Even though it's now almost winter on the hill, and there is snow covering the bare branches of the lilacs, I am going to leave the header photo as is for the foreseeable future. Lilacs were B's favorite flower.
I say "were" because Bill died on August 30th of complications from prostate cancer. 55 years old, too, too young, my dear sweetheart. He was diagnosed with stage 4, metastatic prostate cancer right after his 52nd birthday in 2013. He endured antihormone therapy, multiple hospitalizations, reversible kidney failure, double nephrostomy tubes when the cancer invaded his bladder, seven months of chemotherapy, and then a very fast, very painful decline over the last month he was alive. When he died on August 30th at home with me right beside him, I was almost relieved, because his pain and the indignity of his disease were finally over. But my pain has really only begun. I miss him so much.
Lilacs were Bill's favorite flower. We bought lilac bushes for birthdays and anniversaries even as we sought to rehabilitate the lilacs already on the property here. He considered them his flower. I consider them our flower, too.
I am going to try to begin to post more to this blog that I've neglected for so long. I think writing about our garden, and now writing about Bill, too, will be healing for me at some point. At this juncture, almost three months from his death, I am almost overwhelmed with grief. This, apparently, is normal in the grieving process. I think I was operating on adrenaline for the first 8 weeks, and almost convinced myself that maybe Bill was away on a short vacation, but would return soon.
With Thanksgiving looming (our favorite holiday) and Christmas right on top of it, I realize that he will not be back. Funny, isn't it, that it has taken this long for this hard fact to sink in.
More later, but for the time being, here's a photo of my sweet William, taken by me when we were out to dinner at a little inn in Vermont on his 50th birthday. What a handsome man he was. The poem is one I learned only about a week before he died. I read it to him a few times over that last week. He loved it as much as I do.
[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)