November 12, 2001
Photo credit: Dan Lanphear
1Lt David Fielding
Deputy Commander for Seniors/Mission Pilot/Aerospace Education Officer
Mount Pocono Composite Squadron 207, Civil Air Patrol
This photo was taken in 2001, when David was 1Lt. He was promoted to Lt. Col. in November 2005.
In matters of importance (and otherwise, sometimes), an inner dialogue takes place, with my words and what I’d imagine David saying. I read somewhere of a therapy exercise of letter-writing, where the subject writes a letter to the one who has passed on with their normal writing hand, and with their other hand, they write a response as they imagine it written by their loved one. It sounds very awkward, but apparently it has surprised people with its effectiveness in providing a “voice”.
I haven’t tried this yet, but I would like to. I have a journal that David and I were going to start on December 1, 2005, but his handwriting had become so shaky it was bordering on illegible. It frustrated him that he couldn’t write anymore, but it also didn’t seem the same if it was typed and printed, so the journal was abandoned. We got as far as pasting a few pictures in it: our engagement photo, a wedding photo collage, David typing up a post on the PowerBook in the hospital, and with Hugh at home. The plan was at the end of each month, both of us would write a few paragraphs on the right side of one page, and on the left side would be a photo that represented that month. I figured a monthly journal of our married life would be an easy frequency since we already both wrote online regularly.
When I read about the letter-writing therapy using both hands, I thought about how much David occupies the inner dialogue part of my brain. I took a can of clam chowder to work for lunch last week, and while I was heating it up in the microwave I could hear David telling me to buy this particular brand of “chow-DAH” in his best Boston accent. This happens all the time — especially in the grocery store, whenever I see airplanes, or animals, corn dogs or anything he was fond of. Or not so fond of, like women wearing too much makeup, or kids getting spoiled and not being disciplined properly. David’s form of mockery was never malicious, but always amusing.
Last weekend in Campbellford, Harold Carlaw was showing me an old airplane engine and when he said radiator — “rah-(‘a’ like in apple)-dee-ay-tor” — he nearly jumped out of his skin because I exclaimed, “That’s exactly the way my husband pronounced it!” It made him momentarily forget what he was trying to explain to me.
Sometimes I wonder how long my memories will hold out, memories that include voice inflection and mannerisms and smells and certainty in knowing how David would answer a question. In the relatively short period of time we were together, we came to know each other better than anyone else. Part of me is afraid all of that will fade, along with the rest of me that shared a life with him: the adventure of flying, travel, career prospects, building a family — all the joys and colour that come with engagement and marriage that I thought I would never experience because I didn’t think I was the “marriage type”. If I chose a picture to represent myself now, it might be this one.
But, it’s been said before that the only constant is change. In another year I will likely see myself a different way again. I believe when someone significant comes into your life, you are never quite the same person afterwards for having learned something more — about yourself, others, or the world in general. This has been especially true for me, with David. My friends who have known me a long time and know my personal history (and his) understand the remarkable odds that we would meet and marry. When you find happiness and lose it so quickly, you begin to wonder if you can ever find it again.
Probably a majority of people take this time to turn to their friends or family for support. Others withdraw. In my case it’s been more of the latter than the former. In many ways, I’ve disappeared. I believe it’s necessary for me, to gather up the reserves it takes to go forward. For the time being, my outer dialogue has been displaced by a very active inner dialogue and radio silence (other than this website). But I appreciate the messages sent my way, and the time and care and thought behind them. Thank you.
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I wonder if you consciously chose this photo because the lighting is so odd that David looks somewhat ghostly in the picture. And in a way, isn’t that what the “inner voice” is? It’s David’s ghost, or, to choose a more positive word, his spirit.
I suspect you’ll have that vocal memory for quite a while; I can still hear the voices of family members who have been gone for over a decade now. The tone and inflection isn’t as clear, but it’s there from time to time. (Coincidentally, one thing I remember from my grandfather was his recommendations on chowdah in a *true* New England accent!)
I’ve been thinking of you all weekend, Gail. When Brent and I were out shopping yesterday, I saw a small airplane against the big puffy white clouds and immediately thought of David. We talked about that today was the anniversary of his death, and how you must be feeling. My heart and thoughts and love are with you today.
Dear Gail,
Even in the Netherlands we’ve been thinking on you the whole day. There is a candle next to Davids picture and it’s burning all day.
So, we can keep in touch to each other, there is an invisible line.
Love from Soerendonk
I think those who have impacted our lives are always with us. A moment can seem like a long time, just as a long time can seem like just a moment. Warm thoughts for you, G.
Thinking of you too, Gail. And tho’ I never met David, I still have odd little moments thinking of him, like when I saw a liscence plate (in michigan) that indicated Tri-pacer. Can’t remember now exactly how it was spelled, but you get the idea.
Some thing will fade, but for many people it’s the saddest parts that fade away, and I so much hope that is true for you.
I think having found that kind of happiness once, you know it exists and will find it again. Your love and memories will only grow fonder over time and I suspect end up being mostly fond and kind memories.
I have been thinking of you this month. I hope you are holding up ok and I am glad you have planned a trip somewhere to get away.
Take care!!