When the night sky is so perfectSummer night
I yearn to share it, to say look as
I touch your cheek in the tender
Silence that is often the language
Of love. Intimacy needs no words
We caress those we love to urge
Them to see the beauty we know.
Our caress is a whisper echoing
The perfection in the night that
Signals this […]
Who was I as all my yearsThrough the years
Accumulated? The time is
Not a continuum. It breaks
Into small scenes, acts as
Distinct as if each were a
Life encompassed in 15 Minute skits, not all funny.
Many poignantly true to
Life. So much time passed,
Passes unnoticed, goes Into a compartment, a
Memory perhaps not always
Remembered as it should
Be. I do know my last […]
This storefront reminded me that my “coffee quest” goes way back. As soon as I saw it, I was reminded that it had been a very cool coffee bar that Burt and I stopped at years back.
Now that I think about it, Burt indulged me whenever I had wanted to try a new coffee shop.
Those were the days before he developed his taste for lattes. He had been a tea-totaler when we met.
Do our beliefs influence how we grieve?
Is there something inexplicable about death, dying, and about mourning?
My atheism runs up against my genuine sense that Burt’s always with me. I mean literally, I feel his presence. Spirits and souls are antithetical to the beliefs of an atheist. Yet, there it is.
It is Burt’s soul that’s with me always. I feel his spirit around me all the time.
There’s something transcendent in my experience since Burt’s passing.
In February, on the 25th- yes, I know it’s still 2 months+ away- it will be one year since Burt’s passing.
It feels like it’s been so much longer. Not just because he had been going [or gone] for the better part of five years before that.
The not-quite a year has moved slowly, dragging in and out of deeper grief, tears but not sobs, highs and lows, memories of our-life-before, talking to the photos of him, discovering a video and voice messages that brought a tangible bit of him back. In short, so much going on.
This past May, on what would have been our anniversary- 32nd (marriage) and 35th (of the day we met), our friends gathered to celebrate Burt’s life. It was yet another surprise party I threw him. He did so well at this kind of event in the past. It was a nice send-off, but not a final goodbye.
For me, I am guessing, at this almost eight months point, there is no finality to goodbye.
I am grateful for all our friends. I am glad that I celebrated with so many of the people who buoyed us before and during the dementia journey. I am grateful that, for Burt, that hard, hard journey is finally over.
Looking at the many photos of Burt I have on my phone, I was touched by his grins, his looking mischievous. I realized how important it was to me that he enjoyed his life. And that, in retrospect. I have evidence of his pleasure. There are all those pictures I took and the memory of his appreciation when I took them. You really do love me, he’d say, as I focused another shot of him.
As Burt succumbed to the Lewy Body disease I focused more on his happiness than I had when he was healthy. Yes, of course, I cared that he was happy in our life before the Lewy journey, but now it was linked to his care.
Happiness is a way to measure quality of life, or became my way of measuring his quality of life. As his illness progressed, I became preoccupied with seeing Burt happy.
I think that it cannot easy to be happy when you are suffering a dementia.
In the last 6 months, his doctor and I thought he might benefit from an anti-depressant. It was to enhance his mood, maybe even it out. He didn’t seem depressed, but there were anxieties.
There is all that confusion and, in Burt’s case, wondering where his wife was. Still, he was often joyful. He cracked jokes. He bathed in the attention all of us who looked after him gave. He liked to laugh. He loved to talk.
I wanted to share experiences with him. We took outings to the park. For me, it was a way to recreate the quiet times we’d spent by the river. Today, I am left wondering if he liked those outings as much as I did.
It mattered to me. I wanted us to share these new memories. Most of the time, judging by the photographic evidence, he had a good time.
“Acceptance” plays a huge role in our mental health.
My reference to the 12 steps is a wry acknowledgement of just how deeply embedded the edicts of AA are in our psyche. The opening pledge addresses accepting.. and it’s genuinely a great suggestion. Let go. If you can’t change it, let it be.
Acceptance has more urgency than we imagine; we shrug when we are advised to find “acceptance” for our peace of mind but we know how much it matters.
Fighting against realities, our limitations, gives over power to what we cannot change.
Accepting what you can and what you can’t change frees you. Therein lies control. Or, at least more control.
Some control.
That’s enough.
this is our life