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Death Anniversary

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We commemorate birthdays, anniversaries, and an array of special occasions. We mark them off as dates to remember and to count how many years have passed since these occasions took place. Mostly, we do this to celebrate, but what about the other dates that we can never forget, even though they are associated with bad memories? How do we pay tribute to those memories, when they involve the most important people in your life?  Today, August 13th, marks the third anniversary of Mark's passing. And on this day I did nothing, except wallow in a pity party I made for myself. It was easy to do this because five weeks ago I had foot surgery for a severely torn ligament in my ankle and I have been homebound for all these weeks. My mobility has been limited to a scooter and now a boot. I cannot drive. I was reminded of Mark in the last few months of his life, where he was constricted by the oxygen that he had to carry around to survive. He was tethered by a tube to a tank. My present situat...
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Anniversary 2026 On this Day, 48 Years Ago.... a 22 year old me and a 24 year old Mark awoke to a beautiful cloudless day, which would always be remembered as our wedding day...except it took me nearly half the day to remember it myself and my children didn't remember it at all (they could've reminded me it was my anniversary). I woke up feeling inexplicably blue and depressed; couldn't get out of bed until almost 10am, was walking around forlorn, and then decided I was going to turn this blog into a memoir and start the process of getting it published. So, I sat down and started reading through my entries and when I got to the one entitled, "Anniversary", it occurred to me that my wedding anniversary would be coming up soon. And then it dawned on me that this day was my wedding day. And I had totally forgotten it. And then I realized why I was feeling the way I was.   I started thinking about me as that 22 year old girl, so innocent and naive on that day, a lifet...
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2026~ Living in Two Worlds

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 A new year has begun. It started as an unseasonably chilly one here in south Florida, which characteristically annoyed the residents; quite a few ladies even complained that their furs (from the last century) were still up in NY. Luckily, we didn’t have to endure any of the weather up north and lately we have had gorgeous, cloudless days with temperatures up in the 80s and no humidity.  I’ve been hearing birds chirping more than usual now. It sounds like the birds of spring who are returning to their home. Their sound fills me with some comfort, maybe because birds always remind me of my maternal grandmother. This time of year also reminds me of my grandma, Fannie, who lived with my family until her death when I was almost 16. That was exactly one day and 54 years ago. She was 89 and never lost her sense of humor. As a matter of fact, the day the EMTs from the ambulance wheeled her out the door to take her to the hospital, we all went over to her to ask her if she was okay, she r...
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Two Years, 2 Months, 24 Days

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  That’s how long I have been a widow. When I divulge this fact some people respond with,  “That long, already!?” or “Geez, that went by fast!” How do I respond to these remarks? I don’t, of course, not out loud; although, in my head, I’m thinking…  That’s how long I have been a widow. When I impart this fact some people respond with, “That long, already!?” or “Geez, that went by fast!” How do I respond to these remarks? I don’t, of course, not out loud; although, in my head, I’m thinking… Long? To me, it feels as if it happened just yesterday because when I open my eyes every morning, I relive the scene of Mark, with his swollen hands, twice as large as an average man, and his head, swollen four times its normal size. I see one of the surgeons who was on call, explaining what happened, but I do not hear the words coming out of his mouth, it’s as if I put the mute feature on. I can’t help hearing the beeping of the ECMO machines, and my children and grandchildren weeping....
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Anniversary

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  Dear Mark Today is our wedding anniversary.  Forty-seven years ago we stood under a chuppa*  alongside our parents,  your brother, the best man,  my sister, the maid of honor,  and committed our lives to one another.  I could close my eyes and imagine myself back on our wedding day,  so young,  so naive,  so sure that our life would never go by as fast as it has.  Today, only my sister and I remain on this earth.  Time has stolen many of the people we love.  We are like a grain of sand in this mysterious universe we are part of.  But our love is so much more than that.  Our love expands beyond the universe,  the moon,  the sun,  the stars,  the galaxies.  And my grief is the gravity weighing me down,  like a bag of sand,  that I carry around while I try to exist on this earth,   without you.  *A chuppah (also spelled huppah, chupah, or chuppa) is a canopy used i...
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If You Die, I Will Love You Forever and Always

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It’s getting closer to my 69th birthday, which is this Tuesday. I will be the same age as Mark was when he died. Sadly, I finally caught up to him. Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about death, mortality, whether a higher power exists, and the soul.  I began wondering about death when I was almost old enough to understand it. My first experience with death was my father’s mother dying when I was very young. I only recall her not being much of a grandmother to me. I remember my Uncle Fintz dying of a brain tumor in his mid-forties; I can always picture him smiling at me so lovingly a few weeks before he died. He was the youngest of my mother’s six brothers and her best friend, only two years older than she was. I was not allowed to go to the funeral because I was a child, only 10, so I stayed at home watching my grandmother weep inconsolably for her child.  I couldn’t bear the thought of my cousin, Jane, who was my age, not having her father anymore. This made me imagine my own...
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Can You Mend a Broken Heart?

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    Sunday. This is the day I dread every week because it's the day I began this new unplanned life, a life I never wanted. I relive the same experience every Sunday– the beeping of the life support machines; my children and grandchildren weeping; Brodie, the nurse, gently putting his hand on my back; someone calling “time of death”; the doctor embracing me and crying along with me; calling Meryl to tell her and hearing her sob. It just comes back to me, whether I want it to or not. It’s almost cathartic. Sometimes it’s as familiar as stubbing your toe or banging your knee and waiting to feel the excruciating pain, then having it slowly subside. Every Sunday. Maybe it’s to keep him alive in some way. Maybe it’s just to remind me I have to begin again–not just a new week, but a new life. Maybe in some way I believe this ritual can mend my broken heart. Can you mend a broken heart, though? The days, weeks and months seem to be going by so quickly. I am getting closer to my ...
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