February

Around mid-January I found myself turning teary while listening to the sad news or the occasional good news story on the radio, hearing just about any music, or seeing my dear elderly companions as they each navigate their days. I was teary when a retired nurse from my assisted living area recently returned for a day to fill an open space on the schedule. She is a very formal efficient sort of woman, and when I greeted her as I rolled past the nurse’s station in my wheelchair, she stepped out from behind her desk and came around to give me a hug. My friends and I were astonished at this display of affection. It touched me deeply and I saved shedding the tears sparkling in my eyes for when I returned to my room. I teared again up today when the sun shone bright after weeks of dreary cold weather. It was fifty degrees F on the first of February, and I went outside on my mobility scooter to enjoy the fresh air for the first time in a month. The above photo of melting ice on the pond is from that excursion. Joy undid me. It doesn’t take much. I, too, am melting.

I am not feeling sad, just very vulnerable. I know this emotional upwelling is because we are approaching Valentine’s Day, marking the sixth anniversary of my husband death. I try to remain available to whatever arises in me to mark this occasion. My daughters and I usually score some chocolate chip ice cream to honor his memory, just as we did when we served ice cream to the hundreds who attended his memorial. Grief is an unpredictable ongoing phenomenon. So far, this year is offering me a delightful mixture of nostalgia, memories, gratitude, and joy. I have written before about how grief is tied to gratitude. My heart was cracked wide open when Richard was dying. It appears that it has never again closed as tightly as before. This is what the touchstone of this anniversary is revealing to me. Losing him was his gift to me of a still opening heart.

Of course I miss him, and the intimacy of a partner who knew every fault I have and loved me anyway- the jokes we invented together when we were teenagers falling deeply in love- or co-parenting two cherished daughters- and the knowledge of how he would have adored his two grandsons had he lived to meet them. I embrace missing that Richard, the man who was my husband for almost fifty years. I also know how happy he would be that I live in a wonderful new home where I am supported at all levels of my being to thrive and live the last chapter of my life without his physical presence. His devoted life work provided me with the opportunity to live at Kendal at Oberlin and I am grateful for that alone every day.

May Valentine’s Day be not just a commercial reminder to buy cards, flowers, and chocolates, (there’s nothing wrong with any of those!) to show our love for others but also to serve as a deeper touchstone for sharing our love and light every day with all beings in our lives.

I have likely posted this song some years ago? but I post it here again with my voice of loving remembrance.

My February Song                   1/22/20                    by Judi Bachrach

February is the month you had to leave me

My heart is held within the hand of memories

March lions chase the cold

New lambs cry in the fold

Every year, Every year,

Every year creates new seasons for my life.

April drenches me with pouring rain and sun

May flowers born of hope rise up in everyone

June, July and August

Summer blesses each of us

Every year, Every Year,

Every year creates new seasons for my life.

September burns to colors of the molting Earth

October catches leaves for her great rebirth

November calls me home,

giving thanks for everyone

Every year, Every year,

Every year creates new seasons for my life.

December takes me into the darkest night

January starts a new year in returning light

February comes again,

with a day for love and then

Every year, Every Year,

Every Year creates new seasons for my life.