May 24, 2007.
5 years today.
How did I get here?
Once upon a time I could not imagine 5 minutes without him let alone 5 years. Yet, today, I am grateful…for his life…for mine…for the ones we shared together.
5 years.
And, I am still standing.
His memory in my soul is as fresh as it was the day we met.
He survived 3 heart attacks only to be taken by the living thing he feared most in this world…
A snake.
He would find a darkly humorous irony in that.
5 years.
I still miss him more than there are words to express.
His own words, written at the death of his cousin/friend almost a year before his own, not found until at least a year after, live with all the other cherished memories of the man who touched my heart:
"Here is my wish for the family ~ Each morning as you look into the mirror may you see him looking back at you, for he is a part of each of you. Each night just as you drift off to sleep may you feel a gentle kiss on your forehead. May you feel his hand on your shoulder urging you on in life until the time he can hold you once again in his arms."
To my Jim…December 3, 1950 ~ May 24, 2002.
I will always love you and I will always miss you…you remain the better part of me.
5 years today.
How did I get here?
Once upon a time I could not imagine 5 minutes without him let alone 5 years. Yet, today, I am grateful…for his life…for mine…for the ones we shared together.
5 years.
And, I am still standing.
His memory in my soul is as fresh as it was the day we met.
He survived 3 heart attacks only to be taken by the living thing he feared most in this world…
A snake.
He would find a darkly humorous irony in that.
5 years.
I still miss him more than there are words to express.
His own words, written at the death of his cousin/friend almost a year before his own, not found until at least a year after, live with all the other cherished memories of the man who touched my heart:
"Here is my wish for the family ~ Each morning as you look into the mirror may you see him looking back at you, for he is a part of each of you. Each night just as you drift off to sleep may you feel a gentle kiss on your forehead. May you feel his hand on your shoulder urging you on in life until the time he can hold you once again in his arms."
To my Jim…December 3, 1950 ~ May 24, 2002.
I will always love you and I will always miss you…you remain the better part of me.
(Plus cards from the dogs and George Kitty. How cool izzat?)
Roughened by years of working with wood, he yet has a gentle touch with all he meets. How fortunate are the people in this man’s life.
Slowly, her light releases it’s hold on the dark revealing gold, and rose, and violet against the steely blue tones of first light. She is the Mistress of Re-birth…the other side of midnight.
Yes, I still fall…landing on bruised and scarred knees. Yet, not as hard nor as far. I know now, with the passage of time, that it will hurt like hell…but, it WILL pass. And, I know I have connected fellow travelers still there for me to lean upon when those dark nights come again. 
Colors counterpoint to a gray mood and shifting emotions.
From my east facing window I can note the change in angle as the seasons rotate back and forth. Amazing how a few degrees make such a difference in the way the shadows play across the opposing wall. Not unlike the subtle changes that take place within each of us on this path that modifies the way we view not only the world at large, but ourselves as well. And, the seasonal beginnings and endings do not necessarily agree with man's calendar but follow their own course...as do we.
The rising sun hits the new arbor at the corner now rather than more towards center. Perhaps a sort of symbolism of my own slightly off center feelings in recent days.
Morning ambers skiddle across the leaves turning them a mellower shade of green and highlighting the Morning Glories in Rose’s Garden in muted golden tones rather than the usual rose-gold of mid-summer. The light shimmers altered through the dew that covers everything on my trek outdoors to photograph my perceived camera obscura view.
Dunno why I decided to remark on that this morning. Perhaps it's the subtle itching in my head and bones that something feels afoot. Restlessness, perhaps. Despite my attachment to home there are times itchy feet and the gypsy longing to wander come out. This, I think, is a genetic gift/curse from Dad and goes far to explain my father's need to move even after his stint with that traveling troupe known as the Army was done with him. 
Despite my urge to roam I need them...roots…solid…grounding...safe...faithfully awaiting the return of this seasonal and, oft times, only imaginary wanderer.
My beloved and often fog shrouded Blue Ridge Mountains became the clouded vision I had of a world that seemed to be filled with one barely climbable mountain after another. The view was so vague I could not see my way out of the grey.
Always a water person, the river falls became the harsh reality of facing the daunting maelstrom in a canoe with neither paddle nor rudder to steer my way. I was at the mercy of my grief, never knowing which way it would turn or if it would drown me in its turbulence.
The waves crashing against the rocks near the shore morphed into the pain of being beaten and bloodied by the Grief Monster only to be left in a mangled heap upon the jagged reef begging for peace and mercy each time I fought to find my way out of the anguish that threatened to drown me.
A small cave in the beautiful New Mexico mountains of the Jemez came to represent that dark black hole into which I fell time after time struggling to live with the memories of a beloved life past and learning to survive in the hated present alone.
The ever present distance path seemed filled with roots and stones alive with the intent purpose of bringing to me to my knees as I stumbled ever forward in a world I came to despise.
Over time the world righted itself and became filled with light and color again…slowly at first…then gaining momentum…until I could appreciate the sight and smell of the wildness of the roses in my untended garden. Yet, another metaphor relating to my untended life.
I may often still stumble bruising my heart along the way, but no longer am I filled with dread and fear of the unknown waters that spread before me. Survival is instinct…one I have in more abundance than I ever imagined possible. Still, I know I did not get here alone. Along with my own dogged, though often halting, plodding forward, Jim’s love for me and life itself, kind friends and even strangers have given hand in helping me find my own strength to carry forward what he shared with me and even take the scary step to share it again with another wounded heart like mine. 
As I looked at the covered bridge a number of yards away I could almost hear the clatter of hooves and creak of wooden wheels as the wagons loaded with grain were brought across to be milled into flour or grits. Peace has often been challenging to find on the journey along this path called widowhood. Occasionally, it is still transitory and elusive.
Listening as the water rushed across the stones, I remembered times past when I was dead certain I could not possibly breathe one more moment without Jim in my life. I often felt as crushed as the grains being transformed into fine powder by the massive grindstones of the mill. 
Just as the road from the fields to the mill is often long and full of ruts, so has the journey down this long dark tunnel of grief been. I have been transformed same as the grain into something different from where I started. 
Yet, through all the darkness, pain and tears, a river of life and love, though changed beyond measure, has tumbled along beside me. It will abide so long as I breathe upon this earth ever reshaping me as the stones of the mill relentlessly grind the farmer’s grains into dust.
Monarchs were everywhere dancing in the warm mountain air teasing us with their antics, but declining to light long enough take their picture. Flighty lot those Monarchs.
