I have a recurring dream, although I am not sure if it really is a dream. It happens in that space just between consciousness and deep sleep and happens most frequently during afternoon naps, but sometimes as I fall asleep at night.
I’ve come to think of this space as my time with Mike, or perhaps something else altogether. It feels as though some energy, some force is working on my heart. As I try to describe this “heart work,” it seems less and less real. A mirage.
All I know is that it has felt healing at times. But this time, the message was different. Loud and clear. “But you didn’t even get to say goodbye.” Again and again.
At first, I took it from my perspective and thought, in the light of day, “of course I didn’t get to say goodbye to Mike.” But the sentence kept barging into my consciousness, an unwelcome intruder. And finally, at the pool, it crushed my heart. And there I was, crying in my sunglasses, bathing suit, and dripping wet hair as I watched Marley and Avery jump and flip off of the diving board.
I called two of my oldest friends, needing to talk about this bolt-out-of-the blue. Voice mail, twice.
Then I thought, well, Mike didn’t get to say goodbye either, perhaps that is what he is thinking about, and that is why I’m hearing it. We all got ripped off, to be sure.
So how do you verbalize this without seeming a bit, well, crazy?
My thought is, walk a mile in my sandals and then let’s chat.
New blogs, new chapters, new life aside, the old still bleeds through. I would not be who I am today without my past. All of it.
Perhaps it’s because I’m going to Minnesota soon—just like almost two years to the day, in the final chapter of my other life. Perhaps it’s the upcoming 2-year anniversary of Mike’s death. Perhaps it’s my continual inability to figure out a proper work/life balance (although I love what I’m doing with my personal life, and even work life, it is completely unsustainable financially in its current configuration).
Whatever it is, I feel raw, shaken, wounded.
But I promise, I have a half dozen ideas about things to write about and photograph that ARE funny, ARE homespun, ARE about creating and loving life. Today, however, the past is overshadowing the present.
I’ll be back soon. Perhaps after I figure out how to say goodbye.
Christine, I love reading your articles. I also like the way that you keep Mike in the childrens’ lives, so they’re not forgetting him. Do you think it might be therapeutic to write a book about your life with Mike, ending with your life now? I’m sure you’ve thought about it. With pictures. It would be painful, but healing I believe. Going through it all again brings up all the little kicks in the stomach you feel when you think of losing him. It might be good grief work. Or, you might not be ready for that yet.
I was just wondering though, if your subconscious is trying to nudge you a little. You’re an enjoyable writer. It might be a way you could get to say goodbye, when you’re ready. I’ve written things about my Mom and Dad. Yeah, I don’t really want to say good-bye, either. More like “see you later.”
Linda
Thanks, Linda. I appreciate your comments and encouragement. I’m glad you’re enjoying it! Sometimes I just think of this as cheap therapy. Sometimes I go back and read my entries and think “thank goodness I wrote this down; I’d already forgotten about this!” (Is this what happens to your brain in crisis? Or is it just a perimenopausal thing? Or a former blonde thing?)
So yes, perhaps this is the rough draft for a book? I also want a record for the kids to see what we all have been through as well as to remember their dad. I’m sure it will help in that regard. I also am wanting to document this blending of families thing. It’s not really anything we are taught to do, yet it happens so often in this culture. So, I try to have a sense of humor about it all, even though it can be baffling and stressful.
And if I can help anyone in the process, so much the better–please feel free to forward my link on if you think it may be of help. And if you know any publishers, send them the link too!
Hope you’re doing well. I need to call Allen soon!
Love,
Chris