Waves and Waves
4:21 PM Edit This 7 Comments »
Today is a wave of Jason day. I get them every once in awhile. It used to be an everyday thing after he died. I couldn't stop thinking about him, picturing his face, what he smelled like, the way he sat or gestured. And then months later, I couldn't picture any of those things anymore and THAT was something to cry about.
It's been a little over two years now. I've seen his precious daughter all of one time since the funeral. Break my heart already. How is it that the fiance gets no visitation rights? Silly, huh? But not really. She was a huge part of our life together and now nothing. I remember my therapist saying to me once that I wasn't just grieving him, I was grieving the loss of our life together - all the hopes and dreams. Yeah, rub it in already. But in order to walk through it, I guess I had to stare it in the face. On days like today, I find myself reliving those dreams in my head.
For awhile in early sobriety, I was scolded for pouring over pictures. I had to put them away for a few months to stay sane enough to not drink over it. I looked at them again today. He was such a beautiful man. My dark Irishman. And dark not only in looks, but in his soul.
That's the part that still frightens me today. That's how we first connected - through the valley of despair. Only he never really wanted to let go of that valley and look for the mountains, much less the sun. There's a few journal entries from North Carolina where I pondered whether or not I could stay with him. His drinking was so bad (I didn't know at the time, I just thought he was crazy), I thought he was going to take me down with him. There were days when I would get off work and drive around in the mountains for hours until the sun went down because I was afraid to come home and find him dead on the couch. I know you mothers know what I'm talking about when you watch your little one's chest intently so you can tell if they're breathing without touching them. I was afraid to touch him. Afraid he'd already be cold.
And here's where I get morbid. He IS cold now. Well, after going through the fire. He's sitting in two (yes two, he didn't fit into one - his dad aptly called him a gentle giant) urns in his Dad's closet because they're not ready to deal with it. And an even closer glimpse into our life together is that I knew exactly what he wanted for his funeral and cremation-not-burial-scatter-me-in-the-hills death. Why? Because he talked about it ALL THE TIME. What kind of life was that? But my God I loved him. A real visceral love that's hard to explain. Our souls connected. And when he had *just enough* rum in him, the wonderfully extravagant conversations are my favorite memories. I had to watch and catch him at just that moment if I wanted any satisfaction of conversation at all.
I loved him for his wild spirit and for the darkness, but then the darkness started to pull me in and I was so afraid. And when I realized that he had decided to abandon himself to the disease of alcoholism, I was too afraid to leave him. I had promised him to be with him until the end of time. And I was, until the end of his time.
I'm not so much sad today as I am melancholy and meandering in my thoughts. It is what it is. And so it shall be.
It's been a little over two years now. I've seen his precious daughter all of one time since the funeral. Break my heart already. How is it that the fiance gets no visitation rights? Silly, huh? But not really. She was a huge part of our life together and now nothing. I remember my therapist saying to me once that I wasn't just grieving him, I was grieving the loss of our life together - all the hopes and dreams. Yeah, rub it in already. But in order to walk through it, I guess I had to stare it in the face. On days like today, I find myself reliving those dreams in my head.
For awhile in early sobriety, I was scolded for pouring over pictures. I had to put them away for a few months to stay sane enough to not drink over it. I looked at them again today. He was such a beautiful man. My dark Irishman. And dark not only in looks, but in his soul.
That's the part that still frightens me today. That's how we first connected - through the valley of despair. Only he never really wanted to let go of that valley and look for the mountains, much less the sun. There's a few journal entries from North Carolina where I pondered whether or not I could stay with him. His drinking was so bad (I didn't know at the time, I just thought he was crazy), I thought he was going to take me down with him. There were days when I would get off work and drive around in the mountains for hours until the sun went down because I was afraid to come home and find him dead on the couch. I know you mothers know what I'm talking about when you watch your little one's chest intently so you can tell if they're breathing without touching them. I was afraid to touch him. Afraid he'd already be cold.
And here's where I get morbid. He IS cold now. Well, after going through the fire. He's sitting in two (yes two, he didn't fit into one - his dad aptly called him a gentle giant) urns in his Dad's closet because they're not ready to deal with it. And an even closer glimpse into our life together is that I knew exactly what he wanted for his funeral and cremation-not-burial-scatter-me-in-the-hills death. Why? Because he talked about it ALL THE TIME. What kind of life was that? But my God I loved him. A real visceral love that's hard to explain. Our souls connected. And when he had *just enough* rum in him, the wonderfully extravagant conversations are my favorite memories. I had to watch and catch him at just that moment if I wanted any satisfaction of conversation at all.
I loved him for his wild spirit and for the darkness, but then the darkness started to pull me in and I was so afraid. And when I realized that he had decided to abandon himself to the disease of alcoholism, I was too afraid to leave him. I had promised him to be with him until the end of time. And I was, until the end of his time.
I'm not so much sad today as I am melancholy and meandering in my thoughts. It is what it is. And so it shall be.
7 comments:
I am so sorry for your loss. Your strength amazes me, that you were able to stay sober through that.
Oh man, Kate. Hugs to you. You are a strong woman, stronger than you know.
love you!!!!
I am so very sorry for your loss, Kate. While I've never had a close loved one die, some of your hauntings sound quite familiar to a period in my life where I was trying to get over an ended relationship that sounds frighteningly like the one you describe with Jason. Desperately in love with an alcoholic. Worried all the time, yet feeling so completely encompassed by the love that somehow the fear seems normal. Your description brings back those feelings for me so clearly. I'm sorry yours had such a tragic ending. Mine was merely a breakup.
But I can also tell you that eventually I was able to use what I learned from that - about myself, about the world - to find a man who was all about the sunshine on the mountains. And to really be able to appreciate him for all his steadfast goodness. Something I once thought might never be possible.
It sounds like you are dealing with these waves really well. They are what they are. With every day that passes, you just get stronger.
You are an amazing person.
Wow Kate, what a post. I can't believe you can't see your fiancee's daughter?! Is she still in North Carolina?
I don't know how you get through your days, but you are sure doing an amazing job of it.
HUGS!
This is a sad and honest post. Sometimes we need to go into those spaces, it's ok as long as you don't get lost or stuck there. I'm really sorry for your loss.
Wow...I have no idea what to say but I second the people who say you're strong. I think something like that would've absolutely destroyed me.
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