The countdown

Well I'm down to about fifty--fifty notes yet to write in response to memorials and heartfelt cards written to us after Pete's death.  My choosing to pen my gratitude (rather than signing my name to a pre-printed sentiment) is taking hours, but it's what I need, what my inner soul needs.  Reading the cards and responding in kind is allowing me to acknowledge the gift and the giver, but it's also opening Pete's life to me in areas I never knew existed.  There's the roommate from Luther (class of '63) whom I'd never met, and the ninety-three year old former swimnastics gal ("Dear Pete's wife, I liked Pete").  Their words and memories bring Pete into a new light for me, and I love it. My loss of Pete is becoming more profound.  The initial euphoria of egads, no more caregiving! has grown into "what an amazing guy I married." And for some reason the Pete of now I prefer more than the Pete of old, which is I guess God's way of working things out for me.  I feel more privileged to have been Pete's wife, to have shared life with him, to have been on his team and his joined-at-the-hip partner for 37 years of his life.

And I guess God knew what he was doing when gave me a head start in this being independent stuff.  I had Pete in the stands cheering me on as I learned the ropes, performed the tasks, and perfected the technique of self-sufficiency. And now those earthly ties have been cut, and I'm on my own.

As I watch the full moon set in the West this morning, I know the serenity I feel right now will come and go, just as the full moon comes and goes.  I'm not quite equipped yet to step into the waters of fully comprehending Pete's death.  I still have things to work out, some inner, tangled emotions to uncoil, some memorial responses to write.

But the process (and the moon and friends and wine) are helping me clear the path toward understanding, toward confidence, toward the yes in a life yet to be.