Distracted Living

It is always a matter of perspective.

Within the first month after Larry died, my dearest childhood friend sent a kind, sensitive and wise letter about our shared experiences of widowhood. Her husband had died six months earlier. She simply offered her own reality, suggesting I, too, was having competing feelings. She named them this way:

confusion, relief, guilt for feeling relief, emptiness, questions about “what next?”, “where do I fit?”, “what do I want to do with my remaining years?”, uncertainty about how to wisely handle the huge number of estate decisions and legal requirements and the hope that you did all possible to facilitate a “good death” and to leave your life partner with certainty of your unwavering love.

I was defensive, certain I felt no guilt, no doubts about having done everything I could and expressing in every way possible my love for Larry. Until the end, he would ask me every day, “Have I told you today how much I love you?” Often, with a lump in my throat and through my tears I would respond, “I know. I love you too.” Until the last five days, those last hours.

My friend offered her heart and her support. For that I am grateful. Because we live across the country from one another, and haven’t the opportunity to sit face to face with a glass of wine, or a cup of tea, to cry and laugh together, to tell our tales of loss, I turned to writing this blog, and working through my process of grief and growth, healing and being loved back into life.

Recently I was also held in love by my sister, who, over the years has tangibly expressed her love and support by her presence—coming from as far away as Turkey, when Bill died in 1976, and again after Larry’s death. She came to celebrate my birthday last summer, and, though a self-declared extreme introvert, proclaimed to the gathering of family and friends, that she had loved me my whole life, from the day I was born. She has also become a traveling partner, joining me on trips I would not take on my own. We recently spent sixteen days in Italy and Greece. An adventure by plane and cruise ship and bus and train and on foot (some days marked by 15,000+ steps).

I remarked on our trip how different it was, not having Larry planning and making arrangements for the trip. I relied on AAA. When we were sightseeing and shopping, I could admire beautiful things, and think how Larry would have offered to buy them for me, and then often purchase what he  wanted me to have when I turned to something else. I bought very little.  The historical knowledge the guides shared reminded me how much history Larry knew, but I could not check with him if something was actually true, or if it was something he already knew. He was with me in spirit, but it was easier not worrying about his ability to walk or stay hydrated or have energy to participate.

In the days following my return home, my recovery from jet lag included moments of nodding off, sometimes startled while driving that I was actually behind the wheel.  News coverage of the hefty fines imposed for distracted driving coincidentally caught my attention. I heard it in a new way even though I have sometimes been irresponsible in sending a text or watching GPS maps instead of simply following the voice commands. I was feeling in the moment the challenge of accomplishing one task while my mind was somewhere else, mostly drifting off to sleep.

In this last week, with the news of the death of a younger colleague in ministry, who leaves a widow and three adult children; with the news that my only, older brother has had a stroke, is suffering from aphasia and frustration, and there are spots on his lungs; with my return to part-time, interim ministry which occupies my mind even on days I am “not working”, I realize that “distracted living” is as reckless as distracted driving. 

There is no more time to let Jon Short know my appreciation for his faithful service to the church with constant good humor and terrible puns. I am uncertain that I will have opportunity to let my brother know in ways he can receive and understand that he has my admiration for sustaining a marriage far longer than any of his sisters, that his pithy, sometimes corny wisdom was a touchstone for me. And, I do indeed have regrets that my intense focus on dedicated ministry to the church, my perfectionist work ethic, my need for support, my critical nature, and my fears distracted me from time to time from being as kind and loving and considerate as the one who gave me more than thirty four years of unconditional love and respect.

Though the penalty imposed for distracted driving is monetary, the cost of distracted living is much greater, a debt that cannot be repaid. Pay attention to those you love, and those who love you. Stay in the moment, it is all we have.