One Month - 30 Days

One month – 30 days. Days when time has stood still – infinite, unmoving. Dead. And days when they slam together so fast it feels like kids out of control in bumper cars.  That week is now a blur .. I don’t remember anymore who all came to the visitation or the funeral –(I know I can always look at the guest book, that’s not the point). I don’t remember the sound of his voice. What did we do all day when we were home together?

I can, however, still recall the fear of that early morning, my heart beating so fast I couldn’t breathe. My hands shaking so, it took several tries to dial 911. Times a wastin’, Vicki, pull it together…

One month – 30 days. We’ve never been apart more than 4-5 days , not counting various and sundry hospital stays – at least we could still visit….

One month – 30 days. A lifetime and yet it is gone in a blink… What have I been doing?  The necessary things – walk the dogs, feed them, of course.  Requisite phone calls to settle affairs. Feed myself – read the mail – the usual. Projects that seem to take on immense importance – but a month ago I wouldn’t even have thought about them.

I’ve often preached about chronic busyness and how we need to rest – to take that sabbath time… I should listen to my own preaching – but I can’t, at least not yet.  It‘s too hard to sit still and just be – time’s a wastin’, Vicki, pull it together.

But of course I do - once in awhile. Late afternoons on the porch in the swing that is mine when I’m in it and his when he was in it. Time passes, moves along without me, I look up and an hour has disappeared… where did it go? Notice the shift in verb tense? I do…

Where does time go when it is gone? Is it stored someplace ‘out there.’ We can’t ever get it back, right – so where does it go? Is it the opposite of matter or energy – just ‘not’ anymore? Like a soap bubble – just gone?

One month – 30 days. A lot of time to reflect - to remember, to wonder – why?  Why now?  And to wonder – what’s next?

It was different when my mother died (and my sister, too, but that’s for another time…)

My mother passed away in the spring of 2000, a different kind of stroke – and 8 weeks to get acclimated to the fact that she would be gone soon. That summer we vacationed along the Gulf coast - in a little town called Pass Christian.  Our lodging was across the street from the water, with the requisite sandy beach, sea shells and driftwood tossed round as if by a child in a tantrum. One night I was feeling particularly vulnerable, deep in grief and sorrow, really unable to do anything about it.  And so I left Glenn in the room and walked along the beach by myself – at one point even walking into the water as if to keep going.  I didn’t, obviously, keep going, and eventually Glenn joined me.   But as I walked along the beach I found a sailboat that someone had made out of popsicle sticks, complete with sail and rigging.  Whoever had made this had done a fantastic job of it – then left it there.  But I kept it.  For the longest time it sat on my dresser as a reminder of that dark night, a reminder that grief can hurt so much that you simply don’t know what to do. There is no Band Aid for this one.

Well, I happened to find it the other day – hidden in a closet (kinda like Calvin had stuffed Hobbs away in a closet oh so long ago).

It is now on the mantle over the fireplace – along side Glenn….. The irony that it is a sailboat is not lost on me – Glenn loved sailing, being on the water – would have had a sailboat if only he knew how to sail!

And I remember – that with the passage of time, I did come out of that dark place, the sun did shine the next day – we did have a great time there, eating buckets of peel- it- yourself shrimp and lobster po’ boys……..

I’m not sure ‘time heals’ even though that is what ‘they’ often say..

Maybe time allows scabs to form, but they remain. 

The wound is always there, a part of you. Maybe it even becomes a faint scar that only you can see, but remain it does – for always. It is more than just a wrinkle in time – more like the kind of gash that needs stitches.

One month – 30 days. And so, in spite of my heart feeling like Swiss cheese, in spite of numbness some days and overwhelming sadness at other times, in spite of emotions I can't even identify, I know that in time the sun will shine again. I will probably eat peel-it-yourself shrimp again and maybe even a lobster po’boy. But still…time…where does it go?