Half a Year

It was six months yesterday. I wondered what I ought to do. It's not quite an anniversary - it didn't seem right to take the day off, or otherwise break out of my routine. It was my week to celebrate at the 7am Eucharist, but I kept the date to myself - just murmuring Gerry's name when we prayed for the departed. But later in the day, I found myself desperate to go to a Eucharist on All Souls' - some place where I can pray in blessed anonymity.

One day in late August, Mary observed that she was no longer waiting for him to come down the stairs. That's true. I know he's gone - Joan Didion said she had a year of magical thinking, but I've had more like four months. By the beginning of September, I knew I had to pick up the pieces and move into whatever life is going to be like now. It's good not to have that terrible, howling grief that was so hard to bear through the summer - but it's also another plateau of loss. The intensity of mourning in some perverse way kept me feeling connected to him. Now I just miss him - miss his intelligence, and his wit, and his company and how handy he was around the house. I miss arguing with him and snuggling with him and picking up all the glasses he would he would leave all over the house. I miss being kissed and I miss him telling me "you look great," which could mean anything from "you look stunning," to "I'm not ashamed to be seen with you."

I knew I was feeling better one Saturday in September - when all of a sudden I wanted eggplant parmigiana. I didn't just want it, I wanted to make it. It was really the first time I've wanted to cook since Gerry died. So I did - I picked out a couple of nice, plump smooth eggplants, and made a delicious, reasonably low-fat version and even invited a friend to come eat it with me. It felt normal and I felt like I was back in my own skin after being disincarnate and lost for months. Eggplant was one of those things that I love and Gerry loathed and I never made when I was cooking for us. Now I can eat eggplant, and beets and tofu and olives and artichokes and kale.

And I'm going to call Martin Smith, my old spiritual director, and go down to meet with him to learn what discernment means at this time in my life and ministry. For twenty five years, I've done what I was supposed to do - and that's been a blessing and a privilege. I have a rewarding and challenging ministry - I had a happy, strong and committed marriage - and I have two of the smartest, kindest, most loving children anyone could hope for. I've been lucky, and I know it and I'm grateful.

But what now? What next? I don't know how to listen for God's voice if God isn't speaking to me through duty and obligation. I am learning to navigate in a different way - I no longer believe that I'm wandering lost in a wilderness, but the compass is still strange and I'll have to learn to read it. In a funny way, struggling through my chemistry class is showing me that I still have stamina and determination, and that working hard can still produce results. Some laws of the universe still work.

What will the next six months bring?