What Makes Life Tolerable or Even Happy?

                We’re inching up on the second anniversary of my beloved’s death (11-28) and I have discovered some interesting changes in how I view the situation.  Before I get into that, I recently came across another poem she had written to me some years ago:

every night

You love on me

hold me in my bed and tell me

you think I am wonderful,

the best,

or maybe the co-best.

It doesn’t matter if you are tired

or sick

or frightened.

You come to me each night and love on me,

making me happy and stronger

with each passing moon.

You cherish those things dear to me,

the same happy children,

the same destructive pets.

The same joy and humor

that brings laughter

to me, also brings

joy and laughter to you.

I don’t have to explain, you

pick up the song or the punch line.

It’s as if we’ve been practicing these lines

for the last

twenty-five years, and now

we have a place to use them. 

It’s like planting bulbs in the fall;

we are delighted in the spring

by the surprise recognition

of the plans we made coming to flower.  The

practice-loving we’ve rehearsed

has at last

found its mark.

I love you.

Needless to say,  I was deeply moved by finding this poem, and had a moment of tearful remembrance about what a wonderful woman Susan was, and how much I miss her.  But that moment quickly changed into something else. It changed into a very strong sense of gratitude.  I looked up at her picture on my wall and thanked her for her love, her respect, her regard and her partnership. Not everyone gets that. And while it may all have been snatched away somewhat prematurely, I had it. She had it. We honored and cherished one another right up to the end. And for that moment, I felt complete, I felt almost like she was still out there somewhere keeping an eye on me.  It was amazing.

Then I started to think about what keeps me going now that she is gone.  It boils down to two simple things: conversation and music. 

The interaction with other people that I love the most is good conversation.  I talk but mostly try to listen, hear what others have to say, what they think. That is how we learn, how we grow.  I am blessed with my 3 stepkids and their spouses with whom conversation is always a joy. Likewise, I am blessed with many friends, neighbors and family with whom conversation and company is a real blessing.  This sort of companionship, while it does not necessarily approach that of my marriage to Susan, is life-giving, sustaining and helps keep me sane and grounded.

And music. Music fills the hours of isolation with color and texture.  It lights up parts of my brain that nothing else can do with such efficiency. Right now, I am listening to a piece by the composer Ralph Vaughan Williams, a 20^th century British composer.  Hauntingly beautiful.  Emotive.

I do think that if I have enough conversation and enough music, that it will all be OK.

I know this is not something that will work for everyone in my position, but if you can figure out what elements of life will help you along, then you will find the key to going on and surviving the horrible things that can happen in life.

MPC 10-30-2016