We are, as I write this, only ten days away from a whole new year and I could not wait until then to share an updated excerpt of something I wrote as time expired six years ago.
“Procul, et de ultimis finibus pretium ejus.”
Writing of the wife whose worth cannot be estimated, St. Jerome’s statement above translated means, “You may go to the ends of the earth to find her equal in value.”
I have written a great deal lately about love and loss, gladness and grief, a beautiful life together and a broken heart as it came to an end.
There are readers who respond that I should move on. Death happens. ‘You had, after all, 50 years of marriage to your wife.’
But I can’t move on. It’s difficult to even move forward. I am trapped, imprisoned. I am not free.
As I write of how a wife of inestimable price, which I had, should be treated – as so precious, so adored, so cherished, so treasured – many, many readers respond that that is not their experience.
What grieves me now far more than my own loss is learning that there are those whose spouse has abandoned them; who rather than reveling in his love they suffer from his rejection; who instead of being told and touched and otherwise tenderly being conveyed that they are beautiful, instead they weep, broken, abused, and besieged by thoughts of what might have been.
That’s what breaks my heart.
And it is in hearing of this hurt and anguish that I wish my mouth were not so in tune with my heart. That I could feel things – love, tenderness, endearment – and not say them. Then tears would not follow. My fingers would not type. My mind would not be so preoccupied with sleep-depriving nights plagued by the stories of the sadness of unrequited love.
But my mind and heart are connected, and the tears as I type yet another story return, because I am imprisoned in order to implore husbands as to how it should be.
I am not free.
Please enough already this has been going on too long, find a woman and start living, I did it is heaven!
I truthfully had to chuckle at this Jon and I agree, in part, to find someone with whom, as you wrote, to experience “heaven.”
Working on it!
Seriously, thanks for the encouragement!
Dave, those of us who have lost the love of our life experience that big hole in our heart. I understand your feelings and wanting to write and talk about it. After all it is a form of healing. And a tribute to your beloved wife. We all grieve differently. There is not a one fits all outcome for grief. Grief is the price we pay for love. Even after 20 years, my grief is still there. You do you!
As each human being is different, just like snowflakes seem to look alike but get an individual shape by their traveling experience, we are taking different paths in dealing with emotions. As long as these are genuine, we ought to respect them.
To all those who probably scroll down the TV menu each and every day, skipping what we don’t like – please, scroll past what you don’t care to read. It’s as easy as that, and we don’t have to pass judgement.
As for me, I’m learning a lot about myself while reading David Anderson’s letters, tearing up, giggling, and hoping. Hoping that grief will always find compassion and the balm of empathy.
I so appreciate your words of love and loss. We all grieve differently. There is no timetable, and each loss is unique in its grieving process. I love the love you had for your wife and the way you express it. Don’t let anyone discourage your way of processing and moving through your grief and loss. God bless you.
Photos, thoughtful too, a glimpse to capture reflective state, lens of love remembered.
You have a lot of good years left, David; Lennie with you always.