David husband of Deb January 15th, 2012

January 15th, 2012

Gotta be cold out there, the cat only did one round of in-out hour. He is currently supervising from the couch. Lucy ate something on the walk yesterday with her friends, thru the night had bad dog flutiness. She was in and out all night, consequently I was up and down. First thing when I was awaken she got Tums and I feel much better.

I got a lesson in how brief life is. David, the husband of Debbie, age 55, died on Friday of a heart attack.

I was at their marriage ceremony. The lesson was driven cruelly, as it just mere moments ago over milk, sugar, tea and breakfast that things, events and life were reviewed and were talked about around a breakfast table. Then time took wing. They went home and so did I.

Shocked one watches as the events of their life recedes. The new saddened soaked one takes possession. The instant you hear, life changes not so much for the listener but for the wife, the sister, the mother.

Before the phone call  it was a telephone day, chitchat of a diversionary kind. After the news was heard, introspection calls were made. Prior to it, there was a walk with a dog walking friend. It was a Sunday kind of day. Quiet gray cold January, marking time until Monday, that day is when the world rushes to commerce.  A book reading kind of day. Burying yourself in the mystery of thieves, tinkers, and spies.  Following, the mystery of life and the injustice that will never see the light of a court hearing.  

Beforehand meals of no consequence, afterwards no a meal of consequence. Peaceful wallowing in naptimes interrupted by the sting of the phone, that lead to night-time insomnia  Hiding in day dreams, next looking at photo albums of recollections. Smooth lines of time flatten into choppy exclamations. The rush and willingness to assist, with no where to go. Empty and idle hands.

The sun is out, the world is turning and goes on, maybe not for the family, the wife, the sister and the mother, and for extended of in-laws, mother, brother and sister,  but not for a while. The fissure in their lives of before and after carved in granite.

Friends, away and distant hear the grief, marking the time, the day. Bowing heads, hands clasped, waiting for the future to assist to listen to hold if only on paper.

Carpe diem,