Nancy, you've outdone yourself. What a beautiful piece. It reflects back to us the love (because I know that's there). The grieving in advance of his leaving, which he'll be damned if he does!
Your husband is kind of a miracle when one looks at his lifelong accomplishments and his productivity. He perseveres, he's ornery, and smart as they come.
My wish for him, is for his fear of death to leave him. Because the way you've described it to me, it feels like terror. My father experienced denial and depression as he was dying (he would never say he was dying), but he never made peace with his coming end or the life he had and a lot of the choices he made. My dad existed for the last 5 years of his life in an almost constant state of terror.
Witnessing his terror was more painful than losing him. When he died it was a relief. For me, and for him.
I wanted more for him. I wanted him to feel a sense of freedom, but because of his unwillingness to surrender it didn't happen. But he was never willing, as his body diminished he couldn't look in that mirror to see his true condition. A spiritual practice has helped me immensely. I was pretty doubtful about seeking it and finding it. It felt woo-woo and potentially embarrassing!
One of the most valuable lessons I've learned and integrated from my work in 12-step and therapy is that we have virtually no control over anything. Once I realized that, and accepted it, my life opened up. When one loses the fear of dying, we become free. I believe that now. But, we don't know what comes next. It is, indeed, a mystery. Nothing is as cut and dry as I once needed it to be. I'm okay with not knowing all the answers. Now I really sound woo-woo.
Love you, my friend. I know this is hard. We don't want to leave! xo
Yes. Realizing how little control we have is a gift. Hence Improv, which I started up again tonight. Laughed for three hours. Oh yes. Laughter is life. xoxo
Nancy, this is beautiful and touching. That ThaiThai would grumble is adorable. Saxophone music is SO sexy! What joy!
Larry and I were 17 years apart. He was the older. You're right, it never mattered until it did.
The yearning for sound is one of the greatest privileges of life. Larry’s hospice nurse told me that hearing is one of the last things to go before death. Something I didn't know. Now, the silence without him is often deafening. A few years ago, we bought a baby grand for our anniversary and I know he wanted it for me, always saying You are the talented one of us. And there is some truth to that, haha, but when I couldn’t play and I was dealing with cancer, he played beautifully. His long, capable fingers were a perfect fit for the keyboard a hidden talent! And Cooper barks like he’s never had a better life when I play. xo
Maureen! I'm so happy to find you on Nancy's post. Nancy is one of my dearest friends. So interesting that age difference is the same for both of you. I think about you often and wonder how you're doing. xo
Nancy, you have honed into something very specific and quite heart-wrenching: the power of the absence of a particular sound. I look forward to more killer observations as this phase continues.
Nancy, this is such a poignant and touching essay. So heartfelt and one that is easy to relate to. We pass through life and forget to smell the flowers until fall is on its way and we know we will miss them. You have a wonderful life - so filled with and devotion. My heart goes out to you. xo
It's real, that's for sure. My hubby is 13 years older than I, and at 78, he's just not interested in taking 4 mile walks just for fun anymore. He's very active still but he focuses on what he's *got* to get done, like working on our sailboat this summer. Bless him for that!
Thank you, Nancy. I’m right there with you. I’m 74 and my husband is 89. He is still active and I see a huge difference in him over the past several years which is equally challenging and heart melting. The silver lining is that we’ve become so much closer as he accepts his vulnerability. The challenge for me is finding refuge.
My refuge is Improv. I started taking classes last fall. At first it was one of the most challenging things I've done. Now, I'm hooked. I laugh for 3 hours. Totally different from anything I've ever done in my life. And a night out with friends. xo
I was widowed at 29 after 8 years with my first husband. My husband now is 14 years older and if all goes as well as it possibly can, I know I will be widowed again. Worth it.
Touching, tender and appropriately unresolved. The age difference, which didn’t matter until it did, simply is. This is one of the most REAL essays I’ve read lately about aging.
Nancy, you've outdone yourself. What a beautiful piece. It reflects back to us the love (because I know that's there). The grieving in advance of his leaving, which he'll be damned if he does!
Your husband is kind of a miracle when one looks at his lifelong accomplishments and his productivity. He perseveres, he's ornery, and smart as they come.
My wish for him, is for his fear of death to leave him. Because the way you've described it to me, it feels like terror. My father experienced denial and depression as he was dying (he would never say he was dying), but he never made peace with his coming end or the life he had and a lot of the choices he made. My dad existed for the last 5 years of his life in an almost constant state of terror.
Witnessing his terror was more painful than losing him. When he died it was a relief. For me, and for him.
