It is now six weeks since Margie died and the “shock” of it has now diminished. The full realization of “life without Maggie” has now become what might be described as an “existential fact”. It’s hard to describe the feeling. It certainly isn’t “depression”. That is not one of the things with which I have had to grapple – and I am very thankful for that. When I was doing my B.D. I was given the nickname of “BungHo” – the derivation being that if I was put in a barrel I would shout “Alleluia” through the bung hole.
What I am feeling now is a kind of “numbness” which is hard to describe. It is the reality that the one who is smiling at me from the wall calendar is now a memory – and a delightful one at that. Stage one has been negotiated, thanks to both family and the church community. It’s hard to describe. It’s like being on the stage with the other main actor having moved off stage. It’s not hard to recognise to what the feeling is due. I have long had an “existentialist” approach to life, that life is not about sitting in a box at the theatre watching it being played out on the stage. It is about being on the stage. Where you stand (or sit!) determines what you see.
To many the Shock and Awe bombing was like a fireworks display on telly. Let me assure you that it was far more than that. Tens of thousand of children were slaughtered. I remember speaking to some radio shock jock who described this as “collateral damage “. I managed to kwell my anger and ask if he would be prepared to sacrifice his children on the altar of war. Where you stand really does determine what you see. And Maggie has now moved off the stage – and I am left on it.
How long I will be on it I have no idea but was impressed the other day when I read of John Wesley’s performance. He gave up preaching when he was eighty seven years of age – the reason being that he was unable to see his manuscript. His precise words were “My eyes are so dim that glasses do not help me.” He died in a matter of months. Funny thing that! I gave up preaching last year because my eyesight was so poor I could not see the manuscript. All it needs is for me to leave the stage in the next three months and fiction becomes fact. No depression with me, just delusions of grandeur!
