"I personally want to thank you for all that you did for Uncle Don after his stroke. I know that's it's not something you need to be thanked for, as you loved him and that's what we do for those we love. I personally have always recognized how much effort you put into those years of care that you provided to him. You will always be my Aunt Jean and if at any time there's something that you ever need help with, I want you to never hesitate to reach out." Then he gave me his phone number and email address and then he went on to write about some of his favorite Uncle Don stories and I read them with tears streaming down my face.
The stories could only have come from someone who loved and respected Don. And it was clear that Don's and his grandfather's gift for storytelling was passed down to another generation. Mike's humorous stories came from sharing many years of deer camps. Don had taught him and his two brothers to hunt and Don was dead serious that the teens learn to be safe, lawful and ethical sportsman above all else, but they also swapped practical jokes and tall stories in the evenings. After Don's stroke when I got Don involved in an organization for wheelchair bound hunters Mike volunteered to be his deer camp guide. Each disabled hunter had to have a personal 'guide' to help with urinals, medications, snacks, coffee, etc. I was going to do it before Mike heard about the program and stepped up to the plate. After Don could no longer qualify on the shooting range to go to deer camp Mike kept on volunteering to help the organization and other disabled hunters.
I like where I live but once in awhile I'm reminded like with Mike's letter how much I miss being around people who knew my husband. I don't know if all widows and widowers feel this way but I don't think anyone can ever really know me who didn't know me when I was half of Team Don and Jean. We took unconventional paths through life and they didn't take us past the same benchmarks that most couples find. People who knew Don and me back during the 42 years we were together see ME and dare I say anyone who follows my blog sees me, too. People who came into my life after he died see the bare bone facts of my life but they don't match up with the accomplishments and contributions I see in myself. Does anyone's?
A couple I often sit across from at the Monday farm table dinners don't see the real me for sure. They were high school and college sweethearts, married and had two children. She picks at me all the time while her husband sits there with a smirk on his face that seems to say, "She never listens to me either." Week after week she tells me I'm too shy and I should volunteer to help her do crafts over in the Memory Care building or teach a painting class, etc., and I'll say, "NO, no and hell no!" "But you'd be so good at it." And I'll reply, "Being good at something doesn't mean I want to do it." "You're just shy and I'm going to help you get over that." If Don were sitting in on those conversations he'd tell her to knock it off, knowing that that kind of pressure has the opposite effect. (My mom didn't call me 'stubborn' without cause.). God, does that make me a woman who needs a man to define her? I meant to write 'defend her' but maybe that spelling error fits too so I'm keeping them both.
The first day after getting Mike's letter I felt euphoric but the second day at the lunch table I crashed into feeling alone in a crowd. It was the day of Christmas Eve and people were talking about their plans with family. Everyone was so happy. So-and-so had borrowed wine glasses from someone and someone else was borrowing folding chairs and it hit me that I was feeling lonely. I'm not a recluse around here by any stretch of the imagination but I'm also not as interwoven into the micro-cosmo here as others are. I don't borrow or loan things. I don't exchange baked goods or recipes. I don't go off campus shopping with others. It was a conscious decision when I moved in to hold myself back a little because I've always required a lot of alone time for art, crafts and writing, but at times like that I have questioned if I'd made the right decision---if I shouldn't have tried harder to make a few close friends. On the other hand, six people have died since I moved to this CCC and that predictable statistic was the other rationale I used for not getting too close to others. Some people living here----maybe 15 of the 75---have gone to all six funerals. You live in a place where everyone is old, they're going to die. I've lost enough important people in my life, thank you very much.
In all honesty I think the loneliness has been creeping up on me because I've been dreaming a lot about Don lately. Typical widow's dreams of him getting lost and me not being able to find him. He died in mid-January and every since then I've gone through a funk the first two weeks of January. I call it my Sadiversary Season and I think Mike's letter just started the downward spiral a little early this year. If the past is an accurate predictor of Jean-ism by the 15th of the month I'll be my old self again.
Happy New Year, everyone! I'm off to our big fancy-pants dinner followed by game night and a ball dropping at the ridiculous hour of nine o'clock. ©
Until Net Wednesday.
 |
| After one of Don's post-stroke days of hunting when the guys all came back to the staging area for a meal and an evening around a campfire. It's quite the operation to get wheelchair bound guys out into the woods. Along with the above mention personal 'guide' two other volunteer help get the guys in trucks and hunting blinds. And a nurse is also only a walkie talkie call away. They had great fund raiser parties during the year, too. I have nothing by great memories of the Wheelin' Hunter's non-profit. |
 |
| But this is how I remember Don's hunting days the best---with a long lens camera in hand. Every other year for decades I'd go out west hunting with him and he never shot at an animal while I was with him because he knew I wouldn't want to see one die. On opposite years he'd go with a friend or family member. |
