This new math is hard

Math, or anything closely related, was never an enjoyable subject for me. I was lucky though. I had one of my favorite teachers in high school for Algebra 1 and 2. Mrs. Bowman was tough but encouraging. She was the kind of teacher that I would work hard for and really learn from, so I managed to get through those years with mid B’s. I slogged my way through all the Freshman year math in college and then gladly left that area of study behind for good.

Grief brought a new math to light. During the first year after Tim’s death, I had endless ways to calculate his life, our life, and the measure of time. I was especially absorbed by the “week-ago’s” and “month-ago’s.” Eventually those turned into the “year-ago’s”. And today, five years ago, was Tim’s last day in his body, in this life on Earth.

People ask me if I still hear from him like I used to. Yes, I do. Just the other day, I was walking near our old home in North Carolina for the first time in over a year. I was actually deep in thought about something we had shared there five years earlier. The birds were singing gloriously. I paused and scanned the trees. Seeing nothing in particular, I launched the new Merlin app on my phone that identifies birds by sound. It immediately registered an Indigo Bunting. Though they are prolific songbirds, they are often hidden in their preferred thick, shrubby habitat and remain unseen. The male is a stunning blue, which is indicated by its name.

Only once in my life have I seen one. It was with Tim. We were at our mountain property, outside doing some work by our shed, and out from the edge of our woods came a vibrant Indigo Bunting to the hook of our birdfeeder. We both held our breath as we watched. He stayed for several minutes, and eventually we managed to snap one photo. (so excited I was able to dig this out of the archives from 2008).

Oddly enough, I’ve never known their song, but my Merlin app did. And yes, I give Tim credit for all of it. I was in the place where we shared so much of our life, solo, in nature, and with my new app. Just maybe, Tim, with all of his energy (that by his firm belief, still exists) willed me to pause and wonder, what is that beautiful song?  So, I do hear from Tim and probably find him in ways that will only make sense to me. But, I think that’s what it’s all about.

Tim remains in my life in all kinds of ways, but the further from the loss, the math changes, and the calculations become hard in a different way. It is an all too frequent reminder of how quickly days, months and years pass. I often think about what has happened since May 22, 2019. All that has occurred since then, that he is not directly, physically a part of. When I get stuck in those thoughts, it hurts.

For Tim, I grieve for what he is missing here. For what he can’t see and feel as a human sharing a life with those he loves.

Also, in an uncomfortable way, these five years of missed moments causes me to occasionally pause and note- this too will happen to me one day. I will be gone, and I will no longer be a part of anything that happens after. Not in the way that I was before. Not in the way that is tangible, that we all could know and see.

This brings me to another iteration of new math. Tim has been gone for five years. He was five years older than me. I just had a birthday, and I am now the age that Tim was when he passed away. Tim was always older than me, but from this day on, I am older than him. Older than he ever was. As I go forward, I will always be experiencing an age that he never did. This is big. This is heavy. This simply makes me sad. This new math is hard.

But for now, my story continues and for each day that it does, I make certain I do the easy math. Counting the people (and dogs) that I love and who love me and all the reasons why I live in immense gratitude for all of it.

On May 22, 2019 we supported Tim out of this life as he took his last breath. Sincere love and gratitude for the friends and family who came to show their love in those last few days and to those by his side sharing this sacred moment: Leyla, Monica, Bill (RIP), Tom, Bryan, Amy, Isabella, Judy and Chuck