The Sixty That Wasn’t

This is a joyously sad day. Joyous as I think back near sixty years of living life together.  Sad, because this is the sixty that cannot be. Can this day still be celebrated and remembered? How does one celebrate alone, even while in the midst of a loving family?

The day was a wonderfully sunny day that August 31, 1962 in Yarrow, British Columbia.  Susan Braun and I were getting married! The thrill, the joy and excitement far eclipsed the beauty of the skies. Our lives would never be the same—we were now forever twined together with a cord that God had made for us. Life together would be so much more joyous and exciting than life apart.

From that day forward we would travel life together. We took each day as a gift from God; who knew the trip would last for almost sixty years. And what a ride!

Thanks to Facebook, I just became aware of a British poet (Donna Ashworth) whose books I hope to gain. The one poem entitled,   No Waiting Room, is from a collection called Life: Poems to help navigate life’s many twists and turns. One phrase really hit home. “Life was never supposed to be a waiting room, it was supposed to be a hillside, with paths leading in every direction and mountains as far as the eye can see, hiding adventures and new friends behind them”. I believe this is the path that Susan and I took. We did not stay in a waiting room wondering what would happen next. Instead we traveled the many paths together, and what a rich life it was.

We struggled but made it over the various hurdles in our path. Despite financial challenges at times, we entertained many others in our home.  Then too, we wanted our children to experience the world around us. We traveled as much as we could throughout western Canada and United States. With tent, then trailer, then hotel, we used vacations to see the sights around us.

Because we often lived away from other family, we traveled “home” most every year. We missed the connections and used these trips to bring us closer to each family in our circle. Whether weddings,

school reunions and later funerals, we made the effort to be there when the family called.

So many joyous trips. Some were to see family; some were to see the world beyond our borders. How fortunate we were to travel with friends or family to many different places. We loved the trips, the places we saw, and the friends with whom we traveled.

And now, August 31, 2022, I sit alone at my computer. I am sad, knowing that Susan and I no longer travel together. Yes, she is with me in spirit, but when I ask directions or comment about the news, she does not respond the way she did for almost sixty years. I am sad because I miss Susan.  What wonderful  years we had together. As I reminisce I realize anew how very fortunate I have been. That is why I cannot say that sadness is my only emotion. No, I am joyously sad—God has given us, given me, a wonderful life. Thank you God; thank you Susan!

Meaningful Sympathy Cards

As many of you know, I recently lost my wife and best friend, Susan. The loss of a loved one is very difficult, but it is part of the life cycle. I think of Susan every day, and often tell her what I’m doing or how I’m feeling. Still, I miss her every day.

 Recently a friend, who had also just loss her husband, stated that she was taking a short break away from all the activities surrounding a loss. She took along the many sympathy cards because now she wanted to re-read them and think about the sender and the words.

I told her I had recently re-read all the cards from Susan’s memorial, and found that I cried a lot as I went through the stack. I believe the crying is part of the healing process, that the tears are the massaging of the wounds. The tears soften the hardened skin and help the healing of the lacerated skin. As the tears flow, they become the stitches needed to bind the jagged edges of the wound. The stitching is painful, but is a necessary part of healing.  Both the tears and the stitching are needed to bring about wholesome healing.

Therefore as I read the many cards, I cry and am reminded of the many friends who now are part of my healing process. They are the antidote that aids the healing. For that I am truly grateful.

The jagged edges of this painful wound eventually will heal. However, a scar will remain. The size of the scar depends on my willingness to move forward and accept the loving care of family and friends. I am overwhelmed at this outpouring of love.