Widows and widowers speak to one another very differently
than people who have not experienced a loss. I say this with no judgement. It’s
just that there is a frankness, a matter-of-fact tone, that you can deploy and
it won’t be “taken the wrong way,” or “misunderstood.” It’s kind of refreshing,
since most everyone else is ninja-creeping around your feelings, throwing you
kind eyes, and nervous because they don’t know what to say, and then saying the
wrong thing anyway. This isn’t a dig; I used to do the same thing. Everyone
does, until the unthinkable happens.
I mention this because I was having a conversation with one
of my friends, who has become closer in the midst of this, because we share
similar trajectories. Anyway, we were knocking around our collective grief,
playing air hockey with it and letting it clatter around between us. I brought
up how much I was dreading October, but not the rest of the year. She
nodded. “You’ve already done it once before,” she agreed.
I told her that
October 15th would be my last first. The first of this without Cathy, or the
first of that without Cathy, happened in rapid succession last year: Our
wedding anniversary, my birthday, Halloween, her birthday, Thanksgiving, and
Christmas (all big deals in our home) happened between 3 days and 3 months of
her passing.
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| An old pic, rediscovered |
About the only thing that kept me going was my seemingly
eternal, acrimonious relationship with cruciferous vegetables. It gave me a
purpose to hate broccoli. It’s the only way I got through it all. And for most
of this year, I was able to navigate the flow of the seasons, the holidays,
real and manufactured, and other perennial events that mark the passage of
time. I knew, however, that October would be rough. Her (and my) favorite
month, piled high with meaning: my birthday, our anniversary, and Halloween,
all within a two-week period. Now there’s one more to add to that list: her
death. A signpost, first in a series, like Burma Shave ads, running me all the
way to the end of the month, and oh, just TRY and be happy during your favorite
month now, sucker, I double dog dare you.
But a funny thing happened when the first of the month
rolled around. I made the calculation that I had given up quite enough to
cancer. It had taken so much from me. And I didn’t want to have to surrender
any more. It’s been nearly a year. Cathy’s passing would be acknowledged. It
would be impossible to do otherwise. But I’ll be damned if I am going to give
up the rest of it. All that other stuff was mine long before cancer took her
away from me. It doesn’t get anything else from me.
