The Between Years

Catharine's I suppose, where I don't have a true identity either, but is better than having to rely on someone else for one. But it's hard. The place is filled with my memories of Randy, which are really the only things that remain of the man I fell in love with. But my behavior makes me scold myself. If I've learned anything from Randy-or from his family-it's that that inability to let go can be deadly.

    For now, I'm staying put, but I won't completely rule out putting this place on the market. If I can't have Randy, I might as well try and start a new life. I'm not too old to try and start over, but I know it's healthier to mourn my loss, even if I didn't lose Randy the traditional way.

    When things really start to hurt, I reflect on the night I stood Randy up, all because I desired independence. That was a passing fancy that I wished I'd never acted on. Not I have all the independence I could ask for, and yet I wouldn't trade in my life with Randy for anything. As the saying goes, sometimes you should be careful what you wish for.

    Regarding Randy's 'departure' as I call it: I wasn't entitled to life insurance because he technically hadn't died. And, of course, no one knows better than me that he hadn't really died. I will need to wait until he is legally presumed dead to see a dime, but that doesn't worry me a bit. I have a good job and can carry the mortgage on my own. Besides, money can never replace the person that was in my life.

    Whenever anyone asked about a funeral, I reflected on Kenny's service and all the heckling I took because I have a non-traditional attitude about death. That didn't stop people from giving the gears to a woman who'd just lost her son and it didn't stop them from doing likewise after I'd lost my husband. I didn't hold a funeral for Randy because, frankly, he isn't dead no matter what anyone says. He left no body to bury and therefore a ceremony is unnecessary. Randy did teach me how intangible life really is though. And I do believe that it's important to mourn, but such a non-traditional departure calls for non-traditional mourning.

    Instead of something formal, I took a stroll up the Friendship Trail alone on a crisp fall day. The trail itself is like something out of a Robert Frost poem, but it's manmade and relatively new. I had expected people to zip past me on their bikes and I was surprised by the solitude. Along the trail, I stepped off the pavement, sat in the dirt, hugged my knees, and wept. I'd never felt so soft as I'd felt in that last year when I lost the two most important people in my life. Still, I meant to be strong again, and I was determined not to let tragedy cut my own life short.

    As I've mentioned before, I have found my place in the church, which is something I never thought I would do. Even Randy wasn't terribly religious in spite of his insistence that we introduce some religious traditions to Kenny. Maybe he only felt obligated. I attend church every Sunday now and attend a Bible study group, and the people I have met there have kept me strong during almost any crisis.

    However, I can't depend on other people to make me learn from my own experiences. Only I can do that. While I still own the house, I've had the bedroom made over. Before, the bedroom had a unisex tone about it, which would leave someone unable to determine whether it was a man or woman's room. That was the way we wanted it. The room still isn't overtly feminine, but I felt a change was necessary, and I did the work myself to occupy my mind. I donated our king-sized bed to Goodwill and bought a queen-sized bed for myself. I must admit that it's nice to be able to keep the covers to myself.

    The bedroom was like my project, and when I finished it, I needed another, so I packed up everything in Kenny's room and donated it to the poor the way Randy had planned. I'm sure they would both approve. The eyes of the poor kids were aglow to see what I'd brought them and I was only too quick to part with the boxes. Randy had been right: there were less-fortunate people who could use those clothes and toys. No reason to let them sit in our house. Too bad Randy hadn't had the heart to give them away himself.

    Since then, I've turned it into an office. Well, to be more honest, it's an office with a television because there are shows that I really hate to miss. Still, it helps to keep the house from becoming too quiet. Plus, it has made the adjustment much easier for me. Luckily, I'm bogged down