Get the For Sale sign, the mad woman thinks.

 

Dear John,

Going around the house and yard today doing some dusting and cleaning for tomorrow, weepily, I am aware of being followed or led or just reminded. I can see why the newly widowed pack up and run. There is not a thing in this house and woods that we treasured for 30 years that doesn't speak of you.

The bench I asked you to move to the woods so I could sit and gaze during Advent. I can hear your words: "What will the front of the house where it sits look like without it ?" I am moving it back tomorrow.

Every rose bush, small tree from the Arbor Society, speaks of you. I can see you bent over packing the dirt. The only orchid still with flowers is my Christmas gift from you. The vase of dried flowers I collected that day when you said "yes" to my idea of going to sit by the river writing haiku. It was Christmas and we were alone for the first time. You, John Wayne, said "yes". It was a lovely time. Thank you.

(I know you readers are just waiting for a miracle and there is one.) The other day, while going through my collection of postcards for our writing group, I came upon one attached to a folded card I assumed was blank. It is a picture of the small old church we love in Phoenicia, in the Catskills. I picked it up and almost put it in a stack assuming it was one I bought as a souvenir one summer. Instead I opened to find a Birthday card from you dated 2016. 

Inside, handwritten, was a quote from St Teresa of Avila that you, in the mystery of things, knew I would one day need. You had never quoted a saint in my recollection ever and I don't even remember this handmade card but the words are holding me together. "Let nothing disturb you, nothing frighten you, all things pass, God does not change, patience achieves everything".

Curiously enough, unknown I am sure to you, this quote is on the wall of my home Church and I saw it every Sunday for years.

So, "no", I am not leaving. I will stay as long as possible tending those small trees, sweeping the porch where the wrens perch. I will let these memories wash over me and knock me silly until one day you will greet me again with that smile.