I've been really tired lately, and tonight is no exception. All-in-all, it's been a pretty good day. My golf lesson this morning went well; Dave is as gracious and patient as ever. My appointment with Dave also went well this afternoon; it helps to have his expertise available (I just noticed that my golf teacher and the psychologist I've been seeing are both named Dave. Hmmm. . . .). Today I got the nicest card from Andy and Cindy; another bright spot.
Yet, the sadness continues. There's a little anger mixed in too--anger that Gwen got gypped out of so much life, the diabetes was hard enough, and then the cancer. More than seven months past her death I continue to be reminded of what a brave, resilient person she was. I feel gypped too; we did a lot, but there was so much more we wanted to do. At times I feel such confusion and frustration as I contemplate a future without the best thing that ever happened to me, she was such a big part of who I was, my identity, and I feel so incomplete without her. It was easy with her, come up with an idea and she was behind it 100%, "let's go" she would say, and we would go. We narrowed the scope of our adventures toward the end, but just getting in the car with her wheelchair and heading off to the mall was as much fun as taking a train to New Orleans 25 years ago. That's what I miss most of all, just doing things with her.
I'm wallowing in some guilt today. Yesterday was Anne's birthday, and, although I did mail her a card, I got all wrapped up in my stuff and forgot to call and wish her a happy birthday. Gwen does not approve, of that I'm sure. I talked with Anne today, and she's OK with it, but still. . .
Today I read somewhere that the second six months of grief are in some ways harder because all of the things that need to be done in the immediate aftermath of the death have been done and there is time to reflect and confront the fact that Gwen is absolutely gone. And, the rest of the world has been going on as usual. The fact that some guy in Ann Arbor lost his perfect partner is merely a blip on that world screen. And then there are all the memories. They are all beautiful, good memories and although they do bring some comfort, they also bring a lot of pain. This is a poem about memories:
Yet, the sadness continues. There's a little anger mixed in too--anger that Gwen got gypped out of so much life, the diabetes was hard enough, and then the cancer. More than seven months past her death I continue to be reminded of what a brave, resilient person she was. I feel gypped too; we did a lot, but there was so much more we wanted to do. At times I feel such confusion and frustration as I contemplate a future without the best thing that ever happened to me, she was such a big part of who I was, my identity, and I feel so incomplete without her. It was easy with her, come up with an idea and she was behind it 100%, "let's go" she would say, and we would go. We narrowed the scope of our adventures toward the end, but just getting in the car with her wheelchair and heading off to the mall was as much fun as taking a train to New Orleans 25 years ago. That's what I miss most of all, just doing things with her.
I'm wallowing in some guilt today. Yesterday was Anne's birthday, and, although I did mail her a card, I got all wrapped up in my stuff and forgot to call and wish her a happy birthday. Gwen does not approve, of that I'm sure. I talked with Anne today, and she's OK with it, but still. . .
Today I read somewhere that the second six months of grief are in some ways harder because all of the things that need to be done in the immediate aftermath of the death have been done and there is time to reflect and confront the fact that Gwen is absolutely gone. And, the rest of the world has been going on as usual. The fact that some guy in Ann Arbor lost his perfect partner is merely a blip on that world screen. And then there are all the memories. They are all beautiful, good memories and although they do bring some comfort, they also bring a lot of pain. This is a poem about memories:
A PRETTY BLUE BOX
I lift the cover
of the pretty blue box
filled with Youth Dew powder.
Inhale once again
the sweet smell of her.
Breathe in memories
of her presence.
Feel her near me; a first date,
holding hands at the movies;
falling in love to a slow dance;
that first kiss, the first embrace
of a long-awaited bride;
remember how her kisses
had a smell all their own.
A pretty blue box
filled with memories;
a heart that holds them close.
John A. Bayerl, June 14, 2011
You truly were the best thing that ever happened to me, Dear, how could I not miss you all the time?
1 comment:
What a lovely poem John. Sometimes, we are afraid to forget, forget what they looked like, smelled like, felt like. There is an essence of it all, but with time, we need the pictures, we need the pretty little blue boxes - now if only we could bottle touch!
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