on fear

hey,

I want to blog about something that's been heavy on my heart this week, but I don't want this to be about me. I am often accused by a very good and direct friend that I make things about ME. Which I do. So, I'm trying to be more aware of this.

That said, I heard yesterday morning that a neighbor of ours died on Monday afternoon. I didn't know him very well, but what I knew, I liked. He seemed to be a very kind, witty, gentle, smart man. He and his wife, whom I know better but still not that well, were very kind to my rambunctious family during a fairly disastrous dinner at their house last November. (In a nutshell, we arrived 1 hour early - thinking we were 1 hour late. One boy refused to enter the house. Another boy left their yard and went to our home. Another boy came in but didn't talk and didn't eat. I vacillated between apologizing and trying to ignore the child-troubles -- all the while feeling mortified.) I didn't know him well but really looked forward to some interesting chats with him in the future. He was the kind of guy who seemed like he had lots of good stories and witty insights, if you catch him at the right time.

Anyway, this kind neighbor had some health problems but seemed to be on the mend. He ended up going to the ER a couple of weeks ago and he never returned home. I don't know the details - which is fine - but it seems he was in excellent medical hands, but even that isn't enough at times. He is survived by his lovely wife, beautiful adult daughter, and spirited 9 year old daughter.

I am profoundly sad for them. On my weekly grocery run yesterday, I picked up some snacky-type food for the family. I dreaded delivering it because I didn't want to become a blubbery mess in front of them. So I delivered the bag of food, and I became a blubbery mess. I don't even know if any of my words were coherent. I caught the wife as she was heading out the door, so she asked me to knock on the door again and give the food to their daughter. Their poor daughter received the bag of food I shoved into her hands and I turned and practically ran home, crying all the way.

It reminded me of a memorial service I attended several years ago for a friend/former boss, whose husband unexpectedly died of a brain aneurysm. I was such a mess during one part of the service (when they played "Knights in White Satin," which I knew had significant meaning to this couple) that I was crying so hard that other attenders were comforting me. You know, that can't-catch-your-breath sobbing that really is only good when you're in a room alone.

So, I keep looking at our neighbor's house through the windows of my house. I think about their grief. I worry about their future. I think how fair it is that the rest of the world just goes on, like normal, when they are going through this terrible, awful time. I want to reach out again, but I don't want to make them feel uncomfortable by my emotions, or, worse yet, make them feel like they have to comfort me. Maybe I should send a note.

This whole situation scares the hell out of me. As much as Bob and I have had our bad moments as a couple, and we've had some ugly ones, I don't want to be a widow. I don't want to raise these children alone. I don't want to go through life without a partner. I look at the funky orange house on the corner and I shudder. That is my biggest fear.