For my darling husband, who lost the battle fighting covid. My husband of 38 years lost his valorous heroic 7-day battle to Covid on May 4, 2021. The loss of my best friend is still beyond belief and intolerable at times. One of the last things he said to me was, "I will come back for all of you." The grief phases are distinctive for everyone. At first I was handling things OK because I had so much on my head which needed to be sorted. But now, after a couple days, it just seems to be getting harder and more difficult.
It’s been a few weeks since you left. The kids are busy with their own thing and the room is quiet. It’s just me and my supersonic memory of the past 13 years keeping me company right now. I don’t know what I want to tell you so I only stare at your photograph on the wall and I think how unfair it is. We didn’t get to complete our love story.
So here I am trying to hang on to the good memories of our love story and am wondering what to do with all these memories. Everywhere I go, there is a memory of you. Actually of us. Sadly beautiful reminders of how much we loved each other.
I remember the day and the events leading up to the night that changed my life forever. The day that will likely go down in my history as the worst of my life. I remember the way you hugged me and wrote a nice big OM on my forehead. I remember how you spoke to the kids just a little while ago. You didn’t speak much but I remember the sound of your voice as we walked to the ambulance. I remember exactly what you looked like in that split second and it breaks my heart every time I see it. I remember the sound of my voice chanting mantras fervently so that they would help send positive energy to you.
I remember every little detail of that night and what I don’t remember is what followed the entire week. There were phone calls, my tears and thinking I heard you come into the room.
What followed in the second week and what I will never forget is the immense pain, the invincible fear, the all consuming grief, the inexpressible confusion, and mostly the weightiness that came with the realisation that you were gone forever and there wasn't anything I could do about it.
The worst was yet to come when I had to tackle your wardrobe. It really sucked. Every one of your shirts, tshirts, your gym clothes - they all have a story and a memory more vivid. Remember your worn out red/orange checked shirt? The one I asked you to toss away. In fact I even hid it from you for a while so you wouldn’t wear it in public. I look at it sitting on the shelf with your other shirts and my heart aches thinking of ever parting with it now. I see your goofy face when wearing that shirt and I never want that memory to go away. I wish someone would explain to me how a shitty shirt can make your heart break into a zillion pieces.
I opened the bathroom drawer and saw your hairbrush in there. I picture all the times when you would talk about your hair and how concerned you were about them.
I saw your watch getting charged. It’s been a month since ur gone and I haven’t taken it off. It’s just another thing I can’t bring myself to put in place. If I did, I think the feeling of you just being there would go away.
Our room is agonising to be in because it’s where I saw you last. It’s where I looked into your beautiful eyes the last time before you shut them forever. I close my own eyes and picture you, me and kids and all those times when we laughed so hard until we were tired.
I remember our story with each photo I look at, each friend who comes to visit, every meal I eat and even places I go to. We only knew each other a short 13 years, but I think we loaded enough good in there to help me get through each day - to get through every painfully amazing reminder of that love we had.
I remember the times we raced each other to use the washroom and fights that followed about how long you took. It was fun to laugh with someone before bed who didn’t care that his wife looked like a zombie. I look into the mirror and only see your face making funny faces.
I can’t stop thinking about all those stupid conversations we did about which we wouldn’t dare tell anyone because we were so embarrassed to tell people how we could think. And I only realised now that when you’re in love you don’t care how stupid you sound sometimes.
There were a lot more shenanigans — tickling, laughing, and snuggling. It doesn’t take me long to find those memories below the sadness that surrounds this space every day. I don’t want to forget that laughter because it makes me remember our story again.
The love we had will always remain somewhere in me. I’m not going to care about the crappy times or the fights we had about stupid stuff... those things will never run out the times we had pious love.
Sleep does not come easily and I often get up in the night and cry. All I do is howl! I get comfort from listening to friends but I know I can’t have that always.
I often ask God ‘why’ but then answer my own question. Who am I to question God? I didn’t question him when he gave you to me. I pray like hell to him to free me of this pain in whichever way he likes.
I’ve learned lots in the last few weeks, both from talking to other survivors and friends, from reading and from simply just my own thoughts fighting the grief.
I’ve learned to live without the one person that you simply cannot live without. It’s not even close to living: it’s actually surviving for the sake of our children. And as a mother my pain is magnified by three because I grieve for myself and also for our children. I’ve learned that in the face of grief, our community really comes together and it makes me think there are still great people in this world. Both of our families and friends are some of the most dependable people and I would have been lost without them. I’ve learnt that grief builds on relationships that wouldn’t have otherwise existed.
I’ve learned that I miss all those little things the most. The sound of your voice, the way you took such pride in me, the way you kissed my forehead before sleeping every night. I’ve learned that I don’t want to be without you. I’ve learned that I don’t want to be a single parent. I’ve learned that kids don’t understand what is going on or the magnitude of what they have lost. Most of the time they are playing, but they are anxious, especially when they see other happy kids with their dads. They miss you so much and they’ll miss you more as they grow older and the feeling hurts so badly that I’m not sure I could accurately describe the feeling.
I’ve learned that along with grief comes longing: longing for everything to be ok and for everything to be as it once was. I cry for what was, but I also cry for how it should have been. I grieve for all the plans we made and we won’t be For able to do: the travelling that we won’t do, the house we won’t build together and the cruise we will never take.
I also cry because we had dreamed of growing old together... looking back on our lives with joy. And now I will have to do this without you. I’m pushing through the grief, making my way through the million zillion questions, I’m finding my way through single parenthood and I’m trying to convince myself not to think about more things. I haven’t been successful but I’m hopeful someday I will because even if I get answers to my questions, I know I won’t be able to change anything. I will still have to just survive.
I have no alternative but to survive because our children need me. It’s not just about me but it’s also because I knew their dad in ways which no one else did. The children deserve to know more about their dad. I saw you all those times when you stared at their faces while they slept as if you wanted to memorise every feature of theirs. I saw the happiness and pride in your eyes when you spoke about our kids naughtiness and when you taught them something new. Moreover, I knew how much you were prepared to sacrifice for their good. We shared secret laughs. I’m the one who knew all the pains in your heart the best. The kids deserve to know it all. And someday when they are older and ask me about you, I want to answer through your lovely memories.
I am surviving: unfortunately I can't do much more than that at the moment. While I’m not a very social person, I’m finding that the more I learn, the more I want to share. I hope that I will be able to help someone like me who is in the middle of a situation of loss and grief which they never thought they would be in.
Maybe it’s silly, I don't know. What I know is that I miss you and I love you.... Forever. Rest well dear, we’ll always lock you in our hearts as we move on with your memories. I am a resistant believer that we will see each other again in Heaven (which I can’t wait for). Until then, your beliefs and values will be a cue of the “loving you always” part of an incomplete love tale.