731 days – of “no sharing”

Tomorrow – January 21 – it will be two years since Magucha died (2016 was a Leap Year, one extra day, hence 731). I don’t want to make it into anything other than another day. But to me that date will always be very special.

That day introduced me to a “condition” that I was unfamiliar with. I don’t think there is a word for it but the phrase “no sharing” will have to do. I have always been a relatively solitary person. I have never been averse to my own company. But now? This is different.

It’s not loneliness. I don’t mind being alone. This is a “no sharing”.

This “no sharing” was revealed to me in a stark fashion the other day. Whilst in a local shopping centre that we, together, used to frequent, I sat down at a table in a little café where we had both been before. I had my coffee and a slice of apple strudel and looked around me. I was the only person on my own. All the other people were either in couples or in family groups with children.

I had no one to share the experience with. Not as a couple; a loving couple; a close and intimate couple; a couple that had grown together over many years of caring and friendship; a couple that had grown close through overcoming adversity; a couple that while together, never crowded the other; a couple that always allowed space for the other.

Magucha was my “pardalito”, my little sparrow. Always curious and inquisitive; always flying off on some errand – but always returning home.

I will quote words from Kahlil Gibran’s “The Prophet” that fitted our relationship:

“Love one another, but make not a bond of love:

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,

Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your heart, but not into each other’s keeping.

For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.”

Now it is different. While I certainly have my (our) children and grandchildren whom I love dearly, it is not the same. There can never be that intimacy – the deep memories of times past and of moments shared.

Of course I have friends and many of them were her friends – but no longer “our friends”. It is not the same and, now, can never be.

So tomorrow will be a sad and reflective day; also a day of fond memories.

As some will know I find solace in poetry so I will end this post with a poem that I have used before, that captures my feelings and love for Magucha, with words that I deeply understand and are more meaningful than anything I could ever write. A poem by Robert Louis Stevenson.

My Wife:

Trusty, dusky, vivid, true,
With eyes of gold and bramble-dew,
Steel-true and blade-straight,
The Great Artificer
Made my mate.

Honour, anger, valour, fire;
A love that life could never tire,
Death quench or evil stir,
The Mighty Master
Gave to her.

Teacher, tender, comrade, wife,
A fellow-farer true through life,
Heart-whole and soul-free
The August Father
Gave to me.

Saudades. My Pardalito. My little one.