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coping (more or less) 265 Erv’s Gift Agnes G. Herman Years ago, my beloved said to me, “I wish to ‘go’ first so that you can have some freedom! Suppose I go at 00, you take your time, at least until 0. That should give you a taste of freedom!” It was a grisly joke I rejected at the time. In the end he had his way—he went first. He turned his head, he could not face goodbye, nor could I. He had given so much of his own true self to me. He shared small bits and pieces with the others. His gifts of caring and sharing he freely gave away. Now that the storm of loss is quiet, I understand and cherish two special gifts he saved for me. Peacefulness was one, it surpassed all else, enabled me to face my widowhood with calm. Freedom was the other. His gifts have become promises kept. They are enormous, even as I miss him dreadfully. Throughout our clergy years, he was the cynosure at parties, during meetings, in the living room. I was the proud wife, quiet and listening along with the others. In handing me the torch, he opened up cracks in the woodwork to which the dear people who loved him had relegated me. Daily, I regret there is no magic with which to bring him back. He taught me, long ago, we have no sorcerer’s sleeves, no power, just faith and our endless love. His calming words come back to me, the small phrase I remember most rings in my ears almost every day, “Let it go…!” When I harangued or agonized, he would plead, sometimes impatiently: “Let it go…!” Finally I understand that too, I must no longer anguish over the impossible. He lives in my heart, my memories, my dreams, but he is not in my reality. From the beginning, I have asked myself and I continue to do so now, “what would Erv do…what would he expect of me?” I know him well—he never did lie down and sigh “woe is me.” His spirit has helped me understand that he would not expect me to give in to my grief or give up on my growth. 266 the widows’ handbook My feet keep moving as my head and heart run to catch up. I do the things that I do and enjoy the people I wish to engage. I continue to be myself, as he would insist. I have discovered that I am doing exactly what I expect of myself. I share and exploit my talent. I enjoy support from others. I know what is good about me and what is not so good. Above all, I have no plans to give in or give up. He understands. Of course there are moments when I wonder at my own tenacity, why go on alone. What is this gift of freedom he willed to me? Why do I keep on chasing deadlines, anguishing over language, trying new things, always saying yes, hardly ever no? Why do I endure the petty quarrels, conceits, and concerns of my children, my peers? Why do I still care? I learned hard lessons of discipline and order from my parents, my teachers. I have absorbed to the fullest, the memories of love, caring, and faith that my sweetheart shared with me. Together, we prepared me for going down the road of loneliness in a state of calm and grace. I am a lucky widow! That is no oxymoron—it is a fact of my life. For 6 years I loved my man. I am a survivor of the war and peace of marriage, on my feet, happy, fulfilled, and victorious. ...

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