Even almost ten years after the fact, and seemingly from nowhere, come moments where it feels like my husband was in his car accident just last week. And wherever I am, I must surrender to the moment, knowing that it will pass, and the knowledge that, as time goes on, these moments become spaced further apart.
This happened today at work, while I was painting, alone, and listening to Pandora on shuffle, which, with 100 stations and each station playing any variety of tunes that fit the theme, there is a possibility of infinite variations.
It was a sunny afternoon in a winter of rare blue skies — remarkable in and of itself — and I sat and let the wave wash over me. And then this — a new song began, and it was one of the songs played at Mark's memorial — A Song for You, by Donny Hathaway:
I love you in a place
Where there's no space or time
I love you for my life
You' re a friend of mine
And when my life is over
Remember when we were together
We were alone
And I was singing this song to you
My sons and I listened to dozens, possibly hundreds of songs that week before we gathered together, and there was no question that this song — a favorite of Mark's — was the right one.
His memorial was held in one of the theaters at A Contemporary Theater in downtown Seattle, and close to 300 people attended. There was live music as well as recorded, and we listened to this song on their state-of-the-art sound system, and it was heartbreaking, as well as breathtaking.
The timing of this song today was a bit of a heart-taker, a breath-breaker, and I sat up and listened to every note with tears streaming down my face. (Good thing I was alone!)
There is not a day that doesn't pass without a gift, and today's gift was a big one.
I don't know if I'll marry again; the whole business, at this point, seems like a fuck-load of effort that I'd rather forego. But life, and love, has a sneaky way of catching us unaware, roping us in when we believe we're invulnerable.