CC, you're my oldest friend, because I don't usually like old people, and you're welcome to talk as long as you need to talk, about whatever it is you need to talk about.
Mike is very fortunate to have you, and something tells me you'll come up with the best words possible, when you talk to him. What's more, you'll do it effortlessly, because of your comfort level, and the fact that you're a naturally caring person.
It sounds to me as though you've both lost the one person who was your daily sounding board, so if I may, I'd like to suggest that you invite him to come live nearby. I imagine the two of you together could really scare and disgust your neighbors...and wouldn't that be fun?
Thanks, Runny. He still has his ad agency but I don't know how much longer because his wife was his business partner too. And his two daughters still live in PA.
What I do think will happen is that monthly 3 hour conversation will became much more frequent and less in duration. He is going to be lost for a while. I held onto our house in Dallas for almost two years after because I was incapable of making decisions even though that would have been the smart thing to do, both emotionally and financially. There are periods of time I cannot account for during that time yet heartbreaking ones that I can recall too vividly.
But, out of that came a story of caring and compassion unlike I have ever experienced. I had just picked up my wife's urn at the funeral home and was driving to my house in Dallas. I stopped at a light and looked over and it was as if the realization of everything came crashing down and I lost it and I tell you, it was a good thing I didn't have my gun with me.
I heard a horn honking and looked over and a lady was motioning for me to pull over. I moved forward and pulled over and she pulled over right behind me. She came to the passenger side, opened the door, looked down and evidently knew what she was looking at and asked me to move it so she could get in. I was in shock and just complied and was holding the urn on the center console and she reached over and put her hand on it and asked "who was this"? Between the sobs, I told her it was my wife and she took my hand and said "please tell me about her". Later, I would notice she didn't say "how did she die"?
Runny, we sat there for 30 minutes, but it seemed like hours, but I wasn't telling this stranger about her sickness, the valiant fight she fought, I was telling her how beautiful she was inside and out. Fact is, she would have done for someone else what this kind lady was doing for me. The irony of that was the lady, this angel that arrived out of nowhere, was an oncology nurse at the hospital where we went but she actually worked in Baylor's Oncology Unit, not Texas Oncology.
Runny, to be completely honest, I do not know what would have happened when I got home. I would have done anything to make the pain go away but this kind lady had me talk about what my wife had been like alive and in doing so had changed where my mind was and headed. I've thought about that a lot and do not think she was there, at that time, just by coincidence or that she took the time to do what she did but being in the profession she's in, that better come naturally.
She gave me some advice, that I will also give Mike, that I wish I had taken because it was available to me, grief counseling. By not doing so, my grief has been extended and I did not take into consideration the effect of losing my Dad just 16 months earlier. I was in trouble and didn't realize it. I was going through all the motions of living but not really alive.
And now I believe I know my task. Do for Mike what she did for me, get him talking about her life, recall some of the funniest moments we all shared. Try to divert him to some sunshine. I know the one thing that helped me the most was when my morning man in OK lost his Dad and he was reluctant to talk about it with that being so close after me losing my wife I forced him to talk about it, just the two of us, and by doing so that was cathartic for my own healing. I didn't have as much time to feel sorry for myself.
