In dcoing that, I have been trying to process some unfamiliar feelings I have experienced since Sabine’s death. It is the feeling of being lifted up, of being buoyant (just writing this brings tears).
I think it is because of your cards and letters,
Facebook postings, offers of support and (of course) your prayers and gifts of food. They have literally, lifted me up. It is a comforting, even heady buoyancy; I am not alone. It is “wind beneath my wings” which brings the 41st chapter of Isaiah into mind: “Those who wait upon God get fresh strength. They spread their wings and soar like eagles. They run and don’t get tired, they walk and don’t lag behind.”
It is a feeling of soaring and finding fresh strength. For 40 years, almost 1/2 of my life, Sabine was the “wind beneath my wings;” she lifted me up in so many ways — passionate love, best friend, muse, mentor, teammate. And that’s what I am missing — yet, at the same time, feeling you lifting me up and me (an independent, “take control” guy, who won’t ask for help) loving it!
Yet grief makes us human. Over the years, I preached and taught that our deep love for a partner will find one of us in the position of having to “close the eyes of the beloved.” How we prepare and do that matters. And, in the meantime, we treasure each day, seek to improve ourselves by being a more loving, committed partner.
As I sit here with my dear dog, Mocha, nearby I am immersed in the essence of Sabine; a presence I still sense. I never really thought love was eternal... but I am sensing it is.
From what I have learned, the faith of both Christian author C.S. Lewis and Thomas Merton was raised when long-time bachelor Lewis found and loved Joy Davidson and Thomas Merton, a cloistered monk, fell in love with an unnamed woman who nursed him during a stay at a city hospital.
In my grief, I get it. I get it more strongly, more intense, than ever; to truly be able to give and receive love from another human being requires us to be vulnerable to the beloved, to be open, to trust that our openness will never disregarded or used against us in disagreement — and that has a lot to do with the Divine.
Sabine taught me so much. She was a private person, introverted in many ways, but her love and commitment to me was fierce, not even our children could upset it!
Sabine never lost her self, this “specialness.” We did many activities together, camping, biking, running, kayaking and skiing. But other things she left to me, like skydiving, and continuing to comment on police. When she retired from a 20 year police career, that was it. She did that — and now she found other things to do. She had this sense of self.
And that’s why I still weep — not out of anger, or “poor me,” but out of joy for what I had and still cherish — her physical presence. She is moving from sitting next to me where I can put my arm around and comfort her — to my heart. It will take some time. It’s a transition. But it will happen.
In the meantime, thank you so much for lifting me up with your love, prayers and concern.
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