This blog…(can I just say I dislike the word, “blog”?) started off two years ago as attempt to let people know about our little dojo here in Loveland, Ohio. It was my first real investment into the realm of social media, a means to educate prospective students on the real meaning and purpose of martial arts. The thing is, I began writing when I was in the midsts of the deepest grief I’ve ever known, still unable to come up with words that describe the loss I felt. Soon, every Friday morning at 4:30 a.m. (sometimes much earlier) became, more or less a tiny therapy session for me. I’d sit here and listen to piano instrumentals (ok, still do) and just write it all out. Some times through tears, I’d just write, proofread it, write it again and again until I felt its said everything I wanted it to say. And then I’d send it out, not knowing who was going to read it, if anyone at all. I guess at some point, it didn’t really matter. Putting words on paper, as it were, was an incredible release. Time well spent.
When you lose someone, especially someone you’ve known most of your life…someone who grew you up, there is no way to express how you feel. The finest musician, actor or author can only provide a glimpse of what that type of sorrow looks like, feels like in your soul. It was not necessarily my intention to share all of that with people I know, and people I don’t know. Hell, I was just writing a martial arts blog. Truth is, some of the pieces I’ve written over these many months started off as something completely different, but I was moved to pick the scab over something and let it bleed a little bit. And I always felt better afterwards. Something else you should know; I’ve had inspiration from someone all along.
I’m sure some folks thought I started dating far too soon after Terri died. And to be clear, I wasn’t “dating” in the connotation the word has today. I was looking for someone to talk to, have coffee with. Kind of like I did when I was 19…the last time I dated somebody. Some people close to me suggested the Cancer Survivor’s Network. Tried that. Would not recommend it. That became a contest to see whose grief was worse, whose life sucked more. And “putting yourself out there” as the modern vernacular suggests, often ends you up in deep waters without a sail. That’s where I was and I was getting ready withdraw when someone unexpectedly reached out to me with some of the kindest, most gentle words. I found a certain amount of relief in our little online chats. Covid was in full swing and we couldn’t go out for coffee, so we had virtual coffee dates instead. Just what I needed.
It was tough at first; I think anyone who loses a spouse deals with a certain amount of guilt whenever they decide to reenter the world again. And of course, there is the general social convention to overcome, this whole thing about waiting five years or so…don’t know where that comes from. Thankfully, neither does my dad. I remember having lunch with him one day in his kitchen and I told him that I had met someone but I was concerned about how other people might feel. Like many things he has said to me over the years, I’ll never forget his advice: “Son, don’t postpone your joy.” No long speeches or explanations. Marine that he is, a short, direct and rather obvious answer is more than sufficient. Thanks Pop.
It takes a special person, a unique woman to allow a man the space and time to grieve another while building a relationship. It takes an incredible amount of patience, faith and humility. Over the past three years, Kim has inspired me to express not only my grief, but also share and take heart in the great times I’ve had. She has supported me and lovingly pushed me to follow my passions, open the business, live my best life. But if I’m going to live my best life, well, I need her to be a part of it. A smart man would marry a woman like that. He’d tell her and everyone he knows how he feels about her. So, a couple days ago, I put a ring on her finger. It’s time.
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under Heaven…A time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time…to dance.” Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4.
Dave Magliano
Tatsu Dojo
Jissenkan Budo
Dojo Cho
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