In Memory of Bill: An Open Heart

January 24, 2010

I dread the anniversary of Bill's death on February 2 but will be relieved to get beyond this cataclysmic first year. A year ago he was in Cottage Hospital in Santa Barbara, getting better every day.

Today, my friends invited me to drive to San Simeon to observe the elephant seals giving birth. I was thrilled at the prospect of witnessing signs of reproduction and life. When we arrived at the beach, though, a solemn advisory greeted us. The recent destructive storms had washed many of the newborn seals out to sea. The sign added that the seals have survived the seas for hundreds of thousands of years and will go on through this tragedy as well.

The male seals are as big as baby elephants, as large as manatees. We heard their trumpeting up and down the beach along with the cooing of the mothers and babies in symphony. Seagulls screeched as they swooped down to devour the afterbirth. The males sparred while the females flipped sand over themselves as part of the birthing process. Some of the females seemed to spar too. Could they be fighting over remaining pups?

This is the prime time to watch the birthing and feeding. The babies nurse for a month, during which time they quadruple their body weight. Then, the starved mothers rush back to sea, and the babies form weaning groups. They must learn to go out to sea as well, the sea out of which we all arose.

On our way back, we stopped at Pismo Beach to watch the monarch butterflies converge on trees during their annual migration. I once saw a tribe take off in Florida. The butterflies that fly south during migration are not the same generation that returns, but life is persistent. It keeps going on.

January 25, 2010

My world seems much larger than before. Bill and I always embraced our blended family and our extended families. Now, I have entered the world of widows, lonely people, and lost souls, and it is hard to believe how my heart has expanded. Pastor Jane said "widow" in Hebrew means "silenced." I understand that, but I am determined not to be silenced.

When I went into counseling at hospice, I told the therapist that I wanted to become an advocate for widows. She reminded me that my duty was to come to terms with my own grief.

I am ready to come out of it now. With the support of our church, and inspired by its welcoming statement "Open Hearts, Open Minds, Open Doors," I am founding the Open Hearts Club. We are organizing an Open Hearts Club Band for people like me: singles and searchers who are finding their way out of grief. All genders and ages are welcome. Our activities will include poetry reading, of course, play readings, music, field trips in San Luis Obispo County, camping, water aerobics, and feasting. I will serve my famous enchiladas for our first meeting.

When we canvassed the community agency about people's needs, Mental Health Services wrote back that the greatest need of patients is to overcome stigma. That was my need when my daughter Linda died at age thirty-six of aids complications. Even though she was a hero in aids activism, the stigma that many associated with her disease was powerful. The sense of being apart from humankind must refer to the widow's suffering as well.

February 2, 2009

The night Bill died, while I still thought I would be bringing him home soon, my friends threw a birthday party for me. I didn't want presents. I didn't want cards. I just wanted words: courage, grace. In the carpooling van on the way back from the party, something made me look at the clock. It was 9:21 pm, the time, I would learn, that they moved Bill from the rehabilitation center to the hospital. I feel he was communicating with me then, but the hospital did not call until close to 10:00 pm to tell me he had been moved from the rehabilitation...