It's difficult for me to grasp that the 10-month anniversary of Tal's death is under a week away. While I am getting through each day, most of the time with energy and gratitude, there are times of terrible sorrow that simply wring the life out of me.
I awoke one day recently after a night of amorphous dreams with the word "sustain" on my mind. It was a strong enough recollection through the morning that I looked the word up. To strengthen or support physically or mentally. I could count that vague memory as happenstance, and maybe it is. It could just as easily, however, be a hint as to a quality I can nurture as I continue on.
People who support worthy causes are put in a sustainer category. Notes are sustained in music. Oh, or there's the clear, long tone of a tuning fork. Food, clothing, shelter are considered essential for sustaining life. Sustain is a hopeful word.
Sad as I am, I am sustained, and I know it. Through photographs of trips Tal and I made, which I am fashioning into albums. Through encounters with family and friends. Through unexpected delights of memory.
Later this week my mother and I are driving to Virginia for a baby shower. My nephew and his wife are expecting their first child. As I began giving attention to travel plans, to what to take with me, to how to get two giant boxes wrapped and transported, I experienced just such an unexpected delight.
These two photographs were made in the spring of 1991. (The processor's stamp on the back of each reads APR 91.) They are of my then new husband, Tal, and our equally new nephew, Andrew.
I awoke one day recently after a night of amorphous dreams with the word "sustain" on my mind. It was a strong enough recollection through the morning that I looked the word up. To strengthen or support physically or mentally. I could count that vague memory as happenstance, and maybe it is. It could just as easily, however, be a hint as to a quality I can nurture as I continue on.
People who support worthy causes are put in a sustainer category. Notes are sustained in music. Oh, or there's the clear, long tone of a tuning fork. Food, clothing, shelter are considered essential for sustaining life. Sustain is a hopeful word.
Sad as I am, I am sustained, and I know it. Through photographs of trips Tal and I made, which I am fashioning into albums. Through encounters with family and friends. Through unexpected delights of memory.
Later this week my mother and I are driving to Virginia for a baby shower. My nephew and his wife are expecting their first child. As I began giving attention to travel plans, to what to take with me, to how to get two giant boxes wrapped and transported, I experienced just such an unexpected delight.
These two photographs were made in the spring of 1991. (The processor's stamp on the back of each reads APR 91.) They are of my then new husband, Tal, and our equally new nephew, Andrew.
It's that cute baby who's about to become a father. And, that lovely man is the one whose death I grieve. Remembering that spring day 26 years ago -- not to mention the relief of being able to locate the photographs when I wanted and needed to see them -- is something that sustains me today, holding me steady, providing support. They are a clear note sounding through this day.
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