It’s the weekend and sometimes — unless I have deliberately set myself some chores and busy work — I get hit by the sweet memories of busy, fun-filled weekends in the past. The movies we saw, the dinners we shared, the visits here or at someone’s home for dinner and an evening of conversation, the basketball games we attended and the plays, the hikes we took and the overnight trips. And then I remember how as recently as last fall before L’s hospitalization (see Day 1-3 tabs above) I would bitterly complain that we had no future.
I didn’t get it then–I wanted the plays and ballgames and social events. Now I treasure every night that L and I have left to spend together, talking, watching basketball on television, renting movies and bringing in take-out. I treasure the willingness of our friends to always come here instead of being able to welcome us into their homes. I repress the thoughts that come later in the night as I lie alone in our bed listening to L’s oxygen machine pulsating life into him in the other room–thoughts about what on earth I will do when that sound is only silence and he is no longer here.
That day when this journey to widowhood that still seems so surreal in spite of all the evidence surrounding me day in and night out will have reached its destination and life as I know it now will change–yet again.