Grief never ends. It only changes its shape and allows us to find new ways of living with it.
C.S. Lewis
Someone mentions an illness or a death and a voice whispers, That's them, not us. We are immortal. Of course we know we're not
immortal, we know the fact of being alive inevitably leads to death. But until we experience a serious illness or the loss of someone we love, it is not us.
My husband, Mike, the man I married when we were just 19, has passed. All of the clichés are useless in the face of this reality. Two months have passed and I am less sure of what happened during his eight-month illness. Less sure of who I am now. All I know with any certainty is that my story has changed. We has become I and I have no idea what I will do without him.
Late April brought both snow and 80-degree days to Denver. Weather as tumultuous as my own moods. I experienced our anniversary and Mike's birthday without him. In May instead of planting snow peas and chilies, I cover the garden boxes designed and arranged meticulously by a man who had no idea it would be his first and last serious garden. It was magnificent. He was magnificent.
I am not ready to plant or grow. I am in stasis. And I am aware of suffering like never before. Eight months of hospitals, of rehab, of oncologist offices. I will never look at anyone the same. We are all enduring some loss, some secret pain, some fearfulness.
In order to live fully it is necessary to accept the sorrowing, the discomfort, the loss that being alive brings. I will always be grateful for the Orthodox teaching that ALL of life is to be experienced. No cotton candy answers, no pretending. It is all a part of the whole. Living and dying are sisters holding hands. This knowledge has kept me sane.
I am about the business of, if not living fully, living quietly. Surviving. If a line or an image comes, I will capture it in my notebook. My goals have changed. I agree with the Santa Barbara poet who told me that once he realized how unimportant it was to be published, he submitted his work without hesitation. This gentle Buddhist soul has been published extensively. We laughed at how overly-serious we were about ephemeral gifts.
It is harrowing letting go of my husband's presence in my daily life. Unnerving letting go of previous goals and explorations. Our trailer covered and parked. Our plans for hikes and camping with family on the Oregon coast. Our pilgrimage to Pt. Reyes National Seashore, where in high winds we once ran as tree branches cracked overhead and fell at our feet. No longer plans, but memories.
May the renewing heat of spring bring out your passion for life, for growing things, for all ephemeral gifts.
Colette Jonopulos
May 2, 2024
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