I'm still not certain why I started this blog. I thought it was to talk about my late husband, henceforth known as The Golfer; to describe how I have dealt with becoming a widow and perhaps give hope to anyone faced with a similar situation. But once I got started, I got all existential instead.
Certainly, all our lives we seem to be searching for meaning and, as you undergo each new experience, your understanding (with any luck) deepens. I had decided that there probably wasn't a God five or six years ago; the death of The Golfer has not changed that belief. Mind you, there were times when it would have been lovely to have joined the ranks of the "he's only stepped out of the room" brigade. But if I had, I would have known I was deluding myself. Watching your better half die also makes your own mortality all too plain. Now that really is scary.
But many people have been there before me and some of them have written wise and reassuring things on the topic. There is something remarkably consoling about reading the words of a bloke who lived 2500 years ago and for them to be as fresh and relevant to you as they were when they were written. It's one of the best feelings when you read something and it's just exactly how you've been thinking. Damn! I love books! They let you make, albeit one-sided, friendships with wonderful, long-dead people. I feel that I know Socrates, Seneca, Samuel Butler, Albert Camus; that they could walk into the room and we would get on.
So I started the View from the Pond blog to talk about surviving bereavement but it is turning into a blog about surviving life...with some newts thrown in.