Friday, May 20, 2005

7:00 p.m.

 

What if I am just one of a number of people who is experiencing grief, and yet simply does not accept patented answers as to why Linda died? There was a uniqueness about who Linda was. Millions die from cancer every year and this is why her memory can seem to blend in with what has happened to so many other victims. It’s as if Linda is now just a statistic.

 

For over two years, I have been writing about this experience and yet have I really grasped, or even come close to understanding, what this has really done to me? I do not think so.

 

What is so deeply troubling at times is just how vulnerable I feel. Vulnerability does not occur in the way it does except at a time like this. Just what is the true definition of the word when someone dies?

 

Being vulnerable is to be at the mercy of so many emotions. There is a bleak picture when looking at the days, weeks, months and years ahead, because of the continual loneliness throughout the day. I am talking about a loneliness unlike any other. Only when someone you love is ripped from you, is the word truly understood.

 

So few people realize I am not what I appear to be. I am not the person they see. If my shadow could speak, those around me would be alarmed by what they would hear and really see. What if the true portrait of myself could be seen? Perhaps my poetry is the truest picture of how deep the hurt really goes and who I truly am.

 

When I mention that I cry, no one is in the same room to hear and see me. A person can only imagine, but the picture is not an accurate one, because you see, I am talking about tears that are not for someone who is alive, but tears for someone who is only a memory. The yearning I feel is not as if Linda has left for a few days, but she is now gone and won’t come back. She is not going to be calling me and letting me know she is on her way home, but her ashes are now in this house in a canister just a few feet away from me.

 

As I write this, I have tears streaming down my face because this has been a long seven weeks. How much would you miss your wife or husband if they were gone seven weeks, let alone years, as I will soon experience?

 

Facial expressions do not really tell anyone who I am. The feeling in the pit of my stomach cannot be seen. On this seven week anniversary of Linda’s death, I have been asking some very hard and difficult questions today.

 

Just how has this changed me? I now have a deeper understanding of things I never even remotely understood before. As a result of what has happened in the last two years, the world I now live in is one that few can comprehend or understand.

 

Does anyone really see the pain in my eyes? My voice quivers when speaking of how much I love Linda, and yet I manage to keep it under control. Does the person hearing what I am saying, truly understand I am not just another grieving husband who has lost his wife? I am someone just like you. I had hopes and dreams of growing old with the woman I loved. Now these hopes and dreams have been replaced by something else; a future that will not happen with the very woman who was as special as anyone could be.  I am forced to accept the fact Linda is no longer here. Yes, forced to live with memories of a life which ended in such a tragic way.

 

So many people think I am doing so well because of how I am able to work, perform routine tasks and  write.  How can I be genuine when I don’t understand emotions I have never experienced before?

 

I simply hate death. I hate what it does to relationships. So many millions of people are victimized by it every year. So many tears are shed under its banner of victory. It is an enemy that rips out the very heart of an individual. When I witnessed the hell Linda went through, it simply raped both us of all dignity. The mental pain of witnessing Linda’s suffering and death was more than anything I have ever experienced before. It’s as if cancer knew how conscientious Linda was of her appearance and so it made sure it humiliated her beyond imagination. It’s as if it knew how much I cried and demanded more tears.

 

I now write satire in order to sift through issues of the future. I poke fun of things that have taken place in my mind that I never had to think about before. This is one small way in which I am fighting back, but it seems like such a small weapon to use against an enemy that invaded my life and left. It made sure it took Linda and is now taking someone else.