A Journey to Acceptance
Each night, as I curl up on our large king-sized bed, I look at Peter’s photo and whisper, “Good night, my love. I miss you so very much.” As I look at his image, my eyelids droop and I slowly fall asleep, wondering why he was taken away from me.
Yesterday was a beautiful day. My new walker and I decided to go for a bit of exercise. I walked and walked and walked. I felt elated. I felt unbound. I felt free. I was out of the house. I was breathing deeply of the fragrance of the honeysuckles and the wild roses that permeated the neighbourhood in spring. As I walked along, I remembered how we used to walk around our lake each morning, Peter and I. On summer nights, we walked to Cunningham Park. The park would be filled with families. Young mothers pushing tots in strollers; other parents kept a watchful eye on their little ones riding tricycles. On park benches, friends would sit and chat. All around the park, there seemed to be a beehive of activity. As we sauntered about, we stopped to watch the old Italian men play bocce and the tennis players at their games. Sometimes the bocce players would be accompanied by their wives. Their ladies were primped up as if they were heading out for an evening date. They would huddle in their own group, chatting in their animated, colloquial Italian. On occasion, they would play old romantic Italian songs on their boombox. I felt I had gone back to a bygone era as we watched them. After our evening walks, we would slowly return home, stopping at the ice cream parlour to get an ice cream cone each. Peter would get Rocky Road; I would get a coffee ice cream cone, and Max, our dog, would get vanilla ice cream in a cup.
One night every summer, the New York Philharmonic would come and entertain the whole neighbourhood with their different productions. Once, they performed La Bohème. Another time, Joshua Bell played his violin! It was always such a treat. The lawn would be covered with families on lawn chairs or blankets. One could see picnic baskets laden with refreshments. Children would play tag and giggle. The people chattered amongst themselves. It was time! At last, a hush fell as the concert began. The sky darkened. The fireflies danced about the night sky like bright little fairies, adding illumination to the already seemingly magical evening.
That is what I thought of as I walked up the oft-trod, familiar road. As I did so, I realized the sharp pain of losing my Peter had somehow dulled overnight. It did not take my breath away in deep, agonizing pain that made me gasp at each breath I drew any longer. Instead, it had transformed into a dull, tolerable ache which I suspect would stay with me until the end of my days.
I returned home and instead of doing my chores, the pups and I relaxed in the garden. They romped about as I curled up on the glider seat and read my book. The different birds were conversing with each other in their different languages. The breeze whispered sweet nothings to the leaves on the trees as it swept through them. The dogs barked happy greetings to passersby. A couple peeked over the fence in curiosity. They smiled and waved when they noticed me curled up in the corner with my book. I smiled and waved back.
I felt a euphoric sense of contentment. What a beautiful day, what a beautiful moment! Of a sudden, I realized that I had given myself permission to go on with my life without my Peter. I realized that it is okay to enjoy life without him. The burden of my grief had become too heavy.
Two years ago, as I stood by his grave, I had told him that he could leave. There was no need for his spirit to linger. He did not have to worry about me. I was going to be fine. His soul had to be at peace. Now I know that is the truth. Taking that walk yesterday had somehow transformed me into a stronger person. I could shed my mantle of grief and live my life as best as I could. It does not mean I do not miss him. It does not mean I no longer love him or yearn to have him by my side as I walk through the path of life. It just means that I am accepting and believing the fact that he is not coming back. He just cannot because he has departed this world. One day I will also, and I know that he will be waiting. He smiles and says, “Milady, shall we?” He will offer me his arm. I link mine with his, and we will resume on a different plane…