Following The Thread

Robert passed away on July 17, 2019. He was sick for a long, long time. He was terminal. We knew he was terminal long before he died. I was his primary caregiver. He lost ground slowly. The brain cells seemed to be dying individually. Changes in Robert came and went varying in intensity. I believed he was dying on several occasions. He would rally back and time would begin the inexorable march towards the end. We learned to live with that knowledge without discussing it or staring at it. Yet, the waiting hung in the air shadowing every conversation of "when" or "next year". The years came and went bringing a false sense of permanency as time passed. The day came when we were no longer able to handle the need for care and the caregiving by ourselves. Our world, so private and veiled before, became an open book to health professionals, aides, social services and friends. Unbelievably private in my own home I let go of my distaste for people in our space and flung open the doors to the care of strangers who became like family to both of us.

One day the inevitable became the reality just around the corner. The next day the reality fulfilled the diagnosis and Robert died. There are prettier phrases I could use but the truth is that Robert died. I was in shock. How could he go without me? "Wait", I wanted to shout! After all we were doing this together and now he was gone and he did not take me. I was angry. I was confused. I stuffed all those conflicting feelings and did what I always have done in my life. I told myself and everyone else that it was a long time coming. We finally came to the end of our journey together. No funeral. No dwelling on the present reality for me. I began moving on, or so I thought.

It is almost seven months since Robert walked out on me. Seven months since I realized I was left behind. I have had many amazing moments since Robert died. Reconnecting with family and having the freedom to begin looking at my own life are great freedoms. Many times I hear Robert call my name just as he did when I was his caregiver. I have even felt the presence of more people than Robert in our home. I do not believe it is anything hocus-pocus. I did at one time. Today I understand that my smiles and my pretenses of moving on are haunting me.I am in grief. Predictably, I thought I had missed the grieving part. Robert and I grieved together. I believed the grieving we did time after time left me with little to grieve when he died. I was wrong.

One day I realized that I needed help. I was here but not here. I was living in a world of alarming disconnection with the actual world around me. I wanted to isolate. I wanted to call people and tell them that Robert was dead as if it were a shock and they did not know it yet. I resisted the urge to call and scream into the phone that Robert was dead. Did they know? Could they see the absence in my heart? Was I as invisible as I felt every day?

I joined a grief support group last week. I joined it out of fear that I could not find myself on my own. I left that group feeling hope, apprehension, anger and ambivalence. I will go back. I need to know that Robert is gone. He died. I need to understand that in my heart of hearts and to join myself to this world I live in today. I am afraid and I am not convinced that I can handle the truth. Well, I cannot handle the truth by myself. God will use these people to reach me. I did not get to leave with Robert. I have a purpose here for now. I have a heavy heart. I am lost and waiting for direction. I am alive.