A SPECIAL KIND OF VALENTINE
I have not offered an entry in this journal in eighteen months. My silence has been intentional. I have been busy trying to move ahead with my life. These postings have seemed to me in that period to be a tether to the past I have lost and a hindrance to my gaining a grip on life in my new reality. The entry below, marking the death of Terry's father, Harold, seemed like a good place to stop.
My life has moved ahead in those eighteen months. A new grandson has been born. His name is JD (Joe David). Grandson Theo and grandson JD together have taken my hand to gently lead me forward. Every day's an adventure with Theo and JD.
My life has also been blessed by the presence of Jane Heithoff. Although we are separated by many miles, we see each other as frequently as we can. We came together after each of us suffered a loss. We pledged kindness, gentleness, understanding and fidelity to each other. Some time ago I described it as "dancing in the dark". It remains an apt metaphor.
Recently Jane paid a visit on Valentine's Day. We spent the day taking nick-nacks down from on top of the kitchen cabinets. We cleaned them. We polished them and we placed them back in a new arrangement. As you can see from the pictures to the left, they gleam.
Terry and I placed these nick-nacks above the cabinets in 2005 when we finished the construction of our beloved Lake Louise cottage. The copper was Terry's special decorative passion. They have stood there ever since watching over all that has happened in this place over the past ten years. Many of the nick-nacks are kitchen souvenirs from decades past: commemorative syrup bottles, obsolete coffee percolators and other such things.
I found comfort in seeing these items in the kitchen everyday. They reminded me of happy Saturday mornings making pancakes for the family crowd or Harold making Sunday morning omelets. I never noticed that these objects had long since lost their sparkle. For ten years they collected dust and grease from the kitchen. Jane noticed it right away. It was her suggestion that we spend the day taking them down, cleaning them and restoring them to their proper shine.
Now that the task is accomplished it occurred to me that this exercise also has meaning for the task of rebuilding one's life after the death of a spouse. It may take the presence of a new love, a different love, to restore and polish the memory of the life that has been lost. Perhaps it is in reclaiming the future that the past can once again shine through - not as a reminder of the loss and the pain, but rather as a celebration of the beauty that was shared and that forms the foundation for happiness ahead. Perhaps. I have my gleaming kitchen nick-nacks to ponder.
Dave Gladstone