Her loss, My loss
I made an observation the other night. An observation that I was not expecting, nor did I see coming. Something that hit me so profoundly, that it took my words away for a moment and all I could do was simply sit and watch and take it in. And then reflect.
My grandfather passed away 7 weeks to the day before my husband. He was in his eighties and lived a long, full life. He was a nuclear chemist and an accomplished musician. He and my grandmother married when he was in his thirties, she in her twenties. They lived in Oakridge Tennessee, raised three sons and one daughter, and traveled the world together. They lived a wonderful life, and always seemed happy and loving to one another. I always remember my grandfather being so affectionate towards my grandmother. They were truely in love.
On February 13, 2007 my grandmother became a widow at the age of 73. On April 3, 2007, I became a widow at the age of 26. Both of us lost our husbands. Both to cancer. We both lost our world as we knew it. We both lost the half that made us whole. Our life partners. Our soul mates. And with a 47 year age difference between us, our pain was the same, our loss was the same, but our lives going forward would be immeasurably different.
I came down stairs Friday night, getting ready for a "first date." I walked into the sun room where my grandmother was relaxing on a sofa. I asked her opinion on what jacket I should wear on my date. She was very sweet. She told me which one, in her opinion, was better. I went with her advise and sat down on the chair across from her and waited for my date to arrive.
As I was sitting there, I saw, firsthand, the biggest difference in our parallel fate. And what I saw broke my heart. She had turned on some jazz music. Ella Fitzgerald to be exact. She had closed her eyes and leaned back on the couch. Above her, on a shelf, was a picture of her and my grandfather playing music together. They looked so young, so full of life, so happy to be together. As I saw the picture and heard the music, it took even me back to those early days of their life together. I looked down and realized that as a widow her age, her future painted a very different picture than a widow my age. She looked so lonely. And at that moment, I couldn't imagine her kind of pain. I really empathized with her. For me, on days that I am really down, or really struggling with missing Michael, it's the hope that I will find love again that gets me through. Its the hope of one day having a family, making memories, building a lifetime with someone that pushes me to move on, to take steps to move forward and get past my heartache. But for her, she had love, she had a family, she had a lifetime with someone, and now all she has left are memories. I can't imagine trying to get through the day knowing that your one and only love is gone.
Her loss and my loss. Same loss, same reason, same pain...totally different future.
My grandfather passed away 7 weeks to the day before my husband. He was in his eighties and lived a long, full life. He was a nuclear chemist and an accomplished musician. He and my grandmother married when he was in his thirties, she in her twenties. They lived in Oakridge Tennessee, raised three sons and one daughter, and traveled the world together. They lived a wonderful life, and always seemed happy and loving to one another. I always remember my grandfather being so affectionate towards my grandmother. They were truely in love.
On February 13, 2007 my grandmother became a widow at the age of 73. On April 3, 2007, I became a widow at the age of 26. Both of us lost our husbands. Both to cancer. We both lost our world as we knew it. We both lost the half that made us whole. Our life partners. Our soul mates. And with a 47 year age difference between us, our pain was the same, our loss was the same, but our lives going forward would be immeasurably different.
I came down stairs Friday night, getting ready for a "first date." I walked into the sun room where my grandmother was relaxing on a sofa. I asked her opinion on what jacket I should wear on my date. She was very sweet. She told me which one, in her opinion, was better. I went with her advise and sat down on the chair across from her and waited for my date to arrive.
As I was sitting there, I saw, firsthand, the biggest difference in our parallel fate. And what I saw broke my heart. She had turned on some jazz music. Ella Fitzgerald to be exact. She had closed her eyes and leaned back on the couch. Above her, on a shelf, was a picture of her and my grandfather playing music together. They looked so young, so full of life, so happy to be together. As I saw the picture and heard the music, it took even me back to those early days of their life together. I looked down and realized that as a widow her age, her future painted a very different picture than a widow my age. She looked so lonely. And at that moment, I couldn't imagine her kind of pain. I really empathized with her. For me, on days that I am really down, or really struggling with missing Michael, it's the hope that I will find love again that gets me through. Its the hope of one day having a family, making memories, building a lifetime with someone that pushes me to move on, to take steps to move forward and get past my heartache. But for her, she had love, she had a family, she had a lifetime with someone, and now all she has left are memories. I can't imagine trying to get through the day knowing that your one and only love is gone.
Her loss and my loss. Same loss, same reason, same pain...totally different future.
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