I Think God is Proud of Me

I Think God is Proud of Me January 23, 2022



I am approaching four years of being a widower—four years this coming March. In looking back, I think God is proud of me. I find myself trying to figure out the day and year of that transition point, almost every time the topic comes up, either counting backwards from Covid or forward from the doctor telling me ‘Just plan on 2017 is going to suck.’ It’s funny how we do the math. Trying to keep track of something we feel we should keep track of. How we connect it to something else so we can remember it is pretty funny.

     I think I’m doing pretty well

This far away from her passing, I’m doing pretty well. I was lucky. She was sick and in the hospital for a long time and it gave me some transition experience with being home alone. I think I have always, or at least the majority of my married life, liked the alone time. Maybe because this house was always noisy and busy. Someone was always coming, going, something. The weirdest part of the transition from married to widowed, to me, is eating out—alone.

I started with a restaurant I had frequented and luckily knew the owner. He wasn’t there, but there was always a place at the bar and sometimes, I would take a notebook to work out thoughts of whatever book I was writing then. I had a drink, then a dinner or lunch, then took half of it home. That’s the other thing, my metabolism has slowed to a crawl. Like honey in a blizzard.

      Gyms are a necessary evil

The kids, at least some of them, talked me in to attending their gym early in the morning—5:15 it starts so I need to have an alarm go off about 4:15. Sometimes, I got brave and rode my bike there along the canal. That meant a 4am wake up. By the time I got up, got dressed, watered the dogs, made my bed (I read Adm. McRaven’s book Make Your Bed), it was time to go. Three and a half years later, I am still going. I haven’t turned in to an Atlas. My muscles still hurt, my neck, legs, arms all hurt. Yeah, this is supposed to be good for me. So, I keep going.

I have been doing laundry and cooking even before my wife died-even before marriage so that area of my life is wired in. Although I do hate to fold and put laundry away, just like dishes. I can wash those items all day long but putting them away, it gets done, but it might take a day, or until the next laundry cycle. I’ve been dressing myself for years and since I retired after she died, I haven’t had the need for many dress shirts and ties. So, I do the rotation thing with T-shirts and shorts. It’s a system. I invented it. It works.

     I wonder how the pizza will taste

During the first part of Covid I made sure I had some supplies—rice, energy drinks, toilet paper, frozen pizza, you know, the supplies you have when no one can find you for a week when you fall over with Covid germs. It never happened or if it did, I didn’t notice it. Covid A, B, C, D to Omicron to, only God knows. The freezer still has the pizza.

I think God would be proud of where I am. I trust Him more with myself, talk to him more. We laugh when he lets me see His hand move. I just shake my head and begin to laugh, tearing up a bit because of what I am seeing. When you witness Glory like that, even something small, its hard not to shed a tear. Sometimes blurting out ‘sonofabitch’ under my breath. A reaction to something I hope I never get use to seeing.

The God of the Universe, passing by my life and his wake washing up against me. Just the wake.

I hope I never get use to that.

Enjoy the ride

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