One Year

Written by RJ on October 31, 2014. Posted in Coleen, Discovery, Healing

September 18, 2014 was a strange day. It was unlike any day before and I expect it was also unlike any day I will ever live again. I wasn’t sure how I was going to handle that day. On some of the anniversary days of Coleen’s death, I had premeditated plans that I carried out but that day was different. Although it was certainly a day for recognition, it didn’t seem appropriate to celebrate anything. Just as it didn’t seem right for excessive mourning or sadness. September 18th was to be acknowledged this year and as far as I’m concerned, in every year to come. A friend of mine called it Coleen’s “One Year Memory Day” and I could not think of a better way to say it. A day dedicated to the memory of my beautiful bride and loving wife. And to the memory of a woman who was just as wonderful in her roles as mother, daughter, sister, aunt, grandmother, and friend. She died one year ago that day but I did not want to remember her death. It was her life and her love that I was much more interested in.

September was a sunny day. I remember because I was at the cemetery that morning. I brought some sunflowers and arranged them around Coleen’s grave. I was alone there with my thoughts and memories and 365 previous days of love, loss and healing. I was also there with my guitar. I wanted to play her two songs that I learned that were very special to me, “Here Comes The Sun” and “How Can I Tell You.” The first song had already been played once at that site. It was back in April when we had the ceremony where Coleen’s ashes and urn was committed to the ground. I commissioned a cellist to play there that morning and one of the songs she played right after the service was “Here Comes The Sun.” It was beautiful. She was such a talented musician and the song so appropriate for Coleen at that exact moment. It was something she would have wanted to hear. It was something she would have wanted to say and have everyone else hear as well.

My version of that song is nowhere near as polished as the one we heard back in April but it comes with much passion and feeling. I wanted to play it that day not just in tribute to Coleen but also as a message to her. The lyrics, although written in 1969 with a different subject in mind, now seem custom-made for the way I feel recovering from Coleen’s death. Lyrics like “The smiles returning to their faces,” “it’s been a long, cold, lonely winter,” “I feel that ice is slowly melting,” and especially “It seems like years since you’ve been here,” speak so clearly to me about the healing process for me and my family.

That morning, just as took a folding chair and my guitar from my car, one of the maintenance guys from the cemetery fired up his riding lawn mower and went to work on the grass a few rows from where i was. It was kind of loud and annoying and I couldn’t help but ask myself, “Really? Right now he has to cut the grass?” After all, it’s supposed to be solemn in a cemetery so people can go there with their thoughts and memories and every once in a while, with their guitars. I guess that was the moment that the day became clearer for me. That was when I realized that I was not going to be sad that day and I wasn’t going to get upset with anything. I sat down and sung those songs to Coleen with a lawn mower humming in the background and I kind of chuckled about it as I did. I couldn’t help thinking that maybe that was Coleen’s way of telling me not to take things so seriously on that day. After I played the music I was still sitting there strumming and thinking when I heard the silence of the lawn mower being turned of. The guy who was cutting the grass stopped and came over to me and said hello. He said that he noticed me sitting there with a guitar and felt bad about making so much noise while I was playing so he thought he should take a break. Plus he wanted to hear me play. I thanked him and played parts of a song or two and we talked for several minutes before I told him it was okay if he wanted to go back to work. He did and I stayed a few more minutes before getting on with my day. I felt that my mission was done at the cemetery.

Later that day I went to see my friend Maureen for a reiki treatment. That was the only plan I made ahead of time for the day and I thought it was very appropriate to be in Maureen’s room for reiki at that time. I had felt a presence there with her before that was so much like Coleen and I wanted to see if I could capture that again. As it turned out, I did. I know it sounds crazy to some, but it’s almost like Coleen visits me there. It’s almost like there is a spirit or a vibe that is with me in that room. In the past, it has caused much emotion to me as I have dealt with my loss. That day was different. It was a more subtle experience, soothing, calming, reassuring. I felt like I was being told that things are alright wherever she was just as they were becoming more alright where she had been. I mentioned afterward to Maureen, who knew the significance of the day, that I felt very comforted by the reiki session. I think I used words like peaceful, comforting and inspirational and she said she felt the same way about it while she was doing her reiki.

I spent time with my granddaughters that afternoon and evening. I had my flower pin on all day and of course they both commented on that. They know the pin is about their Grandma Coleen and they always notice when I am wearing it. I was happy to be with those two little heart-breakers that day because they were so special to Coleen and they make me feel better. Coleen would have liked it that I was with them and saw my daughter Lindsay that day, too.

My day concluded at home. I had to hurry from seeing my granddaughters so that I would not be driving in my car at 8:40 that night. Coleen’s death certificate says she died at 8:40 PM and I wanted to be home when that time came. I poured a small amount of scotch over some ice and played one of Coleen’s favorite albums. I looked at the moon and thought of her at 8:40 PM just as I had thought of her all day. It wasn’t a lot different from how I remember her all the other times, just special because of the moment.

She was with me that day, calming me. From the levity of the lawn mower in the cemetery to the peace of my reiki to the smiles of my granddaughters to the shine of the moon, I felt her love and heard her whispers. My One Year Memory Day was not racked with emotion. Instead it was filled with comfort and calmness and decorated with the wonderful memories I will forever cherish.

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