the rhythm and poetry of grief

i've settled into a very melancholy existence of late. Thursday my daughter and i went to the local mall to a store called Things Remembered to order two beautiful flutes to be engraved for her wedding. we had parked outside a large department store and as we walked back to the car, she wanted to stop to visit the restroom. it was in the men's department. she went in and i stood amongst jeans and shirts, ties and belts and i cried because i'll never have to buy him anything ever again. i don't have to wash his clothes anymore. nothing of his crosses my daily life that i don't deliberately go get to look at, to touch.

i tested the waters last night. i'd read several grief books in the beginning and all of them had said to go back after 4 to 6 months to re-read what you've written down to see your progress. i did and saw only the switch from deep shock to deep grief, but a week after the 6 month milestone, i'm settling in. i think 6 months after the death of a loved one is too soon to see any real progress but everyone has their own time table. everyone is different. every marriage is unique. every relationship has it's own particular rhythm.

this brings me to the second test. all the authors in those books said that the bereaved tend to glorify their deceased loved ones seemingly forgetting their imperfections. i re-read all my writing with that in mind and there is nothing that i've written about him that i glorified. but i don't want anyone who stumbles across my writings to think that i have. i know exactly who and what my husband was. he was perfectly flawed.

beauty is in the eye of the beholder and what i beheld was nothing more than an extraordinary man. every word i've quoted of his, he spoke. every action he performed that i wrote about, he executed. i wish to give you a brief sketch of the man who loved me.

he was only 1/2 inch taller than i was. his muscles were not toned in a gym lifting weights, but rock hard from years spent as a United States Marine. he'd been called a killer in my presence and i would see his eyes go blank trying to dull the impact of that one word. killer. everything he did was sanctioned by the United States government. he is no killer. he was a soul in torment that protected himself with the distance of hollow laughter and few words. he was an enigma to those who thought they knew him but he allowed me inside his heart. he told me everything and cleansed his mind. i took it all and gave him back respect, awe, and love.

his eyes were warm brown with white squint lines from laughter, the sun, and looking down a scope. his hands were large and hard and criss-crossed with scars. his whole body was a timeline of his career, scars everywhere. he had the lasting marks of 3 bullet holes, 4 stab wounds, and long striations left over from Vietnam when he was walking point and fell into a trap and punji sticks pierced his armpits and popped out through his back. GQ would not want him, but i did. i didn't care about his scars. they caused him pain and i rubbed vitamin E oil on each one to help ease the underlying muscle pain.

the meds he took for arthritis upset his stomach so he belched after Mexican Food. it also put on a few extra pounds that he tried so hard to lose. i didn't care. two months before he died, his doctor had told him he was doing fine, the little bit of extra weight wasn't an issue since it was from the meds, and that his heart was fine. that haunts me to his day and always will.

his laugh was deep and loud and the sound embarrassed some but never me. i knew how little he'd honestly laughed so i deliberately set out to make him laugh several times a day, and yes, in public. his humor never bothered me. his public displays of affection - holding my hand, touching my butt, and whispered teasing innuendos in my ear brought me only joy. it was something i'd never had.

he wasn't a knight in shining armor. he could be cranky when in physical pain. he could be obstinate. but he was never cruel and always sat back with a knowing smile on his face when i would stand up for myself. he loved that he had set me free to do that, that i felt safe with him to argue with him. he never betrayed that trust. he chewed tobacco sometimes and i hated that so i when he put some in, i'd wait about 20 minutes then tell him to go spit it out and brush his teeth because i wanted to make out.

in summary, he was a diamond in the rough, my Dragon who loved me, who told me that i had set him free from his belief that he was a monster, and that i was his whole world. he was well read and capable of very intelligent conversations. he was verbal and spiritual and, with me, could be emotional. i wrote poems to him while he was alive and now more so since his death. he loved them all. he loved my writing and encouraged it every day.

