The Drawers in My Head

When I think of my marriage, the word “arrangement” invades my consciousness. While husbands make plans, wives make arrangements. In return, my husband accommodated my passions. We helped each other achieve our goals. Now, I help my children make arrangements for the celebration of their father’s, my husband’s, life.

He was a father who doted on his wife and kids. I daily recall both good times and hard times. Making arrangements has never come easy to me – whereas I can “do” chaos. In my head I carry a chest of three drawers. Number one is labeled “children” even though they are grown, “Craig” is the label on the middle drawer, “care of me” is the third drawer. One drawer has nearly fallen apart from repeated opening and closing. It is the one labeled “Craig.” My husband did in truth realize his dreams. I also had a true understanding of the wellspring that his dreams came from. There was never a doubt that I would fail him even under pressure, with the drawer labeled “care of me” spilling over.

When, four years ago, I faced down major heart surgery, I addressed “care of me.” That drawer took precedence. Only I could take care of me. There was a sense of joy and security that I could do this. However, the drawer labeled “Craig” had begun to overflow. Physical problems needed attending to. Only Craig knew how much discomfort he was experiencing. The industrial park was always a source of pride and accomplishment to him. A perfect day was talking to tenants, talking with Lacy and Chris, or even just sitting in his office. The truth of the park was that he had built it from the ground up. Now, he could take pride in his accomplishment—knowing that the industrial park provided families with a good life.

There were times throughout our life together when I would suggest that he take up golf, a game he once enjoyed. His answer would be, “no – I’m not in shape for that!” Craig had a great voice and loved singing in the Lewis and Clark College Choir. Once he had the chance to join a men’s singing group. The business would always win out. With my hobbies we traveled. Craig loved telling people he had been in every state; and he had.

At age 81, however, his body began to show a worrisome progression of wear. At age 82, he was living a life I believe he enjoyed. It was spread over the industrial park, friends who owned businesses there, Blazer games, movies with me, dinner with friends. He still felt okay when Patty and Larry came to “camp” in their motorhome. I think that he felt okay – until he didn’t. If there is a blessing, it is that the end came quickly. Now his drawer is closed. When I need them, however, the memories inside sustain me.