opened, but we are like sleepwalkers venturing into a fogbank; nothing holds us back, but we see nowhere to go.

            John’s death meant that I was freed from having to get up at six o’dark (to borrow a colleague’s phrase) in the morning so the overnight caregiver could go home. I luxuriated under blankets, snoozing ‘til seven, sometimes even eight, avoiding the day that inevitably lay ahead.

            Then I adopted the puppy, who on a rare good morning might sleep as late as six. “Are you out of your mind?” a friend asked. Very possibly so.

            But the puppy and various other hints allow me an occasional glimpse, even assurance, of life ahead. Over the past year, I’ve done things, gone places I wouldn’t have chosen for myself. I did them because John would have, or he would have wanted me to. Sometimes I ask myself, “What on earth am I doing HERE?!”

            The answer is simple. This is where John would be, and I am still here for him. That might sound as if I can’t get it together to live my own life. But it is, in fact, enriching to incorporate into your life the joys and goals of the one you loved. Your life becomes larger and the journey more meaningful, even when the path is sometimes a challenge to find.