this is our life

Video memory

Waiting for my old cellphone to migrate to the new one gave me an opportunity to catch up with the video of Burt in the rehab.

He came home from the facility on February 25th, 2 years to the day before he died at home. The video is just under 7 minutes and in it my voice is much louder than his. Burt is having a snack in the day room and chatting sweetly.

It’s a treat hearing him speak but his expressions are what enthralls me now. At one point, he raised his eyebrow in an all-knowing gesture that had me giggling in delight.

My ChiGong class

My balance, strength, mobility and endurance are all subject to challenges these days. It’s an aging-not-so-well thing.

Many of us oldsters are fairing better. I attend a ChiGong (or, you may know it as QiGong) class with the goal of righting my ship of state.

It is a gentle exercise protocol that calls for balance. My class is generally comprised of a bevy of older women.

When a couple of, also older, men showed up, I wondered if Burt would have taken up this practice. I think if he had been a widower, this is exactly where he would have gone. He would be in the gym with a group of age-appropriate ladies looking for balance.

Step by step

It occurs to me in passing that I no longer walk normally down steps. Its a thought that comes to me as I see a young woman pick her way downstairs.

On its heels, the memory that Burt would warn me to hold the railing. Don’t be a štarker, he’d said.

I guess that translates best as Don’t show off, or don’t be a wiseguy. For many years, he had always held on.

Now, I also always hold on tight.

It’s one year since Burt passed

Looking at the wedding photos hanging over my kitchen table, I realize that I am beaming.

I’m stupid-giddy in these photos. This night, I raise my glass of Polar club soda in a toast to him for that happiest day; then to us both for all the great years we shared.

Someone I met while we were all on the LBD journey said if she’d have known about what was coming, she’d have married her husband any way.

Those words resonated with me then and reverberate now. It’s a truth for me as it was for her.

So, here’s to all the years we got to be together.

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.