Frozen in Time

January has never been one of my favorite months.  Christmas is over, it’s cold and there is always a sadness that settles in whether I want it to or not.  January marks the anniversary of my husband’s death.  He was 37 when he died on January 10^th, 1993.

I have given some thought to why January has hung on me like a shroud.  Have I ever forgotten January 10th?  Have I let myself?  Or is it more a feeling of guilt if we allow ourselves to be happy on such a day; to remember happy things?  Yet we hang on to anniversary dates of a loved one’s death, as if we somehow want others to know.  Is it that we are afraid others will forget or to let people know we haven’t forgotten?  We feel so compelled that we take out a two page spread in the newspaper to profess our sorrow to complete strangers.  It somehow seems an odd testament when you think about it.  But still, the anniversary date for the death of a loved one always just hangs there.  It lingers and becomes part of who we are.  We own it and claim it and hold on to it for better or worse.

My husband fell through the ice on the lake near our home.  I often wondered if there was some bitter irony, some cruel intention for him to die in the place that held so many fond memories for me; a place I loved; a place of my wonderful childhood that would now forever hold this horrible blemish upon an otherwise perfect bliss.  After his death, I would often gaze out on the frozen lake and think upon the horrible time and sequence of events as they happened.  I would stand watching my breath in the cold and look out at the sun glare upon the crystal snow and I came to the realization that, amidst the tragedy, this place was still my home and still beautiful.  It held no animosity.  I had to let it go too.  (On a side note – I did want to punch the aunt who said to me at the funeral “well at least he was doing what he loved.”  Was that supposed to bring a 30-year-old widow comfort?  I’ll have to write a blog on funeral etiquette someday.)

I have learned many things from death.  It isn’t pretty or nice or forgiving or any of those things.  But like anything else in life, it leaves us with choices.  We can wallow, fold, or become angry.  Or we can stand as a representation of the person we knew; a testament to their love and their life.  How much more fitting is that?  Of course we are devastated by loss and can sometimes never understand the course our lives take, but while we’re here, don’t we somehow owe it to those who are not, to really live?  It is up to those of us left behind to love and laugh and enjoy life as it was meant to be enjoyed.  Every day is an opportunity to do something; to make a choice.  We can go for a walk in the woods or sit and look at life through the window.  We can pick up the phone and call a friend or isolate ourselves in sorrow.  Now is the time to dance, to dream, to act like an idiot.  Really, what is anyone waiting for?

So what did I do on the anniversary of my husband’s death?  I posted a video to Facebook of him doing a silly monologue that I hoped would make everyone laugh and remember how much he loved to have fun and enjoy life.  I suppose we do want to immortalize those we love.  I guess we just can’t help ourselves.  We don’t want people to forget how special they were or the gifts they gave in the time they were with us.  To remind us all how very precious life truly is.  It is their final gift to us – how we can never take time and those we love for granted.