In last week’s column, “A final Valentine’s Day lesson of love everlasting,” I told you of my wife’s passing after 68 years of life and almost 49 years of marriage to me. After writing that painful tale, I thought I would take a break from my column to heal, for as long as it took. I doubted if I would have anything to say for today’s column, or for any column in the future, for that matter.
But you changed that.
Within hours of that column’s publication, my email lit up with notes from readers like you. All of them expressed shock and sorrow, letting me know that I was not alone in my grief.
Many — like John K, Brigit S, Patty A, Robert C, Kate B, Phyllis F, Jill K, Judy M, Dolores G, Joan M, Judy D, Regina B, Carole E, Peggy J, Mary H, Virginia S, Michelle J, John M, Judi L, Tom and Annamarie S — were longtime readers who had never written to me before, but who reached out this time to offer their condolences. Many felt they had gotten to know my wife through my stories about her.
Some — like June W, James A, Carole G, John B, Beryl C, Barbara J, Walt F, Gunnar H — have written to me before over the years to comment on something I have written, so hearing from them felt like hearing from old friends, or even family. They said that through the years they too felt they had gotten to know my wife well since I spoke of her often, and they too were taking her loss with tears of sorrow.
Rick H, who has written to me so often we have become pen pals, mentioned some favorite memories he had of Gail, just from reading what I have written about her over the years. He offered a comforting quote from Joe Biden, about how painful memories of loss will fade and leave only memories that bring a smile.
Janina B, who has also written to me before, lost her sister in 2005, and she too shared words to give me strength. A fellow writer, she appreciated how hard (and how healing) it often is to spill your heart on the page for others to read. As someone once said: “Writing is easy. Just sit down and open a vein.”
Others like Kitty D, Gloria B, Dina B, Jim D, Valary B, Carol R, Terry P, George S and Terri C wrote to say they had also recently lost loved ones, and they spoke of the strength I would find in the months and years to come, even if my pain of the moment would seem to suggest otherwise.
Michael W, who worked in hospital ICU’s, offered comfort, suggesting that hearing is the last sense to leave a body at the end of life. He reassured me that Gail heard the love song I sobbed into her ear in her final moments.
Alan P wrote to say that he sobbed as he read of my wife’s passing, though he had never met her other than in print, and he offered a Haitian saying about the balance between joy and sorrow in life: “Remember the rain that grew your corn.”
Mike H, himself married to the same woman for 53 years, sent a poem written by Henry Van Dyke, called “Gone from my sight.” It is too long to print here, but you might want to Google it if you have lost a loved one and are seeking peace. It brought me particular peace because, as coincidence would have it, Gail and I have a quote by Henry Van Dyke painted on a wall of our house. How could he have known?
Susan W, whom we have never met, vowed to plant a clematis in Gail’s memory.
But beneath all the sorrow and the sympathy they have all offered, many readers have written to say that they took my Valentine’s Day lesson of love everlasting to heart. As I suggested at the end of that column, many have turned to loved ones, given them a hug and a smile, and whispered a “thank you” or sang a gentle song in their ear. In my heart, I trust that those who have written are only the tip of the iceberg, and that others I never heard from did the same.
As I said at the start of this column, I didn’t think I would have anything to say today. I thought I might need some time away to lick my wounds and to heal before I was ready to open another vein.
But you changed that.
As my long days, weeks, months and years of caregiving for my ailing wife came to an end, I felt too weary and woeful to do much more than lie down and sleep, sleep, sleep. But you reached out a hand to give me strength, to offer me a shoulder to lean upon. You gave me the strength to write this one for today. Next week? We’ll see. For now, I’m following your advice, taking each day one at a time.
But I wanted you to know that I’m here today, thanks to you.
Because, as it turns out, we are all caregivers, aren’t we?
Author, musician and storyteller TR Kerth is a retired teacher who has lived in Sun City Huntley since 2003. Contact him at trkerth@yahoo.com. Can’t wait for your next visit to Planet Kerth? Then get TR’s book, “Revenge of the Sardines,” available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other online book distributors.
