So Happy She Died!

(This great image is from Cory Parris' web site)

On Maggie’s Angel Day, at the suggestion of friends, I hosted a simple get-together.   When asked about hosting such an event, I immediately felt…  Yuck!  Why the hell would I want to have a party on the day my sweetie Maggie died?  She DIED that day.  What is there to celebrate?

Reflecting on that day four years ago is an exercise rich with many layers of emotion, no matter what the impetus.  My feelings that day were so complicated and fluid moment to moment that it’s difficult to capture in words.  It’s a day like no other I’ve experienced or frankly wish to ever experience again.  But I wouldn’t have rather been anywhere else on Earth.  I was right where I was supposed to be - by her side.

Just moments after she died I remember being so peaceful and happy.  I was relaxed and quite simply just happy.  Until now, I’ve tried not to dig too deeply into the psychology of why that would be a good moment for me to be all smiles and while I can assure you that the happiness didn’t last very long, for a while that evening, I was quite relaxed and happy.

My guess as to why I was Mr. Smiles that evening is, quite simply, that for the first time in way, way too long, my sweet wife wasn’t suffering.  I wasn’t watching her body slowly being eaten by an awful disease.  Our lives were no longer being painfully ripped apart.  Our futures weren’t being destroyed, one happy dream at a time.  We weren’t saying goodbye anymore.  The beatings had stopped.  It was over.

Last Saturday for Maggie’s Angel Day v4.0, while others were here having fun, enjoying the hamburgers and company, I celebrated that happiness again.  It may seem twisted to some but I never, ever want to forget the happiness that I felt that day after Maggie died.  I hope that feeling stays with me for the rest of my life.

I believe that the happiness that I felt just moments after Maggie died is my super power.  It reminds me that I have felt love and have loved so powerfully that my soul rejoiced when her suffering ended.  Yes, I realized that I had a lot of grief and more hurt was coming my way.  But that evening, while time warped around me, my tired soul savored the end of the suffering.  It was the happiest sad moment I’ve ever experienced.

That night four years ago, blissful and shell-shocked, I spent the next several hours in the kitchen with friends, laughing, telling jokes and just being not sad.  Oddly enough, the get-together for Maggie’s Angel Day ended the exact same way - me in the same kitchen with friends, laughing, telling jokes and just being not sad.  Perfect.

I’m very, very careful to not say things like “Maggie would want” because I learned early in our relationship that I really had no ability to predict her preferences, but in this particular scenario I’ll say with confidence that Maggie would have wanted me to spend that day just the way I did, in the kitchen with friends, laughing, telling jokes and just being not sad.  Thar.  We dun did it.  And fun was had by all.

Maggie's Angel Day v3.0

Three years. How could it possibly be three years?

I feel like I’m still waiting for her to walk though that door while I timidly busy myself to trick time into passing. My bold forward movement in life has been replaced with a time warp of what-the-hell-do-I-do-now. But, damn it, it’s been three years!  How could it possibly be three years since the last time I held her hand?

I feel like I’ve failed in so many ways. I can’t help but think that she’d be kicking my ass from sunrise to sunset because of all I haven’t done. Making it worse, it’s so easy to compare my progress (or lack thereof) to those who have moved forward in ways that I look at with wonder as if what they’ve done is magical because it can’t possibly be real.  Yet it is; they’ve made progress in ways I haven’t. “Ergo,” (said with my best arrogant professor-esk lilt) “I must be a failure” (making sure I raise my eyebrows, squint my eyes and look down my nose at myself.)

Yeah, screw that.  But I fight back with less punch than I’d prefer.  Days can still be difficult and despite all my blowing, I don’t have much of an enthusiastic wind blowing my sails…. Yet.  But I’m certainly not a failure.  I’m still just trying to find my center.

It’s interesting to hear about how people observe their loved one’s Angel Days.  Each tradition is so unique and steeped in meaningful reverence.  Yet, I don’t do anything specific.  In fact, I’ve been careful thus far to prevent accidentally creating a ritual.  Maybe at some point I’ll find comfort in one but for now, like I’ve written before, May 4 really is just another day, just like all that have come before it. All are tough and every single day I miss her so I don’t really need a “special” day to remind me my sweet wife died.

