grief – wonder and beauty

What means grief?

April 11, 2024March 10, 2016

Grief never really goes away. It lessens over time, receding into the shadows of your consciousness, but it will always be present. You can never let it go completely.

You might think that it can be tamed, this grief, but it cannot; it has burrowed and become a spirit inside of you, one that demands to be part of you for as long as you draw a breath. And you feel that this state of affairs is the correct one; after all, you don’t want to forget that which made you grieve. That would be a rejection of the life you had before grief came calling.

a leaving

April 11, 2024May 14, 2014

Ten months ago, almost to the day, my wife passed away peacefully at home. This morning, I walked out of that home for the last time.

This was the place that Lee and I always dreamed we would build, one packed to the rafters with love and the happy minutiae of a life together. And it became just that, the foundation for the best parts of our lives together. It is where our children grew up and grew out, and where we put down roots in a community that felt absolutely right for each of us.

Of all the houses that I have lived, this was the one that I truly called home. A small part of me wanted to be in this place forever, if only to celebrate that time and preserve it for my children. But I also know that I cannot live in the service of the past, and that’s mostly what it would be.

Today’s leaving was as immeasurably sad as anything I have experienced in the past year; a sadness that came from deep inside me, from the bedrock upon which I am built. And yet, it was also freeing, as though another small weight had been lifted from my soul.

And as I walked through the rooms of the house, I smiled for the wonderful memories buried in those walls and shed some tears for the things that never were to be. And I stood in front of the beautiful gardens that Lee created and cherished, and wished the plants to stay strong and vibrant for the family that is entering this place.

There are good bones in this house, and the land beneath it breathes with an air of contentment that comes from the lives that inhabited this space. It is time for this place to bloom again, with laughter and love at its center. And it is time for me to leave, to move further into this new world that I am creating. Yes, there is sadness in leaving, but there is also much joy and love in my life. It is that which continues to propel me forward.

Peace.

29

August 25, 2013

Twenty-nine years ago today, Lee and I were married.

I remember waking up at that morning about 5, in a panic. Lee was sleeping soundly, so I got on my motorcycle and took a long, bracing ride to see if I could calm myself down. It helped only a little. The entire day, I could barely take a sip of water, let alone eat. But, since we were putting the wedding on by ourselves, there were lots of things to do, and being busy helped.

The nerves were just that: nerves, and nothing more, but I couldn’t explain them. I had no doubts whatsoever about marrying Lee; of that I was sure.

Looking back on it through the lens of twenty-nine years, I now know that something in me realized that this was the biggest thing I would ever do in my life. I was taking a leap into a world that I had no idea existed only a year before, and it scared me. Lee told me later that it scared her as well, but the fact that we–she and I–were doing it together calmed her.

It wasn’t until about an hour before the ceremony that the butterflies disappeared. I went in to give Lee one last kiss as she dressed. I walked in her room, and there she was, standing serene, confident and stunningly beautiful. And, with a short, “I love you” kiss–the kind that many couples share a few times a day without ever really thinking about it–all the nervous energy that had tangled itself up inside me just washed away.

Lee always radiated that power and that confidence, and that’s one of the things that I will miss most about her. A month and a half after her death, I’m only just learning how to try to pull that strength out of me to push me on through each minute of every day.

Grief turns out to be surprisingly tidal. It has an ebb and flow that that moves outside the normal cadences of life, making it hard to grab on to a consistent spot in time that you can reliably claim for rest. I have been reflecting hard upon this over the past few weeks, and have come to accept this. If grief truly nestled within the contours of my daily life, I think it would dig a pit of despair inside me.

However, the thing that has surprised me most in this short time is discovering how much Lee is part of me. I feel as though that many of the things that make me the person I am today are a direct line from that beautiful, strong and loving woman to whom I married 29 years ago. I just never really noticed this before she left, because her physical presence was so great in our daily lives.

And right now, when that presence has been replaced by an unbelievably deep silence that shadows me daily, there are times when I am able to draw on the essence of her that has burrowed inside me. I use it as a protected piece of shoreline that remains safely above the tides of grief, but still lets me view the majesty that was our relationship.

Knowing how much Lee loved the ocean, I think she would approve of that metaphor.

I wish I had a better image to share than the one above, but this is the best I can do for now; it’s how I feel. But I’ll also leave with my favorite photo of Lee, taken right around the time I went to give her that kiss on our wedding day (her sister Anne is on the right). She was so happy, excited, and ready to go on an adventure into that unknown new world with me. And an adventure is exactly what we got.