Three Now

Once again, June comes and brings with it that sinking, gut-punching remembrance of that day. It was three years ago; it was the twenty-eighth; it was yesterday; it is today.


We go through the shock and grief of losing someone. We miss their physical presence, we miss talking to them, getting in the car and going somewhere with them, we miss laughing at them in their faded-down-to-pink shorts and we even bring ourselves to throw that worn piece of clothing away. We also finally throw away all the ties, except the UT one; nobody wants them. We clean out the bathroom cabinet and find pieces of their hair and so we hold on to the comb, the travel kit, the baby food jar of safety pins. We finally throw away more things from the garage: photo lamps that haven’t been used since the 1980s and transistor bulbs that date back to God-knows-when.

After three years we have built a whole new life. We work, we laugh, we take care of business, including putting the house built together up for sale. We are okay. The pain, though, in our chest that was once shock and adrenalin and stabs of loneliness and excruciating loss and what-am-I-going-to-do-now? is now a genuine sadness. For him. He doesn’t get to live anymore. Life keeps going on without him. He was pushed out of it. I imagine some giant hand ramming into his back and saying GO! He was singled out for early death. I don’t know why. It’s not fair.


And so, for now, I am here. I am letting go piece by piece of life as I knew it to be, and I am stepping into newness. I am finding out who I am now. I am living to discover.


3 Comments on “Three Now”

  1. Sarah Barnes says:

    Poitnantly beautiful seems the perfect and sufficient comment.

  2. Agatha Nolen says:

    you’ve described the sadness we all feel when we have loved and then lost someone dear. Whether sudden or after a long illness, we are never ready, never prepared to either accept the solitude nor to move on as only a part of a union. I am sorry for your loss. Your words capture the essence, but also the need to move on into a new dimension of life, albeit with a reluctant first step.
    Beautiful thoughts

  3. Glenda Beall says:

    Kathy, that is all so true. I am in my second year of learning how to live without my husband. The stabbing pain is gone, but the deep sorrow is there when I see his things or his picture. Slowly I am giving away his belongings, torn between guilt of keeping them and sadness of letting them go. In the fall when the football games begin, I wish he were here to enjoy them. Death takes more than the life of one person. It takes away an essential part of the life of the living who loved that person. Thank you for writing so honestly about losing your spouse..

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