11.16.25
Yesterday was the Condon Fall Festival Bazaar, an event Darrell and I have been going to for years, usually the first Christmas bazaar of the season for us. I almost did not go despite having booked two tables. Instead, I wanted to just stay home where I felt safe. Where I could be a hermit up here on the hill. Where I would not have to put a smile on my face and pretend everything was alright. The thought of going to that bazaar without my dearest by my side, was torturous. How could I put a smile on my face and greet people? Answering customer’s questions about my soaps and lotions, bagging up their wares and handing them their change when they made a purchase, all the while missing the man who should be sitting in that extra chair behind the laden tables. How could I go?
Was I afraid of just being out amongst people or was I more afraid of breaking down when a caring soul who knew my dearest was gone would come up to hug me? How could I control my emotions? How could I hold back the tears and heart wrenching sobs that always are waiting to burst free? As I sat drinking a cup of tea yesterday morning, my totes filled with all my wares stacked by the front door, I almost gave in to the desire to just stay home. Then, I looked at the picture I have of my dearest on the fridge door. His smiling face, which I touch and talk to during the day, seemed to give me strength. I would go.
It was a long, long drive to Condon. The hour and a half it took to get there seemed to take an age, but as I pulled up to the curb outside the Memorial Hall where my tables awaited me, a calmness seemed to spread over me. It would be okay. Unloading my boxes and trundling them into the big hall was a welcome routine. As I started unpacking and setting out my baskets and display racks, I tried not to think of all the little things my dearest would normally be helping me with. Little things such as putting my pricing signs together, setting my books on their display rack, handing me odds and ends I needed. I missed him.
Then, someone came up beside me. My friend Shannon was there. Her arms went round me, and she hugged me tight, while the sobs I was holding back let loose. She just hugged me. Nothing was said, but I felt her love and understanding in that hug. After a minute or two, I felt better. Together we got my soaps and lotions and the rest of my wares set up on the tables, ready for customers. Her steady presence helped ground me. As she left to go to a family affair, I felt I could do this, I could get through this first step out on my own.
As the morning shoppers started arriving, I found I was able to smile and talk and carry on. The hard part came when those who know me and knew my dearest, would stop by to see me. Most did not say a word; they just opened their arms to draw me in for a warm hug. What power there is in a hug! Each time threatened to see me burst into uncontrollable sobs, but their steadiness calmed me. Tears still flowed, but they were gentle tears.
How can one thank those wonderful people who showed their love and compassion for me with just a warm hug. There are no words. At the end of the bazaar as I packed my remaining wares back into their boxes and trundled them out to the truck, I felt so glad I had come. Driving home it was hard to stop the tears from running freely down my cheeks as my hand rested on the seat next to me where my dearest should be sitting. Yet the warmth I felt from those wonderful, caring people who took the time to come and see me, well, they made this, my first step forward, that much more bearable.
Thank you, my friends.
