Friday, September 16, 2011

A journey that won't end till I take my own last breath

For every sweet memory I want to share about my time on earth with Bob, I'm flooded with countless images that I will never be able to share with anyone, that will forever be imbedded in my head, in my heart, a 1:1,000,000 ration of good to bad, at any given moment, and the astounding thing for me is that people live like this all the time, very minute of every day of every year, and we have no idea how many and to what extent. . . an inexplicable world to be living in, going through the motions with everyone else while your mind is anywhere but . . . I'm continually amazed that I move right along with life, as though I'm a part of it, but feel anything but. Over four months since Bob's passing, I am continually, daily, by the minute, bombarded with thoughts, memories, images, flash-backs of the past year and a half (October will mark the two-year "anniversary" of the onset of his cancer, though we weren't given the diagnosis until nearly three months later), that refuse to vacate, and yet I "function" damn near as good as most others walking the face of the earth. Fucking astounding. . . no two ways about it . . .

The season changes are especially hard, maybe that's why I've had some rough days of late. This time of year, we'd be camping, hiking, traipsing the trails of the north shore, camping with Penny and Jim, dogs in tow. The smells, the sounds, the sights of each season tear through me like a bullet, and every day, I'm astounded that I get out of bed and do something. Last year at this time, Bob was still at the U, in the very beginning stages of "recovering" from that cursed, god-awful, torturous 13 hour surgery he'd endured a few weeks prior, endless complications ensuing. . . But, a year ago, he was still with me.

Went to a bbq at my cousin, Erin's last weekend. Was talking to a couple, somehow Bob got brought into the conversation (how can he not? He was my husband and everything I am doing now is because he is no longer with me. How do I explain just up and moving from Stillwater to St. Paul and not explain why my husband is not with me . . . just an example of how, in multitude of layers, this loss never leaves my side, continuing to define every action, every word. . .)

The wife of the couple stood in wide-eyed disbelief as I fed her the condensed version of Bob's story. "My god. . . " she slowly whispered. "For all you've been through, you are so, ummm, well, I don't know the right word—so put together?" I stared back at her in equal wide-eyed disbelief. Is that how people see me? I think. Put together? Maybe I need to break down in public a little more frequently. . . Who really goes around sobbing in public, at bbq's, in Target, at the grocery store, ? (well, there have been times . . .Tootsie pops always do it for me. And Dr Pepper. And Trader Joe's frozen fruit bars. . . and . . .) How do I tell someone I've never met that every waking minute of my day, at this point in my life, is immersed in memories of my husband, of our lost lives together, of all he went through for a year and a half, and I have no fucking clue how I get through every day? I simply don't.

A few days ago, I ran into neighbors of ours from Stillwater. More than once in the conversation, the husband of the pair said, "I don't think I could ever do what you did for Bob, for as long as you did, Jen . . ." Again, I am the one in wide-eyed disbelief. How do I tell the neighbor that I hope he will never have to find out if he has "what it takes" to do what I did for Bob, for as long as I did? All I can say to that is, you'd be surprised at what you're capable of, given the circumstances, I tell him. And that's all I can say with any certainty.

That, and that I truly believe that the sole purpose we are here on earth is to care for one another. Doesn't matter how we do it, whether one by one, or in droves and throngs. Just take care of one another. However you can.

3 comments:

  1. It's just nice to hear that you are slowly trying to move forward as hard as it must be for you. You have been an inspiration to many of us. Connie A.

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  2. You are doing what Bob would want you to do - LIVING - I don't know if it will ever get better, but maybe some day it will get a little easier to get up and walk through life.
    xoxoxo
    -Jodi

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  3. Otto and Amelia (and the whole fam damily) will take care of you, each moment forward, each moment backward, each moment standing still, every step of the way, dear sister! Love you and Bubo to the moon and back...always and forever.
    xoxoxoxo

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