Grief: The Twenty-Seventh Twenty-Seventh

My life mate/soul mate died of inoperable kidney cancer on the 27th of March, 2010, and today is the twenty-seventh twenty-seventh I have managed to survive. Some such dates are fading — I no longer count the days or weeks, no longer count my sad Saturdays (he died on a Saturday, and always on Saturday, I feel an upsurge of sorrow), but I am still very aware of the day of the month he died.

This twenty-seventh month marks a big change. For the first time in my long odyssey, I am more grateful for what I had with him than I am sorrowful for what I didn’t have. I can even smile when I think of him, though I don’t think of him as often as I used to. For the first two years of my grief, he consumed my thoughts. It was as if I were afraid to stop thinking of him, lest he disappear completely from life and memory. Despite that vigilance, my memories of him are fading, and while I still feel the sorrow, still feel the immense hole in my life, I am forgetting the particulars. Forgetting, even, what he looked like.

This forgetting seems like a death in itself, but I can’t keep him here by thinking of him. Though I wish with all my being that he were strong and healthy and living, he is gone. And I am not.

In recognition of this, I have put away the only two photos I have of him. I could not bear to look at the pictures for the first fifteen months after he died, but I gradually inured myself to the sight of them. For a while, the images brought me comfort, but now they only remind me of my sadness. Maybe someday I will set out the photos again; meantime, I am learning to survive without this crutch. The photos might not be a crutch so much as a reminder, or maybe simply something to talk to, but whatever these pieces of paper are, they are not him.

I am still beset by tears and fears, and there’s a chance I always will be. His death seemed to open a crack in the EveryThing, and I could almost feel the winds of eternity. Some of the wildness of my grief and the accompanying panic came from this contact with a truth I am not yet capable of understanding. I don’t know what I will become because of the experience, but even though I don’t feel any different, I know I have changed in some fundamental way.

I am weary of trying to find my way, weary of trying to work around the immense hole he left behind, weary of trying to emphasize the good in my life. Perhaps one day, I won’t have to expend so much effort to find ways and reasons to live. I will simply . . . live.

About these ads

5 Responses to “Grief: The Twenty-Seventh Twenty-Seventh”

  1. leesis Says:

    you will Pat…it’s coming. I respect your loss with all my heart but there is more healing to come and unless something gets in the way I don’t think you will be as “beset by tears and fears” as you are now…actually I’m sure of it.

    • Pat Bertram Says:

      My grief is fading, and it scares me. It was so immense, it filled the emptiness, but now . . . the emptiness yawns in front of me with nothing to mask it. I’m hoping eventually life itself will fill the hole (or mask it) but right now, I feel as if I’m standing on a precipice. Also, in a strange sort of way, I feel as if I’m leaving him behind. Every step seems to bring its own sorrows.

      • leesis Says:

        it is scary Pat and it is a precipice. And you are leaving him behind…lifes given you no choice. Some people clutch to the memories because this ‘releasing to the past’ does have such sorrow with it that it’s hard to let go. Unfortunately though this means they stay looking backwards. A state that has misery at the back and a big gaping hole at the front…sometimes for the rest of their lives.

        Another step forward Pat. xx

        • Pat Bertram Says:

          I don’t know how any of us survive this. Every step brings its own sorrows.

          • leesis Says:

            It is devastating Pat. This is why its so important for people to understand that a person experiencing this tragedy is not going to be ‘over it’ in a week, a month, a year.

            But where you are at now will change Pat and the sorrows lessen.


I'd love to hear what you have to say.

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

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 5,554 other followers

%d bloggers like this: