Six

Dear Mark,

Every year as the anniversary of your death approaches, I always say, “I can’t believe it’s been __ years.” Time has marched on which sometimes feels unforgiveable. I have flashbacks often, but when there is a hint of changing colors, and the sound of early morning band practice from the high school cuts through the crisp air, they ramp up. I don’t analyze them for answers any more as I have done plenty of that. They are more of a curiousity to me about a time in our lives that still feels like a terrible dream.

Much has changed in the last year. Last fall my aunt died, in January my uncle. Such a lovely man, and if anyone deserved to have a flight of angels sing him to his rest, it was Paul. In April, it was my mom. We prayed for her death – three years on hospice and she couldn’t let go. I think she learned at four years old that when her dad died she just needed to hang on, and hang on she did. She was shockingly thin at the end and there are some images of those last hours that I wish I could erase. How two good people like her and my dad had such horrible end days will always haunt me. Her wake was exactly what she would have wanted – filled with family and friends, a gathering of pure love. I was so proud to be a part of the family that her and Dad made. The next day at her funeral the priest kept calling her by the wrong name. At first I thought I misheard it, but once he went down the road he never came back and so now we refer to her as Peggy.

Maggie and Nate and the kids are thriving. This summer they went to Hilton Head which was a relatively unknown place when we went for our honeymoon 41 years ago. They have the most beautiful beach babies – I think we planted that seed in all of our kids long ago on the shores of Lake Michigan. You would so love being their grandpa. Will has had a rough ride of late – bravely ended a relationship and engagement that was not right for him. He is missing you terribly through this upheaval in his life but is righting his ship, and after weeks of constant worry about him and his emotional health, I feel like I can exhale. Mallory and Rubin are the hip couple from LA who come into town and fill us in on all the cool stuff we’re missing in the Midwest. Mal is still in school, still working full-time, and is dancing again – this time for fun. I imagine you and her in deep conversations about her masters program and you peppering her with questions. On paper it all seems good, but your absence in their lives is profound and painful, so I will ask you again and again to please watch over them.

In the last year my life has changed the most. Last September I met Michael who you knew. All those nights I laid in bed, bereft and heartbroken, asking you to send me someone to love and you delivered a gem. Between us we have 75 years of marriage and things are different this go ’round. We don’t fall into pettiness as we are too aware of how short life is, how fast everything can change, and so we live accordingly. I am unsure how I have been so fortunate in my life to love and be loved by two such passionate, kind, and honorable men.

The other day I was telling my therapist about some flashbacks I was having to your funeral. How it was so important to me that I made people believe that I was okay, how I welcomed everyone with a smile so they weren’t afraid to talk to me, how the distraught on their faces never gave way to my own. I kept my back straight, stayed focused, and never faltered. She listened to all of it and then said, “You didn’t know how to be a wife who was suddenly alone because your husband ended his life, but you knew how to be a hostess.” I have yet to recover from that observation of hers.

Some days I still want to burn everything to the ground out of frustration and grief and rage, but for the most part, gratitude is my daily prayer. And you probably already know this, but there has not been a single day in all these years that I haven’t spoken your name. You live on and so do we.

love,
k.