Monthly Archives: December 2014

The Gift of Giving

It’s the day after Christmas and for several days now I have been reflecting on what the holiday/season means to me. The adage that it is better to give than to receive rings true. I find my greatest joys at this time of year come when I have put myself out there for others. It comes when I make a donation of food, clothing, toys or money so that those less blessed than I am might have a little better time of it. It’s there as I prepare a party or meal for others. It’s there when I choose gifts for family and friends, prepare tips for those who provide services that make my life easier, come up with the idea to drop off a little something for a special neighbor.  It’s there when I remember my parents and the example they set for us about giving back, and it’s there when I think of L and all that he gave to me and to others throughout his too-short life. In giving I honor him and the memory of all the times we worked together to make someone’s day a bit brighter.

The trick of course is to maintain that spirit throughout all the days of the year. The truth is that I do pay it forward often throughout the year…the difference is that without the special trappings of Christmas…I may not pause to take the special joy that comes with the giving. But when the recipient of my gifts thanks me I never fail to think, “No. I thank you for your smile of appreciation, your eyebrows raised in surprise and delight, and the look in your eyes that tells me I just made your life a little better if only for a moment.” That’s a gift I can carry with me through hard and sad times. That’s a gift that brings me closer to L. That’s the gift that I can unwrap and marvel over again and again.

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Finally the tears have come…

I went to see the film: THE THEORY OF EVERYTHING this afternoon and thank goodness I decided to go by myself. Who knew that I would be so affected by this story (although in hindsight I guess it might be obvious)? The film is the story of Stephen Hawking–the brilliant scientist who developed ALS (Lou Gehrig disease) early in life–and his incredible wife, Jane. There were so many moments that touched me and reminded me of the years that L was ill and all that he was forced to abandon as his health worsened. The scenes of Jane’s exhaustion and struggles to keep the fight going brought back painful memories of those times when I faltered and just wanted our life back to the way it had been. Hawking’s humor was SO reminiscent of L’s–the one thing everyone mentions when they speak of L is his laugh and how it lit up a room.

There were so many lines in the script that touched me in places both painful and sweet. One of those lines is delivered by a man who comes into their lives having suffered the death of his wife…the line is something about “the tyranny of the empty room.” Is that not IT? The loneliness that waits just behind the door no matter how busy you are?

I have mentioned to some of you that I don’t feel I have cried enough. I have long felt that my true feelings about L’s last days and his death have been walled up behind a dam that seemed to hold. Well, this afternoon that dam cracked and it was a moment that I recognized immediately as not only healthy but absolutely necessary.  And so I cried and cried and cried–so much so that as the lights came up I found it necessary to allow the entire rest of the audience to leave (under the pretense of watching the credits) before I could trust myself to stand up and leave. I know that this is a key step forward and the fact that it has come two and a half years after his death is neither here nor there–the point is the dam will not hold forever. And in the flood of those pent-up emotions comes spilling forth the anger and the regret and the fear of not having done enough–of not having taken full advantage of the time we had. But hindsight is, of course, twenty/twenty and as I cull through the memories of our years together this I know for sure (as Oprah would say): I loved and was loved in return and it is that shared love that no dam can hold and no death can silence.