A New Beginning

Before Richard died last summer, I was just me. Now, almost a year later, I’m a combination of him and me. Richard no longer is alive, but he still lives in me. Not every minute of every day, but often enough for me to know that he still is a part of me. So that I could tell him that cousin Terry died the day after he did, our grandson had gotten his Phd; that Robert Redford and Diane Keaton had died; that I had a stomach virus, or how terribly angry I continue to be with Trump. Richard would want to know.

Now I talk to his ashes…which are in my room. Richard asked that they be sprinkled along Broadway, but I told him that was illegal and I wasn’t keen on getting up in the middle of the night to do it. So, I’ve explained to his ashes, and hope he understands, that I will sprinkle them over the waters of Pleasant Pond, which he loved, when I return to New Hampshire this summer. Next to Richard’s ashes is my favorite photo of him, a headshot, staring straight at me with the cute, quizzical look I loved, that he’d always give me whenever I had something to tell him, as if he was looking forward to hearing what I had to say even before I said it.

Now I live alone…for the first time in my 86 years of life. It’s time. I was living with my mother when I married my first husband. I was living with my two kids when I married Richard. I have turned his room into a den, with sofa bed and desk. The memories of that room…first as our office, then as Richard’s computer center, and finally as his hospice-supplied hospital room…haunt me, but I am adjusting to its new use and different look. It took all of last fall to renovate his room—so that I have space for my son and his family from out-of-town to stay with me for Thanksgiving, and have friends spend the night with me as they wish. It feels luxurious.

Most gratifying of all, I have no regrets about caring for Richard during his lengthy illness. I did everything I could for him, said everything I wanted to say to him, and agreed to Richard’s request that he die at home. We shared many thoughts, loving and otherwise, and made the tough decisions together. Whenever a nurse asked to speak to me alone, Richard was quick to say, “Whatever you want to say to Lorraine, say in front of me.” That went for me, too. Whatever I had to say to the nurses, I said in front of Richard.

Yes, there were times I yelled at him, cried and lost patience, and told him I no longer cared to take care of him. “I understand,” he’d say. “I don’t blame you.” Though I was often told by family and friends to calm down, for me it was the right thing to do. Expressing all my feelings is how I got through. By the time Richard died, there was nothing left in me…or him… that hadn’t been expressed. Only relief… that he had died at home, holding my hand, and that neither of us had to struggle through another endless day.

Richard often said that he wanted to die before me. “If you die first, I won’t know what to do without you,” he insisted, “but if I die first, you will find a way to enjoy life without me.” He was right.

Yes, I miss his quick kisses on my forehead, his kissing my hand in the car when he stopped for red lights, and his never forgetting to ask, “How was your day?” I miss the love of a good man who loved me like no one else did…or ever will. But I have wonderful memories to remember, my favorite photo of him to keep me company, an apartment all to myself, and a chance for a new beginning.