When I realized that Arnie was dead, the thought of existing in this world without my husband of 37 years made me feel icy-cold and paradoxically, at the same time, hot and sweaty. We were 18 when we met and had quickly decided to get married. The man had become one-half of me, I was no longer whole!

The truth of my new reality washed over me in waves as I was guided through the process of planning Arnie’s funeral. He was gone from this side of life, but nothing, not even his death could take away the good we had had. I clung to my memories like a drowning person would cling to a raft.

Memories of our loved ones are like touch stones: they reflect the essence of that person’s essential qualities. Memories are also like the portkeys in the Harry Potter stories. Once touched with your mind, they transport you back to a time when we were together.

It makes me laugh to remember the time Arnie and I walked down the sidewalk by church talking about how young and foolish we had been when we were first married. He concluded, “You know, we did a good job of raising each other.” I miss his sense of humor and use the peaceful coexistence we had as a benchmark of any relationship.

My father, Jacob, died when I was still unfamiliar with death as a concept. I hadn’t had a close family member pass away during my span of memories. He had told me he was tired, didn’t feel good anymore, and was ready to go. At 31 years-of-age, I didn’t understand. One of Daddy’s touch stones was good humor. He liked to tell funny stories about his life, like the one about getting a Model T, and sending a quarter in the mail to get a driver’s license. He had very little knowledge of driving rules. When he had business to do in Marshfield, he was afraid to drive his Model T in the city where there would be many other cars. He laughed, admitting he parked on the outskirts of Marshfield and walked into the big, scary city.

My mother died when I was 54. She always liked to look nice and was very careful about her appearance. Mom once admitted that her mother, Grandma Franziska, had scolded her for having too much pride. In German, the word she said her mother had used was hochmut. I’m sure that hurt her feelings, but it makes me chuckle to also remember that when we put on clothing that Mom thought was horrible looking, she’d say a variation of, “That’s enough to make my eyes bleed/vomit!”

By the time my two bachelor brothers died during the winter of 2017-18, I felt very familiar with death. They had lived together on the home farm all their lives. Casper made very good homemade wine. Although rather shy, he had a sly sense of humor and a good stock of one-liners. I can’t think about wine without having him come to mind.

My brother Billy owned the farm and wasn’t afraid to do things that amused people in the community. Disliking having to cross a cold, snow-swept yard at night in the winter to check on a calving cow, he had a tunnel built from the northeast corner of the farmhouse basement to the milkhouse, which was connected to the barn.

One of the things I will always remember Billy telling me was, “Small characteristics that we have as young people, grow stronger as we age. If a person hesitates to spend money as a young adult, more than likely that person will be a penny-pinching scrooge by old age.” I think of that comment often and believe he was right!

I was 18 when I met Arnie and it is now almost 20 years since his death left me behind. That means I have lived 38 years without the man I’d chosen to be my life partner, one whole year longer than I was given to be with him. Thank heavens for his touch stones and port keys that repeatedly bring him back to me!