Nine-Year Death Anniversary

I am, every day, astounded at how the work on the Abu Dhabi memoir goes on… and on. It has become an unintended inner pilgrimage, a project of becoming. Naively (or foolishly), I thought I had a ready-made book that simply required typing up handwritten letters I’d written from Abu Dhabi between 2009 and 2012; instead, I merely had the bare bones. I had no idea of the inward journey I was about to embark upon when, eight years after Abu Dhabi, I unfolded those pages from their envelopes. While I often use words like struggle and challenge when asked about our experience, there was also humor, affection, and truth-seeking woven throughout the experience. After all, Philip was there by my side.

Memories of Philip are precious and tender, though there’s always a wistful longing wrapped around them. Love and yearning forever twist my heart. As many widows or widowers will tell you, each in their own way, the passage of time since his death leaves me wishing I had better memorized him. If I could, I would have permanently engraved the visceral sense of the depth of my emotions, the feel of his arms around me, and the sound of his voice. I once accused my mother of making my deceased father and her beloved partner into a saint. Now, I better understand. Today, I wonder how to paint the picture of my impossibly beloved person without elevating him to sainthood. A saint he was not, though as time passes, his flaws soften in memory.

Perfectly timed to coincide with this death anniversary date, the past two weeks have found me revisiting and reviving stories of Philip’s interactions with people in Abu Dhabi. Recalling his generous approach to the strangers he encountered on his daily explorations and expeditions reminds me of who he was when his curiosity and spirit of adventure were sparked. The anecdotes I’ve been focused on recently have allowed me to tease out from memory not saintliness but all that was loveable, playful, and kind.

In addition to my struggles at the college, in the first months, the foreignness of the city—its people, customs, and noise—unnerved me. If not for Philip, I might have thrown in the towel and gotten on the next plane out.

Philip, however, set out daily on a quest to learn about our noisy new home. Despite his argument with the city’s cacophony and chaos, he connected with people on campus, at the markets, in shops, and in our neighborhood, and this contributed to his sense of belonging and, consequently, to mine. His appearance—tall, thin, fair-skinned with unruly sand-colored hair in a population that was mostly shorter and darker–made him stand out. But it was the personality and the soul his body carried that engaged and attracted others. By the end of our first six months, people in the neighborhood recognized him. They nodded and responded with a grin to his Arabic greeting. Hand on his heart, his salaam Aleikum was returned with the customary wa aleikum salaam.

In shops and markets, he was adopted by the vendors and clerks who served him. Of course, they wanted his money, but the exchanges between them grew longer, warmer, and friendlier over time. Philip accepted the tea offered (even when it didn’t accord with his raw fruitarian diet). He knew when to linger and listen, when to ask questions, and when to empathize with ex-pats’ woes. In Abu Dhabi, Philip forged a growing and comforting sense of belonging that helped us to feel less other. Less like strangers in a strange land. And this allowed us to open our minds and hearts to Abu Dhabi and its people.

Rereading the letters more than a decade after the fact returns me to our struggles but also to our growth. I’m awed at our perseverance. I can’t recall another situation that challenged us so profoundly for so long. Philip’s support and companionship not only helped me survive that difficult time but enriched my experience tenfold. His perspective held me to my deeper truth. He wondered if we could open our hearts to the opportunity … to become learners. What could this situation, with all its challenges to our egos and identities, our preferences and prejudices, teach us? His readiness to use external experiences to befriend our inner angels and demons turned an adventure into a project of becoming. We didn’t flee for the airport but persisted because we each had some vague inkling of the deep psycho-spiritual importance of the struggle.

Little did I know when I signed a contract and boarded a plane for Abu Dhabi in 2009 that I’d embarked on an inner journey as much or more than an intriguing encounter with a radically different culture. Nor did I recognize, in 2018, when I thought to transcribe hand-written letters into type, that I was about to embark on yet another journey. Writing has always been my way to deepen my experience … my way to make meaning. Whether I seek to understand myself and my place in this increasingly mad world on the back of a camel or in my studio apartment in Fort Collins, the journey of making meaning pulls me forward.

Living with Philip was always a challenge to grow and become more of who we were meant to be. I am forever grateful for his inquiring and adventuring spirit that continues to inspire and challenge me. His nature was childlike and rascally, while his soul was forever in a deep dive for truth and meaning. He was born of Love and has, no doubt, returned to Love. I carry that love inside me now. It is part of who I am. And today, on this anniversary day of his departure, and always, I return all my love to him.