Widowed: Life Goes On — And Some of Us Still Like It

An old family friend called yesterday to see how I was doing. When I say old, I mean old. He’s pushing 102. But for our old family friend, life goes on, 101 birthdays notwithstanding.

This family friend goes way back with us. His name is Dave Nelson, and he is Jon’s godfather. Apparently, now that Jon is gone, Dave has taken it upon himself to look after Jon’s widow. And on this day, he wanted to know how I was doing.

How was I doing? What do you say to a really old guy who wants to know how you are doing?

Dave’s life pleasures are limited right now. At 101, he can’t drive any more. And when he ordered the tomato bisque soup at a fancy restaurant the other day, he was told they’d run out. Also unavailable, the pear salad and the filet steak.

His week had not gone well. Obviously, I needed to think of something cheerful to say.

Is a White Lie in Order?

Cheerful but truthful. Dave had packed on some years. He’d recognize a fib if I floated one.

“I’m doing alright,” I said. “My life is good. But without Jon, the fun has gone out of it.”

“Ah, yes,” he said. “The fun has gone out of it.”

Dave is a widower. But there he was, 101 years old, hankering for a cup of tomato bisque.

Like it or not, life goes on. And our old family friend seems to be liking it. He’d picked up the phone to call me, after all. And if that’s not liking life, what is?

It so happens another life form has caught my attention lately. It’s the lusty crocosmias I planted in our side yard decades ago. At first, it was just a handful of corms in a corner. But by last summer, I had wands of bright orange blossoms wafting the full length of our side yard. Sun, shade, rain, no rain, life went on for the crocosmias. They flourished.

Ruthless in the Garden

Last summer, I set about exterminating them to make way for something more orderly. I instructed the workmen who put in the new stairs to dig them up and toss them out. Be ruthless.

But last month the rains came. Up came the crocosmias. Dozens of them had escaped the workmen’s shovels, and now they were pushing aside the soil amendments the crew had piled on top of them. Some were sidling through the cracks in the new redwood decking.

Life goes on. Not for Jon. But for Dave Nelson and me. Also for those pesky crocosmias, who seem to like it a lot.

More about Dave Nelson at “How to Grieve — A Message From My Mother-in-Law.” It was Dave who broght the decades old message.