1.
Welcome.
It looks like no one is here
nor ever has been.
How did you get
dropped into desolation
thorny rocky pathless dry
You are not sure
what country you are in
nor what language
is spoken
not that there is anyone
with whom to speak
alone, slight word
for so vast an isolation
2.
It was in the fine print
you skimmed.
Who reads these small details
when captivated
by the more engrossing clauses
of that long contract
called ‘marriage’?
It was in the statistics
“life expectancy”
but you didn’t expect this,
and why should you have?
It was in the long
bloody history of the world,
and tonight’s news.
Yet comparison
of your devastation
to the long aching grief of others
makes not a dent
in your own forced march:
monotonous agony,
fierce trackless wastelands,
absent clues.
Except, it makes you feel guilty.
No one, now, tells you, “Get over it!”
more than you. How you wish
you could speed the passage!
3.
You remember how
he rubbed your feet
with peppermint lotion
brought you heart-shaped rocks
the hot starched hiss
when he ironed his shirts
his special lamb chops, broiled
with soy and butter;
how, when you woke at night,
and he irritatingly slept on, you
were annoyed
by his easy heart, easy sleep.
The litany:
dropped clothes, snoring,
the hacking cough, the seat left up,
a tendency to over-literalism.
What you wouldn’t give
to have them back!
Except, without that long association,
the matched pace
that did not always match,
you have nothing to give.
Nor is there currency, chip, or bargain
to be made.
4.
Of course you didn’t think to ask the passwords.
Of course you didn’t appreciate him enough.
5.
Does the cat miss him?
How dare there be weather?
How dare there be ordinary?
It’s an outrage!
No one warned you
let alone prepared you
though it was in plain sight.
6.
The awful word
for what you are now:
two Ws, jagged peaks
at either end. It encases you.
If only you could add an N
and make it window
and open that window
and step back into sunlight:
the slammed door
that meant “I’m home!”
the clicking on the keyboard
as he paid the bills
or played online bridge
the rosin for his fiddle bow,
the tennis racket in its zippered bag
the old backpack in which he carried
the first dues of the club
he started thirty years ago,
now grown worldwide
Do the young members
even know his name?
7.
I give you N.
Now, which must be endured.
Never, which is when he is able
to return to you in that dear form
which you adored.
New, which is the life
that waits for you, for which you wait,
eventual, but not without
green radiance.
Not, as in, however, it will not always be like this.
It will not, Sister. Welcome.
Oooof!
And wow.
And especially
“If only you could add an N
and make it window
and open that window
and step back into sunlight:”
I love you kiddo,
Jane
Thank you, Jane. Sister in many ways. Really, we MUST see each other more often! xxxooo
Darling Sister, Crescent Dragonwagon, you give me a window here. <3 I am most honored that you wrote this poem for me and though it is the club nobody wants to join, you have joined hands with me. Entering this poem is like sensing somebody else is also breathing in here, although I had convinced myself I was the only one who could have fallen into this forever-abyss. I feel immense pain and deep gratitude in this moment. Thank you.
Oh, and I love this picture. I know I will keep looking at it now and looking for it forever. <3
Ah, Sumita… embracing you. I wish there were a softer way to travel this life. Love you…
Your writing touched my heart. So reassuring!
Thank you so much, Ashoka. There’s another Widowhood Wednesday post (if you look on the top green bar and click #widowhoodwednesday you’ll find it) called “It Feels like Insanity. But is it?” which quite a few readers also told me they found reassuring.
Well’ I did join the widowhood club recently… having terrible remorse and self blame about how things unfolded and my husband died …. God bless his soul …
Laura ‘
Oh, Laura… I am so sorry. Sorry for his loss, sorry for all you are feeling, and especially sorry about the remorse and self-blame. I don’t think there is a widow alive who doesn’t struggle over that, hard. So I assume it must be part of the process. But damn. My wish for you is that you not stay in that aspect of it — that eventually that piece, at least, falls away.
One of my pieces here is about that, kind of. Go to the search function and type in “striped couch” and you will find it.
Wishing you well — wishing you courage.
CD
October 21 will be one month since I lost my husband. I am asked if i am angry at God for taking him from me. I say ‘no’ because when Roy was diagnosed with cancer, he was given 2 years. We had 7 years together after that, for which I am immensely grateful. We had been married for 15 years whrn he died. But I think what good can come from taking away this man I loved and destroying our lives, our marriage. How can I believe in anything?
Dear Suzette,
I am so terribly sorry for your loss. A month ago is still such early days — skinless, surreal. I am so sorry.
Although as you say you had seven years (when you thought initially it would be only two), and yes, that is a HUGE thing to be grateful for, and also gave you two a chance to say absolutely everything that needed to be said, or that you wanted to say, plus to do the practical ‘get your affairs in order’ stuff. Maybe more importantly, it gave you time to get used to the idea, to do what the therapists call “anticipatory grieving.”
And yet, the end is still the end, loss is loss, and he just plain is not there anymore and there is not a damned thing that will change that.
You say, “what good can come from taking away this man I loved and destroying our lives, our marriage. How can I believe in anything?” A deeply legitimate question. Many many widows (and survivors in general) enter this area, where faith and belief are seriously questioned. Have to be, in my view. These kinds of deaths are such big, existential, in-your-face-continually experiences that the old way of thinking rarely works any more, and the old kind of faith can seem… inadequate at best, a children’s game at worst.
Of course you don’t “have” to believe anything (despite what various religions tell you) — it is a choice, and one you and only you can make. As you find your way through this tougher-than-tough period, I urge you to find your own place to stand, whether it is “belief” as such or otherwise — something you can embrace with integrity and still find some comfort in. I talked a little about that in a couple of the posts here, particularly this one: http://dragonwagon.com/cant_heal/ and this one: http://dragonwagon.com/50-shades/.
Sending you love and courage… for as you well know, love TAKES courage.
CD