Cape Cod Words II

Thinking more about the words I came upon—was given—in Provincetown . . . this is not to say that I didn’t find comfort in my religion, Episcopalianism. I did. So far there have been three ohs in the widow process: the Provincetown bench was the second; the first was when Dan was ill but still alive. 

I had hauled myself in to the 8 a.m. service at my church one Sunday. We had a guest celebrant, who preached from the floor, without notes. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but his theme was “God’s plan.” God had a plan, he said, we just didn’t know what it was. 

Oh, I thought. 

Is that what this is about. 

Lake Taghkanic, frozen, danceable

It had been my plan to grow old with Dan. He was smart and witty and interested in everything. He could be, shall we say, difficult, but in my forties I had realized that he was worth it, that one day, when perhaps mobility was limited, smart and witty would be what I wanted. 

But that wasn’t God’s plan, I realized that Sunday in church. God had another plan for me. It might be better, it might be worse. I would find out. 

In the grief and fear that made up my life that summer, this idea offered a glimmer of hope. It was, in its own strange way, exciting. Once, I had thought I could predict the outlines of my life. Now I couldn’t. At the very least, I might not spend the rest of my life frightened and grief-stricken. Things might, possibly, get better. Life began again to stand open to me.