The daily news brings stories of people whose world, as they know it, has been turned upside down, by floods, fires, and loss of loved ones. Our hearts go out to them. We may linger for a moment, thinking about what we would do if something like that should happen to us. And often we think to ourselves: I would rebuild.
Last week the love of my life, Umberto José Fontana Briceño, died. I used to love our Sunday mornings, enjoying the sun streaming through the front window, curled up in our chairs reading the news and talking.
He would say, I love the light, and I would agree.
He would say, Tell me when you are ready to make the bed. And I would.
He would ask, Shall we invite someone for supper tonight?
He loved spur of the moment Sunday night pasta dinners with friends followed by rich conversations – the sobre mesa.
This Sunday he wasn’t there. No aroma of coffee wafted from the kitchen. No Good morning Sweetheart, just the quiet whoosh of the heat as I turned it up from the usual 65 degrees that made snuggling under the comforter that much cozier.
This Sunday I found myself looking at his side of the bathroom counter – his toothbrush and comb, body powder, vitamins and the cologne he loved. He had even asked me to bring it to the hospital to splash on his-by then- baldhead. He was a man of ritual in many ways. As indeed are most of us. We order our lives as much as possible, perhaps to give us a sense – false though it may be – that we are in control.
So when one of life’s hurricanes leaves chaos in its wake, we scurry to “rebuild”, to put things back the way they were. Understandable but futile because something in us knows all will never be the way they were.
So, how to move through?
This morning as I gently moved some things off the counter – yes I will keep the Aleve and the Icy Hot Patch, no I don’t need the Breathe Rite strips – I understood that I have an opportunity to use not only this space on the bathroom counter, but also the space opening up in my life.
That hour when he watched Fox News while I waited for the PBS News Hour – that’s a time to play my well-tuned but infrequently touched piano. I can now enjoy longer hikes on weekends because he’s not there to laugh and love with. I can escape on weekend getaways because one ticket is cheaper than two or to pop out to a hear a set of music after his bed-time.
Umberto would never prevent me from doing anything I loved, in fact, he would be the first to say,Go for it!
So when a storm comes through your life – and it will. In the calm, don’t think of rebuilding, imagine re-creating.Go for it!
We can do that together.