we had a beautiful marriage amidst a terrible life of abject poverty because he was helping me clear the debt left behind by my ex plus we paid for so much while my two children went through college. but my Dragon always kept a roof over my head and we had enough to eat. he never let me fall. when i cried, he'd hold me and tell me he was there with me, and that we were going through it together. we had wonderful days of climbing rocks by the ocean and a great many peaceful walks along a long stretch of beach. he gave me shells and sand dollars and driftwood.

he gave me all of himself and more love than i'd ever known. i gave him awe and adoration and truth and all the love i was capable of. i still do. i saw him as he was. that he was everything i'd ever wanted is only truth. he saved me and i saved him. we were meant to be.

i went up to the throne of love

the king stooped down to me

he put a kiss on my lifted face

then they took him away from me.

i have traveled the whole world o'er

and i could have love if i would

but nevermore shall a beggar stand

in the place where the king has stood.

very rough spell

i'm going through what my grandmother used to refer to as a "rough spell." it was used in her day for any time when a family or person was having a hard time due either to financial hardships, ill health, or grief. i've got two out of the three. i am having a hard time financially but that is just something to endure and keep working my backside off to cope with. the worst is the grief.

i don't know if i was ever actually doing "better" in the six months since my husband died but i know i am definitely doing a bit worse. i am having a very difficult time vocalizing my feelings because i look at someone and can't say it. here i am alone and can write it. it's not my voice but my heart that is saying it and there is no one for me to look at and feel any kind of connection to start the tears.

i'm crying all the time again. it's been 6 months. his birthday is Aug. 5th. he would have been 57. Aug. 11th is our wedding anniversary. it is also the anniversary of our first date. together 8 years, married for 7 years. only 8 years with a man to whom i gave my whole heart and soul. i would have given my life for him but i wasn't given the option.

i'm planning my daughter's wedding and i'm trying hard to feel happy, but i cannot right now. maybe on the actual day i will feel something other than this deep intense grief. for the short time that i get to actually be with my daughter making plans, fitting her to her dress and veil, going with her to pick up the fabrics, ribbon, and things she wants, i can fake it. i swallow hard and tell myself she is my little love and very much deserves a mom who is all there and doesn't unload on her. it can wait. she knows though. she knows that i'm hurting and she's been so good. i try to make her laugh which is easy to do. i am a very good liar. always have been.

i lied to my children when they were little about why their dad didn't seem to like mom. i lied to myself that i could take it one more week, one more day, let the kids get a little older. i lied to him to save myself from harsher beratings. and now i'm sort of lying to my children about how i'm feeling inside. maybe if i lie enough even i'll start to believe it but i don't think so. all i have to do is look at his picture, see his smile, the laughter in his eyes, and his broad back in the photos where he's walking ahead of me and i crumble.

crumble is the perfect word.

"i sat evaluating myself. i decided to lie down." i'm not sure where i read that but i was still in junior high school and i remember it was during the summer of love - '68. i think it was the poet Rod McKuen. whomever wrote it, it also fits my mood perfectly.

intense grief has taken over again and all i want to do is lay down and cry. i miss him so.

"oh, come through the darkness and save me

for i am alone."

letter to my husband

my dear, sweet dearest, my husband,

i miss you. tomorrow it will be six long, weary months since you died so suddenly, so frighteningly sudden, and i don't know what kind of shape i'll be in. i know i'm going to hide from the world. but i don't know how i'll tackle each hour that ticks by. will i be able to sew? will i be able to work on anything? what will i do all day long alone with just my thoughts and memories of you?

if i could send this letter to you i would first want you to know that i love you still, always will. i think of you every minute. that sounds obsessive but it's not really. i think of you the way i always thought of you, even when we were in the same room together. my life is linked to yours. my heart, my soul, my thoughts were of us as a couple and that way of thinking hasn't stopped simply because your heart did. you were always such a presence. larger than life. people noticed you wherever we went and either gravitated to your smile and gregarious nature or got out of your way if your eyes told them to. you were like my very own guard dog. i loved that feeling of safety. i had never had it, not even as a child. so first, let me say that i love you and i will not stop. no one can step in my field of view and dim even the memory of you. no one will capture my soul as you did.

