September 14, 2008

After a 4 month hiatus on posting these, I bring back my series of Letters to Lisa. This is the 9th letter posted and now that I’ve taken a break to help ease my family into the grieving process after losing my mother-in-law, I think I’m ready to dive in, post a few more and hopefully catch up to current day letters. Interestingly enough, this one is 14 months old, but the emotions are as true now as they were then, especially in light of my mother-in-law’s passing. As always, thank you for reading.

Lisa-

It’s a weird night – probably one that would bring in oddball cases at the hospital. There was an awful hurricane down in Texas – Ike – and he’s still charging pretty strongly even up here in Ohio. No rain to speak of, but the winds have been vicious, ripping shingles from rooftops, siding from houses. Mom just called and their complex lost some big, beautiful pine trees. The sky is that ugly pea soup color and it’s all you can do to just sit inside and wonder how long it will last.

As the storm has swirled around me, I’ve been finding comfort re-writing these letters in a beautiful notebook. Something I can keep, my loved ones can read after my passing, and before that, a way for me to reminisce as the years go by. I can’t imagine growing old without you. I mean, yes, we both knew it was a strong possibility, but never one worth wrapping our heads around. Or, at least, I never took the time. Not completely. I’d contemplate it some after a particularly difficult night with you and your health. I’d go home and wonder – how long can her body take this!? What exactly is happening deep inside when it looks so bad even from the outside? I often said or journaled that at times being with you was like being with an old woman, your movements slow and measured, your health as brittle as your bones, even times, your mind a bit slower than normal, your recall a bit lacking. You never really wanted sympathy – just general empathy – but on my drives home I must admit, there would be sympathy. And sometimes, while I’m being totally honest, that sympathy would be for me. Me without you.

And here I am. Without you. And I couldn’t have imagined how awful it truly would be. How empty I’d feel. How startlingly painful certain days or events or thoughts can be. How much I miss a simple meal with you. How the basic act of putting salad dressing on a salad would bring whispers of your memory to brush over me.

Yesterday, such a memory made me smile. Another time, it almost paralyzed me. I never know how I’ll react. I never know what will make me react – if anything. Sometimes it all just knocks me off my feet and whoever is with me is left to ask, “You okay?”

No. No, I’m not okay. Touch me. Ignore me. Start at me. Look away. Leave me. Hold me. Let me talk; divert my attention. One at a time. All at once. If I’m exasperated by it all, I can’t imagine what my family must go through in trying to figure out the right response.

Sometimes they pour on too much sympathy and other times it’s nowhere near enough. Still other times, they nail it and we walk through the wave of grief together. Sometimes they just have to wait for me on the other side. It’s so hard to know and I surely can’t always tell them. But, they try. My friends, my kids, my folks and of course, my Alex. I’m not alone in this.

But, boy…without you, it sure seems like I am.

See you in my dreams,
~Heidi