Sixteen weeks ago today, at the time I am writing this post, Danny was beginning his journey into death. I did not know it, although it was a great fear; I had taken him for an ultrasound to find out why he was passing blood, much of it clotted, from his urethra. He had responded well to antibiotics three weeks earlier which supported my idea this was all prostate. But then it came back with a vengeance and he was blocking up - in pain - I could have just let him go, but on the chance we could clear the infection and get him more time, I took him for the ultrasound.
He died around noon, in a crisis after his ultrasound, I was with him but unable to hold him. The imprint of that memory is with me always. It was a terrible way for 14 1/2 years of so much love and connection to end, but it was my love language in action: I fight for what I care about. His pain and his death was awful and I am filled with regret, but I remind myself - daily - I was trying to save him. It was horrible for both of us to be separated, even for an hour - so it almost seems fitting we had to be ripped apart like that at the end.
As time goes by I am somewhat more forgiving of myself, about all of this. At the very least, reliving it is not omnipresent...it is no less painful when I do, but I "go there" less frequently. I am better able to function. A low grade sadness and loneliness has taken the place of nonstop crying, anxiety and shock.I occupy my time with work, with looking for solutions for the many challenges I am facing now, with some good tv and reading (I could not read at all the first three months). I have resumed my courses and work goals from January - some of them anyway. I cry every day, but actually feel better afterwards. I have insights that bring warmth and gratitude to my heart, not as something I know I should feel, but as a deep, felt experience.
I am in another phase of grief.
Right now I miss Daniel with a yearning, a sadness and a love that really cannot be put into words. I miss our time together - the freedom, the fun, the happiness of it all. I miss Rupert still (despite Alex just shaking his head and walking away when I mention that) and I miss the lost opportunities I had during my 11 years in that house with Dan, to prevent some of the challenges I am facing now. I miss feeling hopeful and looking forward to better things yet to come. I miss feeling flooded with a rapturous connection to nature. All of that and more is connected to Dan.
But mostly, I miss feeling so needed and so completely loved. I miss his happy smile whenever he saw me, like I'd been gone a week. I miss coming up behind him when he was sitting in his chair and hugging him, which he tolerated pretty well, given it was not his favorite thing. I miss baking his cookies, feeding him treats, all our silly songs and phrases and conversations. I miss his beautiful energy, always beside me. I miss his sweet funny mannerisms, his jaunty gait when he was so happy to be outdoors, his head tilt when he came toward me, his stretching in the doorway before he would go out/come in...all of it.
I miss that mystical sense of..timelessness, when you are with a being you love, happy, connected to the beauty of life...like when we would lie in bed late at night in Rupert, in spring, listening to coyotes and the gurgling of Indian Creek - magic. I miss that timelessness - so much of our time in Rupert was characterized by that sensation.
I miss and love him so, so much.
16 weeks ago today - an eternity, and yesterday at the same time.
I continue to try to grow strong, carry forth all I became with and because of him, which is to say a kinder, deeper, more balanced person. With him I gained a great deal of knowledge that came as a result of being a homebody, as I could really not take him everywhere and so I stopped going out. People saw that as neurotic, excessive - but for me, it was fantastic, gave me the time and solitude I had needed all my life to gain both knowledge and wisdom. He was my reason for taking that time and my continual solace and company through it all.
And slowly, almost imperceptibly, gratitude reaches out to balance grief. Strength of spirit overcomes that horrible feeling of utter powerlessness that death always brings. Hope, however small, creeps in to chastise despair.
I am not "there "yet by a long shot. But, I am moving in that direction.
One day at a time.
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