1/2/25

And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.

A couple days ago, I set something into motion, for the third time, that I’ve been wanting to do for most of my life. The first time – didn’t happen, by my choice. The second time – didn’t happen and wasn’t my choice. The third time – maybe it will be the charm?

Two years ago, Michael was working jobs that were not in his field (accounting), basically just to keep us in health insurance. He’d had a dream job, one that he loved and that fit him so perfectly, but he was let go when his employer decided Michael’s job could be done by someone without as much education and experience, and paid significantly less. When Michael said he would take the lower pay, just to stay where he loved, the employer said no, and Michael was crushed. And so he worked these other jobs, met people he became strong friends with, but dealt with low pay and next to no vacation. Michael couldn’t find a job in his field…but to be fair, he wasn’t trying very hard either. He dealt with a lot of depression after losing that particular job.

I’ve always wanted to go to London to see Big Ben. And I refer to it as “meeting” Big Ben. I collect antique clocks, my first published novel was set in a clock museum, and clocks just…make me tick (sorry). Big Ben to me has loomed large and distant. I want to walk up to him, touch him, hear him, see him…and now that his rehab is done, I guess you can actually go up inside him and see the workings. Yes, please.

But with Michael working these jobs without much vacation time, that dream seemed far, far away. Eventually, frustrated, I signed up for a tour on my own. I was going to London and to Paris. I would be with a tour group, so while I was going by myself, I wouldn’t be alone, and I would have guidance. Still, I was scared, but determined. I told Michael I was done waiting. I was turning 63 years old, and I needed to go while I still could.

This seemed to light a fire under Michael. His job search picked up. And then…he landed another job, a job he absolutely began to love on the first day, with people he enjoyed, an environment that was healthy and happy and pro-active…and that provided decent vacation.

I breathed a sigh of relief and celebration, canceled my trip, and instead, planned with Michael a cruise to London and Paris and many other places for our 25^th anniversary. It would be the first time for both of us to be abroad (I’ve only been to Canada and Mexico), it would be a first cruise for both of us, and we’d be celebrating our 25 years of marriage. Our anniversary wasn’t until October, but we would set sail in August.

Well, we all know what happened 17 days into the new year of 2024. Followed by five months of trauma. And concluded with Michael’s passing on June 19^th, 2024. He wasn’t even alive for our 25^th anniversary. Somewhere in there, amidst the chaos, I canceled the cruise. I didn’t know if Michael would recover well enough to handle such a trip. I didn’t know if he would recover, period. And, for awhile there, after June 19^th, I didn’t know if I would recover either.

And so now here we are at the beginning of 2025. Grief hits you with weird thoughts and realizations, things you don’t read about in all the books written about grief. As I was getting ready for bed last night, I suddenly realized that I was now living in a year where Michael didn’t even exist. At all. Not a breath, not a sound, not a blink.

It’s just me in 2025.

And that hit really hard.

On Monday, the day before New Year’s Eve, I talked with someone who worked for the tour I originally signed up for, two years ago. I explained that I was signed up for this exact tour, but decided to cancel. He said, “Yes, I see that.” I explained why, and then I told him everything that happened since.

He was silent for a minute. And then he said, “Let’s get you to see Big Ben. It’s time.”

And so I signed up.

I hung up the phone and sat there for a few minutes. I’m going, I thought. I’m going, I’m going, I’m going.

Fear set in, as I knew it would. I was once again going by myself.

But…I’m going. And I set it up, here in the first week of 2025, the first year by myself, so that I have something positive to look forward to, as I continue to walk my way through grief. As I continue to recover.

I turned to look at the shelf behind my desk. Years ago, a student who traveled to London brought me one of those heavy metal pencil sharpeners, often in the shape of a well-known travel destination. This one is Big Ben. This sharpener sits on that shelf and I look at it every day. Downstairs, on my kitchen counter, is a tall teapot that was made to look like Big Ben. Another student brought me that. On top of my kitchen cabinets, the majority of my clock collection sits on display. There is one that is not an antique – it’s a replica of Big Ben.

I picked up the pencil sharpener and held it so tightly in my curled fingers that it left indentations. It was a squeeze of fear, for sure. But it was also a squeeze of excitement.

I’m going to see Big Ben. I’m going to meet him, my face to his clock face. I’m going to touch him, hear him, see him. The man from the tour told me I would be able to see him from the window of  my hotel room. I don’t know that I’ll be able to sleep for looking at him. I am going to go up inside, see the workings. See Big Ben’s big heart. Hear it tick.

Ohmygod.

I will be going without Michael. But if he is somewhere, watching, I know he’s clapping and saying, “Go! Go! Go!”

I’m going. June 7^th to the 15^th. Then, from Paris, I will fly to Oregon and stay for ten days in my little house on the coast, decompressing.

Ohmygod.

And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.