Pacing the waiting room while my husband was in emergency surgery, in a room full of our friends. His brain injury occurred only hours earlier during same day sinus surgery. A surgery that was supposed to be an in and out procedure, and it was. He went in at 6 a.m. and was pronounced dead at midnight.
Widows know about sifting stuff. Widows lives are filled with stuff that never ends. The stuff we find that we can’t find answers to. What on earth was he doing with this? Where is that important document? I wonder what happened to THAT? Or, too often, a painful hidden side may be discovered. The unanswered questions. Every widow has them, but often she doesn’t speak of them. to anyone.
A camera on a shelf in the hall closet. Several months following the memorial service I noticed the camera on the shelf. I flashed back to the waiting room in the hospital where our friends had gathered that August day waiting to find out about Rob’s condition. Dave was passing out candy bars, Cher was telling fabulously silly jokes. People had brought me a change of clothes to wait. There was at least 25 people there waiting.
My camera was always in my purse. I forgot that I took photos of all of Rob’s friends that day. Photos I couldn’t wait to share with him. Photos of all of his posse waiting eagerly and expectantly for him to get out of surgery and get on to the business of recovery.
Months later there sat the camera on the shelf. A camera filled with images of people laughing and smiling and hoping against hope that Rob would recover from this horrible surgical mistake. I wanted to document how loved and cared for he was by these people. I wanted to laugh with him about the scare he gave us.
I threw the camera away.
