On we go to the introduction, written by Douglas Gresham (Lewis' stepson). In comparing his grief at losing his mother to the grief Jack experienced in losing his soul mate, Gresham states:
"... for me there would be other loves to find and no doubt in time to lose or be lost by. But for Jack this was the end of so much which life had for so long denied him and then briefly held out to him like a barren promise. For Jack there were none of the hopes (however dimly I might see them) of bright sunlit meadows and life-light and laughter. I had Jack to lean upon, poor Jack only had me."
How often have I been asked (but really told) "aren't you so grateful to have Em? What would you do without her? She must be such a solace to you, a true blessing."
"So true, definitely, for sure" is how I usually reply. I mean it, I really do. Em is our miracle. Hank had surgery to remove his cancer and the doctors said there was a good chance he'd be sterile. Em made her entrance on the stage of this life with flourish and style and surprised us all. She really is one of our miracles. She does bring me great solace and comfort. Having her has forced me to get out of myself and serve her needs (both physical and emotional).
Although she is the greatest gift Hank ever gave me, I've never really looked at her and thought, "wow, there is a little bit of Hank" or "his DNA lives through her" or "I didn't really lose him because I have him in her." She is not Hank. I hear others suggest such things and I just don't understand it. What does that mean? I don't even begin to know.
There have been times that I've thought something along the lines of "Em has me to lean upon, poor Merry only has Em." Not really that sentiment in its entirety, but something in that realm of feeling. I've sometimes wondered if parenting a fatherless child who is grieving (albeit very healthily) has somehow detracted from my own grief process.
We talk about Hank and she knows I miss him terribly and love him deeply. She has seen me cry, but I don't think it is good for her to see a mom who is sobbing uncontrollably. Not her personality anyway. She is a mature spirit and she would understand and think it her responsibility to make it all better (she's heard people say she is my solace and she takes it seriously). I've had friends offer to take her so I can have a cry-fest but my emotions don't work on-demand like that. It isn't that I've bottled it all up (I've had nights of tears after she's sleeping) but it is something I've controlled more than I would have without the responsibilities of motherhood. I suppose that would be true even if I wasn't a widow.
That brings up another issue. I don't know what it is like to be a mother without also being a widow. Em was only 2 when her daddy died. She never knew life without cancer in the family. I've never known motherhood without death. Sometimes I find myself attributing things she does or that I do to our "situation" and then I realize that we would probably be going through the same things even if Hank were coming home from work every night. I just don't know. It all gets blended into some impressionistic water color life. Where does widowhood end and single-parenthood begin? For that matter, where does widowhood end and life begin?
That's it though isn't it? Life is hard no matter what your "situation" is. Mine (at this moment) happens to be widowhood and single-parenthood. I'm just grateful that through this experience I do have Em to lean upon. She's amazing and whatever the added hardship, getting to associate with her is definitely worth it.
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