Song.

Yes, I'm still here. But, I haven't been idle. I've been working on an essay, and I think it's finished, finally. I will send it in to the contest after the weekend.

I have a new friend, Song. That's what I'm calling her. Her life sings. She's not a particularly compelling person, although I would imagine, as an acquaintance, anyone would like her. When I first met her, not quite two years ago, I did. At first impression, she's spectacularly ordinary. But, something struck me. A feeling that I should get to know her better. I procrastinated. In the meantime, a year later, her husband died. Suddenly, unexpectedly, at a truly terrible, tragic time.

This is what I've come to know about the circumstances. S.H. (Song's Husband) was getting ready to retire at the end of the month, just after his 55th birthday. He had put in his time at the factory. He was going to become a personal trainer. It would fit in nicely with Song's massage therapy business. They would work together. They had sold their home, Song has some chronic health problems, under control, that made the daily living and maintenance difficult. And they could better use their time and effort for other pursuits. They bought a condo. S.H. was looking forward to his very active role on the association's Board of Directors. He was going to take care of a large portion of the grounds keeping. He missed his yard and garden. He and Song were married, I believe, twelve years.

S.H. has three children from his first marriage, all in their mid-twenties. On the day of his death, S.H. received a phone call at 2:30 in the morning, from his ex-wife. His son had been arrested, on a felony charge. Song and S.H. stayed up talking. Song was concerned, repeatedly asking her husband if he was alright. He felt some pressure in his chest, but after the emotional blow he had just received, who wouldn't? He was tired. He needed to sleep. Song was wide awake. Anger will do that to you. She left S.H. sleeping and prowled the condo, finally dosing on the sofa. She woke around 9am. S.H. wasn't up. This wasn't unusual when he was working second shift. At 10am, Song found him dead in their bed.

All that day, in addition to dealing with the police, coroner, funeral home, family, and friends, Song fielded phone calls from the Ex. dealing with the dilemma of her incarcerated son, exacerbated by the news of his father's death. He was now on suicide watch. Song had to make the phone calls notifying S.H.'s two daughters, both with young children of their own.

Within the first few days following S.H.'s death, Song was informed that financial considerations would be substantially less than anticipated. S.H.'s insurance coverage was cancelled and negated by a "pre-existing" situation that was reported "untruthfully". S.H. had previously gone to the emergency room for chest pain, but was never admitted because test results showed no problems. When filling out the insurance application, he had checked the box marked "none" , under the heading, "Previous Hospitalizations". His retirement pension, only a few weeks away, was replaced by a small lump sum "courtesy".

And then the really hard part begins.....

Song had to continue living.

In the year since S.H.'s death, Song has given up her massage therapy business. Her heart isn't in it. She has sold the condo and moved into a mobile home, she needs the security and stability that a small bank account provides. She has worked at low-stress, part-time jobs to fill in financial gaps and too much time. She's recently started a new, full time position with responsibility reflecting her capabilities and experience, and potential for the future.

This is to be expected. But what makes Song's life sing? It's not the crushing grief that morphed into anger. It's that, through it, she's reached out for help. She hasn't nursed her pain, wallowing in sorrow and self pity, demanding a savior. She's dressed her wounds, seeking out company, council and therapy. The new "flesh" of future contentment, joy and peace is evident around the gaping holes of despair, confusion and defeat. She was flayed by unfairness. Losing not only her husband's life, but their life together; their plans, her security, the future. But, in accepting the inevitability of uncertainty and by giving up the illusion of control, she's covering the raw places with tough, lasting resolve. She's getting stronger.

We can never calculate the cost of her effort. She will never be free of the scars. But, someday she'll embrace them, knowing, believing how much more capable, effective and affirming they have made her. She will see the beauty in her survival. And her song will become a symphony.