2020 was a very good year at our house.
2020 didn’t look like much at the time — no all-day shopping expeditions to Walnut Creek for me. No daily trips to the produce section of the supermarket for Jon. No dinner-and-a-movie nights with our friends up the street. No jaunts to the Midwest for live action days with the grandchildren.
A lot was missing in 2020 — on paper. But in fact, for Jon and me, 2020 was a very good year.
It was nice.
We were together, just the two of us, and we each had things to do. Jon worked on his thriller novel. I worked on my next book and on posts like this one. We Skyped with the grandchildren.
Our ambitious household projects kept us in contact with the outside world, which we engaged through windows clouded with rock dust (the new patio) and through sheets of plastic taped to the walls (our new dining room and deck).
Jon and I were dismayed at the loss of life to Covid-19 around the world. But the two of us were spared, and no one close to us succumbed.
And so, 2020 was a very good year for the two of us. Jon was there. I was there. We went about our days in each other’s quiet company.
In the evening, we sat down to dinner together. We turned on the news and watched American democracy careen through the first ten months of 2020, then right itself in the eleventh. We worked on crossword puzzles.
But mostly my husband and I took each other for granted. We took each other’s existence for granted.
My big, fat Webster’s Third New International Dictionary devotes a couple long inches to the word granted. One definition of granted reads something like this, “To give something that could be withheld.”
Jon and I granted each other much during the 2020 shutdown. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, we granted each other our presence.
We had time in each other’s company in 2020, lots of it. And it seemed there would be plenty more of that time in the years to come.
But, of course, there wasn’t.
Read more about Jon Newhall in the obituary I wrote with his brother Tony in February. More about how our patio looked at “We’ve Added Another Room to Our House” — and how our remodel turned out at “Hey, HGTV Fans, Take a Look at Our Remodel.”
This is another great post of Jon and your last months together. You’re right – everything was so calm and taken for granted. Now it seems so surreal. I’m SO GLAD that you took so many photos of both of you during the past year. These memories will last forever.
Thanks, Tony. Yes, my penchant for taking photos of everything in sight, including my husband, has paid off. He was a great subject, because he didn’t mind being photographed, and he didn’t pose — probably a hangover from his journalism days, when a spontaneous, action shot would be preferred over a posed shot. Of course, like all the men in his family, he was good-looking, so he probably didn’t feel the need to pose and show his best side.
What you said is so true. We just comfortably take it for granted, rather than relishing it later on reflection
One of the great things about marriage is that, yes, you can take each other for granted a lot of the time. Then, every once in a while it hits you — how lucky you are. And those are great moments.
These posts are so emotional and heartwrenching…this one brought tears…
xo
Thank you, Nancy. I know you miss Jon, too.
Lovely photo of you and Jon.
Yes, you had a very good year.
We — with the help of my trusty point-and-shoot and its self-timer – took about 100 pictures of ourselves last December. Right now I do not think that was too many!
❤️❤️❤️ Thanks Barbara for the wonderful article and reminder…
Thanks, Deidre. Thanks for being there.
A beautiful piece that reflects the kind of grace it takes to see the light in a dark time. Your perfect use of the word ‘granted’ pretty much sums it ll up.
Visits to a big, fat dictionary like Webster’s International can be quite enlightening. You see words that you take for granted in an entirely new way. I recommend it, especially to writers.
This is lovely Barbara, and well done for carrying on, grieving, crying, sharing your joys and sorrows and that you are continuing to write. Onwards friend.
Some days it’s mostly carrying on. Other days the grieving take over. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever gone through.