Time
It’s almost 6:00 am. I’ve been awake for a couple of hours. The wind woke me. The house is creaking and twitching and groaning. When I first woke, I thought I heard someone downstairs before I realized it was only the wind.
Last night, H cracked the window so I could hear the rain. Do you say “crack” instead of “open” the window a little? I believe it’s a Southern thing. We say crack and a million other things that must fall strangely on the ear of someone who isn’t from here.
My sister married a man from Vermont and moved north as a young bride, first to Wallingford, CT, then Derry, NH, and she finally landed in a beautiful little town that sits at the foot of the White Mountains, Bristol, NH. She loved it there.
She assimilated quickly, sounding more like a native than her husband before long. Naturally, years of jokes and teasing ensued from both sides. I’d say, “Crack the window.” She’d say, “Get the hammer.”
I love New England and miss visiting her there. I still think of her when I say something that is particularly Southern. I don’t think of her every day now, but most days she flutters across my mind. It doesn’t hurt like it used to. Most of the time it makes me smile.
It’s funny how a void demands acknowledgment. After some time passes, it requires less attention, but it forever refuses to be completely ignored. It can never be filled, but if you throw something warm or funny or lovely in it occasionally, it doesn’t seem so vast and dark after a while.
My thoughts are with a particular blogging buddy who has suffered a recent loss. I’m hoping that her void will soften as time passes.
What a bittersweet post. Lovely. On a side note, we went to New Hampshire (Maine, and Niagra Falls, too) on our honeymoon. It was so beautiful.
Thank you, Pam. Do you know that I’ve never been to Niagara Falls, but you do know what it rhymes with? I’m sure you didn’t need that on your honeymoon.
Thanks Bella. It seems to be getting harder with each day–the void seems to be growing. I was so busy for so many days and now, as things to do calms down, the empty spaces grow longer and larger. Everyone goes back to their routines. Not as many phone calls coming in. But–I will be fine!
I’ve heard people say that before, Judy. Others get back to their routines, and you are left to adjust to a new routine. Nothing is the same anymore.
You accomplished so much in the first week. I was amazed. I don’t know how anyone gets through all that. I wish I had some good advice for you, but I think you know what’s best for you… better than anyone else does.
You would be surprised to know how often H and I have thought about you and talked about you and Fred over the past week. Yours was a special relationship.
Lovely post, just lovely.
Thank you, T-shirt. Your post was perfect.
We say crack – cause it’s just open a crack, right? Not all the way?
Loss is so strange to me. I can go for a day or two without thinking of my mother who died in 2005, but then the memory of her just swamps me. Like with the poem I wrote yesterday – she was right there humming in my ear & then she wasn’t.
I loved that poem about your mother. I guess we never realize the impact we have on others. I still hear my mother’s voice when I’m struggling with a decision.
We cracked windows in Iowa, too. Sometimes we cracked jokes, and we always cracked a little corn in the fall. And if we stepped on a crack, there went mama’s back.
Speaking of – it was six months since Mom’s death on January 8, and I didn’t even think of it. Every month until now, when the 8th rolled around, I remembered. The first months, painful. Later, not so much. But this month – only remembered it now.
That’s the way it should be, I think – a movement from remembering the death to cherishing memories of the life. Filling up the void, so to speak.
I agree. That’s the way it should be. The memories should bring comfort or a smile after a while.
We fix things too, that aren’t broken. Like meals and hot baths.
I haven’t suffered much loss in my life, just a grandfather at this point. He wanders through my mind now and then and I cherish that.
Yes, I think they “fix” things in Texas, too. You’re lucky not to have lost many people in you life. It tends to happen as we get older. Part of life and all that, but sad all the same.
We crack windows in Michigan, too. We do both — open and crack, but when it’s just a titch, then it’s a crack!
Reading this post fills me with a sad longing for those we’ve said goodbye to. Those who left too soon, those who moved away and then one day we couldn’t visit them anymore; For me that void never completely disappears, it simply changes in its size and impact, but now and then sharp little bits pop in and remind us. It’s because we love them. And really, some folks never had that.
Glad to know that you’re cracking windows in MI.
I know what you mean about those who leave too soon. That’s the way I felt about my sister and my mother. They both died too young. And you’re right, the void never goes away, but it changes over time. Everything does, I guess.
It’s been over six years and I still long for my sister’s voice.
Deirdre,
I know. When I knew my brother-in-law wasn’t home and before he changed the message, I called my sister’s house several times after she died so I could hear her voice on the answering service.