Life changes in an instant
Joan Didion begins her book The Year of Magical Thinking with
Life changes fast.
Life changes in an instant.
It has been 10 months since Rob died. Sometimes, it seems as if it has only been an instant since I stood by his bed in the Emergency Room and watched the life and light that I so loved leave his eyes ... and felt him leave me. At other times, it seems as if I have not seen him for a lifetime. But things are definitely not the same for any of us as they were when he was alive.
They changed in an instant.
And so it is for us in the Williams households here in Georgetown.
Rob and I bought our Georgetown house in May, 2004, on the same street as our son JD and his family and we loved being so close to them. Sadly, we moved in just before his leukemia returned in August, 2004. Even though he and I had very little time together here, it was important to Rob that they would be close by for me if something happened to him.
But in January, 2006, JD accepted a new position with his company that requires him to move to Richmond, VA. He has already been working there for months, with (too infrequent) trips home every other weekend. In March, we listed both our houses for sale. Theirs is now under contract and will close before the end of June. They have found a new home in the Richmond area and Kim and the girls will move in July.
The night JD got the news about the job, he and Kim called at 10 p.m. and said that they were opening a bottle of champagne, if I wanted to come and celebrate the new job with them. I was getting ready for bed, but quickly dressed and walked the half-block down to their house. As we stood in their kitchen, with the parquet floor that Rob helped JD install and the granite counter tops that JD and Kim ordered from a vendor in Fredericksburg when Rob and I lived there, we all had tears in our eyes as we thought of how happy Rob would be for them.
The months since Rob’s death have seen many other losses: Rob’s long-time friend and law partner in San Antonio, Tom Even, died of lung cancer in November, 2005. Our dear friend and fellow stem cell transplant patient, John Meyerholtz, died in December from leukemia. Rob’s father died in January, 2006, of Alzheimer’s, without ever knowing that Rob had been so ill and died. We had a memorial service for Bob (Opa) in April, and buried some of his ashes, as well as some of Rob’s, next to Rob’s mother’s grave in Eldorado, Texas, where Bob was born.
So many chapters of our lives are ending, just as Rob's and so many other lives have ended. And even though I am ready to leave the house where Rob was so sick, I will be leaving the last home we shared together when I leave here ... And Rob is not going back to Waxahachie with me or to Virginia with Kimberly and JD and the girls, except that he will be with us all in our hearts and our memories. It is breaking my heart, knowing that he will never see their next house, or help JD do projects for that house like he did in the one here, or…. And yet, every one of these things is either something we really wanted -- the jobs and the work -- or something that was time -- Rob's dad had Alzheimer's and his LIFE ended long before his body gave up.
Life changes in an instant, as it did for Rob -- and for us -- on August 7, 2005. Our lives will go on, but they will never be the same. The grief has not ended. In fact, I think it has gone underground, like a subterranean stream, running wild and strong, coming to the surface in unexpected places and bringing with it a rush of spume and spurting tears.
Joan Didion begins her book The Year of Magical Thinking with
Life changes fast.
Life changes in an instant.
It has been 10 months since Rob died. Sometimes, it seems as if it has only been an instant since I stood by his bed in the Emergency Room and watched the life and light that I so loved leave his eyes ... and felt him leave me. At other times, it seems as if I have not seen him for a lifetime. But things are definitely not the same for any of us as they were when he was alive.
They changed in an instant.
And so it is for us in the Williams households here in Georgetown.
Rob and I bought our Georgetown house in May, 2004, on the same street as our son JD and his family and we loved being so close to them. Sadly, we moved in just before his leukemia returned in August, 2004. Even though he and I had very little time together here, it was important to Rob that they would be close by for me if something happened to him.
But in January, 2006, JD accepted a new position with his company that requires him to move to Richmond, VA. He has already been working there for months, with (too infrequent) trips home every other weekend. In March, we listed both our houses for sale. Theirs is now under contract and will close before the end of June. They have found a new home in the Richmond area and Kim and the girls will move in July.
The night JD got the news about the job, he and Kim called at 10 p.m. and said that they were opening a bottle of champagne, if I wanted to come and celebrate the new job with them. I was getting ready for bed, but quickly dressed and walked the half-block down to their house. As we stood in their kitchen, with the parquet floor that Rob helped JD install and the granite counter tops that JD and Kim ordered from a vendor in Fredericksburg when Rob and I lived there, we all had tears in our eyes as we thought of how happy Rob would be for them.
The months since Rob’s death have seen many other losses: Rob’s long-time friend and law partner in San Antonio, Tom Even, died of lung cancer in November, 2005. Our dear friend and fellow stem cell transplant patient, John Meyerholtz, died in December from leukemia. Rob’s father died in January, 2006, of Alzheimer’s, without ever knowing that Rob had been so ill and died. We had a memorial service for Bob (Opa) in April, and buried some of his ashes, as well as some of Rob’s, next to Rob’s mother’s grave in Eldorado, Texas, where Bob was born.
So many chapters of our lives are ending, just as Rob's and so many other lives have ended. And even though I am ready to leave the house where Rob was so sick, I will be leaving the last home we shared together when I leave here ... And Rob is not going back to Waxahachie with me or to Virginia with Kimberly and JD and the girls, except that he will be with us all in our hearts and our memories. It is breaking my heart, knowing that he will never see their next house, or help JD do projects for that house like he did in the one here, or…. And yet, every one of these things is either something we really wanted -- the jobs and the work -- or something that was time -- Rob's dad had Alzheimer's and his LIFE ended long before his body gave up.
Life changes in an instant, as it did for Rob -- and for us -- on August 7, 2005. Our lives will go on, but they will never be the same. The grief has not ended. In fact, I think it has gone underground, like a subterranean stream, running wild and strong, coming to the surface in unexpected places and bringing with it a rush of spume and spurting tears.
posted by Claudia | 8:07 AM
2 Comments:
My condolences on your loss. Bright blessings in finding the way forward and in all else you do.
Claudia dearest...welcome to the blog world...I hope you find comfort in it. I'm thinking of you today, of your Rob...the father I know he was...it hurts, I know, yet another "first"..will things get better after the "first" year is over...we can only hope so.
Keeping you in my prayers.
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