March 27, 2005 Continued: Well, by the time I listened to that (it's one of my favorite songs actually), I was in tears. Diane and I used to go for short drives the last two years, up until last fall, when she couldn't get out much, and we had several 'routes' that we took on a regular basis. One of them ended with us doing a turn-around in a small park here. The main purpose of the park is to launch pleasure boats into the river. I pulled up into there and stopped in front of the boat ramp. There was no one around. I got out of the car, left it running, and just stared at the stars with the tears streaming down my face. I turned around, and looked down the boat ramp.
The concrete slip ran smoothly into the water, and the surface of the river was the smoothest I have ever seen it. I thought about how easy it would be to just glide into that water and join my love. It was tempting, but I knew to expect it, and knew I had too much to do here still, the kids to look after, and all sorts of other reasons not to give in.
Why do I mention this? Because this is NORMAL. If you lose a loved one, the closer they are to you the stronger this emotional response to do anything to join them gets. I was surprised it took so long to happen, and I was also surprised it happened so soon. What this means (Dr. Sniper talking here. Disclaimer: I probably don't have a clue what I'm talking about, so don't take this as advice. hehe.) is that I'm out of the 'shock' stage, although I will still feel in shock on and off for some time to come, and that I'm entering phase two of the grieving process.
I am sad about that. I don't want the shock stage to end, because it's making me realize that time is moving on, with no regard for how I feel. If I could stop the clock yesterday, and wallow in sorrow for the rest of my life, I would gladly do it. I don't ever want to forget her face, her voice, or her smell. There's a beer commercial running now that talks about smell being the most powerful sense tied to memory. I am clinging to that like a sun-dried paper towel to concrete. Each night I lay down in bed and I have her pillows there still, and I won't let anyone touch them. I can smell her there, and it brings me some comfort, albeit not much.
Will Diane forgive me if I start to move on? Will I forgive myself? She told me she doesn't want me to stagnate, and she wanted me to get on with life, but man, it's hard. Her smile and attitude about life was phenomenal, and I think, "Who am I to go on when such a bright star has fallen from the sky?" Then I remember that she wanted me to. I'm so torn tonight about what she wanted and what I feel I'm capable of doing. She said I'd do fine, and I didn't think so. But then again, I did promise her. Diane said to me one night amid a whole pile of tears that she needed to know I could make it. I eventually promised her I could. I guess that about settles it really. I have to. For Diane. If I truly believe, as I do, that I would die for her, then certainly I can go on living FOR her. I believe now that it's much easier to die for someone than it is to live for someone, but I must. I gave my word.
Maybe that's why I had another hard time after I got back tonight. I had promised Diane that I would take care of her, so many years ago. She understood that the accidents and things prevented me from taking her to Florida like I promised I'd do, but she trusted me when I told her I'd love and care for her always. In the end though, I was unable to save her. I felt (and feel) incredibly helpless about her illness. I had promised to take care of her and protect her and provide for her, and I failed. Not for lack of trying, but because there was absolutely nothing I could do to fight her disease. I tried, the vitamin regimens, the weight gain controls, everything I could possibly think. I found regimens that scientific evidence suggested would help, and I even saved her from holistic approaches (Essiac, for example) that would have speeded up her demise. Prayer was a constant, and having her live life, camping, going out, and having fun were all things I tried over the years to put off the inevitable. But it wasn't enough. The guilt is staggering, and it's made even worse by knowing that a voice of reason would say that it wasn't my fault, that I did what I could. That doesn't matter to me though. When you're in love and the feeling is returned as it was by Diane, you know in your heart that no matter what you do you've never done enough. There is always one more 'If I had….' lurking in the back of your mind.
There was a guy I know at the funeral. He said to me, "As Catholics, we believe in Purgatory…" and I was so dazed I don't remember what came after that. I was thinking tonight, Diane had a fascination with ghosts all last year, and had a bunch of pictures on her computer that are actual documented photographic evidence of ghosts. All this week I've talked to Diane and felt her here, sometimes being sure she was there, sometimes having to call to her to come to me until I felt her. This may be wishful thinking, but I don't think so. I may have found this difficult to swallow myself, except that I have definitely felt 'something', and there's been a few other odd occurrences that I have trouble explaining. No matter, I'm comfortable with it, and whether it's psychological tricks or 'real', the effect is pretty much that it makes me feel a bit better.
Anyway, it occurred to me tonight that maybe these ghosts are in 'Purgatory' or whatever you choose to call it, drifting around their loved ones to cleanse themselves or something, or maybe to finish their tasks, or maybe even just to make sure we'll be ok. It's a really nice thought to think someone is watching over you, and watching out for you. :)
So anyway, I got home, and moped around a bit. Mom came into the dining room where I was sitting and we had a bit of a talk. I relayed most of the above to her, and felt not one bit better. The older kids heard us talking, and we sat there, surrounded by Diane's funeral flowers, their aroma sweetening the air, and talked and laughed until after 3:00 a.m. I was feeling down again once I got into bed, but that time with the kids was something I will never forget. It was special.
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