Eleven months. I have a hard time finding anything special about 11 months. It doesn’t seem like anything in life takes 11 months. It’s an incomplete number, not quite a year but longer than most things that take less than a year. Incomplete. I suppose that is how I feel right now- incomplete. The dinner table is not full. The bed is not full when I go to sleep or wake. Conversations I have are not full because there is rarely a response. Life is incomplete. Life is not empty. I am busy and never seem to finish everything that needs to be done. The kids certainly keep me going and even Alison who is so far away helps to keep my life active and energized. I continue to try new things and force myself into the world in ways that surprise me. But it remains incomplete. Kate and I were together for 26 years. In that time we really did complete one another. We both had our own lives and were perfectly capable of attending to life on our own- but we had grown together in ways that I still am sorting out. We completed one another to the extent that either of us could finish the other’s thoughts and words. We completed one another in the sense that either could plan or shop or make decisions for the other and almost always the decisions were correct. In fact we not only completed one another but extended one another by helping us move in our thinking and actions. Today I do this alone- my life is incomplete. The Qur’an says a widow should keep herself in waiting 4 months and 10 days. The implication is that at the end of this time she is ready to move on, enter new relationships and return to living. Four months and 10 days would have put me just shy of the New Year. I can’t imagine having returned to life at that point. I was still struggling to get out of bed. Life at four months was pretending that I was ok. Victorian society in England mandated that a widow not re-enter society for 12 months. This was patterned after the actions of Queen Victoria after she lost her husband. Maybe that was the start of the magic year that seems to be so common in modern thinking. Somehow once we get past that one year date, everything will be normal again. That’s the idea. But for me and the kids, things will never be the same. This I believe. Maybe there will be a new normal. I suppose there already is if normal is what is common occurrence. Life is routine, moving from waking to sleeping so normal exists for everyone. It is true that this normal is not as comfortable or desired as the old normal. But it is what I have. In the Jewish tradition, a period known as avelut lasts for 12 months. But this is only observed for a parent. During this period, the son says a prayer every day for 11 months. The idea is that to say a prayer for the full twelve months would indicate that someone needed a full twelve months of prayer because they were especially evil and needed the maximum help available. So the praying is stopped at 11 months. No one seems to have strong traditions though for men who are grieving a wife. It has been suggested that the 4+ months for widows in the Qur’an is a way to ensure the woman is not pregnant. And men are expected not to engage women in romance during this time. The year of morning in Victorian society is a way for a woman to show her devotion and in many quarters this is continued by a life of solitude until her own death. Even the Jewish tradition focuses on the loss of a parent. Perhaps losing a spouse is easier. I can’t say, but I don’t believe that would be the case. Maybe it is just that men have needs and can’t be expected to wait to pair up again. After all, someone needs to clean the house, cook the food, care for the kids and fill the bed. I think men are shafted. We deserve some rules too or at least some guidelines. I frankly don’t care if the house is clean, and there is pizza delivery for the kids. But no one seems to have rules to offer me. I remember learning of the Jewish custom years ago, and it stuck in my mind because it was so clean cut, so directive. I liked the idea that there was a point at which one could say: “It’s time for something other than prayer.” Today I wonder why this particular radio interview caught my attention. Is it possible that I was being prepared? So many things have happened that in hindsight look like preparation that if I believed more in fate I would certainly say were destined to be a part of my life. I have my new boat sitting in front of the house. When I made the decision to purchase her, there was no doubt in my mind that she would be named the “Katie Lou.” After all it was to have been the boat that Kate and I were to sail together and this was a way to honor that connection. But at 11 months I am not sure that is the right name. I’ve prayed for 11 months for Kate, and I am sure that I will continue to do so for years to come. But I also am aware that today I am increasingly focused on the next 11 months and less on the last. I am not over my grief and I miss Kate immensely as I expect to do for a very long time. But my focus today is on creating paths to the future rather than bridges to the past. I am quite proud of the memorial that has been created for Kate at Oakland University. We have raised almost enough money to endow the fund in perpetuity, and the kids and I will be able to complete that fund in the coming months. That fund will enable students to have an international business experience connected to their education for years to come. And while those students won’t know Kate, she will continue to impact their lives and development as long as she would have been teaching and beyond. We have also made a commitment to the Organizational Behavior Teaching Society to fund a student to attend the annual meeting thereby continuing to develop excellent teachers even if Kate cannot be there to lend her expertise and enthusiasm directly. I am not ready to let go. I am not ready to clean closets and empty dressers. I will never be ready to remove the pictures. I pray that the memories last as long as I do, and as long as the children do. But I think at 11 months it is time to stop praying daily and to recognize that it is time for something else. So I am working to step out of the snow globe and be a part of the world again. I not only want to laugh but want to try to make it happen. I can really say, maybe for the first time without hesitation that I would no longer be okay with my own death. I don’t know if others can really understand the dual world that I live in. A world where I grieve and cry and another where I can laugh and play. I suspect that others who have lost a partner understand. And that is enough. For everyone else, maybe it is enough to know that while I live in one, the other still exists. I suspect I will return for daytrips and maybe even long weekends. That’s the world where my angel is and I can’t give that up. But the bridges to that world are strong and well built. Today I will work on paving roads to the future. Friends and family can help Alison, Andrew and I by continuing to help us explore this new world and look for new joy and accomplishment that make new normal ok.