I have just passed the anniversary of my Beloved's departure. It is a significant event. That first year of living as a widow/widower brings you the first of everything lived without your spouse. The first holiday season, the first birthdays, the first anniversary, and you face each one without your partner. Finally, you face the anniversary of your spouse's death. Each event is a powerful emotional experience. After you have gone through each of them, you can only begin the repetition of these events. I call the anniversary of my wife's death "The Last of the Firsts". During this past year I have had this sad revelation: it is not accurate that time heals all wounds. It is more accurate to say that time deadens the emotional nerves so that you simply cannot feel the pain of that wound. So I have arrived at this conclusion: I do not mourn the pain of loss, but rather the loss of pain. I have a little love note that I made my wife framed and on the wall because I found it to be particularly meaningful. It reads, ". . . because I could never know what it truly is to be me until I became part of you." So it is I now find myself confused about who I am, and what road it is I am traveling. Like a lost traveler with no GPS, no map, I feel unsure of where I am, where I am going, so I stay busy, the perfect drug to kill the pain. It is true that the love of God sustains me, but it doesn't override the loss of my sweet wife. I don't think He wants it to.
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