The day of the planting was sunny and slightly warmer than a usual fall day in Sequim. Family and friends were gathering at the lower part of our yard next to the end of the driveway for the tree planting to celebrate the life of my late husband Paul. Gardener Alonso and his crew had a table set up on the other side of the driveway on which they would set out plates of tamales following the ceremony.

I was walking down the path from the house to join them and thinking Paul would like it. He should be here. He always favored “real” Mexican food, and no doubt Guatemalan tamales would become his new favorite.

My reverie was interrupted by reality.

Paul could not be here.

Instead, about 50 people were gathering to celebrate his life and honor his memory. They were also there to comfort me, to let me know I was not alone. I was honored by their friendship and expressions of caring and love.

I did not sleep well that night. My Fitbit confirmed the wakeful period I experienced. I woke with the now familiar feeling of dread and loss — only it felt much heavier than usual.

It was final. So final.

I was glad that a friend and I had a walk planned the day after.

Repairs needed

The day after began when I was in kitchen making my morning coffee. I turned on the TV and was greeted by a screen of static and a message about a weak signal. Sigh.

I tried to reboot as I had been doing the last week or so.

This time the several reboot efforts would not hold. Sigh.

The Astound repair man was my new best friend. I remember his name. He would be making his third trip in the last few weeks. I like him but would prefer not to need what was turning into frequent visits.

I knew the routine. Call, go through reboots. Sigh when it does not work. Repair man visits.

The Astound staff on the other end of the call have all been friendly and made great effort to fix problem from their end. I wanted their efforts to work.

It did not happen. The repair main is coming on Wednesday.

Once I had the repair set up, I ate breakfast, after which I sat at my computer and named this column.

Paul came to mind as he often does, only this time he came in more real than he had since the day he died. He came in as the strong, healthy Paul with whom I lived most of our married life.

My love, then grief, circled the memory, and I began to sob.

Again, the grief for the man I loved and cherished for 54 years broke through the busyness of the last two months.

I felt real pain, pain throughout my body that I felt would explode.

My friend arrived and stopped in the driveway.

I left the house, got in her car and burst into tears.

We stayed in the car in the driveway until I finished crying, then went by the water to sit on a log.

Perspective

Astound man came this morning. One more thing to check off the list. But then I remember I must add reconciling the bank statement to the list.

My emotional brain is still feeling bruised, perhaps exhausted. I continue to be surprised at how difficult it is for me to concentrate. Grief counselor tells me it is normal, and I will get better.

I hope it is not long because I am not used to it. The cats will be glad, too. Both worry a bit when meals did not come at the usual time.

Last evening, I began to focus on the news. None of it was good news.

I understood better why a few of my friends will not watch the news, mostly they say it is because they feel so helpless. So do I.

The Middle East war seems to be expanding if not escalating following the vicious assault on Israel and to which Israel retaliated one year ago.

The people of Gaza are pushed into a corner having to leave their bombed-out homes and their dead behind. The countries are busy bombing each other.

The war on Ukraine lumbers on leaving people homeless if not dead.

Hurricane Milton is barreling toward populated areas of Florida. People are evacuating homes to find safety. It is a “once in a lifetime storm.” It is the second one.

People have died. More will die.

Some people are missing. More will be lost.

Property is being destroyed by nature. It is not over yet.

People all around our country and the world are suffering far more than I am. I do not live with the threat of an imminent hurricane, or a bomb being dropped on my town. I will not be homeless tomorrow or next week.

I know my emotional exhaustion is not serving me well in the turmoil of the moment. But enough of me is present to recognize how fortunate I am to have had a long loving relationship.

How fortunate I am to be safe and want for little.

How fortunate I am to have wonderful friends and family who care about my well-being.

I will get my senses back and my grief will rest in loving memories of Paul and all the friends that embraced me in my time of sorrow.

Not everyone will be so fortunate in recovering from their losses. I am humbled by the hardship people are enduring and the long paths they must travel to restore their lives.

Bertha Cooper, an award-winning featured columnist with the Sequim Gazette, spent her career years in health care administration, program development and consultation and is the author of the award-winning “Women, We’re Only Old Once.” Cooper and her husband have lived in Sequim more than 25 years. Reach her at columnists@sequimgazette.com.