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Monday, June 1, 2009

A selfish grief

Sometimes I don’t want to admit that ANYONE else in the world feels like I do. I want to own the feeling, be possessive over it. I don’t want to admit that others are suffering equally. (When I was in Denmark I felt faintly irritated that there was a display about dying and death in the Viking museum. “Jeez,” I said, “why are the Danes SO obsessed with death?”)

I can condone this by referencing statements made by others:

“but you two were SO close”

“you loved each other SO much”

then my sisters-in-arms ground me again, thankfully. Some of the widows and widowers on the Forum have had it worse than me, without a doubt.

I DO know one thing though … NO ONE ever loved him like I did, and I NEVER hurt him like so many others did – it took him a LONG time to realize that I never would.

I actually feel as though we’ve been together throughout time … as if he was Genghis Khan or Attila the Hun … and I always joined him too late in life, always having our time together cut cruelly short.

Perhaps if I learn from this loss this time and become a better person … like he was … we will be granted longer together next time. Like a reward.

Or if that theory is wrong, at least I will see him again and be with him forever when it’s my time to go eventually.

I still absolutely don’t want to be here, but it’s a passive wish.

If there was one thing that he was always proud of – it was the fact the despite some of the shit that we went through / happened to us, I never lost my trust and naivety. I know very well that this was due to him in reality … however he WAS proud that I chose not to let experiences beat me or make me bitter.

What a team we were!

Some times it feels as though I’m carrying him in my heart and have grown to know him so well, learned so much from him … surprising myself at constant newly remembered teachings when I need them most.

Now that my worst fear has been realized, I’m now SO scared that I will stop listening to his voice. I mustn’t … or my own may lead me astray. This heartbreaking experience MUST only change me for the better, perhaps gracing me with empathy, or I will have let him down.

God knows I wasn’t the domestic goddess but as he often said, “I didn’t marry you for your culinary or ironing skills, Boo.” Which reminds me of the time on holiday that he laughed at me so hard, that he had tears running down his face, when I proudly announced that I had remembered to pack the travel iron, and when we unpacked … I hadn’t included the handle, and even he wasn’t tough enough to iron without one :-)

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