I’ve talked often of the beauty.
The beauty is in the things you never notice. The things that are permanent, and the things that are impermanent.
The beauty is tangible, and unreal.
The beauty is everywhere.
Its children you don’t know, playing games outside. Its the mildew, organisms growing in your tub. Its the fact that every part of your being was assembled in a star. Or so I hear.
Its the pain when you stub your toe. Its the happiness on your wedding day.
Its the irritation at a sibling.
Its everything, and its nothing.
I wish I had more to say. I’d tell you that I’m OK. That I’m not grieving, and in fact, haven’t broken down since I said my final good bye, since that final kiss, that final hug, that final caress. That final look. I’m not going to see her again. We’re not having an open casket, because I don’t think it would be right.
I didn’t know that at the time, but I had a good look anyway.
I’ll never see the narrow, button nose. I’ll never see the little hairs she plucks from her eyebrows, that she doesn’t need to.
I’ll never see the bumps on her arms that she was ashamed of, and that I loved to rub.
I’ll never see that mole on her temple, and the other one.
I’ll never make her coffee again.
I’ll never laugh at her jokes again.
I’ll never miss her, because she’s late coming home again.
Ahh, but theres so much love. I’m tempering the grief with the love, by listening (and ignoring) the boys. Pigpen is noisy and boisterous as he watches Cars with the whole family. MastaG is jovial. It is as BJ would have it.
BJ.
My BJ.
This isn’t hard, yet. I welcome the grief. I look forward to the grieving. I think, if the kids are wanting to, and they’re OK without me, next week they may go back to the Blueberry Farm for a day or two. Thursday we’ll have the thanks’G'iving party. Later we’ll have the solemn wake. After that we’ll have BJ’s wake.
It helps to plan. I’ve talked to the Lifegem people, and found out how to do it. I’ve talked to the funeral home, and found out what we’ll need to pay. A cremation is pretty cheap, how about that?
Once my plans are done, once things are done, once the parties are over, and everybody’s drunk to their health, and to BJ’s life, I’ll be alone.
I’ll be surrounded my friends, more than I’ve ever thought, and closer than I’ve ever known. I’ll have a family that I knew I had, but never knew how lucky I was to have. I’ll have the boys, two wonderful, amazing, living breathing creations of BJ and me, who are completely their own spectacular people.
Thats when we’ll see what happens.
Where does life take you? What happens, when you graduate high school? College? Get married? Lose your wife?
I am 28 years old. I am a widower.
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Damn, this laptop really is cool.
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When I was a child, growing up Catholic, my mother had a miscarriage. I grieved, as a kid does, because she did. When I said my prayers, alone, I’d talk to the kid. I’d imagine he was watching me. I wonder if BJ is with him?
She is facing the great mystery. She is seeing what wise men have sought for eternity. She has the answers, right now. Is she getting the traditional life flashback?
Did she do what she wanted to do?
She was happy. She loved me every bit as much as I love her, of that I’m certain. She loved her children more than I think I am capable of loving, as I firmly believe every mother does. Well, REAL mothers, at least. She was so proud of her family. She beamed with pride, silent, happy pride, as I did. When we went out, we held hands, or I’d have her arm in the crook of mine.
I’ll miss that. I’ll miss that more than I can possibly know.
The point is, I think, if I know BJ, that if she gets that cheesy St. Peter instant replay, she’ll be content. Sure, she may complain about the length of play, but she put her family on the path it needs to be on, and all we have to do is follow it.
Maybe she doesn’t get the flashback. Maybe she gets to do what I always thought would be heaven… being free of the body, and free to explore the wonders and mysteries of all forms of existence.
I plan, as I said, when my walk is finished, the miles are done, in 50 or 75, or maybe even 100 years (or maybe 1, who knows?) to meet with her. When we do, we’ll spend that exploration together. We’ll merge our selves, like infinite fingers meshing. Like two different colors in a lava lamp. We’ll rejoice in each other.
She doesn’t have long to wait. I imagine to a soul prepped for eternity, 50 or 75 years is a blink of an eye. During that time, I’ll see her business through.
You’ll hear about it. I’m going to continue writing here. The ‘tumor has evolved past what it was.
I cherish our past here, and Joel, Daco, Netmom, Miece, Evan, Mel, and very much Bos and Eaves. We’ll not be what we were, but we’ve evolved.
At the same time, those of you who I won’t name, for fear of leaving out an important person, who have meant a lot to me. Vickie, for the shawl. Lucky, for the pot pie (we ate tonight). All of the rest of you, for your financial help, and heartfelt messages. For your prayers, your thoughts.
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Cherish your people. Cherish those who mean so much to you. Never forget, no matter how much it means, how sweet, or sometimes bittersweet, it can be, it has an ending. It may be soon, it may be long, but it will happen.
Hold those people tighter. Forgive those trespasses. Remember this.
Remember, there is nothing to fear, and nothing to doubt.
Remember GAC.