There’s a reason I’ve been absent from this column for a while. I wasn’t certain I wanted
to write about it, but with a little encouragement, I realized my reasons for this absence
may be the same reasons others find it difficult to deal with the holiday season, not to
mention the new life patterns that inevitably must take shape, when a family member or
other loved one is missing.
As you know, if you’ve followed Words About Wilton for any length of time, my husband
of 40 years died last August. At first, I was in shock and had so much to do just picking
up the pieces of life, along with family members coming and going, that I was distracted
and didn’t realize the new patterns my life would inevitably need to take. But once
everyone was back leading their own lives hundreds and thousands of miles away, I
realized I was now on my own to sort through where life would take me and how I would
choose to lead it, including where I would eventually live for my next life stage.
At first, I had already made so many commitments to interview people I know in Wilton
for Words About Wilton, that I was busy writing column after column with a joy that filled
my life and distracted me from the silence in my home. That was until the holiday
season began creeping up on me. This year even our children are scattered, with
commitments that prevent their joining me. The one constant has been a friend, Joan, I
met In New York City over 60 years ago who lives nearby in Massachusetts. She, Andy
and I always shared each holiday together with her husband and any friends, neighbors
or family members who had the space in their lives to join us. When her husband died, it
was always Joan, Andy and me at the center of each event. If that was all it was in
certain years, that was enough. Our tradition was intact. Often our children visited after
or before the actual date to celebrate as their children were growing up and that was
perfect. But then life irrevocably changed on Aug. 5th.
The first thing I learned is that it is the small everyday things that have changed that
immediately confront you. For instance, when I first went grocery shopping only for myself
without planning for friends and family who initially filled the void in my life, I learned the
patterns I followed in the grocery store needed to change. This realization came when I
found myself filling my basket with the items Andy always asked for until I realized I
didn’t need so many bags of Peet’s Coffee and, no, I didn’t eat raw tuna from the sushi
display. I only ate the veggie sushi. This meant there were aisles I learned to avoid, at
least at the outset.
I discovered that certain catalogs that appear in our mailbox with things Andy loved
needed to be chucked instead of perused, just as finding a book he was reading tucked
into the side of his favorite chair could alter my mood. It didn’t get any better when I began to think about Christmas shopping and realized the pleasure I took was
always centered on how I could surprise him with an unexpected gift, whether it was
something to wear that he coveted; concert tickets to a blues, bluegrass or classical
music event; a trip we had talked about but hadn’t yet planned; or even a new car one
year, but it often was something far less extravagant but cherished. This year my
shopping patterns have become smaller and more focused on family and friends.
I always started planning months in advance, so the holiday season for me started well
before Thanksgiving. This year it crept up without notice other than me making certain
our kids and grandkids were as thoughtfully taken care of as possible. The only thing I
knew was that I didn’t want to be in an empty house for Christmas and my birthday,
which is the 24th. Joan and I have made plans to take care of that. Another new pattern
is being established.
When our kids were little, that was a day we all went out for dinner, meaning we took
them to restaurants where they had to learn to be on their best behavior. That was the only gift I asked from them: “Be mature enough to manage yourselves in
a nice restaurant and make us proud.” I think we all remember those days with a smile
and fondness. As they aged, we still celebrated for two days, but in slightly different
ways, often with their girlfriends and their families in tow. That was until they began
having their own families and needed to create their own traditions, meaning our
gatherings became smaller and more scattered over the seasonal calendar. This year
one of our sons and his family will be visiting just after the 26th for a few days. I’m
looking forward to that visit.
Yet as the days progress toward all the festivities of the season, I’ve found myself
pulling more into myself and not wanting to reach out to others to even conduct an
interview. Even Christmas music makes me sad, with its focus on family and holiday
gatherings around the symbols of the season. Last evening I gathered up my courage
and attended a holiday party hosted by one of my neighborhood friends.
Andy and I always looked forward to this event, but I knew his absence would both be
mentioned by others and felt by me. I’m glad I went, especially since two of the guests
were Jarvis, my Page 2 column neighbor and his wife, Marcia. That was a wonderful
surprise, just as there was the chance to meet with friends I hadn’t seen in a while.
The only part I avoided was the group carol singing, for the sadness I knew it
would bring and my lack of singing ability where it’s always better that I mouth the words
rather than blare them out. How do I know it’s better to be silent? I learned this when I
was singing lullabies to the boys when they were young. When our youngest was
probably 3 or so, he turned to me and asked, “Mommy, could you not sing? It hurts
my ears.” Now you’ll all know why I mouth words while joining in any group “singing”
activity. I only sing to myself when alone at home or in my car. Even then I have to stop myself when I hit too many wrong notes when searching for something that sounds
almost right. The problem is, I love to sing, but it’s a comfort I can’t easily give myself.
Another comfort that escapes me is the ease with which I lived each day looking
forward to what would be coming around the next corner that Andy and I could
experience together. I began avoiding my normal activities and sleeping became an
issue. With a master’s in counseling behind me I also realized this was not healthy. With
a bit of looking and a few referrals, I discovered two wonderful resources I hadn’t
considered in my previous life. One is the Home, Healthcare, Hospice Care’s Grief
Group in Merrimack, and the other is the MAPs counseling services in
Peterborough. I attended my first meeting with the grief support group a few weeks ago
and just concluded my first visit with a counselor affiliated with MAPs. Each proved to
be helpful and I’ll be continuing with both. Friends and family are wonderful resources,
but having those not directly affiliated with me gives me an entirely new perspective not
built on previous expectations nor experiences. I need to establish new patterns and
new ways of looking at life while keeping intact as much of my old life that makes sense.
I’ll be continuing with this column as long as I find new things to write about. But I also
want to return to my art work that I’ve put off for several years while dealing with both
our move away from my beloved art studio in our previous house as well as the ups and
downs of my husband’s health.
As to where I’ll live in the future, I have a plan in place. Both Andy and I put our names
on the waiting list for Rivermead. Mine is still there and it will only be a matter of time
before something comes up that is the right fit and time for me to make the move. Even
though I love my neighborhood and home, all things change, and I know I want to still be
involved in a community I can serve and participate in in some manner.
One thing I want to ask is for you to let me know if there is something I can research
and write about that I may have overlooked, something that has to do with Wilton in any
manner, even if it is a resource located elsewhere that is available to those living in
town of which I may not be aware. Let either the Ledger-Transcript know or let me
know directly. I still have a land line that is in the phone book or you can email me at
gchoar@tds.net.