Grief. Love. Magic. A new road. A new life~
Today, Tuesday, is an anniversary of sorts for me.
It isn’t an anniversary connected to Chuck, since it happened after he died.
And yet, it is entirely connected to him.
Because today is the day, 5 years ago, that I picked up my new Ford Escape from the garage, and the man, I’d taken it to after buying it from the dealer.
I took it directly from the dealer to a man named Anthony, who had his own garage.
He and I had spoken a week or so earlier, when I’d called him and told him that I was looking for someone to create a shade of pink for me and paint my car in the created color.
I shared with him the Love story that Chuck and I had for 24 years. I told him what Chuck said about me wearing pink after his death. He knew I’d need color around me. I told him about our Happily Homeless travels for our last 4 years together. I told him that I was staying on the road, alone, and I was terrified and devasted and didn’t know how to do it, but I was doing it.
The price he gave me was just too high for me, but I told him how very much I appreciated that he listened to me and we hung up.
Not half an hour later, Anthony called me up again and quoted me a lower price. He really wanted to create a color for me and paint my silver car.
The first shade of pink that he did was too dark, and I told him to lift the brown out, and add a creamy white, but that I didn’t need to see the second shade. Paint my car in the color you get and it will be the exact right shade.
A couple weeks later I went with my daughter to pick up my car. She cried and I cried when I saw it, and we cried more when Anthony handed the can to me, with the formula for the paint on it…and the name he’d named it.Read more
Most weeks, when I write my Wednesday contribution, I have little to no idea of what I might write. What I need to write.
I think, as I start, okay, I’m going to write about this, and I open the document and my fingers still over the keyboard because, nope, that’s not what I need to write about.
I allow my mind to go blank.
I turn on what I call my writing music.
My muse, so to speak.
It’s music that Chuck and I used to listen to. Or music that I’ve discovered since his death, that fills my heart in some way that has no words.
Tears fall. Frequently.
Or I think that I have nothing to say this week. Nothing to offer you.
What is there to say after 5 years of widowhood, right?Read more