“He died last May,” are the words I use when I relate to my friends the traumatic event that changed my life a few months ago. I don’t use the usual gentle euphemisms — “he
passed away or he was called to another place.” For me, though I like to think of him released from his illness and once again feeling healthy and safe, I know that I have to accept the reality of never seeing him again. His body is gone because it no longer exists and its remains have returned to the earth.
When I miss him so deeply, I call aloud to him — “OK, you can come back now.” I feel he is just waiting for me to reach out to him, to find a way to connect with him. Oddly I feel a slight touch of anger in these sad moments. He could alleviate my grief … he was always able to do the impossible, and so, he should do that NOW and just come back to me.
“I am waiting to tell you so many things,” I exclaim to him. “I need your help with the roses that have stopped flowering. We had a terrible storm and you will be shocked by
the tree damage. Your nephew wants to collect on that political bet he made with you. My sister-in-law died and my brother is in the hospital in a deep depression.”
But I can do little to change my new reality. I coach myself to accept my overwhelming feelings during these sorrowful and poignant moments. My sadness is intensified by the doubling up of sensations — loss and permanent change.
“He is gone,” I say to myself over and over, trying to force understanding deep into my being. I continue to envision him here, near me in his chair, in his place in our bed. I look for a sign in some lucky breaks I have gotten — convenient parking spots, a good hotel room. But the smile that comes to my lips when I think of these happenstance scenes fades, as I know I am creating a fantasy in his honor.
Acceptance may have to wait awhile as my life goes on. Mercifully these contemplative moments are frequently interrupted by activities that compel my attention. I pause and
reflect. Will it ever be that one day I will comprehend fully and accept as real, the eternity of my loss?
©2012 Adrienne G. Cannon for SeniorWomen.com
Photograph: Scabiosa atropurpurea ‘Scarlett’, known as the widow’s flower
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