Friday, May 2, 2014

Secret Universe


The other day, I was watching the Yankee game, and the Yankees were playing at home, against the Seattle Mariners. Now, if you know anything at all about baseball or the Yankees, you might know that Robinson
Cano left the Yankees at the end of last season, and signed on with the Mariners. It is complicated and has to do with contracts and negotiations and things, but the bottom line is that Cano got a better offer, so he left. Yankee fans are pretty split on how they feel about Cano - some think he is being disloyal to the Yankees by leaving for money, others say "I don't blame him. I'd take the money too. There's no loyalty left in sports anyway." I tend to agree with those people, and I know my husband would have too. He would have said:"Good for him." So, during the game, the first time Robinson Cano came up to bat at Yankee Stadium, in a Mariners uniform - there was lots of booing. The Yankee fans booed him. I was watching the game alone, in my bedroom, and as I heard the chorus of boos, I looked to my right and said out loud to nobody: "Awww, honey. I don't like that they are booing him. Real fans would give him an ovation to recognize the incredible talent he added to our team." There was no response. Why would there be? My husband is dead, and generally speaking, dead people can't take part in commentating baseball games. 


I am 1000% aware that my husband is no longer alive on this earth. So, when I am talking to myself in that way, it is not as if I have lost my mind, although sometimes it does feel that way. But no. I am talking to myself, or to my husband - because that is how I watched every single Yankee game for 14 years. The first 7 years, when we were dating long-distance, we would talk on the phone or computer during all the games. Then, later, when he moved from Florida to New Jersey to start our life together, we would sit on the couch or in our bedroom, watching the games together and talking - commentating. So, I was talking to myself in that moment, because talking to my husband is still a part of my moments, and I am unsure, both subconsiously and consciously, how to make that not so. And do I want to? Not really. 

A widower friend of mine told me the other day, that sometimes, he will just say things out loud to his late wife, or ask her a question or talk to her. Not because he is expecting an answer, but because he "likes hearing what it sounds like" to still be having everyday conversations with her. I totally understood what he meant, because I do the same thing. Do I realize I am doing it? Sometimes. And sometimes not. Yes. And no. 

Marriage is a secret - it is the most beautiful secret between two people, sharing and laughing and growing and creating and loving. Breathing in the essence and the joy and the imperfections of each other, and living inside of the universe that you both built for each other and with each other. When the other half of you dies and leaves that universe, your world becomes a wide open empty space where their voice and their soul and their heart once lived. All that was filled with the "us" is now just a cavern - a gaping hole - an echo. There are so many pieces of a marriage or partnership, that are wonderful secrets - things that only the two of you understand, jokes that belong to you and he, moments that define you as a couple. That look.Those eyes. That wink. That sound he makes that nobody else understands. But you understand.

All of these tiny, enormous things, are the things and the fragments that make up the whole of the relationship. They are things that simply exist - like air or water. You don't really think about them, until, of course, you do. Because just like air and water, you need these pieces and fragments to survive. You feed off of them, and they nourish you. When your person dies and leaves your universe, all of those fragments become nothingness. The jokes are unfinished. The laughter is now silence. The memories and the stories that made up the "us", they linger and float in the air, and there is nowhere for them to land. Nobody is present to say the words: "Do you remember?" It is the loneliest and saddest reality, to know and to feel, that you are now the only one who remembers. The beautiful secrets of "us" now sit within you, and they are for you to hold alone, as you scream your every whisper, into the forever Echo.

13 comments:

  1. I do that with NFL & NASCAR on tv, Kelley - this post is exactly how it is for me.

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  2. what an wonderful post - even amongst the pain I see the beauty in this....5/8 will be 4yrs for me and I am in a great new relationship and this still rings true for me...I hold my memories close...

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  3. Kelley, you have such an incredible ability to express exactly how I feel; thank you! Tthe last two paragraphs of this piece express perfectly the loss I and so many others feel and have to live with for the rest of our lives. I so miss the intimacy that my husband and I shared; that part of each of us that was known only to us.

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    1. Thank you Anon for the kind words. Im so glad that my words resonate , and yet, Im not glad that anyone has to feel these feelings. I know you know what I mean:)

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  4. I still have those everyday conversations with my husband too. Lately, while I'm purging his stuff in the shed and garage, he's really lucky not to hear me! He loved to tell stories of his camping, canoeing, moose adventures, and my kids miss those stories so much, they ask me to tell them now. I can never tell them like he did, nor can I remember the punch lines to his jokes. I don't find it odd in the least to still talk aloud to him, but I have caught myself in stores asking his opinion of a purchase. I so understand missing the ordinary, little, mundane day to day things we said to one another. Miss that, miss him, miss it all.

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  5. Yup. And Joan Rivers said something along the lines of: "You will have your children and your friends, but one of the loneliest things is when you say, aloud "Remember when..." and you realize you are the only one who does". -Snowygirl

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  6. im sorry for your loss trust more and more in Jesus look forward to his eternity

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  7. Kelley, what a beautiful, poignant post. I do the same thing quite often! Sometimes I imagine how he would reply to me. Sometimes the silence is deafening. It hurts so much not to have that best friend sharing in all the things we used to share and remember together.

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    1. I do that too Stephanie. Imagine how he would reply, what he would say, what it would sound like. Sigh .....

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  8. Kelley, I read the last 2 paragraphs of your beautifully descriptive post over and over again because you gave voice to the enormity of the loss I feel. it is the eve of the morning 1 year ago when I woke suddenly to find my Beloved laying next to me, lifeless, from an undetected brain tumor and while both he and I were in remission from cancer. the anguish that literally physically hurts is somehow less painful knowing that others understand, and that I am not alone. I am so sorry for the loss of your Beloved, and for all the loss and sorrow with the absence of his presence. love, karen

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    1. Oh Karen, thank you for telling me this and sharing it with me. Im so so glad to know that reading my words somehow , in any small way, brought you some hope or comfort in knowing youre never truly alone. Yes, the enormity of it all sneaks up on you, and chokes you sometimes. It is a lot. Sending you love xo.

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  9. Oh, how I relate to this. hearing what it sounds like to have conversation; loosing the us and we; having those unfinished dreams floating out there. Sadly, but beautifully expressed. Thank you.

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  10. I LOVE the full post of this. Its really vulnerable and bravely honest. As you always are. I SO do this all the time too! Sometimes I will be just driving down the road in his truck and one of our favorite songs will come on - this song where we each kind of did a dorky guitar riff to certain parts. Without fail, i still always do my part - as if he is still pointing to me on cue. And I talk to him, again, while i'm driving around in his truck a lot. I do it when I go out and star gaze at night - because that is something we only ever really did together. And we did it a lot. We used to sit out there until we could find the satellites - and he would tell me how many there were orbiting the earth, and how many you could see in our part of the sky roughly at any given time. Cuz he knew stuff like that - stuff I didn't know a thing about. And I loved it.

    The other night, I went outside stargazing in the bed of his truck like we always used to do. I haven't done that in over a year. And finally - for the first time since his death - I found a satellite. And immediately after, I asked him "do you think it really is one?" and just as the words came out of my mouth, a shooting star shot across the sky. It was kind of magical - like getting some answer from him. But answers or not - I am ALWAYS talking to him. I doubt I will ever stop doing that!

    Again, such beautiful writing Kelley. You never cease to impress me with your powerful words. Love you!

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