Month: July 2023

The Why of it

Why don’t we ask “Why?” more?

We might find important things if we asked why — things with more precise meaning and definition that my use of the word “things” might suggest. Why am I pouring words on a page, for example, and what shall I do with them? Why do I even want to do anything with them? Is this the day I stop writing because I have lost the why or misplaced the why or realized I never had a why in the first place? Or do I recall the child-me would put words on the page because it was fun, recapture that child’s why, and keep writing for the rest of my life? Is it the why or the fun that is more important — and, of course, why would that be?

Or, ecclesiastically speaking, would we find that all is meaningless in the end? And what do we mean by meaning, anyway? Does anything or everything have to have a purpose or a utility? Is existence not enough enough? One must admit — mustn’t one? — that existence is a good start. You can’t have a why or a purpose if you don’t exist and/or never existed.

If all is meaningless, though, why do I ramble on for page after page? Because I want to, of course — I want to spread proverbial wings and climb proverbial mountains, but most of all I want to write words on paper because that is how I have had fun for almost 70 years, ever since I first saw markings appear where I touched utensil to paper, ran to Mom and said, “I made this!!”

That’s why.

Still waters, goodness and mercy

I read a few Psalms to my beloved Red as she passed to what comes next. I was amused with myself as I read her the 23rd.

I was reading the New International Version translation of the ancient song, so clearly the words in front of me were: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he restores my soul.”

But darned if the words that came out of my mouth weren’t: The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.”

That darned King James; even after all these years — the NIV came out in 1978 — the old words of his poetry still resonate in my mind.

And such a reassuring message —

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies … Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”

They may be the most comforting words ever written. OK, I’m prone to hyperbole, but they’re pretty darn good, aren’t they?

Last goodbyes

Friday night we officially said goodbye to Red. I spent the morning assembling three bulletin boards full of photos that made me realize again what a very beautiful woman I spent the last quarter century with. I collected a pair of her soiled work gloves, some gardening tools and several garden hats to display by her urn. And I packed a small table she refinished and beautifully decorated to show off her artistic touch.

Speaking of the urn, I thought I was holding together remarkably well until I turned the corner into the room where her earthly remains were stored in that pretty lavender colored container. Sometimes the grief creeps up on you, and sometimes it’s a sucker punch. This was definitely the latter; I was unable to function for a few moments and had to sit down.

A comforting number of people were able to make it — if you didn’t, no worries, I understand — some from a great distance. We cried, we laughed, and mostly we remembered one very remarkable woman. I am not worthy of such a woman, but she took me into her life anyway, and I am forever blessed as a result.

Several of my friends have lost their own wives and came to support me because they have lived through the same nightmare. It was good to see them and I hope to see them again soon.

Tomorrow as I write this, and today as you read this,I begin living my “new normal.” I wonder what that will be like. It feels pretty empty right now, and it’s up to me to fill it back up. Onward and upward, I guess.