I wanted more for him. I wanted him to feel a sense of freedom, but because of his unwillingness to surrender it didn't happen. But he was never willing, as his body diminished he couldn't look in that mirror to see his true condition. A spiritual practice has helped me immensely. I was pretty doubtful about seeking it and finding it. It felt woo-woo and potentially embarrassing!
One of the most valuable lessons I've learned and integrated from my work in 12-step and therapy is that we have virtually no control over anything. Once I realized that, and accepted it, my life opened up. When one loses the fear of dying, we become free. I believe that now. But, we don't know what comes next. It is, indeed, a mystery. Nothing is as cut and dry as I once needed it to be. I'm okay with not knowing all the answers. Now I really sound woo-woo.
Love you, my friend. I know this is hard. We don't want to leave! xo
Yes. Realizing how little control we have is a gift. Hence Improv, which I started up again tonight. Laughed for three hours. Oh yes. Laughter is life. xoxo
I love that for you SO MUCH. I love that it stuck, that you want it. Great. xo
Level 3!
I know! You told me last week. So proud of you. xo
Nancy, this is beautiful and touching. That ThaiThai would grumble is adorable. Saxophone music is SO sexy! What joy!
Larry and I were 17 years apart. He was the older. You're right, it never mattered until it did.
The yearning for sound is one of the greatest privileges of life. Larry’s hospice nurse told me that hearing is one of the last things to go before death. Something I didn't know. Now, the silence without him is often deafening. A few years ago, we bought a baby grand for our anniversary and I know he wanted it for me, always saying You are the talented one of us. And there is some truth to that, haha, but when I couldn’t play and I was dealing with cancer, he played beautifully. His long, capable fingers were a perfect fit for the keyboard a hidden talent! And Cooper barks like he’s never had a better life when I play. xo
Maureen! I'm so happy to find you on Nancy's post. Nancy is one of my dearest friends. So interesting that age difference is the same for both of you. I think about you often and wonder how you're doing. xo
Piano. What a wonderful legacy and remembrance. Cooper seems better adjusted than ThaiThai.
Nancy, you have honed into something very specific and quite heart-wrenching: the power of the absence of a particular sound. I look forward to more killer observations as this phase continues.
Thank you.
I feel the love and the deep yearning. The sexy held in memory.
Your tender words so exquisitely and subtly express fear, loss, grief, and loving devotion. Your writing gives me a glimpse of your beautiful soul
And your friendship, and Michael's, means so much to me.
My husband is 10 years older than I. It haunts me. His mom lived to 94, my mom to 97. For now, we cling to each other and keep saying “I love you."
So hard.
WOW Nancy
This is powerful, tender, exquisite writing. I feel you. You never know. Thank you for sharing such a deep and personal story. Sending you big hugs.
Thank you. No, we don't ever know.
Nancy, this is such a poignant and touching essay. So heartfelt and one that is easy to relate to. We pass through life and forget to smell the flowers until fall is on its way and we know we will miss them. You have a wonderful life - so filled with and devotion. My heart goes out to you. xo
Thank you, Ann.
Beautiful, Nancy.
This is beautiful...and unforgettable ♥️
Thank you.
It's real, that's for sure. My hubby is 13 years older than I, and at 78, he's just not interested in taking 4 mile walks just for fun anymore. He's very active still but he focuses on what he's *got* to get done, like working on our sailboat this summer. Bless him for that!
Beautiful Nan. And breaks my heart.
Bun
Yep.
Thank you, Nancy. I’m right there with you. I’m 74 and my husband is 89. He is still active and I see a huge difference in him over the past several years which is equally challenging and heart melting. The silver lining is that we’ve become so much closer as he accepts his vulnerability. The challenge for me is finding refuge.
My refuge is Improv. I started taking classes last fall. At first it was one of the most challenging things I've done. Now, I'm hooked. I laugh for 3 hours. Totally different from anything I've ever done in my life. And a night out with friends. xo
I loved this.
I was widowed at 29 after 8 years with my first husband. My husband now is 14 years older and if all goes as well as it possibly can, I know I will be widowed again. Worth it.
You were a young bride! Yes, worth it.
Touching, tender and appropriately unresolved. The age difference, which didn’t matter until it did, simply is. This is one of the most REAL essays I’ve read lately about aging.
Thank you, Rona. The seeds of it began at Casa Paloma.
Nancy, this is beautiful. Memories, grief, fear, love-all there. Brought a teat to my eye. Beautiful!
Well thanks, Franny. Really, you've been through it all with me, as it were.