I Remember

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I have plunged back into the cold, dark, hopeless place I felt buried in the first few weeks/months after Dave died. I've been struggling to eat, sleep, clean up after myself, and find comfort in anything. Everything feels like sandpaper against raw nerve endings. I can't stand to be alone. I need help. I've reached out. I've especially sought out the hugs and love of the women in my life who are best at sitting with me in my pain. They make me feel safe to let go entirely. They've saved me. And they have their own lives, so I return again and again to my own empty home to try to ease my own pain. 

The other day I felt so desperate for help and healing that I booked a session with a Reiki healer/medium. As I talked with her on the phone to schedule an appointment, she said "Are you OK?" and I broke down and sobbed "No". She said "I can see you today at 4:00". 

She sat down with me and began to do her medium thing. She wasn't able to come up with Dave's name on her own or say anything about me losing my husband, but once I told her his name, she began to say things that did make some sense (I still don't know if I believe any of this stuff I just take any comfort any way I can get it).

She said she smelled hospital all around me. She said he was surprised by how fast it all happened and said he still wasn't sure what happened. He wanted to know what had happened. This makes sense. There were mistakes made by the medical professionals and he crashed so fast no one could have anticipated his dying that suddenly. 

She said he was calling me "babe". She said he kept apologizing for leaving me and that he knew how hard it'd been for me these last few years. He said he'd like for his ashes to be in the Snake River. I vaguely recollect Dave talking about this river, but it wasn't necessarily one of his favorites. 

He said he wanted his mom and me to stop crying so much over him (fat chance). 

He said he was shocked by how many people came to his memorial and he was so proud to see them there surrounding and supporting me. 

"Do you have anything to ask him?" the medium said. 

"Did I make you happy?" I asked (choked out between messy, wet sobs). 

"Oh silly, those were the best years of my life," she said he said. 

At this, I bent over at my waist and sobbed as hard as I can remember ever sobbing. It felt like I'd rip into a million pieces. She held me. 

Then she said that he wanted me to start thinking more about the happy times and less about the times when he was sick or sad times in general. This part is something I've been thinking a lot about lately. A coping strategy I've had is to turn away from happy memories because they hurt too much. Far too much. 

It doesn't make any sense to focus on the bad memories or the sadness, but it's not a logical decision. It's what my subconscious does to survive. In order to heal, though, I know I'll have to start to look back at all the joyful memories and let that love and happiness wash over me. I'm just not there yet. I find it hard to even go there in my mind. It tears me apart. But I'm moving in that direction. 

 I remember the time he pulled a camping folding chair down from a hook in the garage and a chipmunk who'd been living inside it jumped out, landed on Dave's neck and rebounded off of him with his little claws. I could hear Dave's girlish scream all the way across the yard and ran to find my manly husband running around in circles, hands flapping in terror, screaming at a pitch only certain dogs can hear. "IT WAS A BAT!" He screamed. "A BAT CLAWED MY NECK!". 

"Oh, this bat?" I asked, peering behind the woodpile to find a chipmunk cowering in fear.

I remember the time he ate a fiber one bar before bed and told me the next morning that he was amazed that I'd slept through the incredibly loud and bountiful farts he'd trumpeted all night. He never ate a fiber one bar again.

I remember our beautiful trip to Italy. Our incredible Hawaii adventure. I remember how when he was around, I slept like a baby. I remember how when he came into my life, his presence helped me be the best person I could be.

I remember that I was loved. Dearly and truly and deeply. I remember that I made his life better and he made my life lovely.

I remember Dave.

Feeling Him

 

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I went to a masseuse the other day.

When I got there, she sat down in front of me, looked me in the eye and said "So what's going on with you?"

I told her that I'd recently gone through one of the most stressful things a human could experience and that my husband died and now I was rebuilding my entire life and how I don't know what to do with myself now. I explained how the strain manifests itself in tight and painful neck muscles and headaches. 

She said she was sorry for my loss and we got on with the massage. She asked me if it was okay if she told me if she "saw things". I immediately knew what was up. I thought this woman believes she can see "beyond" and/or could see through her hands to my innermost pain and "read me". I didn't hesitate. I was hoping she'd offer this, somehow. 

"Yes. Tell me everything you see," I said. 

A few seconds into the massage, with me face down on her table, she said "What was your husband's name?” 

When the sounds that make up the word "Dave" came out of my mouth I could hear the reverence, pain and anguish in my own voice and tears instantly rushed to my eyes. I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you my heart screamed. 

