Chris and Lindy,
I find that I am still thinking about Ben and reflecting on your loss. My girls have received an increased number of hugs over the past weeks - hot weather permitting. I found that checking the blog every now and then I was enriched by the love and compassion expressed by so many people. Reading Tim's comment that it felt surreal and Lindy's struggle to imagine how time can heal I had a thought I would like to share with you.
My grandmother lost her first husband to appendicitis when she was only 25. She had two small boys and was pregnant with a little girl who died soon after she was born. My grandmother remarried a few years later (to my grandfather) and had 3 more children. She played golf, tennis, croquet & lawn bowls, was an early feminist, loved the opera & ballet and was a wicked solo player. She had an enormous zest for life, and a large circle of friends (most of whom were 20 years younger than she was). When I was in my 20's and she was in her late 90's I would visit her most weekends, in her last years she started reminiscing more and would talk about the wonderful times she had. One day she was talking about how she met her first husband at 16, how her parents didn't approve and she had to sneak out to see him (difficult when you are 15 miles apart) and then how difficult it was managing the farm after he died. Thinking how full her life had been I tactlessly remarked that she had "obviously gotten over him", but she replied "oh no my dear, I've never gotten over him". I could hear the grief in her voice and I realised that even after 70 years her love for him was strong and her memory of him had not faded.
So, never fear that you will lose your connection to Ben, he will be in your hearts always.
With love,
Sue.
Thanks Sue!
1 comment:
there was a shipwreck on the west coast of Ireland early last century remembered as the Arranmore disaster.Many lost husbands and children, one Aunt of Michael's lost 6 children and her husband. They were a strong Catholic community who wept and grieved openly, and kept in moving forward. One of the lost girls, Hannah, had been called 'the rose of Arranmore' and dearly loved for her spirited beauty.
Around the world people kept weeping, Hannah's father visited the beach every evening for the remainder of his life, calling her name across the shores.
Today people still love and rremeber the people lost.Many relatives moved to Scotland and America and then wrote a book and a website called 'the Arranmore Disaster'.
The pain faded a little but the tactile memories somehow gave substance and credence to the sense of incompleteness, yet powerful love for these people.
Memories remain potent and beautiful without weight, but keep growing new colours with conversation, nurture,
x
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