The Finality of Loss

     This is the witching hour.  My eyes begin to smart around 5:30 p.m or 6 p.m. Vague sadness drifts over me.  Des has been gone well over a year but missing him comes over me in waves.  Grief, mourning whatever.  A rose by any other name would sting as much.

     Most of the time I go on with life in this new category of widow.  Go to church, meet friends, laugh, write, read   a ton of new books, visit one or another of the medical pros that keep me above the grass.  

    Manage to keep up with the onslaught of paper work, bills, ads,coupons, plea for money from a litany of charitable organizaions.  I am tempted to cross out the name of the ones addressed to my husband and write forward to local cemetery.  Haven't done it yet.  Still might.

     Tomato plants are growing in my back yard.  Des is shocked, mouth agape.  A play on words since he developed Agape Therapy, Greek work referencing  love--the unconditional kind.  Wrote books about it. gave them away, charging money was not his long suit.  Good at giving it away.

     I should have realized what I was getting into when he took away my credit cards during our brief dating days, paid off the balance of $700 - serious money in 1971- and declared over the years to everyone we knew that he bought me.

     A few years ago, I put seven crisp one hundred dollar bills in an envelope, put it under the Christmas Tree and declared myself free.  He just smirked and asked where the interest was.   Did I mention that I miss him?

     Just noticed that it is now past the witching hour and my weepy mood has passed.  Will turn on the TV, laugh with the Golden Girls, warm up with the Walton Family...my rerun entertainment to chase away the blues.   See you in the funny papers.

   So says Sassy

     

des has been