Seriously there are just not enough hours in the day. And then when I think about it, there aren’t enough days in the year, or years in a life.
There’s always so much to do…so much stuff to deal with, bills to be paid, shopping and work to do…I can’t remember being this busy when Mike was still alive, at least after we closed our school. Looking back I am so grateful we had what seemed like slow, happy days together before he left us, and after he’d retired. Maybe that’s not how it was; sometimes I panic that I can’t just quite remember how it was anymore. Am I starting to forget things about my previous life? Is this just how it’s going to be?
What I remember are mornings on our lanai drinking coffee, maybe an errand. Maybe time spend digging in the garden, which is dead and bare now, or a trip to the water where Mike loved to play in the waves. I don’t go much without him anymore. Then evenings on our lanai drinking wine, him playing the ukulele, watching the sun go down. After dark, cooking dinner, and an episode or two of our favorite show, or maybe a movie. Early to bed for him; me, maybe a couple of hours on the computer before I turned in. The next day: repeat.
I guess there was probably a lot I don’t specifically remember about all the little things we were dealing with or talking about at the time. Maybe that’s not a bad thing. Because these memories are good, and I find myself savoring them, as I sit on the lanai now so often by myself, in his rocker, thinking about how much that jade plant on the table there might be able to tell about all those conversations, if it could talk, and remember. That plant has been there for almost a decade now and has seen a lot, let me tell you.
Today has been busy, trying to cram in all kinds of errands and chores between work days…I still want to reorganize my office and clean out the garage; there are paintings that sit half-finished and a piano that doesn’t get played enough, and a book half written. Some days, just keeping up with the income-earning part of my life is about all I can handle…other than an evening or two out with my new guy, or having dinner with friends. Because making time for that seems more important than ever in this short life.
So another day nearing it’s end; another morning of busy appointments and work tomorrow; another week gone by, another month gone by…another year older and closer to my own death. Frankly, that’s just how it is. I wonder how much Mike thought about his death, during those last happy and lazy days we spent together. Whether he was conscious of spending that time doing things that made him happy…or whether he was just traipsing along one day to the next, never knowing or thinking much about the end.
I guess I’ll wonder forever, till it’s my time. But one this is for sure: having lived through the death of my beloved husband, I will never take any of it for granted. He is constantly on my mind as I run those errands, or do that laundry, that now doesn’t include anything he wants or needs. He is always in my heart when I spend time with friends. I will always, every day, be missing him, and yet also will always be thinking how much I want to squeeze every last drop out of it all, as I like to imagine he did.