It has been a trimester since my wife died, a trimester of grief. It’s strange how I have tracked time. I count hours, days, weeks and months. I now included “trimesters” to identify the passage of time. Who does that? Is that unique, or strange, or is it common for those that grieve?
It seems as if there exists for me, a new meridian of time. May 28, 2017. That’s the new date in which my time, my new existence is based. It’s that date when everything changed. My world, my life, and my future is now different from that date forward. That is the date from where I now count.
There is a single place on earth where our names, Karl and Claire are carved in stone. That date is in stone. A permanence of that time meridian. There is also a permanence of place. That etched stone represents a physical place where forever she can be memorialized. A place to visit, to ponder, to pray and to grieve.
I have visited often and every time, I engage in all of the above. That date, so prominent, so permanent, now represents mortality, her mortality. A place to visit that represents her physical spot “of rest” and there exists a picture of her immortal beauty. A place for all to visit, to ponder, to pray and to grieve. Last week, as a family we visited that marker as we celebrated what would have been her 48th birthday. Now it is the anniversary of her birth. There it is in stone, the date of her birth, the day the world changed, and the date of her death, the date my world changed.
By no means have I been the only person affected. Claire was also a loving Mother, Grandmother, Sister, Daughter, and Friend. We all started grieving on May 28, 2017, and to this date and forever more we will grieve. The world is now different for all of us who knew and loved her.
All seems to be in place, but I am out of sorts.
Something is missing. In stone, next to those dates of her time on earth, is another date. The date of my birth. When will the date of my final day be etched next to hers?
I am grateful that she doesn’t have to see the date that is the measurement of my mortality. I am grateful that she doesn’t have a new meridian of time. Even though life without her, my new life, the life I have lived for the last trimester has been so very hard. Grief is hard. I am glad that I did not widow her. I am grateful that I have absorbed the pain of that grief from her. I am grateful that she doesn’t have to count time. I am grateful that it hasn’t been her trimester of grief.