Remembrances

“Anniversaries” are a jarring reminder, as if I need one, of Burt’s absence.

He was not here to celebrate his birthday, my birthday nor New Year’s, certainly not Valentines Day. In fact, in eight days, I will acknowledge the first year since his passing.

On what would have been 35 years from the day we met, our friends, our neighbors stood up to celebrate Burt’s life.

That day, it had been less than three months since his death. Three months felt like no time and like forever.

Each day marking a significant event is another occasion to pay tribute to Burt.

I am not planning a customary commemoration for the first year without Burt, but I have been observing milestones and memories all year.

I know I will continue to recall, randomly, and tearfully, bits and pieces of our life together. I am so grateful for that.

The road we travel

Journey is the term of art for all of life’s trials.

All of life is a journey. Rather it can be seen as many journeys.  In life, we take many trips and some are sun-filled. Others are not. 

Life twists and turns. There are travails. Those difficult journeys are better taken in community.

It’s tough and lonely when your loved one falls into a dementia. Seek a support group. Find an individual counselor. Take your next steps in the company of those who truly understand the path.

My point is to say, when facing the challenges of a dementia diagnosis, accept guidance. Let the wisdom of the crowd advise you. When your beloved passes, avail yourself of grief support groups, as well.

I can attest to how very useful such support, from beginning to end, is.

A journal for the journey

Sometimes, when someone reports they liked one of my posts, I go back and reread it. This takes me back to days or  events I may have forgotten.

I wish I could conjure the sweet incident I described in Call and Response. I am grateful to get to read about it.

It was heartening to learn that in January of last year, Burt spoke out to announce he was having a good day. 

Good days are special memories though, it seems, we sometimes forget how special  they were.

[I guess I’m advising you keep a journal.]

This memory, which I won’t forget now that I’ve revisited it, is especially precious because on that day, a month before he passed, Burt was loudly happy.

What’s next?

The tears of a widow are different from the tears of the caregiving spouse. There is more silence in which to grieve when the beloved has died.

The losses are more finite, more final.

The losses while our loved one is still alive but slipping away little by little are just the beginning.

I suppose that is the why of “ambiguous loss” and of “anticipatory grief.” We think we are preparing for the grief we will feel when they pass.

We are, yet we will not be prepared for when the ambiguity and the anticipation resolve into the mourning at their death.

It’s fine. Not being prepared for what comes next is how life should be lived. In the present. As it presents itself.

Always here

Are memories a way of keeping Burt near?

His presence remains  in my heart, but when I remember where we had been together, it’s as if he were actually with me, not just in spirit.

Could I always have practiced this total recall? Was that much always available to me?

And where do these memories go when forgotten? Or, more like, temporarily out of mind.

Memory triggers the feeling that he’s actually at the theater with me. When I am lucky enough to remember some detail about how we got there, what we saw, these memories make me feel  as if Burt is with me wherever I go.

Does remembering all sorts of little things I might not have before bring me closer to Burt?

Remembering a guy who had lost his memory seems sad and ironic.

Remember the time, you might say, and it would all rush back.

And the irony and the sadness lifts because the memories are so good. These memories feel like  flashbacks, fleeting, but tangible, real yet ethereal.

.

Feels good

Pulling out some nice pieces from the dresser, I realize if its got a label, it was a gift from Burt.

When I say label, I refer to name brands, like Sigrid Olsen or Jones New York. The clothes that I bought for me tend to be either unknowns or Old Navy.

Burt’s gifts to me were in honor of my birthday. He would shop at Bloomingdale’s and there’s a lot from Jones New York, jackets and shirts. He also liked the Ralph Lauren store on Mad at 72nd so I have blouses with that label, too.

It feels very cared for to wear this red sweater from Ralph Lauren. It’s silky and soft and the stitching is elegant.

Those last months

A plaque at God’s Love We Deliver to celebrate Burt

Today, thanks to those of you who’ve read my archive of writings in the last few days, I was led to revisit some blog posts from January 2025.

These were documenting the last days of our journey. I know that now, so my re-reading was extremely poignant and tearful.

I am so grateful for this look back.

The first anniversary of Burt’s passing is on February 25th, and as it approaches… well, I am feeling raw.

It’s a sorrowful time –a time at which grief is at top of mind.

Mourning is a process, but milestones accentuate the grief.

Love is on the….

Near 42nd, right across the avenue from the NYPL lions, I passed a Lovello “Permanent Jewelry” store. A little down the road, there was a Love Korean Restaurant. At Peacefood Union Sq, I giggled at the Both sign on the restroom door, envisioning couples going in. Not the intent, I know,  but isn’t it romantic? […]

Love is on the marquee
A tile at God’s Love We Deliver is going up soon.
Design a site like this with WordPress.com
Get started