Springsteen, Beer, and Pizza

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I knew that I was on a path of healing from my grief when I could remember Harvey with more love in my heart than sadness. There will always be grief. I won’t ever “get over” it or put it behind me. My life continues, but the cracks in my heart will always be there, just not as painfully present as in the past.

For my blog post on grief, click here.

I knew that I was healing when I was able to write my recent blog post that revealed two of the gifts of Harvey’s illness. It brought me to a new place of comfort and contentment, something I hadn’t felt since his death.

The idea that I was remembering him with more love than sadness made another appearance on his birthday, April 14.

I decided I wanted to commemorate and recognize this day with my daughters. In the past, we had included their beaus, because they are definitely a part of our family. This year, though, I wanted it to be more intimate, with just us three who knew and loved him best.

We drove to our destination with Bruce Springsteen blaring through the speakers. Harvey was a huge fan, something I had a hard time reconciling with his usual calm demeanor. Evidently, in college, he and a friend would go to any Springsteen concert that was scheduled near enough for a road trip. Harvey told me that he loved Bruce’s energy on stage, and that he and the friend would get high on that energy.

We decided to start the evening with a beer at a local brewery. Unfortunately, Harvey’s Alzheimer’s hit just as the local beer crafting scene exploded, and he was never able to enjoy these mighty fine additions to our city. But beer was one of Harvey’s long-time passions.

He even began brewing at home two decades before his illness, including his father in this hobby.

So beer had to be a part of the celebration.

And pizza.

According to Harvey, his high school days were some of his best. A small magnet-type school for high-achieving students, they were given inordinate amounts of freedom. Freedom to leave campus and eat lunch at a nearby pizza joint even.

Homemade pizza was one of our family’s regular dinner items.

And then there was our discovery of deep dish pizza. Several years ago, the same Springsteen-loving friend from college gave us a gift certificate to a new pizza place in town that served authentic Chicago-style deep dish pizza. Happily, this restaurant is located next to our chosen brewery.

So while sipping beer and pulling strings of cheese from our pizza, my daughters and I reminisced and remembered…

Soccer games, reading aloud, driving lessons, family vacations to National Parks, favorite meals, bald jokes, the jogging stroller, Christmas traditions, running together, his fashion sense, driveway basketball, his small vegetable garden, swinging in the backyard, cheering him on at marathons, Easter egg hunts, iconic dance moves, big eyes, big smile, big heart.

And by myself that evening, I remembered, with deep love, our past life as a couple: meeting, falling in love, supporting each other through medical school, growing into physician-hood and parenthood at the same time. I did shed some tears, but I felt more love than sorrow.

I miss that man! More than that, though, I love that man and am deeply grateful that I had him in my life for thirty-five years.