What is an anchor anyway?

It has been a long time since I have written. I have learned a lot of lessons since my husband died but they are hard to put into words.  In my last post I told a story about a seemingly small event that took on new meaning after he was gone. Similarly,  I learned that what I miss the most are what we might think are smallest of things.  Coffee in the morning.  Planning out our day.  Sitting side by side without talking while we read or eat or watch TV.  I have spend some time thinking about why these are the things that seem most absent.  I think it because these are the touch points of a relationship, a marriage, that give us structure, help us through our day, make us feel safe and comfortable. Our relationships structure our lives.  When you are married you are in everything together whether you know it or not.  So it is the ultimate structure in your life.  "I will water the plants. Can you walk the dogs?" "Are you getting your hair cut today?" " Ok, I will pick up the cleaning"  Small little exchanges and activities that move us through our days together even if we are not even in the same room or house.  Without them we float.  Since Victor died sometimes I feel like I float through the day and I am looking for my anchor.  What grounds us, keeps us steady and prevents us from drifting away?  Our anchor.  Sometimes in marriage we feel tied down, less free to move about.  But what I have learned is that marriage is an anchor and it gives you freedom, lets you move through life without feeling like you are drifting or floating.

What I Learned When My Husband Died: Lesson #1

What I Learned When My Husband Died: Lesson #1

Lesson #1

I had just returned to work. I think it was my second day back and I was in a meeting at the end of the day. It was about 6pm when I was struck with overwhelming sadness and panic. Random sadness was common, is still common, so I did not attribute it to anything specific. The next night I was driving home from work around 6pm and I was expecting my phone to ring. I heard in my head the ringtone singing Homeward Bound, which was my signal that "home" was calling. Tears ran down my face as I drove home. At that moment I realized that Victor called me every night at 6 o'clock and every night he asked the same question, “What’s your Theta?”  It was his way of asking,  "When will you be home."   I took those phone calls every night and never knew what they meant to me until they were over. I really didn't even notice them. 

He was also non-judgemental about the answer. Whether I said, "On my way home," or "It will be hours," he adjusted. Or he'd say something like, "The kids want to watch Friends at 9 and we are having chicken for dinner." I’d reply, "I will be home by 9 then, hopefully sooner." All very casual.  Never an argument.  Non-eventful. 

This was a common exchange for years and I didn’t notice it until he died. I had no idea how much it meant to me...all of it. First, that he called at the same time. Second, that the answer wasn’t important. Third, that he gave me what I needed...a reason to shut down work and get home.

Lesson #1: Pay attention and appreciate the ordinary...it isn’t as ordinary as you think.