The robins are still here but they’ve gone silent. No morning or evening choruses. I miss it. And I know what it means. They’ll be leaving soon. And even though Mother Nature is messing with us with these 90 degree temps, it won’t be too long before autumn rolls in, then out, and then it’s time once again for that w-word I can’t bring myself to say. It’s just the way of it.
I’ve stopped my early morning bike rides. The restless energy, the nameless rage is gone. I couldn’t even articulate what or who it was I was so angry at, until just a few days ago it came out in a conversation with The Mister. Time ran out too soon for Jill and I. There were things we were going to try. Alternate treatments to slow the cancer. Another procedure for her back pain. There was hope. There was a great will to live. There was time to organize, catch our breath, or at the very least prepare for the end. Until one day she woke up and told a dear friend she was done. She wasn’t going to fight any more. A few days later she was gone and I wasn’t ready. It was a cheat, you understand, a goddamn cheat that generated such a fury in me I wanted to put my fist through the wall! But I rode my bike instead, and somehow that helped me work it out, or let it go, or something, cuz I’m better now.
I’m writing again, something I haven’t done in months. Finishing up my manuscript. And I’m working up the courage to go back to church again, where I will feel Jill’s absence most keenly. Coffee hour is unthinkable at this point, but I’m hopeful the old comforts – the services, the music, the Scripture, the sermons, and the fellowship – will continue the healing, restore my soul.
In Part 2 of this little missive, I want to write about something that happened just before Jill’s death. I’ve been trying to write about it for weeks now, but haven’t had the heart. Not that it’s sad. Not at all. It’s funny and sweet but, well, I just can’t seem to settle into it yet. Soon though. I think soon. Baby steps, right?
Baby steps.
4 Comments