Bearing Sorrow

 

Mom's wedding flowers, 66 years later.

Bearing Sorrow

“And you must be able to bear your sorrow; even if it seems to crush you, you will be able to stand up again, for human beings are so strong, and your sorrow must become an integral part of yourself; you mustn’t run away from it but bear it like an adult. Do not relieve your feelings of hatred, do not seek to be avenged… Give your sorrow all the space and shelter in yourself that is its due, for if everyone bears grief honestly and courageously, the sorrow that now fills the world will abate. But if you do instead reserve most of the space inside you for hatred and thoughts of revenge—from which new sorrows will be born for others—then sorrow will never cease in this world. And if you have given sorrow the space its gentle origins demand, then you may truly say: life is beautiful and so rich. So beautiful and so rich that it makes you want to believe in God.” 

―Etty Hillesum, “Saturday morning, ten o’clock”, in An Interrupted Life: The Diaries, 1941-1943 and Letters from Westerbork, p. 96

Almost like clockwork, my body knew that it was another monthly anniversary of Jim's death. Or perhaps it was my soul that sent me the reminders all day yesterday. This grieving of one's life partner reminds me a bit of how new parents post monthly photos of their babies with a big number sign: (1 month), (2 months), (6 months), etc. I always seem to know without knowing the date itself. I feel it in my heart. I grow heavy and anxious. I can't sleep or sleep in fits. I find my motivation tanks. I want to eat chocolate all day, previously I perhaps wanted to drink wine all day until I realized that didn't actually work. What I'd really like is to be swept away by someone or someones to someplace else, someplace new, someplace like the cave Puff the Magic Dragon crawled back to on Honah Lee 

"A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys

Painted wings and giant's rings make way for other toys

One gray night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more

And Puff, that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar

His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain

Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane

Without his lifelong friend, Puff could not be brave

So Puff, that mighty dragon, sadly slipped into his cave."

Dragon's eye

Yesterday was that day for me. (23 months). Jim's death seems so far away, he feels so far away, the me I was seems so far away, and yet the pain today is as sharp as if he died yesterday, and honestly not an hour goes by when I am not thinking of Jim: of what we had, of what we lost, of how I could use his guidance to get through this part of my life, and sometimes in disbelief as in was it ever true? How is it gone so fast? How is life so short? Where are you and what was it you used to say? 

You know what I'm wishing for? A jar or a book or videos of everyone's funniest memories of Jim—just for those times when I doubt the reality of our existence. He was so funny. He used to say to me "I'm so glad that I make you laugh." I would just roll my eyeballs. He was the ultimate showman, he always had folks giggling. 

My handsome, charming, funny guy.

I've accomplished a lot since Jim died. I was forced to: fixing electric outlets and lawnmowers, rebuilding the leaking pond, new roof, new floor, new appliances, new hot water tank, (yes all of these failed), repainting and repairing two floors of walls and ceilings, lawyers, settlements, more lawyers, ongoing cases, porch reattached, some regrading, and lots more to come. And I've persevered: the emotionally wrenching task of cleaning out of so many of Jim's things—with so much more yet to go through (anyone interested in hundreds of player piano rolls?), stepping forward when I didn't have the strength for the dogs who had a particularly difficult time adjusting to losing Jim, taking over maintaining the entire acre yard and house (wells, water filters, air filters, filters in refrigerators, dead trees removed, mice infestation, driveways plowed, sidewalks cleared...), and then managing all of the finances required to pay back hospital bills and all of the unanticipated property work to the tune of 5 fucking digits (with painful apologies to my retirement account). And of course broke my ring finger, had my wedding rings cut off, had surgery, and have completed PT. 

In process as I write, an entire bank of windows being replaced.

Covid pre-vaccines put everything to the test. That was simply the loneliest, most frightening time of my life. Just thinking back on that entire year is traumatizing. It was forced solitary confinement for a crime I didn't commit. For the crime of loving Jim and losing him. Thank God for my grief counselor Ally, the dogs, and my close, close friends (you know who you are) who were there through the tears and trauma, who listened and validated my grief, who asked, who checked in constantly, who helped me get through the most difficult of tasks, and who remembered Jim always. And who continue to do so - thank you.

Charlie was feeling it yesterday too.

It's very weird this act of carrying this all alone. Honestly that is why we live in community or have partners or parents or roommates. We aren't meant to carry all of this alone. Yesterday when I was fixing the lawnmower yet again, I thought to myself "Girls need to learn how to handle wrenches, hammers, electrical systems, oil changes, and gasoline types. Girls really should be taught all the same stuff we teach our boys to be able to do, because honestly most women outlive men and they will need to be able to do it alone." Aargh!

The house we built, I think he'd be proud of what I've accomplished.

Before this dark mood overtakes me, on the plus side, I've stepped into working again on meaningful projects with wonderful people, learned to paddle board, written this blog, painted, got the Honda painted, kept up with my gardens, and finally sold our old heavier kayaks that I couldn't handle alone and bought a new kayak and launched it by myself for the first time ever, and desperately important, I've learned who knows how to love one at the bottom of their lives, who truly sucks at it, and who is cruel (or give them a benefit of a doubt, who is clueless). And I've learned that I now too can be better at being with similar folks. 

New kayak, old haunt

Honestly, most days though, it all just seems too much to carry. I can't even look at old couples holding hands anymore. Though really, the things I've managed these last 23 months aren't the most difficult things of my life. What was? Caring for my brave, dying Jim, living day by day for two and a half years knowing he was dying, and then holding him as he took his last breaths, not wanting it to be true. I would do it all over again, over and over and over again, and even knowing what I know now, what I am faced with now, I'd fall in love with him all over again but I just wish, may always wish, that his death had happened at the end of my life too. After a pretty blue yesterday, one in which I picked myself up time and again, today I had my call with Ally. I asked her, will I always be blue? And being as honest as she always is with me, she simply said "yes"...the current under your life. Yet, she assured me, it won't always be continuous, it will stretch out and it will soften more.