I Didn't Want to Get Out of Bed

I didn’t want to get out of bed this morning.  It used to be that I didn’t want to get out because my husband was still sleeping, and I could snuggle up to him feeling all warm and cozy and secure.  Now I don’t want to get up, because it means facing another day without him.  So I stayed in bed crying and trying to wrap my mind around how he could be gone, and I could possibly be alone.

But, I got an early morning phone call to schedule a follow-up procedure, so I had to get out of bed and look at my calendar.  It brought my tears to an abrupt end too.  One can’t be blubbering over the phone to a complete stranger.  After the phone call, I knew there were 12 marigolds in the back of my car which I planned to put in the garden in places where the wildflower seed hadn’t germinated, so I ate breakfast and pulled on some grubby gardening clothes.

Somewhere in that process, I got another phone call.  The shepherding elder assigned to me by the church called and asked if I could meet him and his wife for lunch.  Ah….the day began to seem positive.  I had some human interaction to which I could look forward.

I hustled over to the garden and planted my marigolds.  Folks were walking by, and I had several brief conversations.  I picked some radishes, did a bit of weeding and watered the garden.  As I was finishing up, a lady who was riding her bike stopped to talk.  I don’t know what possessed her to stop….most people on bikes don’t.  It turns out she lost her husband unexpectedly about 3 years ago.  We talked long enough that she felt comfortable telling me that her husband had committed suicide, and that she had lost friends because they felt awkward around her afterward.  I wish I could have on-going contact with her, but she is moving away in the next week.  She is not a Shell Point resident, and she owns one of the homes nearby.  She is selling and moving in with a family member.  I felt as though we met by “appointment.”

As I was getting dressed and put together after a shower, I had another phone call.  That conversation allowed me to share a way in which I felt God had used me over the summer to do something I would not have been in a position to do if I still had my Dear Bill in my life.  I talked about the strange way in which I understand God had a plan and accept it in my mind, and yet grieve greatly about Bill’s absence.  I’m not sure how these seemingly conflicting feelings coexist.

I had a delightful lunch with the elder and his wife, walked back to my apartment across the Island, ate two pieces of chocolate and fell asleep sitting up on the couch.

The sun is shining, the last load of laundry is in the washer, and I am not crying.  I do wonder what my darling is doing in heaven.  I would like to tell him about my day, and how the garden is coming along. 

If he was here, the box of chocolates would be gone by now.