I continue to feel lost, not just in the miasma of sadness, but more generally. What am I meant to be doing? I have no fucking clue.
The ongoing national and international crises don’t help. Nor does the epic heat which communicates to every cell in my body that the summers I once knew are gone forever.
We will be having a service for Danny —probably in September. With that in mind, I accessed my old laptop and started collating pictures of him — like the one above.
This morning my writing spit out a surprising fact: I am terrified of all the ways that I will forget him.
You’ll not forget him…
No but things will fade won’t they?
Dee~ I’m glad to hear that there will be a celebration of his life, of him. And I hope that doing so will provide something, anything that you need right now.
I can understand that fear of forgetting, as things do fade over time…however, I don’t believe you have forgotten your sister…or your mom – which I see in the loving things your write about them. His face, his voice…the way his body moved is all recorded for you in photos and videos – maybe saved voicemails or whatever…which you can refer to as needed/wanted. Thank goodness for technology in that way.
Last thought, maybe if some things DO fade…it will be some of the trauma and sad memories connected to his passing. Working through your emotions may provide some relief there?
Sending gentle hugs.
Well I am fully expecting the memories of his final days to fade. They’ve been so acute.
That is precisely Grace’s fear about John. I think it’s a natural fear. Gentleness is called for when memories are forgotten, and also when fear rears its head. And yes, forgetting/allowing fuzzification of the trauma of ‘the end’ is welcomed amnesia.
I wonder if this fear is common. I suspect that it is. When we were in LA recently, I experienced our days as a series of palimpsests. The layer of our previous visit when Danny’d been there and the imagined layer of the following year’s visit when the 2025 memories will be two years out. The future-looking actually hurt more than the backward looking.
It’s that ‘forever-mess’ thing that keeps tripping me up—Ok. Experiment over. You can come home now. I have so much to tell you. I’ve learned so much. I’ve done things I think you would LOVE. I can’t wait to talk with you about it all. Please come home.
That feels like a salient difference between spouse and child. Danny left home more than a decade ago and we never expected him to come back. I am writing letters to him and there I can share daily insights or mundane observations.
Danny will be with you always but there will also be those times, when specifics may fade as you continue to feel his loss. What I have come to know is that when we least expect it, something will come up, a sound, a sight, a smell, a place and a memory comes flooding in.
Over this past week, I have been on a vacation with my family in a spirit filled place for me, Taos, New Mexico. For the most part, we are a family of story tellers, talkers, except for Rich, our quiet person. As we all talked, the grand kids telling story after story about adventures with Rich, I suddenly realized that, in the last three years, I cannot remember the last conversation I had with him that did not involve medical issues and that makes me sad…
Ouch. I’m so sorry about the recent conversations with Rich. That must hurt to acknowledge.
Dee you are on such an emotional roller coaster .. how could you not be? My hope for you is to keep doing what you’re doing which is taking things one day at a time. Trying everyday to understand the how .. when .. where .. if .. and the why. I’m sorry you’re having to live through this .. but I have to believe given time it will get easier but Danny he will never be forgotten.
Your view of me helps so much Tina. Thank you. Today I’m gonna get batteries for two of Danny’s watches and hope not to cry while I’m doing it.