Having been able to admit that some measure of acceptance is being attained, it is a bit easier for me to recall the life that DJ and I shared over the years. The exercise has ran the entire gamut of human emotions and has required me to remember and honestly face not only the facts of that life, but my own behavior during that time. At the start, soon after DJ's death, when it was suggested to me that in order for me to have any chance of surviving the journey through grief, because of other disorders I have, I would have to really remember and examine my life...our life; I was stricken with fear. This was not because I was afraid of what I would be forced to face, no, this was because in those earlier days, that most horrible of times, when my mind was filled with so much shock, doubt and despair, that even the thought of the next moment was a challenge, I could not seem to really recall or make any sense of our life. At that time my mind, stunned by the sense of loss DJ's dying left me with, was unable to organize clothes to wear, let alone make an attempt to review just what had made up our life together. But, I was told, it had to be done; not that second, not that moment, but at some point it would be necessary for my mental well being.
As those early days came and went in a blur, as I performed the necessary tasks almost automatically, and, I say almost automatically because many of the things that were required, I had never done before, let alone done without DJ, and as I sought help in attempting to deal with her loss, my mind was in a panic. Being so raw, so exposed, I had trouble recalling her voice, even certain features of her face (without looking at a picture), I had no idea how I would go about doing what had been suggested. As I did not feel comfortable enough with any third party to talk to them about all this, not in any honest and meaningful way, and because I knew instinctively that those family members with whom I needed to share this with were not prepared to hear it...not then, as they had their own issues to deal with regarding DJ's death, it was suggested I write it all down. I was told that it did not matter how I wrote it, when I wrote it, or whether I thought it was important or not...the idea was to get it outside of me, as much of it as I could remember. I was told all of this was necessary because of my personality type...now, I have no idea what that was suppose to mean, maybe that well educated person who suggested this knows, and being in the pain I was experiencing, I was willing to try anything once, despite my own ideas of their fine education, so I wrote.
Now, I understand that this may not be for everyone; that some of us may choose not to remember so much or go in such depth, of course there is no one way which we all must follow. Our losses are too personal, too close to us for that to be the case. Many of us do not wish to visit the pain and hurt anymore than necessary, and this does not appear to be a hindrance to healing, actually it reinforces the notion that we are all different, and that our approach to dealing with loss, and our attempts to heal will be varied and highly personalized. I feel that in this, is exposed the fact that we are all uniquely individual, and that our requirements are just as unique and singular. For me, this may have been necessary, this in depth probing of the memories, the examination of our life together, the how's and why's, the questions...I'm sure there are other ways I may have taken, but who really knows; this just happens to be what was suggested, and what appealed to me.
The very first things I put down were related to the DJ's last weeks and days, only because they were so fresh in my memory; we were fortunate in that up until a couple of months before her death, she had been lucid and reasonably active. When the final throes began, the time between them and the end was, again relatively short. What came to mind was the most terrible day of them all, the Sunday before the Tuesday morning she died; it had been the worse day for us and, it appeared for her too. Her breathing had been labored and erratic that entire day, I had tried to ease her efforts, but it still remained a struggle. Later as I thought about that day I cried, uncontrollably as i repeated over and over, ''Lord, please let me have done the best things, Donna, I hope I did the right things for you...'' ...over and over; recalling this was hard as I was just not certain of anything; the following day, Monday, her normal breathing had returned and she appeared to be at peace...as I look over the pages from that early time, I am struck that this lasted for over a week, this questioning; I wrote it down several times in different places, in different ways, but it all meant the same thing...now, it does not seem to have been that long, that particular week. I imagine this had something to do with the guilt many of us can feel, this remembering...or perhaps a nod to the helplessness we all experience at the loss of our loved ones, especially if we are caregivers and are there to observe the last instances of the process; we are exposed to the limits of our human-ness, we are pressed to understand the lack of control we actually have over things...but I'm only guessing here..I really don't know...but this has helped me to expunge some of the grief demons, and to really focus on what is in front of me in this different life.
As I searched those early notes for more pleasant memories, I came across one describing DJ's last birthday party held the year before...when she was better, active; the notes described my gratefulness that we got to enjoy that time and had a lot of folks over. In the writings I mentioned how I remembered the small birthday hat she wore during it, about how cute I thought it looked on her, covering her head and short hair, about how much fun everyone had, despite the seriousness of DJ's condition; how she and I and the children all acted so silly together, thoroughly enjoying ourselves. Many pictures and much video was taken that night. The pages went on...leaping forward to her last birthday party, which was exactly a month and a week before her death; out of town relatives were there, including her younger sister who gave DJ a small photo album chronicling past days she, and all of us had shared. DJ, tho using a wheelchair by this time, smiled as she slowly flipped the pages as we all watched; there were only a couple of her very close friends at this gathering, there was much talking and laughing by all of us, but the background was heavy with a sense of knowing. I wrote that I remembered another birthday party we had given her, well the children actually came up with the idea and did most of the heavy lifting to pull it off. It was for her 50th, and they wanted to make it special...a hall was rented, food ordered and elaborate plans were put in motion to conceal everything from DJ. The cover story had been that the kids were taking her to dinner at a very hoity-toity establishment, so only the best finery would do; we would all drive there together and have a great meal. But, on the way, our youngest daughter would have to stop and drop off some small boxes for a friend; being that it would take all of us to bring the boxes in and DJ could not sit in the car alone, she would come in also. When we received the call that all was ready at the designated place, we drove there. As we make a big deal of parking near the entrance and gathering boxes we all headed in, naturally, since she wasn't carrying any DJ would go in first and open doors. Well of course when she opened the second door, the party took off...I looked down at those pages they were stained, wrinkled; I remember tears streaming down my face that morning I wrote that memory down....
These were they types of things that came to my mind in that early and raw time, good times bad times...times...for months I wrote as much down as I could remember, with fresh memories being triggered by another memory and another, and another, and... ...At the start, I do not recall feeling any better...just exhausted, weepy, and sometimes physically sick. I remember the sharp pains, the pounding in my chest constantly for a while, and the crying, uncontrollably often, as I made an honest effort to write down everything I could think of. It is interesting that once I started, and despite the tears and pain, I kept on writing things down, kept on recalling some very painful things...
So, at this juncture, where I am beginning to court acceptance and the idea that a decent future for me appears possible, I am grateful to that fine, educated (but misguided in many ways) individual. Today everything is a bit easier, the realization that DJ will always be missing from my earthly forever travels with me without paralyzing me; catching myself at the thought that maybe I should call and see if she needs me to bring anything in, does not deliver the powerhouse blow it once did; the idea that I will never again hear her say '' ...Bay, did you say one or two...? '', tho still painful to think of, does not cripple me with the shock and disbelief it once did. Time and memories have softened their impact and I can concentrate on what it is I need to do to live this different life. Those months ago, early on, I would not have thought I could feel this way today...but I do...and it feels good! That the belief of hope exists there is no doubt, our challenge may be to exercise faith in that hope. The difference between those two, belief and faith is greater I think than it first appears; it was explained to me once that you may have a belief that a bridge is strong enough to carry your weight; faith enters when you actually place your foot on that bridge and begin to travel across it. I feel more than ready to continue this journey across that bridge.
October 2010
50th Birthday
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