A bit about my better half

I lost my truest friend and dear life mate last night. It struck like a thunderbolt from afar, and now he’s lying in some strange, cold room.  It’s just not right. But it’s our human way, for some reason that suddenly makes zero sense. “Part of life”, our friend told me today. But he hasn’t had this one part thrust upon him, yet.  I’ll talk to him when he knows it for himself, that arrow in his heart. I stumbled through the day, with the arrow sticking out of my chest. I can see it, why can’t everyone else?  It’s like cotton in my mouth, stopping the words, making the silence all right.  There are no words for it, right now.  Just a pit, bottomless. I fall, and fall, and fall.  Impact would be a blessing right now.  Just to feel something, besides the cold.

After the EMTs, the kind policemen, the funeral home fellows left with my beloved in a rubber bag (pleaseGodNO), I slept without dreaming. I woke with a start to our superpuppy Frank’s frantic kisses on my hand, before dawn.  For an instant, I did not remember that my husband is dead, now, and I was happy to greet the day. Then, I remembered and every fiber in my being screeched ” NFW!!!” Fat lot of good it did me. He’s still gone.  Cursing the fickle, faithless gods of chance, mutiny and heartache, I got up to face the ugliness of the world, and that word – “widow”. The sun shone, but today it was dim. Aided by my SuperNiece who showed up on my doorstep at 10:15 so I wouldn’t be late, we smoothly schlepped over to the funeral home. I put on a fine show (nobody bought it but me, and that’s OK, too) of being the SuperFunctional bereaved person.

Today my niece was a miracle that I didn’t even see. She was for me the earthly representative of the purest form of love, love-in-action. She saw my need and met it, she offered  aid to me, a woman drowning in a grief that’s shaping up to be so intense, so tsunami-like that I don’t even taste the water in my lungs. Not yet. It’s a’comin’, though. Real soon. I hear that surf roaring, my worst nightmare, to be swallowed up by water. Here it comes. Just for me. Yee-hah.

So I curse this mind-muddle I’m going to have to start calling life.  Make it go away, you feckless, heartless God. I’ve ripped up my contract with you and I want my MONEY BACK!  The price of love is always heartbreak, the only safeguard against sorrow is not to care at all. And so I  care, and care, and care, and here I am. Broken up, sleepless, head pounding, heart still beating.  Why still his heart, but not mine?  So much for Divine Mercy.  Another lie they told me to get me to sleep at night.

So now I know what my mother knows, what my aunt knows, and I am feel just plain cheated,  to be hustled willy-nilly into the silence of  the bereaved. Today, I was at least a walking zombie. I babbled like an idiot, propelled myself forward with my true friends, the double trouble twins: caffeine and nicotine.  I know my sisters are out there, I’ve read your work, felt your soul crushing grief.  Now I join your ranks silently, and bid you good morning. I am with you, and we survive it, don’t we?  It was worth the caring, wasn’t it?  I need your affirmation, I ain’t got none left for me, or anyone, right this minute.  I’m living for his children’s comfort (they are on their way here), for my puppy’s kisses and the sad stare of my Happycat, Papa’s favorite jet black cat.  Lilybit, my little Lilybug, inspiration for my blog name, she is full of silent support. She gives me the loving feline slow-eyelid blink every time I look her way. They know, and they give. Their love humbles me, so I can cry, finally. Unfreeze. I just can’t do the obituary, not right now.  Then the levee will break.

My cats and dog will teach me how to mourn with some kind of dignity. And I’m happy to take a lesson, because right this minute, I’m a major mess. And I’d be worried about me if I wasn’t.

 

 

 

Advertisements

15 thoughts on “A bit about my better half

  1. Oh no!!! I have tears in my eyes as I read this and I am so deeply sorry for your loss and pain. It is not going to be an easy road to travel. Losing your lovely husband must feel like being sawed in two. I am truly sorry about this. Please accept my condolences.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. My blogging friends mean just as much. I’ve been silent for a while during his brief but very intense illness. Thank you for your kindness. Today is the “wake/viewing” horror show. For some reason, people expect it, in this culture. My stepchildren are here, so we can all lean on each other. Even my 84 year old mother somehow heard the news (one of my brothers spilled the beans, I guess, after I e-mailed them) and insisted upon traveling the 3 hours to be here. I asked her not to, I’m worried for her health, but I’ll be glad to see her.

      Like

  2. I am so so very sorry, Lilly. I just read this post now. I send you my deepest and most heartfelt sympathy. I also send you intense admiration: how directly and clearly you wrote about your loss and your grief.You have found a way to express it, and I hope so much that it leads to some small comfort. I’m going to share this with my sister, who lost her own husband last November after many years of fighting Parkinson’s disease together.
    Sending a hug, and a cyber treat for those pets who keep you going.

    Like

  3. I just re-read this today on Father’s Day, since my beloved has two children, my own by adoption. It’s another bad day, but I’ll get through it. My tough, amazing Mom has Parkinson’s, too, and it’s not pretty. It’s been 14 years now, and it’s bad. She’s a fighter, and she has helped me more than anyone else after losing my Dad in 2014. We widows stick together like glue. What a woman. I’m proud to say I’m her daughter, and I hope to be half as strong as she is. She is my hero and my good friend. She makes me laugh more than anyone else on the planet.

    Like

  4. My husband’s adult children were like an incredible miracle, swooping in and shouldering some of the responsibility, then after Bob died, giving me the care I’d been giving him. I know you’ve read about this in my book and I’m sure you identified with it. I’m also glad you read Tony’s recommendations for further reading. That was a section he insisted on adding and to do so he read just about every book available on the subject of grief in order to make his recommendations. Four months is no time at all, even though it must seem like a year to you. I think you are doing remarkably well. If you ever need to talk, my email is jubob2@hotmail.com and I can call the states for free from Mexico. I stay up late, on Central time. Any time of the day or night that you call need to talk will not be a problem.. xo J

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Rereading the story of your pain. Sometimes I think it might get worse during these first months after the numbing shock is over and the first responders have to get back to living. But you will find ways to cope. Keep reaching out to us, your blogging friends. We are not hands on but many do care.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Oh no, I’m so sorry to hear. I can’t even imagine how it must feel. The closest person I’ve lost (just recently) is my Dad. It made me angry to listen to my mother’s friends telling her that it’s part of life. It made me angry to listen to her sister telling her that she knows how it feels but she doesn’t as she has not lost her partner yet. Nobody knows how it feels. Nobody who has not been there and even they don’t know. Because we are not the same. We don’t love the same, we don’t bond the same and we don’t grieve the same. Here is a virtual hug for you. I wish you a lot of strength. Don’t stop communicating with your husband. In your thoughts. He will always be there. Just in another form. Please don’t forget to grieve. This time now is busy and often you lose yourself in all the paperwork and stuff that needs to be done. But you need time to grieve, time to sort it all in a way that makes you continue. xoxo

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s