House falls suddenly silent.
The rooms feel roomier, and
I'm aware of the empty chairs.
My mood is subdued and it takes
A bit more fortitude to fix
Supper for one.
I find myself counting the
Days until Thanksgiving.
When company leaves, the
House falls suddenly silent. The rooms feel roomier, and I'm aware of the empty chairs. My mood is subdued and it takes A bit more fortitude to fix Supper for one. I find myself counting the Days until Thanksgiving.
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(For my newly widowed friend.)
I leaned my head on my hands and Spoke the words out loud as though Someone was listening. "No one understands." I was deeply disappointed and Confused. I repeated the words: "No one understands." Not only did no one understand, but No one cared either. How could they? No one was aware of what I was feeling. Living alone can be brutal at times. I told Jesus exactly what I was thinking, even Though I knew He already knew. Jesus always understands me. But tonight I longed for another Human being to understand me too. When I saw the elderly couple walking to their car after
Church, I noticed they were holding hands, and I thought, It must be wonderful to grow old together, To sit beside each other on the porch swing not Needing to speak a word, but almost sensing what The other is thinking. It must be delightful to page through the old Photo album, laugh at the wedding Portrait, and steal a kiss just remembering the Day. It must be satisfying to grocery shop together knowing Which products each one enjoys. It must be comforting just to be in the same House, the same room, the same Bed. It must be wonderful to grow old together. When Jack and I were married we scrunched
Together when we went to bed and Fell asleep tucked in each other's arms. But during the night I gravitated to my Side of the bed, and in the morning we Were apart. It was fun to scoot back over and rub my Honey's bald head or scratch his back. This morning when I woke up, I realized that I barely move any more during the night. Except for rolling over on my back I stay Confined in my narrow space. On an impulse I reached my hand over to Jack's side of the bed and rubbed the spot Where his back would have been. I dug my fingers into the covers remembering How he would direct me to his itchy places. My action surprised me. After so many months have passed, I Wondered why my bed suddenly felt so Empty, and why I felt the need to Scratch Jack's back. It's hard to cook for just one.
My potatoes sprout and wrinkle before I can use them up. I need to freeze my milk in small Containers so it won't spoil. I do the same when I make a batch of Soup. And I've discovered that bread doesn't Freeze very well. I don't want to throw food away, so my Refrigerator looks empty, even after I've shopped. I buy mostly frozen vegetables since the "Fresh" ones lose their vitamins before I Can finish them. If I make a casserole I may eat it 3 days in A row. I open a can of bean soup for lunch. It's hard to cook for just one, and so on A regular basis I invite friends for a Meal. I try a new recipe that I've downloaded, but With trepidation, since some dishes have been Winners, others losers. I set the table with the stoneware that Jack and I purchased and the silverware that I Save just for company. And when our delightful fellowship is Over, I send food home. But I save a bit for myself so I will have a Meal already fixed, one that I Don't need to thaw or eat for A week. It's hard to cook for just one, but I'm doing my best to learn. It struck me today what is missing.
Laughter. Jack was jovial. He made me laugh in the morning, In the afternoon, and even in the Middle of the night when I traipsed to The bathroom. "I know a little Greek," he said. "He owns a restaurant down the street." His wit was spontaneous. His gift was Biblical. "A cheerful heart is good medicine," * Elixir that gave us a healthy, happy marriage. But unlike crying, It's hard to laugh alone. I still laugh, but mostly at Myself, which gets terribly tiresome. This missing ingredient came to light as I Worked on a crossword puzzle. I filled in a blank with a word that had Become a private joke between Jack and me. I recalled the jocularity that used to Rock our "love nest", as Jack tenderly Called our condo. I stopped to observe a moment of silence as I Mourned my Honey's passing and the laughter he Took with him. I just couldn't be amused at "our" word today. The most I could manage was a Wry smile. Proverbs 17:21 My girls know that when it comes to
Nostalgia I am absolutely, unashamedly, Totally hopeless. I saved their baby teeth and stuck them into Dainty dentures I had formed out of clay. I can't bring myself to throw their stringy, Ratty baby blankets away. And today, after the kids left for their Own homes, even the simple act of Removing the extra leaves from my table Sent me into a tail spin. But what lifted me back up was Knowing that at Christmas I'll get to Put the boards back in.
It's easy to give thanks when the sun is
Shining on a fabulous fall morning, and I'm meeting friends for lunch, and my Dizziness is gone, and my hip pain has Abated. It's easy to look across the lawn at my Neighbor's striking red tree and say, "Thank You, Lord." But It's another matter when my Vertigo causes my world to spin, or I need an Ice bag for my hip, or I feel alone, Missing Jack as though he were newly gone. It takes fortitude to give thanks in those Trying times. Praising God is a sacrifice, one I am to offer up Continually, despite my Circumstances. As I express gratitude from a Wounded spirit, I sense that my Father reverently Receives my offering, knowing the cost of it, and In return, gently wraps me in His love. "Through Him, then, let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of lips that give thanks to His name." Hebrews 13:15 On an evening when my kids seem miles away,
Because they are, and My house seems empty, because it is, I find there's no better time to write a Note to someone else who's lonely too. As I search for words to encourage her, I discover that I am consoling myself as well, and We both benefit. |
Dorothy Kalb Hsu Seitzinger
Writing poetry has helped me process and express my sorrows and joys, my concerns and blessings. "Life is hard, but God is good!" Archives
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