Sorry for another long post but I have a lot that needs to get out these days....
Lists: wishes, anger and hope April 28, 2014
I wish Ron was here. I wish Ron did not die. (duh)
I wish my family and closest friends would remember that our wedding anniversary is next week and that it makes me cry to think about it and I would like some company and some help getting through it.
I wish others would mourn with me. I wish people would tell me when they are missing Ron and share themselves and him with me, in that way.
I wish I had more intimacy in my life. I don’t mean sex, I mean relationships. It feels like part of me was ripped away when Ron died. Part of me was ripped away when Ron died. I wish I had someone in my life that was as close to me as my husband was. There is no substitute for a life partner, for the person you thought you would spend the rest of your life with. I wish I could find satisfying intimacy in other ways but I don’t see how that is possible unless I heal enough to remarry. And then it still won’t be a substitute for Ron. It would be a different kind of intimacy that was created by a relationship with a new person. I wish I knew if I will be able to have that in my life and if the hurt and longing I feel for my relationship with Ron will soften enough to make the relationship with a new intimate partner be satisfying.
I wish that someday I will actually think of dating as appealing instead of terrifying and somewhat revolting. I wish I was with Ron and never had to entertain the idea of dating again.
I wish I trusted myself more. I wish I trusted life more. What else is coming? I hate when people say, “well the worst possible thing has happened so it can only go up from here”. Has it? Really? Seriously? Cause I don’t think so. I can think of many additional horrible things that can and might happen. I know now that, unless I were to kill myself (which I would never do), I will live through whatever else happens and maybe that is what they mean but it doesn’t give me any comfort. People say, “I would just die if that happened”. Guess what? You won’t. You might wish you did, but voila, you will wake up each day and you will still be here.
I wish I had more confidence. I wish every decision did not churn my stomach in knots and that I could just trust that I am not going to destroy what remains of the life that Ron and I created. I wish that I will eventually believe that I, alone, am enough.
I wish I had more energy. I have more energy than I had a year ago so that is encouraging but I still am limited. My skin is thicker but still very fragile. It takes very little to puncture and wound me. It takes very little to deflate me.
I wish that the people in my life now, who never knew Ron or barely knew Ron, would ask me about him. Would ask me how we met or what he was like or what our lives were like when he was here.
I wish someone would do the dishes, fold the laundry and take care of the yard. The kids can and do help out more and more but for right now, the management of their “help” is just another project that takes my time and energy.
I wish for moments of joy. I wish for frequent laughter. I wish for grace. I wish for love.
I am angry Ron died.
I am angry Ron had cancer. I am angry that the cancer had to be pancreatic and that it cruelly took his abilities, his pleasures and his life.
I am angry that I just have to accept that there is no answer for why Ron got cancer. He got cancer because he got cancer. And, really, what good would it do if I could say Ron got cancer because….he drank alcohol? He breathed in polluted air? He had a genetic predisposition for it? What good would any of that do? Would it somehow have allowed us to save him? Would it allow me to protect my friends and family somehow? Would it make me feel better about his suffering and death? What that knowledge wouldn’t do is make him undead. So I have to surrender to the idea that there are no answers for some things and that fact I have to accept.
I am angry that I don’t have a husband. I am angry I am alone.
I am angry my daughters have no father. I am angry that Ron will never see them as they are now and as they are in the future and that all events, happy and sad, are shaded and touched by his loss.
I am angry that I have no stable career or stable income. For this I blame myself. As a young adult, I never imagined I would let my career slip away. My mother always told me to be sure I was standing on my own feet and independently financially stable and I always thought I would be.
I am angry that I have to figure out life on my own, with no sounding board, with no safety back up. I could flounder because Ron was there behind me. Now no one is behind me. I am no one’s priority and that isn’t a pity party. It is just a fact. The plans Ron and I were about two of us, together. Yes, I had to figure out my career on my own but what we could do together, the plans we had for our lives, where we would live, what we would experience together would have gotten me further along than what I can do on my own.
I am angry that nothing feels safe, stable or secure. I’ve written about this before. Maybe that sense of security was just an illusion anyway. We really do have what exists in the moment we are paying attention to and nothing else is guaranteed. Nothing.
I am angry that I feel trapped and I want to feel free.
I am angry that I can rarely get a good night’s sleep unless I take some meds.
This one goes on my wish list and my angry list: I wish instead of telling me about the small things that are wrong in my house, others would give me a pat on the back and tell me that I am doing a good job raising my children and keeping the house from crumbling down around me and that they would recognize how hard it is to be a single and solo parent. I wish they would understand that I am aware of the condition of the inside and outside of my house and my yard and my car and that I don’t need things pointed out to me. I will get them done on my own time, when I can, when I am not overcome by exhaustion, fatigue, anxiety and regular garden variety grief or kicked in the stomach, immobilizing grief, kids’ needs, dog’s needs, and daily life, and I wish they knew that if they think it should be done faster than they should help me. I wish they would know that it is always hard for anyone in any circumstance to be a solo parent but to do it while grieving much, much, much harder and I think I am doing a damn fabulous job of it. I wish they would recognize me. Slow down and really see me.
It all goes back to connections and wishing for intimacy and some place to be real, to be honestly seen, and to be loved wholly and entirely loved.
I am angry that Ron is gone.
I am angry that Ron died.
I wish Ron was here, with me, on this earth, alive. I wish I could see his smile, hear his voice and hold his hand. I wish he would spoon me and keep me warm while I fell asleep. I wish I didn’t have to use heating pads to keep me warm when his body heat and his breath and his heartbeat used to do that for me. I wish he would dream with me, make decisions with me, plan life with me, and parent with me. I hope he knows that he was a great father and his kids are turning out to be pretty terrific smart, compassionate, and good children. I hope I don’t fuck them up. I kind of don’t think I will but that I am enough for them is a hope and that I am not enough is the fear.
I wish and hope that when he died he knew how deeply loved he was/is and that he knew that he was surrounded by all consuming love. I hope he wasn’t afraid. I hope he knew that he wasn’t alone. I hope he heard my voice, felt my touch. I hope he knew I was pouring love into his cells and into his energy. I hope above all that he felt loved.