Remembering: The Video that Came out of Nowhere
My sister Terry, well, now she’s Terra, gave me retroactive permission to call her Terry as I’ve known her forever. We’re only 13 months apart. Anyway, she’s moving to Surinam. Don’t ask. And while cleaning out her life in Walla Walla (no, seriously, Walla Walla) she found a CD of a little movie she took when she was out here visiting. It takes place in the old house, in my old life, and there’s Ira, very shortly before he was shot and there’s my darling grandson, now 5, then one. This is the only moving picture of Ira in existence. Except for some tapes of lectures he gave, and those are good, but they’re the professional Ira, not my Ira. My sister warned me that Ira’s Parkinson’s Disease was really evident in the film, and it would be tough watching. But the funny thing is, it wasn’t. I didn’t say unemotional, just not hard. I howled and cried for Ira while watching. I thought for a minute I could grab him by the belt and pull him through the screen. Even with Parkinson’s Disease. Even thin and barely still talking. I wouldn’t care.
And it wasn’t just Ira who was alive again. There was Luna our beautiful dog. She died 5 months after Ira. Perfectly healthy, only 7 years old. She was such a character. Ira said she was a schizoid personality type. He was insightful about dogs as well as humans it seems. She liked to say hello, get a pat and then go into her own room. Yes, she had her own room. Well, what do you do with all those extra rooms after the kids leave? She had a bed between my pottery stuff and the treadmill. Our old house that we lived in for 32 years looked really good too. Filled with love and comfort and the life we had.
Really, I’m fine. That 7 minute movie was a validation. I remember it all; just the way it was. Once I had that house and that life and that man. I feel like Jake LaMotta. Or whoever it was in the Scorcese film, “I coulda been a contender.” No, I was a contender. Not to worry, I’m happy much of the time. Not like okay, but really happy. I seem to make friends very easily now that I’m a single woman. Me, who never had many friends. Now, they seem to just appear. There’s a lot of us lonely older, smart, funny ladies out there. And we offer each other comfort and companionship. And my garden. You should see it! Filled with life and color. And my friends and grand kids really get a kick out of it. Me too. So this life is okay. No, more than that, it’s good. But the old one wasn’t too shabby either. And, honestly, I don’t miss it so much anymore. Just him.
Ronnie writes at Widowgirl about the experience of being a widow at age 64 after 41 years of marriage.
