It seems odd to have a social calendar. For many years, the only social activities I participated in were my dance classes, and from week to week, those classes were generally at the same time and on the same days. If I went to lunch with anyone, it was usually after class. Any other activity was easy to remember because it was such a rarity.
But now? After only seven months, I’m so entrenched in the community that without my calendar, I’d be lost. There’s always something coming up, such as a movie (Downton Abbey) and lunch with friends this Saturday, a meeting at the museum tomorrow to set out clues for the Murder at the Museum Night that will take place next week, porcelain painting classes, and a special note to remind me about Blogging for Peace next month.
It bewilders me, all of this. But then, much of my life bewilders me.
Was I really that woman? That woman who watched a man slowly die, who wanted the suffering to end, yet whose love was so ineffectual she couldn’t make him well or take away a single moment of his pain? That woman so connected to another human being she felt broken — and lost — years after his death? That woman who screamed the pain of her loss to the winds?
And am I really this woman? A homeowner? A part of a community? A person with a social calendar?
Apparently so, because there I was and now here I am.
It’s possible life will always bewilder me. I might never know the truth of any of it — life, death, purpose . . . me.
But that’s the beauty of a having social calendar. At least on those particular days, there are no questions or bewilderment. I know what I am supposed to do, where I am supposed to be. I even know who I am supposed to be — a pleasant companion, a kind friend, a generous volunteer.
The rest of the time? Well, if it’s not on the calendar, perhaps it’s not important.
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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.
Bertram's Blog 
October 16, 2019 at 11:34 am
It is amazing how our lives can change. My memories often seem like photographs in someone else’s photo album.
October 16, 2019 at 12:26 pm
True for me, too. I never liked photos of myself, but after my mother died and I ended up with photos of myself growing up, I put them in chronological order in an album. I look at the book from time to time and marvel that I don’t remember being that little girl. When I get too worried about the future and my old age, I figure I will be someone else, and so it’s not something I can worry about today, except to prepare the best I can.
October 16, 2019 at 12:28 pm
That is good advice. I will have to keep it in mind. 👍