When asked if it seems like eight years since Joanne died I responded, "I don't know what it feels like." What does eight years feel like? It's been long enough that it feels normal to be single. Naturally the anniversary of her death triggers grief. This morning at 7:00 I visited her grave. One of the gifts of being resident at The Little House is its proximity to the cemetery, which I've visited several times this week.
Naturally I reflect on her last day. After relieving the night nurse at 6:00am, I asked Joanne, "What's special about April 12?" She shrugged her shoulders. Three and a half hours later she died, surrounded by her family. The night previous was the only time she didn't get through all her mail. One day she received 53 cards! There were visits, phone calls and emails. Her gradual death was a huge, gift allowing her to bask in the accolades, many of which were a total surprise to her.
Frequently I've described my grief experience as moving from a knife in the ribs at first, to the present dull ache. Knowing what she's missing, especially with her granddaughters, is always accompanied by grief.
When grief strikes I try to focus on the important gift of 53 years of marriage to her. Gifted, faithful, accomplished, compassionate, kind and loving she lived a very productive life. It was my great good fortune to be her companion on the way. Rest in peace Joanne, good and faithful servant.
Takk for alt,
Al
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