So many things. Today it was tools - tools from a life's work of carpentry and cabinetmaking and woodworking - those that were in our basement, anyway (many more of them are in the shop). Seamus came over to sort through the tools Jerry had stored in one of the rooms in the basement, as well as some of Jerry's papers, family photographs and the like. When he left, he had some of the tools, Jerry's mandolins (which he never did have the time to learn to play - part of that future we foolishly thought we had. I do remember him sitting on the couch with a mandolin and the Sacred Harp, picking out tunes), Jerry's violin, my old classical guitar from those guitar lessons in high school I never had the discipline to practice for - and how pleased I am that finally that guitar will be with someone who can make it sing, after all these decades. Also family photos, some of Jerry's philosophy books and old notebooks, other papers. We couldn't find the trumpet Jerry played in college, nor his copy of O'Neill's Music of Ireland, which are here somewhere. There are so many boxes and piles, though, between the basement and the Buddha Bedroom, that I'm sure they'll show up. I remember Jerry showing me the trumpet once, and talking about selling it - I felt sad that he might sell it, even though he hadn't played it in decades, but I don't think he had sold it, so it must still be in the house.
Why are these things all still here? Why is anything still here? Why are we all still alive? Why hasn't the world ended, the way it ought to? If he is dead, what possible reason can I have to keep breathing?
And when will I stop feeling guilty about going through his things, having Seamus take some of them away, because I know Jerry will be back soon and want those tools back again, maybe, for the next project he'll be working on? And when I do - when I stop expecting him to walk back in this house and put his arms around me and tell me this was all just a horrible nightmare, and I'm safe now, in his arms - will I be able to bear that pain?
My husband used to talk about "second order" emotions, for example, worrying about one's primary emotional reaction to an event. With that in mind, and to the extent this may be helpful, I offer this: I suspect that once you have been through the routine of enough days as a widow that you sort of have some solid ground to stand on, or land-legs on which to stand on the ground that was always there (some sort of (emotional) stability), you will start dealing emotionally with the reality you already understand with your intellect. I wouldn't worry about your primary emotional reactions now or what will come later, if you can help it ( -- and if you can't, then don't). You seem to have a good sense of the stepping stones you need to use to make this transition. And, you are very articulate about it!
ReplyDeleteHi - I stumbled across your blog and I'm going through the previous entries. Having recently lost my man after a brave struggle with melanoma I can relate so much to what you are writing. My blog is private but if you want an invite please just email me
ReplyDeleteoakridge@xtra.co.nz