November is a month filled with friends, family, and a promise of plenty around a Thanksgiving table. From the first Thanksgiving in 1612 through to the sparse celebrations during the Pandemic, the idea of giving thanks for blessings has prevailed. A friend and colleague at the Uruguayan American School in Montevideo initiated a challenge for each of us to write ten things for which we are thankful each week. What started as a somewhat lighthearted approach ended after the first month as a serious record of reflected gratitude for the things and events that we may have taken for granted previously. A sunrise, a smile, a thoughtful note, a special class where students had epiphanies about Shakespeare and an unexpected friendship.
This November my gratitude is for the six wondrous years I shared with my dear husband, Ron. The shock of learning of his terminal illness in mid-July and his passing on September 30th has left me numb and reeling. Where do I go from here? What does the future hold for me? In our short time together, Ron and I enjoyed so many adventures and a strong bond of love. He was our savior when my ninety-eight-year-old mother and I faced evacuation for two hurricanes. He loved golf as much as she did, and they connected over what she called: “the greatest game in the world.”
Now I am especially grateful for my daughter and her husband who came from Mobile to Florida, taking almost a month away from their work, to help me pack up the house to prepare it for sale; and then generously offer me a refuge in their home. As I approach a landmark birthday next month, seventy-five years, I am grateful for my health and grateful that I will not be a burden to my daughter or my son, who has also invited me into his home in Granada, Spain, to stay indefinitely.
I haven’t yet felt grateful for a fresh start that was foisted upon me unexpectedly. Somehow, I am not feeling very fresh or even very ready to make a start. I am stalled.
On the evening of October 4th, I went down to the beach and walked along the path that Ron and I so often walked. We would start at the beach near the house and walk about a mile until we saw the two chimneys of the friend's house; we would turn back and retrace our steps. Ron loved watching the sandpipers dance back and forth at the sea's edge and he would sometimes bend down to pick up an unusual shell to add to the collection. The early walks set up the day and gave us time to reflect, share, and glory in the beauty of our island.
So, I waded into the cool water, the waves washing up to my knees, and there I released Ron's ashes to become one with the sea he loved. It was his wish to become part of that great body of water that might carry him as far as the Morocco we had visited together and beyond.
Thus marked the closing of a wonderful life well-lived and one I had the joy and privilege to share for a brief six years. He will live forever in my heart. He was my anchor and now I am adrift.
