Afterlife

Nearly a month ago, the hunk died in the early morning hours--suddenly and unexpectedly. He was doing well in his recovery from his stroke from ten weeks before. One moment he was talking to me, the next, he was gone. On the other side of loss, you learn things, unsuspected things you could never have imagined. Strangest, even though you might have read articles such as blogs or personal observations, you still don't understand until you're in the midst of the huge tsunami of events that threaten to drown you. 

I find folks have no idea what to say to me--either in person or via electronic media. They're uncomfortable when I mention him, I suppose thinking it will make me sad, when the truth is sharing my memories is comforting instead. In the first two or three days after he died, several author friends reached out, sharing their own memories of meeting him at various conferences he attended with me and I found those memories so touching. As long as we remember him, he isn't really gone, is he?

Quite a few people have their own ideas about what 'normal' grief looks like. They expect tears and obvious mourning, I guess. I'm a private person (oh, I know it sounds weird since I'm addressing this in such a public forum), but who really knows what another person feels? No one. Not even when we live with someone, do we really know the heart of another person. Some feelings are too deep, too private to share. In the last six months I've lost five family members (father, brother, niece, nephew, and husband) and a very dear friend. Not one was due to Covid. Perhaps, I'm grieved out and numb.

Some things catch you off guard. I didn't expect how much survivor's guilt I feel every time I change something in our home. I still haven't touched his clothes. It took me three weeks to take all the towels from the bathroom and replace them with just one set. His toothbrush is still on the sink. Yesterday, I made a quick sweep through the bedroom, bagging up stuff that honestly needed to go out to the trash, but it was still hard to haul that bag out to the dumpster. I moved the dishes in the cabinet to places I could reach more easily as I'm quite short. And gave away all the food in the freezer that we had for him, only keeping those things I could eat.

I'm pretty sure most folks don't really understand the glacial pace of all the paperwork associated with a spouse's death. Everything takes forever. Everything. And every step requires careful thought because once done, it can't be undone. It's given me a clear picture of the reasons my dear friend Helen Woodall left a very long, very detailed list for her family. I remember when her daughter shared that with me, I wondered whatever could possibly require such a list? Well, now I know. And I'm compiling my own list for my children. That's in addition to my will. 

One of the shocking things I've discovered is all those things I didn't know about my husband. Hah. I bet that got your attention. He was a tool junkie. I always knew he had tools. And then my daughter came down one weekend to help me go through his closet...and we found TWELVE boxes/cases of tools. Apparently, he never met a tool he didn't love. Two days ago, I was clearing out some of the drawers in his desk. And found one drawer was crammed full with--more tools. People advise me not to be in a hurry to change things. If I work at a steady pace, I figure it will take me a couple years to go through his collections. Of course, I have no room to complain, what with my books, notebooks, pens, and art supplies. And then there's our shared yarn supply...

Friends and family ask me how I'm doing. I never know what to say when they ask. Life is irrevocably changed for me. Some days are lonely. Some are frustrating. And some are oddly uncomfortable. At seventy-one, for the first time in my life, I am single and answer to no one but myself. I'm learning how to live alone. It's a strange new afterlife. I still think of things I need to tell him, and then suddenly the grief hits because he's not here to tell, or ask, or quarrel with, or any other event you share with a spouse. Memories are only mine now. Responsibilities are only mine. Decisions are only mine. And that's part of that strange afterlife I live now. So forgive me if I share this journey with you. Who better than my friends and family?