During the past year, some of my old friends have been
widowed. It is saddening to watch them go through the early stages of
grief--denial, anger, bargaining, depression--and to be helpless to offer them little
but my affection and sympathy. Though I know that in time they will reach the
final stage of grieving, acceptance, they are not ready to believe it. Nor should
they. Each widow needs to experience the process herself.
April 28 will be here soon. On that date twelve years ago—a lovely,
sunny day with all the promise late April brings--I took Harold to the Alameda
ER where he had been treated successfully many times. Two hours later, he was dead. I stumbled out
to the car in a pouring rain. Like my own life, the whole world had changed.
That first year was the hardest, and when April 28 came around
again, I seemed to relive all the events of his death as I lighted a yahrzeit
candle in his memory. The idea that I could ever accept life without him seemed
impossible.
Over the years since, of course it did happen. Not only did
I reach acceptance, but am whole again. This year as always I will burn a
candle for him, smiling at the memory of happy times in our thirty-two years of
marriage and feeling grateful that healing did occur. L’chaim! To life!
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