Last week I asked Alexa to play songs by Three Dog Night, and this morning one of them is stuck in my head. Music has always had the ability to make me emotional.
Today, in that hazy state between sleep and wakefulness, before my eyes opened to a sunny morning, I imagined Greg would soon be bringing me a cup of tea in bed. He had been making my first cuppa each day for decades. He would have a cup of coffee – truthfully half of it was milk and sugar – and put a teabag in a cup with steaming water to steep for me. At a point around his retirement, he began to bring it to me while I was still in bed. It was one of those thoughtful things done as part of his language of love, and something I appreciated every time I took my first sip.
As my eyes fluttered opened, I remembered.
Grieving is an odd thing. One can think they are making the needed adjustments after the death of a loved one. And then, BANG! A thought, a song, a smell, or a memory surprises you and you fall apart all over again.
Greg lost his four-month battle with cancer six weeks ago. He passed peacefully with me at his side at home. There will be no more tea waiting for me unless I make it. No more good morning greetings and daily chats about our dreams and simply what’s on the day’s agenda. Now I must do these things for myself, while I imagine he watches and tries to comfort me.
There were two things he continuously talked about during his final weeks. One was our home in France – he desperately wants us to keep it. It meant so much to him, but that’s a story for another day. The other was that he didn’t want to die and leave me and the kids. He was not finished with life, but it was finished with him. Part of me died when he did, and part of him still lives in me. He was the man in my life for 49 years, and he will continue to reside in our hearts.
So, I sit at the dining room table this morning with my laptop, a box of tissues, and a cup of tea that somehow doesn’t quite taste the same. “Pieces of April” by Three Dog Night is playing repetitively.
To me, the lyrics use the month of April to symbolize a past relationship and the pain that comes when it ends. Greg and I still had the promise of things to come. But now it is “a mornin’ in May” and the “pieces of April” the artist describes are kept “in a memory bouquet.”1
The birds are singing, flowers are in bloom and the sun is shining. I’m still mournin’ in May, but beginning today, I am going to start enjoying that morning cup of tea again and making plans for the future, in his honor.