chapter 15: part 3

continued from chapter 15: part 2

Steven and Diana deliberately held off their visit until everyone else had left, so that I wouldn't be alone just yet. They helped me buy two Himalayan cats that Hal and I always planned to get when Hephzibah finally died. Karuna and Shama are good companions; they sleep on the bed with me and they give me a reason to structure my days. They need feeding and that long hair needs constant brushing.

On a cold, rainy Sunday, we took Hal's ashes to a public place in Toronto that meant a great deal to him. He loved that city so much. We were very circumspect and no one knew what we were doing. I recall the crematorium man told Mike that Hal was now environmentally friendly. Yeah, that too. Now we were littering. Jason and Crista, my eldest grandchildren made me so proud. Each one reached in the bag and took a handful of ashes and scattered them.

The pain lessens but you never get over it. Not if you built something lasting.

I have gone through a lot of the "firsts." Our thirty-eighth wedding anniversary was a week after he died, there was his birthday, Christmas, my birthday, Valentines day.

I settled down to write this book. I've stopped sleeping with Hal's sweater in my arms, but I am surrounded by his photos. He had trouble leaving me and I felt his presence for six weeks after his death. I finally mustered the courage to ask him to go because I couldn’t get on with the rest of my life if I felt him close by. I don't feel his presence any more although the children sometimes do; he is on his new life and I am on mine, like it or not.

For six months after Hal’s death, Mark drove into the city every Saturday to visit with me and do any odd jobs. We’d sit and drink tea together and talk, talk, talk about that incredible year.

I don't see our married friends often; sometimes they'll invite me to dinner but I'm always the only guest. I remember one friend looking at me as though I were a stranger and said, “What are we going to do with you now?” I was now a single person. They just don't know how to handle an "odd" person.

All through my life, up to Hal's illness, I'd wake at night feeling fearful about the what-if's. I'm changed now. It's as though my worst fears have been realized and there is nothing left to fear.

I pulled together my own support network of friends who were widowed before me and they have always been there to help me through the rougher spots.

I have only one regret. I never asked Hal, "Are you afraid?" He never said and he didn't seem afraid, just terribly sad.
For years, he used to say to me, “You know, it really would be best if you died before me. I don’t know how you would manage on your own.” He was right. The woman he married depended on him a great deal, mostly because I sensed he wanted to be leaned on. I found quite quickly that I could manage on my own, without pestering friends and children to make decisions for me.

Hal sent me one last love message. Diana, who lives in Medicine Hat, sat at her desk on the morning of Valentines Day and she got a sharp inner message, “ CALL HAL.” "The only Hal I know is our Hal and that can't be," she thought. She went into a deep contemplation and asked inside herself if Hal had a message for her. "Please tell Patsy I love her and send her some white orchids," was the strong message she got. She and Steve immediately arranged to have the flowers sent to me.
I have grown orchids for years, not too successfully, but all of them were gifts from Hal, something Diana didn't know.

In the past, whenever I am missing a subtle message I should be sensing ,there will be a quick, powerful thunder and lightning storm and I’ve learned to stop and pay attention. The florist arrived minutes after the storm passed overhead.
Without that nudge, I would have been touched by the flowers but wouldn’t have made the connection. I called Diana and she told me of her experience.

The last thing we did at night we'd hold hands while we fell asleep.

Wherever you are Hal, I still feel your hand in mine.

The end.