My one loyal reader, Archie, has noted that I have
not posted anything for about two months.
I have every reason to have not written anything for
so long – I have been grieving. And in my grief I have not been of a mind to
write about it or to share the reasons for my grief, or in fact to write
anything at all.
In the great scheme of things one more death matters not – the World Health Organization estimates that roughly 155 000 (one hundred
and fifty-five thousand) people die every day. So one more is no big deal. But
if that one was my wife – then it is a big deal – for me!
When the person who dies is very close – and has
been for over 36 (thirty six) years - it is difficult to be rational and to
avoid emotion. But in this instance I am trying, trying to let my head attend
to reason and to reduce the emotions of my heart (the “traditional” seat of
emotions). The trouble is it is so personal, so private that to try and explain
how or why I feel the way I do is a hard thing to do.
Writing for me, however, has always been a way out –
an escape; in this instance I am using writing for cathartic purposes. I need
to let in the light, light to banish the dark thoughts that hover in the
background. Putting it all down on “paper”, as it were, helps me to put things in
perspective.
To know that a person, close to one, is dying and to
know that they know they are dying is quite confronting. To hold someone’s hand
and then to feel the life force (whatever this is conceived to be) slowly slip
away and the body that was animated and alive grow cold and lifeless, is not
easy.
Yet this is what happens roughly 155 000 times every
day. There will be, therefore, at least another 155 000 (if not a great deal
more) people feeling much as I do. This, also, is confronting; that death and grief
are such an “everyday” occurrence that there is still a strange element of surprise
and a degree of shock when it happens to someone close.
In some ways this feeling of shock – and grief too I
suppose – is, to a degree, a selfish experience. The person concerned, in this
case my wife, no longer experiences pain (pain is a warning that the body is in
some way compromised). So it is me that is the one affected. Logically
therefore, it is me experiencing the emotional shock (which is normal) but also
me, to a degree, feeling sorry for myself – I have lost someone. I suppose this
is also normal!
To a certain extent I have got over the initial
grief and now it is a matter of a “long unwind”; slowly letting go and
establishing my own routines to suit only me! Again this is not easy living as
I do in the house we shared, sleeping in the same bed we shared, with photographs,
with all her little nick-knacks everywhere I look.
I find
solace in poetry so I will end this post with a poem that expresses my feelings
for my wife very well. A poem by Robert Louis Stevenson called, My Wife:
Trusty,
dusky, vivid, true,
With eyes of gold and bramble-dew,
Steel-true and blade-straight,
The Great Artificer
Made my mate.
Honour, anger, valour, fire;
A love that life could never tire,
Death quench or evil stir,
The Mighty Master
Gave to her.
Teacher, tender, comrade, wife,
A fellow-farer true through life,
Heart-whole and soul-free
The August Father
Gave to me.