Being face down, I wanted to avoid crying too much because I knew that if I did, the snot and tears would just instantly collect in my sinuses and stuff me up so much that I'd be mouth breathing for the rest of the day. 

I held it together until she said "Do you feel him around you?" 

My throat completely closed up as the sobs welled up in my gut. I couldn't answer her right away. 
The fact that I don't feel him around me is one  so painful that I can barely talk about it. There is nothing I want more than to feel his presence. Nothing. I talk to him. I beg him to visit me. I beg the Universe to give me the comfort of his presence, even for a moment. 

The fact that it doesn't happen is torturous to me. I tell myself that it's hard for energy to communicate with those of us still in bodies. I tell myself that I'm not ready. That I'm somehow subconsciously not allowing the experience. Somehow, I speculate, I might be so trained not to believe that I've discounted the subtle signs before I can even truly see them. 

All of this went through my mind as I cried on that massage table. The masseuse said "You're not sure, are you? You're conflicted about feeling him?" 

I nodded my head yes as I began to bawl in earnest. 

"Well, he's with you. Always. He's just energy. Energy doesn't die. Einstein taught us that. Once you've connected with a loved one like you did with him, they never leave you. He's right here," at this, she gently brushed her hand down the middle of my spine, from the nape of my neck to the middle of my back. 

"His head is here" she said, touching the back of my neck.

"He's very gentle" she said. "He's just so gentle with you and he wants you to do whatever makes you happy. He just wants you to be happy."

At this point I was crying so hard that all I could do was nod as snot ran out of my nose to the floor. 
I didn't tell her what I instantly thought of. I didn't tell her that when Dave was alive, one of his favorite things to do was to find me lying on my stomach and lie down on top of me, face down. I'd always affectionately complain that he was suffocating me, but really, it was soothing to be pressed down by the weight of him and completely warmed by his body, head to toe. Once we even fell asleep like this, and woke up much later, stiff and with multiple limbs that had fallen asleep too.

So I felt comforted and sure of his presence and skipped off to enjoy the rest of the day knowing my Dave can still make himself known to me. Yay!

Um. No. Didn't happen that way. It's not that it didn't feel good to hear the things she said. It's not that I don't believe. It's more like I don't feel much of anything either way.  I'm not disbelieving her or the experience. I feel like it's absolutely possible to feel him again, somehow. I feel like it's possible she really sensed something. I just don't FEEL it inside me to be absolutely true. Nothing felt assured or doubt-free. I don't feel much of anything other than the loss, the missing, the Dave-shaped hole in me, and the utter frustration that we were pulled apart so early. 

I’m glad I went. I’m glad she told me what she did. I’ll take it all in and allow myself to get whatever comfort from it that I can. It was a beautiful moment and an amazing sentiment. 

Maybe I’m just impossible to satisfy because what I want, what I need, is HIM. Not his memory or a sense of him. I want HIM and everything else is a pale and unsatisfying substitute.
Maybe it’s the fact that even with his energy around me, I’m still alone. He’s not here to do the practical things a partner does, or provide the emotional support he provided, or be my one and only, my Most Important Person. He’s not here to text me how smart he thinks I am or that he can’t wait until I get home. 

He’s not here to chauffeur me around because I get so sleepy when I drive, or to surprise me with elaborate and thoughtful gifts. He’s not here to lie next to me in bed, his solid presence allowing me to fully relax and sleep through anything. He’s not here to tell me that the coffee I make him every morning is the best he’s ever had. He’s not here to tell me that he was so lucky to have found me, or wrap me up in his arms when I get home.

 He’s not here. And that is a frustration that hasn’t eased much yet. If anything it’s more obvious now that I’m spending more and more time alone and have to make more and more decisions without him as I venture farther down the road of this journey without him.

Of course, he wants me to be happy. Of that I have no doubt. But I’m not yet sure how to be happy when he’s not on this planet with me. I’m not yet sure how to make a life without him. I never thought I’d be doing this and I don’t know how. 

And there you have it. No one knows how to do it and no one knows what the future will bring them. In the same way that I never imagined I’d be here, today, I can’t imagine where I’ll be in the next few years, what joys are out there for me, what tragedies. We just don’t know. And we all have to learn things the hard way. I’ve just had a lot of learning to do and I’m really, really tired from all the learning. 

I still will work hard at being happy because it’s what he’d want. I’ll do it for him, of course. But damn it’s hard.