{"id":34333,"date":"2024-02-17T00:01:37","date_gmt":"2024-02-17T08:01:37","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/barbarafalconernewhall.com\/?p=34333"},"modified":"2026-06-05T12:39:18","modified_gmt":"2026-06-05T12:39:18","slug":"widowed-the-things-my-husband-wanted","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/server.stagingweb3.net\/barbarafalconernewhall\/widowed-the-things-my-husband-wanted\/","title":{"rendered":"Widowed: The Things My Husband Wanted. (Or, We Are What We Want)"},"content":{"rendered":"\r\n
\"widowed
Widowed: The things my husband wanted — in this case, he wanted to entertain his No. 1 grandchild (and son) during the bus ride he’d promised her. Photo by Barbara Newhall<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\r\n

I needed a spot to spread out the tile samples I’d collected for the upcoming bathroom remodel. Only one space near the bathroom was available — the part of Jon’s desk, now empty, that used to hold his laptop and keyboard.<\/p>\r\n

Some of Jon’s papers had drifted onto the spot, and one caught my eye. It was a Christmas gift list, composed two months before my husband died. He’d labeled it “Presents for Barbara.”<\/p>\r\n

When I saw it, I put my head on his desk and wept.<\/p>\r\n

He’d Written His Thriller at This Desk<\/strong><\/h5>\r\n

This was a good place to cry. This was the spot on earth where, for years, Jon had spent his days. He had worked on his thriller novel here. He’d composed emails to his school friends and his gastroenterologist. He’d conducted phone calls with his cardiologist.<\/p>\r\n

And it was here that he had drawn up his 2020 list of Christmas gifts intended for me — stemless wine glasses, Cathy Guisewite<\/a> teapot, gas powered generator . . . .<\/p>\r\n

Certain artifacts, like this list, bring on the tears because they have the power to resurrect, however briefly, Jon’s wants, Jon’s desires, Jon’s intentions<\/em>.<\/p>\r\n

\"UNION-OF-CONCERNED-SCIENTISTS-2024-CALENDAR\"
The Union of Concerned Scientists is still sending fundraising appeals to Jon. This one included a 2024 calendar. At the time of his death, Jon was supporting dozens of charities and causes. He wanted the world to become a better place. Photo by Barbara Newhall<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\r\n

There are many parts to grief. Some less wrenching than others. I miss Jon’s company. I miss Jon’s faithful call to dinner every night at 7 p.m. sharp. I miss his quiet assumption of the taxpaying duties. I’m sad that his youngest grandchild will have no memories of him and that the oldest grandchild’s memories are fading.<\/p>\r\n

But I feel the sharpest grief when I picture my husband alive and wanting something, planning something \u2014 picking out artichokes for our dinner, or making a grandchild laugh.<\/p>\r\n

We Are What We Want<\/strong><\/h5>\r\n

Our wants reveal who we are. We are what we want. And, when those wants are no more, who are we? Are<\/em> we?<\/p>\r\n

The philosopher Harry G. Frankfurt had thoughts on the subject of volition. It is our wants\u00a0 — our desires, what we will<\/em> — that define who we are, he said. It is our intentions that give our lives meaning and make our actions moral or not moral. We might live in a deterministic, mechanistic universe and have no control over our actions, but we can have desires, and it is those desires, rather than our actions, that define us.<\/p>\r\n

Widowed: The Things My Husband Wanted<\/strong><\/h5>\r\n

And so, I’ll pause a moment and share with you who Jon was. He was a person who –:<\/p>\r\n