The thing about grief is – after you get up off the mat and grief lay there but only for a moment you think your eyes deceive you as grief takes on extra pounds and suddenly it is no longer in your weight class and you fear the proportions are now asking you to take on ‘the human condition’ and you are just too frail for that and the weight of vulnerability threatens to take you down.

It is how I end up in bed, all too often, and the absence of Bette brings to mind a door to a room I dare not enter. The room is without windows or furniture and lit by a low watt bare bulb placed in the middle of the ceiling. I don’t know anything about the room. It may be a box floating in space or one of many in a mansion not far from a cliff overlooking the ocean somewhere on the planet.

I lay there and in vain try to understand what it is about the room that frightens me and soon begin to realize it’s not the room but the door; a door that could close and lock and leave me without a key.

How long would I be in that room waiting for someone to come and unlock the door and then, maybe, find the room empty.

Love To You All

 

 

“How you doing Bette?”

“I’m worried about John. He’s had a rough few weeks. I wish there was more we could do Simon Peter.”

“Simon is fine.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Peter is more for the formal occasions.”

“I see.”

“You’re new; give yourself time.”

“I will. I hope He doesn’t mind my preoccupation with John and his grief.”

“Not to worry. When it comes to matters of the heart…well I don’t have to tell you.”

“No you don’t Simon. “

“He’s still going to the bereavement support groups.”

“That’s good.”

“And he’s picking up the signs and writing them down but he hasn’t gotten them all.”

“That’s okay, I’m sure he’s gotten the ones that give him the most benefit.”

“He has.”

“Good and what else?”

“Enya and Tammy hear me and are right there for John. Did I tell you that Tammy, on her own mind you, sleeps right next to John’s pillow and when he faces my side of the bed Tammy is right there.”

“That is beautiful and you’re sure she’s not getting a little nudge from you?”

“Not at all. I swear to Him”

“We would rather you didn’t.”

“Oops.”

“Don’t worry about it. By the way I love cats.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. I always have.”

“I know.”

“It’s hard for me to be there. I don’t know when the overwhelming emotion will come and when it does and he succumbs my heart is broken. I feel so helpless.”

“You are helpless my child. We can not have it any other way. His Guardian Angel will notify us if anything is terribly wrong.”

“I haven’t forgotten. I think we were told that on Day 1.”

“You were. What else?”

“You know he wasn’t the best in keeping with his medication regimen. I fear it has gotten worse. I know in my heart John is not suicidal but too damn careless or absent minded for comforts sake. I worry.”

“I understand he will be more attentive, don’t worry Bette.”

“What else my dear?”

“He’s holding onto the grief and I know why. It’s his way of not letting me go. Even though the grief tears him up inside he has no use for a griefless alternative. It’s his way of treasuring our love. Is there anything we can do Simon?”

“I’m afraid not. He loved you very much Bette as I know you loved him and the quality of the love, often times , dictates the duration of grief. He may be at this for awhile.”

” In the meanwhile?”

“You pray.”

“And have faith.”

“Of course.”

“He is stubborn and I’m so afraid in spite of everything We stand for he may embrace nihilism. I suspect in a dark corner of his mind it waits for a tug.”

“Remember Elizabeth you are his beacon and your light will penetrate. “

“I wish I could leave it at that Simon but there is one more thing that really worries me. John loves the Arts and especially music. One night I went to bed early and awoke at 2 upon hearing John cry. I asked him what was wrong and he said it’s over. ‘I don’t understand honey.’ ‘It’s over love, the music is over.’ Yes sweetheart but you can play it again.’ ‘I know and again it will be over.’ ‘What can I say, John?’ ‘Nothing Bette and listen to me; you are my music and aside from the occasional discord harmony reigns. I love you and us for that.’ ‘That’s beautiful John, how’s about we go to bed now.’ ‘I can live with that but I can’t live without my music.’ ‘We can play it again tomorrow.’ ‘No I mean I can’t live without you. I can’t ever be in a place where I am unable to play you again, you understand?’ ‘I do sweetheart and I’m not going anywhere so I will be in the player at all times. I love you and now let’s get some needed sleep.’

“We really frown on tears up here, Bette.”

“He was like a little boy, caught up in the beauty of music and not wanting it to be over and I should have slapped him right then and there. The music will die but that doesn’t mean the notes go forever un-played. He has to come around to that. Please help him Simon.”

“He is already. There is a sweet melody in a bright corner of his mind that is now a little faint but soon will be heard for the beautiful song it is and it is your song Bette the notes are made of your essence and John will know that. Trust in Us.”

Love To You All

I am ever thankful to my siblings and friends for being there. The thought of my passing first and Bette embraced by your love and support brings solace beyond measure.

Let me also give sincere thanks to those who read my journal and share in a little of Bette’s life and my grief over her passing. Needless to say if you are grieving my and Bette’s heart go out to you. For those who visit and grief is not a part of your life at this time know these pages will be here when and if you need them.

Every end has a journey that precedes it or so we think. Our journey, Dear Heart, began without an end and that’s why we never talked about it for we intuitively knew our lives and love would continue beyond this one and yet my grief is so profound. Is it because I envy your life in the eternal realm and I’m not there to share in the glory and wonder? If that be so then how human of me.

Love to you all

Words are my prayers, my way of connecting with Bette and I offer them up to her.

At 1:06 AM May 23 2015 the well sealed box hit the back of my head. It took a few days to muster up the courage and see what was inside. On top of the many puzzle pieces was a paper, letter size, with the words “Only Grieve”. Not every day Am I successful in connecting a few of the pieces and the strangest thing is some days the box contains more pieces than other days. I worry about the resulting image.

Your letters, cards, e-mails and social media page Dear Bette are waiting and I’m waiting too. I don’t know when the wait will be over but I dare say it won’t be soon.

Careful when gauging the reality of Grief and thinking you’re close.

I feel like I’m in a cage and the pacing stops when I am paid a visit. The visitor’s look of commiseration is genuine but the words of sympathy are barely audible. I feel regret over the distance and with raised voice say there is nothing to fear but my words trail off as they walk away.

Love to you all

 

 

Bette did not like the cold even before getting older and health issues. As a young woman,and many years before I met her, she enjoyed vacations on the beaches of Bermuda and several Caribbean Islands. She so wanted to get me to Bermuda and in my heart I know she will; in another lifetime.

*

A few Autumns into our relationship a box was delivered and I asked Bette “Why are we receiving a delivery from L.L.Bean.” and she answered “a gift for you.” I being the jerk I can sometimes be said “Honey thanks but you do know their politics is quite conservative.” And she said, “I may have, I’m not sure sweetheart but I do know their clothing is quality stuff-even for a liberal.” In the box was a very warm Winter coat. I thanked her. I kissed her.

Bette was right. It’s a quality coat and has kept me warm over the years. I put the coat on today and whispered “thank you babe”

Love To You All