the second thing i'd want you to read would be a lie. i know. lying is wrong, but this kind of lie is not. it is a lie to protect you. i'd lie and say i'm doing okay. i am in a way but in other ways i am not. i need you. i am back in the abyss with you know who. money. our girl's wedding. just surviving. he's out there in the darkness. i can hear him. he's laughing. i'm alone and so very tired. and i can't stop to rest or dedicate myself to grieving fully and wholly so i can get past it. i have to walk this minefield so my brain is split. grieve. where am i compared to where he is. grieve. wait. he moved. what do i do now? step this way, avoid the hidden mine. grieve. miss you. cry. damn. he did something else. stop and think. work. work. worry. grieve. so the second thing i would tell you is that i'm doing okay. i'm going to keep breathing, keep living after a fashion, and i won't let anyone get behind me. i'll keep my back to the wall like you taught me. thank you for that. thank you for all you taught me. thank you for your strength and belief in me. so, i'm doing okay.

third, i don't know. is there a third thing? i've found a way to earn money for myself. i make quilts now like i did for us. i take in clothing and make Memory Quilts. i think it helps people. i see something indescribable in their faces when they see their finished quilt for the first time. i think maybe it's going to be one of those things that they will cherish and fully get the emotional impact of much later, when i am far out of the picture. when they are alone with their quilts in the night and can touch them and wrap them around themselves.

i'm working on one for me. it's taken me longer than it should because i work on everyone else's first, then all the things i'm making for our girl's wedding, and then if i'm not too tired, i work on mine. after the wedding, i'll be able to really work on mine parallel to the others.

i guess that's all i can think of for a six month milestone like this. six months. i can't imagine it. your birthday is coming up, too, and 5 days after that our wedding anniversary. since you won't be actually reading this letter, i'll just say i don't think i'm going to make it. well, i'll make it because i have to, but i intend to wallow. i'm going to sulk and cry and curl in a ball and hug my Marine Dress Blues teddy bear that i put two of the mini medals you had on. i'll look at your picture and dream of your smile, your laugh, your warmth, and your love. i'm going to miss you so much that i know i'll think my heart will shatter - again. it's already so fragile with the burden of this grief and dealing with the wedding politics.

what is it about weddings that bring out the worst in people? the day belongs to the bride and groom. whatever they want is what should be. her veil. her ring pillow. her aisle runner. she's asked me to make it all and i am. she asked me to draw her wedding cake for the baker and i did, exactly to her dreams. i'm being tactful. i'm being quiet like i always am. but i'm making sure she gets what she wants and that no one gets upset with her. they can get upset with me.

since i'm such an unknown here, i can get away with just doing things silently and not explaining myself. but they did see all the things i'm making and they love my handwork, all the colors. i think people get nervous when someone says "handmade." they prefer machines to do things for them and have forgotten that sometimes handmade can be just as pretty and maybe even more special. you always loved my quilts, and my embroidery on your jeans. you didn't feel emasculated. you were always proud to say, "my wife patched my jeans."

so i guess this is really all i can say. i hate to stop this letter. i really feel like i'm talking to you. as if we're on one of those instant message venues, only i'm doing all the talking. you're not winking at me. ;o) no flirting. nothing. but i know you would if you could.

i know you'd talk to me if you could. i know you'd reassure me if you were able. i know that if you could swing it with God, you'd once again be here beside me. in fact, i wouldn't be on the computer. i'd be sewing a quilt for us. or sitting beside you on the sofa with your arm around my shoulders.

i love you, husband. i always will. i will endure, but i know i will not "get over" the loss of you. you are too much my soul mate. you are too much my heart's desire. your empty space is far too empty.

i love you with all my heart.

good night, for now.

~ your wife