We were sitting together on the couch when my husband said to me, 'What would you do if I were to die?'
I thought about it and said, 'I'd probably look to get away for a while on my own. I'd probably travel to a big city, London probably, because I know I can manage London, and I'd walk a lot and go in and out of galleries and take the train to other places, little adventures.'
He listened quietly, which isn't a particular habit of his, so inclined is he to share his opinion.
'What would you do if I died?' I asked.
'I'd travel too but to a remote place, like South America maybe, and I'd go hiking high in the mountains on my own.'
That's the part about him that I missed as a 19 year old girl; that he is quite a solitary man in many ways. What I saw was someone that was able to chat away with so many people in college, who seemed at ease with himself and who could get on his motorbike and take off for an adventure at a moment's notice.
I was the solitary one, scared of my own shadow. I was the one looking to be taken on adventures, to places I didn't know about. He did take me places, in fact. We started our life together in the United States where his career became the centre of our lives. With no visa to work there myself I procured employment in the only legal way possible, to work for another country within the country, and that wasn't exactly a good career move but it was an eye-opener and I don't regret it.
One thing led to another, children were born, and the career never did get going. I have been what is commonly referred to these days as an 'enabler', and I'm aware that this suited me too. The desire to be a wife and mother was my greatest desire, what came before everything else. Until you have babies and pre-schoolers that you can scoop up and kiss and cuddle you can't imagine what a thrill that is; how much love there is in those relationships. Every instinct in my body told me to reach out for that.
I'm very fortunate that the children keep close to me; close to me in their hearts. My eldest son, (and for me the sun shines out of his ass) warmly accepted my invitation to come with me to a couple of talks in town after work soon, and after those we'll walk to a bistro and share an evening meal. I covet that time with him. I'm very lucky to have all that love in my life.
Still, changes are afoot in my life. I can't deny that the breeze that wafts through my door is beckoning, insisting, that I begin to consider the final stage of my life. I spoke to some women older than me about it recently and they nodded, looked very serious and considerate and agreed, this was a transition I was going through. It would take time. I must be gentle with myself, they said.
My husband and I spent a long weekend at the holiday house just gone and we worked together transforming a part of the garden. As usual, I was dog's body, but that was fine because I could see he had got into this project and wanted to call it his own. He did a great job. When I wasn't needed I lay on the bed and read my book, 'The Interestings' by Meg Wolitzer. What a read!
I was dozing when he came into the room and I gathered myself to get him off to the tip (rubbish dump?) but he told me to stay there, to enjoy my nap. I was drifting in and out of sleep, allowing thoughts to come up, noticing them, perhaps trying just a little to sort them into some coherent form.
I could see through the window that a white yacht was slowly making its way down the lake. I was capturing little snippets of it through the pine trees as it meandered along. The breeze was light, the sun mellow and soft, and I luxuriated in the quietness and the gentleness of the afternoon. There was something very tender about the experience, almost 'other world'.
I've noticed that I am constantly seeking alone time right now, happy to walk the dog or go to an exercise class or shop for the food for the meals I make, but not much more. In some way, my mind seems to be asking, should I go quietly into that good night. Is this the way this story plays out? Tender, mellow times? Without a strategic brain, I cannot say. Nor am I in a position to make big decisions right now. I know this assuredly. Some time must pass. There's a little grieving to do. And, then? We'll just have to wait and see.
I thought about it and said, 'I'd probably look to get away for a while on my own. I'd probably travel to a big city, London probably, because I know I can manage London, and I'd walk a lot and go in and out of galleries and take the train to other places, little adventures.'
He listened quietly, which isn't a particular habit of his, so inclined is he to share his opinion.
'What would you do if I died?' I asked.
'I'd travel too but to a remote place, like South America maybe, and I'd go hiking high in the mountains on my own.'
That's the part about him that I missed as a 19 year old girl; that he is quite a solitary man in many ways. What I saw was someone that was able to chat away with so many people in college, who seemed at ease with himself and who could get on his motorbike and take off for an adventure at a moment's notice.
I was the solitary one, scared of my own shadow. I was the one looking to be taken on adventures, to places I didn't know about. He did take me places, in fact. We started our life together in the United States where his career became the centre of our lives. With no visa to work there myself I procured employment in the only legal way possible, to work for another country within the country, and that wasn't exactly a good career move but it was an eye-opener and I don't regret it.
One thing led to another, children were born, and the career never did get going. I have been what is commonly referred to these days as an 'enabler', and I'm aware that this suited me too. The desire to be a wife and mother was my greatest desire, what came before everything else. Until you have babies and pre-schoolers that you can scoop up and kiss and cuddle you can't imagine what a thrill that is; how much love there is in those relationships. Every instinct in my body told me to reach out for that.
I'm very fortunate that the children keep close to me; close to me in their hearts. My eldest son, (and for me the sun shines out of his ass) warmly accepted my invitation to come with me to a couple of talks in town after work soon, and after those we'll walk to a bistro and share an evening meal. I covet that time with him. I'm very lucky to have all that love in my life.
Still, changes are afoot in my life. I can't deny that the breeze that wafts through my door is beckoning, insisting, that I begin to consider the final stage of my life. I spoke to some women older than me about it recently and they nodded, looked very serious and considerate and agreed, this was a transition I was going through. It would take time. I must be gentle with myself, they said.
My husband and I spent a long weekend at the holiday house just gone and we worked together transforming a part of the garden. As usual, I was dog's body, but that was fine because I could see he had got into this project and wanted to call it his own. He did a great job. When I wasn't needed I lay on the bed and read my book, 'The Interestings' by Meg Wolitzer. What a read!
I was dozing when he came into the room and I gathered myself to get him off to the tip (rubbish dump?) but he told me to stay there, to enjoy my nap. I was drifting in and out of sleep, allowing thoughts to come up, noticing them, perhaps trying just a little to sort them into some coherent form.
I could see through the window that a white yacht was slowly making its way down the lake. I was capturing little snippets of it through the pine trees as it meandered along. The breeze was light, the sun mellow and soft, and I luxuriated in the quietness and the gentleness of the afternoon. There was something very tender about the experience, almost 'other world'.
I've noticed that I am constantly seeking alone time right now, happy to walk the dog or go to an exercise class or shop for the food for the meals I make, but not much more. In some way, my mind seems to be asking, should I go quietly into that good night. Is this the way this story plays out? Tender, mellow times? Without a strategic brain, I cannot say. Nor am I in a position to make big decisions right now. I know this assuredly. Some time must pass. There's a little grieving to do. And, then? We'll just have to wait and see.
