After Sylvia’s death, I retreated from the world and wanted no part of day-to-day living. I didn’t think I could go through the motions.
It was Sylvia’s best friend, Marnie who persuaded me to come out to Port Dover and spend some time enjoying the late fall weather and lake breezes.
Obviously, she didn’t anticipate a freak October blizzard making me snowbound and adding to my angst by making me feel claustrophobic.
But being house-bound is interesting.
I’ve been trying to decide if I can be claustrophobic and agoraphobic at the same time, and I’ve decided I can. It’s simply an aspect of approach-avoidance.
And maybe that explains why I left my snow blower at the end of my driveway and retreated to the house when I spotted my neighbour.
Now, I’m not usually anti-social, especially when it comes to women, but lately I seem to be suffering from the seven diseases that never killed anybody.
I mean where is all this angst coming from? It’s as if I reached into the common bin of pain and ladled out an extra helping of suffering.
There. Is that enough grief? No—I don’t feel quite miserable enough yet. Maybe I’ll just have a few ladles more
Of course it didn’t help that my neighbour was Jill from the French restaurant—the same girl who drew a heart on my bill and a smiley face.
Actually, I’m exaggerating—it was just a heart and her name, but her face was smiling.
But then again, maybe I hid my face because it was definitely not smiling.
Funny how grief will do that to you—make you slump and stoop, hang your head and avert your gaze.
You can hide your face, but you can’t hide what’s inside. There’s a whole poetry of gesture in body movements and they reflect the postures of your mind.
Regardless, I can’t believe I dropped everything and ran inside.
Now, I’m back on the couch before the fire—no stereo music to calm me now—just the mesmerizing flames slowly devouring a spar.
Maybe I didn’t need German symphonic music—a little Bach, a little slumber—a little closing of the eyes.
The question is,what am I afraid of?
I fell asleep pondering that angst, exhausted from continually taking my emotional temperature.
I awoke to a scratching at the house door and could tell by the changed light it was late afternoon.
I was only partially awake but forced myself to get up and investigate the strange sound.
I opened the front door and gazed down upon a shivering long-haired Calico kitten.
He was seeking refuge from the storm just like me, and the sight of his trembling form melted my heart. I let him in.
I wrapped him in a hand-knit throw cover Marnie had left on the couch, and it wasn’t long before he was purring.
I figured he must be famished. And rooted about for something to feed him. I found a tin of tuna, and put some out on a saucer with a little bowl of water.
He was off the couch and within minutes had eaten the whole thing up.
I then noticed he was a she—how unobservant of me.
I called her Sylvia because she had red highlights in her fur and she reminded me of my lost love. I knew Sylvia would be be touched by the gesture.
Okay, I was obsessing and yes, it was poignant, but I missed Sylvia so much that just speaking her name again seemed to give me some solace.
© 2025, John J Geddes. All rights reserved
