In Gratitude for Friendship

This is a letter to send out my big THANKS for so many good people like you who helped to remember and to celebrate Michael’s life. I welcome the opportunity to reflect and connect. This is a chance to express my gratitude for your part and to say a few things about my relationship with Michael and about my life moving forward.

Early on, I imagined the profound things I would write and how I would get a letter out in weeks, not months. Instead, I had friends over, languished a bit under the duress of Covid, and then literally got the laundry done. While at work, a friend told me about someone who took three years to sort out all the finances, possessions and feelings. That became my benchmark. If it all gets done in a thousand days and nights….

Today I calculated that Michael and I spent 14,409 days in conversation and loving friendship. Not to be greedy, but I wasn’t ready for it to end. I still had more to say.

When I was 24 and planning our wedding, a mentor shared with me how she had lost her husband of 20 years to cancer. She said, “I got 20 years. That’s amazing!” I agreed and said to myself, “I swear I will be grateful if I get 20 years.” That’s more than 7000 days! The rest would be all abundance, more than I could hope for. I never let go of that idea. And in this way, I know wishes can come true.

When Michael died, friends blessedly and immediately bagged up all of his possessions. They went into the garage. On Thanksgiving weekend, I knew I had pushed my luck. I needed that garage if we got big snow. So I shuttled all of it into my basement.

Then on Christmas vacation, like some strange array of presents, I opened up a bag or two a day. Oh look, there’s the clothes Michael wore when he went to the hospital. And here are all his ties that made him look so sweet and sincere on the rare occasions he dressed up. I welcomed the poignancy of it all at first. But the inevitable ache did not help any writing process. As I loaded the washer, it felt like he should still be here making more dirty laundry in the great cycle of life.

Even though everyone will eventually go down the same road of loss, it feels like it is a territory for which there is no clear map. One thing about loving a complicated and intelligent person is that there is a lot of territory. In curating all the papers, photos, letters, and objects, it was impossible not to review my own life … cue for imagining my own death. Oh, the one who walked with me along the way is not here. Gone is the keeper of my memories, the observer who knew parts of me better than I know myself.

In the review of Michael’s life, I saw that I had forgotten big chunks of my own life. In re-remembering all the accomplishments, it meant re-remembering a lot of struggle. I’d like to think I’m brave enough to let the tough stuff go and just polish off the gold and then to re-write some of the story as acts of learning and resiliency.

When I was young, I knew I had it in me to endure a great love, the kind that slowly remakes you day by day until, wait now … who am I? I am Beth with Michael. Oh, there’s his demons; there’s his gifts. It became bigger than I could have imagined. I would have to say that I sometimes loved this man against all advice and wisdom. It is a grip in which I now have no regrets. It’s kind of the way I love the Dakotas even though no sensible person would choose to live here if there were other good and balmy options. Michael was one of those persons who loved the wild and was so grateful for this place. If you could have just seen it through his eyes, it would all make sense.

So the void: the 20 hours a week or so that I used to be with Michael eating, shopping, talking, cleaning, gardening, walking. Whoosh, that gets filled! Here is what is as easy as pie for me: I honor my life with Michael by going on to all manner of activity: expanding friendships, learning new instruments like the banjo and ukulele and refining the ones I play well, piano and fiddle. I read interesting books and finally having time to both exercise and meditate. All day I think of things that make me curious and in the evening, I look them up! Joy! I took a short course called Learning How to Learn and have fun thinking of ways to apply it. And now I’m on to an online singing course. On the road of grief, here’s where I shine. And I’d like to think that Michael is shining down upon me as I do my stuff. So life goes on.

I still teach a few violin lessons once a week. By day, I work full-time caring for a young man, Lance, who attends Yankton High School. I am his personal nurse. I ride the bus, go to class, and help him enjoy food and get around. He is in a wheelchair and has a trach. He is unable to make any sounds, so I interpret for him using sign language. He likes shows like Sesame Street and anything with slapstick humor. Helping him access the world has been the best job yet. He is 21 and will be done with school in May. After that, I plan to continue to work full-time taking care of him in his home.

I’m enjoying home and work and also will inevitably get a chance to venture out in the future. So I will look forward to the next time we cross paths. In the meantime, I am grateful for the influence you brought to both my life and to Michael’s life and for the ways in which you shaped his ideas, thoughts, and beliefs.

Blessings in the coming year. --Beth Preheim, Winter 2025