However this year I’m taking a liberty: I’m taking the day off and I’m going on a long motorcycle ride. There’s just something about riding on two wheels that quiets the mind.  Two-wheeled Prozac and a long road in the country.  Yes, please, I’ll take some of that, thank you.

Maggie's Angel Day v2.0

Maggie and I loved to travel and we made a great travel team. One of our favorite activities was hangin’ with the locals in local restaurants and pubs. I was the shy one. She, however, met no one but friends. One evening, somewhere in Greece, Spain, Italy, Mexico, New Orleans or somewhere else, we were chatting it up with one of the locals. “What do you think about all the tourists?” I asked.

He thought for a second and then, no doubt influenced by beer-flavored truth serum, answered “People come here to have a good time. They leave their homes and jobs to experience a different world - our world. They pretend, just for a little bit, that this place is their home. They eat, drink, dance and celebrate how great it is to be here and pretend that they understand our lives. Eventually, the hangover kicks in and their plane takes off. Back they go to their real life. I’m thrilled that they are able to visit and see what our life is like. I’m happy that they want to come, too. But one thing they don’t really seem to understand is that they are just visitors here. They can leave. We stay. This IS our home. Yeah, they come here to escape but I LIVE here.”

“I live here.” What a perfect description of Wednesday, May 4, 2011.

May 4th was the second anniversary of Maggie’s Angel Day. On that day, people posted on my Facebook page thoughtful comments. People posted on my blog more of the same. Some people even sent me cards and text messages, all sweet and supportive. But what they don’t realize is that to me, May 4th is just another day. Of course I miss my baby but that’s no different than it was on May 3rd. Sure, I’m sad. But heck, I was just as sad May 2nd and May 1st - no less and no more. May 4th was just another day that I missed my baby something fierce. Yes, I suppose it’s good in some ways that on May 4th so many people were thinking of and missing Maggie. But they don’t really seem to understand. While they are just visitors, this is my life. I live here. To me, May 4th was just another day.

Whereas on May 4th, people think back to parties, dinners and happy hours Maggie attended, I go to sleep in an empty bed every night. Whereas people think back on how much fun it was to talk to her on the phone, I miss the other half of my brain. Dinner parties with Maggie were loads of fun; I eat dinner alone almost every night. Happy hours, dinners, parties, dancing – all great weekend memories people share, the absence of which is noted but not life-changing. But every Saturday and Sunday morning when I wake up in a big empty bed, the reality is all too… ever present. I live here. This is my home.

May 4th will always be a day for people to remember to be sad that Maggie isn’t here anymore. I suppose in some ways I look forward to when May 4th will be a reminder for me to remember her (although it’s hard to fathom such a thing right now.) Perhaps May 4th will become more significant as my daily emotional noise lessens. As the little reminders, the firsts, the lasts, and the landmines fade from daily to rarely, maybe one day I’ll forget to remember. Then May 4th will remind me, you know, in case I forgot.

(Oh, man. Please give me the strength to forgive myself the day I forget to remember. And someone please remind me why it’s ok that I forgot.)

The hardest thing for me on Maggie’s Angel Day was watching other people be sad. It just hurts to watch people suffer. I once told my (and Maggie’s) friend Martha about watching an older man grieve over Maggie’s death. It curled the edges of my heart watching him, his face wracked with hard emotions while trying to contain and control the wild forces that were tearing him apart. It hurt me badly to witness such pain and know there was little I could do to extinguish that fire. Martha responded “Now you better understand how we’ve all felt watching you over the last few years.” Humbling.

Yes, Maggie’s Angel Day was quite a day. But for me, it was a day of watching people reflect and hurt. My increased suffering was because I hurt watching so many other people be sad, not because my sorrow for the loss of my sweet wife was any more intense. I wanted to hold them and comfort them all. I couldn’t. But, thankfully, they were just visiting and, after the very long, very difficult day came to a close, they all went back to their homes and families and friends.

I live here. Here, Wednesday was just another day.