I am more active in Sequim this holiday season than in any since we moved here twenty-six years ago when I accepted a position at Olympic Medical Center, then called Olympic Memorial Hospital.

As readers of this column know, it is my first Christmas Holiday season in 54 years without husband Paul. Every time I say or write 54 years, I am amazed at how lucky we were to have so many years together given he was 44 years old when we first showed interest in each other.

We were the family hub of holidays for a long time when our grandchildren (technically my step grandchildren) were children. They grew up and began holiday traditions of their own. The distance from their homes to ours and our aging made it more difficult for us to drive to their homes and traditions evolved without us.

We were fine with the change. Driving in the dark was a lot to ask of us and alternately finding space for us in the chaos was a lot to ask of them. We established our own tradition of Christmas lights and treasured decorations along with having favorite choices for meals.

Holidays this year would be like none of the above nor would I try to establish a new tradition. My work now was to accept the grief, channel it by writing, get through the days, and warm my heart with my love for Paul and Christmases past.

Happily, my friends must have thought I needed more because they invited me to experience holidays with them in ways I would not on my own. I will tell you more.

But first, I want to share a day of grief with you. My loss and grief are still raw enough that I cannot write without it entering the conversation growing through my fingers and appearing on paper.

The First Holiday

A friend says I will get my memory back. The grief group counselor says forgetting is a natural part of grief. My individual counselor is confident that my memory will return.

I think I will never remember; that I will only know grief.

Grief has no past and no future; it just is.

Grief seems to be the only thing I have.

Someone describes grief as heavy.

Yes, heavy, heavier than I could have imagined.

This day, the loss of my husband, partner, lover seems more profound than any of the other days that have passed since his death four months ago. Yet, it is not my first bad day and will not be my last.

But today, I cannot see or touch anything that does not remind me of him and that I shall never see him, be touched by him or hear his words of love again.

All our 54 years together are stored in every cell of my body but for this moment, it is not enough.

I feel sick with the heaviness and the turmoil of digesting the simplest thought, let alone any food.

This is all I know.

I have forgotten everything else.

Thanksgiving is my first holiday since Paul died.

Silence.

How is it that silence hurts our ears?

I was grateful to go to friends’ home later for Thanksgiving dinner.

Although, I wondered what kind of company I would be.

I think I was OK. I will have to ask them if I remember.

Thanksgiving had to be different for them too; that is have me at the table who could burst into tears or withdraw to a silent place. But I did not.

I enjoyed the evening.

I enjoyed the relief.

Holiday adventures

My cousin and dear friend started the holidays for me by inviting me to be her guest at Thanksgiving dinner at the Shipley Center, Sequim’s senior center.

The Shipley Center dinner was a friendly event and well organized given I had the same dinner less than two hours before. We enjoyed our table companions, one of whom was a lively 94-years-old, which gave me great hope for the future.

To top it all off, I won a bouquet of flowers!

During the event, I had an opportunity to talk with Michael Smith, the Center’s director, about the new center to be built in the old Penny’s building.

I was excited enough about the new center to come in the next day with a donation that would put “In memory of Paul and Bertha Cooper” on a light post in the parking lot.

I just want people to remember we were together.

Later that same week, my cousin/friend wanted to have dinner at the Paradise Restaurant which was closing. It is a favorite of many. She wanted to have her last dinner there with me.

Dinner at the Paradise was excellent and I think sad for the patrons for whom the restaurant was an important stop in their lives.

In following days, a good friend of mine who is known to frequent every holiday fair during the holidays invited me to come one of those days. She is a shopper and from whom to learn.

That day, she happened to go to Port Townsend’s Craft Fair. The Fair took place in a four-story recreation center. Every floor, every room, every corner was filled with creative work.

The air was alive with inspiration.

I began to appreciate the imagination and innovation poured into fabric, wood, metal, and other materials. I was infused with it when we left.

The day was fun, and I enjoyed it with my friend, the shopper.

I breathed and I laughed.

I bought a rock, a special rock adorned in leather which sits on our marble tabletop. I also bought a two-inch talisman intended to get me in touch with my true spirit.

I have not seen it lately.

I forgot where I put it.

Bertha Cooper, an award-winning featured columnist with the Sequim Gazette spent her career years in health care and is the author of the award-winning “Women, We’re Only Old Once.” Cooper and her husband lived in Sequim for 26 years. Now widowed, Cooper continues to live in the area she has grown to love. Reach her at columnists@sequimgazette.com.