A few weeks ago, I spied a brightly painted, industrial, municipal looking truck driving rather slowly on a local county highway, straddling the right lane and the shoulder. At first, I thought it might be a street cleaner. It was, in a sense. Mindful of move over laws, I proceeded to the left lane and slowed down a bit. The mysterious truck slowed further and stopped completely. A worker donning a fluorescent vest emerged from the passenger side, pitchfork in hand, headed straight for the roadkill raccoon lying lifeless, paws up, near the center line. While I passed the scene before I could see the retrieval, my mind wandered all sorts of directions: Simply scooped up and placed ever so gently into the back of the truck? Pierced and pitched into the ditch? Swept up and yeeted into parts unknown? I needed to know this trash panda turned trash’s fate. Also, what had I just witnessed? I dwell in surreality for certain.
My immediate instinct was to call or text (safely via voice command, driving, duh!) the hubs. Then I remembered, he’s dead and no one else would really care about this. Anybody else hearing this curious tale would appease with a nod or offer a one-word response. “Interesting.” But your person? You’d come up with all sorts of scenarios together. You’d name the raccoon. You might even eulogize it. You’d refer back to this incident days, weeks, months, or even years later. Remember that time when…? Even if it was a boring story, your person listened and laughed with you. You shared a life giving moment that kept on giving.
Now, I reflect. I have a little chuckle all to myself. I pondered this enough to write about it. I may share (or overshare) the story with someone who couldn’t care less. That’s a side-effect of widowhood. Speaking into the void. Screaming into the void. Whoop-de-do.
A ha! That is exactly it. You can be your own best friend. You can have all the friends in the world. Your family can be supportive and present. When you lose the one from your innermost circle, life’s weird little whoop-de-do moments just sit in the dryer like that load you meant to fold however many days ago. When retrieved and shared from that space after loss, life’s little happenstances seldom get a chance to do happy dances. Cats don’t care about your maladies, mishaps, or merrymaking, trust me.
No longer doing life with your partner, you just do you, whoever you are becoming, that is. A thirsting soul knows and continually searches for connections, meaning, and life-giving encounters. Praise, worship, and prayer keep you grounded. Dark humor, memes, long car rides, and music fill some of the void, too.
Life goes on. Whoop-de-do.