286→Husband Journey: I Wish I Had a River
The Levin Farm; Cambridge, New York 1972 oil on canvas
Art for a typical holiday card was usually a winter photograph taken by one of us.
This painting served well as our annual winter scene one year
~
The muse gets lost in the shuffle of life. It took a friend’s email to jolt me awake. Thank you, Phyllis.
I wrote back:
Merry Christmas to you and yours.
Every year, Robert would toil over putting together a printed tome and winter photo to wish an incredibly long list of people the best for the holidays. It was his annual tradition and sometimes it would drive me mad. He would work for days, maybe weeks, choosing, deciding, printing, writing, addressing, finding the perfect stamps—at least a conglomerate of 5 beauties, vintage of course— to add up to the current postage rate, (stamps from a collection, that takes up closets), in order to complete the most wonderful gift from the heart.
Of course, there was, after that, the drive to the post office where he would hang out with a postal worker who would allow him to use the thing that postmarks the stamps. I think it’s called the canceller. He’d do it himself: he knew how not to disrespect the stamps. He would “tip” the corners thus providing the postmark and leaving the beauty of the stamps intact. He would hope the recipient would enjoy the stamps and possibly return them: Special people, “stamp-people” would.
Most people didn’t know what went into this effort. Most never even mentioned the stamps—his pride. They were taken for granted.
No one had his aesthetic, or architectonic eye. No one was like him.
People from the endless list would write back and include their latest moments in life. Some would write stories or anecdotes or notes or newsy letters. Some would include photos. Each year the list of returned communiques would shrink or swell depending on motivation or death. None of the ones we received were ever as artistic or evolved or sensitive or poetic or driven by American beauty as Robert’s. Many cards were just dutifully signed without a personal word, shoved into an envelope and thrown into the mailbox. Don’t even mention the stamp: The one stamp that the sender thought nothing about. Those of the hundred+ people on the list who knew they were receiving a gift, would send notes of gratitude.
The list of recipients included neighbors, former students, colleagues, friends from childhood, relatives, people we met on trips, people we met at events. People and more people. For years he would send his annual card to a family of elderly Canadian siblings we had met on a trip to Prince Edward Island in the 1970s . When they all had passed, their family members, of younger generations would write to us.
When many on the list of Robert’s annual card didn’t receive their in 2020 mailing, the year he met his ultimate fall, they knew something was wrong. Many people wrote to us. I was the recipient.
Each year I am less motivated to continue the tradition: I am worn out by mourning, grieving, another breast surgery, failed migraine meds and the feeling of loss after loss. I sometimes feel sorry for myself and try my hardest to pull myself out of it. The other day I was glued to the couch, rain hitting the windows for days, with a box of tissues, and held hostage by sadness and eleven hours of streamed TV.
The more I am away from Robert and the traditions he started, the more I recognize and miss: Last night a friend of his from childhood, Alan, was in from Chicago, and came for dinner, as did my son and his new bride. I was feeling exhausted, unwell, frustrated, angry, just plain unhappy: Blame it on winter, on no sun, on reactions to a new (promising, finally) migraine drug whose side effects I had to deal with all week…I ordered dinner, we ate, we gradually all found our generational middle ground and enjoyed eachother, finding that in the criss-crosses of our life’s paths, there was a central area in the created web:
Robert.
He lies in a bed, not too far away but far enough. I haven’t seen him in a while. I am at the whim of someone who could aid in initiating a Facetime call. Sometimes I just want to forget about him and finish mourning.
Robert, who was Alan’s friend since third grade, Robert, who is Evan’s father, Robert, who is C’s new father-in-law, Robert who is my husband; Robert, who did so many things in his life, whose intense energy is burning out, gave me the fodder to participate in a discussion of travels through Ireland with last night’s visitors.
As winter descends and the days shorten, I try to plan more days and find more joy. Sometimes, I just can’t. In the days of this new world, it feels like there is a strange energy that envelops me: it threatens with illness, it feels like something from a medieval fresco with teeth that nips at my heels. The diversion I once had, that distraction caused by dealing with others close to me is no longer there.
But I am there. Maybe that is the problem: I am not used to taking care of just me.
The good part of your writing and my responding is that I finally have the blog I couldn’t write for weeks. I was stuck, Phyllis. You brought the muse.
