In My Own Company

Last week marked the first anniversary of two deaths: my friend Terry ‘s and my husband Richard’s; they died a day apart, July 6 and 7 respectively, in 2025. Last week also brought about the sudden deaths of three people I know—my best friend’s sister; my son-in-law’s brother-in-law; and my daughter’s best friend’s father. In an attempt to deal with it all, I decided to get out of town and go to my happy place. So I headed to Great Barrington for a week of R&R, or more correctly, P&H for pool and hammock.

On the drive up, I tried to free myself of Richard’s presence, which I’d been feeling recently, like a shadow, from time to time, from room to room, leading up to July 7. I started feeling very nostalgic in mid-June, consumed with remembrances of his final difficult days. But I also was thankful to him for helping me get through his death with such love and understanding. “You’ll do fine,” he said, he kept saying. “I don’t want you to go,” I told him, “but I would like one year to see what it’s like to live on my own.” “I understand,” he told me, “don’t feel bad about it. Go live your life.” I just hope I do as well when it’s my time to go.

At the same time, my thoughts kept going back to my friend, Terry, who also was my sister-in-law, my  first husband’s sister. She and I had been friends for over 70 years, since high school, during which time she had introduced me to her brother, whom I later married. She and I had remained in close touch despite the fact I had remarried after he and I had divorced. We spoke often, as recently as the day before she died. She was in the hospital after taking a bad fall near her home in Charlotte, NC. She sounded fine but, unexpectedly, she had a blood clot that went to her brain that night and died the next morning. The next day Richard died.

On top of which, I was still reeling from the three deaths that had recently occurred . How the heck am I going to unpack all of this, I kept asking myself, as I drove up the Taconic. I was looking forward to the week to contemplate life. I was returning to the place in Great Barrington that I had been renting for the past 6 summers. Richard was with me for the first three summers, but for the next three, he’d been unable to make the trip, though he felt well enough to stay at home take care of himself with the help of our part-time home aide. So for those three summers, I spent weekdays in Great Barrington and weekends at home. But last summer was different: after Richard passed, I spent most of the summer in New Hampshire with my family. Now I was returning to Great Barrington.

When I got to my destination, I knew my priorities. I had my bathing suit and beach towel in a separate bag, along with my hammock, so that upon arrival I could put on my suit and go for a swim in the pool, and then put up my hammock and take a short nap. It was then, and only then, that I unpacked my clothes, hooked up my laptop, plugged in my cell, checked for phone calls and emails, and had some lunch.

By 4:00pm, I had settled in. No one answer to. No one asking how I was doing? No one but me. I let my thoughts come to me, willy nilly.

My son-in-law, Steve, had a brother-in-law, Denny, who was 72 and lived in ‘Syracuse. He had had dementia for several years. His wife, Steve’s sister, had just entered him in a nursing home when he contracted double pneumonia, was rushed to the hospital, and died a few days later. Richard and I didn’t know Denny well but considered him part of our extended family. We got updates from Steve regularly. Though we knew Denny wasn’t well, his death was a shocker.

Same with my good friend Janice’s sister, Judy. Judy lived in Paris and Richard and I saw her everytime we were there, except for the last several years during which she was in an assisted living residence. She, too, had dementia. Janice spoke to her sister every day and though she saw her sister diminishing, she didn’t think her death was imminent. She had spoken to her sister the morning of the day she died, having no clue that death was near. Another shocker.

That left the father of my daughter Christine’s best friend. Richard and I had gotten to know Tom and his wife Marsha when Christine was in college; she and Tom’s daughter Sara had been freshman roommates and had remained close friends ever since, over the past 40 years. ago. Although Tom and Marsha lived in Memphis, we got together with them whenever they came to New York to visit Sara and wished we lived nearer by one another. Tom’s death was sad but not a surprise—he was 92 and in hospice care—but he and Marsha were very close, “joined at the hip” as the saying goes, and I wondered how she would do without him. Christine was ready to cancel her vacation plans to fly to Memphis for Tom’s funeral, but Sara said that a memorial was being planned for the fall and encouraged Christine to keep to her vacation plans, which she did.

Where am I going with all this? I wanted to come to Great Barrington to allow myself the luxury of thinking things out for myself. Looking forward to be in my happy place, and feeling that Richard would support whatever I wanted to do, were a given. But I didn’t expect that I’d be grieving for so many people, all at the same time. It was a bit overwhelming.

When I got here, I kept to a simple routine—swimming in the pool, reading in the hammock, going barefoot in the grass, and watching the rabbits scurry across the property—which gave me time to think about the people I’d lost. I checked with Steve, Christine and Janice and Terry’s son to see how they were doing. I finally have come to realize that, no matter our origins and destinies, life will have its way with us.

After a week in my happy place, here’s my reality : No matter our origins and destinies, life will have it way with us. Though I dearly miss the people in my life who have died, and always will, my days come and go as before. I’m back to doing the routine things in life—going for a swim, doing chair yoga, going for walks, writing a paragraph or two, looking for a bra that fits, and for clothes to fit my increasingly big body, and keeping in touch with family and friends. This month, although a lot has happened, not that much has changed.

Life goes on. That will be the case when I pass, too. Hard to accept, but true.