6 months after my wife's death, I received a phone call that stunned me!
2024-07-11 15:37:31
TiranaPost
My wife Rebecca and I celebrated our 26th anniversary while she was receiving inpatient care at a colon cancer pain management center.
That day I dressed up and brought her an elegant blue dress, photos from our wedding and a bottle of her favorite Barbaresco.
Rebecca was feeling a little less miserable, so after we shared memories of the wedding, she reminded me of what she expected of me as she imagined my life without her. She told me she wanted me to help our girls as much as I could, emotionally and financially, and not fall apart or be afraid to love again - because despite the pain, it would be worth it.
'Please, not today,' I said as I took her hand and kissed it.
'It's our anniversary!'
'I know, but you've had a rough few years too.'
'Nothing compared to you,' I shot back.
Rebecca had actually told me all this dozens of times. She had been staring death in the eye for almost three years – ever since we learned the cancer had spread to her lungs.
We both knew this was our last anniversary together. Rebecca was only 53 years old.
'I'm sorry, but I feel guilty for putting you all through this,' she said.
'Guilty of being sick?'
'Yes. The last three years have been the hardest for you, but the rest will be the hardest for the girls," she said. 'You'll find someone new, but they're losing their mother.'
She had a determined look on her face and pulled her arm away.
“Even if you meet someone here in the hospital now, stay open! I just find someone that girls like too.”
'Damn it, stop it!' I said raising my voice a little. Everything was too much. 'Please!'
Rebecca had done fieldwork for her PhD in economics in the highlands of Ecuador, trying to help indigenous people. Later, she worked for the UN in Rome. Even last year, it had done extensive training with the Red Cross to help people leave their homes after the fires. And, with her dear friend Deb and me, she had even chosen a place to rest by a stream.
She fought another month after our anniversary. I told him the last words that he was the best man I had ever met.
That afternoon, I sat with our daughters next to where she was resting. We each closed our eyes as we traveled through the memories that burned.
The four of us had come there together before. Even today we were together. Rebecca had picked the perfect spot just for this moment and many more to come.
Condolences poured in from people around the world: old colleagues in Rome, Ecuador and Tanzania; friends from four continents; an elderly couple he had recently met at a bonfire; lives she had touched. But then the crowd left and I went back to sleep in the same bed, the very place where she had struggled - and where she had finally found peace.
The bright sunny days of October turned into the dreary gray skies of November in Wisconsin. I was alone in our house, surrounded by Rebecca's things and all my memories…
I learned a lot about grief. It was easier to deal with her things - keep them or throw them away. I learned that things, no matter how many memories they carry, are just things. I tried to stay alone as much as possible to cry. Sometimes I would cry even at work, but I would turn my chair to look out the window so others wouldn't see me. I missed Rebecca terribly, but the girls and I made it through our longest winter yet.
In April, I got a call from Rebecca's best friend, Deb. Deb told me that Rebecca had asked her to call me six months after her death to encourage me to go out and meet new people – including women.
Rebecca!
Even after she left, she was still finding a way to show me how much she cared. She taught me so much about courage, compassion and love. For him, love was a generous form. It was a way of seeing and appreciating the other person from beyond the moment—even from beyond the grave. She knew how hard my life would be without her, but her love wasn't about a jealous grip—it was about helping to set me free. There is a deep truth in this.
As everyone who, like me, has lost a life partner knows, life is divided before and after the death of a spouse. The pain never goes away completely. I still miss Rebecca. For me, grief is like then.
It's been 10 years since she died. I have been fortunate to find another partner and have not felt a second of guilt about moving on with my life because of the gift she left me.
*Personal story of journalist Jeffrey D. Boldt
