I Want to Remember it All

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It’s the last day of 2012.  Everyone who has a blog or a website is doing a recap of the year.  The goods, the bads, the whole nine yards.  I won’t be doing that.  I just can’t.   2012 was, up until Thanksgiving weekend, one of the best years of my life.  With one conversation, my entire life and my entire future fell apart.

There was never supposed to be a Sarah without Brian.  Moving forward not only seems impossible, it seems wrong.  It seems against nature.  It also seems inevitable.

Yet again something over which I had / have no choice.

There has been a shift in this process.  Brian and I are transitioning into a new relationship and I am terrified.  I am scared of not feeling the pain.  I am scared of healing even the tiniest bit.  I’m scared of what I know, even if it is the deepest level of hell, changing and being plunged yet again into the terrifying unknown.  People tell me that healing doesn’t mean that I love him any less or that he loves me any less.  People tell me that living my life doesn’t mean that he’s going to leave me.  People tell me people tell me people tell me.  Intellectually I know they are probably right.  Intellect has no role in grief.

Brian and I weren’t perfect.  We were human and thus flawed.  We were, however, the closest thing to a perfect partnership 395844_10151167909425192_1034654191_nthat I have ever known.  I know he will never leave me, I just have to adjust my expectations of what being with him looks like now.  Does he whisper to me now?  Does he show up in the white tailed deer that run through the woods, almost out of sight?  When I’m awash with memories so strong I feel like I’m experiencing it, are they memories or is it really him being right there?  When I remember the few painful times of our marriage, is it guilt or grief or forgiveness? Is he putting them there so I can forgive myself?  When I remember the never ending list of joyful moments, is he there with me?  Is he putting these memories in my head so that, for brief moments, we can love each other together again?

I don’t know.  I don’t know.  So many things I don’t know.  For someone who has spent the majority of her life, at least her adult life, being confident and sure and steady, this unending blanket of uncertainty offers no comfort or warmth.  Like new shoes that I’m not terribly fond of, I would rather throw it away than break it in.

Again, no choice.  Again, no answers.

What if I forget?  What if I forget the sound of his soft, deep voice?  The feel of his hands?  The soft spot behind his ear?  How the beard swirled on one cheek and how he had a handful of long white hairs on the other?  What if I forget which cheek was which?  What if I forget how we fought and made up?  What if I forget something for which I need to say I’m sorry?  What if I forget something I need to tell him that I adore about him?  What if I forget the way he smelled?  What if I forget?  This brings me to my knees in utter panic and terror.

And yet again, I have no choice. Someone came uninvited.  They’re leaving.  I’m scared they’re taking The Belle of the Ball.

“I’ll never forget you.  I love you in spite of your faults.  The good and the bad, I want to remember it all.” ~Waylon Jennings

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3 responses »

  1. I never know what to say and then I realized it doesn’t matter. I just want you to know that your writing and voice are being heard. I’ve been wanting to tell you something but please, if it doesn’t resonate, just toss it out. My mom died in May from cancer and had a nasty battle for a tad over 4 years. It’s a totally different situation and I’m not intending to draw a parallel here but she used to tell me that her greatest hope is that my step-dad would find love again after she was gone, not right away but later. I asked her why. She said that him being able to heal, move on, and love again would, in her mind, be the biggest tribute to their love (32 years!). Like their love was so big, in the end that would be the thing that would bust through and carry him forward and give him the strength to love again someday. Knowing my mom, this was her way of giving him permission to live and love his life (not really about finding another partner) even though she was not going to be around day to day. Through her suffering and knowing the battle would be lost she was able to give all of us closure and permission to heal – a true luxury in some regards.

    It’s been seven months and Dad still cries every day at losing her, his soul mate. The only way to the other side is through. Take all the time you need – seems to be the only way.

  2. It takes a long time, so long that it feels like forever. But eventually it does get better. That hurts in and of itself. To think that it can get better one day. But it will. From this turning-your-entire-life-upside-down experience of loss and grief and sorrow… you will eventually gain a brand new kind of wisdom and certainty.

    But it takes a long time and endless tears and “don’t know” moments until you do. xxx

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