Holograms and Other Worlds~

Parallel universes.  Time continuums.  Beyond the veil. Those places where energy, which exists ad-infinitum, possibly continues to exist even after death.  Where those we love who have died, might exist still.  I think of all such possibilities in an effort to find a connection with Handsome Husband, wondering if I might see him again.  Someday. In some way.

There’s another world, however, that exists along with those worlds, having nothing to do with his world and where he might exist, but my world and where I have existed since his death; a world that feels mostly fuzzy to me, as if there is a veil between me and everything, and everyone, else.

Bizarro world.  As in the Seinfeld episode where Elaine met people who were exactly like Jerry et al, but opposite.  You can find it on a rerun, I’m certain.

I lie in my bed at night, whether in my T@b trailer, or visiting family or friends, and I stare into the darkness and wonder how is it that I’m here and he isn’t?

When I’m on the road, camping somewhere around the country, and I walk around the campsite at night, in this outdoor world that is still so alien to me (maybe alien at this point only because it is so bizarre that this is my life and who the hell would have ever figured such a circumstance as me camping?) and I wonder what the fuck happened?  How is it that I’m here living this life when this is not my life? Because this isn’t me.  Or at least it isn’t the me that I was or ever imagined.  Ever.  Believe me.

These thoughts, more than likely, and I suppose I can take comfort of some sort as a result of them, are the same type of thoughts that haunt the minds of every man and woman who grieves the death of their partner/spouse.  I know this not only because I hear it from so many but because I cannot possibly be the only one who feels this way, and I’m not unique in this grief of mine.

I don’t feel of this world and yet I am of this world.  But not the world I knew for 24 years and the dissonance in that clash makes me feel even more not of this world. Taking steps, creating a new life, walking, talking..all the things other people do, but so removed, really.

Sometimes, lately, going about my day, in and out of stores, appointments, sitting at the library writing, I’ll glance around me, and catch hair-trigger images of Handsome Husband over there.  Or there.  Kind of the way, in a sci-fi type movie, holographic images of a person will appear, then disappear in a blink, confusing the character who sees them because it is so quick that by the time the eye sees and the mind comprehends, the image is gone.  In these glimpses, Handsome Husband is always wearing his blue denim shirt with his jeans and boots.  It’s only recently this holographic thing started happening and I have no idea why it started. (And don’t honestly care about the whys.)

In a so-called normal world, I can imagine this would cause concern but there is nothing normal about my world of grief (or anyone’s world of grief.)  But really…I’ve learned to just roll with whatever happens because this world without him is such a bizarro world to me.  I don’t recognize myself, I don’t recognize my life, I have no sense of self or ego.  I have no idea of how this new unwanted life without him will develop. (Who does, in reality, know anything about our futures?  We can plan but we all know how that too frequently works out).

Sgt. Schultz.  Remember him, from Hogan’s Heroes?  He was famous for the phrase “I know nothing.  I see nothing.”

I know nothing.  In the deepest, most esoteric, Buddhist, zen way.  I see nothing, in that same way.  And I’m okay with that, because I am uncertain about everything and I have no energy to waste in even feeling anxious about it.  Everything in life is impermanent and transitory.  It can change in a fucking instant and whatever I thought I knew might no longer be so.  So why think about it. (cue Scarlett O’Hara).

My world of without him.  One of constant change and uncertainty and searching.  None of which is good or bad, really.  It’s the world I live in and I have no definition for it.  It is a world of numbness, grief, effort, love abounding, new connections, one foot in front of the other and horizons yet unexplored that cause no excitement but do hold space.  And I don’t want it but must create it because I’m still here.  And it causes untold anguish that I have no certainty of ever seeing Handsome Husband again and I think that even if I do, the energy will be different and will he be able to put his arms around me and will I be able to hug him again?  (That kind of thinking is why I’m awake at this hour.)

I miss his arms around me and the sound of his heartbeat under my ear as I rest against him and I know nothing any longer and this bizarro world without him is a world that leaves me dizzy, as if I’m standing in the middle of a galaxy with all the stars and planets swirling and dancing around me and meteors shooting directly through me, leaving fiery marks of destruction but its kind of alright in a weird way that is not at all alright but has to be alright because it’s what is, at this moment.

Am I a total fucking mess or have I attained the perfect Zen state?  Hmmm….





5 thoughts on “Holograms and Other Worlds~

  1. You’re not a fucking mess, your grief is evolving, as grief does over time, and as you educate yourself and understand it all more deeply. My husband has been gone 13 months, and I’m here to tell you that afterlife is real…in my experience…and that those we love who leave us in death will try to let us know that. If you are open to the possibility, they will show you. It is about the transition from loving in presence to loving in absence. I have told Doug not to appear to me, as it would freak me out, but I have twice, distinctly, felt physical touch. And, there have been other things, that seem clearly from him. 🙂 I feel pretty darned certain, at this point, and allow it to comfort me. I smile and say hello, tell him I love him and hope he is adjusting well. You could do the same. It helps. 🙂

    Be well, Alyson.

  2. I am so glad that I found your blog! You express beautifly how I feel after losing the love of my life to brain Cancer 6/28/14. We were fortunate to be in each other’s lives for 30 years but it seems like the blink of an eye. For the first time in my existence I have no plan or direction in my life. It seems like I am just floating in a dream world. I admire your courage and strength as you travel the country spreading your love’s ashes as you go. I still have our Airstream trailer and am beginning to learn how to manage it alone but have a way to go before I have the confidence to take off completely on my own. When I muster up the courage the ashes of my love will travel with me. You inspire me! It is comforting in a weird kind of way to know that there is another soul struggling as I am to continue on in this foggy life. You are succeeding and that gives me hope. I hope that I will meet you on the road someday.

    • Laura,
      Living such a different way of life can absolutely be intimidating, and I struggle with anxiety each time I go out on the road again. The only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge of the love my husband left behind for me. And yes, it does help, for some reason, knowing that others are walking this path, knowing the pitfalls and the agonies. Strangely comforting~

      Let me know when you go out on the road~

  3. I find it very interesting that you’ve chosen this way to live the life you’ve been left with. I’ve entertained the idea myself! As a widow since Aug.5th, 2013, the part of me that was with my husband Bob has died. I attended grief classes just 2 weeks afterwards and what I got from it most was ” I didn’t die.” So now as I begin my new journey in this life, I carry my sweet husband in my heart everywhere I go…sometime when my time here is completed, we’ll be in this universe together again. In another rime, another phase. Til then, I must travel lightly and brightly…and enjoy the new treasures of each day I’m given.
    I admire the way of your journey, peace & may you fulfill the person that’s left behind…YOU.

    • Gayle,
      My heart reaches out to you over the miles as you honor and remember your own dear husband. I struggle with any recognition of an afterlife and only hope that I’ll see Chuck again in some way.

      I thank you for reaching out to me here~

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