The Hiccup
I’ve had a series of spirit lifting days, mostly filled with music, satisfying work, and good company. Yesterday, I put up a shelter on my deck to keep the sun at bay, weeded a bit, tidied up the house, and went to have dinner with friends, kids included, the latter comprised of a full-grown son, his spouse, and their offspring. It made for a lively time, and a nice way to end a day.
On the way home, I replayed the evening’s events. The children smiled when they greeted me, we chatted a bit. The full-grown son is a smart, quick-witted soul, and last night he was in rare form; there was laughter and puns, good and bad. Another guest remembered the host’s birthday (several days past) and brought him a gift. That’s where I went a teeny bit south. I thought that was something I should have remembered—a birthday and a small gift. I then recalled that my wife was the part of the brain trust who typically carried that responsibility. But she’s gone. I teared up.
They didn’t last long. The road I was on required my full attention, and the memory was passing and bittersweet. I made a mental note to do better next time and put it in the queue with all the other things my wife did that made her special to friends and family. I think you could sum them up by saying she thought of other people. Lord knows, I try, but she was next level. I’m going to keep giving it a go, however, because, while it does require some effort, I’ve found an offshoot of thinking about other people is that it makes you feel good. That feels like a win-win.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale