This might end up a very thought scattered blog so I apologize ahead of time to all of you, my dear, faithful readers. I’m trying to sort mind wanderings out so I’m kind of going train-of-thought.
It’s no secret that I’m grieving the death of Handsome Husband deeply. Into my soul, mind, body, spirit everypartofme deeply. Years ago my mom and my brother died within 6 months of each other and my world shifted and changed and, at the time, I couldn’t imagine anything worse. Well, all I can say is thank god I couldn’t imagine anything worse, because I would have lived all these past years in fear.
This is worse. in ways I never could have imagined. For me, it’s the worst thing that has ever happened to me. The only thing worse thing, I think, would be if one of our kids died. This particular grief is giving me insights to so much more at a deeper level than I’ve ever had. Perhaps, somewhere in the future, it will serve a purpose. (Thanks, anyways, Lesson of life givers, I’d just as soon stay where I was, living fairly consciously, rather than go to this deeper level of meaning, if it meant that the love of my life was still at my side.)
Anyways. I mentioned in a previous post that I understand now the depth of emotional pain that can lead a person to cut themselves. (Rest assured that just because I understand, or at least, I think I understand, how that can happen, doesn’t mean I would ever do such a thing.) But I get it now.
I understand now, too, the concept of dying of a broken heart. I get how the emotional pain of missing someone you love so much can literally break your heart and you just simply die of it because it’s unsustainable. Not in a conscious way, but in a purely physical way. The heart just stops because its’ broken. At this point of grief, when the future…well, when you can’t see a future, when you can only intellectualize a future (and that is of no help at all, and it doesn’t matter how anyone encourages or implores or demands you see the future that they imagine for you), the heart, which is a feeling entity and not involved in the intellectual, says, no more. I have nothing more. I’m in unrepairable, unglueable -back- together, pieces.
Prior to Handsome Husband’s death, I would have been one of those who responded to such a sentiment with all of the words and phrases that come, most likely, to anyone else. But you can’t give up, I’d say. There’s this, this, and this, to live for. You must make the choice. You mustn’t give in to this. The mind is stronger than the body. Blah, blah, blah. All of which may very well be true. None of which truly matters, I now think. At some level, the body just takes over. Which is why, in a complete aside, I have a strong aversion to the thinking that goes along with a cancer diagnosis when people compliment someone on being a fighter so they’ll get through it. What happens when they die even if they’re a fighter? They didn’t fight enough or something? Or if they do everything right and they die anyways? If they pray hard enough and die anyways? Anyways….I digress.
Broken heart syndrome. I don’t think it happens because a person gives up on life. I think it happens because the body breaks emotionally when it can’t sustain the emotional completeness of life-shattering grief.
Life is meaningful because of relationships, at least in my world. My marriage, my relationship with Handsome Husband, was the strongest relationship in my life, plain and simple. I only had him for 23 years (24 altogether but 23 married) but that was my lifetime because it was so insanely intense. He played many roles in my life: husband, lover, protector, map-reader, navigator support, cheerleader, affirmer, chauffeur, filler of gas tanks, realist to my flights of fancy. He was very much the masculine in my life, which allowed me to be my most feminine self, which was very empowering. He was a magician, as I called him, producing possibilities out of seemingly nowhere. Fellow adventurer and explorer. Pusher of boundaries and comfort zones, both physically and emotionally. Challenger of ideas. Co-conversationalist, especially in the last 4 years of travel as we drove and hiked and lunched at roadside. Hand holder, both physically and emotionally. Opening doors, hand on my lower back, stepping aside to allow me to enter first kisser of my hand gentleman extraordinaire. Arm around my waist and feet moving dance partner. Make me melt kisser. Slow wink of the eye to me across the room lead man in the romance of my life. I very much miss his masculine energy around me-we were a wonderful yin/yang. I was a strong woman with him as my partner. Yes, yes, I know. I am a strong woman without him, etc. The thing is, my heart doesn’t know that right now, and my mind is completely foggy and muddled and not interested in the intellect, so I don’t really know that any longer.
Heartsick. Heartbroken. (Overly dramatic?) No, I’m not giving up on life. Yes, I know Handsome Husband would want me to be okay, etc. Easy enough for him to say-he isn’t here to go through this shit. Yes, I probably will get through this, if my body can sustain this part of it. This is, ultimately, nothing more than a life experience that millions sustain every day, around the world. Many, if not most, in worse circumstances than I. Another intellectual thought-that. There is a quote that says “Each person’s grief is the worst grief there is.”
All I know is, I drive around a lot, here in the Phoenix area. By next week, I’ll be driving north, and east, then south, then east some more, culminating in a New Jersey landfall in a couple of months. And I’ll be driving without my pilot. That’s all I know, and that’s all my heart knows. So it’s broken.