coping, courage, death, dogs, grief, growing old, healing, life, memories, perseverance

September 3rd

Sixty-six September 3rds of my life came and went with no particular reason to remember any of them. Now September 3rd is the most significant date on the calendar, and I suspect that it will never be overtaken. It’s the date in 2014 that I woke up as a married woman, and went to bed alone, a widow. The knowledge that this has happened to countless other people doesn’t seem to change my amazement at the whole thing. It has now happened to me, or actually it happened to Charley, so it should be from his perspective that this is tragic.

That I am stumbling about in the dark, so to speak, feeling my way, comes as somewhat of a surprise to me. I had already figured out that the ‘if only’ moments in life that we all look back on and wonder what would have happened had we taken a different path than the one we chose, are an illusion. All the paths we might have chosen have their inherent problems, and happily ever after isn’t at the end of any one of them. We can just hope that the path that we did choose is more enjoyable when it’s good, and not as heartbreaking when it isn’t, than that magical ‘other’ path might have been.

I turned the outside lights out a couple of mornings ago, and turned to walk back through the darkened foyer to head to the garage to go to work. Knowing that my big black dog, Zoe, is liable to be laying in the foyer I was looking for her, and I was congratulating myself for remembering to look so that I wouldn’t trip over her. Only I did, trip I mean, and landed on my hands and knees on the tile of the foyer, despite my being careful. No damage done, thankfully. But I do have to wonder what other pitfalls might be in my path out there, that despite my being ‘careful’ I might suddenly find myself on hands and knees wondering how that happened. I’m navigating on my own now, taking care of myself, and doing a better job of it somedays than others…