Thank you. May your holiday be wonderful.
You are loved.
River (one of the best Christmas songs ever written)
Joni Mitchell
📌The series starts here:
Part 1: And The Band Played On … a mother’s life, a daughter’s journey
The previous post is here
The next post is here.
sending love and prayers .
You are brave .❤️❤️❤️
Comments from FB
Barbara S.
Sue, I ache for you, Evan and “C”, Robert’s friends and of course Robert himself. I hope you do care for you, and that the new migraine medicine works. I wish you joy, strength and heartfelt best wishes and not just now. I keep saying this, since 2020 anyway, but here’s hoping next year will be better and easier.
Catherine M.
Sending you a big holiday hug and please know you and your family are wished peace and comfort during this holiday season.❤❤
Miriam G.
Susan, I was lucky enough to receive Robert’s cards for a couple of years, and his stamps are 9n my fridge (I would’ve mailed them back if I’d known that was a thing). I wish a for you a peaceful year with renewed health and strength.♥️
Ron & Rina
Susan, Ron has kept every card and envelope which of course includes the stamp. As you know he is missed more than words can express. We love you!
Penny P.
My all time favourite singer and songwriter along with Carole King. I have been playing the guitar for many years and have several in my collection. It’s the best thing when I am feeling sad. Joni Mitchell is a fabulous singer & writes the most wonderful songs!
Phyllis C. D.
❤️
Sharon H.
Taking care of yourself is allowed and much needed
Jeanette D.
Many many hugs. Your friends are a phone call away. . Merry Christmas.
Mara L.
Amen on that
Melissa D.O
sweetie this is so hard… wish I had a river is one of my favorite Joni Mitchell songs..big hug😻❤️😻🥰
Thanks for this Sue, and for a wonderful evening. And…Robert and I have known each other since 2nd grade! Amazing.
Such a touching and honest remembrance of a disappeared past. So hard to break out of a molasses-like net of separation from a simple life when one’s partner is alive but so not present through no fault of their own. In a caregiver support group (years ago), I learned that one has to learn how to somehow find gratitude and hope in the midst of heartbreak. Not easy, but treat yourself as well as you can in the meantime. PS love that song
I’m so glad to read your blog, restarted now and very welcome. I hope as the days go on you can look forward and enjoy those friends who are still there ( me included). Please know that you and Bob are always in my prayers, hopefully that knowledge will bring some comfort. You are one incredibly strong woman (sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse), and that strength sustains you, even on the worst days. Lets plan a lunch soon (after Christmas please). Love you!!! Hugs from me
Sending much love and hugs!!
❤️
Jackie
Hugs for you
Thank you, Susan, for the remarkable and intimate paean to Robert; his life, his quirks, his genius. I thought I was the only loon who picked a stamp to match a missive’s content or the recipient’s circumstances. Of course not with the meticulous attention to detail that motivated my old friend. And he was matched and nourished by your creativity, warmth, love and talent. So sorry that you are again having to cope with serious medical issues on top of all the emotional tsouris. No one ever claimed that life was fair but this is ridiculous. I think of you both often and find inspiration in some dark nights while waiting for the dawn. Sending love, hugs and memories, April
Hi Sue,
Love the song. I used to listen to it often. So poignant.
Yesterday, I sent a card to the daughter of a close friend, congratulating her on her marriage and pregnancy.
I thanked her for the condolence letter she had written to me.
She wrote fondly about the adventures she and Paul had hunting bullfrogs in the country when she was a child. And how he made an origami frog from a metro card that would leap if you pinched it in a certain way.
So when I addressed the card, I remembered I had a panel of frog forever stamps. When I affixed one to the envelope I wondered if she’ll notice……
I often hand-make greeting cards. Some recipients don’t notice that i made the card, but some cherish and save them. One friend framed a card and displayed it. You never know.
🐸 ❤️your lainie
For what it’s worth, I think you handle things perfectly. So much on your plate with Robert and your own issues…you’re just awesome. Love you.
A dinner with people a good way to care for self. Writing. Life is difficult a lot of the time. Losing a spouse, the way you have/and are, has got to be so very very hard. Sending love 💗 and hugs 🤗 and light 🕯️
❤️❤️❤️
Phyllis