TheBanyanTree: Out of Control

[Margaret R. Kramer]

Today is the three month anniversary of Ray’s death.  He died on February
25, 2008, and I think his death certificate says he died at like 12:30 pm or
something or maybe it was 11:30 pm.  I just remember sitting there, holding
his foot when I could, as they tried to keep him alive in a tired and worn
out body.

Finally, the head doctor told me that further efforts would be useless, and
I agreed.  They took him off of the respirator and Asher, Susan, and I held
him and stayed with him until he took his breath.  Right before he died, I
turned off the lights.  I wanted him to leave his body gently and softly and
without the glare of the fluorescent lights in his closed eyes.

Ray is in his “better place,” watching my back when he can.  I talk to him
all the time.  Over the past three months, I’ve accepted that he’s gone and
my life has to go on without him.  As much as I want to die to be with him,
I also am coming to realize that the plan for me is to stay here and get
things done.  What the “things” are, I don’t know.  But I’ll figure it out
eventually.

My life has changed tremendously in the last three months.  I was only alone
for eight weeks before Asher and my grandsons moved in with me.  That’s
going very well, much better than I thought it would.

However, Friday night, my son was beaten up and stabbed in the arm at a
party, he’s OK, but he looks terrible, and Susan is back on the scene.  I’ll
have to have a talk with them later today about the living rules here.  I
can’t have her move in my house.  Ray and I went through this once before
when they lived with us.  She’s too disruptive, she’s an absolute pig, and I
just don’t need all the drama associated with their relationship.  Plus,
Asher was really getting himself together, and the combination of those two
doesn’t promote any growth, especially for him.

I began working a second job.  I love scoring standardized tests, but I’m
glad it’s over for a while.  My brain was turning to mush.  I expanded
myself by being a supervisor and I did very well.  I found out that I can
make connections with people and lead a team.  I have to work on giving
criticism.  I’m a marshmallow.

Finally, I’m in love.  Now how can that be after just three months?  I
thought I put love in moth balls.  I never was going to use that emotion
again.  And if I did use it, well, that would be years from now.

But there was Joe in my grief group.  His wife died on January 3 from colon
cancer.  And he started calling me . . . and I finally started answering the
phone.  We started spending more time together.  And we became lovers.  We’
ve had a fight.  And we’ve made up.

I remember thinking when I would drive home from grief group that he was
perfect for me, but I would have to wait a year, and then he’d be plucked
off the vine by someone else.

A couple of weeks ago, I could see Ray pointing his finger at me and saying,
“Love, look, I found this guy for you.  I know you’re unhappy.  I know you
miss me.  I know you miss love.  I want you to have a best friend.  I want
you to experience sex again.  I want you to be happy.  Here he is.  Take
him!

“Take him now and be happy.  Then when it’s your time, we’ll be together
again.  It’s my gift to you.”

And there it is.

Joe and I are going together to the cemetery today.  His wife is also buried
at Fort Snelling (Joe was in the Air Force).

Margaret R. Kramer
margaretkramer at comcast.net
margaret.kramer at polarispublications.com

www.polarispublications.com

In the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening love can hear the
rustle of a wing.
~Robert Ingersoll
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