Lasts
February 9th marked the last day Mary was in our home. I remember the date because it was the opening ceremonies of the winter olympics. The “oh-limb-picky-fence!” as we called them. That phrase goes back to high school from an old game called Babble-On. It stuck. Another one of our secret codes to each other.
They came over to watch them with us. I made chili. We had just bought our new couch and I think Mary was pretty comfy on it. But she didn’t feel well. She barely ate anything. And she loved chili. She loved all food.
The ceremonies began and I was rather underwhelmed. In my opinion, all ceremonies since Beijing have never come close to that greatness and I hope for something of that caliber again. At one point Mary said I didn’t like it because I wasn’t paying attention. One line jabs were her modus operandi. Travis hooted for any Scandinavian country and we talked over the commentators at times.
John and Moo were rather quiet, while T and I shared opinions on everything.
That guy is a beast! He doesn’t even look real!
Oh rifle shooting, I’m sure that takes a lifetime of dedication and diet.
Do you think figure skaters scoff at them?
I’m sure they are only focused on their routine.
Ooh I love their outfits!
Dude, Shawn White looks so much different! I like his hair a lot, though.
Oh, don’t even get me started on that guy. He has his own mountain to practice on. He better not win.
I would be so stressed to win.
You don’t think they are?
Of course they are! I may not be an athlete but I have the heart of one dammit! Oh look how cute their dances are.
I remember at one point asking why so many people in Korea had such similar names like Kim and Lee and Mary said “they literally just explained it”. I still don’t know the answer.
The ceremonies were good. The people who design and choreograph and perform and direct have immense amounts of talent. I love seeing art from other cultures. I love seeing different people groups and hearing different languages. It’s a huge part of what I love about the olympics; the world-wide gathering. It’s beautiful.
We looked up countries on google maps that we weren’t positive of their location. We made moscow mules in the copper mugs John had just received for Christmas. It was a low key night.
After the ceremonies, they got ready to leave and I asked moo about her treatments. She said they made her sick as a dog. Then we began to laugh for quite a while about the scene from Austin Powers when Dr. Evil gets sick in his spinny chair. “sick…as a dog. Ok, ok, gonna vom.” She pantomimed the scene and then we looked up the scene on YouTube and laughed ever harder. “All I asked for was a frickin rotating chair, ok?”
I gave her a hug. I actually remember this well. We didn’t rush hugs and I took time to make sure, in a small way, they represented how thankful I was for every one of them. It was always a two armed-bodies pressed together-hair on each other’s cheek-ears by each other’s mouth hug. I whispered how much I loved her. She said it back. I held on for a little longer. I don’t know why I remember that particular hug. But I’m so glad I do.
And that hug may have been the last one with both of us standing up. I can’t say that for sure. But it is very possible. The next times I saw her she was really really sick.
When they left I was heavy hearted. That wasn’t an unusual experience for me. But even though it was common it still left me clutching with anxiety and sadness. I cleaned up the mugs and scraped out her barely touched chili bowl. I got better at coping with the sick feeling in my heart, but, man. It was a long hard road.
We are in the weeks of “lasts”. In just over a month it’ll be one year since she flew away and my days are full of contemplation, meditation and pain of a different kind.
My days feel like slow motion. This hurt is new. I feel like I have stepped into a museum. Touching things with light fingertips, leaning in closely and speaking in whispers. Each detail so precious and irreplaceable. Loud noises jar me from this strange experience. My skin hurts. I’m irritable. No fun.
She has been in my dreams every night for almost a week. She is whole and well, but I’m saying goodbye each time. Meet me. I love you. I’ll miss you forever. The stupidest, most inadequate words in the biggest moments. Reliving those minutes I knew were the last time I’d speak to her. In a few of the dreams she speaks about our separation and the goodbyes are different. Sometimes I wake up sobbing and clutching. Other times I jerk awake and just lie still, staring into the dark.
Maybe my heart and mind are fine tuned for these last weeks. A door that is open which is usually closed. Maybe this is a common experience for grieving souls. I’m not yet understanding what is happening, but it’s different.
I know I miss you. I know it hurts. I know I’m remembering. The facts are the same, but the results of those facts are unfamiliar. I’m slowing my mind over memories that come to me. Rolling over each word and savoring each laugh. Paying attention to the details.
I have tried several times to write about my grief like being underwater. I see; but it’s blurry. I hear; but it’s muffled. I speak and the sound caves back onto my mouth. It surrounds me, completely.
In the very beginning I compared grief to struggling in the water – to stay above it. But for quite awhile now there has been no flailing around in the water, just being under it. I wasn’t ever able to complete those thoughts here.
If I had to give words to what I’ve been feeling these last weeks, it would be floating. Looking around for the first time at what’s around me instead of just fighting the water, pressing against me as I try to yell out.
I see bright fish and rays of sunlight through the water.
I see plants moving with the waves.
But of course those fish, sun rays, and plants are memories,
darting around,
catching my attention.
Jogging my memory.
Maybe I’m only able to observe it, to remember it, because I’m right here.
Submerged in it.
Lasts
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