Losing a Limb and Learning to Walk

Five months ago yesterday Nancy went home. Although we knew she was dying, the final breath still came as a shock. That is why the hospice nurse had to tell me three times she was gone before I could believe her.

When I lost Nancy I lost a piece of my self. After all we had become one flesh. Maybe my right leg, because it felt like I could hardly walk any more. Death separated us swiftly, like the chop of a guillotine. She was there, then gone. But in another sense the chopping continued. Each day seemed to bring another painful cut as we planned the service, stood at the graveside, said good bye to family, walked around a silent, sad and empty house. Even the last few days the axe struck again, as I got her name off the Honda title, and saw Real Simple magazine arrive with "Last Issue" overlaying its cover.

Then there are the "phantom pains". I find myself explaining something to her when times are tough, or mistaking my coworker Ginny B for her when I come around the corner at work. I guess it takes a long time to realize that a part of your self is gone.

But slowly life returns. Maybe that piece of yourself can be restored or at least replaced. You wake up to new days, you find new purpose, you meet new people, you explore new possibilities. All this while the old stories, the old friends, the old memories remind you that the journey is worth the pain that you feel. As a farm boy I was recently reminded that the barrenness of winter is always followed by spring's renewal. So, I go on, learning to walk without the departed piece of me. I don't even mind the limp, cause limping reminds me that my best buddy made it home, and if I keep hobbling toward HIM so will I.