I hope y’all can handle yet another post in such a relatively short period of time, at least as my blog reckons time. This happens to be a pretty significant time of year for me. I wonder why that is, why these significant days have clustered around this time frame, I mean.
Anyway, today is the 39th anniversary of my ex’s death. Coming so soon after the date of our marriage, less than a week ago, has always seemed to mean something but I’ve never figured out what. It’s so long ago and yet I remember so much so clearly while I have no memory of some other things at all.
I came home that fateful day to find a message from my priest on my answering machine asking me to call him. I thought that was strange since we didn’t have the kind of relationship that would make such a thing commonplace. When I called him back, he didn’t tell me right away why he’d called but asked me if I was sitting down. What a strange question, I thought, what difference does it make? But I sat down so I could answer truthfully what he clearly wanted to hear.
And then he told me. About the plane crash. The shock and disbelief of that moment is seared into my memory and my soul. Part of me felt/thought of it in the same terms I’d thought of when I discovered my husband wanted a divorce: Things like this don’t happen to people like me. “People like me” being ordinary people who have ordinary lives, not people who have such dramatic events occur. Divorce was not so out-of-the-ordinary, even if shocking and painful, but a plane crash? No, no, no, that wasn’t possible!
But it was. I sat there in a daze for several hours while the house darkened as the sun set and the day became night. Not a thought do I recall except a dim one that a friend was supposed to come over that evening, a social worker, and I hoped he’d help me through this. Only he never came, and I eventually stirred from my daze enough to get up from my chair in the dark house and fall into bed.
When I asked him the next day where he’d been he breezily replied, “I died,” meaning he was so exhausted from work he’d fallen asleep until it was too late to come over. Imagine his chagrin when I said, “So did Bud.” He talked with me and helped me as much as he could, but he’d not been there when I really needed him and expected him to be. In any case, I got through – I always get through – but it was lonely.
I’ve often been lonely though for a long time I didn’t realize it. My experiences from childhood through various relationships and, of course, the divorce, had predisposed me to be leery of depending on anyone for support, of trusting anyone to be there for me. Of course, if you don’t trust anyone, don’t depend on anyone, then you will be lonely; it’s almost a given.
Even with my current life partner, who’s been with me for nearly 34 years, now, I don’t yet fully give of myself. I’m uncertain, sure that if I let myself depend on him and trust in him, that will be the trigger that causes him to leave me. It worked that way with my marriage so why should our relationship be any different? All the self-talk in the world hasn’t yet convinced me that was then, this is now. What I intellectually know and what I emotionally fear seem to have nothing to do with each other.
I’ve had moments when I’ve felt “unlonely” but not in this commonplace and ordinary world. I felt loved and wanted at what I believe was my NDE, and another time, when I had a vision of a huge red heart, like a big fluffy valentine pillow, split down the center and engulf me, hugging me and caressing me and loving me like I’d never felt before. Even then, in my vision, I felt fear at letting myself be enclosed and it was very difficult to let go and let be.
So today is one more anniversary, one that freed me, more or less, from Bud forever – except for my memories of him. Those are harder to be free of but I’m learning. I’m learning that I can keep the memories and at the same time be free of the distressing emotions of rejection, sadness, grief that have clung to them for so many years. I’m feeling more peaceful when I remember, now. It’s almost like I’m watching a story of someone I’m intimately connected with and yet not really a part of, even as I recognize myself as at a distance.
Distance and perspective. It’s all about perspective. Dare I trust, too? We’ll see.
Sam, So happy to see you again so soon!You convey that pivotal moment when you heard of the plane crash like it just happened. I felt I was in the room with you and I’m really upset the social worker didn’t show! It’s amazing. how some memories are so clear and others are so fuzzy. What’s really amazing and consoling is the perspective you have gained over the years as you replay it in your mind. I love your statement about keeping the memories but being free of the distressing emotions associated with the event. It think it really is true, time does heal the wounds. Blessings as you move forward in trust.
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Hi Kathy. I have no idea why I’m suddenly writing more. Maybe it’s that I have more to say, have more prompts, have more energy. Anyway, my memory of the news my priest gave me probably stayed so clear in my mind because of the strong emotional load of the news. After that, I was mostly in shock so it’s not unexpected that I might not remember clearly. Then again, I wasn’t really thinking anything then, just awash in emotion. As for the social worker not showing, well, he had no way to know this evening was any different than any other casual meeting. I mean, he was a social worker, but not “my” social worker, it was just his job at work. We weren’t seeing each other professionally. Over time we did become more intensely involved but after five years I still wasn’t ready to get married and he was, so he left me for another woman and I had another situation where I felt abandoned and had my lack of trust reinforced. I’ve never held it against him, though. I have a lot of good memories of/with him. As for the change in emotional charge of my memories, I’ve found that writing about them can release those emotions without touching the memories. Good reason for journaling! Thanks for coming by again. Good to see ya!
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