How often do we gear, “I would die for you”? Grief came to visit. How I wanted to die with him. I could not imagine life without him.
I had waited so long for him to find me. Those were halcyon days. I retired early and moved to Maine. I spent days out on a boat, fishing and taking in how wonderful we were together. I had the time to begin writing my book. I had time to make a rock garden Medicine Wheel. We went on a cruise. We spent winters in Yuma, Arizona and it was so thrilling to hike the mountains with my brother and his wife. We got along so famously. I felt whole. I felt, for the first time, being loved and cherished by a partner. Little did I know, it would not last. 15 years later, we had the VA move in a medical/hospice bed. In five weeks, we went from him saying something was off, to the day he died. Not even the loss of my parents equaled his loss. Ever since, 2015, I have simply been putting in time.
Once I gathered who I was without him, I made myself a promise that I would live for him. I have taken him, in the blown glass necklace that holds some of his ashes, silver, gold and bronze, everywhere important I have been: trips, cruises, and when I feel lonely for him, I put it on. I wear his turquoise Bear totem along with my Goddess. He has gone on more cruises with me. I have seen far and distant places through his eyes. I have not been able to write poetry any more. I cannot go that deeply that is necessary to write it. I felt rudderless until I got that I could live for him. The heart is such a memory-keeper. He promised me feathers. They have come dropping out of the blue of the sky. They have landed inside my vehicle on the dash as I was driving. I find them, as have some who have been with me in auspicious places. The features in strange places remind me that I am living for him.
For those of you who grieve, try what I am doing: make yourself a promise to commit to care, to share, to be there with the person you are without, in a thousand quiet ways. I never lost him. I found new ways to be with him.
©Carol Desjarlais 6.22.26
No comments:
Post a Comment