Twenty-Nine Months

[HAP]

Dear friends,

I mowed the lawn on Friday, discovering in the process that the hummingbirds have returned. Later, I went to the cemetery to visit Jane's grave for the 29-month anniversary of her death. It was a beautiful spring day, so afterwards I drove down to the waterfront as we often did after a day of working in the garden or in the classroom. My plan, initially, was just to sit in the car and look out over the water but something moved me to take a walk on the boardwalk.

It was not my typical walk. I moved slowly, remembering all the times we had paced along together. We never walked anywhere slowly--even when the walk was an aimless wander. But my heart was not in that kind of walk Friday. It was a walk so soaked in memory I could not move quickly.

At one end of the boardwalk, the Fall River empties softly into the Taunton River. Geese, ducks and swans nest and rest there. We would stand on the bridge sometimes and watch them float by. We particularly liked to watch a pair of swans. At this time of year they had not yet hatched their latest brood and when you saw one you saw the other.

But the last two years only one swan is there. Somewhere he--or she, I can't tell one sex from the other in swans--lost his other half. Friday he coasted near the far bank preening his feathers and looking as lost among the ducks as I feel most days among people. My social skills don't get much work these days. Most of our friends still work in classrooms and those who don't have lives and responsibilities of their own.

Still, I make the bed, wash the dishes, shower, shave, and brush my teeth every day. I do the paperwork and planning raising money requires. I follow the research--even when most days the results are depressingly similar. I write, though too often for an audience that seems too small to justify the effort. I clean the house, I mow the lawn, I work in the garden. I look for meaning. It is what I do--what I have always done.

The dreams at night are no longer hideous replays of the end of Jane's life. They have become more consoling--more focused on the future than on what might have been. But I still have trouble forcing myself to go to bed at night--I am still traumatized. And getting up has become increasingly difficult in recent weeks.

The fundraising is not going well from my perspective. Yes, we are ahead of last year at this point. But I have used up everything I used a year ago and I don't have new ideas for the months ahead that will get us to the goals I've set for this year. It has finally dawned on me that getting to those goals means raising nearly $500 a day every day this year--and next year's goals will require more than $1000 a day. We are currently raising about $200 a day--and that effort is taking every ounce of energy I have to keep up with.

Nor is the research going particularly well from my perspective. The pair of viruses that looked so promising ten months ago seems to be stalled by lack of funding and viral research protocols. And there may be other issues there as well. And with the tiny quantities of research money we have progress in all areas of research will be painfully slow.

I am not giving up, though. I'll keep looking for breakthroughs in both fundraising and research. I have to keep reminding myself that I have only been dealing with this for a bit less than three years--and only a bit more than two in terms of raising money and general awareness. It took close to 50 years to realize even a fraction of Sydney Farber's dream of curing childhood leukemia--and he eventually had resources I can only dream about at this point.

I don't know how that swan lost its spouse. I don't know what it feels inside. I don't know whether it is merely waiting for death or is working to return to life. But I know how I lost my wife and I know what that feels like inside--and I refuse to stop living so long as there is any chance I can make a difference.

The hummingbirds came back on Friday.

Peace,

Harry

[mfh]

Harry, as usual your post is inspiring. I do understand the sadness of walking where the rivers meet and watching the goose less his/her partner. I feel many times I do not fit anymore...the ducks are swimming all around me and they all look and act different than I do and seem to have a purpose and maybe joy...I swim alone hoping I am making a difference in some people's lives which is a source of joy.

I am glad your dreams have calmed down a bit as have mine. I do, however, look forward to dreaming lovely dreams of Bill and me and I assume you might also and hope that happens for you if that feels good to you. Waking from them is always bittersweet but worth the pain. Yes, looking for the meaningful has been and remains my goal. I understand that. And you ARE involved in something quite meaningful with your fundraising and research. If you are like me, however, it is never enough. I find it meaningful when I get two calls as I did today from two younger women in town thanking me for being a "mom" to them. They are in their 40s and 50s but somehow I have been a mother figure. One gal's mom walked out when she was 6 years old. Just left. She now has 3 kids and is a great mom but lonely following a divorce. I spend time with them and I know I help them and others and that, right now, is my meaning in life....that and being a mom to my four legged son. Helping those who grieve is what I am about right now. You are working at a different level perhaps...trying to prevent people from grieving (by preventing deaths). That is huge. Even when you mow the lawn that work is out there taking hold in the world. I know the wheels turn so slowly you can hardly see them move but you are making a difference...and you never know how many lives you have already touched. You are doing your passion...big things happen, I believe, when we follow our bliss.

That swan keeps swimming....alone, mixing in with the ducks, and like you...we have no idea what it feels but I bet as it swims it is grieving his/her loss just as you and I are.

Peace to your heart, Harry.

[HAP]

Thank you Mary. Your words have brought tears to my eyes, but they are good tears. Be well, my friend. Your eyes will be fine.

[mfh]

Thank you, Harry. I am glad my words fell on welcoming soil. I have to live with hope about my eyes...sort of stupid not to but I also have to be realistic. I was not realistic about Bill's death...I was in denial and learned never to do that again...better to be real..hopeful but real. Be as peaceful as life allows. Mary

[kayc]

You guys are just so special. Harry, I wish you the best with your endeavors, I know it's not only a noble cause, but one very dear to your heart.