My Apolytus Moment
Estimated reading time: 21 minutes, 12 seconds
I Am OK
Every morning, without fail, I wake up at 5:30 a.m. with a sense of determination and purpose that propels me out of bed. As I step out of my apartment, the cool air and darkness of dawn embrace me, and I feel invigorated and ready to tackle the day ahead. Rain or shine, I continue to walk, unfazed by the weather, because it has become an integral part of my life.
Today is a special day but bittersweet. It would have been my wife Jan’s seventy-fourth birthday, which marks fifty years since we first celebrated her birthday. I had hoped to celebrate fifty more with her, but life had other plans. Today, I carry her in my heart as I walk, reflecting on our life and shared memories.
As I walk, I ponder why I keep going even when the weather is harsh. Although I don’t have a definite answer, it’s essential to appreciate the blessings that life has to offer. God has given us ears to hear, arms to embrace, and feet to move forward into the future. Our senses, limbs, and ability to progress into the future are some of our most valuable gifts. I choose to move ahead with courage and strength, cherishing every moment life presents.
For the past 1,085 days, I have been walking without fail since I laid my beloved wife to rest. Each step feels like an effort, but abandoning the routine never crosses my mind. I cling to the daily ritual because it gives me a sense of purpose and a reason to keep going. As I approach the end of my walk, I enter Hanson Park, where I feel my wife’s spirit more than anywhere else. The park is a serene spot with lush greenery and the gentle flow of the Rahway River. I come across Jan’s memorial bench, a peaceful place to sit and let my mind drift. I feel her presence around me, and it brings me comfort.
Despite the drizzle, I am not wet, thanks to a virtual umbrella that has thoughtfully shielded me from the rain. I sit by the riverbank, watching the water flow slowly, reflecting the trees and the sky above like a perfect mirror. The surrounding area is quiet, and the only sound I can hear is the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind. I feel a sense of calm and tranquility in the peaceful surroundings as if the world has come to a standstill for a moment. Suddenly, a gust of wind carries unexpected words that float into my ears, “You have done well! Stay focused. Live fully. Love again! It is a truly transformative moment, and I feel a sense of validation and encouragement.
Since Jan’s passing, I have learned to live without her and to find strength in myself. I have embraced personal growth and strived to be the best version of myself. Honoring her memory has become my mission, and I have created a memorial garden, two benches, and an education fund in her name. Each action I take to improve the park strengthens her memory and keeps her spirit alive.
Just as each ripple in the river alters everything in its path, every action I take to improve the park strengthens Jan’s memorial garden. Similarly, my work with Bridges has allowed me to start a new chapter and continue to make a difference in the world. Although I miss my wife and the love we shared, I understand that it’s essential to move forward and not grieve forever.
Having recently read Anna Quindlen’s “After Annie,” I understood the nature of grief and its role in healing. While grief is a natural and necessary part of the healing journey, we mustn’t allow it to consume us indefinitely. If we succumb to the overwhelming weight of grief, we risk becoming trapped in a closed garden without any means of escape. Despite the deep and abiding pain of missing my beloved wife daily, I have come to understand that it is essential that I continue living and finding joy in the present moment.
The Jan Lilien Education Fund sponsors ongoing sustainability and environmental awareness programs. All donations are tax-deductible.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
After almost 48 years, I recently lost my wife, Jan Lilien. Like The Little Prince, Jan and I believed that “The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.” This blog is a collection of my random thoughts on love, grief, life, and all things considered.
