We just walked in the door to our home half an hour ago, after a slightly long, monotonous two hundred mile plus drive from North Carolina to our home here in South Carolina. My Wife began bringing things in while I replugged my computer and electronic equipment (ie- cable, internet, router, Vonage phone system, etc) and got everything running. I just finished the final touch when she said “Have you ever felt almost physically pained doing something?” I responded somewhat defensively, as normally saying anything like that would imply that she was burdened by cleaning out the car by herself- while meanwhile, I was doing the very thing she asked me to do when we entered the door (which was “Can you get the internet working?”). She started to tear up, and I realised my error about the same time she closed off- but I managed to restart the conversation. It was then she mentioned the pain of bringing in a box of books… of her Dads, and other things we brought back with us.
I went out and found the box of fantasy books I had taken that were his. That was the one hobby, the one interest, he and I shared – and the one thing that allowed me to understand him more and feel something of a bond with him. Many of the books that first started my journey into fantasy and science fiction, were books he had on his shelves. When we were there, Kat’s stepmother Janell pointed out his shelf of books (I think he had already sent some on in the past with Kat, after he had gotten sick, so these were “his favourites” and his best). It was a little painful for me, too, accepting back from her my own books. That is, my favourite series of them all- my favourite author- is Robert Jordan, and his Wheel of Time series. Ironically enough, just last Fall, Robert Jordan himself died. Yet another great man, lost to a long-term illness. He, oddly enough, also had a collection of staffs and favourite hats, as well as some weaponry… just like Butch. But I disgress.
Katrina felt he would like the Wheel of Time, when I let her borrow my books. So, rather than returning them, she gave my whole Wheel of Time paperback series to her Dad. Instead of giving me my old books back, she bought brand new paperbacks for me. Well, I did not complain too much about that, in the end. Of course, once married and living together, she read and re-read my WoT books so much that they are now falling apart and ragged anyway. So… to receive back my own books, I began to realise that I would much rather not get them back. I would rather he were here, to keep them. I also looked over the shelf, realising if I did not take things there now, she could end up giving them away to someone who would not appreciate them, or to a book store, or just selling them. So I found several authors I knew were of high quality but had never read, and being on this shelf were clearly among his favourite few. It was a little like he was recommending them, and so I took him up upon it.
In a similar vein, Katrina and I received back two walking staffs we had given him. One was her gift: a walking stick from Ireland, when she spent a semester in Northern Ireland. The other was our gift: from our honeymoon in Walt Disney World, and our visit to the Wild Kingdom or such. While in a shop in the ‘African village’- a direct and exact replica of a real one that exists in Africa even now- we bought an ebony wood staff, elegantly carved from some of the hardest wood in the world with a uniquely round handle supported on the back of an elephant, which was on top of two carved goats. It is done in such a way that were the wood anything less: like, say, pine or even oak, the handle would likely break off. But it is firm and solid, and enough to hold a man’s full weight, with ebony wood.
We received these back. And then… Kat brought back two hats, one in particular that I remember her father wearing often on travelling. An almost indiana-jones looking hat with bird feathers all around the inside circle. I walked inside with the hat, and one of his blankets… and I almost regretted it, for when she lookd over and saw the two items… she let out a soft squeel of a sob, and began to cry. Katrina- my Wife, who rarely cries openly. Who even now, says “I’m fine” and throughout much of her trip managed of thin but firm facade of stability… crying like this. It is a real grief I knew was there, but for her to let it out in this way- it shows it is so strong even she cannot suppress it, and that is a powerful and even frightening thing indeed. I hope that she lets it out, and does not hold it back so much. Holding herself to a high standard that somehow it is weak for her to grieve as she is. That she should expect to go back to the “old normal” at all is a fallacy: a “new normal” may develop, but even then it may take a year or more. And the “new normal” exists with the healed, but present, scars of his death and absence.
I appreciate your prayers for us, my friends, brothers, and sisters in Christ.
-Patrick