One Month

Oct 15 2005

Dear Wally,

Today it's been one month since you left this world for places I don't know of.

I can tell you beginning with the loss of our sweet Abby, who sits in your

lap, which you were so shocked she did that day, I started a journey. You never

know where your journey takes you or how or why. I certainly never thought

I'd be here today. Abby taught me so much. She taught me all about unconditional

love and also about conditional loss. I am still finding my way with her being gone.

Since losing her, I lost Daddy and now you. She helped me find my way when

Daddy left and now I am praying she'll continue to help with your loss.

***

I wish there were some magical words or actions that helped, but I have not

found them. I know it's just putting one foot in front of the other and finding

a way. Since you had already moved out of home many years ago, the 

physical side of loss was different, but the emotional side was not.

Although, I am certain many would not even begin to understand how I 

would feel so emotional so long after we had parted ways. I myself am one of them.

***

But, I do still feel the emotion, and I am left with the same empty feelings 

that all people who lose someone feel. For a time you just want that one more

moment. You know it's not going to happen ,but you still long for it anyway. You

second guess yourself and all the choices and the decisions and the questions 

haunt you. Even though you know, your head knows, that those choices and

those decisions were the right ones that were hard, but had to be made.

***

I can only hope that now there is peace for you, I tried, truly I did to do 

the right things. So much of life cannot be judged by the moment, it is only with

the passage of time whether you can judge whether the 'right' decision was made.

Sometimes, 'right' and 'only' are the choices, and they are distinct and separate,

but that is choice you are faced with.

***

Even though it all, our lives were inextricably woven together, and my history

is your history, and that can never be broken. Like Abby, you lived through her

short 8 years of life with us, and you were right beside me when she died in 

my arms. You and I gathered her up for her final ride to the Vet after she was

gone and you picked up her ashes and  brought her back to me. That was just our

memory, no one else's. Those are the things that will only now live

within me. It haunts me that now the things we did together only live within 

me, and when I have questions about a memory I have no one to ask to see

what the other remembered.  I find that very sad.

***

I have also found out that Grief never goes away. There is this strange notion

that you "get over it" and go on with life. Well, you do go on, and life

rolls forward no matter what. But, so does Grief. It will rear it's ugliness at

the oddest of moments, it will blindside you in a nanosecond. What I found was

that you learn to live beside the ugly beast, and it's talons can be very

deep or sometimes it just like a momentary scratch.

***

I realize for some time, my feelings for you will morph and change. Time will

lessen the impact of those Grief moments, but I will never forget.

I will never forget you as long as I live.

So your life will still reside within mine.

I suppose that would surprise you in some ways.

That I, of all people would be the one who carried you forward.

Well, guess what?

So am I.

It's so complicated our story, but it is one shared between us,

us alone...

and now me

alone.

You're free now, Wally of all of the years of suffering.

You no longer have to deal with the panic attacks,

the shuffling, the trembling voice, the pills,

the hospitals, the Doctors.

That is all gone, and you're back to good health.

Physical and mental.

For that reason I am relieved that you are no longer here

suffering with the crushing weight of Parkinson's.

If only...

if only...

and there aren't any,

anymore.

I can now only see you in hindsight,

in the shadows of the moon,

on the breeze that blows,

between the rays of light that streak through glass.

You are here but you are nowhere.

There is a sense of relief,

yes relief that Parkinson's can no longer make you

do the things that the man I married would 

not have done,

and there is sadness that there is no more.