Standing Ovation

 Jim, Addie, her puppies including Charlie. July 2016

Approaching one year and I'm floored by what I've lost. All week I've begun to acknowledge the trauma of Jim's dying and to acknowledge that Jim can not return to the land of us living. It leaves me on my knees in loneliness but not from fear of being alone. We had plenty of autonomy, equity, and individual travel in our marriage. 

No, I'm lonely for my Jim, his touch, his voice, his smile, his laugh, his lovemaking, his way of dancing, his way of getting lost in his work, his way of being way ahead of me on a bike or first to paddle to the turtles, yet always walked protectively on the "road side" of us the way his mother taught him. How he did his own laundry and fixed our lawn mower, or how he perfectly grilled our dinner, made "world famous oatmeal" for guests, or couldn't pass up York Peppermint Patties by the register, or how he fixed my sister's piano stool, our cars and my heart, or teased me about how I made our bed. How when apart we talked at least twice a day whether across a continent or simply at work. I'm lonely for our deep discussions, his thoughtful listening and deep advice, his respect of and pride in me, his confidence and our joy, his scent, the curls behind his neck, his love of the puppies, his ever willingness to try something new, his love for Tegan and Patrick and Emily and Satori and Peter and his sisters and brother and brother-in-laws and sister-in-laws and nieces and nephews and my parents and of course how he adored his mother and father, how he loved children and cats and older folks and teens and well just about everybody. How he was generous to friends and bought coffee and donuts for street people. I'm lonely for his pranks and his work ethic, his creativity, his craziness, his calm, and his centeredness. I am lonely for unencumbered joy. I am lonely for the us.

I am lonely for how he loved me.

I'm lonely because I am no longer his wife but I am now his widow.

I am tired of getting up yet another day without a morning kiss from a bed that no longer holds us. I am tired from, when night time comes, staying up much too late unable to sleep without Jim's embrace and kiss goodnight.

I am tired of holding it together.

I am exhausted from this grief which is so overwhelming that despite the sayings "time heals all" and "grief is love with no place to go" it instead grew another chamber in my heart to hold forever my love for my love who loved me right up to the day a year ago when his heart gave out in my arms in our bed and is now but ashes like those one finds in one's campfire the next morning—the remains of a passionate fire that lit up a glorious starlit night only to disappear into the dust of infinity. 

I am exhausted from trying and failing and succeeding and falling again without Jim's shoulder to rest upon. And I am exhausted knowing that like the fabled Sisyphus, I will get up and try and stumble again and again because I believe in life and in love and in purpose. And because Jim believed in me. Until the day he died. And I know if he could, he would be the first to give me a standing ovation.

Us. July 2005

Posted below is from the book "Widowed" by a widower, writer, stepdad, and grief coach, John Polo. It is so direct and full of truth, perhaps even abrasive but so is death and loss and love. It so aptly tells the truth about the loneliness, the confusion of starting again from grief, the trauma and the despair of one's great love dying. I myself never truly understood until unfortunately now "I do".

Us near the end. July 2020

Widowed

—John Polo

Sit down.

And shut up.

Serious question: Is your spouse six feet under? Oh wait, are they a pile of ashes?

No?

They aren’t?

Wow.

Ok.

Cool.

Then, sit down.

And shut up.

Once a widow. Always a widow.

Once a widower. Always a widower.

No, this isn’t a plea for sympathy.

No, this isn’t even an angry post.

This is an honest post.

This is a passionate post.

This is a real post.

Sit down.

And shut up.

Unless you watched your spouse die. Unless you buried your spouse. Unless you burned your spouse.

Sit down.

And shut up.

Do not tell a widow or widower how they should be living.

Do not tell a widow or widower how they should be acting.

And please, for the love of all that is right in this world, PLEASE – do NOT tell a widow or widower when they should try to love again.

I am sick of seeing widows and widowers vilified for trying to pick up the pieces of their lives.

I am sick of seeing widows and widowers vilified for trying to find companionship again. For trying to find love again.

Hell, for trying to find ANYTHING again!

We are lost souls. On a journey to find our self again.

And YOU want to judge?

You?

Do you know the courage it takes to go back out there after your spouse has died?

After you watched them die of cancer. Or a massive heart attack. Or suicide.

After you watched them fall to sixty pounds. Having bowel movements on themselves. Having horrific hallucinations so bad that seeing them like that strangled your soul.

After you watched them fall to their knees. And clutch their chest. And take their last breath.

After you walked in on their body. Dead. Because they took their own life.

You have no idea.

Do you have any idea how badly the loss of a spouse messes with your mind? With your heart? With your soul?

No. You don’t.

So sit down.

And shut up.

You are not allowed to judge.

You are not allowed to pass judgment as you drive home to your spouse.

You are not allowed to pass judgment as you eat dinner with your spouse.

You are not allowed to pass judgment as you cuddle up on the couch with your spouse.

You are not allowed to pass judgment as you have sex with your spouse.

You. Are. Not. Allowed. To. Pass. Judgment.

Sit down.

And shut up.

Stop judging.

Stop thinking that you know what the hell you are talking about.

Because you do not.

Your life wasn’t ripped from you.

Your future wasn’t destroyed.

Sit down.

And shut up.

This was not our choice.

This was not a breakup. Stop comparing.

This was not a divorce. Stop comparing.

This was not the loss of a grandpa. Stop comparing.

This was not the loss of Uncle Thomas. Stop comparing.

And for Heaven’s sake, this was NOT the loss of your damn CAT. Stop comparing!

This was the loss of a soul mate.

Our love.

Our other half.

Our life.

Our future.

Sit down.

And shut up.

The next time you see a widow or widower try to pick themselves off, dust themselves off and ‘get back out there’.

You have 2 choices.

You can either sit down and shut up.

Or,

You can give them a standing ovation.

For their heart. For their courage. For their bravery.

Those are your two options.

And your ONLY two options.

Because.

You. Do. Not. Know.

My love in cancer's deep sleep. July 2020