Nine Months

It has been nine months since you passed Russ and yet it still feels like yesterday. Ever close in my mind’s eye is my final vision of you. So frighteningly thin, your emaciated body, no longer home to your vibrant spirit. Not at all the way I want to remember you. I remind myself of the young, handsome, athletic man I married and I long for those days.

I don’t ever want to forget who you were in my life, beloved husband and friend. A good father to my children and dearly loved by friends and family alike. It feels to me like almost everyone has forgotten about you, as if you never existed and that breaks my heart even more. Only a few of our friends in America have kept in touch and your friends, Martin and Trevor, are the ones here who check up on me and we remember you. I have not heard a word from your brother or sister since December, but that is not really a surprise, since we were never close.

In between the sad days I have many good ones. Although not one day has gone by that I have not thought of you. I remember our marriage, the trials and challenges, as well as many wonderful memories we shared. It is the sweet memories that often bring floods of tears. Because I know that we will never pass that way again and the one person I want to share them with is no longer here.

I slowly move forward, step-by-step, day-by-day, but I am never more than a thought away from you and all I have lost with your passing. The rest of life rushes by, with everyone living their lives and I feel as if I am caught in a time-warp, wanting to go back to spend my life with you and knowing that will never be. I must go on without you and as much as I don’t want to, I have to, I have no other choice.

People with the best intentions, encourage me with the fact that I am here and life goes on. I am supposed to see the fact that I am still alive as a gift. If you ask me, I think you got the way better end of the deal. While you are whole and healed in that beautiful place we call heaven, with our Lord and Saviour for all eternity, I am still struggling with a life on earth that has always felt hard to me.

I can identify with a salmon swimming upstream. When a person is like me, who does not really fit into the norm, it feels as if you are constantly fighting an onslaught of endless waves. No one willing to let me be. I am always the soldier out of step, the discordant voice in the choir, the restless soul seeking peace. Ever since I can remember, I have felt like the odd one out. I even thought I might be an alien when I was young. I have just never fitted into the “human being mould.”

One might perhaps even refer to me as the “black sheep” of the family. Fortunately for me, my identity does not reside in the people around me, but rather in the One who created me. For all intents and purposes I am a hand-painted, tie-dyed, rainbow-coloured sheep. I am a unique individual, maybe more diverse than most. So was Russ, which is why I think we worked out together. Not because of our sameness, but in spite of our differences.

We learned to accept one another as the unique individuals we were created to be and ultimately we were able to be comfortable with ourselves and each other. I always loved Russel’s sense of humour, and it smoothed over many otherwise difficult situations and gave us opportunities to remember them with laughter.

Of course, you definitely did not want to be in our house on a day when neither of us had a sense of humour. I was not called “a bomb in a kilt” for nothing, and Russel was like a slow-burning firework. It took him a while to get going, but he could really explode in spectacular fashion, if he felt strongly enough about something.

I am sure that very few people even know that Russ had a temper. He was such a people pleaser and social charmer. He did not like anyone to see that side of him. Of course, I had to push the limits, even with a calm, even-tempered soul like Russel. He was always kind of passive-aggressive. Whereas I was a look-at-me, in-your-face, kind of aggressive.

Although I was not the only one who ever got Russ riled up. He was a real animal lover and hated seeing them mistreated. I have always loved telling the story about the time a car drove up across the road, with a goat strapped to the roof. Before I could blink, Russel was out there telling them off. He was shouting to me to call the SPCA, when I went to investigate what was happening.

I tried to tell him that it was none of his business and he should leave the people alone. They were taking the animal to be slaughtered anyway. Russ was having none of it and by the time the vehicle departed, the goat was re-strapped to the roof with a blanket around it. They did not give the animal a pillow as he had requested, but as his temper settled Russel realised that he was fighting a losing battle and let things be. Even on its way to being “supper” he wanted the animal to have a comfortable ride.

I miss walking with Russ along the canal at The Oaks and seeing the ducks or maybe even an alligator, perhaps visiting with friends there. I wish I could wander through the mall with him and afterwards share lunch together. I miss eating evening meals at our favourite haunts in Port Charlotte.

I long for Saturday mornings in Florida, when I would sleep late and upon waking, I would knock a few times on the bedroom wall. Russel would pop his head in my room and say, “Are you ready for your cup of creamy Hen?” That’s how Russ referred to his special coffee. Because Russel worked such a lot, we spent Saturday mornings doing things together and I loved it so much. It was our time.

I miss the Russ who could talk to me for hours on the phone. In fact, on the day he had his brain seizure, Russel had called me three times to chat. The last time we spoke on that fateful day, was when he called to tell me about the clutch of new ducklings in our complex.

Whenever we would walk together, Russel never liked to hold hands. His excuse was that I “waddled from side-to-side, like a duck.” Funny how it turned out that years later he had reason to have an examination of his legs, only to discover that one was shorter than the other. Of course, then I used to tease him that he was the one who listed from side-to-side. Long leg, short leg. Long leg, short leg. We had a good laugh about that. Afterwards, as if to make up for what he had said, Russ would sometimes hold my hand when we walked together and he would say, “See Hen, I can be romantic.” He would have a huge grin all over his face.

One of my favourite memories, was the time, some years ago now, when Russel and I went to some friends in America for Thanksgiving lunch. The whole afternoon while I was chatting to my friend in the kitchen, Russ was looking at me. When we got in the car to go home later, I asked him what it was all about. He said, “I was just checking you out Hen. You are still quite an attractive old bird.” Not sure if those three words belong in a sentence, but that was Russel.

Memories. Life is made up of memories. We do not always know where we are going, or what tomorrow will bring, but we can always remember what we have had and where we have been. I know that we cannot live in the past. It has gone. But thinking about loved ones who have left us and good thoughts about life with them, can often warm the heart.

I miss you my unique, quirky, athletic, workaholic, stubborn, good-looking, kind, wonderfully weird, laughter-loving husband. I will not forget you, until we see each other again. Love, your Hen.