Out of the sorrow of his sweet wife’s passing comes new determination to fully live each day
More than six months after the devastating death of my beloved wife, Margaret, and rising through the billowing clouds of the ensuing grief, I am slowly gaining increased insight into personal meaning of this shattering event.
Margaret, age 88, and I were married 66 years ago, in 1953. After law school — she became a teacher to finance my legal education — we came to Fresno as I sought a career in law while she joined me in raising our four children, meanwhile being active in the community. She died of complications from Alzheimer’s disease after a prolonged illness.
Since her death, I have been flooded with memories: her laugh, her smile, her wisdom. And, yes, our partnership facing the joys and sadnesses of life all those decades.
The reality of the inevitability of death loomed over me as never before. Sure, our parents had died, as well as many friends, but the stark reality that death hovered over all of us became clear and imminent.
Awareness of death is a unique human feature. My pet dogs, terriers and labs, had no idea that they were doomed. It is the stark presence of this awareness that struck me so hard. All living things around me would die, including me!
For over millenia our forebears, homo sapiens, tried to deal with this awareness with the belief in an afterlife. Their graves often contain gifts to accompany their deceased loved ones. Most religions grew with a promise of personal eternity. Think of the Egyptian pyramids or the great stone structures of Central and South America. And of course, Christianity and the Muslim religions had an afterlife as central. But as the archeological record pushed religions further and further back in tangible reality, I find this belief, as a Christian, difficult: comforting but troublesome.
Other folks have gained immortality by monuments. Think of university buildings named after generous founders. Some have funded charitable institutions in their name. Think of the Ford Foundation or the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation.
Others have achieved immortality through their good works. Think of Maria Theresa. Or, indeed, Jesus of Nazareth.
So what are the lessons for me in all this history as I begin to deal with my grief? The counselors would say that acceptance is the final stage of grieving, and I am now at that stage. My own mortality is now clearly etched in my mind as never before. Now what?
At age 88 this awareness leaves me in a hurry. I want to value each day. As one gets close to 90 years old, it takes more and more vitality to just keep going. Aristotle felt that we all had diminished vitality (heat, he would put it) as we aged and this is surely true. It takes courage to face each day. Yet, the dark cloud of imminent death looming over me spurs me to action.
And what I do with each day is also critically important. Here the Christian New Testament offers valuable, some would say divine instruction. Following as best and imperfectly as I humbly can, I have vowed to try to reach out to others to help them with their suffering or any other needs; to give them comfort and support; to share their joys; to be part of the mainstream of humanity.
As to immortality, I fear I must rely on Margaret’s and my family, now extended to 49 people including step-grandchildren and spouses. In many ways they are our main contribution to society, hopefully reflecting goals matching Margaret’s and mine. Perhaps they will recall our teaching, dreams, and struggles.
So, now at peace with the idea that I will soon join my wife in our joint urn, I will strive each morning to get up, try to be affirmative, loving and supportive, and turning the awareness of death so recently and tragically brought home to me into an asset.
Phil Fullerton is a retired lawyer living in Fresno. Email: puyricard8@sbcglobal.net